Volume 47 Number 4 August 2013

Contents

Editorial
Editors' Foreword 619
Karim Murji, Sarah Neal, Sophie Watson and Kath Woodward

Articles
Foodwork or Foodplay? Men's Domestic Cooking, Privilege and Leisure 623
Michelle Szabo
Embodying Risk: Managing Father-child Intimacy and the Display of
Nudity in Families 639
Jacqui Gabb
Middle-class Mothers' Moralities and 'Concerted Cultivation':
Class Others, Ambivalence and Excess 655
Maud Perrier
Boys Will Be Boys ... Won't They? Change and Continuities
in Contemporary Young Working-class Masculinities 671
Steven Roberts
The 'Beauty' of Male Circumcision in Japan: Gender, Sexuality
and the Male Body in a Medical Practice 687
Genaro Castro-Vazquez
Disability in the Labour Market: An Exploration of Concepts of the
Ideal Worker and Organisational Fit that Disadvantage Employees
with Impairments 705
Deborah Foster and Victoria Wass
Popular Culture, Sport and the 'Hero' -fication of British Militarism 722
John Kelly
The Co-construction of Shame in the Context of Poverty: Beyond
a Threat to the Social Bond 739
Elaine Chase and Robert Walker
The Global Financial Crisis and Individual Distress: The Role of
Subjective Comparisons after the Collapse of the Icelandic Economy 755
Berg/ind Holm Ragnarsdottir, Jon Gunnar Bernburg and Sigr(m Olafsdottir
Representation and Practical Accomplishment in the Laboratory:
When is an Animal Model Good-enough? 776
Jamie Lewis, Paul Atkinson, Jean Harrington and Katie Featherstone
Place-making and Place Maintenance: Performativity, Place
and Belonging among the Middle Classes 793
Michaela Benson and Emma Jackson
Suspect Families: DNA Kinship Testing in German Immigration Policy 810
Torsten Heinemann and Thomas Lemke
Living with the 'Enemy': HIV and Inter-species Relating 827
Darren Langdridge and Paul Flowers
Emotions, Body and Self: Critiquing Moral Decline Sociology 841
Nicholas Hookway

Book Review Essay

Class, Inequality and Wellbeing 858
Shelina Visram

Book Reviews
Jacqueline Kennelly, Citizen Youth: Culture, Activism, and Agency
in a Neoliberal Era 865
Reviewed by Michael P. Mowbray
Laura Morales and Marco Giugni (eds), Social Capital, Political Participation
and Migration in Europe: Making Multicultural Democracy Work? 867
Reviewed by Silvia Galandini
Carolyn Pedwell, Feminism, Culture and Embodied Practice:
The Rhetorics of Comparison 868
Reviewed by Michelle Kempson
497305
2013
SOC47410.1177/0038038513497305SociologyEditors’ Foreword

Editors’ Foreword

Sociology
47(4) 619­–622
Editors’ Foreword © The Author(s) 2013
Reprints and permissions:
sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038513497305
soc.sagepub.com

Karim Murji, Sarah Neal, Sophie Watson

and Kath Woodward
Sociology Editorial Team

We are very pleased to be the new Editorial Team for Sociology. We took over in January
2013 and have already seen through three very successful and high profile issues, includ-
ing a new record for the number of downloads for a single paper. We look forward to
building on all the achievements and innovations that we have been fortunate to inherit
from the Cardiff-based Editorial Team – thank you all! – as well as previous Editors of
Sociology.
We are very aware that we are taking on a highly successful journal. Sociology is the
flagship journal of the BSA and one of the two key journals for sociological research in
the UK. It has an expanding international readership in other European countries and
North America as well as in Asia. It has an increasingly strong ISI Impact Factor and in
2011 Sociology was ranked at 29/138 journals in the sociology discipline (Thompson
Reuters 2012). In an expanding field, Sociology’s position in the top 30 is impressive.
The journal maintains a strong track record of attracting both new and established
authors; it presents a good balance of theoretical and empirical articles and covers con-
temporary areas and issues of analysis as well as keeping classic sociological figures in
view. Although articles tend towards a more qualitative approach there is certainly no
methods preference in the journal; many articles draw on a mixed and plural method
tradition. Other important features include book symposia, the extended book review
section and the annual special issue system.

Our Vision for Sociology

Our vision for the journal is to sustain and build on the best of these well-established
traditions. As the new Editors, our main aims are to:

• Extend and develop Sociology’s international reach and appeal

• Increase Sociology’s impact factor
• Actively encourage and extend high quality dialogue and diverse, interdiscipli-
nary debate within Sociology, and
• Develop Sociology’s online presence and features.
620 Sociology 47(4)

We recognize that editorial proposals take some time to be ‘realized’ in the pages of the
journal but we are happy to be already working with our publishers Sage in speeding up
Online First publication of articles, in developing podcasts linked to journal content and
in the production of e-special issues.

Internationalizing the Journal

Sociology is the first and main journal of the BSA. Like the journals of other national
sociological associations, it is likely to retain a bias towards the publication of papers by
sociologists based in the UK. However, the well-known challenges of ‘methodological
nationalism’ as well as the globalizations and transnationalism of sociology as a disci-
pline mean it is important to find ways of enhancing the journal’s international reach and
significance.
Currently Sociology publishes a relatively limited amount of work from sociologists
based outside the UK. The recent special issues on the 2012 Olympics, on Human Rights
and Genetics and on the Economic Crisis are notable as themes that incorporate and take
account of debates beyond the UK. Where possible, we will work with the Editorial
Board to seek and support special issues that lend themselves to the submission of papers
from outside the UK.
Our objective is for Sociology to respond to, and develop, a stronger identity in the
international environment. Our key proposal for internationalizing the journal is to
encourage dialogue between and across ‘national’ sociologies. This will be encouraged
through developing much closer links between key sociology conferences, such as the
BSA, the ASA and the ISA, and Sociology. For example, we are also exploring the pos-
sibility of developing a Sociology lecture at international conferences and we will seek
to solicit keynote addresses to the BSA Annual Conference for the journal from academ-
ics outside the UK. Another option will involve us liaising with the organizers of the
BSA Annual Conference, or Study Group events, to consider ways of staging debates on
particular themes in sociology in national and international contexts as a route to their
publication in Sociology. In all of these initiatives encouragement will be given to authors
to reflect on the challenges of what the ‘British’ component in the BSA means in current
sociological landscapes.
To attend to the international range of the journal and to extend the relevance and
‘readability’ of Sociology articles to audiences beyond the UK, we will, as Editors, also
encourage authors to submit and/or revise their papers so as to incorporate wherever
appropriate the international, transnational and comparative implications of their work.
International articles, like UK ones, will be encouraged to incorporate reflections on the
ways in which authors’ findings and arguments connect to current sociological concerns
and the extent to which national framings are or are not helpful. We welcome the support
of reviewers for the journal in developing these aims.

Increasing the Impact Factor of Sociology

Our commitment to raising Sociology’s current placing in the ISI rankings is not simply
an uncritical, ‘ratings’ driven agenda. Although citation indices and metrics have an
Editors’ Foreword 621

obvious value in the current REF exercises and in the broader research audit culture, our
core editorial aim is to maintain and seek ways of enhancing Sociology as a high quality,
open and accessible journal. That said, raising the ISI ranking of Sociology would benefit
the journal’s standing, profile and recognized quality within the sociology discipline.
In that context we set a goal of raising the ranking as an explicit target. Some of the
ideas set out above will enhance this aim – the less parochial and nationally bound a
journal the wider the sociology readership and the related citations are likely to be.
Directly raising the profile of the journal through its publication of key articles and
authors is another route to ensuring a greater audience and citation interaction. Targeting
and approaching established and emergent sociologists to encourage submission of their
work to the journal is a process that we have already started. Like all submissions to the
journal they will, of course, undergo the usual peer review process. We also intend to
increase Sociology’s online visibility and features and these too may impact on audience
engagement and subsequent citation rates.

Developing the Reviews Section

We welcome the innovations of the review section initiated by the Cardiff team. In par-
ticular, a more focused book review section is, we believe, of real benefit to readers in an
environment where the sheer number of publications is increasing. We also think this
section offers ways of internationalizing Sociology by commissioning reviews of key
sociology texts from outside the UK.
With these commitments in mind we aim to do the following:

• Maintain and develop book symposia: this makes it possible to have a number of
invited reviewers reflect on some of the most exciting, provocative or compelling
sociologically relevant work as it emerges. The symposium format provides an
engaging and rich set of accounts variously evaluating theoretical work and
research findings, and the state of the debate on a key issue, and looking to the
wider questions it raises.
• Maintain and develop book review essays: having a comparative reviewer engage-
ment with several books on the same/similar sociological topic works well and
enables Sociology to identify and reflect on new (and returning) trends, clusters
and themes in sociological research and publications.
• Continue to have individual book reviews, which are not only of inherent interest
and value to Sociology audiences but also represent a useful opportunity for newer
and less experienced sociologists to ‘cut their teeth’ in publications.

Introduce a Post-Publication ‘Reflections’ Section

In our view, the reflections published in response to the article by Mike Savage and
Roger Burrows (2007) on ‘The Coming Crisis of Empirical Sociology’ provides an
excellent model on which to develop more debate within and across the papers published
in the journal. The recent article by Savage et al. (2013) on ‘A New Model of Social
Class’ provides a similar possibility for developing responses and argument. With
622 Sociology 47(4)

post-publication reflections we will seek ways to keep work ‘live’ and generate related,
but new, deliberations within Sociology. We realize, however, that successive debates in
the pages of the journal can be somewhat slow and we will develop the online environ-
ment as a means of enabling timely discussion.

Sociology Online
We are committed to working with Sage to develop Sociology’s online presence. The
move to prepublication of articles online before paper publication has had a significant
impact on narrowing the gap between the acceptance and the availability of an article.
Importantly, it also lessens the REF pressures on authors publishing in the journal. Online
First publishing means that as an Editorial Team we now have some flexibility in select-
ing the articles for each issue. While we do not want to disrupt the chronological fairness
of maintaining the place of articles in the queue, Online First provides some editorial
leeway in deciding on article selection and light touch theming if we see opportunities
for it. Signs of this are evident in the issues that we have been responsible for thus far.
We are committed to developing Sociology’s website with the BSA, the wider
Editorial Board and through Sage. The journal’s wider online environment offers a
highly flexible space for journal-related debate, innovation and commentary. We will
continue to support the development of e-Special Sociology issues whereby a small edi-
torial team, drawn from volunteer members of the journal’s Editorial Board, identify a
sociological theme and then bring together a selection of past Sociology articles selected
from Sociology’s archives. To date there have been two successful e-Special issues – one
on methods and one on race. In another online development we have set up an Editor
meets the author podcast interview for each issue: Sophie Watson’s interview with Loïc
Wacquant is now on the journal’s web page and other interviews will follow. We see this
as an opportunity to engage with established as well as new and career-young authors to
discuss the work they have published in the journal.
We will continue the tradition of producing an annual report on submissions to the
journal and aim at least to maintain the current excellent average turnaround times for
returning decisions on papers, something for which we rely on the expertise and commit-
ment of the Editorial Board and Associate Board members.
We hope that this introduction to us as Editors gives you a good sense of how we
envisage spending our time as the Sociology Editorial Team. We hope too that you will
welcome these plans and continue to enjoy and be excited by the journal’s contributions
to the discipline of sociology.
448562
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512448562SzaboSociology

Article

Sociology
47(4) 623­–638
Foodwork or Foodplay? © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Men’s Domestic Cooking, sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512448562
Privilege and Leisure soc.sagepub.com

Michelle Szabo
York University, Canada

Abstract
Market research documents a rising passion for cooking among men. Yet, some feminists argue
that men see cooking as ‘leisure’ in part because they have distance from day-to-day care
obligations. However, empirical research on men’s home cooking is still limited. This article
investigates the relationship between cooking and leisure among 30 Canadian men with significant
household cooking responsibilities. Drawing on interview, observational and diary data, and
poststructural conceptualizations of leisure, I ask, to what extent do these men understand
cooking as leisure and why? Opposing the notion that women’s cooking is ‘work’ and men’s,
‘leisure’, I find that these men experience cooking as ‘work-leisure’ complicated by worries about
others’ preferences, health and approval. However, I also argue that participants create leisurely
cooking by manipulating cooking spaces and time(s), and it is in the ease with which they do so
that gender (as well as class and race) hierarchies become more visible.

Keywords
cooking, division of labour, domestic labour, foodwork, gender, leisure, men/masculinity,
poststructuralism, work

Introduction
The ever-presence of the male chef on food TV and the rising number of books, maga-
zines and blogs about men’s cooking seem to indicate a growing enthusiasm for cooking
among men in the West. Indeed, British and American men are spending about twice as
much time in the kitchen as in the 1960s (Cutler et al., 2003; Wallop, 2009). More than
this, they seem to be enjoying themselves there. According to market research, 52 per cent
of British men see cooking as ‘a hobby and not a chore’ (Future Foundation, 2008: 5).

Corresponding author:
Michelle Szabo, Faculty of Environmental Studies, HNES 109, York University, 4700 Keele Street, Toronto,
Ontario M3J 1P3, Canada.
Email: szabom@yorku.ca
624 Sociology 47(4)

Although this trend has some potential toward a more equitable division of domestic
labour, some feminists have viewed it with little enthusiasm. It is not only that cooking
is one of the more ‘enjoyable’ domestic tasks, which men have taken up more readily
than less pleasant housework (Van Berkel and De Graaf, 1999). In terms of cooking
itself, some scholars propose that men are able to enjoy the practice because of gender
inequities (Hollows, 2003a; Julier, 2002). For one thing, home cooking is still primarily
done by women. British, American and Canadian women spend more than twice as much
time ‘cooking and washing up’ or in ‘food preparation and cleanup’ than their male coun-
terparts (Statistics Canada, 2006; US Bureau of Labor Statistics, 2007; Wallop, 2009).
Further, women are primarily responsible for day-to-day household cooking, while men
tend to cook on weekends, over a barbecue, on special occasions or for guests (Adler,
1981; Beagan et al., 2008; Murcott, 1983; Roos et al., 2001). As leisure is often associ-
ated with choice (Hollows, 2003b; Stebbins, 2009: 9), some scholars suggest that men
are more able to see cooking as leisurely than women because they have more flexibility
as far as when and how they cook, and less of their identity invested in feeding and caring
for others (Aarseth and Olsen, 2008; Cairns et al., 2010; Hollows, 2003a; Julier, 2002).
However, our understanding of men’s cooking is far from complete. For one thing,
arguments about choice best represent the experiences of heterosexual men cohabiting
with women (who might cook instead of them), leaving out the experiences of gay and
single straight men (see also Kemmer, 2000). There is also considerable negotiation
among some heterosexual couples, with some men cooking as much or more than their
female partners (Bove and Sobal, 2006). Despite this, few studies focus on men who
have significant cooking responsibilities in their homes (Aarseth and Olsen, 2008, and
Carrington, 1999, are exceptions). Studies examining the meanings of cooking for men
which include ethno-racial minorities are equally uncommon (Carrington, 1999, and
Julier, 2002, are exceptions). Men from different backgrounds might draw to different
extents from what Lupton calls the ‘food as fuel’ ethic and the ‘food as pleasure’ ethic,
which she locates, respectively, in Enlightenment rationality, and in the Romantic valori-
zation of the senses (1996: 143–51).
Given these issues, my goals in this article are the following: First, I empirically
investigate the relationship between cooking and leisure among Canadian men of diverse
ethno-racial backgrounds, sexualities and living arrangements who do a significant
amount of cooking in their households. Drawing on poststructural conceptualizations of
leisure, I ask, to what extent do these men understand cooking as leisure? Next, I inves-
tigate how and why participants understand cooking as leisure when they do. If cooking
is still leisure for these men who are charged with its day-to-day accomplishment, how
and why is it so? Before introducing my findings, I examine the existing literature in
more detail.

Cooking, Leisure and Gender in the Literature

While a good deal has been written about the division of cooking among heterosexual
couples (Beagan et al., 2008; Bove and Sobal, 2006; Kemmer, 1999, 2000; Lupton,
2000), the symbolic and social meanings of women’s cooking (Charles and Kerr, 1988;
Szabo 625

DeVault, 1991; Murcott, 1983), and masculinities and food/eating (see Sobal, 2005, for
an overview), less research focuses on men’s cooking, especially in the household.
However, a few studies shed light on this issue and link gender and leisurely cooking.
Bove and Sobal (2006) and Kemmer (1999), who investigated the division of cooking
among heterosexual couples in the USA and UK respectively, determined that men
tended to cook when they enjoyed the practice, while the job fell to women when neither
partner wanted it. Similarly, Beagan et al. (2008) found among Canadian families that
cooking responsibilities were usually taken up by women because feeding and family
nutrition monitoring were still seen as women’s work. Cairns et al. (2010) looked not at
the division of cooking but at how American men and women felt about the practice.
They suggest that expectations that women cater to family tastes and health (a finding
echoed in Aarseth and Olsen, 2008, and Beagan et al., 2008) created a dilemma between
personal pleasure and family care that women felt more acutely than men. It is not that
women don’t enjoy cooking; many have spoken about the satisfactions and pleasures of
feeding themselves and others (Bove and Sobal, 2006; Wright-St Clair et al., 2005).
However, women often experience negative as well as positive feelings because of things
like time pressures (Hollows, 2003a; Short, 2006), difficulties combining cooking with
child care (Short, 2006), and anxieties about the tastes and health of loved ones (DeVault,
1991). Lupton’s (2000) study of Australian couples and Julier’s (2002) study of American
singles and couples also show a connection between women’s carework and men’s lei-
surely cooking. In both studies, some men were able to enjoy time in the kitchen because
their female partners took care of other domestic tasks such as childcare, cleaning or
food shopping. So far, this research suggests that men may find cooking more leisurely
than women because they have more choice about when they do it, and because their
cooking is more self/leisure-oriented than other/care-oriented.
Cultural discourses about cooking may also have an influence on men’s enjoyment.
Work by Swenson (2009), Hollows (2003a) and Parasecoli (2008) proposes that men’s
cooking on Food TV and in film is framed as a display of professional skill or leisurely
entertainment, while that of women – even cooking show hosts – is framed as mundane
work done for loved ones. This mundane foodwork may either go unnoticed, or, as
Hollows notes (2006), may be criticized as a sign of conservatism or anti-feminism (see
also Short, 2006: 93). Men’s cooking or other domestic work, on the other hand, tends to
be seen as progressive (Coltrane, 1989; Deutsch and Saxon, 1998). In brief, men may see
cooking as leisure because when they do it, they are positioned as culinary artists, crea-
tive hobbyists or stereotype breakers.
However, there is also evidence for more nuance to these dichotomies. For example,
Bove and Sobal (2006) and Lupton (2000) note that a few heterosexual men in their
samples cooked to please others or show love, and Carrington (1999) found that several
gay men in his study frequently attended to the preferences and health needs of loved
ones. That is, some men’s cooking, like women’s, is care-oriented. In addition, Aarseth
and Olsen (2008) observed a leisurely approach to cooking among one or two men in
their study who cooked regularly, implying that there is more to the relationship between
cooking and leisure than choice or a distance from necessity. This said, these observa-
tions were made among a small number of men in studies which did not focus on cooking
and leisure.
626 Sociology 47(4)

In this article, I follow up on these various findings with a more systematic investigation
of cooking, gender and leisure. I add to the literature in two ways. First, I investigate the
relationship between cooking and leisure among men from a variety of ethno-racial back-
grounds, sexualities and living arrangements who have significant home cooking responsi-
bilities – a more heterogeneous sample than earlier studies which typically focus on white,
heterosexual, married men. Second, I draw on poststructural notions of leisure which take
into account leisure’s contextual and flexible nature. This is an approach rarely taken in the
cooking literature, where cooking enjoyment is often seen as fixed (i.e. participants are said
to either like cooking or not, period) (Bove and Sobal, 2006, and Short, 2006, are excep-
tions). Before describing my findings, I give more detail about this poststructural perspec-
tive and how it advances our understanding of gender, cooking and leisure.

Domestic Cooking as ‘Work-Leisure’: A Poststructural

Perspective
Research in leisure studies, not often put in dialogue with cooking studies, can help us
tease out the complex relationship between cooking and leisure. Henderson and Frelke
(2000), in their review of the literature on place and leisure, identify a ‘[leisurely] state
of mind’ as one of the common ways individuals experience leisure. Specifically, spaces
and activities are not intrinsically leisurely or not, but may be experienced or even cre-
ated as such depending on the individual and circumstance. For example, because of
women’s household responsibilities, it has often been more difficult for them to find the
home a space of leisure than for men (Hollows, 2003a; Wearing, 1998). On the other
hand, the domestic realm is not categorically unleisurely for those responsible for house-
work. Radway (1983) found, for instance, that women literally and figuratively escape
domestic responsibilities by reading romance novels, even while physically remaining in
the home. These types of experiences provide empirical support for poststructural leisure
theory, which avoids dualistic categories (e.g. work/leisure, public/private) and eschews
universalistic understandings of leisure meant to hold true across time and space
(Aitchison, 2003). Poststructural scholars see leisure instead as contextual, flexible and
fragmentary (Aitchison, 2003; Rojek, 1995; Wearing, 1998).
A poststructural approach is uncommon in empirical examinations of cooking, but there
are exceptions. Marjorie DeVault, in her research on women’s feeding practices, suggests
that these practices are neither completely ‘work’ nor completely ‘leisure’ (1991: 5). The
words ‘work’ and ‘leisure’ better describe men’s experiences, she argues, because men
have more typically experienced a temporal and physical separation between job and fam-
ily, work and home. Although I argue below that the blurring of work and leisure applies to
men’s cooking as well, the point here is that even domestic activities themselves may some-
times be experienced as leisure in certain circumstances.
My data on men’s experiences of domestic cooking can best be understood within this
poststructural framework. In this article, I use the hybrid notion of ‘work-leisure’ to con-
ceptualize cooking, as cooking can be variously experienced as pleasurable, meaningful,
satisfying, freeing, rejuvenating or relaxing – characteristics often associated with lei-
sure (Aitchison, 2003; Rojek, 1995; Stebbins, 2009) – or laborious, tedious or draining
– characteristics associated with (some types of) work, both paid and unpaid (Oakley,
Szabo 627

1975; Rojek, 1995). I list these characteristics of ‘work’ and ‘leisure’ with some hesita-
tion, recognizing that they bring us back to a dichotomy poststructural theory attempts to
avoid. This difficulty in establishing terms is part of what leisure scholar Chris Rojek
calls the ‘paradox’ of trying to reconcile ‘leisure’, a bounded, modernist concept, with
the fluidity and flexibility of postmodernism (1995: 146). Despite these theoretical com-
plexities, these definitions are useful in understanding the cooking experiences of my
participants in context, as I show below.

Sample and Methods

This article is based on research with 30 men living in Toronto, Canada, who cook a
significant amount at home from basic ingredients.1 Each participant completed a five-
day meal diary indicating things like what was eaten for the main meal of each day, what
the ingredients and cooking methods were, and who prepared it. After receiving com-
pleted meal diaries, I met each interviewee for a 1.5-hour in-depth interview. I also con-
ducted participant observation in the homes of one-third of the participants, who allowed
me to watch them cook a meal. After observations, I wrote field notes about things like
the kitchen space, the participants’ affect while cooking, and any comments made about
the food. I invited the partners of all cohabiting participants to fill in a short questionnaire
about their feelings about their partners’ (the main participants’) cooking and about the
division of labour in their homes.
In terms of analysis, I used a modified version of Grounded Theory (Punch, 1998). I
coded interviews, diaries and field notes with the qualitative data analysis software, AtlasTi.
By the end, I had created 67 codes. These codes identified sections of text referring to things
like types of cooking (e.g. ‘cooking as leisure’, ‘cooking as necessity’) and structural condi-
tions influencing cooking (e.g. ‘childcare conditions’). I also created participant memos
which summarized the key motivations for, and meanings of cooking for each participant
and listed illustrative quotes. Next, I re-read the memos and compared them to each other,
reviewed the codes and their accompanying quotes, and pulled out recurring themes.
Participants were all residents of the Greater Toronto Area (GTA), a metropolitan area
of 5.5 million, but many had grown up in other cities or towns, elsewhere in Canada or
abroad. Ages ranged from 26 to 58. Half of the participants were white (of European
ancestry) and the other half were of Asian, Afro-Caribbean, Hispanic or of mixed back-
ground. Household incomes ranged from less than $25,000 CAD to more than $150,000,
with the most common household income being in the range of $50,000–$100,000.
Despite this income diversity, most men were middle class. Nine participants were single
and living alone, with roommates or with a parent or child. The other two-thirds of the
sample (21 of 30) were married or living with a long-term partner. Nine men had children
with whom they were living, and one was the children’s primary caretaker. Four men
were gay. Additional details are given in Table 1.

Participant Experiences of Cooking as Work-Leisure

From a poststructuralist position (e.g. Rojek, 1995), activities are neither essentially
work nor leisure but felt as one or the other, or a combination of both, depending on the
628 Sociology 47(4)

Table 1.  Demographic characteristics and cooking responsibilities of participants.

Participant Ethno-racial Living with Household Age Income (CAD)

pseudonym background (self- cooking
described) responsibilities
Alex French-Canadian/ female partner shared 38 $50–100,000
Hungarian
Andrew Chinese female partner shared 33 $150,000+
Ben white wife, son (14 shared 36 $100–150,000
months)
Brandon Chinese- fiancée all 31 $150,000+
Canadian
Chris Chinese/ alone all 31 $50–100,000
Canadian
Dan Black/African wife, son (15), almost all (95%) 43 $50–100,000
daughters (12, 8)
Dave Canadian (white) alone all 27 >$25,000
Edward Chinese- female partner weekends 30 $50–100,000
Canadian
Frank German female partner almost all (95%) 58 $50–100,000
George Mediterranean/ female partner almost all (95%) 39 $100,000–150,000
Greek
Graham Anglo wife, sons (26, 19) almost all (90%) 56 $150,000+
Hugh Scottish, French wife, sons (8, 7) almost all (95%) 39 $150,000+
Ian British (white) wife, daughter (14 almost all (80%) 37 $50–100,000
months)
Jack Italian/Irish husband almost all (90%) 45 $50–100,000
Jonathan White/Jewish alone all 26 $25–50,000
Kevin British wife all (98%) 43 $100–150,000
Luis Latino alone all 42 $50–100,000
Marcus Black/Jamaican alone all 46 > $25,000
Matt Filipino female partner shared 33 $50–100,000
Nick Mixed alone all 41 > $25,000
Owen English/French, wife almost all (80%) 40 n/a
Dutch/Ojibwa
Paul Italian wife, sons (28, 24) shared 53 $50–100,000
Rick Filipino brother, sister- almost all (90%) 35 $100–150,000
in-law
Stanley Chinese wife, son (8) shared 35 >$25,000
Stuart German/Chinese male partner 75% 48 n/a
Timothy Italian alone all 32 $50–100,000
Trevor Chinese wife shared 29 $150,000+
Wally Trinidadian- wife, daughters 33% 36 n/a
Chinese (3, 2)
Will African-Canadian mother, son (15), weekends 38 $25–50,000
cousin (22)
Zack Caucasian male partner shared 28 $50–100,000
Szabo 629

context. My conversations with involved male cooks, all but three of whom cooked at
least half of the home-cooked weekly meals in their homes, reflect this. Cooking for
them was what I call ‘work-leisure’. Although I tried, I was not able to categorize partici-
pants as experiencing cooking as either leisure or work. For example, Dan,2 a musician
and stay-at-home father of three, was responsible for all of the care work in his home,
including food shopping, cooking and cleaning. He talked about the stresses of cooking
on a daily basis, especially when his family treated him like a ‘maid’. On the other hand,
he found cooking rewarding. He compared it to music, saying: ‘If you cook and you put
your heart into it … it’s like you[’re] shar[ing] something meaningful.’ Hugh, also the
primary cook for himself, his wife and his two young sons, expressed ambivalence about
cooking as well. Although a self-described ‘foodie’ who delighted in beautiful meals, he
acknowledged the difficulty of regular cooking for others. He was stressed about prepar-
ing meals that were both healthy and appealing to his boys and felt hurt when they did
not like his food. He also echoed the sentiments of some housewives and second wave
feminists about the tedium of housework (e.g. Oakley, 1975) when he said: ‘Sometimes
it’s like if I ever make another sandwich I’m gonna die.’ While this was not the case for
all the fathers in my sample, most expressed concerns about the healthfulness of their
children’s diets. Childless participants also spoke about catering to their partners – even
when it meant sacrificing their own desires (e.g. making meat-based meals for a partner
despite themselves preferring vegetarian). While sacrificing meant giving up their own
pleasures to some degree, these men did not talk about this as clearly negative. In fact,
many who were their household’s primary cook spoke proudly about nurturing others
through food or about having the role of family caretaker, which they saw as inevitably
involving sacrifice or compromise.
Men who did not cook much for others (e.g. because they lived alone) also had mixed
feelings about cooking. Many described cooking as satisfying and fun, but it also became
tedious when they ran out of ideas, stressful when they were rushed, and laborious when
they were tired. One single participant, Jonathan, claimed to cook mainly for ‘utility’ (to
save money and eat healthily) but he also enjoyed cooking on some occasions, such as
when he could ‘impress girls’ at potlucks. Even Stuart, the participant who was least
enthusiastic about cooking, and described it as ‘something to get through so we can get
to the meal’, seemed to get satisfaction out of the strict control that cooking gave him
over his diet. To summarize, cooking was work-leisure for all of my participants –
neither clearly and always work nor clearly and always leisure.

Leisurely Cooking in Context

That cooking was work-leisure for all of my participants – sometimes work and some-
times leisure – does not mean that the overall balance of work and leisure feelings was
the same for everyone. A few men (four of 30) saw culinary activities most often as a
necessary task. These men still cooked a great deal from scratch rather than opting for
pre-prepared or restaurant food because of issues around health, food quality and cost.
For the rest of the men in my sample (26 of 30), home cooking was more often experi-
enced as leisure. The experiences of these 26 men will inform the rest of this article.
630 Sociology 47(4)

Although I recognize the limits of my qualitative sample, I should note that these 26
men were not easily distinguished from the other four in terms of demographics or degree
of responsibility for household cooking. Many men who had primary or full responsibil-
ity for cooking in their homes still found it leisurely on various occasions. This is surpris-
ing because, as mentioned above, choice (i.e. lack of daily responsibility or necessity) is
often associated with leisure (Stebbins, 2009: 9). The men who found cooking more
often leisurely were also from a variety of ethno-racial backgrounds, including Anglo-
Saxon backgrounds, which are sometimes characterized as having a more utilitarian, less
pleasure-oriented approach to food. This group also included men with demanding work
schedules, who, one might expect, had ‘less time’ to cook. What the men did have in
common, I argue, was that they each, consciously or not, created leisurely cooking.
Differently put, these men manipulated their cooking environments and situations to
make them more leisurely. In the following sub-sections I examine three main ways in
which they did this: first, by creating a gustatory and auditory leisure space; second, by
merging the domestic and the social realms; and third, by taking the time to embrace the
sensual aspects of cooking.

Creating a Gustatory and Auditory Leisure Space

A common way participants marked cooking as leisurely was by combining cooking
with other symbols of leisure such as music or alcohol (Lincoln, 2005). More than half
of my participants listened to music or the radio while they cooked, or accompanied their
cooking with a glass of wine or beer. This was never acknowledged as a purposeful strat-
egy for enjoying cooking, but it often came up when participants reflected on their cook-
ing habits. Sometimes, the association made in passing, as when Alex observed: ‘We
cook and drink a glass of wine … And then it’s nice.’ At other times, participants noted
how important music or alcohol was to their cooking routine, as when Graham showed
me the speakers he had had custom built into his kitchen cupboards. Paul’s words empha-
size the fact that the kitchen is sometimes a leisure space, and sometimes not, depending
on the atmosphere that is created through music, alcohol or other things like socializing
with loved ones: ‘I really enjoy being in the kitchen … Especially with [my wife] … We
talk and either got the radio on or we got some music playing.’ The role of music in help-
ing to create leisure even in a professional cooking environment (where cooking literally
is ‘work’) was revealed by Will who had worked in a fast-paced professional kitchen.
When I asked him whether it had been stressful, he said that he had really liked it, in part
because: ‘We had music in the background. The guys were having fun.’
In an examination of space and leisure, Lincoln (2005) found that teenaged partici-
pants created a club- or pub-type atmosphere in their bedrooms through music and alco-
hol, blurring the public and the private. The participants in my study used music and
alcohol in a similar way to blur the realms of domestic work and leisure.

Combining the Domestic and the Social

Some participants also marked their cooking or meal planning time as leisure by includ-
ing friends and loved ones in the process, as Paul’s words conveyed above. This sharing
Szabo 631

created a leisure-like atmosphere by bringing the mundane domestic activity of cooking

into the realm of the social. Some participants shared cooking physically with partners,
children, or friends. Paul talked about meal preparation with his wife as ‘quality time that
we spend together’. Will, who had lived with his mother and son since his divorce, talked
about cooking as ‘our version of family time’. Other participants shared their cooking
with others who were not physically present. For example, Timothy shared meal ideas
and experiences with his friends over the phone. He noted: ‘We’ll call each other up and
be like, “I made the best salad the other day”.’ Dave took photos of appealing ingredients
he had picked from his garden, and sent them over the internet to friends. Several men
had cooking blogs in which they shared things like recipes, techniques and photos. By
combining food preparation and socializing, these participants were not only creating
leisurely cooking, but were, knowingly or not, also dealing with issues of time pressure.
Matt put it eloquently:

If you silo them [work, leisure, cooking] and say well there’s my social time and we’re gonna
go to a bar. And there’s my cooking time and I’m gonna cook. And there’s my work time and
they’re completely separate, then there’s too much division, but if you can combine these and
re-characterize them then … you’re fed and you treat the social needs.

My participants not only shared the food they cooked with friends and loved ones, but
they often shared the cooking process itself. While eating is recognized as a social activ-
ity (Warde and Martens, 2000), and the social aspects of collective cooking among
female relatives (such as for holidays) have been acknowledged, these data show that
food preparation also has social aspects for some men.

Taking One’s Time

Many participants also symbolically demarcated their cooking as leisure or pleasure by
actively slowing down while doing it. Eschewing the notion that cooking should be done
as quickly and efficiently as possible, these participants tried to engage in careful, deliber-
ate cooking in such a way that they were able to enjoy the process. This was not always
the case. Three participants (Will, Frank and Rick) spoke about the thrill of fast-paced
cooking. However, most participants disliked and tried to avoid situations where they had
to rush to cook and eat. George, who did almost all of the cooking for himself and his
partner, contrasted his own feelings about cooking with those of his partner, who grew up
in a family where food was ‘a rushed thing’. In his own family, cooking and food were to
be savoured. Andrew spoke of searching out cookbooks that ‘don’t cut corners in the
interest of saving time or for convenience’. In fact, the most enjoyable home cooking for
many participants was the antithesis of rushing, of fast food, and necessarily took time.
Many participants spoke of the ‘meditative’, ‘relaxing’ or ‘therapeutic’ nature of this type
of cooking. Taking one’s time also allowed a greater sensual appreciation of the food
which, in turn, enhanced the relaxing, even rejuvenating, nature of the cooking process.
For Nick, working with fresh, colourful, aromatic food was a ‘pick me up’.
In her investigation of the TV shows and books of British celebrity chef Nigella
Lawson, Hollows (2003b) argues that Lawson’s sensual, almost luxuriating approach to
632 Sociology 47(4)

scratch home cooking encourages audiences to escape contemporary time scarcity dis-
courses. By taking the time to cook from scratch and indulge in culinary pleasures,
Hollows argues, even very busy people may be able to feel like they have more time.
Indeed, American sociologist Michael Flaherty’s recent research suggests that people ‘do
time’ in various ways, including slowing time down by ‘savour[ing] the moment’ (2011:
135). This is not to say that time is solely an individual phenomenon, and Flaherty points
out that when time becomes institutionalized in social structures and cultural norms,
agency over time is constrained. For example, in a British or Anglo-American context,
where the Protestant ethic has led to the cultural veneration of productivity and effi-
ciency, there may be greater social and economic sanctions for taking one’s time than for
rushing (Flaherty, 2011). Nevertheless, it is important to avoid reifying time and time
constraints, and seeing them as beyond individual agency.
In this section, I outlined how some participants, who were from a variety of ethno-
racial backgrounds and had various work schedules and demands, were able to enjoy
cooking in part because they demarcated their cooking time and space as leisurely.
Notably, almost all of these men did at least half of the cooking in their households, and
several did virtually all of it. In other words, many of these men created enjoyable cook-
ing even though it was a daily responsibility for them.

Privilege and Cooking Enjoyment

So far, we have seen that some men are able to engage in leisurely home cooking despite
some ambiguity toward the practice and despite cooking being a necessity in their lives.
However, my data also point to ways in which these enjoyable experiences may hinge on
gender, race and class privilege. I explore this privilege below in two sections. The first
section looks at the influence of childcare on leisurely cooking and explores gender
privilege. The second section looks at the intersection of gender, class and ethno-racial
background as it relates to family cooking culture and explores gender, class and ethno-
racial privilege.

Childcare and Leisurely Cooking

That many men in my sample took their time in the kitchen, some despite heavy work
schedules, supports the notion that individuals ‘do’ time differently (Flaherty, 2011) and
that busyness is not an objective fact but an experience shaped by cultural narratives
(Hollows, 2003b). Nonetheless, it seems that some people have more control over time
than others. Differently put, while people have agency over time, people’s experiences of
time are still influenced by social forces. In terms of my research, the fact that many of
my participants ‘took their time’ in the kitchen likely reflects some of the characteristics
of my sample. For instance, of the 26 men who generally enjoyed cooking, only five
were living with children under age 10 and one was living with a severely disabled adult
son who needed care. The remaining 19 did not have to worry about having children
‘under foot’ in the kitchen, or about having to coordinate care and cooking, a difficulty
expressed by female cooks in previous research (Short, 2006). In terms of the six men
with children needing care, at least three of them seemed to enjoy a good deal of freedom
Szabo 633

in the kitchen – including the freedom to take their time – because their wives were the
primary caretakers of their children (a finding also noted in Lupton, 2000). The cooking
narrative of Dan, a stay-at-home father of three and the only primary caretaker among the
men, is quite distinct from those of the other fathers, and reveals how childcare may
influence perceptions of time in the kitchen. Dan talked at length about the drawbacks of
our rationalized, rushed society and about wanting to ‘slow down’ in his life. However,
he favoured speed and efficiency when cooking. At first perplexing, this contrast becomes
more intelligible when we consider that Dan frequently had to juggle cooking with fam-
ily emotion and relationship management. Noting that it was ‘pretty common’ that ‘eve-
ryone’s in the kitchen fighting’, he talked about having to ‘wade through that while
you’re trying to concentrate on everything’. In other words, while cooking with kids can
be fun and meaningful, having children in the kitchen (or elsewhere in the home when
one is their sole caretaker) may make it more difficult to relax and take one’s time, ele-
ments I show above to be important in leisurely cooking. Indeed, Southerton and
Tomlinson find that mothers of young children often feel harried because of having to
multitask, or squeeze a ‘density’ of experiences into a given timeframe (2005: 227–9).
That Dan had similar temporal experiences in the kitchen shows that this may be more
related to caretaking roles than to gender itself (and I explore this below in Discussion
and Conclusions). However, the fact that Dan was rare in my sample in having to com-
promise leisure for care in the kitchen reflects the larger gendered division of labour,
where women are still more likely than men to have primary responsibility for childcare
(Kan et al., 2011).

Gender/Class/Ethno-racial Background and Family Approach to

Cooking
Many participants connected their enjoyment of cooking to their ethno-racial back-
ground. For instance, George, a participant of Greek origin, contrasted his family’s pas-
sion for food with that of his partner Ellen’s Anglo-Canadian family, who, in his mind,
saw cooking as ‘something you had to do just to stay alive’. Such a connection was least
obvious in the case of white men from Anglo-Canadian backgrounds, but men of Filipino,
Italian, West Indian, Chinese as well as British and German descent all spoke about the
passion for food in their extended families and cultures. In brief, there was no clear indi-
cation that any particular ethno-racial background represented in my sample had more of
a ‘food as pleasure’ orientation (Lupton, 1996) than any other. What my data do show,
however, is the importance of the intersectionality of gender, class and ethno-racial back-
ground (Nakano Glenn, 1992) to a family’s approach to cooking. Looking more carefully
at George’s partner Ellen’s situation, we see that her family’s utilitarian approach to food
may have been the result not only of culture but of gender relations. In Ellen’s family,
George observed: ‘[Food] was something that was usually associated with tension and
anger … Both of her parents worked at the same place … [and Ellen’s mom] was just as
tired as [Ellen’s] dad was but she would do the cooking.’
For other women in the lives of my participants, cooking was associated not with
gender inequality but with class inequality. When speaking about his ex-wife Carmen’s
634 Sociology 47(4)

dislike of cooking, Luis, an immigrant from El Salvador, brought up Carmen’s grand-

mother’s experience as a domestic worker in that country:

Her grandmother was a maid working for rich people but she always worked in the kitchen. So
her grandmother … [who] really had no education whatsoever … would never let [Carmen] go
in the kitchen because she wanted her to have an education.

For Carmen’s grandmother, cooking and education were antithetical. The result was that,
as Luis told it, Carmen completely avoided the kitchen. My interview with Chris, the son
of Chinese immigrants, revealed a remarkably similar story about the influence of Chris’s
grandmother on his mother, who took a very practical approach to cooking. In this case,
we see the influence of class as well as ideas about ‘modernity’ on the family’s approach
to cooking. Chris told it this way:

My grandparents’ philosophy when they were raising my mom and her siblings was that they
really pushed for them becoming … modern. It was more than just pushing them to go to
university … and moving to the West … they were reluctant to impart anything traditional or
what they saw as backwards. So my grandma knows how to cook but she never shared it … She
probably thought that if her children became successful, someone else would cook for them.

Here again, cooking and getting a formal education are framed as oppositional. In addi-
tion, if one succeeds in the labour market, one can delegate cooking to someone else
(presumably from the social class that one has escaped). When I asked Chris and other
Chinese-Canadian men in my sample about these ideas, they suggested that career suc-
cess and learning to cook are not mutually exclusive. However, these men were all mid-
dle class, North American-raised and employed as professionals. The female relatives
in these stories, in contrast, were from the underclasses (either as paid domestic work-
ers, unpaid homemakers, or Asians in a western hegemonic system), and may have
viscerally associated cooking with any oppression they encountered through their
domestic work.
These inter-generational accounts shed light on why some women with particular
backgrounds are hesitant to embrace cooking. The men in my sample expressed ambiva-
lence about cooking mainly because of worries about their family’s health and prefer-
ences, and because of the effort and tedium involved, which sometimes went unrecognized.
But, there was little evidence of ambivalence among these men related to an association
between cooking and oppression or inequality. In fact, confirming previous studies
(Coltrane, 1989; Deutsch and Saxon, 1998), some men spoke about how their cooking
was seen by others as a solution to gender inequality. Their cooking was a sign that they
were ‘progressive’ or ‘breaking gender stereotypes’.
In sum, the intersection of gender, ethno-racial background and class (Nakano Glenn,
1992) may influence feelings about cooking, which can then be reproduced across gen-
erations. Put differently, many of the men in my sample were privileged as middle class,
North American-born or -raised men who had some distance from the oppression that
can accompany paid and unpaid domestic work for women, especially women from
lower classes and poorer nations, and this likely facilitated their cooking enjoyment.
Szabo 635

Discussion and Conclusion

Four of my 30 participants saw cooking primarily as a means to an end. Yet, these men
enjoyed some of its aspects in particular situations. The other 26 saw cooking generally
as an enjoyable activity. Nevertheless, in situations when they were concerned about oth-
ers’ health and food preferences, when their efforts in the kitchen went unrecognized, or
when they were tired or rushed, these men had mixed emotions about cooking. This is in
keeping with poststructural approaches, which understand experience as fundamentally
context-dependent – i.e. not subject to universalizing definitions (e.g. leisure always
means ‘x’), and not existing in fixed dichotomous relationships (e.g. work is the opposite
of leisure). Cooking for my participants was neither ‘work’ nor ‘leisure’ but ‘work-lei-
sure’. The idea that men are more easily able to find cooking leisurely because it is less
of an obligation for them, or because they are less oriented to the food needs and prefer-
ences of others (Cairns et al., 2010; Hollows, 2003a) may be true for men who cook less
often, but was not true for several of the men in my sample who had more responsibility
in the kitchen. Like Bove and Sobal (2006) and Carrington (1999), I find that some
men’s cooking, like women’s, is care-oriented. This suggests that, as men take on more
traditionally female roles, they may also take on more traditionally female ways of doing
these roles, adding credence to structural theories of gender (Deutsch, 2007: 114, see also
Coltrane, 1989: 489). On another note, the notion that people either ‘like’ cooking or not,
implicit in some research questions (Future Foundation, 2008: 17), or expressed by
research participants themselves (e.g. Lupton, 2000: 179), while potentially useful for
understanding general trends in the division of labour, may be somewhat over-simplistic.
Again, a poststructuralist view, which recognizes that activities may be more or less lei-
surely depending on the spatial and temporal context, makes this more clear.
In terms of why men experience cooking as leisure when they do, previous work
associates leisure with choice and freedom (Hollows, 2003b; Stebbins, 2009: 9). Men’s
cooking is leisurely, some argue, because they have more flexibility than women in terms
of when and how often they cook (e.g. Adler, 1981). But do men who have significant
cooking responsibilities and lose this flexibility find cooking less leisurely? Not neces-
sarily: many of my participants who had primary responsibility for cooking in their
households still often experienced it as leisure. So, it may be true that men who cook only
on weekends or over a barbecue are likely to enjoy it, but it is not the case that men who
cook more often don’t enjoy it – at least some of the time.
It is also important to reiterate, especially given recent concerns about diet-related
disease (e.g. PHAC, 2009), that people can create enjoyable cooking situations. My par-
ticipants did so by symbolically demarcating their cooking time and space as leisurely.
They combined cooking with music or alcohol, fused the domestic and the social worlds
by cooking with loved ones or friends, and slowed their cooking down to enjoy its sen-
sual and meditative aspects. These points suggest that, although constraints like time
pressures are real, especially in view of the rising number of lone-parent, dual-earner and
single-adult households (Szabo, 2011), ‘lack of time’ is a cultural discourse to which
people can react by ‘doing time’ differently (Flaherty, 2011). Similarly, the compartmen-
talization of the domestic, social and leisure spheres are norms which can be, and are,
challenged.
636 Sociology 47(4)

Nonetheless, an individual’s ability or even desire to cook in a particular way (e.g.

slowly and deliberately) is not simply the result of individual will. As I showed earlier, it
can be shaped by social roles, including relative responsibility for childcare. The men in
my sample with few or no childcare responsibilities seemed to have more freedom to
relax and take their time in the kitchen (supporting Lupton, 2000), while the most
involved fathers had more trouble juggling ‘slow’ cooking and childcare. If women
retain primary responsibility for childcare, this implies that men may more easily find
cooking leisurely than women in general, at least in households with children. Approach
to cooking is also influenced by family background as it relates to gender, race and class
privilege. Cooking may feel more oppressive to those from poorer and racialized groups,
especially women, who have been historically positioned as domestic workers, and this
approach may be passed down to younger relatives.
In sum, the men in my sample, the great majority of whom had day-to-day household
cooking responsibilities, experienced cooking as both work and leisure. Thus, we can no
longer say that women’s cooking is ‘work’ and men’s ‘play’ (Adler, 1981: 51). However,
this is not to say that gender – as well as race and class – hierarchies are no longer mani-
fest in experiences of cooking. While men with quotidian home cooking responsibilities
have limited choice in terms of how often and when they cook, they may have more
freedom than their female counterparts from interruptions or negotiations with others in
the kitchen, and from negative emotional associations with foodwork.

Acknowledgements
I would like to express great thanks to Deborah Barndt, Josée Johnston and Rod MacRae for their
valuable comments on earlier drafts of this article. This work was supported by funding from the
Social Sciences and Humanities Council of Canada.

Notes
1. I initially recruited participants on the basis that they cooked at least half of the weekly meals
in their households and that their cooking used few packaged foods. I subsequently loosened
the criteria (in terms of the division of labour only) to encourage ethno-racial diversity in the
sample. Nonetheless, the sample is still mainly made up of men who do half or more of the
household cooking (as indicated by the men themselves and their meal diaries, and, if part-
nered, as confirmed by their partners). Only three of 30 men did less than half of the cooking
in their household, and about two-thirds (19 of 30) did all or almost all of it.
2. All names are pseudonyms.

References
Aarseth H and Olsen BM (2008) Food and masculinity in dual-career couples. Journal of Gender
Studies 17(4): 277–87.
Adler TA (1981) Making pancakes on Sunday: The male cook in family tradition. Western Folk-
lore 40(1): 45–54.
Aitchison C (2003) Gender and Leisure. London: Routledge.
Beagan BL, Chapman GE, D’Sylva A and Bassett R (2008) ‘It’s just easier for me to do it’:
Rationalizing the family division of foodwork. Sociology 42(4): 653–71.
Szabo 637

Bove C and Sobal J (2006) Foodwork in newly married couples: Making family meals. Food,
Culture & Society 9(1): 70–89.
Cairns K, Johnston J and Baumann S (2010) Caring about food: Doing gender in the foodie
kitchen. Gender & Society 24(5): 591–615.
Carrington C (1999) No Place like Home: Relationships and Family Life among Lesbians and Gay
Men. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Charles N and Kerr M (1988) Women, Food and Families. New York: Manchester University
Press.
Coltrane S (1989) Household labor and the routine production of gender. Social Problems 36(5):
473–90.
Cutler DM, Glaeser EL and Shapiro JM (2003) Why have Americans become more obese? Journal
of Economic Perspectives 17(3): 93–118.
Deutsch FM (2007) Undoing gender. Gender & Society 21: 106–27.
Deutsch FM and Saxon S (1998) The double standard of praise and criticism for mothers and
fathers. Psychology of Women Quarterly 22(4): 665–83.
DeVault ML (1991) Feeding the Family: The Social Organization of Caring as Gendered Work.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Flaherty MG (2011) The Textures of Time: Agency and Temporal Experience. Philadelphia, PA:
Temple University Press.
Future Foundation (2008) The emergence of the gastrosexual. Available at: http://www.theadnostic.
com/lauren/EmergenceoftheGastrosexual.pdf (accessed April 2011).
Henderson KA and Frelke CE (2000) Space as a vital dimension of leisure: The creation of place.
World Leisure Journal 42(3): 18–24.
Hollows J (2003a) Oliver’s twist: Leisure, labour and domestic masculinity in The Naked Chef.
International Journal of Cultural Studies 6(2): 229–48.
Hollows J (2003b) Feeling like a domestic goddess. Postfeminism and cooking. Cultural Studies
6(2): 179–202.
Hollows J (2006) Feminism, post-feminism and domesticity. In: Hollows J and Moseley R (eds)
Feminism in Popular Culture. New York: Berg.
Julier A (2002) Feeding friends and others: Boundaries of intimacy and distance in sociable meals.
PhD thesis, University of Massachusetts.
Kan MY, Sullivan O and Gershuny J (2011) Gender convergence in domestic work: Discerning
the effects of interactional and institutional barriers from large-scale data. Sociology 45(2):
234–51.
Kemmer D (1999) Food preparation and the domestic division of labour among newly married and
cohabiting couples. British Food Journal 101(8): 570–9.
Kemmer D (2000) Tradition and change in domestic roles and food preparation. Sociology 34(2):
323–33.
Lincoln S (2005) Feeling the noise: Teenagers, bedrooms and music. Leisure Studies 24(4): 399–414.
Lupton D (1996) Food, the Body and the Self. London: Sage.
Lupton D (2000) ‘Where’s me dinner?’: Food preparation arrangements in rural Australian fami-
lies. Journal of Sociology 36(2): 172–86.
Murcott A (1983) Cooking and the cooked: A note on the domestic preparation of meals. In:
Murcott A (ed.) The Sociology of Food and Eating. Aldershot: Gower, 78–85.
Nakano Glenn E (1992) From servitude to service work: Historical continuities in the racial division
of paid reproductive labor. Signs 18(1): 1–43.
Oakley A (1975) The Sociology of Housework. New York: Pantheon.
Parasecoli F (2008) Bite Me: Food in Popular Culture. London: Berg.
638 Sociology 47(4)

PHAC (Public Health Agency of Canada) (2009) Obesity in Canada – Snapshot. Ottawa: Strategic
Issues Management Division.
Punch KF (1998) Introduction to Social Research. London: Sage.
Radway J (1983) Women read the romance: The interaction of text and context. Feminist Studies
9(1): 53–78.
Rojek C (1995) Decentring Leisure. London: Sage.
Roos G, Prattala R and Koski K (2001) Men, masculinity and food: Interviews with Finnish
carpenters and engineers. Appetite 37: 47–56.
Short F (2006) Kitchen Secrets. The Meaning of Cooking in Everyday Life. Oxford: Berg.
Sobal J (2005) Men, meat and marriage: Models of masculinity. Food & Foodways 13(1): 135–58.
Southerton D and Tomlinson M (2005) ‘Pressed for time’: The differential impacts of a ‘time
squeeze’. Sociological Review 53(2): 215–39.
Statistics Canada (2006) Overview of the Time Use of Canadians. Ottawa: Minister of Industry.
Stebbins RA (2009) Leisure and Consumption: Common Ground/Separate Worlds. New York:
Palgrave Macmillan.
Swenson R (2009) Domestic diva? Televised treatments of masculinity, femininity and food. Critical
Studies in Media Communication 26(1): 36–53.
Szabo M (2011) The challenges of ‘re-engaging with food’: Connecting employment, household
patterns and gender relations to convenience food consumption in North America. Food, Culture
& Society 14(4): 547–66.
US Bureau of Labor Statistics (2007) American Time Use Survey 2007. Available at: http://www.
bls.gov/news.release/pdf/atus.pdf (accessed 23 June 2011).
Van Berkel M and De Graaf ND (1999) By virtue of pleasantness? Housework and the effects of
education revisited. Sociology 33(4): 785–808.
Wallop H (2009) Men spending more time in the kitchen. The Telegraph online, 17 August. Avail-
able at: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/foodanddrink/foodanddrinknews/6030731/Men-spending-
more-time-in-the-kitchen.html (accessed 23 June 2011).
Warde A and Martens L (2000) Eating Out: Consumption, Social Differentiation, Consumption
and Pleasure. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wearing B (1998) Leisure and Feminist Theory. London: Sage.
Wright-St Clair V, Hocking C, Bunrayong W, Vittayakorn S and Rattakorn P (2005) Older New
Zealand women doing the work of Christmas: A recipe for identity formation. Sociological
Review 53(2): 332–50.

Michelle Szabo recently obtained her PhD in the Faculty of Environmental Studies at
York University, Toronto. Her interests include the sociology of food and cooking; gen-
der; ethical consumption; the division of labour; and household food habits as they relate
to health, sustainability and equity in the food system. She has published articles in
Food, Culture & Society, Journal of Consumer Culture and Agriculture & Human Values.
Date submitted June 2011
Date accepted March 2012
448558
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512448558GabbSociology

Article

Sociology
47(4) 639­–654
Embodying Risk: Managing © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Father–child Intimacy and the sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512448558
Display of Nudity in Families soc.sagepub.com

Jacqui Gabb
The Open University, UK

Abstract
This article interrogates how parents manage public–private practices of father–child intimacy
and how the dis/embodied male impacts on the display of nudity in families. Drawing on empirical
research, it examines some of the tensions which crystallise around intimate fatherhood and the
meanings and practices of family photography. Focusing on the visual and how this can shed light
on different dimensions of everyday experience, it explores how parents set boundaries around
notions of decency and adjudge appropriate behaviour, with particular attention to the (in)
significance of children’s age and the impact of class and social context. Notwithstanding cultural
changes which prize intimate fatherhood, the management of masculinity and the paternal body
remain a source of anxiety. This article interrogates how gender and ideas of ‘risk management’
are shaping embodied interactions between fathers and children and thus what children are
learning about men, masculinity and intimacy.

Keywords
class, display, embodiment, families, family photographs, father–child intimacy, gender, nudity, risk

Introduction
The parent–child relationship largely takes place behind closed doors. The privacy of the
family home alludes to personal freedoms, to make choices around the rules of affection,
facilitating individualised forms of intimate practice, beyond public surveillance. This is
of course only half the story. Families are also social units subject to strict regulation and
governance and are receptive to the pervasive ebb and flow of family (policy, media,
biographical) discourses which permeate them. This article looks behind the closed
doors of the family home. It focuses attention on the ways that families manage codes of

Corresponding author:
Jacqui Gabb, Senior Lecturer in Social Policy, Dept of Social Policy and Criminology, The Open University,
Walton Hall, Milton Keynes, MK7 6AA, UK.
Email: j.a.gabb@open.ac.uk
640 Sociology 47(4)

conduct and the public–private practice of intimate fatherhood and how the dis/embod-
ied male impacts on the display of nudity in families.
In the first section I examine how and where boundaries are set up around ideas of
propriety and decency and the (in)significance of children’s age in the management of
behaviour. I explore tensions which crystallise around the meanings of risk and practices
of father–child intimacy, and, in particular, how nudity is experienced and contained
within the family and beyond the household. This highlights some of the intersections
between public–private lives and the cultural resources which parents draw on to sanc-
tion and police personal choices that are made. In the following sections I consider which
images of family intimacy can be made public and focus attention on some of the factors
which shape the display of intimate fatherhood, in particular class and social context. I
examine how parents perceive and seek to contain the publicness of photographs of chil-
dren in the context of household display and virtual traces circulated via the internet.
Through this, I interrogate how forms of exposure impact on private practices of inti-
macy and ordinary everyday father–child interactions.

Methodological and Conceptual Framework

To illustrate and extend my argument I primarily draw on findings from Behind Closed
Doors, a study that examined practices and understandings of intimacy in families.1 The
project deployed a qualitative mixed methods approach, including diaries, emotion
maps, interviews, observations, vignettes, photo elicitation, group interviews and focus
group discussion. Notwithstanding the richness of data produced through a qualitative
mixed methods approach (Gabb, 2008, 2009), this article will focus on data generated
through one method, photo elicitation, comprising both individual and group interviews.
Group photo interviews variously comprised family members, siblings, and in one
instance (cited later on) a lone parent father and his friend, a lone parent mother. Focus
groups and group interviews provide a dimension that is not present in one-to-one inter-
views, in that the dynamic between the interviewees can be as informative as the indi-
vidual opinions expressed. For example, as I demonstrate in my analysis, parents can
work together as a way to corroborate their personal view points. This presents both a
united display of family and serves to legitimise their management of the boundaries of
intimacy in their own families.
Western culture has become saturated with visual data and as such within the social
sciences there is now considered attention to the visual both as a tool to research social
phenomenon and as a composite part of the subject of enquiry (Fink and Lomax, 2012).
Throughout this article I combine these two dimensions, to explore the content and cir-
culation of photographs of children and father–child intimacy, focusing attention on the
meanings and practices of family photography.
The family photograph is a site in which ‘numerous looks and gazes intersect’ (Hirsch,
1999: xvi). Images in this genre are created and interpreted through dominant familial
ideologies and personal biographical experience (Spence and Holland, 1991) which afford
meanings both to the image and the multiple potential interpretations that occur as image
and spectator are brought together. Pictures come to life as they are consumed, moving
from two-dimensional ‘still life’ to something vital: our reactions to them render them
Gabb 641

meaningful. Notwithstanding the particular ethical challenges that photo interviews can
pose (Gabb, 2010), using family photo-style third party images in the Behind Closed
Doors study enabled me to approach issues around adults, children and nudity that might
have been otherwise far too personal to pursue. Picture prompt interviews shed light on
the impact of discourses on embodied parent–child interactions and in so doing advanced
understandings on the interplay between the public and the private in everyday family life
and the shifting gendered and generational dimensions of parent–child relationships.
A series of six photographs were presented to parents. The first three images depicted
scenarios that would be ordinarily experienced in family life. These showed a man carry-
ing a toddler in a public park, a woman holding a young child who is swaddled in a bath
towel, and a woman comforting a crying toddler. This set of images was designed to work
as an icebreaker, easing participants into the method through pictures that would be famil-
iar to them. They typically generated a ‘so what?’ response, usually framed as ‘a very nice
picture … no problem at all’. The ordinariness of these pictures was intended to serve as
a foil for the next set of three images, which were designed to be more provocative. This
set of pictures depicted a man sharing a bath with a young child and a ‘family group’ in
which a man and woman (who appear to be naked) are playing with a child on a double
bed. The final image was a photograph produced by the professional documentary pho-
tographer Sally Mann, Virginia at four, which depicts her two daughters (one of whom is
naked) posing for the camera. This second set of images typically generated the richest
data and focused parents’ attention on the gendered and generational dimensions that
shape sexuality management and the ethics of representing children and nudity. In this
article, I primarily use data elicited through this second set of images.
To develop my analysis I engage with Janet Finch’s thinking on ‘family display’
(2007). This concept draws on the ‘practices approach’ which characterises much writing
in UK family sociology, notably advanced by David Morgan (1996, 2011) in ‘family
practices’ and Lynn Jamieson (1998, 1999) in ‘practices of intimacy’. To this, family
display adds that families need to be seen to do family (both publicly and privately) for
this to be meaningfully understood as family. This conceptualisation is in its early stages
of development and its usefulness is still being tested out (Almack, 2008; Dermott and
Seymour, 2011). I have, elsewhere (Gabb, 2011b), drawn attention to particular limita-
tions that may be hard to overcome. For example, the term presupposes that family prac-
tices, and in particular the communication of feelings, are readily comprehensible. That
is to say, how far can we study actions and gestures which are unspoken and/or are coded
in private ways which remain invisible to those outside the immediate family? In such
circumstances, are families being displayed or ‘simply’ experienced? This line of reason-
ing stems from the recognition that for some the display of family may not be freely
available, such as lesbian and gay parents or vulnerable working-class fathers. The term
can, however, provide a useful lens through which we can more precisely begin to under-
stand what can and cannot be displayed, and, in the later sections of this article, I focus
in particular on its usefulness in making sense of the intersections of parenting, class and
gender.
There is a rich vein of work that exists in family sociology and social policy on fami-
lies, motherhood, and parent–child relationships. The focus on fatherhood enriches and
extends the field. This emerging body of research has examined the many dimensions of
642 Sociology 47(4)

this role and identity, and the diversity of paternal experience (Marsiglio et al., 2000).
Adopting the ‘practices approach’ utilised in family studies, analyses have demonstrated
how day-to-day activities combine to constitute fatherhood (Lupton and Barclay, 1997),
opening up the possibility for more affirming identifications which legitimise men’s rela-
tionships with their children (Collier and Sheldon, 2008). Fatherhood can now be worn
as a ‘badge of honour’ (Freeman, 2002).
It is claimed that the investment which some men are making in juggling the often
competing demands of work and family life is shaping contemporary experiences of
intimate fatherhood in ways that erode simple understandings of gender (Dermott, 2008).
However, as Brid Featherstone (2009) contends, this de-gendering of parenthood
obscures the continuing significance of men and women’s differentiated parental respon-
sibilities and domestic relationships and the continuing presence of domestic violence
which remains largely perpetrated by men (Featherstone, 2006). Fatherhood remains a
gendered practice (Coltrane, 1996; Hobson, 2002). Fatherhood is not, however, deter-
mined by gender. There is considerable elasticity in gendered agency which offers men
and women choice in how they parent and undertake a caring role (Doucet, 2006a). My
research supports this malleable yet resilient idea of gendered parenthood. I demonstrate
why we need to keep gender at the forefront of the analytical lens, so that we can unpick
the social context of men’s fathering and understand the impact of public discourses on
intergenerational relationships.
Parenting involves embodied practices (Lupton and Barclay, 1997); paradoxically,
family bodies have largely remained in the analytical shadows (Morgan, 1996, 2011).
The Canadian scholar Andrea Doucet (2006a) has made important inroads into this area,
pointing to the significance of body–space intersections in the shaping of fatherhood.
Her research has shown how men have to navigate their way through the gendered maze
which informs ideas of parenthood (Doucet, 2006b). Like Doucet, I want to locate the
father’s body in family sociology, an intervention that aims to enrich understandings of
family relationships through attention to everyday practices of father–child intimacy.
Where our analyses perhaps diverge is around Doucet’s claim that depending on the
activity and the context, bodies sometimes matter and sometimes they don’t. My research
suggests that bodies always matter. Even in the most intimate private moments, the gen-
dered body remains crucial in shaping perceptions and practices of intimate fatherhood.

Setting Boundaries: The (In)Significance of Age

In situating the gendered body at the analytical centre of fatherhood, experiences and
understandings of masculinity inevitably come to the fore. Studies have characterised
embodied fathering through play, rough-and-tumble games and sporting activity
(Coltrane, 1996). In this context, ideas of risk are situated as risk-taking, that is to say the
encouragement of physical, sporting and/or leisure activities which push the body and
which run the risk of the child getting physically hurt. I want to reorient the analytical
lens, focusing on how risk is understood and embodied in everyday family practices. I
explore the setting of boundaries and moral reasoning which parents deploy to manage
prevailing associations between masculinity and risk and how these shape bodily experi-
ences of intimate fatherhood.
Gabb 643

I maintain that intimate fatherhood ordinarily includes ‘touching acts of care’ (Gabb,
2011a), notably when children are young. However, in this contemporary cultural cli-
mate, especially at particular moments in time as ‘newsworthy’ stories fleetingly surface
in the media, any physical contact between men and children can become characterised
as potentially risky. Family practices that are mutually consensual and enjoyable to all
parties – such as comforting, rough-and-tumble and routine embraces – are risky because
physical intimacy is always at risk of being misunderstood (Morgan, 1996). In this first
section I focus on private–public embodied family practices and the impact of surround-
ing discourses in shaping understandings of intimate fatherhood. To illustrate my argu-
ment I examine how parents frame and experience family bathing, looking in particular
at how ideas of age and generation are invoked to legitimise practices and decision-
making around nudity and bodily contact.
In the Behind Closed Doors study, one of the key factors which affected parent–child
bodily encounters was children’s age. While it may be analytically limiting to compart-
mentalise children’s lives into different developmental stages (James et al., 1998), age
and maturation remain significant. Social policies and cultural norms serve to reinforce
or revise age-defined regimes and practices. For example, cultural understandings of
age, nudity and sexuality inform the imposition of age restrictions that separate adults
and children, in public spaces such as toilets and changing rooms, and in households
through norms associated with age appropriate codes of conduct. Generation thus
remains significant in shaping parent–child relations in all contexts. For participants in
the study, their perceived rationale behind changes in behaviour was, however, largely
understood in ways that externalised the public from private family decision-making.
Often speaking with great conviction, parents suggested that it was children who decided
which practices of intimacy were appropriate and when embodied interactions should
cease. This assertion was supported by many children who took part in the study.
Corroborating the findings of other studies, adolescents typically sought to gain control
over their lives by delimiting degrees of ‘intimate disclosure’ (Jamieson, 1999), choosing
what information they would ‘give up’ and what would remain private (Solomon et al.,
2002). It was children who decided when bathroom doors would be locked, when nudity
became embarrassing, when hugs with mum or dad should stop and when public displays
of affection were ‘social suicide’.
This identification of children as the motivational factor for changing practices of
family intimacy is both complex and contradictory. It supported children’s desire for
recognition of their emerging autonomy while also absolving parents from moral respon-
sibility. That is to say, it filtered parents’ reasoning of intimate family practices through
the invocation of ‘what is natural’. In so doing it thus performed a more strategic purpose
in that it obscured underlying generational power relations which inform ‘moral rational-
ity’ (Duncan and Edwards, 1999). Children may be said to initiate changes in family
practice, but how these changes were adjudged, sanctioned and/or contested rested with
parents. While some social theorists may herald transformations of intimacy as levelling
intergenerational power relations (Giddens, 1992), empirical research reminds us that the
adult–child dynamic remains largely hierarchical (Jamieson, 1999). It remains adults
who decide what is right and what is wrong, acceptable and unacceptable behaviour in
families. Prohibitions and permission-giving ultimately reside with parents.
644 Sociology 47(4)

In the Behind Closed Doors study, therefore, descriptions of embodied family life and
the setting of boundaries around intimacy appeared typically fragile and contested.
Sentiments expressed on this topic were often a mixture of categorical, arguably defen-
sive, assertions and barely concealed anxiety. In their discussion of a series of photo-
graphs, parents’ recourse to tropes of age and generation to describe and justify embodied
family behaviour are perhaps most aptly seen as an attempt to impose a degree of reas-
suring certainty onto what can otherwise feel an unmanageable and precarious terrain. In
so doing they captured the dynamic nature of ‘risk management’ in families and also how
developmental stages of childhood are rendered culturally meaningful. One picture
prompt elicited particularly rich data in this respect. The image illustrated a man sharing
a bath with a young child (a toddler aged 2–3 years old). It was reproduced from the
Miriam Stoppard parenting handbook, first published in 1990.

No problems with that because my little girl used to go in the bath with her daddy and I’d
probably be washing both their backs … no problem at all at that age. As the child gets older I
think there’s an appropriate time when the child doesn’t want to be in the bath with her daddy
or anybody; she doesn’t want to be in the bath with her mum either and doesn’t want her dad to
come into the bathroom … I think the child dictates. (Harriet)

For Harriet there was a clear sense that the scenario depicted is a happy healthy part of
child-rearing, and, like other parents, she alludes to the ephemeral nature of such activi-
ties; a fleeting quality that serves to enhance these precious care-free moments. I return
to some of the consequences of this characterisation in later sections on family photos.
Here I want to focus more on the (in)significance afforded to children’s age. Many par-
ents were most articulate in their assertion of children’s directive role in the trajectory of
embodied adult–child intimacy; as Harriet says, ‘the child dictates’. For other parents,
however, there was a distinctly nervous tone or edge to the responses they gave and a
weight of emphasis to determining factors beyond the child and the family. These parents
situated generational ‘milestones’ in their social context, such as the commencement of
school or the publicness of the scenario.

I think it’s a normal thing. I think it’s possibly something that you move out of once they maybe
reach school age or something like that … Maybe, I think, I think something like that is
something that cannot continue indefinitely but as they, maybe school is sort of a mile, erm,
kind of milestone or key stage that you would maybe look to move them on from that. (Tom)

I think in this day and age with general paranoia of sexual inappropriateness … He [husband]
has to be very careful you know. I tend to now bath [daughter, aged 6] … because the last thing
he [husband] would want is for her to say something very innocently that someone else
overhears and thinks what on earth is going on. (Jocelyn)

As these data illustrate, changes in the patterning of intimate behaviour are not straight-
forwardly structured through temporality. Timing often served to mask spatial determi-
nants: time is anchored in place. Parents perceived it was time to change practices of
intimacy when children left the contained environment of the private family home and
entered into the public arena of the school. The impetus for change in family practices of
Gabb 645

intimacy was, therefore, not a ‘natural’ consequence of the child’s age, mirroring the
transition from pre-school to school age, nor was it simply of the child’s volition. It was
also and crucially a matter of public–private context. As Jocelyn says, it was the prospect
that children might talk to people beyond the family (other children, other parents, or school
staff) about their home life which was the worrying concern. There was often a palpable fear
that hitherto private practices, especially those between fathers and children, might be made
public and that such embodied interactions might be perceived in the wrong way when pub-
licised in this context. The patterning of family intimacy is thus multilayered, being simul-
taneously filtered through the combined lenses of time–space, generation and gender.

Risky Masculinity and the Management of Fatherhood

In the UK, the containment of intergenerational contact is one of the factors that is shap-
ing child-centred social policies (Furedi, 2008), something that is informing family prac-
tices and parenthood in multiple ways (Faircloth and Lee, 2010). Differences between
adults/parents and children are being afforded particular meanings, a process of cultural
‘othering’ which cleaves open the space between generations through the regulation of
intimacy (Gabb, 2011a). It is perhaps unsurprising, therefore, that in response to the
photograph of adult–child bathing, there was often more than a hint of defensiveness in
fathers’ tone or phrasing. As Brian and Henry’s answers demonstrate:

One of the best things you could do with your kids [is] the bath. End of story. That’s good; I’ve
got no problem with that. Absolutely ace. (Brian)

We used to have our kids in the bath and they just love it; they’re not bothered about seeing
mum and dad naked or anything … there’s nothing wrong with that at all, as long as it is the
father and the child … I remember that being a good time with our kids … It will probably be
the mum that took it. That’s fine. (Henry)

Fathers appeared to feel compelled to reinforce the innocence of activities depicted.

Through statements such as ‘there’s nothing wrong with that at all’ (my emphasis), they
sought to make categorical assurances on the normalcy of such embodied closeness and
nudity in families: ‘end of story’. Their assertions aimed to shut down any possibility of
misinterpretation. So, for example, it was really important for Henry to make clear that the
adult depicted in the picture is not a man: he is a father. The mother is situated as the absent
presence, the legitimising female gaze who (literally and symbolically) frames the scene.
Across the dataset the generationally determined patterning of family practice often
appeared to be set in the culturally reinforced context of fearfulness; the very presence
of a man posed a potential threat and as such required careful public–private manage-
ment. This point is illustrated in the most tangible way through editorial changes in the
reprint of the Miriam Stoppard parenting handbook, the source of the original image of
father–child bathing. In the reprinted edition (2007[1990]) the child is now depicted
alone in a shallow bath, his genitals are obscured by the side of the bath, his sister sits
outside the bath tub and the accompanying adult is a fully clothed mother. All signs of
masculinity have been removed. The man/father has been erased from the visual
646 Sociology 47(4)

equation and as a consequence any ambiguity of meaning or risk of misunderstanding is

foreclosed.
The switch of images is not benign; it is most revealing. Male sexuality is character-
ised in the public arena and popular imaginary as predatory (Gabb, 2004a). Fathers are
first and foremost men and as such father–child intimacy is risky, by default. In western
culture intimate fatherhood may now be a goal that some men aspire to (Dermott, 2008).
Changes in fathering practices are evident as many more men become ‘hands-on’ dads
(Doucet, 2006b; Miller, 2011) and the public circulation of positive images of fathers in
the mainstream media is certainly increasing. Paradoxically, while physical and emo-
tional closeness is being encouraged at the social level, as part of healthy fatherhood, the
innocence of publicly displayed relationships between men and children (fathers and
offspring) remains a source of cultural apprehension. ‘Moral worth’ and the adjudged
normalcy of behaviour are materialised through embodied spatial encounters (Goffman,
1969). The look or stare from others, often mothers who more freely inhabit parent–child
space, stigmatises the adult male with a child as an object of suspicion. The innocence of
physical closeness remains a legitimate subject for public opinion and scrutiny. As such,
however hard men work at fitting into the ‘estrogen-worlds’ of parenthood (Doucet,
2006b), they are always misplaced.
In this precarious context, fathers have to wrestle with the often competing demands
of doing the right thing, being seen to do the right thing, and doing what feels right. The
tensions that arise from this public–private triumvirate require constant work and shifts
in everyday family intimacies. Managing this balancing act is ordinarily demanding. For
those fathers who have been identified as ‘vulnerable’, such as those without jobs or in
low paid often part-time employment, the task is especially delicate and fraught. While
fathers working in professional jobs are cushioned from suspicion by default of their
social status, the economically unsuccessful man ‘represents double jeopardy’. He is
socially situated as both a ‘failure male’ because he is unable to provide for his family
and as a ‘deviant man’ because he is occupying a feminine (parenting) role (Doucet,
2006b: 707–8). For those who for some reason or another are ‘in the system’, the task is
even harder.

The Impact of Class and Social Context

While most of the fathers who took part in the Behind Closed Doors project reported
some degree of indirect and/or internalised surveillance, for families who were in regular
contact with health and social services this apparent or perceived degree of scrutiny
served to frame their accounts of fatherhood. For example, Jeff, a single parent, had
recently been awarded the custody of his two young children from the mother through
the courts. During this protracted judicial process, he had to ‘prove’ his parenting capa-
bilities. The assistance he received from child welfare and family support agencies was
perceived by Jeff as invaluable; he couldn’t imagine how he would have got through the
process without it. Alongside this, with other parents identified as ‘socially excluded’, he
was actively ‘schooled’ in parenting skills – attending classes run through his local
Children’s (Sure Start) Centre. Here he was shown how to do and perhaps more impor-
tantly to be seen to be doing ‘good’ fathering (Gabb, 2011b). It is, therefore, perhaps not
Gabb 647

surprising that he was extremely eloquent in his descriptions of father–child affection

and so skilfully able to display family (Finch, 2007).
Jeff was joined by his friend Lydia when he completed the photo prompt interview.
Lydia was also a single parent and shared similar social circumstances to those of Jeff. In
response to the photograph of the man and child in the bath, as with all their discussion,
they sought to find common ground and establish categorical ideas on what is right and
what is wrong.

Jeff: I mean I’ve been there with [daughter, aged 3] and she’s done that to me and
to me that’s just a dad and a little girl, either she might be too young to go in
the bath by herself … and like you [Lydia] said, you’ve needed a bath so
[son] and you have both got in together and she’s stood up and he’s sat down.
Lydia: Yes but she doesn’t look too young to get in the bath on her own does she?

On first reading it appears that Jeff straightforwardly identifies the activity depicted as
part of ordinary family life. On closer reading, however, the factors which he invokes to
claim this ordinariness are most telling. Like many other parents, he is quick to identify
the man in the bath as a father. Beyond this, he also further justifies the legitimacy of the
scene through ‘need’. The age of the child means that she needs her parent to be there to
help her with bathing. As a parent, there are times when you share a bath with a child
because you too need to bathe. Lydia reinforces Jeff’s opinion, however as a conse-
quence of his reasoning she calls into question the appropriateness of the scene depicted.
The child is old enough to stand up and wash herself and therefore not in need of the
father’s presence, so why is he there?
Jeff’s children are now aged 3 and 4 years old and by his rules they have outgrown
any need to be accompanied in the bath. Across all the methods, Jeff’s data provided a
detailed and on many occasions most touching account of intimate fatherhood. Through
this he keenly articulates a reflexive account of responsible parenthood that serves to
shore up intergenerational boundaries, and, as will be demonstrated in further extracts
later on, draws on clear cut ideas of propriety. For Jeff, a single parent father, and other
marginalised typically working-class parents who have been drawn into ‘the system’,
their family practices are subject to both public and private surveillance. Without want-
ing to question in any way the integrity of Jeff’s parenting or his genuine depth of feeling
for his children, his account ultimately says as much about the current ideal of family and
the normalising culturally determined notions of parent–child intimacy as it describes
lived family experience. In this sense it stands as a useful example through which to
unpick the ways that ‘moral rationality’ (Duncan and Edwards, 1999) and the embodi-
ment of risk is differently experienced, differences which are most clearly illustrated in
families’ management of intimate fatherhood and the meanings and practices of family
photography.

Seeing is Believing?
People often divulge deeply personal feelings to partners, family, extended kin and
friends; in fact the sharing of such confidences can signify degrees of emotional
648 Sociology 47(4)

proximity and work to consolidate and maintain these relationships (Jamieson, 1998).
The sharing of photographs is similarly telling. Situation and timing are crucial. The
family photo is a vehicle through which parents display their children and families
(Gallop and Blass, 1999), for public admiration and private affirmation. Family photo-
graphs are typically shared through their display around the home and/or are mediated
through the family photo album. While research has shown that home needs to be under-
stood as a multidimensional concept (Mallett, 2004) which cannot be simply character-
ised as a safe haven (Sibley, 1995), parents in the Behind Closed Doors study variously
described their homes as affording a degree of security and privacy. Inviting others into
this private space was not, therefore, undertaken lightly. The welcome this extended
opened them up; a meaningful gesture that says ‘I trust you’ (Gabb, 2009). In this private
context photographs were typically displayed without anxiety because parents felt secure
in the knowledge that only their ‘nearest and dearest’ would see them. It was thus not
uncommon, in many households, to see pictures of young children, especially babies, in
little or no clothing, proudly displayed on the wall, mantelpiece or tacked to the fridge
door. Inbetween the leaves of the family photo album, or its latter-day equivalent in a
computer slide show, such pictures were commonplace.
Many parents, either in the past (when children were young) or during present times,
perceived no problem with nudity around the home and/or ‘family snapshots’ taken of
children in this ‘natural’ uninhibited state. Indeed, as previously alluded to, these moments
of ephemeral innocence were perceived as so precious that it was the responsibility of the
parents to capture them. The recasting of the responsible adult here is interesting. In this
context, the parent photographer serves a crucial family role, archiving memories both as
a reminder for parents and for later generations, our children’s children, to enjoy (Finch,
2007). As Kate says, in response to the image of father–child bathing:

We used to have a great big corner bath and have big family baths together. I’ve got some lovely
photos and I just remember the children laughing and laughing and bubbles everywhere and
that it was great fun and that’s lovely.

For parents Jeff and Lydia, however, nudity remained a source of consternation and their
levels of anxiety quickly escalated in discussion of the publicness of photographic
images, especially those which display children’s naked bodies. Lydia in particular
remained evidently unsettled. She conceded that she might permit her child to share a
bath with the father, on the condition that she is present. But her inability to retain abso-
lute control over the circulation of any images once they are taken leads her to query the
very ethics of taking pictures which depict naked children. Their permanence and repro-
ducibility render them irrevocably insecure – so why take the risk? If you cannot display
an image or share it among close intimates, then what is the point in taking it? Lydia
categorically asserted that she has no such images of her children and those images
where her child was in a state of undress remained in her possession and hers alone:

Lydia: The only photos I’ve got of [son] where he’s got no clothes on is I think I’ve
got one and you can’t actually see his bits because he’s got a towel wrapped
and like he’s got photos with his nappies on and that but they’ve been like
Gabb 649

while I’ve been playing with my phone and that and he’s been laid on his
back kicking around when he was a bit littler.
Jeff: Yes but he’s covered up and you’d be able to tell that he’s happy.
Lydia: Yes but I’d never give [child’s father] a photo of him like laid there. That
photo that I’ve got of him with a towel round him, that wasn’t set up he’d just
got out of the bath you know. I wouldn’t give his dad that photo.

Lydia at no point suggests that her son’s father is anything other than trustworthy. He
poses no individual risk. However, his very presence – as a man – inclines Lydia to think
through worst case scenarios, in which he symbolically embodies the unknown, uncon-
trollable, male. Positioned in this status he signifies a potential risk which must be man-
aged. She would not trust him with the responsibility of owning a photograph of their
child, wrapped only in a towel. Also, it is important to note in Lydia’s assertion that such
an image only exists because it was taken when the child was very young and it was
taken spontaneously, on the spur of the moment on a camera phone. The candidness of
this image is crucial to Lydia. The shot was not staged; such artifice would make it into
something entirely different. The contrast to comments made by middle-class parents on
this topic is marked.

Well it’s only like looking at an artist’s painting of a nude still life whatever they call it … it’s
this fixation about nakedness isn’t it as a culture we have a problem with, whereas goodness it’s
a thing of beauty isn’t it … I used to take pictures of my babies on a skin rug you know in their
birthday suit you know their cherubic little bottom and they used to take those didn’t they in the
olden days. I don’t see a problem with it. (Helen)

Parents, such as Helen, freely talked about taking pictures of their children in the bath,
‘bare bottomed’ on sheepskin rugs or kicking around on the mat. Lydia and Jeff, how-
ever, speak from a different standpoint; a position which inclined them to reflect on and
adjudge the decency of such pictures. Divergence in parents’ accounts cannot be simply
understood as differences in cultural capital that serve to socially locate ideas of ‘taste’
(Bennett et al., 2009). Parenting takes place in particular sets of biographical, socio-
cultural and historical circumstances. Working-class parents, such as Jeff and Lydia,
appeared to be more inclined to use the research encounter as a means to actively display
their family’s ‘respectability’ (Skeggs, 1997), a quality and status which middle-class
parents perhaps simply took for granted.

Policing Boundaries: Public–private Displays

Family photos expose families, literally; they put ‘family secrets’ and private practices
on display (Kuhn, 1995; Smart, 2007), opening out a potential range of meanings.
Discussion of the image depicting father–child bathing usefully brought to the fore some
of the different factors which shape parents’ management of these contested meanings.
The final image was selected to provoke thoughts on the containment of meanings. It
prompted parents to focus on their perceptions and management of risk and how these
650 Sociology 47(4)

are informed by public–private translations of family display. In this sense it served as

the limit case. The image shown was taken by the professional American photographer
Sally Mann (1992), as part of her collection entitled Immediate Family. The photograph
depicts Mann’s daughter standing naked, ‘posing’ for the camera, while her sister clothed
in a party-style dress stands (out of focus) in the background, sucking her thumb.
There is significant critical discussion on representations of children and innocence,
and tensions that arise in the photographic work of Sally Mann in particular. This work
suggests that the subject of the child’s body is perhaps more than ever before seen as
‘publicly dangerous’ (Higonnet, 1998: 133). Concerns cluster around both definitions of
(Edge and Baylis, 2004) and divisions between (Parsons, 2008) the public and the pri-
vate and how these are negotiated and breached through photography. Showing the Sally
Mann image to participants in the Behind Closed Doors study generated responses which
speak to all of these issues, culminating in quite anxious commentary around the circula-
tion of images. The ‘what if …’ scenario was played out again and again. What if a pic-
ture was to fall into the wrong hands? As Claire says:

Now you see I [pause] I think it would be lovely to accept that that’s okay but I can see that it
would cause some distress to some people because of child abuse, but I love to see children just
being relaxed and natural. I just, I don’t like all of these horrible sinister thoughts that are
behind everything nowadays. I would like to think that it was okay, but I think you’ve just got
to be extra careful.

It was apparent that when discussing the topic of children and nudity, in the background
of parents’ minds and never far from view, was the lurking spectre of male predation.
Materialised through cultural narratives which spectacularly display individual cases of
abuse, a chimeric male was conjured up as an ever-present threat to children’s ‘natural’
innocence. This dis/embodied man required parents to be always vigilant and ‘extra care-
ful’. While there was no tangible threat to any individual family, what troubled parents,
as Claire says, were ‘sinister thoughts’ and potential risks. As other studies have shown
(Scott et al., 1998), parents often have clear cut ideas on children and risk and develop
sometimes elaborate strategies to keep perceived dangers ‘out there’, that is to say
beyond the family, in order to protect their children.
Parents’ sense of anxiety was often heightened by underlying apprehensions
around technology. Digital and internet media were seen as rendering images (and
therein the lives of children) to be uncontrollable, that is to say out of parents’ control.
Claire’s response and many others alike were, therefore, founded in the limitless
capacity of the World Wide Web to instantaneously spread its electronic tendrils
across the globe.

I think because of all this internet rubbish that’s around nowadays you have to be a lot more
careful because somebody might get the image around the world just like that; paedophiles all
around the world could download it and do whatever they do. (Brian)

In this day and age as well you don’t know who’s looking... it’s a shame because the innocence
is being robbed. (Andrea)
Gabb 651

Unclothed children playing in the privacy of the family garden or enjoying bathtime with
a parent remain identified by parents as the epitome of childhood, that is to say precious
innocence. Paradoxically, as technological developments make it easier than ever before
to ‘capture’ such precious moments, the instantaneousness of digital photography and the
perceived limitless capacity of internet photo file-sharing renders such representational
practices a source of parental concern. Ubiquitous male predation, uncontrollable tech-
nology and the contemporary milieu were brought together in a noxious combination.
Images depicting child nudity or father–child intimacy, however innocently con-
ceived, were identified by parents as potentially risky. They could be appropriated and
consumed in unforeseen ways by others (anonymous male adults) and their content was
at risk of being misunderstood and therein lay bare the family and the father in particular,
to suspicion. Parents thus appeared often highly sensitised to ideas of ‘risk management’.
This attentiveness to risk seems to be challenging and possibly even changing percep-
tions of traditional family photography. Moreover, and perhaps more significantly, risk
awareness seems to be shaping embodied practices of father–child intimacy, at home.
Parents were evidently aware that the closed doors of the family home do not afford the
privacy which they seemingly allude to and displays of intimacy are being monitored
and modified accordingly.

Conclusions
Data from the Behind Closed Doors study indicate that the prevailing culture of risk
management is shaping family intimacy in ways that shut down the boundaries around
public–private displays of intimate fatherhood. In the context of a cultural climate that is
extolling the virtue of hands-on fathering, this may seem out of step. However, one only
has to recall the change of images in the Stoppard parenting handbook to realise that
individually experienced anxieties around men, children and nudity are not groundless.
Showing a man and a child in close proximity, unclothed, is simply unacceptable. The
risk of misinterpretation combined with the presumption that there is no smoke without
fire renders a picture which depicts intergenerational intimacy potentially open to the
thought of suspicion. The experience and display of embodied practices of intimate
fatherhood have to be justifiable, ‘just in case’.
The proliferation of multiple access points, where public–private lives intersect, is
escalating anxieties around men, children and intimacy in seemingly endless ways. Photo
interviews and attention to the visual usefully cleave open understandings of everyday
family experience and how gender and generation are being invoked to shape ordinary
interactions. Images depicting naked children and father–child intimacy currently reside
in murky ethical waters. On the one hand they are understood as capturing the blissful
state of childhood and the fleeting moments of embodied intimacy shared between par-
ent and child. On the other hand their very existence is perceived as a potential cause for
concern. Their meanings are multiple and thus hard to contain. They are culturally ques-
tionable in terms of both their content and the motivation of the photographer (Gallop
and Blass, 1999). The technical–editorial process of translation, from camera image to
photo family album, changes their meaning. Such moments of intergenerational intimacy
should not trespass beyond their immediate spatial–temporal context. Their reproduction
is inappropriate and untimely.
652 Sociology 47(4)

There appears, therefore, to be an underlying and perhaps even insurmountable para-

dox for fathers and men more widely in contemporary UK society. On the one hand
involved fathering is being extolled and men are being encouraged to step forward as
male role models for boys more generally. On the other hand any embodied contact
which this may comprise is being perceived as a potential risk, stigmatising the men in
question and laying such interactions open to public scrutiny. While some parents are
able to call on the privilege of their social status to ward off the shadows of suspicion, for
others the only solution that is seemingly open to them is that intimate fathering should
be done, but not seen to be done. Intimate fathering which involves closed forms of bod-
ily contact and nudity is simply un-displayable. The consequences of this are not only
hugely significant for fathers, but also for what children are learning about men, mascu-
linity and intimacy.

Acknowledgements
 ehind Closed Doors was an ESRC-funded study (RES-000-22-0854). Empirical data were col-
B
lected during 2005–2006 from 10 families; nine mothers, five fathers and 10 children who were
living in the north of England, UK. Four of these families were in the C2DE category, which I have
identified in this article as working class. The remainder were in the BC1 category through edu-
cation and/or employment. I also include insights from a British Academy-funded study Fragile
Fathering (SG110454). For ethical reasons, in this article I cite only parents’ data. The account that
is advanced, therefore, is adults’ perceptions of father–child relationships.

References
Almack K (2008) Display work: Lesbian parent couples and their families of origin negotiating
new kin relationships. Sociology 42(6): 1183–99.
Bennett T, Savage M, Silva E, Warde A, Gayo-Cal M and Wright D (2009) Culture, Class,
Distinction. London: Routledge.
Collier R and Sheldon S (2008) Fatherhood: A Socio-legal Study. Oxford: Hart.
Coltrane S (1996) Family Man: Fatherhood, Housework and Gender Equity. New York: Oxford
University Press.
Dermott E (2008) Intimate Fatherhood. London: Routledge.
Dermott E and Seymour J (eds) (2011) Displaying Families: A New Concept for the Sociology of
Family Life. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Doucet A (2006a) Do Men Mother? Fatherhood, Care, and Domestic Responsibility. Toronto:
University of Toronto Press.
Doucet A (2006b) ‘Estrogen-filled worlds’: Fathers as primary caregivers and embodiment. Socio-
logical Review 54(4): 696–716.
Duncan S and Edwards R (1999) Lone Mothers, Paid Work and Gendered Moral Rationalities.
London: Macmillan.
Edge S and Baylis G (2004) Photographing children: The works of Tierney Gearon and Sally
Mann. Visual Culture in Britain 5(1): 75–89.
Faircloth C and Lee E (2010) Introduction: Changing parenting culture. Sociological Research
Online 15(4) Available at: http://www.socresonline.org.uk/15/14/11.html
Featherstone B (2006) Why gender matters in child welfare and protection. Critical Social Policy
26(2): 294–315.
Featherstone B (2009) Contemporary Fathers: Theory, Policy and Practice. Bristol: Policy Press.
Gabb 653

Finch J (2007) Displaying families. Sociology 41(1): 65–81.

Fink J and Lomax H (2012) Introduction: Inequalities, images and insights for policy and research.
Critical Social Policy 32(1): 3–10.
Freeman T (2002) Loving fathers or deadbeat dads. In: Earle S and Leatherby G (eds) Gender,
Identity and Reproduction. London: Palgrave.
Furedi F (2008) Paranoid Parenting. London: Continuum.
Gabb J (2004a) ‘I could eat my baby to bits’: Passion and desire in lesbian mother-children love.
Gender, Place, Culture 11(3): 399–415.
Gabb J (2008) Researching Intimacy in Families. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Gabb J (2009) Researching family relationships: A qualitative mixed methods approach. Method-
ological Innovations Online 4(2): 37–52.
Gabb J (2010) Home truths: Ethical issues in family research. Qualitative Research 10(4): 461–78.
Gabb J (2011a) Family lives and relational living: Taking account of otherness. Sociological
Research Online 16(4) Available at: http://www.socresonline.org.uk/16/4/10.html
Gabb J (2011b) Troubling displays: The affect of gender, sexuality and class. In: Dermott E
and Seymour J (eds) Displaying Families: A New Concept for the Sociology of Family Life.
Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Gallop J and Blass D (1999) Observations of a mother. In: Hirsch M (ed.) The Familial Gaze.
Hanover: University Press of New England.
Giddens A (1992) The Transformation of Intimacy. Cambridge: Polity.
Goffman E (1969) The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. London: Allen Lane.
Higonnet A (1998) Pictures of Innocence: The History and Crisis of Ideal Childhood. London:
Thames and Hudson.
Hirsch M (1999) Introduction. In: Hirsch M (ed.) The Familial Gaze. Hanover: University of New
England.
Hobson B (2002) Making Men into Fathers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
James A, Jenks C and Prout A (1998) Theorising Childhood. Cambridge: Polity.
Jamieson L (1998) Intimacy: Personal Relationships in Modern Societies. Cambridge: Polity.
Jamieson L (1999) Intimacy transformed? A critical look at the ‘pure’ relationship. Sociology
33(3): 477–94.
Kuhn A (1995) Family Secrets: Acts of Memory and Imagination. London: Verso.
Lupton D and Barclay L (1997) Constructing Fatherhood. London: Sage.
Mallett S (2004) Understanding home: A critical review of the literature. Sociological Review
52(1): 62–89.
Mann S (1992) Immediate Family. London: Phaidon Press.
Marsiglio W, Amato P, Day RD and Lamb ME (2000) Scholarship on fatherhood in the 1990s and
beyond. Journal of Marriage and the Family 62(4): 1173–91.
Miller T (2011) Falling back into gender? Men’s narratives and practices around first-time fatherhood.
Sociology 45(6): 1094–109.
Morgan DHJ (1996) Family Connections. Cambridge: Polity.
Morgan DHJ (2011) Rethinking Family Practices. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Parsons S (2008) Public/private tensions in the photography of Sally Mann. History of Photography
32(2): 123–36.
Scott S, Jackson S and Backett-Milburn K (1998) Swings and roundabouts: Risk anxiety and the
everyday worlds of children. Sociology 32(4): 689–705.
Sibley D (1995) Geographies of Exclusion. London: Routledge.
Skeggs B (1997) Formations of Class and Gender. London: Sage.
Smart C (2007) Personal Life. Cambridge: Polity.
654 Sociology 47(4)

Solomon Y, Warin J, Lewis C and Langford W (2002) Intimate talk between parents and their
teenage children. Sociology 36(4): 965–83.
Spence J and Holland P (1991) Family Snaps: The Meanings of Domestic Photography. London:
Virago.
Stoppard M (2007[1990]) New Care Baby Book: A Practical Guide to the First Three Years. London:
Dorling Kindersley.

Jacqui Gabb is a Senior Lecturer in Social Policy at the Open University. Her research
interests include families, relationships, intimacy, emotions, sexuality, gender, and quali-
tative mixed methods approaches in the study of personal lives. She is currently working
on an ESRC-funded investigation ‘Enduring Love? Couple Relationships in the 21st
Century’ (RES-063-23-3056), exploring long-term couple relationship experience
(www.enduringlove.co.uk). She is also working on a British Academy-funded project
‘Fragile Fathering: Negotiating Intimacy and Risk in Parenting Practice’ (SG110454).
Her recent book Researching Intimacy in Families (Palgrave Macmillan, 2008) won the
2009 BSA Philip Abrams Memorial prize for the best sole-authored first book in sociol-
ogy in the UK.
Date submitted December 2011
Date accepted April 2012
453789
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512453789SociologyPerrier

Article

Sociology
47(4) 655­–670
Middle-class Mothers’ © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Moralities and ‘Concerted sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512453789
Cultivation’: Class Others, soc.sagepub.com

Ambivalence and Excess

Maud Perrier
University of Bristol, UK

Abstract
Drawing on a small qualitative study of mothers in the UK, this article argues that although
concerted cultivation and intensive parenting are legitimated as ‘good’ parenting, these discourses
have uneven effects on middle-class mothers’ moral identities. My contention is that by focusing
too much on processes of capital accumulation and transmission, studies of parenting risk
simplifying the contradictory effects of these discourses on middle-class parents’ subjectivities. I
argue that accounting for how power is enacted on as well as by middle-class mothers provides
some resources for an account of contemporary parenting that better reflects the complexity
and diversity of middle-class mothers’ experiences, including their ambivalence about concerted
cultivation and their fears about the excesses of the middle-class emphasis on education.

Keywords
ambivalence, concerted cultivation, middle-class, morality, mothering

Introduction
Contemporary studies of middle-class parents have focused on capturing the outcome-
oriented dimension of middle-class parenting, including drawing attention to the ways
parents utilize their cultural resources to make their children into individuals as pro-
cesses of class reproduction. Based on the findings of this small qualitative study, my
contention is that by focusing too much on processes of capital accumulation and trans-
mission in parenting, we risk simplifying the complex and contradictory effects of these

Corresponding author:
Maud Perrier, School of Sociology, Politics and International Studies, University of Bristol, 4 Priory Road,
Bristol, BS8 1TY, UK.
Email: maud.perrier@bristol.ac.uk
656 Sociology 47(4)

discourses on middle-class parents’ identities. This article contributes to a growing field

within sociology which seeks to map out how class dis/positions shape mothers’ identi-
ties and practices including their employment patterns (Duncan, 2005), childcare choices
(Vincent and Ball, 2006; Vincent et al., 2004) and parental involvement in education
(Byrne, 2006; Reay, 1998, 2000), but specifically seeks to extend the scholarship on the
affective dimension of class. This body of work demonstrates that contemporary parent-
ing discourses legitimate and normalize middle-class parenting practices, and by asso-
ciation pathologize working-class ones (Gillies, 2005, 2007; Skeggs, 1997, 2004b;
Walkerdine and Lucey, 1989). Thus, there is much evidence that the power to define
what is good parenting forms part of the cultural capital of the middle classes (Gillies,
2005, 2007; Skeggs, 2004a).

Parenting and Class

Annette Lareau’s US study of family life, Unequal Childhoods (2003), has documented
how certain parenting practices lead to the transmission of class privilege or disadvan-
tage. Using a Bourdieusian framework, Lareau describes the effects of the middle-class
cultural logic of parenting she coins ‘concerted cultivation’ and the working-class equiv-
alent ‘the natural growth’ approach. For example, whereas working-class children were
given boundaries and rules for their behaviour, middle-class parents saw reasoning and
negotiating with their children as more educationally profitable than using directives.
The middle-class children in her study spent more time in the company of adults and
their periods of play were more supervised and structured than for working-class chil-
dren. In turn, this meant that middle-class children were more likely to become assertive
and demanding with adults. Concerted cultivation brought an obligation to make a delib-
erate and sustained effort to cultivate children’s cognitive and social skills and to be
involved in children’s play. In contrast, working-class parents did not consider children’s
activities as something that ought to involve a lot of adult time and energy.
Lareau shows that concerted cultivation can more easily be capitalized into social
profits for children. This is also because the working-class natural growth approach
receives less institutional support, although Lareau doesn’t go as far as suggesting that
working-class parenting is being overtly pathologized. She also suggests that the positive
consequences of the natural growth approach should be re-evaluated; for example, she
found that working-class children had stronger ties with their siblings, they were also
generally more relaxed and less tired since their pace of life was not structured around so
many extra-curricular activities. Though this in-depth ethnography is an enlightening
record of class and family life, it does not go beyond deploying the Bourdieusian analyti-
cal toolkit.
Sharon Hayes’ book The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood (1996) and her term
‘intensive mothering’ has become a much-used though under-theorized concept in socio-
logical scholarship on mothering. According to Hayes, the start of the 20th century
marked the start of the intensification of mothering, with the family becoming child
centred and departing from childrearing being guided by adult interests. Instead ‘the
child (whose needs are interpreted by experts) is now to train the parent’ (1996: 45). It is
as a result of this break, according to Hayes, that the methods of childrearing became
Perrier 657

intensified and motherhood became professionalized. Intensive mothering then requires

the mother to focus relentlessly on her child’s development and growth, supervise every
detail of her child’s day and respond to all the child’s needs and to every stage of the
child’s emotional and intellectual development.
She describes intensive mothering as a labour intensive and financially expensive
form of childrearing which: ‘Declares that mothering is exclusive, wholly child centered,
emotionally involving, and time-consuming. The mother portrayed in this ideology is
devoted to the care of others and self-sacrificing’ (1996: 108). Discourses of good moth-
ering require mothers to spend both quality child-focused time (Snyder, 2007) and to
‘just be there’ all the time (Boyd, 2002). Thus how much time one spends with one’s
children is closely linked to conceptions of moral mothering. This article explores to
what extent mothers were guided by this ideal, to what extent they challenged it and how
this affected their maternal moralities.
The scholarship on class and parenting in the UK is characterized by a concern to
problematize the dominance of middle-class values and make visible how the contempo-
rary policy focus on the importance of parenting individualizes class inequalities and
re-frames them as individual moral qualities. Val Gillies (2005, 2007) has made an inci-
sive contribution to this field with her analysis of New Labour policy initiatives on par-
enting. She points out that coercively offering support to working-class parents, through
for example, parenting classes, highlights the dominance of middle-class childrearing
whereby working-class parents must now be taught how to raise children who can
become middle class. Such policies construct disadvantage as an individual developmen-
tal issue rather than a consequence of inequality, so that ‘a quality upbringing is all that
is needed to ensure equal opportunity’ (2005: 838). In her qualitative study of working-
class mothers’ experiences she argues that the very different values that working-class
mothers hold in relation to their children’s upbringing need to be recognized in terms of
a distinct moral logic guiding their parenting practice, rather than pathologized. These
mothering practices were tailored to reflect specific challenges and to pass on resilience
and coping skills. Gillies’ work unpacks the links between class, parenting and morality,
suggesting that the legitimation of middle-class culture relies on how it is framed as
ethically preferable. My exploration of the links between class, morality and mothering
suggests that whilst middle-class discourses of parenting might be assumed to provide
middle-class women with a protected moral status they actually generate more ambiva-
lent moral positions.
Carol Vincent and Stephen Ball’s work on middle-class parents’ childcare choices has
drawn attention to the processes of acquisition that are necessary for the making of the
middle-class child as an entitled subject (2006). Their most recent work on children’s
enrichment activities shows not surprisingly that they play an important role in the trans-
mission of middle-class positions (2007). Similarly to Gillies’ work on working-class
parenting, Vincent and Ball draw attention to the processes through which class resources
get reconfigured as the result of individual preferences and choices. The concerted culti-
vation approach which they found most middle-class parents adopting resulted in class
dispositions being individualized: for example, the skills children learnt became seen as
natural and essential qualities of the individual child. Although parents talked about the
importance of fun for their children, they wanted to ensure that particular talents were
658 Sociology 47(4)

located and made the most of so that the child could develop their ‘natural’ potential.
Vincent and Ball focus on discussing the private choices and decisions of these middle-
class families, but pay relatively little attention to how parents felt about these strategies
apart from seeing their investment in activities as a response to ‘fears of falling’ in a
context of uncertainty (Ehrenreich, 1989). In contrast, my concern is with affective
responses and the contradictory feelings that this parenting logic creates for the middle-
class mothers in my study. Irwin and Elley’s study of parenting values and orientations
to children’s education draws attention to the variety of attitudes about the importance of
education within and across social classes. Contra Reay and Vincent and Ball, they argue
that ‘anxiety about facilitating a good future for their children is a particular, rather than
general, account of middle-class parenting experiences’ (2011: 492). Instead, they found
that many middle-class parents held a much greater degree of confidence over the trans-
mission of advantage to their children.
The main argument of these studies is that whilst the education of middle-class chil-
dren and especially their engagement in various extra-curricular activities is represented
by these parents as morally ‘good’ it also benefits children in later life by imparting them
with the cultural capital necessary for success in education and the workplace. Beverley
Skeggs (2004b) describes this process as ‘resourcing the middle-class self’. For Skeggs
these practices are also caused by the fragility and vulnerability of the middle-class self,
which has to be continually authorized as worthy of moral authority. I interpret my par-
ticipants’ ambivalent accounts about being child focused and involved in children’s
learning partly as evidence of this vulnerability, but I also want to suggest that the study
of middle-class identities should not be reduced to their acquisitiveness.
My contention is that by prioritizing capturing processes of capital accrual and the
reproduction of privilege, which most studies of class and parenting do, we risk seeing
middle-class parents only as capital-bearing and transmitting individuals. What gets left
out is the complexity and messiness of how privileged mothers negotiate these dis-
courses: I found that even though concerted cultivation and intensive parenting are legiti-
mated as ‘good’ parenting, these discourses have uneven effects on middle-class mothers’
moral identities in this study. There has been little exploration of how middle-class moth-
ers, who occupy a relatively secure moral position because of their class advantage,
manage and negotiate these parenting discourses at a subjective level. However, as
Miller’s study of middle-class mothers’ transition to motherhood indicates, this group of
women often struggle to negotiate and challenge the dominant discourses of motherhood
(2007). The mothers in my study were cautiously negotiating the boundaries of good
motherhood and distanced themselves from two different types of ‘bad’ mothers: whilst
they sometimes othered working-class mothers they were also haunted by the spectre of
the ‘pushy’ strategic middle-class mother. They articulated complex and sometimes con-
tradictory positions about what kind of mother they wanted to (not) be.
I draw on the work of feminists who have similarly tried to conceptualize those expe-
riences that sit beyond an exchange-value model of self and culture; for example, Skeggs
has explored this with respect to working-class subjectivity (2004b) and emotions that
she sees as outside of the dominant symbolic. Similarly, Adkins (2004) points out that a
Bourdieusian toolkit cannot easily grasp emotions that cannot be reduced to instrumen-
tality as the habitus is driven by notions of the accrual of value. Similarly, Skeggs argues
Perrier 659

that because of the emphasis placed on order and structure, inconsistencies are unac-
counted for in this framework: ‘by assuming an unconscious which works as a structur-
ing mechanism, the contradictions and ambiguities identified by psychoanalysis or
post-structural theorists are ignored’ (2004b: 30).
One important voice in this debate is Diane Reay, who has sought to capture the emo-
tional messiness of class and its psychic landscape. Most recently, she has drawn atten-
tion to the contradictory and ambivalent feelings that the educational marketplace creates
for middle-class parents who choose to send their children to comprehensive schools
(Crozier et al., 2008). Perhaps her most significant contribution to this field is the con-
cept of ‘emotional capital’ (Reay, 2000). She shows that middle-class mothers’ involve-
ment in education results in a ‘trade off’ whereby mothers’ prioritization of education
might advantage children educationally but compromise their emotional well-being.
Given the uncertainty and insecurity in the educational marketplace this leaves a large
number of mothers, across classes, plagued by anxiety. Thus there is no simple correla-
tion between positive emotional involvement and the accrual of emotional capital: for
example, mothers’ anger at their children’s schoolwork could result in children working
harder at school. For some middle-class children, educational success carried an emo-
tional cost; as their cultural capital increased their emotional capital was depleted. This
suggests that discourses of ‘good’ parenting produce uneven effects for middle-class
mothers and their children. The ambivalent feelings which derive from class positions
have been an important theme in Reay’s work, explored predominantly in relation to
parents’ involvement in education. In contrast I explore middle-class women’s ambiva-
lent feelings about performing good motherhood, including the extent to which mothers
adhered to the dominant discourses of parenting and their desire to not be a ‘bad’ middle-
class mother. This complicates the dichotomy present in current scholarship that sees
working-class mothering as pathologized whilst middle-class mothering is legitimated,
suggesting that there are risky boundaries of good motherhood even within middle-class
mothering and that some middle-class mothers challenge these dominant discourses.
The premise of this article is that if we are to develop complex understandings of
social reproduction and class privilege we need to give serious consideration to how
class is lived internally, since ‘Class is something beneath your clothes, under your skin,
in your reflexes, in your psyche, at the very core of your being’ (Kuhn, 1995: 98).
Feminist research has drawn attention to the affective dimension of class, how emotions
and psychic responses to class inequalities contribute powerfully to the making of class
(Reay, 2000, 2005, 2008; Sayer, 2005; Skeggs, 2004a). However, the middle-class psy-
che has received less attention from sociologists than working-class emotional and psy-
chic responses to class. Reay writes that ‘Class is a powerful psychic force, the stuff of
conflict, both internal and external’ (2005: 924). In this article I contribute to these
debates by examining the internal struggles doing mothering generated for middle-class
mothers’ moral selves.

The Study
The data I draw on come from a small qualitative study of how younger and older moth-
ers negotiate dominant discourses of ‘good’ mothering and how they construct moral
660 Sociology 47(4)

maternal selves. My concern is with the social meanings of morality; I sought to map out
how mothers perform, claim, affirm, seek validation for and (claim to) practice good
mothering. I focus on the social and cultural norms from which ethical principles are
derived and which inform the ‘vocabularies of motives’ which individuals use when
explaining their solutions to particular moral dilemmas (May, 2008). Although I have
written elsewhere about the classed dimensions of normative discourses about the timing
of motherhood using the comparative data from this study (Perrier, forthcoming), here I
focus on the accounts of the middle-class older mothers to illustrate the uneven effects of
dominant discourses of parenting on middle-class subjectivities.
I met and got to know the mothers who took part in the study over a year of fieldwork.
This involved repeated in-depth interviews with a group of five younger and five older
mothers from the West Midlands area. Findings from these qualitative interviews, car-
ried out between September 2006 and August 2007, were supported by periods of partici-
pant observations, a questionnaire and two focus groups. Supplementing qualitative
interviews with periods of participant observation enabled me to contextualize and com-
pare women’s accounts of motherhood/mothering with my observations of their mother-
ing practices. The participant observation consisted of spending a day with each mother
and her children, accompanying them in their activities inside and outside the home. The
focus groups were exploratory in nature; therefore I concentrate here on the interview
accounts since they constituted the main method of data collection.
Young mothers were recruited through a ‘celebration of achievement for young par-
ents’ organized by the local teenage pregnancy unit coordinator. I recruited older mothers
through a mixture of calls for participants I distributed in local nurseries and the univer-
sity intranet, and snowball sampling. Purposive sampling was used primarily because
there is no available sampling frame to access a representative sample of all younger and
older mothers in the chosen area. Thus the meaningfulness and insights generated from
this study have more to do with the information-richness of the cases selected than with
sample size. The very different access strategies used reflect the fact that younger and not
older mothers are targeted for state intervention and were a product of my existing con-
tacts with local gatekeepers and university networks. I interviewed each mother twice
and used data from the first interview as prompt questions. All interviews lasted between
one and two and a half hours, with most being somewhere in between.
All the interviews I conducted were transcribed verbatim by me to include pauses,
interruptions from children and emotional responses such as laughter. The interview data
were analyzed using traditional qualitative thematic coding. For each theme identified, I
searched all transcripts and field notes both manually and using keyword searches. I then
created separate documents for each theme which contained all the relevant sections of
data identified to allow systematic analysis. Helen was the only mother who did not
work outside the home, Ruth worked full time as a university lecturer whilst Lisa, Emma
and Christine worked part time as administrators in the public sector. All mothers had at
least one child under three. The sample was also characterized by its homogeneity in
terms of ethnicity, with all participants identifying as White British.
In determining my participants’ class locations as middle and working class I favoured
a model of social class as constituted through process and practice. The dangers of
dichotomizing social class between two clear-cut categories are well documented,
Perrier 661

including how this can lead to a neglect of variability across categories (Ribbens, 1994).
However, I chose to hold onto the categories of middle class and working class, not out
of a concern to present clearer contrasts between the two groups, but because these cat-
egories were most meaningful for the majority of my participants. Moreover, I have
retained the terminology of ‘middle class’ and ‘working class’ to draw attention to how
these categories are constituted in relation to one another rather than autonomously. New
accounts of class (Devine et al., 2005; Skeggs, 2004a) foreground culture and subjectiv-
ity and entail the recognition that classed selves are not fixed but are continually made
and re-made. Although new class studies’ emphasis on culture has been criticized for
leading to a neglect of the economic dimensions of class (Bottero, 2004), I adopted a
conceptualization of class that privileges culture and subjectivity because it was most
suited to investigating how mothers construct maternal moral selves.
This approach also allowed me to fathom how my participants were positioned in
particular class locations but not determined by them. Rather than using an ‘objective’
way of measuring social class such as the Registrar General’s classification, I wanted to
explore my participants’ classed subjectivities and how they positioned themselves on
the class spectrum. Therefore mothers were asked, in an end-of-research questionnaire,
to describe their social class position. In addition to self-definition, information on edu-
cational qualifications, housing tenure and occupation provided corroborating evidence
informing what class location I assigned to participants.

Child-focused Parenting: Classed Others and

Ambivalence
All of the middle-class mothers I spoke with mentioned the importance of spending time
with their children as an important feature of good mothering. Although many talked
about being child focused, the meaning of this parenting approach and extent to which
the child’s perceived needs dictated their routine varied significantly across mothers.
Moreover, their accounts revealed ambivalence about the kind of child-focused parent-
ing advocated by concerted cultivation. Whilst they sometimes ‘othered’ mothers who
they saw as not child focused enough, they were also concerned not to be seen as giving
children too much attention. The ways in which mothers talked about why spending time
with their children was important was imbued with classed meanings about good parent-
ing and used to draw ethical boundaries between mothers. For Christine, quality time is
defined in contrast to ‘bad’ parenting practices:

Not having the time to listen or talk and take time rather than rushing around, being too caught
up in yourself rather than giving to the child it wasn’t their choice to be born so you owe it to
them to put them first, once you have a child you become second and they come first and some
people don’t do that, and that’s not crossing over to spoiling them rotten it’s sort of giving them
quality time rather than giving them lots of presents that’s in a way that if you give them lots of
presents but no time, you give them material things but you don’t sit down and talk to them then
that’s as bad ’cos they’re trying to get attention and they’ll try to get negative attention ’cos it’s
attention anyway, you know like I’ve been at work till 7 o’clock but here you go have a new
teddy or something.
662 Sociology 47(4)

Christine sees giving children time as more ethical than buying children material things,
implying that conspicuous consumption is a marker of inadequate parenting. Christine
is also negotiating the risky territory of ethical parenting: she doesn’t want to be seen as
an over-indulgent mother either. Here the juxtaposition of material goods vs time to talk
suggests a classed moral hierarchy of parenting. Similarly, Lisa is contrasting the value
of buying toys to having the time to learn through play:

It’s something to do with, rather than let your child play with lots of toys that you’ve bought,
it’s about being more, helping her to learn things by doing more and craft stuff, painting and
colouring and cooking which we haven’t done yet, it’s something I’d like to do with her as well,
although she does all of those things at nursery, to do them at home feels different and it’s
something, I have to sit with her and do, so it’s for us to do together, it’s thinking, what’s the
priority, is it to buy another plastic toy or is it to spend a bit of money on some paint?

Lisa emphasizes the togetherness of the activity as important, reflecting her preference
for child-focused parenting. She compares her style of ‘crafty supervised play’ with
another parenting style which involves ‘buying lots of plastic toys’, although it is more
of a theoretical preference since she acknowledges she has little time to do this with her
daughter. Lisa and Christine both depict purchasing ‘lots of plastic toys’ as less moral
than playing together or buying the right kind of toys, thus distancing themselves from
lower-class consumption and parenting practices.
Two of the middle-class mothers also spoke of their concern about their children
watching too much or the ‘wrong’ type of television, and portrayed this as the significant
marker of inappropriate parenting, which they contrasted to their child-focused philoso-
phy. They emphasized that their children’s television watching time was monitored, and
they only relied on television when they were too busy. Christine’s comment implies that
even when her son watches television he is not passive:

The other thing I want to avoid is spending lots of time on a computer or playing computer
games or watching the telly, he doesn’t actually watch the telly at the moment apart from
watching football but he doesn’t actually watch it, he messes around, he’ll dance to something
on the telly but he wouldn’t sit down, not like some of his friends who can watch an hour at a
time on the telly. It’s never been part of our routine, he’d rather be outside being active than
sitting down watching something, and I’d rather that he was out socializing with his friends
than playing a game on the computer.

Being physically active and socializing are seen as preferable activities to watching tel-
evision. Time spent interacting with other children and playing is then superior to watch-
ing television which doesn’t enhance her son’s social and cognitive skills. Moreover, she
is also distancing herself from other parents who use television to entertain their
children.
In contrast, Emma’s account of the importance of time together revealed more ambiv-
alent feelings about ‘concerted cultivation’ or child-focused parenting:

I’d like to think I give them enough time, I don’t know if that always does happen, although I
think that’s a lot to do with the way we live but I also think that there’s an element that mothers
Perrier 663

feel that if you don’t sit down and talk, I mean she’s quite happy sitting here now and sometimes
it’s just the case that you’re there so you can quite happily do your housework or whatever else
you want to do as long as she could sit say if you were writing something, she can sit and write
with you, it’s not sort of that you have to be giving them 100% attention all the time and I think
that I’d like to think that we do have times where we do.

Emma was both anxious that she may not be spending enough quality time with her
children, and thought that spending time together could involve mother and child doing
things alongside one another rather than engaging with each other. Emma seems critical
of the unrealistic demands of a wholly child-centred approach but appears caught
between resisting and complying with the demands of intensive mothering.
Thus, how mothers and children should (not) spend time was a significant way in
which mothers erected and negotiated boundaries of ethical mothering along classed
lines. Interestingly, the mother who buys too much or the wrong kind of stuff appeared
as a figure of disapproval in some accounts. This finding echoes a recent study which
showed that although material culture holds particular value for working-class teenage
mothers who are positioned outside the boundaries of normative mothering as it enables
them to deflect negative associations of poverty away from their children, their invest-
ment in consumer goods is in fact often subject to public scrutiny, criticism and ridicule
(Ponsford, 2011).
For Christine and Lisa, maternal moral selves were established in relation to and
opposition from a lower class and morally deficient classed ‘other’. Steph Lawler argues
that any judgment of the working class as negative is an attempt by the middle class to
accrue value: ‘Without another against whom to mark a normalized identity, against
whom to draw distinctions, the middle classes would be unable to draw the kinds of
distinctions that establish them as middle-class (and therefore as occupying a normal and
desirable position)’ (2004: 119). Such relational ‘othering’ produces class positions so
that class cultures are visible as ‘modes of differentiation rather than as types of collec-
tivity’ (Savage, 2000: 102).
However, there were also mothers like Emma who felt more ambivalent about the
demands of child-focused parenting. Dominant discourses of good parenting play a com-
plex role in the construction of middle-class mothers’ moralities: sometimes they were
drawn upon to bolster middle-class mothers’ accounts of being better mothers, whilst at
other times the dominance of child-focused parenting was disrupted.

Fears of Excess: Mothers’ Involvement in Learning

Whilst the mothers in this study can be seen as generating opportunities for the transmis-
sion of cultural capital so that their children acquired particular dispositions, there was
also evidence that, for some mothers, taking part in this type of parenting generated
contradictory feelings. At least three of the middle-class mothers in this study were reluc-
tant to intervene in children’s learning; they emphasized informal learning and explicitly
wanted to avoid their children starting to learn too early. This is in contrast with the find-
ings from Vincent and Ball which found much more evidence of parents’ planning very
early being seen as essential to ensure their children’s educational future. Alongside
664 Sociology 47(4)

Irwin and Elley (2011), I found that there was diversity across middle-class mothers
about their involvement in children’s education. Although mothers talked of the impor-
tance of a good education and going to university when asked about their hopes for their
children’s futures, most had not started to imagine their children’s futures beyond start-
ing school. Importantly, mothers also expressed a desire for them to be happy and healthy,
and they were concerned that their children grew up in a safe environment; felt loved,
had fun and became kind people.
Helen, a full-time mother, was the mother who appeared to follow the logic of
concerted cultivation most rigidly and with the most enthusiasm. She saw her role as
encouraging experimentation, fostering children’s creativity as well as locating and
developing her sons’ talents. Her particularly busy schedule of activities for her children
gave the impression of a frantic and carefully planned attempt to expose her children to
a range of learning opportunities inside and outside the home.

We have a routine, we have set activities that we do like swimming. Monday morning, if you
split a five day week into 10 morning and afternoon sessions, I probably did about 6 to 8 every
week, I’m probably down to about half of that. I need to look around, he’s happy when he’s out
and about he’s happy at home as well, but if he spent all week here he would be ripping the
house apart, he likes other children to play with as well. So Monday morning we do swimming,
sometimes we go out with some friends for lunch to a play area so Jake can play and have lunch
at the same time but that’s not set in stone, Tuesday morning we do singing and music lessons
which is the lady that Robert used to go to when he was a little boy, but because the classes were
different ages we found it was too difficult to keep up with it on Saturday, we just found it was
too much, he would be hungry and crying so that didn’t work but I was determined that he
would have the music that Robert had, I wanted to give him the same opportunity to get that
rhythm.

Over the course of our second interview Helen told me she was looking out for more
activities to do with her children in order to fill her ‘6 to 8 sessions’ per week of sched-
uled activities. She saw her childrearing style as benefitting the children in terms of giv-
ing them opportunities to develop talents, even when this becomes difficult to achieve as
she describes for the music lesson. Helen’s parenting was the only one that corresponded
to what Lareau describes as concerted cultivation (2003). This parenting logic involves
the institutionalization of children’s leisure time in order to stimulate children’s develop-
ment, cultivate their cultural and social skills and maximize their potential. Within this
cultural logic of childrearing, children are seen as a project to be developed, thus making
exigent timetabling essential. What Lareau’s class analysis of this childrearing strategy
leaves out, however, is its moral significance. For Helen it is ethically important to give
her son the opportunity to do music despite the costs this involves in terms of stress and
harriedness for the family. This echoes Reay’s finding that there is an emotional cost to
academic success even for middle-class children (2000). However, Helen’s performance
of concerted cultivation also needs to be read in the context of her professional biography
as an IT teacher before she had children. Over the course of our interview she reflected
on the overlap between her mothering and her teaching identities, and talked about
becoming a teaching assistant at her children’s school as a job which would best combine
her caring responsibilities and interests, suggesting education was a significant part of
Perrier 665

her subjectivity, which partly accounts for her commitment to concerted cultivation.
Another extract highlights how Helen’s focus on education enabled her to manage house-
work with caring for her youngest son:

For example when I do the washing Jake helps me with the washing, he puts it in, it takes five
hours to do, I could do it in a minute if I did it on my own, he wouldn’t have that involvement
then. So he’ll come and help me and when the washing’s done he helps me take it out, we go
and peg it on the line if it’s sunny, he hands me the pegs, he may not actually do the whole wash
he may do a little bit but it’s keeping him involved and trying to help me. […] I kind of think
that every single thing you do gives you an opportunity to teach them something but it doesn’t
have to be in a formal teaching format. […] it kind of sounds like I’m really sort of annally
retentive about them learning all the time, but it’s sort of so natural, I don’t go oh if I say this it
will help them learn, to me it’s part of something that I’ve always done.

Helen uses an educational rationale for involving her son in housework. This is no longer
‘learning through play’ but learning through domestic work, although Helen stresses this
does not necessarily advantage her timewise. Walkerdine and Lucey (1989) have docu-
mented this practice of transforming routine domestic tasks into pedagogy as sensitive
mothering. This strategy, they argue, leads to better educational outcomes for middle-
class children because once mothering and housework become the same, domestic labour
is transformed into children’s cognitive development. Despite her belief that she is doing
what is best for her children, Helen is nonetheless concerned that her parenting might be
interpreted as obsessive about learning. In fact, the way she ends up rationalizing her
parenting style by having recourse to the ‘natural’ argument suggests she wants to dis-
tance herself from mother educators who are strategizing.
The other middle-class mothers’ accounts were much more ambivalent and less pro-
active in their attitudes to learning. Although they wanted to foster children’s curiosity
through ‘messy play’, they were also concerned that too many activities leave children
exhausted and thought that children should be protected from the anxiety of education
when they are small. Their accounts suggest there is a fine ‘line’ between being support-
ive of one’s children and being pushy and over-ambitious, constituting an ‘other’ mother
which they wanted to distance themselves from.
Although Ruth talked at length about nurturing her children’s inquisitiveness and of
her desire for them to have ‘full lives’, she also actively resists the idea that earlier edu-
cational development is preferable:

I consciously avoid, I wonder whether sometimes I unconsciously, trying to educate them, so

making them sit down and read a book and making them sit down and practice writing I never
do that the only time we ever read books is at bed time, we don’t have reading times. I don’t
know whether that’s a conscious thing or an unconscious thing, I don’t want to force them, I
have this feeling they’re gonna have it all rammed down their throat when they go to school so
I want them to be able to play.

Ruth’s not wanting to encourage educational activities at home suggests she is attempt-
ing to negotiate tricky boundaries of good motherhood and to strike a balance between
being supportive but not forceful. Her expression suggests an over-emphasis on
666 Sociology 47(4)

education is not something she sees as benefitting children, and she wants to protect their
childhood from concerns about formal learning. Similarly, Christine evokes the pressure
on children to achieve as something she wants to avoid:

It’s so soon before they start having homework and exams and you know having to achieve,
being able to have fun and not pushing them too hard I think it’s important ’cos there’s so
much pressure from the outside world that I don’t want to put pressure on Jack to learn his
number and letters and colours and so on before he goes to school I’d rather he just learnt to
have fun or just had fun with life, learnt through play as much as anything rather than through
pressure or force him to sit down and practice writing his name or anything like that and I
suppose I like the idea that we show him as much of the world as we can so we’ve been
camping and he’s been to France, and the Czech Republic, he’s been to a wedding I’d like him
to see as much I’d like to be able to show him as much of the world as possible so he’s got an
open view of life and you pass that on to your child, so you’re not only going as far as the end
of the street, we don’t talk to them ’cos they’re not our type, so hopefully meet as many people
as possible.

Instead of formal learning, Christine thinks that developing her child’s ‘cultural open
mindedness’, which she equates with travelling and meeting people from abroad as ethi-
cally preferable, a position that was echoed in some of the other mothers’ accounts. Thus
the promotion of cultural awareness, although it is framed by mothers as a moral prefer-
ence, indirectly contributes to middle-class children’s advantage in education and
beyond. Rather than seeing such practices as reflecting tolerant pluralism, some have
emphasized that they conceal the reproduction of privilege (Warde et al., 1999). Reay
et al.’s research on middle-class parents who choose to send their children to comprehen-
sive schools has highlighted that whilst parents struggle to reconcile their ideological
positions on state education with their commitment to providing the best for their chil-
dren, they are also making new identities for their children as multicultural citizens,
which will benefit them in later life (2011). Although middle-class mothers like Christine
saw making their children aware of cultural diversity as a moral choice, it is also generat-
ing considerable advantages for their children.
Education and learning was seen as important for their children’s future but when
children were small it was not seen as a priority. However, there was diversity amongst
middle-class mothers about the extent of their involvement in learning before their chil-
dren reached school age. An alternative moral position emerged from these accounts,
with mothers rejecting the importance of formal learning at home, emphasizing instead
the importance of play and of teaching children about the world in other ways. They
didn’t want to start teaching children too early and did not want to be seen as forcefully
intervening in children’s learning. Present in these accounts is a different and perhaps
equally threatening figure of bad mothering, because of its proximity. This other ‘other’
– the middle-class mother who does too much – is a sensed presence in some of these
accounts, in addition to but not replacing the figure of the working-class mother. This
suggests that these middle-class mothers are negotiating narrow boundaries of moral
motherhood where they seek to place themselves in between the pushy middle-class
mother and the irresponsible or consumerist lower-class mother.
Perrier 667

Conclusions
This article has illustrated some of the ways in which middle-class mothers negotiate
discourses of good mothering to produce moral maternal selves, suggesting alongside
others that the making of ethical selves is a relational classed process. I have argued,
based on this small study, that middle-class mothers’ ambivalence about concerted culti-
vation as well as their fears about the excesses of the middle-class emphasis on education
suggests some ways in which the study of class and parenting might reflect more com-
plexity and diversity. Furthermore, the variety of mothers’ attitudes to parenting, includ-
ing some mothers’ resistance to concerted cultivation within this group of mothers,
echoes Irwin and Elley’s call to account for the diversity of parenting logic amongst the
middle classes (2011).
By focusing on mothers’ ambivalent feelings and contradictory positions, this article
has contributed to mapping out the affective dimension of middle-classness. This pro-
vides further evidence that some mothers, similarly to the parents interviewed by Reay
(2008), are placed in contradictory positions whereby what they see as ethical conflicts
with what they perceive as benefitting their children. However, the accounts of the
middle-class mothers I met suggest that they are fearful not just of their classed others,
but also of a more adjacent ‘other’ mother. From these fears emerges a further regulatory
discourse about the extent to which mothers should be involved in children’s learning.
Lawler (2005) has interpreted contemporary expressions of disgust as a significant way
in which middle classness relies on the expulsion and exclusion of (what is held to be)
white working classness. For Lawler, expressions of disgust coupled with representa-
tions of the working class as lacking (in taste, morality, humanity) form part of a long-
standing middle-class project of distinguishing itself: ‘Their point, within this imaginary,
is to be what the middle classes are not, could not possibly be, must defend against being,
but on whom the projected fantasies of the middle class must come to rest’ (2005: 442).
Whereas Lawler draws attention to how the constitution of working-class existence by
the middle class is expressed in terms of lack, the figure of the pushy over-ambitious
mother in my participants’ accounts presents excess as threatening: too much attention
and ambition for children were also seen as dangerous. However, excess, which takes the
form of over-involvement here, is also threatening because of its classed meanings. As
Diane Reay writes:

The middle classes normatively do not do excess and incoherence, both are supposed to be the
province of the upper and lower classes. But those of us who are middle class know that excess
and incoherence can be part of middle-class identity. (2008: 1085)

The middle-class mother must then project excess onto others and self-regulate in order
to place herself firmly in between two versions of inappropriate mothering. Thus although
middle-class parenting culture is legitimated in the symbolic order, this should not deter
us from capturing the ways in which power is simultaneously enacted on the middle
classes and formative of their subjectivities. Power is therefore not simply appropriated
by a dominant class from a subordinate one. As Dreyfus and Rabinow remind us, power
is ‘exercised upon the dominant as well as on the dominated’ (1983: 186).
668 Sociology 47(4)

Thinking about power as productive, rather than as a property of individuals, includ-

ing engaging with the contradictory effects of domination (Foucault, 1980) then gener-
ates resources for a more multifaceted study of parenting and middle-class identities.
Although making visible the normative status of middle-class tastes, bodies and prac-
tices is still important, I argue this should not be at the cost of erasing the contradictions
that make up middle-class subjectivities. Challenging the assumption that middle-class
ethical dispositions, tastes and bodies are, by definition, the ‘right’ ones (Lawler, 2005)
should not mean we are blind to the uneven effects of power on the lives of the privi-
leged. In her re-working of intersectionality theory to study whiteness and middle-
classness, Levine-Rasky suggests a way to bridge these concerns. She writes that
preserving a relational approach is key if we want to fathom the contradictory effects of
power and to appreciate how ‘processes of differentiation and normalization, of discrimi-
nation and affirmation are coextensive in social relations’ (2011: 252). Given the small
number of participants in this research and the distinctive nature of my sample, the con-
clusions I have drawn about middle-class mothers’ ambivalent moralities are clearly ten-
tative. Nevertheless, the complex ways in which these mothers are emotionally entangled
with and disrupt dominant discourses of parenting such as concerted cultivation suggests
that we need to use these conceptual tools more carefully and critically, as otherwise we
risk over-emphasizing the dominance of this logic as a cultural norm.

Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or
not-for-profit sectors.

References
Adkins L (2004) Introduction: Feminism, Bourdieu and after. Sociological Review 52: 1–18.
Bottero W (2004) Class identities and the identity of class. Sociology 38(5): 985–1003.
Boyd ER (2002) ‘Being there’: Mothers who stay at home, gender and time. Women’s Studies
International Forum 25(4): 463–70.
Byrne B (2006) In search of a ‘good mix’: ‘Race’, class, gender and practices of mothering. Sociol-
ogy 40(6): 1001–17.
Crozier G, Reay D, James D et al. (2008) White middle-class parents, identities, educational
choice and the urban comprehensive school: Dilemmas, ambivalence and moral ambiguity.
British Journal of Sociology of Education 29(3): 261–72.
Devine F, Savage M, Scott J and Crompton R (eds) (2005) Rethinking Class: Identities. Cultures
and Lifestyles. London: Palgrave.
Dreyfus HL and Rabinow P (1983) Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
Duncan S (2005) Mothering, class and rationality. Sociological Review 53(2): 49–76.
Ehrenreich B (1989) Fear of Falling: The Inner Life of the Middle Class. New York: Pantheon.
Foucault M (1980) Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and other Writings, 1972–1977.
Gordon C, Gordon C, Marshall L, Mepham J and Soper K (transl.) New York: Pantheon.
Gillies V (2005) Raising the ‘meritocracy’: Parenting and the individualization of social class.
Sociology 39(5): 835–53.
Gillies V (2007) Marginalised Mothers: Exploring Working-class Experiences of Parenting.
Routledge: London.
Perrier 669

Hayes S (1996) The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood. New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press.
Irwin S and Elley S (2011) Concerted cultivation? Parenting values, education and class diversity.
Sociology 45(3): 480–95.
Kuhn A (1995) Family Secrets: Acts of Memory and Imagination. London: Verso.
Lareau A (2003) Unequal Childhoods: Class, Race and Family Life. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Lawler S (2004) Rules of engagement: Habitus, power and resistance. In: Adkins L and Skeggs B
(eds) Feminism after Bourdieu. Oxford: Blackwell, 110–28.
Lawler S (2005) Disgusted subjects: The making of middle-class identities. Sociological Review
53(3): 429–46.
Levine-Rasky C (2011) Intersectionality theory applied to whiteness and middle-classness. Social
Identities 17(2): 239–53.
May V (2008) On being a good mother: The moral representation of self in written life stories.
Sociology 42(3): 470–86.
Miller T (2007) ‘Is this what motherhood is all about?’ Weaving experiences and discourse through
transition to first-time motherhood. Gender & Society 21: 337–58.
Perrier M (forthcoming) No right time: The significance of reproductive timing for younger and
older mothers’ moralities. Sociological Review.
Ponsford R (2011) Consumption, resilience and respectability amongst young mothers in Bristol.
Youth Studies 14(5): 541–60.
Reay D (1998) Class Work: Mothers’ Involvement in their Children’s Primary Schooling. London:
University College Press.
Reay D (2000) A useful extension of Bourdieu’s conceptual framework? Emotional capital as
a way of understanding mothers’ involvement in children’s schooling. Sociological Review
48(4): 568–85.
Reay D (2005) Beyond consciousness? The psychic landscape of social class. Sociology 39(5):
911–28.
Reay D (2008) Psychosocial aspects of white middle-class identities: Desiring and defending
against the class and ethnic ‘other’, in urban multi-ethnic schooling. Sociology 42(6): 1072–88.
Reay D, Crozier G and James D (2011) White Middle-class Identities and Urban Schooling.
London: Palgrave.
Ribbens J (1994) Mothers and their Children: A Feminist Sociology of Childrearing. London:
Sage.
Savage M (2000) Class Analysis and Social Transformation. Buckingham: Open University Press.
Sayer A (2005) The Moral Significance of Class. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Skeggs B (1997) Formations of Class and Gender. London: Sage.
Skeggs B (2004a) Class, Self, Culture. London: Routledge.
Skeggs B (2004b) Exchange, value and affect: Bourdieu and ‘the self’. The Sociological Review
52: 75–95.
Snyder KA (2007) A vocabulary of motives: Understanding how parents define quality time.
Journal of Marriage and Family 69: 320–40.
Vincent C and Ball S (2006) Childcare, Choice and Class Practices. London: Routledge.
Vincent C and Ball S (2007) ‘Making up’ the middle-class child: Families, activities and class
dispositions. Sociology 41(6): 1061–78.
Vincent C, Ball S and Kemp S (2004) The social geography of childcare: Making up a middle-
class child. British Journal of Sociology of Education 25(2): 229–44.
Walkerdine V and Lucey H (1989) Democracy in the Kitchen: Regulating Mothers and Socialising
Daughters. London: Virago.
670 Sociology 47(4)

Warde A, Martens L and Olsen W (1999) Consumption and the problem of variety: Cultural
omnivorousness, social distinction and dining out. Sociology 33(1): 105–12.

Maud Perrier was born in France and became a feminist scholar in the UK, completing
her PhD at the Centre for the study of Women and Gender, University of Warwick, in
2009. She is now a lecturer in Sociology at the University of Bristol. Her research inter-
ests include families, social class, embodiment, morality and emotions in feminist the-
ory. Her doctoral research was a study of how younger and older mothers negotiate
dominant discourses of good mothering and the idea that there is a ‘right’ time for
motherhood.
Date submitted December 2011
Date accepted May 2012
453791
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512453791SociologyRoberts

Article

Sociology
47(4) 671­–686
Boys Will Be Boys … Won’t © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
They? Change and Continuities sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512453791
in Contemporary Young soc.sagepub.com

Working-class Masculinities

Steven Roberts
University of Kent, UK

Abstract
This article contributes to the literature concerning the construction of working-class masculine
identity in a context of unprecedented social transformation. Drawing on qualitative interviews
with 24 young men currently employed in the retail sector, this study finds that contrary to much
research on masculinities young working-class men are able to resist dominant and hegemonic
cultural ideals. The respondents demonstrate a very different attitude towards the ‘emotional
labour’ required in the service sector than is often documented, while also rejecting notions of
traditional gendered domestic responsibilities in respect of their futures as potential partners
and parents. Congruent with other emerging research in this area, the reference point for an
‘acceptable’ masculine identity appears to have shifted, with some young working-class men’s
lives, at least, illustrating an attenuated or softened version of masculinity.

Keywords
division of labour, employment, masculinities, service sector, working class

Introduction
The notion that all men adhere to a specific set of values, assumptions and actions that
translate into a homogenised consistent performance of ‘manliness’ has been theoretically
and empirically negated (Connell, 1987, 1995). Yet, masculinity, of the typically working-
class variety at least, is often conceptualised as a static and principal problematic in, inter
alia, counter school cultures, resistance to certain types of work (both paid and domestic),
dominant discourses of homophobia and a proclivity for violence, aggression and physi-
cality. Recent unprecedented social change has led to questions about a crisis of

Corresponding author:
Steven Roberts, School of Social Policy, Sociology and Social Research, University of Kent, Gillingham
Building, Chatham Maritime, Kent, ME4 4AG, UK.
Email: sdr21@kent.ac.uk
672 Sociology 47(4)

masculinity, even its possible redundancy (Mac an Ghaill, 1994; McDowell, 2003).
However, the story has remained the same: working-class boys and young men, it appears,
behave badly at school, retain their distance from, and are dismissive of, potential service
sector employment (Nixon, 2009), and preserve the domestic gendered division of labour
(Breen and Cooke, 2005). This is well captured by McDowell who, even after revealing
multiple ways of ‘doing’ masculinity, still identified a ‘dominance of a version of tradi-
tional, sexist masculinity, in both laddish behaviours exhibited in leisure arenas and in the
domestic attitudes that affect workplace attitudes’ (2003: 226). It is, perhaps, no wonder
that many people often find themselves saying, hearing, reading or imagining that, as the
saying goes, ‘boys will be boys’, even when describing the behaviour of adult men.
Research in this area often considers the more spectacular accounts of young men
who closely resemble the traditional ‘lads’ explored by Willis’s (1977) seminal study.
However, not all working-class young men conformed to the actions, ideals and aspira-
tions of such lads. Indeed, Willis identified another group – the ‘ear ’oles’: white, working-
class boys who left school with some qualifications and who entered white-collar jobs.
Despite the increasing importance of the achievement of more qualifications and the
significance of a service-based economy reliant on ‘mental’ or white-collar work, we
still know relatively little about this rather ‘ordinary’, less spectacular group of young
men (Griffin, 2011; Roberts, 2011). This article is a contribution to this gap in our
knowledge.
Recognising young people’s lives as ‘a prime field for the interdisciplinary investiga-
tion of the manifestations and effects of social change’ (Evans, 2002: 245), this article
contributes to the literature considering the changing nature of gender identity (specifi-
cally masculinities), in the context of significant social transformations (e.g. McDowell,
2003; Nayak, 2006; Richardson, 2010). After adumbrating the theoretical framework, a
brief outline of the research methodology is provided, before turning to qualitative data
detailing the lives and aspirations of 24 ‘ordinary’ young men from the southeast of
England. The first empirical section considers the respondents’ experiences of work in
the retail sector. Here, the young men demonstrate an aptitude and an appetite for a type
of work often considered by many theorists as ‘incongruent with manliness’ (Leidner,
1993). The second empirical section explores the young men’s perceived future lives as
potential partners and fathers. Despite being imagined futures, they remain important
because they represent current understandings of appropriate male behaviour in the con-
text of the relations of heterosexual partnership. Each section is prefaced with a brief
contextualising discussion of relevant literature. Both data strands demonstrate the need
for a more nuanced appreciation of the continued prevalence of traditional understand-
ings of masculinity. Complementing McCormack and Anderson’s findings in schools,
rather than arguing that we are witnessing a dramatic shift in gender relations, this
research shows that a co-existence of persistence and change leads contemporary mascu-
linity to be somewhat attenuated or ‘softened’ (McCormack and Anderson, 2010).

Theorising Masculinities
There are ‘different ways of enacting manhood, different ways of learning to be a man,
different conceptions of the self’ (Connell, 2000: 10), and as such we must recognise the
Roberts 673

plurality of masculinities that exist and the hierarchical relations of dominance, alliance
and subordination between them. Central to this understanding is Connell’s (1987, 1995)
concept of hegemonic masculinity: that which is most respected, desired or dominant
within society and which in tandem preserves, legitimates and naturalises the interests of
the powerful. In industrialised nations such masculinity is characterised by whiteness, het-
erosexuality, disembodied rationality and expertise and success in the economic sphere. In
contradistinction, a range of subordinate masculinities exist which are inferior on the basis
of ethnicity, sexuality or class position. Working-class masculinities, for example, are often
characterised by embodiment, strength and physical prowess. Another version – protest
masculinity – is associated with spectacular, macho, laddish conduct. Such behaviour rep-
resents efforts at ‘making a claim to power where there is no real resources for power’
(Connell, 1995: 111) in response to marginalisation in most social domains.
Connell’s concepts have been subject to various critiques and modifications.
Whitehead (2002), for instance, argues that hegemonic masculinity, similar to patriarchy,
is a limited, reductionist term. Meanwhile, Beasley (2008) focuses on the concept’s slip-
page and argues that there is a lack of recognition of how positive hegemony can occur.
Furthermore, Demetriou theorises hegemonic masculinity as a hegemonic bloc that
remains in a state of ‘constant hybridisation’, characterised by efforts ‘to articulate,
appropriate, and incorporate rather than negate, marginalize, and eliminate different or
even apparently oppositional elements’ (2001: 349).
In a further development, Anderson (2005, 2011), suggests that Connell’s concepts can-
not accurately theorise masculinity in historical moments characterised by decreased cul-
tural homophobia. He also contends that more than one version of masculinity can be
situated at the top of the hierarchy at any one time. In an effort to remedy these shortcom-
ings, Anderson (2011) proposes the idea of inclusive masculinity. Drawing on various set-
tings (e.g. fraternities, sports teams), Anderson argues that cultural homophobia is declining,
with boys and young men shown to be comfortable engaging in homosocial physical tactil-
ity, happy to embrace close emotional ties with other men, having generally positive atti-
tudes towards homosexual peers, and even stigmatising homophobic discourse.
Despite these critiques, Connell’s theory remains a valuable starting point because it
acknowledges both structural relations of power and the multiplicity of gendered identi-
ties and gendered practices (Scourfield, 2005). Yet Anderson’s insights, in particular,
provide a useful conceptual framework for understanding the responses presented below.
However, where Anderson is explicitly concerned with homophobia and homohysteria,
and largely the attenuation of masculinity among middle-class young men, here attention
is turned to a group of largely working-class young men and the ways in which they
negotiate their masculine identity in the everyday realms of service sector employment
and their attitudes towards the domestic sphere. Consequently, the prevalence of homo-
phobic tendencies is not the primary concern; instead, the focus becomes how masculin-
ity is constructed in spheres with connotations of femininity or ‘unmanliness’.

Methods
The data derive from a project investigating the transition to adulthood of 24 young men
living in the county of Kent, in the southeast of England. The respondents were aged
674 Sociology 47(4)

between 18 and 24, and were all permanent front-line retail sector employees. The sam-
ple included respondents with qualifications ranging from some Level II (GCSE passes
at grade C or above) to various Level III subjects and courses. None had experienced or
anticipated ever engaging in higher education.
Using occupation of head of household, over three-quarters of respondents could be
described as working class in relation to the Registrar General’s classification of occupa-
tions, and all were ethnically white – Kent is a relatively ethnically homogeneous local-
ity, so this latter point was unsurprising. Their work histories were largely characterised
by employment, but often several sideways movements between low-level service-based
jobs. Respondents were individually interviewed by the author in a neutral venue and
discussed at length their past experiences, present circumstances and future aspirations
in the realms of education, work, and housing and domestic aspirations. The interviews,
averaging just over an hour, were audio-recorded, transcribed and fully thematically
coded and analysed.
It is important to note that interviews do not capture reality as it happens; they are an
account of an event, even a representation. However, such discursive practices remain of
interest, especially where they reveal how situations were felt or interpreted by the indi-
vidual in question. Interviews, then, may not be completely factual accounts, but they
can give ‘insights into particular issues’ (Heath et al., 2009: 89). The article now presents
data in relation to their experiences of work and, given that most were single and lived in
the family home, their imagined futures in the domestic sphere. To retain anonymity,
pseudonyms are used throughout.

Contemporary Working-class Masculinities and Service

Sector Employment
Since the 1970s, industrialised economies have evolved from being reliant on manufac-
turing and heavy industry, to becoming dominated by service sector employment.
Alongside equal rights legislation, increased educational access and the subsequent aca-
demic success of young women, such changes have been argued to destabilise earlier
notions of working-class masculinity. The changes in work, of course, were fundamen-
tally changes to working-class work.
Previously, the male breadwinner model of the family and its concomitant gendered
division of labour were central to notions of working-class masculinity. Paid work was
the primary location for constructing a masculine identity and ‘the main orientation
point, in reference to which all other pursuits could be planned and ordered’ (Bauman,
1998: 17). Employment usually required the demonstration of physical toughness, along-
side solidarity against managers. Contrastingly, contemporary interactive service jobs
require the performance of ‘emotional labour’ (Hochschild, 1983); that is, management
of emotions, self-presentation congruent with employer’s expectations, and efforts at
inducing an emotional state in customers. Such behaviours are antithetical to normative
working-class and/or protest masculinity (Connell, 1995), and are often argued to make
service work unattractive to young men (Leidner, 1993; McDowell, 2003; Nixon, 2009).
Beyond the changing content of work, the contemporary post-Fordist economy, under-
pinned by a neoliberal political consensus that facilitates ever increased flexibilisation,
Roberts 675

presents working-class people with significant challenges in respect of the relations of

work: nowadays, ‘the service-sector jobs that young men and women can realistically
obtain … are routine, subservient, low-paid and often insecure’ (Gunter and Watt, 2009:
527; see Roberts, 2012a, for further critique).
Some research indicates that men reject any notion of involvement in service work,
even when unemployed (e.g. Lindsay and McQuaid, 2004; Nixon, 2009). Yet, despite
contrary assertions that service work, subsequent customer interaction, and attendant
deference all make entry-level service sector roles unpalatable, ‘many working class
men find themselves in such jobs’ (Lupton, 2006: 117). Evidence suggests men in such
positions adopt strategies to ensure their masculine identities are not compromised (e.g.
Lupton, 2006; Simpson, 2004), or opt for more obviously masculine roles in warehous-
ing, distribution or ‘shelf stacking’ over jobs that necessitate customer interaction
(Milkman, 1997). This is because embodied masculinity, physically working hard and
‘grafting’, has been the particular form of labour that working-class men have used to
establish a positive and respectable discursive position in relation to women and middle-
class men (McDowell, 2003; Nixon, 2009).
Given a high proportion of young men work in retail in sales or elementary service-
based positions in the UK (Roberts, 2011), we might assume one of two things: mascu-
linity does not necessarily pose a threat to engaging with such employment, or men in
these jobs have no other choice and consequently perform them under duress, perhaps
seeking to reconstitute their roles to re-cast them in more appropriately masculine terms.
Here, respondents revealed that service work is not necessarily an anathema to young
men. When discussing the aspects of their job they most enjoyed, they emphasised that
customer interaction was central to their employment satisfaction:

… it’s mainly the interaction with customers, that’s why retail is quite keen for me, it’s like, you
know, I like talking to people. (Damian)

If you have a nice customer and you can have a good chat and you help them buy what they
want, I enjoy that and I enjoy talking to people. Like, we got some regulars and I’ll have a chat
with them, I enjoy the banter if they remember who you are. (Adam)

I like having conversations with the customers and everything. I find it quite easy to just get a
flowing conversation going, especially with older ladies as well, they laugh at anything. So it is
quite easy to get a conversation flowing. (Carl)

I get a buzz from helping people, especially customers … When they go ‘ah thanks’ and shake
your hand and say ‘you’ve really helped me’, it makes me feel so good. (Mike)

While focusing on the positives of customer interactions, many respondents expressed

their preference to be physically busy. They often talked of enjoying ‘working the stock’,
with customers coming and ‘making a mess’ of the display often being a source of frus-
tration. They also often emphasised their dislike of working on the tills:

… (tills are) really boring and I much rather do stock ’cos I feel like I’m actually doing
something … if I work department for four hours, after two hours you can actually see what
you’ve done. (James)
676 Sociology 47(4)

I preferred working on the floor … there’s just more to do, yeah, than when standing on a till
all day. There is actually more to do. (Tim, respondent’s emphasis)

These might reflect efforts at avoiding servitude, perhaps due to the intangibility of the
emotional work of the till. Indeed, these comments seem to indicate masculine prefer-
ences to be physically active and involved in labour which is visible, and so likely to be
recognised and rewarded. However, after some probing this issue is more complex:

No, you can interact with customers on the floor. You can help the customers on the floor. ’Cos
if you’re on the checkout and they ask you where something is or they ask you for your advice
on something you can’t leave your post and go and help them out, whereas on the floor you can
show them where the thing is; you can talk to them about what they’re doing … (Tim,
respondent’s emphasis)

… with tills you’ve got to socialise with customers who you are only like having five second
conversations with … just to make the packing seem not so slow. But when you’re out stacking
you can have, like, proper conversations with customers on the shop-floor and you can proper
stand there for five minutes making them feel comfortable shopping in the stores. (Carl)

These quotations highlight two key themes resonating across the sample. First, the respond-
ents were very positive about customer service situations and constructed interaction as an
important aspect of their work. Furthermore, they embraced protracted interactions posi-
tively. Second, and importantly, however, the type of interaction they privileged was on
‘the floor’ rather than at ‘the till’. This spatial differentiation perhaps reflects that the floor
allows more physical and verbal freedom for the young men to not only assist customers
but demonstrate their knowledge and expertise.
In some ways, these responses reflect ideas about how men reconstitute their jobs to
pursue apparently more masculine activities (Leidner, 1993; Lupton, 2006; Simpson,
2004). However, importantly, these attitudes operate as a source of distancing them-
selves from the routine emotional labour of the till point, rather than emotional labour
per se. Indeed, the rushed nature of interaction and heavy surveillance of scripted dia-
logues at the till point was the biggest frustration. This was part of their job they com-
pleted under almost Tayloristic conditions. As with Beynon’s (1973) discussion of
factory workers, this source of frustration was derived from a lack of autonomy, but
mainly enhanced monotony. In essence, the till point is comparable to mechanical pro-
duction lines. Furthermore, it prevents a genuine service encounter. The rejection of till
work, therefore, can be seen as reflective of this lack of autonomy and enhanced monot-
ony, and the ways in which these issues are exacerbated by the need to engage in the ‘lip
service’ emotional labour involved in quickly meeting and greeting customers. Beyond
this, till work was also positioned as being physically tiresome because of a lack of
physical movement, as Danny revealed, ‘standing up on the till all day ain’t fucking easy
– it’s hard work and canes your back’.
Service experiences are, of course, not exclusively pleasant. Leidner (1993: 199) sug-
gests that service sector employment is ‘incongruent with manliness’ because it neces-
sitates an ingratiating manner, taking orders and holding one’s tongue. For these
respondents, being belittled, undermined or berated was, of course, a negative
Roberts 677

experience. Yet, in these circumstances, these young men did ‘hold their tongue’ and
retained an ingratiating manner:

Sometimes people can be so fucking rude, to the point where you want to knock them out! But
you don’t, you know, you do your best to try sort stuff out. It’s not like you’d go out of your way
to piss someone off so, you just try and see where they are coming from and try make them
happy. (Johnny)

It’s par for the course, really. Don’t get me wrong, I hate it when people are totally unreasonable,
but you have to [put up with it] as part of the job, you still have to do your job. (Luke)

… as soon as it happens you just deal with it in your own way. And deal with it in a responsible
and respectful manner. (Tim)

If there’s no customers then there’s no job. It’s obvious that you can’t just shout at people or
turn your back on them. It’s not nice when they have a go, but only a few of them are complete
tossers. (Pat)

Kimmel (2008) suggests that fear of being seen as ‘not a real man’ is fundamental to
the formulation of masculinity, while others have documented active efforts at rejecting
the idea that specific employment compromises ‘maleness’ (Cross and Bagilhole, 2002;
Henson and Rogers, 2001). Here, the respondents did not excuse the nature of their jobs,
yet they assertively challenged the notion that their work made them subordinate or
lesser in relation to typically conceived working-class masculinity. Moreover, in defend-
ing their own position they subverted traditional embodied masculinity and ascribed it a
lesser status:

There are arseholes that think that you’ve gotta be a labourer to feel like a man. But I mean, I
don’t, like, spend 8 hours at work and then check my shorts to see if I still got a cock. I know
I’m a man, I don’t need to drink beer and, er, treat women bad. (Christian)

People might be like ‘I swear they’re gay because they work in a shoe shop or a fashion shop.’
And it’s not the case. We just like fashion. There’s great advantages as well … like really
attractive women come in every day and you get to serve them, so that’s a bonus! (Jez)

How isn’t a job ‘manly’? It’s fucking stupid. Like everyone is gonna be a labourer? I know
plenty of lads who labour and get laid off all the time, or don’t have any work for ages. How
fucking manly is that? (Johnny)

If someone said to me ‘well you have got a girl’s job’, it doesn’t really offend me ’cos I’m like
no, a job’s a job and I’m doing a job that I love. It [used to be] seen as the men would go and
be wearing the suits and ties and the women would be selling perfume or what not. I think it
comes from that era. The way I would feel, me serving a customer, helping them out, I wouldn’t
feel ashamed of it because I would know that I have helped someone. (Damian)

This might illustrate typically defensive discourses aimed at quashing accusations of

feminine attributes. However, these comments were made in relation to a potential attack
on their identity. Rather than withdrawing positive comments about service interaction,
678 Sociology 47(4)

they disparaged the undesirable elements of masculinity that ‘other men’ perceived to be
appropriate. Far from continuing to imbue manual labour with social superiority and sug-
gesting that emotional labour was antithetical to a masculine subject position, it was
having a job at all, and, moreover, the permanence of such work that instilled a sense of
masculinity (cf. Cross and Bagilhole, 2002; McDowell, 2003). Even Jez’s remarks,
which might appear homophobic, need to be understood in the context of a discussion
about why such jobs might be perceived as being ‘unmanly’. Here we see that, as per
Coles (2008), being subordinated by the apparently cultural ideal of masculinity is not
inevitable. These responses might also be understood as a form of heterosexual recu-
peration, i.e. ‘strategies boys use to establish and maintain heterosexual identities with-
out invoking homophobia’ (McCormack and Anderson, 2010: 846). But considering
Damian’s case in greater detail we see that, rather than a sense of masculinity, such work
instilled an almost ungendered sense of self. Simultaneously, he also put into words what
bubbled beneath the surface of much of what these young men talked about: things are
not the same as for previous generations – they were cognisant of a change in attitudes,
a change in what was acceptable, a change in what was possible.
Considering the realm of retail employment, the respondents in this research do not
conform to the rather fixed caricature of masculinity presented by academic work
to date.

Contemporary Working-class Masculinities and the

Domestic Sphere
Commensurate with other research (Henderson et al., 2007), respondents anticipated liv-
ing with a partner in the longer term – although not necessarily marriage – and most
forecast having children. Though discussing imagined futures, this section considers
whether the respondents are likely to follow traditionally masculine ideals in respect of
domestic labour within their prospective roles as fathers and partners in committed rela-
tionships. A rejection of such ideals is often associated with the concept of the ‘new
man’, a constructed stereotype characterised by sensitivity, emotional awareness, respect
toward women and an egalitarian outlook (Gill, 2003). Gill (2003) posits that a key index
of ‘newmanishness’ is his contribution to domestic work. Although shown to exhibit
non-traditional masculinity in respect of their educational values (Roberts, 2012b) and
attitude towards service work (above), these young men still might be expected to reflect
the attitudes of the ‘new lad’ – that is, interested in hedonism and anti-feminism, main-
taining a primary interest in ‘beer, football and shagging’ and a commitment to the male
breadwinner model of the family. Although often found to exist alongside varied, contra-
dictory and complex ways of ‘doing masculinity’, this discourse permeates much com-
mentary about contemporary working-class masculinities (e.g. McDowell, 2003; Nayak,
2006; Richardson, 2010).
In the 1980s, Becker (1991[1981]) premised a theory of economic rationality as a
means for understanding the gendered division of labour. Recognising women’s lower
earnings potential, and disregarding whether this is iniquitous (e.g. Hartmann, 1981),
Becker posited that a gender trade-off occurs whereby men usually spend more time in
the labour market, and as a consequence women take up the majority of domestic work.
Roberts 679

This understanding, however, becomes undone by evidence from various studies that
indicate declining attitudinal support for the male breadwinner/female homemaker
model across western countries (Cunningham, 2008). Some reductions in inequality of
access to certain jobs have occurred in recent years, alongside gains in the way some
women can combine family and work responsibilities. Indeed, the labour force is com-
prised of more women than ever (Hook, 2010). According to Becker’s model, hours
spent on domestic chores should become more equitable between the genders. However,
the historically gendered division of domestic labour has altered very little as men’s
contributions to domestic labour have not increased to compensate for such changes.
Moreover, Thébaud (2010: 333) alarmingly reveals:

… although men who are dual-earners do more housework than they would if they were sole
breadwinners, they do not increase it enough to create parity or to reverse a traditional gender
division of labor [sic] … [and] in couples where the woman earns considerably more money,
spouses still often perceive his work to be more important than hers; under such circumstances,
women typically do the majority of the housework.

Women still do the majority of the housework, whatever the level and direction of income
inequality. Gender essentialist attitudes appear to retain their strength and a ‘natural’
dichotomy is often adhered to, whereby housework is associated with feminine identi-
ties, whilst being a ‘breadwinner’ is central to men’s sense of masculinity (Adkins, 1995;
Coltrane and Shih, 2010). With this understanding intact, when men work or earn less
than their wives, they reinforce their masculinity by not engaging in feminine activities,
such as housework, to avoid further emasculation.
In terms of ‘what gets done’ in households, rather than a simple division of paid and
unpaid labour, specialisation occurs between the types of chores that men and women
do. Women tend towards more time-inflexible, routine tasks, such as cooking, which
have to be done at a particular time (Coltrane and Shih, 201; Hook, 2010). Men, con-
versely, are usually disproportionately responsible for tasks which allow for discretion
in the time of the execution, allowing for leisure activities to take priority (Craig, 2006).
This division within domestic chores is vital because who does what is actually more
important for spouses’ perceptions of fairness than the total time spent on housework
(Hook, 2010).
Breen and Cooke (2005) argue that only when a sufficiently high proportion of women
in society have attained greater equality can men change their beliefs and subsequent
domestic behaviour in a partnership. Alongside this, as increased level of education also
leads to negative support for the male breadwinner model (Cunningham, 2008), given
their limited but not especially poor educational profiles, we might expect the respond-
ents to hold traditional understandings of the gendered division of labour. While acknowl-
edging that the sample is not statistically representative and that the respondents were
discussing imagined futures rather than current realities, traditional gender ideology was
not a prevailing feature of the respondents’ projected domestic ideal.
Domestic duties were considered at two discrete levels: housework (defined as rou-
tine and labour-consuming household tasks), and childcare and/or care for other family
members (see Kan, 2008). In relation to housework, overwhelmingly the respondents
talked of a relatively equal division of household labour:
680 Sociology 47(4)

I got no problems with cleaning. It’s not my favourite job but I wouldn’t expect the woman to
do it. If I had a family and was in a relationship I wouldn’t put any pressure and I wouldn’t feel
any pressure to do any cleaning. We’d just get it done. (Jake)

It’s part of being a couple, you know, because you love each other and because you are a team.
Jobs need to be done; it’s not necessarily fair to make one person do all the main boring jobs.
(James)

I wouldn’t expect her to cook more than me or clean more than me … It would be pretty
unreasonable for me to expect a woman to go have a job and then come home and have this
second ‘wife job’ as well. (Luke)

It would be an equal share to be honest. It’s just normal to share. If she wants to do all the
cleaning and ironing then of course she can do it, but if it needs doing then I’ll do it, no
problems with that. (Carl)

Despite this apparent general equity, there was an interesting, very acute dimension in
terms of the kind of tasks the respondents expected they might do. Running through their
accounts was their understanding that they would cook meals, often suggesting that it
might be a good compromise that would form part of the housework bargain:

I’m not very good with the cleaning, but I’d do the cooking. So I’d come to some sort of
arrangement with her that I’d be the cook, she can do the washing up and stuff. (Jez)

Fancy myself as a bit of a chef, so there ain’t ever gonna be like an expectation that someone
would make dinner for me and all that. It’s something I’d be able to do if I was in a couple. I’d
be up for that. (Danny)

My girlfriend hates cooking. I’m more than happy to do it every night. She also hates doing the
dishes too. But she has gotta do something! (Pat)

I don’t mind cooking, I quite like cooking. Washing on the other hand is annoying! (Jason)

There was often a clear understanding that respondents would undertake tasks they
‘didn’t mind doing’. On probing these apparently egalitarian attitudes towards general
housework, their first instinct was to suggest they would probably cook whilst the part-
ner might perform the less attractive tasks. Interestingly, the suggestion that they might
spend more time preparing and cooking meals runs contrary to recent evidence which
shows that men of all ages have barely increased their cooking hours at all across most
western countries in the last 50 years (Hook, 2010).
There are two potential interlinked explanations for this shift in attitude. First, as
much housing data show, an independent dwelling forms part of many young people’s
experience of living arrangements prior to living with a partner. In these situations, we
can assume that such young people have at some point had to cook for themselves.
Indeed, the present respondents who had not yet left the parental home talked of often
preparing their own meals as they have got older. Cooking, then, is not necessarily a
foreign or unexpected task. Additionally, an abundance of ‘celebrity chef’ and cooking
Roberts 681

TV shows have permeated primetime popular media in recent years. Even without the
data to illustrate their impact, that many such programmes are hosted by male chefs (e.g.
Gordon Ramsey, Heston Blumenthal, Jamie Oliver) allows us to hypothesise that such
role models may have defeminised the kitchen and allowed men to participate in cooking
without compromising their masculinity. Moreover, the glamorising of cooking in this
way could also contribute to a desire to cook among men, rather than simply making it a
mundane, gender neutral activity.
Discussing other general cleaning duties the respondents often insinuated they
simply were ‘not very good at it’, or that it was something that did not particularly
bother them:

I don’t think that’s a women’s role, that a woman should clean up the house. The reality is I’m
a lazy fucker and if I’m gonna clean up and cook my fair share it’s ’cos someone is kicking my
arse to do it … (Luke)

I wouldn’t say I’m an unreasonably untidy person. But my god I’m more untidy than my
girlfriend. Actually, more untidy than any girlfriend I’ve had. Or any female housemate I’ve
had. For some weird reason men seem to be less offended by mess, you know what I mean? Go
and have a look where men live in comparison to women! (Pat)

I’m pretty standard when it comes to cleaning up. I’ll do it when it gets to the point where I
think it needs doing, which, like, I suppose is a different time to what a girl might think is the
time to it, or anyone else … I mean I don’t have expectations about how tidy a place should be
or anything. (Gavin)

Do I think someone should tidy up my mess? No. Do I want someone to tidy up my mess? No.
Do I want someone giving me a hard time about tidying up? Absolutely fucking no! Like, what
difference does it make? (Johnny)

Without making explicit references to gender essentialism, the respondents have clearly
positioned themselves as different from women, who are more ‘offended by mess’. This
insight is important because much research that contemplates attitudes towards the male
breadwinner model considers either rational bargaining theories or gendered ideology as
key determinants on the division of household chores. There appears to be an additional
factor to consider, and another layer of complexity when determining the impact of gen-
der. Whilst these responses can be linked to gender-appropriate behaviour, to suggest
that the respondents expect women to tidy after them is incorrect. Further, their attitudes
run contra Jones’ (1995: 69) assertion that working-class boys stay at home until the
domestic role their mothers account for can be taken up by their wives or long-term part-
ners. The ambivalence the young men direct toward their own mess is perceived as the
attitude they will take into a partnership. Consequently, they do not expect women to tidy
up because it is their job; instead, they believe women will do so because they are more
‘offended’ by messy living conditions. Whether this is a natural or a social construction
means little – their attitude is underpinned by their own ambivalence and this partially
problematises the understanding that men are inherent ‘beneficiaries’ of all forms of
domestic labour (Adkins, 1995).
682 Sociology 47(4)

Evidence suggests that, although women still undertake the major share of childcare
duties, men are more likely to participate in childcare than in routine housework
(Gershuny, 2000; Kan, 2008). The respondents’ attitudes towards the second component
of domestic labour (i.e. caring duties) were, again, not particularly consistent with male
breadwinner ideals. Instead, just one respondent was explicit in viewing the male bread-
winner model as an ideal when a couple has children. The rest of the sample explicitly
outlined that they should and would share the burden of hard work, as well as the joys of
raising children. Additionally, though, many identified the role social policies and other
institutional barriers play in reinforcing women’s position as a primary caregiver:

Obviously, the mother gets the maternity [leave] and they spend a lot more time with the baby.
But, um, I’d feel if I had a baby with someone, I mean if I was the one not at work I’d give it a
good shot. I don’t want kids or anything like that now, but at a later date I’d have no problem,
I’d love to be able to be there just as much. (Christian)

Men usually earn more than women. That is shit in some ways, but that’s what happens. Other
than that, which is pretty massive, there’s no reason why men shouldn’t have equal share of
baby feeding and stuff. They will probably be the ones at work, not always like, but probably.
But when two people are in the house it’s a share. It’s just a human thing to do. (Pat)

It’s [employment] set up for women to look after kids. They need time to recover after giving
birth, though. Men don’t get much time to spend with a new baby do they, like paternity leave
is pretty rubbish. Will employers let me go part-time to look after the kids? I can’t see it.
Generally the decent thing to do is to help each other out with all of these things. (Jason)

It could be argued that, in recognising the structural barriers that promote female primary
care giving, young men are complicit in maintaining the conditions that facilitate this.
However, given their responses and general attitudes this would seem unfair. Congruent
with Crompton and Lyonette (2005: 610), the responses make clear that ‘structural fac-
tors are at least as important, if not more important, than ‘attitudinal’ factors in shaping
the working arrangements of couples’.
Following their positive attitudes to service work, we see a changing picture of mas-
culinity. Though stopping short of representing some form of ‘new man’, their attitudes
do not reflect the kind of gender-appropriate behaviour associated with their fathers’
generation, or indeed the kind of behaviour still often associated with working-class
masculinity. These young men largely wanted to share household chores with their pro-
spective partners and saw childcare as part of an active partnership that is structured and
destabilised by employment practices and social policies. The bargaining that would see
them and their partners divide paid and unpaid labour was very much based on rational
calculations over and above gender ideology. This could be particularly significant given
their low-pay positions in the labour market; it is entirely feasible that their partners may
earn as much, perhaps even more.

Conclusion
Masculinities have been recognised in their plurality for over two decades, as has the
contested and contradictory nature of the construction of masculine identity. Yet the
Roberts 683

dominant picture of working-class masculinity that pervades academic literature and

popular media continues to correspond with traditional representations: adherence to
male bread winner ideals, homophobia and misogyny, alongside suspicions of anything
connoting femininity. However, considering the responses presented here, there appears
to be little doubt that ‘men enact masculinity in different ways, depending not only on
their social characteristics but also on the dynamics of the social spaces in which such
enactments take place, whether this is a more private or public setting’ (Richardson,
2010: 738). This understanding needs to be extended to consider different manifestations
among different men within social groups. Positioning working-class masculinity in
opposition to middle-class masculinity in the way it has been is entirely problematic and
a simplistic misrepresentation; the spectacular and more discussion-worthy enactments
of protest masculinity come to overshadow the lives of the large mass of unspectacular,
ordinary men (Roberts, 2011).
The facts are clear – manufacturing, mining and other traditional men’s jobs have
declined and been replaced by an increasing service sector over recent decades.
Nowadays, great numbers of young men work in non-traditional roles – retail in particu-
lar is a huge employer of young men (as well as young women) and this is largely the
case in most UK regions (Roberts, 2011). The idea that great swathes are ‘struggling to
adjust to a shifting gender order’ (Nayak, 2006: 814) develops in part because the experi-
ences of men in front-line service work remain relatively overlooked compared with
attitudes towards taking up such employment (e.g. Furlong and Cartmel, 2004; Nixon,
2009). The point of reference for these young men in regards to what a suitable job looks
like, what it entails, and who does them, what is possible, has changed. Although the
findings need to be treated tentatively, the responses here seem to verify this. With sev-
eral years of (often consistent) labour market experience in the service sector, these
respondents clearly do not find such work too abhorrent to undertake and instead identify
positive experiences. At the same time, without ethnographic observation to confirm
many of the points discussed, we have to remain cognisant to the fact that these discur-
sive constructions might not map onto reality in such a straightforward manner. This
starts to emerge in the young men’s accounts of how they reconcile masculinity and
service work. However, even here there is still a sense in which a reliance on ‘appropriate
forms’ of masculine performance as a key source of self-identity is becoming less impor-
tant, and at the very least increasingly more complex.
Similarly, while not illustrative of a full-scale detraditionalization of gender (Beck,
1992; Giddens, 1992), developing an attitude associated with a traditional, and (for
working-class men) expected, gendered division of labour is far from ineluctable. Failure
to commit to ideals that correspond with working-class masculinity of generations past
does not appear to prevent young men from obtaining a culturally validated form of
masculinity. It seems clear that these young men imagine a future in which, in terms of
the division of routine housework, attitudes towards traditional gender ideology are
somewhat attenuated. Yet, whilst the respondents all seemed happy to do their share,
they largely had preferences for cooking, suggesting it was something they enjoyed.
Consequently, the tasks they most disliked were something they hoped their significant
other would perform. Indeed, they suggested their ambivalence towards untidiness, rela-
tive to females’ ‘natural’ cleanliness, would mean that women would most likely perform
684 Sociology 47(4)

general cleaning duties. In regards to childcare, the respondents claimed to want to be

involved with both the hard work and the joys of raising children. They did, however,
often recognise that institutional and structural barriers would often mean that their pro-
spective partners would in all probability become primary care givers for their children.
Overall, these young men expect to revert to a process of rational bargaining whereby
their involvement in the labour market is the primary stimulus for negotiating less house
work and childcare. They do, however, expect to have a significant role to play in both
matters once at home. Whilst the limitations of using interview data based on perceived
futures are recognised – after all, these ideals may never come to be lived out in practice
– the young men present a picture of a more equitable division of domestic labour than
we might expect.
This study adds to our understanding of how young working-class men negotiate their
identity in the 21st century. It reveals both change and continuity, but with a degree of
complexity that compels us to rethink the assessment that ‘new forms of masculinity
more in tune with the dominant attributes of a service-based economy … have yet to find
any expression’ (McDowell, 2003: 226; Nayak, 2006; Richardson, 2010). Instead,
extending Anderson’s theory to a different social group, we can note that some working-
class young men discursively construct and imagine lives that are indicative of a socio-
historical moment characterised by inclusive masculinity, with aspects of femininity that
once presented a threat to masculine ideals appearing to hold less cultural sway. This
does little to dismantle or equalise power relations – these young men remain, after all,
in labour market positions characterised by low pay, low status and few prospects.
However, it does problematise the prevailing explanatory logic of hegemonic masculin-
ity theory. Illustrating the complexities, ambivalences and ambiguities of constructing a
masculine subject position, the evidence here reminds us that the ‘appropriate’, respected
and even hegemonic way of ‘being a man’ is contingent upon the social, historical and,
often, the very specific context. Therefore, as suggested by Anderson (2011), more than
one form of masculinity can be situated at the summit of the hierarchy of hegemonic
relations at any one point.

Funding
This research was funded by the ESRC, grant number PTA-031-2006-00219.

References
Adkins L (1995) Gendered Work: Sexuality, Family and the Labour Market. Buckingham: Open
University Press.
Anderson E (2005) Orthodox and inclusive masculinity: Competing masculinities among hetero-
sexual men in a feminized terrain. Sociological Perspectives 48: 337–55.
Anderson E (2011) Updating the outcome: Gay athletes, straight teams, and coming out in educa-
tionally based sport teams. Gender & Society 25(2): 250–68.
Bauman Z (1998) Work, Consumerism and the New Poor. Buckingham: Open University Press
Beasley C (2008) Re-thinking hegemonic masculinity in a globalising world. Men and Masculinities
11(1): 86–103.
Beck U (1992) Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity. London: Sage.
Roberts 685

Becker GS (1991[1981]) A Treatise on the Family, enlarged edn. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Beynon H (1973) Working for Ford. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Breen R and Cooke LP (2005) The persistence of the gendered division of domestic labour.
European Sociological Review 21: 43–57.
Coles T (2008) Finding space in the field of masculinity: Lived experiences of men’s masculinities.
Journal of Sociology 44(3): 233–48.
Coltrane S and Shih KY (2010) Gender and the division of labor. In: Chrisler JC and McCreary DR
(eds) Handbook of Gender Research in Psychology, vol. 2: Gender Research in Social and
Applied Psychology, 401–22.
Connell RW (1987) Gender and Power: Society, the Person and Sexual Politics. Oxford: Polity.
Connell RW (1995) Masculinities. Cambridge: Polity.
Connell RW (2000) The Men and the Boys. Cambridge: Polity.
Craig L (2006) Does father care mean fathers share? A comparison of how mothers and fathers in
intact families spend time with children. Gender & Society 20(2): 259–81.
Crompton R and Lyonette C (2005) The new gender essentialism – domestic and family ‘choices’
and their relation to attitudes. British Journal of Sociology 56(4): 601–20.
Cross S and Bagilhole B (2002) Girls’ jobs for the boys? Men, masculinity and non-traditional
occupations. Gender, Work and Organization 9(2): 204–26.
Cunningham M (2008) Changing attitudes towards the male breadwinner, female homemaker
family model: Influences of women’s employment and education over the life-course. Social
Forces 87(1): 299–322.
Demetriou DSZ (2001) Connell’s concept of hegemonic masculinity A critique. Theory & Society
30: 337–61.
Furlong A and Cartmel F (2004) Vulnerable Young Men in Fragile Labour Markets: Employment,
Unemployment and the Search for Long-term Security. York: Joseph Rowntree Foundation.
Evans K (2002) Taking control of their lives? Agency in young adult transitions in England and
the new Germany. Journal of Youth Studies 5(3): 245–69.
Gershuny J (2000) Changing Times: Work and Leisure in Post-industrial Society. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Giddens A (1992) The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and Eroticism in Modern
Societies. Cambridge: Polity.
Gill R (2003) Power and the production of subjects: A genealogy of the new man and the new lad.
In: Benwell B (ed.) Masculinity and Men’s Lifestyle Magazines. Oxford: Blackwell, 34–56.
Griffin C (2011) The trouble with class: Researching youth, class and culture beyond the
‘Birmingham School’. Journal of Youth Studies 14(3): 245–59.
Gunter A and Watt P (2009) Grafting, going to college and working on road: Youth transitions and
cultures in an East London neighbourhood. Journal of Youth Studies 12(5): 515–29.
Hartman H (1981) The family as the locus of gender, class and political struggle: The example of
housework. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 6(3): 366–94.
Henderson S, Holland J, McGrellis S, Sharpe S and Thomson R (2007) Inventing Adulthoods: A
Biographical Approach to Youth Transitions. London: Sage.
Heath S, Brooks R, Cleaver E and Ireland E (2009) Researching Young People’s Lives. London:
Sage.
Henson KD and Rogers JK (2001) ‘Why Marcia you’ve changed!’ Male clerical temporary work-
ers doing masculinity in a feminized occupation. Gender & Society 15(2): 218–38.
Hochschild AR (1983) The Managed Heart: Commercialization of Human Feeling. Berkeley, CA:
University of California Press.
686 Sociology 47(4)

Hook J (2010) Gender inequality in the welfare state: Sex segregation in housework, 1965–2003.
American Journal of Sociology 115(5): 1480–523.
Jones G (1995) Leaving Home. Buckingham: Open University Press.
Kan MY (2008) Does gender trump money? Housework hours of husbands and wives in Britain.
Work, Employment and Society 22(1): 45–66.
Kimmel M (2008) Guyland: The Perilous World Where Boys Become Men. New York:
Harper Collins.
Leidner R (1993) Fast Food, Fast Talk: Service Work and the Routinizations of Everyday Life.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Lindsay C and McQuaid RW (2004) Avoiding the ‘McJobs’: Unemployed job seekers and atti-
tudes to service work. Work Employment and Society 18(2): 297–319.
Lupton R (2006) Explaining men’s entry into female-concentrated occupations: Issues of mascu-
linity and social class. Gender, Work & Organization 13(2): 108–28.
Mac an Ghaill M (1994) The Making of Men: Masculinities Sexualities and Schooling. Bucking-
ham: Open University Press.
McCormack M and Anderson E (2010) ‘It’s just not acceptable any more’: The erosion of
homophobia and the softening of masculinity in an English state school. Sociology 44(5):
843–59.
McDowell L (2003) Redundant Masculinities? Employment Change and White Working Class
Youth. London: Blackwell.
Milkman R (1997) Farewell to the Factory. Auto Workers in the Late Twentieth Century. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Nayak A (2006) Displaced masculinities: Chavs, youth and class in the post-industrial city. Sociol-
ogy 40(5): 813–31.
Nixon D (2009) ‘I can’t put a smiley face on’: Working-class masculinity, emotional labour and
service work in the ‘new economy’. Gender, Work & Organization 16(3): 300–22.
Richardson D (2010) Youth masculinities: Compelling male heterosexuality. British Journal of
Sociology 61(4): 737–56.
Roberts S (2011) Beyond Neet and tidy pathways: Considering the missing middle of youth transi-
tions studies. Journal of Youth Studies 14(1): 21–39.
Roberts S (2012a) Gaining skills or just paying the bills? Workplace learning in low-level retail
employment. Journal of Education and Work, iFirst article. doi: 10.1080/13639080.2011.653555
Roberts S (2012b) ‘I just got on with it’: The educational experiences of ordinary, yet over-
looked, boys. British Journal of Sociology of Education 33(2): 203–21.
Scourfield J (2005) Suicidal masculinities. Sociological Research Online 10(2). Available at:
http://www.socresonline.org.uk/10/2/scourfield.html
Simpson R (2004) Masculinity at work: The experiences of men in female dominated occupations.
Work, Employment and Society 18(2): 349–68.
Thébaud S (2010) Masculinity, bargaining, and breadwinning. Gender & Society 24(3): 330–54.
Whitehead S (2002) Men and Masculinities. Cambridge: Polity.
Willis P (1977) Learning to Labour: Why Working-class Kids Get Working-class Jobs. Farnbor-
ough: Saxon House.

Steven Roberts is lecturer in Social Policy and Sociology at the University of Kent,
Medway. His research examines changes and continuities in the lived reality of youth
and young adulthood, in particular considering how apparently mundane, unspectacular
and ordinary experiences can illuminate our understanding of the social world.

Date submitted January 2012

Date accepted May 2012
453794
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512453794SociologyCastro-Vázquez

Article

Sociology
47(4) 687­–704
The ‘Beauty’ of Male © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Circumcision in Japan:  sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512453794
Gender, Sexuality and the soc.sagepub.com

Male Body in a Medical Practice

Genaro Castro-Vázquez
Nanyang Technological University, Singapore

Abstract
This article introduces the construct of ‘the beauty of male circumcision’ to analyse male
circumcision in Japan. Japanese men are largely circumcised at beauty and aesthetic clinics,
neonatal circumcision has never been mandatory and no official records are provided, therefore
the manuscript offers an iconographic and textual analysis of the information that Japanese men
can access to decide whether they want to be circumcised. The analysis is grounded on four axes:
medical knowledge, embodiment, gender and sexuality. Although male circumcision has been
largely a preventative method against disease, in Japanese settings the surgery is sold as a means
to regain control of the body and enhance self-confidence. The male body is seen as a commodity
and male circumcision becomes a placebo that works on the psyche of men grappling with gender
and sexual matters.

Keywords
embodiment, hegemonic masculinity, medicalisation, plastic surgery, sexual script,
social semiotics

Introduction
This article presents an aspect of ongoing research exploring male circumcision in Japan.
Grounded in the ‘social semiotics of gender’ (Connell, 1995: 65), the essay explores the
social construction of male circumcision in Japanese media and academic reports, which
encompass the main source of information for those considering the procedure.
Circumcision is still unusual among newborn babies; it has never been mandatory and
most adult male circumcisions take place at beauty and aesthetic clinics. Although the

Corresponding author:
Genaro Castro-Vázquez, Division of Sociology, Nanyang Technological University, HSS-05-49, 14 Nanyang
Drive, 637332, Singapore.
Email: genarocastro-vazquez@ntu.edu.sg
688 Sociology 47(4)

actual number of circumcised men is unknown, ‘the popularity of circumcision among

young men is apparent by the number of new clinics opening up with this as a speciality’
(Miller, 2004: 94). Therefore, this article proposes that the construct of ‘the beauty of
male circumcision’ be used to refer to male circumcision as a plastic surgery – rather than
a prophylactic measure – undertaken to meet ‘beauty’ concerns and enhance the sense of
masculinity of Japanese men. Having the foreskin removed is part of a Japanese sexual
culture of beauté that conveys sexual recreation within the commodification of the male
body and a phallocentric gender regime.
In disentangling the Japanese culture underpinning male circumcision, this essay
attempts to ‘theorize sexuality’ (Jackson and Scott, 2010) to cast light on how the medi-
cal procedure has been integrated into everyday sexual behaviour and located within
general patterns of sociality. In doing so, the notion of ‘script’ (Gagnon and Simon,
2005: 13) helps explore how texts and images of male circumcision produce a reading
of the male body in relation to the foreskin to highlight that this specific piece of flesh
produces a gendered and sexualised male body. The exploration underlines how cir-
cumcised and non-circumcised male bodies relate to each other and the implications of
such relationships for the female body. This assists with understanding the outcome of
these relationships in terms of sexual behaviour, gender and hierarchy.
The idea of hierarchy brings about debates on the phallus in relation to the social
semiotics of gender: ‘the phallus is master signifier, and femininity is symbolically
defined by lack’ (Connell, 1995: 65). Hierarchy in relation to male circumcision implies,
moreover, diversity and hegemony in the relationships between circumcised and uncir-
cumcised men because the minor surgery is constructed as a strategy to develop a male
body that makes the individual ‘feel safe, respected, [and] in control’ (Bordo, 1999: 57).
Visual and textual representations go beyond physiological and anatomical explanations
to turn male circumcision into ‘a tool working on the soul’ (Foucault, 1988) and the
prepuce into a phallic symbol on its own. In other words, within a ‘phallic economy’,
male circumcision appears to be a medical technology to help Japanese men regain
power and control over their bodies and circumcised men become invested with domi-
nance as the ‘legitimate bearers of phallic power’ (MacMullan, 1992: 7).
Hence, this article aims to cast light on how the male body is depicted in current
representations of circumcision in Japan and how iconographic and textual representa-
tions of male circumcision impact on gender and sexuality. To address these issues,
male circumcision is firstly located within current global debates, followed by a review
of current gender relations and masculinity in Japan. Data sources and methods of
analysis are then presented to support the analysis of the textual and iconographic
representations of male circumcision grounded on four axes: medical knowledge, the
male body, gender and sexuality.

A Debate of Polar Extremes

The beauty of male circumcision is a topic that emerged from the ‘timeless’ controver-
sies concerning the anatomy, physiology and functionality of the prepuce. Sexuality,
gender, disease prevention, aesthetics, medicine, morality and religion produce an amal-
gam of discourses that have made male circumcision ‘the world’s most controversial
Castro-Vázquez 689

surgery’ (Gollaher, 2000). A historical review suggests that male circumcision might
have stemmed from concerns for penile hygiene amongst civilisations lacking clean
running water in the desert (Darby, 2005). Populations living in the Middle East and
North Africa might have incorporated male circumcision to their daily lives as religious
ritual because, prior to the Enlightenment, religion largely informed ‘public health and
the social organization of desire’ (Cocks, 2006: 159).
Male circumcision entered the medical terrain of European societies grappling with
the ‘pernicious’ influence of masturbation. Moral concerns were overwhelming and
medical doctors faced a major challenge to justify the removal of the foreskin. ‘Congenital
phimosis’ and spermatorrhea referred to two pathological conditions – both chronic and
life threatening – caused by ‘too great excitement of the genital apparatus, following
venereal excesses or masturbation’ (Darby, 2005: 63). These medical definitions origi-
nated in an environment where syphilis was endemic, theories about infectious diseases
were confused and erroneous, sexual Puritanism classified any form of non-procreative
sex as immoral and sexual pleasure was deemed fearful and dangerous. Afterwards, male
circumcision became a matter of prophylactics and routine for newborn babies at medi-
cal facilities in the USA mainly, triggering much debate and controversy. Physicians
supporting the practice highlighted that removing the prepuce could prevent urinary
infections and sexually transmitted diseases, as well as penile and cervical cancer. Medics
opposing the surgery maintained that male circumcision might provoke genital insensi-
tivity, affect sexual performance and have emotional impacts (Bloom and Koo, 1999).
Most recent controversies centre on the results of randomised clinical trials with
African populations to emphasise that male circumcision can prevent female-male
transmission of HIV. The medical procedure supposedly enhances protection for men
against HIV in the context of heterosexual sex and female to male transmission because
the surgery reduces the prevalence of genital sores, mini-lesions and ulcerations that
increase the risk of contracting sexually transmitted infections. In addition, cutting off
the foreskin eliminates a high density of cells that are susceptible to HIV infection
(Szabo and Short, 2000). In 2007, WHO/UNAIDS recommended that male circumcision
should be scaled up in nations with high rates of infection through heterosexual sex.
Circumcision became a relevant measure against heterosexually acquired HIV infection
in men, which re-ignited the historical debate of polar extremes. Those supporting the
procedure seek to re-medicalise male circumcision (Carpenter, 2010) and are driving
efforts to implement urgent en masse campaigns in the Sub-Saharan region. Nonetheless,
campaigns for male circumcision remain problematic because in places such as the
USA – where routine circumcision was firmly established for newborn males – the
rate of circumcised baby boys has decreased (Harrison, 2002) and ‘currently not a
single national medical organization endorses neonatal circumcision’ (Van Howe, 2004:
584). In general, the practice is found among Jewish and Muslim religious communities,
except for South Korea with ‘possibly the largest absolute number of teenage or adult
circumcisions anywhere in the world’ (Kim et al., 1999: 28).
Academics opposing current trends contend that promoting adult male circumcision
and presenting it as if it were ‘just a snip’ (Aggleton, 2007) could be misleading because
circumcised men can still acquire HIV if safe sex is not practised. Similarly, lower rates
of infection could be related to endogamy rather than to male circumcision (Van Howe
690 Sociology 47(4)

et al., 2005: 260) – as is most likely the case for Jewish populations (Kimmel, 2001) –
and promoting the circumcision of adults largely contradicts efforts to increase condom
use among sexually active people. Women have also argued that female HIV-
vulnerability could be exacerbated, as being circumcised could convey a form of
leeway to neglect condom use (Hankins, 2007). Lastly, creating a ‘false’ sense of
security amongst circumcised men and promoting the human body’s mutilation is
largely unethical.

Demanding Women, Failing Men

A discussion on male circumcision requires a review of the studies on gender in Japan
with an emphasis on masculinity and the male body. Social imagery constructed through
‘theories about Japan’, instrumental to explain the ‘spiritual’ peculiarity of Japanese
society, have placed Japanese gender relationships within a binary that presents women
and men as opposites in collision. Women are to become ‘good wives and wise mothers’
and men are to develop into the ‘house master pillar’ upholding the family system – and
by extension – the entire nation. Likewise, Japanese industrialisation and development
have been linked to a gender regime that implies a division of labour between the bread-
winner ‘salaryman’ and the ‘perfectly complementary’ full-time housewife (Hidaka,
2010) that characterises a familial and national middle-class standard of life.
The gender regime has translated into Japanese men who have been almost totally
estranged from the home and women who have had limited access to paid work and been
largely confined to the domesticity of housework. During the 1990s, despite working
outside the home, married women were still largely responsible for childrearing and
housework: ‘Japanese men spent only twenty minutes a day on housework even when
their wives worked’ (Tipton, 2008: 227); and most recent surveys suggest that whilst
Japanese wives who work full time spend ‘30 hours a week doing the housework, their
husbands contribute an unprincely three hours of effort’ (The Economist, 2011). However,
the increasing number of women entering tertiary education and paid employment have
triggered changes in the gender regime and social imagery highlights a ‘“gender panic”
in twentieth-century Japan’ (Kinsella, 2012: 72, emphasis in the original). The dyad
salaryman-housewife does not fully represent contemporary gender relationships, which
seem to have aggravated the economic impact of the ‘Lost Decade’ that has lasted for
more than 20 years. The prevalence of singleness, divorce, postponed or refused mar-
riage and childlessness mirror new gender dynamics that have put at risk social, political
and economic stability (Rebick and Nakatani, 2006). Planners and politicians face a
‘crisis of ultra-low fertility rates’ (Jones et al., 2009) that could mean a zero growth of the
economy in the 2040s because the working-age population in 2050 might be 17 per cent
less than that in 2005 (Japan Centre for Economic Research, 2007).
Currently, women are named ‘unpatriotic and selfish’ by conservatives because of
opting for a career rather than devoting themselves to homemaking and childrearing
(Holloway, 2010: 4). Despite younger women delaying marriage and having fewer chil-
dren, or avoiding these two activities altogether, a growing tendency towards premarital
sex and a rather public tolerance towards divorce among contemporary Japanese women
exist (Muta, 2008). Moreover, marriage has not lost social significance and the literature
Castro-Vázquez 691

suggests that Japanese men are largely ‘responsible’ for current gender dynamics and
the concomitant demographic conundrum because they have ‘failed’ to meet women’s
demands. During the 1970s and 1980s, women seemed to resist or refuse marriage
because they could not find a husband with the three H’s (high income, high education,
height) (Nemoto, 2008). Nowadays, women seem to work while waiting for the ‘appro-
priate person’ (Nakano, 2011), which most likely refers to a man with the three Cs –
comfortable income, communicative and cooperative with housework and childcare
(Mathews, 2003).

Men’s Studies and the Male Body

Social imagery suggests that the ‘solution’ to existing Japanese social maladies largely
lies in the hands of Japanese men and their capacity to become the salaryman that has
traditionally supported the country. This is because the salaryman embodies the ideol-
ogy of the ‘the corporate warrior’ who promoted the post-war ‘rapid economic growth’
(Kimura, 2006: 80) by upholding the corporate society and family system. Even
though any individual receiving a salary is by definition a salaryman, the term as used
within the Japanese context refers to corporate white-collar employees of private-
sector organisations with a lifetime employment and seniority-based salary. The sala-
ryman is thus the quintessential epitome of the Japanese ‘hegemonic masculinity’
(Connell, 1995).
The salaryman ideology has transcended domestic discussions to the point that for-
eign scholarship has produced overwhelming generalisations about maleness in Japan
based almost exclusively on ‘the male elite sector alone’ (Sugimoto, 2004: 2). Therefore,
issues of hegemony and diversity in the ways Japanese men enact their gender identity
remain largely unexplored. Taga (2005) presents a historical review concerning the
ways maleness has been debated in the media and academic circles and recognises three
main areas of concern regarding masculinity in Japan. Firstly, the so-called ‘men’s stud-
ies’ mirrors issues in the ways masculinity and femininity are entangled in the division
of labour. The gender regime that supposedly brought about development and economic
stability after the Second World War has also been identified as the cause of discrimina-
tion and inequality in labour policies.
The second area of concern lies with the identity of men who, after dedicating their
lives to the corporate world, enter retirement and a life within a household to which they
do not feel they belong. They are late-middle-aged men struggling with their ‘second
life’ and with family members who see them as ‘heavy wet leaves’ or ‘large-size refuse’
(Alexy, 2010). Finally and most worrying of the three areas is the issue of the younger
generation of ‘failing men’ who have been ‘unable’ to cope with the recession in the
economy. Unlike men from prior generations, the current ones appear unable to deal with
the current political, economic and demographic conundrum. The image of failing
Japanese men has been largely constructed by the mass media as an absolutely devas-
tated Samurai being pushed around by a little woman (Figure 1). As Fujimura (2006:
206) puts it, ‘men are breaking down masculinity’ and there is a high degree of societal
despair because the master narrative of the corporate warrior has become irrelevant to
younger Japanese men.
692 Sociology 47(4)

Figure 1.  Japan as number three.

Source: The Economist (2010).

Social imagery often depicts young Japanese men’s failure to comply with their social
roles in terms of labour, gender and sexuality. As they ‘fail to become regular employees’
(Mathews, 2004: 132, emphasis added) and choose temporary or casual jobs, they
equally fail to become the father that provides and protects the family and by extension
the master pillar that supports the social, political and financial system. Moreover, they
fail to maintain a ‘manly’ appearance because the frivolity of cosmetics and fashion that
adorn their bodies makes them look ‘weak and feminised’ (Demetriou, 2008; Yomiuri
Shimbun, 2010). Finally, they have begun to be labelled as ‘herbivorous boys’, a term
that satirises their lack of ‘carnal’ desires and appetites (Saito and Shima, 2009) as an
indicator of their failures as sexualised beings.
Although ‘true masculinity is almost always thought to proceed from men’s bodies’
(Connell, 1995: 45), the influence of the salaryman ideology has made the male body
socially almost invisible. A salaryman is most likely an academic achiever whose white-
collar position reflects his intelligence and efforts at school. Therefore, studies on the
male body in Japan are still rare because the salaryman most likely refers to an ideal of
masculinity represented by mental work, academic achievement and disembodiment.
Moreover, the idea that ‘the average Japanese man has an appetite for work’ (Shibuya,
2009: 43) has resulted in research that highlights a reading of the Japanese male body
almost only in terms of the struggles with the sedentary lifestyle and mental exhaustion
entailed in their mind-oriented labour conditions. Most official surveys and academic
and media reports revolve around issues pertaining to overwork, suicide and obesity –
apparently one out of two Japanese men are overweight (Asahi Shimbun, 2010;
Kawanishi, 2009; Kōsei Rōdōshō Kenkōkyoku, 2007; Yomiuri Shimbun, 2011).
Sociological and anthropological studies deal also with issues related to men’s baldness
and identity (Sunaga, 1999), men’s worries and identity (Shibuya, 2009) and masculinity
and the cosmetic industry (Miller, 2004) as well as male virginity in Japan (Shibuya,
2003).
Castro-Vázquez 693

Methodology
A study of the aesthetics of male circumcision entails a sociological analysis of the ways
it is presented in Japanese websites, newspapers and magazines as well as medical,
sociological and anthropological reports produced in English and Japanese language
from 2000 to 2012. I draw upon Jensen’s ‘pragmatism in semiotics’ (1995) in my attempt
at theorizing male circumcision in order to tease out the social meanings embedded in
the medical procedure and to highlight that signs always mediate consciousness, social
life and practice. This means that I take gender and sexual-related ‘scripts’ (Gagnon and
Simon, 2005) as fundamental to the perception and cognition of male circumcision in
Japan.
Semiotics of the beauty of male circumcision are constructed on sexual and gender
scripts, which help Japanese men learn ‘the meaning of internal states, organising
the sequences of specifically sexual acts, decoding novel situations, setting the limits
on sexual responses and linking meanings from nonsexual aspects of life to specifically
sexual experience’ (Gagnon and Simon, 2005: 13). Nevertheless, representations ‘are
symptoms, not portraits’ (Goffman, 1976: 8), thus, the iconographic analysis did not
entail an ‘attempt at contemplating truth, but an act for a purpose in a context …
[because representations] … do not provoke a “response” in any behaviourist sense,
but may produce “a predisposition to act”’ (Jensen, 1995: 11, emphasis in the original).
Therefore, in theorizing male circumcision, textual and iconographic analysis was not
grounded on direct representations of reality but on ‘accounts or pieces of reality’ that
cannot stand on their own and only make sense when read within the context of current
sexual and gender relationships in Japanese society.
Data were interpreted within a framework of feminist theory (Ramazanoglu and
Holland, 2002), under the assumption that in Japanese society contemporary gender
relations are hierarchically constructed as power relations that permeate the ways
Japanese men and women interact. Nonetheless, masculinity and femininity were not
seen as ‘opposites in coalition’ (Holland et al., 1998) but as producing a regime of nor-
mality that largely contributes to the reproduction of a patriarchal social order. Overall,
the investigation was an attempt to shed light on the ways representations of male cir-
cumcision integrate medical knowledge together with gender and sexual scripts. Similar
to Weeks (1986), sexuality should be seen as both a public and a secret phenomenon,
intimately personal whilst regulated by law; biological and cultural; socially con-
structed, organised and institutionalised and yet the product of fantasy, individual
agency and resistance.
To begin the analysis, and concurrent with the debate of polar extremes, information
sources were collated into four groups: views against male circumcision, views in favour
of the procedure, media source and academic report. Subsequently, systematic networks
(Bliss et al., 1983) helped to analyse the data. By using networks, theory could be tested
because textual and iconographic representations could be translated into the language of
the theory. Through an induction-deduction interactive process four axes (medical
knowledge, the body, gender and sexuality) were produced to sort out and present the
analysis of information. In the process, meanings taken from each piece of information
were explicitly stated because meanings:
694 Sociology 47(4)

… are never fixed but emerge out of a ceaselessly changing stream of interaction between
producers and readers in shifting contexts. They may, of course, become habitualised and
stable; but always and everywhere the meanings […] shift and sway in the contexts to which
they are linked. (Plummer, 1995: 22, emphasis in the original)

Circumcision, Beauté and the Male Body

The absence of official records makes it difficult to determine the actual number of
circumcised Japanese men and newborn babies. Reports from hotlines serving family
planning clinics and the Japan Family Planning Association indicate that requests for
information concerning circumcision usually come from young men and male teenag-
ers concerned about the size and shape of their genitals (Yomiuri Shimbun, 1989). It is
unlikely that the National Health Insurance Scheme will cover the cost of the medical
procedure and doctors are not particularly obliged to report on the number of foreskins
removed, because the removal is basically regarded as a matter of aesthetics. Since a
physician is entitled to recommend surgery only when the foreskin is deemed to be a
cause of illness or infection, the historical debate of polar extremes occurs in Japanese
settings too. Whilst some physicians, mainly plastic surgeons, openly promote male
circumcision, urologists largely oppose removing the foreskin.
Those supporting circumcision assert that it is a valid procedure to treat boys at risk
of urinary infections due to an overly tight foreskin covering the penis glans (Hiraoka
et al., 2002). The problem, however, as identified by a group of urologists lies with
identifying an abnormally grown foreskin that could lead to infections due to the inability
to retract. While there is little disagreement about the consequences of non-retraction,
a proper evaluation of neonates and infant boys entails a major challenge because ‘pre-
pucial separation progresses until adolescence’ (Kayaba et al., 1996). On these grounds,
paediatricians and urologists have produced a series of strategies to grapple with fore-
skin retraction by implementing non-surgical methods to help manage a foreskin that is
tightly adhered (Hayashi et al., 2009; Iwamuro et al., 1997, 1998; Yanagisawa et al.,
2000). In using these methods, the prepuce can remain intact and circumcision becomes
unnecessary.
In order to dispel myths surrounding male circumcision, Ishikawa (2008) and Hinami
et al. (2003) have produced compelling guides for the laymen that utilise anecdotal sto-
ries in plain language to demonstrate that the main concern about the foreskin revolves
around ‘penile hygiene’ (Iwamuro, 2003, 2009). Their intent was to fight against the
strong influence of the cosmetic and beauty industry which uses the media, particularly
the internet, to convince Japanese men of the desirability of circumcision. Although the
influence of the mass media appears to overpower that of medical institutions, a lack of
official data and longitudinal research makes it difficult to evaluate the impact of beauty
clinics on circumcision trends. However, iconographic and textual analyses show that
Japanese men can be easy ‘prey’ for the cosmetics industry due to inaccurate and/or
incomplete medical knowledge, which could lead to abusive pricing and medical mal-
practice. Information sources also tend to correlate with age of the consumers involved.
Teenagers and young men usually see circumcision as a means to deal with having a
‘small’ and ‘ugly’ penis, which could sometimes develop into an obsession or a sort of
Castro-Vázquez 695

‘mental disorder’ (Ishikawa, 2008; Osaka Shūkan, 2003). Older men, on the other hand,
tend to think of circumcision as a preventive method against penile cancer (Yomiuri
Shimbun, 1989). These concerns chiefly stem from misinformation and/or ignorance
concerning the anatomy and physiology of male genitalia. A poorly developed sex edu-
cation that emphasises reproduction matters has produced the social visibility of the
female body through menarche and pregnancy processes but has largely steered clear of
discussions on the male body (Castro-Vázquez, 2007).
Besides the dominance of certain information sources over others, semantic nuances
produce misunderstanding too. In the Japanese language, whilst phimosis (hōkei) is
colloquially used to indicate that someone is uncircumcised, circumcision (katsurei)
only refers to the tradition of male circumcision for religious purposes. Technical terms
such as foreskin removal (hōhi setsudan) or ‘an operation on a phimotic penis’ (hōkei
no shujutsu) are barely heard in daily conversations. Moreover, the availability of three
terms to point out how retractable the prepuce is complicates matters further. The con-
dition of a foreskin can be classified as pseudo or false phimosis (kasei hōkei), true
phimosis (shinsei hōkei) and paraphimosis (kanton hōkei). In theory, false and true
phimosis do not represent a risk to health as long as the penis glans can get exposed for
cleansing. It is only when the penis glans gets uncovered and the prepuce cannot return
to the original position that medical intervention is required because this is considered
to be a case of paraphimosis or glans penis strangulation. Nevertheless, a number of
urologists suggest that even in those cases circumcision can be avoided by using non-
surgical methods.
From a purely medical point of view, any classification on foreskin retraction is prob-
lematic because physicians are not unanimous in the diagnosis of true and false phimo-
sis. Therefore, it is impossible to know exactly which categories Japanese men fall into.
Nonetheless, discussions on male genitalia, even with physicians, are unlikely to occur
because of embarrassment and the influence of the hegemonic ideology that links male-
ness to mental work that trivialises and silences concerns about the male body. As a
result, it is not unusual that most men rely on the media, including pornographic materi-
als, or their peers for information and insight into their own bodies. Therefore, ignorance
about the male body largely makes Japanese men unwittingly complicit with the dis-
course on the virtues of male circumcision and forces them to reckon with expensive
surgeries and medical malpractice. The cost of having the foreskin cut off, which is a
minor surgery, could be exorbitant as there are no regulations covering the cost of plastic
surgeries (Yomiuri Shimbun, 2006).
On the other hand, medical malpractice largely results from poorly developed informed
consent practices. Patients do not fully understand that even a minor surgery such as male
circumcision involves a risk of failure. There are cases of men suffering from side effects
such as sexual organ deformity or dysfunction because the prepuce was not removed
properly. There are also instances of serious disappointment because the patient was ill
informed and after the surgery the penis does not look as ‘pretty’ or ‘large’ as expected.
Some of them are not aware that the intervention leaves a cicatrix and find their sexual
organ ‘uglier’. Unfortunately, culprits remain unprosecuted and cases not filed and/or
reported in the mass media (Mainichi Shimbun, 2006; Yomiuri Shimbun, 2006), mainly
due to embarrassment. Men have to produce in the first place a ‘convincing’ reason to opt
696 Sociology 47(4)

Figure 2. There is a concern that men cannot say to anyone.

Source: Ueno Kurinikku (2010).

for surgery in ‘such a part’ of their body that involves ‘a concern that men cannot say to
anyone’ (Figure 2).
Therefore, a key question is: if the procedure is not underpinned by sound medical
justification, circumcision has never been mandatory and Japanese men opting for it are
likely to bear expensive costs and sometimes face medical malpractice, why do they still
want to be circumcised?

Losing Face, Gaining Confidence, Improving

Performance
Textual and iconographic analysis suggests that the commercialisation of male circumci-
sion heavily relies on a script concerning genitalia and masculinity, which means that
maleness is built upon the size and shape of the genitals. Male circumcision is sold as a
surgery to boost maleness rather than a prophylactic measure. In Japan, aesthetics seem
to precede health and it is the cosmetic industry which is largely entitled to remove the
prepuce as part of a package of measures to attain ‘penile improvements’. Words are
carefully selected to send the message that having the foreskin removed encompasses
penile improvement in terms of health, physical appearance and sexual performance that
largely produce a ‘wonderful boost’ for the male morale. Although all the advertisements
present a brief description concerning the difference between false or true phimosis and
paraphimosis (e.g. Tokyo Norst Clinic),1 the foreskin is overwhelmingly presented as a
‘piece’ of skin that ‘bothers’ and that is a ‘demerit’ of the male body (e.g. the Chuoh
Clinic).2 Nothing positive is mentioned about keeping the foreskin untouched and cer-
tainly nothing is mentioned about penile hygiene. Surprisingly only one website men-
tions something about HIV/AIDS related to circumcision (Hōkei hikaku).3
A common discursive strategy used by clinics is the deployment of ‘scientific’ facts
as compelling reasons for circumcision. Although the reliability and validity of the data
are questionable, the benefits of male circumcision are presented through graphs and
tables seemingly representing statistical analyses of ‘surveys’. Clinics also provide feed-
back from the physicians involved regarding the procedure, but anecdotes from circum-
cised men whose lives changed radically following the procedure are meant to be a rather
Castro-Vázquez 697

Figure 3.  Male circumcision solves men’s worries! False phimosis, paraphimosis, true phimosis.
Source: Est Clinic.5

convincing argument about the beauty of male circumcision. As Mr S (aged 24) from
Tokyo puts it:

I worried alone about the small size because the head looked like it was tapering off. It was
rather embarrassing getting naked in a hot spring in front of my friends; I had a [psychological]
complex. To change I decided to get circumcised. At first, I was hesitant about going to a clinic
but stopped thinking and went for the surgery. It is very good that I am different than before and
became a positive person. (Ueno Kurinikku)8

Iconographic representations depict male circumcision as an ‘absolute’ aesthetic mat-

ter. Rather than hygiene or health, images only show how penile surgeries improve the
physical appearance of the penis. A beautiful penis looks like a ‘lovely mushroom’ with-
out anything covering the surface of the sexual organ (Figure 3). Therefore, leaving the
prepuce untouched is detrimental to the penis because ‘it looks bad’ not only to women,
but is also a source of embarrassment in the presence of other men sharing a hot spring
(if they find out that you are uncut). This, as emphasised in one advertisement, could
become a psychological complex and the cause of sexual impotence (Kitamura Clinic).4
In some respects, having a large prepuce covering the glans is a matter of face because
‘the penis is the face of man’ (Yoshizawa Clinic).6 The most widely distributed image to
promote male circumcision shows a young man wearing a turtleneck sweater. In the
depiction, the neck of the sweater covers half of the guy’s face, exactly as if it were the
prepuce enclosing the glans (Figure 2). In this light, the entire male body turns into a
sexual organ, and the penis glans conveys the man’s face. This not only projects the
sexual organ as the most important part of the body since ‘the pride of man is the lower
half of his body’ (Hills Tower Clinic),7 it also helps classify men accordingly (Figure 4).
The humanised representation of the penis could be effectively used to graphically
explain Connell’s (1995: 77) hegemonic masculinity or ‘the accepted answer to the prob-
lem of legitimacy of patriarchy which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the dominant
position of men and the subordination of women’.
Cartoons that produce a ‘penilised’ image of the male body (Figure 4) best illustrate
how hegemonic, subordinated, marginalised and complicit masculinities underpin the
beauty of male circumcision in Japan. Similar to Bordo (1999), the imagery suggests that
698 Sociology 47(4)

Figure 4. The penis is a man’s face.

Source: Yoshizawa Clinic.

hierarchy and ascendency concerning masculine identity still depend on the size of the
sexual organ. Iconographies appeared to be classifying men based on their sexual organs.
In the representation, those at the top of the ranking are ‘well-endowed’ men who might
not even require male circumcision because ‘the penis glans is always exposed’. This is
supposedly the ‘normal penis’. However, in reality, it represents a phallic ‘ideal’ that
bestows full power on men and iconographically exemplifies the construct of hegemonic
masculinity. As Connell (1995:79) holds ‘the number of men rigorously practising the
hegemonic pattern in its entirety may be quite small’. In real life, within the grip of a
penile economy, all men are in the quest for ascendency because no penis glans gets fully
exposed in ‘normal’ conditions without medical intervention.
In this context, the comparison between a non-erected (in Figure 4, heijōji literally
translates as at normal time) and erected penis (bokkiji) shown in Figure 4 exemplifies
the above. Cases of erected organs completely unable to retract the prepuce embody the
most ‘undesirable’ form of masculinity that requires urgent surgical assistance. In the
image, sexual organs appear to be grouped according to anatomical and physiological
Castro-Vázquez 699

differences, which provide a classification of male bodies together with the sense of
masculine identity embedded. The expression on the faces of those penises ranking
lower reflects the anxiety and unhappiness of those men who could be easily linked to a
subordinated or marginalised masculinity. These men, as advised by the image, have
nothing to worry about; they could always find an easy solution in circumcision. The
images suggest that all men can align themselves easily with the hegemonic masculinity
through shaping their genitalia. It is having a penis and the will to shape it that makes
Japanese men complicit in the production of hegemonic masculinity, enlarging the pos-
sibility of taking advantage of the ‘patriarchal dividend’ (Connell, 2000) with returns in
the forms of control and authority over marginalised and subordinated men as well as
women.
The discourse surrounding the beauty of male circumcision also creates a necessary
relationship between sexuality and genitalia and suggests that sexual satisfaction can
only be derived from heterosexual sex, where the male body acts upon a female body
through vaginal penetration by preferably a circumcised penis. Circumcision is therefore
scripted as a way to deal with ‘demanding women’, functioning as a tool for Japanese
men to meet the women’s ‘preference’ for circumcised penises. The latter narrative con-
structs a ‘reality’ that male circumcision results in better-looking genitals that women
like because a circumcised penis looks cleaner, ‘prettier’ and supposedly enhances the
quality of sexual relations.
The sexual culture underpinning the beauty of male circumcision suggests that having
sex with a circumcised man is a guarantee of improved performance in bed. His ‘beauti-
ful’ organ makes him confident and confidence translates into harder and longer lasting
erections. In this light, male circumcision can be a cure for sexual impotence and prema-
ture ejaculation (sōrō) as well. Having the foreskin removed produces an organ that
boosts a male’s erectile capacity because a circumcised penis becomes less sensitive,
which permits a better control over ejaculation. Advertisements suggest that penile sen-
sitivity lies on the penis glans surface, which is supposed to be the cause of premature
ejaculation (Kitamura Clinic). In this way, removing the foreskin reduces sensitivity and
enables a man to regain control over his sexual organ, his entire body and, more impor-
tantly, over sexual intercourse. A proper ejaculatory control makes men exert control
over sexual intercourse and the female body because the act finishes with his ejaculation.
However, women are ‘happy’ to have their bodies under control by circumcised men
because these men are able to produce prolonged and ‘fulfilling’ sexual acts.

Conclusion
The textual and iconographic analysis of the beauty of male circumcision offers a dif-
ferent angle to the sociological implications of a medical procedure. Despite current
tendencies insisting on promoting male circumcision as a ‘purely’ prophylactic method,
the Japanese case suggests that a social and sexual culture underpins the medical prac-
tice. Discussions on the relevance of the penis size as a marker of masculinity and the
hierarchical order of men are not new. However, the beauty of male circumcision high-
lights the relevance of the foreskin in the construction of maleness because having the
penis glans exposed or otherwise is a way of measuring the size of the sexual organ. The
700 Sociology 47(4)

beauty of male circumcision suggests that the prepuce can become a phallic symbol on
its own, which produces a gendered and sexualised male body and permits the crea-
tion of a hierarchical order of circumcised and uncircumcised men.
In an attempt at theorizing, the notion of sexual scripts appears to be instrumental to
disentangling how the male body, gender and sexuality underpin the social construc-
tion of male circumcision. As a largely unregulated medical practice, access to reliable
statistics is difficult. However, male circumcision appears to be a profitable business.
Through the use of textual and iconographic displays scripted by various logics that
connect maleness and sexuality to the genitals and playing up the aesthetics of circum-
cision, Japanese plastic surgeons and beauticians transform the male body into a
commodity.
Inaccurate medical knowledge, linguistic limitations, and a poorly developed sex
education conflate to produce an environment where Japanese men largely rely on the
mass media – the internet in particular – to learn about their own bodies. Therefore,
ignorance and anxiety concerning genitalia tend to influence the decision of Japanese
men who opt for circumcision. Male circumcision may be promoted as a cure to sexual
dysfunctions or as a means to improve sexual life if one were to consider its placebo
effect. This remains a challenge, however, due to the lack of reliable scientific
evidence.
Through an analysis of the beauty of male circumcision, I have attempted to show that
the mass media and academic literature are complicit in constructing the dominant ideol-
ogy that the ‘solution’ to the gender and demographic conundrum in current Japanese
society largely lies in the hands of men. Both textual and iconographic displays reinforce
the idea that current demands of Japanese women can be better met by circumcised men.
Finally, the results of this iconographic and textual analysis need to be seen through an
ethnographic investigation with Japanese physicians, men and women to explore how
the beauty of male circumcision affects medical practices, gender identities and sexual
behaviours.

Acknowledgements
My deepest gratitude to the reviewers for their insightful criticism and to Chee Han Lim who
commented on and helped edit the manuscript.

Funding
This research has been funded by Nanyang Technological University grant HSSSUG.

Notes
1 Tokyo Norst Clinic. Available at: http://www.norst.co.jp/about/
2 Chuoh Clinic. Available at http://www.chuoh-c.com/subject/houkei2.php
3 Hōkei hikaku. Available at: http://houkeihikaku.com/index.php/about_houkei#anc14
4 Kitamura Clinic. Available at http://www.tadashii-mens.com/pc/demerit/demerit_top.html
5 Est Clinic. Available at: http://www.estclinic-mens.com/
6 Yoshizawa Clinic. Available at: http://www.yoshizawa.com/houkei.html
7 Hills Tower Clinic. Available at: http://www.htc-houkei.com/
8 Ueno Kurinikku. Available at: http://www.ueno.co.jp/ad/090904/g01.html?adtype=listing
Castro-Vázquez 701

References
Aggleton P (2007) ‘Just a snip’? A social history of male circumcision. Reproductive Health
Matters 15(29): 15–21.
Alexy A (2010) The door my wife closed: Houses, families, and divorce. In: Ronald R and Alexy A
(eds) Home and Family in Japan. Continuity and Transformation. London: Routledge, 236–53.
Asahi Shimbun (2010) Metabolic syndrome, depression. Available at: http://www.asahi.com/
english/TKY201006130181.html
Bliss J, Monk M and Ogborn J (eds) (1983) Qualitative Data Analysis for Educational Research:
A Guide to Uses of Systemic Networks. London: Croom Helm.
Bloom DA and Koo HP (1999) Editorial. The circumcision issue. Clinical Pediatrics 38: 243–4.
Bordo S (1999) The Male Body. A New Look at Men in Public and Private. New York: Farrar,
Strauss and Giroux.
Carpenter L (2010) On remedicalisation: Male circumcision in the United States and Great Britain.
Sociology of Health and Illness 32(4): 613–30.
Castro-Vázquez G (2007) In the Shadows. Sexuality, Pedagogy, and Gender among Japanese
Teenagers. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.
Cocks HG (2006) Religion and spirituality. In: Cocks HG and Houlbrook M (eds) The Modern
History of Sexuality. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 157–79.
Connell RW (1995) Masculinities. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Connell RW (2000) The Men and the Boys. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Darby R (2005) A Surgical Temptation. The Demonization of the Foreskin and the Rise of
Circumcision in Britain. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Demetriou D (2008) Cosmetics sales soar as Japan’s men get in touch with their feminine side.
The Independent. Available at: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/cosmetics-sales-
soar-as-japans-men-get-in-touch-with-their-feminine-side-790886.html
The Economist (2010) Japan as number three. Watching China whizz by. Japan is now the world’s
third-largest economy. Can its firms cope? 19 August. Available at: http://www.economist.
com/node/16847828?story_id=16847828
The Economist (2011) The flight from marriage. Asians are marrying later, and less, than in the
past. This has profound implications for women, traditional family life and Asian politics. 20
August. Available at: http://www.economist.com/node/21526329
Foucault M (1988) Technologies of the self. In: Martin LH, Gutman H and Hutton PH (eds)
Technologies of the Self. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 16–49.
Fujimura M (2006) Wakamono Sedai no ‘Otokorashisa’ to sono Mirai [‘Masculinity’ and its future
for the younger generation]. In: Abe T, Obinata S and Amano M (eds) Dansei shi 3. Otoko-
rashisa no gendai shi. Tokyo: Nihon keizai hyōronsha, 191–227.
Gagnon JH and Simon W (2005) Sexual Conduct. The Social Sources of Human Sexuality, 2nd
edn. New Brunswick, NJ: Aldine Transaction.
Goffman E (1976) Gender Advertisements. Hong Kong: Macmillan.
Gollaher D (2000) Circumcision. A History of the World’s Most Controversial Surgery.
New York: Basic Books.
Hankins C (2007) Male circumcision: Implications for women as sexual partners and parents.
Reproductive Health Matters 15(29): 62–7.
Harrison D (2002) Rethinking circumcision and sexuality in the United States. Sexualities 5(3):
300–16.
Hayashi Y, Kojima Y, Mizuno K et al. (2009) A Japanese view on circumcision: Nonoperative
management of normal and abnormal prepuce. Urology 76(1): 21–4.
Hidaka T (2010) Salaryman Masculinity. The Continuity of and Change in the Hegemonic
Masculinity in Japan. Leiden: Brill.
702 Sociology 47(4)

Hinami G, Iwamuro S and Yamamoto N (2003) Machigaidarakeno. Hōkei Chishiki [Riddled with
mistakes. Information on phimosis]. Tokyo: Seikyusha.
Hiraoka M, Tsukahara H, Ohshima Y and Mayumi M (2002) Meatus tightly covered by the
prepuce is associated with urinary infection. Pediatrics International 44: 658–62.
Holland J, Ramazanoglu C, Sharpe S and Thompson R (1998) The Male in the Head. Young
People, Heterosexuality and Power. London: Tufnell.
Holloway SD (2010) Women and Family in Contemporary Japan. New York: Cambridge
University Press.
Ishikawa E (2008) Kitte ha Ikemasen! Nihonjin ga Shiranai Hōkei no Shinjitsu [Should not be cut!
The truths about phimosis that Japanese people ignore]. Tokyo: Shinchosha.
Iwamuro S (2003) Kabureba hōkei, mukereba ok! [If the foreskin is covering up [the penis glans],
roll it back!] In: Hinami G, Iwamuro S and Yamamoto N Machigaidarakeno. Hōkei Chishiki.
Tokyo: Seikyusha, 51–102.
Iwamuro S (2009) Ochinchin [A willie]. Tokyo: Shadanhōjin Nihon Kazoku Keikaku Kyōkai.
Iwamuro S, Furuta A, Iwanaga S et al. (1997) Foreskin retraction for phimosis of the newborn.
Nihon Hinyōki Kagakukai Zasshi 88(1): 35–9.
Iwamuro S, Takizawa A, Furuta A, Yanada S, Hatano T and Tashiro K (1998) Treatment of
phimosis – alteration of indication for retraction for phimosis of the newborn. Nihon Hinyōki
Kagakukai Zasshi 7(2): 22–7.
Jackson S and Scott S (2010) Theorizing Sexuality. Basingstoke: Open University Press.
Japan Centre for Economic Research (2007) Long-term Forecast of Global Economy and Population
2006–2050. Demographic Change and the Asian Economy. Available at: https://www.jcer.or.jp/
eng/pdf/2006long_contents.pdf
Jensen KB (1995) The Social Semiotics of Mass Communication. London: Sage.
Jones G, Tay P and Chan A (2009) Very low fertility in Pacific Asian countries. Causes and policy
responses. In: Jones G, Tay P and Chan A (eds) Ultra-low fertility in Pacific Asia: Trends,
Causes and Policy Dilemmas. London: Routledge, 1–22.
Kawanishi Y (2009) Mental Health Challenges Facing Contemporary Japanese Society. The
‘Lonely People’. Folkestone: Global Oriental.
Kayaba H, Tamura H, Kitajima S, Fujiwara Y, Kato T and Kato T (1996) Analysis of shape and
retractability of the prepuce in 603 Japanese boys. Journal of Urology 156: 1813–15.
Kim DS, Lee JY and Pang MG (1999) Male circumcision: A South Korean perspective. BJU
International 83(1): 28–33.
Kimmel MS (2001) The kindest un-cut. Tikkun 16(3): 43. Available at: http://www.tikkun.org/
article.php/may2001_kimmel
Kimura R (2006) Sengo Tsukurareru ‘Otoko’ no Imēji. Sensō Eiga ni Miru Danseisei no Kaifuku
no Dōtei [The image of ‘man’ that postwar produces. Process of recovering masculinity as
seen in war films]. In: Abe T, Obinata S and Amano M (eds) Dansei shi 3. Otokorashisa no
gendai shi. Tokyo: Nihon keizai hyōronsha, 60–91.
Kinsella S (2012) Narratives and statistics: How compensated dating (enjo kousai) was sold. In:
Goodman R, Imoto Y and Toivonen T (eds) A Sociology of Japanese Youth: From Returnees
to NEETs. London: Routledge, 54–80.
Kōsei Rōdōshō Kenkōkyoku (2007) Heisei 19 Nen Kokumin Kenkō Eiyō Chōsa [2007
National Survey on Health and Nutrition]. Available at: http://www.mhlw.go.jp/wp/hakusyo/
kousei/09–2/kousei-data/siryou/sh09010203.html#1_2_3_9
MacMullan T (1992) Introduction. What is male embodiment? In: Tuana N, Cowling W, Johnson G
and MacMullan T (eds) Revealing Male Bodies. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1–16.
Mainichi Shimbun (2006) Hōkei Shujutsu: Kōkoku ‘10 man en’, Seikyū 6 bai demo Nakineiri. Ken
Shingikai ga ‘Shittō’ [Phimosis surgery: Advertised for 100,000 [Yen]; 600,000 was charged
Castro-Vázquez 703

but the demand for ‘the surgery’ was not filed at the prefectural advisory council]. Iwate,
Chihōban [regional edition], 22 May, p. 23.
Mathews G (2003) Can ‘a real man’ live for his family? Ikigai and masculinity in today’s Japan. In:
Roberson JE and Suzuki N (eds) Men and Masculinities in Contemporary Japan: Dislocating
the Salaryman Doxa. London: RoutledgeCurzon, 109–25.
Mathews G (2004) Seeking a career, finding a job. How young people enter and resist the Japanese
world of work. In: Mathews G and White B (eds) Japan’s Changing Generations. Are Young
People Creating a New Society? London: Routledge, 121–36.
Miller L (2004) Youth fashion and changing beautification practices. In: Mathews G and White
B (eds) Japan’s Changing Generations. Are Young People Creating a New Society? London:
Routledge, 83–97.
Muta K (2008) The making of Sekuhara: Sexual harassment in Japanese culture. In: Jackson S,
Li J and Woo J (eds) East Asian Sexualities: Modernity, Gender and New Sexual Cultures.
London: Zed Books, 52–68.
Nakano LY (2011) Working and waiting for an ‘appropriate person’. How single women sup-
port and resist family in Japan. In: Ronald R and Alexy A (eds) Home and Family in Japan.
Continuity and Transformation. London: Routledge, 131–51.
Nemoto K (2008) Postponed marriage: Exploring women’s views of matrimony and work in
Japan. Gender & Society 22(2): 219–37.
Osaka Shūkan (2003) Kodomo no Sei [Children’s sex]. Tokyo: Mainichi Shimbunsha, 13.
Plummer K (1995) Telling Sexual Stories: Power, Change, and Social Worlds. New York:
Routledge.
Ramazanoglu C and Holland J (2002) Feminist Methodology. Challenges and Choices. London:
Sage.
Rebick M and Nakatani A (2006) The changing Japanese family. In: Rebick M and Takenaka A
(eds) The Changing Japanese Family. London: Routledge, 3–16.
Saito H and Shima Y (2009) Weekend: Some men prefer to be boys. Asahi Shimbun. Available at:
http://www.asahi.com/english/Herald-asahi/TKY200911200115.html
Shibuya T (2003) Nihon no dōtei [Male virginity in Japan]. Tokyo: Bungeishunjū.
Shibuya T (2009) Heisei Otoko Juku. Nayameru Dansi no tame no Zen Roku Shō [Male prepara-
tory school in the era of Heisei. Six chapters for afflicted men]. Tokyo: Chikumashobō.
Sugimoto Y (2004) An Introduction to Japanese Society, 2nd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Sunaga F (1999) Hage wo ikiru [Getting through hairlessness]. Tokyo: Keisō Shobō.
Szabo R and Short RV (2000) How does male circumcision protect against HIV infection? BMJ
320: 1592–94.
Taga F (2005) Rethinking Japanese masculinities: Recent research trends. In: McLelland M
and Dasgupta R (eds) Genders, Transgenders and Sexualities in Japan. London: Routledge,
153–67.
Tipton EK (2008) Modern Japan: A Social and Political History, 2nd edn. London: Routledge.
Ueno Kurinikku (2010) B-st 163, 24 August, p. 171.
Van Howe RS (2004) A cost-utility analysis of neonatal circumcision. Medical Decision Making
24: 584–601.
Van Howe RS, Svoboda JS and Hodges FM (2005) HIV infection and circumcision: Cutting through
the hyperbole. Journal of the Royal Society for the Promotion of Health 125(6): 259–65.
Weeks J (1986) Sexuality. London and Chichester: Tavistock and Ellis Horwood.
WHO/UNAIDS (2007) WHO and UNAIDS announce recommendations from expert meeting
on male circumcision for HIV prevention. Available at: http://data.unaids.org/pub/pressre-
lease/2007/20070328_pr_mc_recommendations_en.pdf
704 Sociology 47(4)

Yanagisawa N, Baba K, Yamagoe M and Iwamoto T (2000) Conservative treatment of childhood

phimosis with topical conjugated equine estrogen ointment. International Journal of Urology
7: 1–3.
Yomiuri Shimbun (1989) Hōkei. Yogoreta mama deha gan no osore mo shinpai nara shujutsu
wo [If you are concerned about getting cancer because it is dirty. Cut it off [the prepuce]].
Tokyo Shūkan, 20 January, p. 23.
Yomiuri Shimbun (2006) Hōkei Kiranaide Dansei no hachi wari nayami ‘Shujutsu hitsuyō’ ha
0.1%miman [Don’t circumcise a phimotic penis. 80 per cent of men worried. Less than 0.1%
need the surgery]. Tokyo Shūkan Seikatsu, 26 March, p. 28.
Yomiuri Shimbun (2010) Men turning to women’s skin care products. Available at: http://www.
yomiuri.co.jp/dy/national/T100913003349.htm
Yomiuri Shimbun (2011) Work-related suicides hit record high in 2010. Available at: http://www.
yomiuri.co.jp/dy/national/T110303007521.htm

Genaro Castro-Vázquez teaches sociology of health and sexuality at the Division of

Sociology, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore. His publications include In
the Shadows: Sexuality, Pedagogy and Gender among Japanese Teenagers (Lexington
Books, 2007) and his research interests revolve around gender, sexuality and education
in Japan.
Date submitted September 2011
Date accepted May 2012
454245
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512454245SociologyFoster and Wass

Article

Sociology
47(4) 705­–721
Disability in the Labour © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Market:  An Exploration sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512454245
of Concepts of the Ideal soc.sagepub.com

Worker and Organisational

Fit that Disadvantage
Employees with Impairments

Deborah Foster
Cardiff University, UK

Victoria Wass
Cardiff University, UK

Abstract
The adverse employment effects that attach to disability are empirically well established. They
are large and persistent. This is a conceptual article that investigates the source of this deep and
enduring employment disadvantage. Debate begins by examining the origins of ideas that have
shaped approaches to work study and have influenced concepts of what constitutes an ideal
worker. Drawing on feminist critiques of organisational analysis that have highlighted the gendered
character of processes, practices and values, it explores the relatively neglected position of disabled
employees. With reference to transcripts from four Employment Appeal Tribunals brought under
the Disability Discrimination Act, it illustrates how standard jobs, designed around ideal (non-
disabled) employees, create a mismatch between a formal job description and someone with an
impairment. We suggest this mismatch is central to the organisation’s resistance to implementing
adjustments and also to any radical approaches to include impaired employees in the workplace.

Keywords
ableism, disability, feminist critiques, ideal or standard worker, job design, organisations

Historically, both employers and the state have been interested in defining, scientifically
and empirically, a generic ‘ideal worker’ and a ‘one best way’ of working. As Rose

Corresponding author:
Victoria Wass, Cardiff Business School, Aberconway Building, Column Drive, Cardiff CF10 3EU, UK.
Email: wass@cardiff.ac.uk
706 Sociology 47(4)

(1988: 26) argues, ‘At the core of any theory of industrial behaviour lies an image of the
typical worker’. This article has two central objectives. The first is to explore the extent
to which a concept of an ideal, typical or universal worker has been promoted in mana-
gerial ideas, shaping approaches to work study and organisation. By identifying a
universal norm prior to, and as a foundation for, job design, our approach differs from
previous ideas-based studies of disability and work that have focused on stereotypes
which reduce disability to bodily impairment and inability (Edwards and Imrie, 2003:
247; Hall, 1999: 146), managerial misconceptions which overstate both the level and
effects of impairment (Honey et al., 1992: 73–5 and Chapter 7; Lester and Caudill,
1987) and the capabilities required for a job (Morrell, 1990: 10). The second objective
is to illustrate how employers’ and managers’ behaviour, when premised (through job
design) upon notions of what a typical or ideal employee should be, disadvantages a
person with an impairment.
We begin by examining evidence that suggests that the magnitude and persistence of
the disability-induced employment penalty is substantial and normally outweighs the
effects of other variables associated with employment disadvantage – gender, mother-
hood, lone parenthood, ethnicity, class or education (Berthoud, 2008; National Equality
Panel, 2010; Parekh et al., 2010: 78–9).1 The ideas that have shaped conceptions of the
ideal or standard worker in the minds of employers are then explored. These include
‘objective’ or ‘scientific’ work studies and job design that have standardised work roles
and management practices and have abstracted and disembodied the worker from the
job, with significant consequences for disabled employees. Sociological critiques that
have challenged the assumed ‘neutrality’ of organisational culture and values from a
feminist perspective (Acker, 1990; Billing, 1994; Ferguson, 1984) are then examined for
their potential relevance in explaining the relatively neglected workplace disadvantage
experienced by disabled employees.
The positive duty on employers to make ‘reasonable’ workplace adjustments for disa-
bled employees was introduced in the UK Disability Discrimination Act (DDA) 1995
(now the Equality Act (EqA) 2010). The importance of the DDA, we shall argue, is that it
directly challenged the match between an employee and a given job specification. It was
predicated, however, on the assumption that employers would recognise the ableist values
attached to the notion of an ideal worker around which jobs and production systems had
been traditionally designed, and understand the need for, and agree to, functional, task,
person and organisational flexibility.2 Evidence we present from four Employment Appeal
Tribunals (EATs) adjudicated on the ‘reasonableness’ of workplace adjustments questions
these assumptions. First, we show how employees with impairments are disadvantaged by
specific, inflexible and multiple-task job descriptions and second we show how employ-
ers (and the judiciary) seek to resolve the contradiction between the constraints imposed
by a chain of production, organised around a set of standard fits between an ideal employee
and the job, and requirements under the DDA to make adjustments.

Trends in Impairment and Employment Disadvantage

Around 30 per cent of the working-age population report a long-standing illness or dis-
ability, of which 56 per cent report a limitation either to their activities of day-to-day
Foster and Wass 707

living or their ability to work (Labour Force Survey 2011 Qtr 2). Trends in the preva-
lence rate of reported impairment and disability have steadily risen over the last 30 years
across developed countries, seemingly independently of reported improvements in health
and advances in medicine and rehabilitation. This is described by the OECD (2007: 11)
as the ‘shared paradox’. There has also been an increase in the employment rate gap
between those who report disability and those who do not (Berthoud, 2011). This is a
second paradox since the employment rate for those reporting disability might be
expected to rise as those at the margin of the classification are included. The shift away
from manual labour towards service sector work (Newell, 2007) together with the
increasing use of part-time employment, flexible working and less physical jobs (Miller
et al., 2004) might also be expected to favourably influence employment rates for those
with impairment. Studies extending into the 21st century report a levelling off in the
employment gap and even a narrowing (Jones, 2006). This trend reversal is taken up in
the Black Review (Black, 2008) which records a 10 percentage point increase in the
employment rate for those reporting disability from 38 per cent in 1998 to 48 per cent in
2007. While these figures have been contested (Jones and Wass, 2011; Meagre, 2011),
what is indisputable is that the disability-induced employment gap (44 percentage points
in 2010, see Jones and Wass, 2011) is the largest and most enduring amongst all disad-
vantaged groups.3
The DDA differed from previous UK liberal-based equality legislation by recognis-
ing that disabled employees may need to be treated differently, and in some circum-
stances more favourably (Dickens, 2007; Foster with Williams, 2011). Evidence
suggests that the concept of difference, central to the legislation, has, nonetheless, been
poorly understood by employers and managers (Foster, 2007; Foster and Fosh, 2010;
Meagre et al., 1998; Woodhams and Danieli, 2000). Employment Tribunal (ET) claims,
brought by employees under the DDA, provide valuable insights into why this may be.
They expose employer’s assumptions, ideas and behaviour, illustrating how people with
an impairment are disabled and excluded as a consequence of inflexible job descriptions
and management attitudes based on notions of a typical employee.

The Historical Search for Efficiency through Science:

The Standardisation of Both Jobs and Employees
Early attempts to define an ideal or typical worker can be found in the work of manage-
ment theorists, collectively referred to by Rose (1988) as ‘productivists’ or ‘technocrats’.
Their application of scientific principles appealed across the political spectrum. In the
Soviet Union the state idealised strong, healthy, productive, male workers through the
image of Stakhanov (Bedeian, 2007). In the West, Taylor’s Schmidt – strong as an ox, but
usefully stupid enough to not question instructions – symbolised the ‘first class man’ of
capitalist production (Rose, 1988).
The legacy of productivist theories can be found in the modern workplace. They
underpin techniques for deriving standard times, methods, job content, job descriptions,
workflow, performance and remuneration (Hales, 2001: 52). ‘Objectivity’ and ‘rational-
ity’ apply to all aspects of an organisation’s operations: from the recruitment, selection
and promotion of employees, to the formulation of job and person specifications.
708 Sociology 47(4)

Separate processes of administration and management evolved out of the separation of

conception from execution, leading to a search for the ‘ideal’ bureaucratic organisation
(see Weber, 1964). Jobs were structured into specific roles and, implicitly at least, ideal
candidates recruited to fill them.
The transformation of work from pre-capitalist, rural, cooperative and community-
based enterprises, where individuals contributed according to their ability, to factory-
based organisation has, in the disability studies literature, been identified as a significant
turning point in the devaluation of the impaired body (Abberley, 2002; Oliver, 1990).
Gleeson (1999) argues that changes in the organisation of work and the commodification
of labour heralded the establishment of able-bodied norms. Work outside the home was
subject to rules governing attendance, and speed, dexterity and strength became ideals of
the abstract job, meaning disabled people found it increasingly difficult to sell their
labour power. Abberley (2002) argues that capitalist social relations rejected impaired
labour, whilst also refusing to take responsibility for illnesses caused by lack of health
and safety and over-work. Similar criticisms can also be found in the feminist organisa-
tional sociology literature where capitalism is portrayed as abdicating responsibility for
women’s reproduction and health by privileging ‘economic organizations over other
areas of life’ (Acker, 1998: 199).
In Ford’s autobiography (2008), he sees mass production technology, and its
capacity to breakdown a process into single specialist tasks, as providing unlimited
opportunities to accommodate individual impairment. Post-Fordist principles, how-
ever, emphasise jobs designed around multiple-tasking, inter-changeability and team
working. When designed around a typical worker, such complex jobs are more likely
to disable an impaired employee. Two EAT case studies that we present illustrate the
devastating impact of work re-organisation along lean lines on disabled employees.
More generally, Green (2001, 2008) combines a review of case studies and his own
secondary analysis of large-scale survey data and reports a strong intensification of
work effort and job complexity over the course of the 1980s and 1990s. Work inten-
sification and maximum inter-changeability of staff across multiple tasks and pro-
cesses are both key to fulfilling ‘tight-flow’ production schedules (Tomaney, 1990)
and the drive to increase capital utilisation. Jobs become both more complex and
more tightly designed and increasingly employees report working harder and faster.
The ‘porosity of the working day’, those periods during which the body and mind
can rest, is reduced (Green, 2001: 57) with the consequent effect being stress at
work. The argument presented in this article is that the heightened occupational
stress reported by those in work may also be linked to the high and enduring employ-
ment disadvantage for those with impairment, despite the presence of the counter-
vailing factors reported above.

Feminist Critiques of Organisational Theory:

Implications for Disabled Employees
Feminist critiques of organisational theory and bureaucracy challenged traditional pro-
ductivist assumptions. For example, Dorothy Smith (1979: 148) argued that organisa-
tional sociology was grounded in the working worlds of men and that organisational
Foster and Wass 709

values and culture are gendered. Kathy Ferguson, moreover, questioned the ‘rational’ or
neutral’ form of bureaucracy as an organisation, describing it instead as the ‘scientific
organization of inequality’ (cited in Billing, 1994: 3). The gendered and embodied nature
of work have also been explored by writers such as Acker (1990: 139) who articulated
new ways of looking at both organisations and the gendered processes embedded in them:

… most feminists writing about organizations assume that organizational structure is gender
neutral; on the contrary, assumptions about gender underlie the documents and contracts used
to construct organizations and to provide the commonsense ground for theorising about them.
Their gendered nature is partly masked through obscuring the embodied nature of work.

With reference to Ferguson (1984) and Kanter (1977), Acker argued that debates about
organisational structure and gender had given the former too much attention. Organisations
should instead be viewed as gendered processes where ‘advantage and disadvantage,
exploitation and control, action and emotion, meaning and identity, are patterned through
and, in terms of a distinction between male and female, masculine and feminine’ (1990:
146). Gender is not simply an addition to ongoing organisational processes, it is, rather,
an integral part of them. Using the example of job evaluation schemes to illustrate how
organisational logic has a material form, Acker (1990: 147–8) demonstrates how what is
a seemingly neutral practice is a management tool to rationalise organisational hierar-
chies and set so-called ‘equitable’ wages in an inherently gendered way. Job evaluation
systems provide a window into a common organisational mode of thinking and practice.
However, when looking through this window one should recognise that such modes of
thinking also reflect judgements that reproduce managerial values: ‘rules are the imagery
out of which managers construct and reconstruct their organizations’, they are ‘not sim-
ply a compilation of managers’ values or sets of beliefs, but are the underlying logic or
organization that provides at least part of the blueprint for its structure’ (1990: 147–8).
Gendered organisational processes sustain inequalities in income, cultural images and
identity. By challenging established management and organisational theory, feminists
exposed dominant or idealised values that served to exclude women, leading to an explo-
ration of alternative styles or modes of working (Billing, 1994), of relevance to disabled
employees. Returning to the example of job evaluation schemes, Acker makes the impor-
tant point that this is a process that evaluates ‘jobs, not their incumbents’ with the conse-
quence that the job is separated from the person: ‘an empty slot, a reification that must
continually be reconstructed’ (1990: 148). Jobs thus become abstract categories existing
independently of human incumbents and do not have a gender. On this organisational
logic, Acker concludes that ‘filling the abstract job is a disembodied worker’ (1990:
149): a worker who is more likely to be male, because men are better able to cede all
non-work activities to a partner and work full time. The concept of a disembodied
abstract worker that excludes women ‘who cannot, almost by definition, achieve the
qualities of a real worker because to do so is to become a man’ (1990:149), we argue, can
equally be applied to employees with impairments. If adjustments are required to enable
a worker to perform a job, this variation to the standardised criteria would inevitably
conflict with established organisational logic. The worker with an impairment is, there-
fore, effectively disabled as a consequence of dominant organisational ideas.
710 Sociology 47(4)

Gender is now accepted as a legitimate dimension in studies of organisational pro-

cesses, power and practices (Alvesson and Billing, 1992; Calas and Smircich, 2006).
Similar debates concerning disabled employees, nonetheless, remain conspicuous by
their absence. Disability is relatively neglected in analyses of the position of other ‘pro-
tected’ groups of employees. Sexuality, race, class and gender and how they intersect
have been the focus of feminists in organisation studies, as illustrated in the May 2010
special issue of Gender, Work & Organisations (see in particular, Holvino, 2010), but
disability is absent. As far back as 1990, Joan Acker (1990: 154) asked: ‘Is the abstract
worker white as well as male?’, suggesting that control processes in organisations main-
tain other forms of stratification which, she speculates, could include race, class and
sexuality. However, with regard to age and disability, Acker (2006: 445) says: ‘that
although these other differences are important, they are not, at this time, as thoroughly
embedded in organising processes as are gender, race, and class’. This comment came 10
years after the DDA. One potential explanation for the neglect of disability as a form of
stratification and disadvantage might be the continued under-representation of disabled
people in the workplace.4 If impairment does limit ability, flexibility or efficiency, we
further speculate that the gap between the ideal person outlined in a standard job specifi-
cation and the person with an impairment may in some sense be perceived as being real,
thereby ‘legitimising’ discrimination against a disabled employee.
It is the abstract measurements of efficiency and productivity, of job design and ‘ideal’
worker behaviour that make up part of established organisational logic and management
ideology which excludes people with impairments. In reality, this logic may not consti-
tute the ‘best’ or most ‘productive’ way of doing a job. Nevertheless, these ideas are
rarely questioned. In some employment contexts it may be the case that a disabled person
cannot genuinely perform a task: a scenario less likely to occur as a consequence of a
person’s class, sexuality, race or (in most but not all circumstances, e.g. physically
demanding work) gender. However, as Acker’s example of gender and job evaluation
demonstrates, there are ways of looking at a job and acknowledging that there is ideo-
logical baggage that accompanies it, for example, that it is designed around a male norm.
Similarly, legislation aimed at addressing disability discrimination, by promoting the
concept of workplace adjustments, asks employers to consider what aspects of an estab-
lished job role can be altered to accommodate a disabled person.
The social model of disability is the dominant explanatory framework in UK disabil-
ity studies and focuses on social structures and processes that disadvantage and exclude
disabled people, rather than individuals and their medical conditions. It views the
sources of disability as economic, political, cultural and attitudinal (Oliver, 1996;
Shakespeare, 2006: 10–14; Thomas, 2007) and the distinction it makes between ‘impair-
ment’ and ‘disability’ highlights how social structures, practices and stereotypical ideas
serve to exclude, marginalise or disadvantage (Oliver, 1996: 30; Shakespeare, 2006:
10–14). Disabling practices and ableist assumptions, like those shaped by gender, can
be seen to be embedded in organisational processes and wider society. However, while
feminists have been comfortable exploring the embodied character of work, which has
helped to obscure and to reproduce dominant gender relations (Hochschild, 1983), dis-
ability theorists have been less so. Impairment has been difficult to reconcile with the
Foster and Wass 711

social model. In an effort to incorporate impairment into the social model, Thomas
(1999) developed a concept of psycho-emotional disablism which can usefully be
applied to the workplace. This posits that non-disabled people, often unintentionally,
though sometimes intentionally, are offensive to those with impairments through
actions, words, symbols and images. Recognising that social barriers can place concrete
obstacles in front of disabled people, Thomas argues they can also serve to undermine
the confidence and self-esteem of disabled people and ‘place(s) limits on who they can
be by shaping people’s “inner worlds” or sense of “self”’ (2007: 72). In this respect
psycho-emotional disablism recognises the individual dimension or impact of disabling
practices and processes (whilst trying not to medicalise them). Importantly, however,
barriers remain social or organisational.

Data and Methods

Our empirical investigation analyses secondary data from Employment Tribunals
(ETs), where claims against employers for discrimination or unfair dismissal under the
DDA/EqA are heard. Where the decision of the ET is challenged by either party, the
case goes to an EAT, when transcripts of the decision become publically available.
Thirty EATs were selected from those reported between June 2008 and December 2010
using key search words ‘EAT and DDA and adjustments’. Three of these cases were
not in the area of employment. A further 19 cases were not primarily on the issue of
adjustments and so provided insufficient details on the nature of the job requirements.5
From the remaining eight cases, four were selected that provided the most detailed
arguments from employers about the difficulties of accommodating an employee with
an impairment into a role prescribed by a standard job description. In each case the
employee sought to prove that their employer had failed under the DDA to make suit-
able workplace adjustments. EAT transcripts are well suited to our purpose where a
claim focuses on the employer’s resistance to, or misunderstanding of, the concept of
DDA adjustments and, in so doing, contains detailed information about the specifica-
tion of the job, in terms of job requirements, tasks and competencies, and detailed
information about an employee’s impairment in relation to the job specification.
However, EAT transcripts are unlikely to be a representative selection from ETs and
certainly not a representative selection of all negotiations, disputes and dismissals over
adjustments under the DDA. The cases selected best illustrate the concepts developed
in the article. There is no claim that these are representative of disability adjustment
cases brought under the DDA. Since our intention is to show how jobs and production
systems designed around a notional standard non-disabled employee might explain
employers’ behaviour in relation to employees with impairment, deficiencies in sam-
pling will not undermine our conclusions.
At trial, both parties describe, under oath, how jobs and production systems designed
around ideal non-disabled employees cannot easily accommodate a disabled employee.
Employers reveal their belief that impairment relative to a standard employee, upon
which both the individual job and the production system has been designed, is a legiti-
mate ground for not employing the disabled individual in that job.
712 Sociology 47(4)

Four Cases Outlined

In each case the claimant worked in service sector employment and brought a claim on
the grounds of the employer’s failure to provide reasonable adjustments. We outline the
details of each case before drawing out some themes.

Case 1: London Underground v Vuoto January 2010

Mr Vuoto worked for London Underground as a Station Assistant Multi-Functional
(SAMF).6 The job description includes a variety of tasks and shifts, both of which can
be based at a number of stations. In July 2002, Mr Vuoto was diagnosed with Multiple
Sclerosis, a progressive and debilitating condition which affected his mobility, balance
and ability to lift and carry items. He could not work to the full SAMF job description.
The employer was advised by its Human Resources (HR) and Occupational Health
Department (OHD) to accommodate the claimant’s impairment by confining his duties
to that of the ticket office on regular day-time hours at a single station. These adjust-
ments were implemented and maintained over the next four years, including a period
when the job was restructured following the implementation of a 35-hour week in
February 2006.
Later in 2006, a computer-based staffing model called ‘the schematic’ was introduced
as part of a new business model. Within ‘the schematic’, SAMFs were each required to
fulfil the same set of half a dozen different tasks interchangeably. The adjustments previ-
ously made to Mr Vuoto’s job were removed in March 2007 on the basis that they were
incompatible with ‘the schematic’ and the wider business needs of the company.
Predictably, Mr Vuoto was unable to manage the new work pattern and was absent from
work due to stress. He was dismissed by his new manager in November 2007 on the
grounds of incapability. Mr Vuoto succeeded in his action for unfair dismissal and disa-
bility discrimination both at the ET and the EAT.7

Case 2: Chief Constable of South Yorkshire Police v Jelic 2010

Mr Jelic was a Police Constable (PC) with South Yorkshire Police. While in the traffic
division, he developed ‘chronic anxiety syndrome’ and became restricted in his ability to
undertake work requiring face-to-face contact with the public.8 He could manage tele-
phone contact. On the advice of the Force’s OHD, Mr Jelic was redeployed to a ‘back
office’ role on the community service desk (CSD). What happened to Mr Jelic subse-
quently mirrors the case of Mr Vuoto. In 2005, his job on the CSD was absorbed into the
Safer Neighbourhoods Unit (SNU) where he was given a role with adjustments, and in
which he developed valuable expertise (EAT2 para. 11) inputting data onto the National
Crime Reporting Standards data base. In 2007, under the Police’s civilianisation initia-
tive, the SNUs were reorganised such that civilian and ‘sworn’ officer roles were more
sharply defined. The role of a PC changed so that ‘all Police Officers working in the SNU
should be able to carry out duties involving face-to-face interaction with members of the
public and clients’ (EAT2 para. 29). This new job description was incompatible with Mr
Jelic’s impairment and, rather than explore adjustment or redeployment, and with the
Foster and Wass 713

approval of the District Commander and the Chief Superintendent (Head of Personnel),
the Force’s Unsatisfactory Performance Procedure (UPP) was invoked in July 2007. The
UPP prompted a period of extended sick leave and, in March 2008, Mr Jelic was medi-
cally retired on the grounds that his impairment precluded employment in his job. While
the ET and the EAT accepted that he could no longer work as a PC in the SNU, his
employer, the Chief Constable of South Yorkshire, was found to have failed to consider
redeployment to an alternative role, including that of a civilian role.9

Case 3: Garrett v Lidl Ltd 2009

Mrs Garrett worked as a store manager in the Woolwich branch of the cut price super-
market chain Lidl.10 She too could not fulfil all the varied roles of this job due to fibro-
myalgia syndrome causing pain, fatigue and muscle stiffness. She requested a set of
adjustments, including regular breaks and leave from performing repetitive tasks. Mrs
Garrett was part of a team made up of different job roles, some of which were not inter-
changeable. Her request for adjustments precipitated a series of risk assessments. An
assessment in January 2007 concluded that she could not perform all the duties of the
store manager due to her impairment. Of particular concern was her need to take regular
breaks and her managerial role as key holder in an emergency situation at the store. She
was suspended and referred to Lidl’s OHD for assessment. She returned to work but was
allocated to a different store, a training store, which had a team of store managers and
where she was not required to act as key holder. Mrs Garrett pursued a claim on the basis
that the employer failed to make adjustments at her preferred and existing store, the
Woolwich branch. Although the ET found in her favour, its decision was overturned by
the EAT.

Case 4: British Midland Airways Ltd v Hamed November 2010

Ms Hamed worked for British Mediterranean Airways (BMED) as a flight supervisor.11
When she injured her knee in 2004 and could no longer continue in this role, she was
accommodated in a ground-based administrative role that meant she could avoid man-
ual handling duties and long periods of standing. In February 2007, British Midland
Airways Ltd (BMI) acquired BMED and in July 2007 Ms Hamed was told that ‘it
[BMI] did not want them (flight attendants) performing administrative duties. They
were either sick and not capable of work or fit and capable of doing the cabin crew jobs’
(EAT4 para. 5). Accordingly, Ms Hamed was placed on long-term sick leave and six
months later the company’s Attendance Management Process was initiated. As part of
this process, Ms Hamed was offered a customer services role. However, two elements
of this job description contradicted the recommendations made by BMI’s OHD, namely
‘attending at the self-service check-in machines’ (three hours standing) and ‘walking
customers to and from the departure gates’ (EAT4 para. 5). The position was offered
without modifications and Ms Hamed was unable to accept it. Her employment was
terminated on the grounds of incapability in October 2008. Both the ET and the EAT
found that the employer had failed to comply with the reasonable adjustments
requirement.
714 Sociology 47(4)

Five Themes Uncovered

Theme 1: Job Complexity and Multi-tasking
Each job was designed around an employee able to multi-task with sufficient compe-
tency in each element of the job description. ‘Standard’ jobs had been designed to include
a broad and diverse set of tasks and there was a clear expectation on the part of the
employer that employees perform to the required standard in each of the composite tasks.
In the absence of within-job flexibility, an employee with an impairment affecting any
part of the job becomes restricted in the entire job. Mr Vuoto could do some but not all
elements of his job but, under ‘the schematic’, the flexibility to accommodate his impair-
ment in any one part of the job was removed. His manager did not wish ‘to depart from
the roster and wanted all employees wherever possible and regardless of their abilities to
work the rostered shifts’ (EAT1 para. 18). The role of a PC in the SNU ‘had now evolved’
(EAT2 para. 14) and in his new role Mr Jelic was required to perform in five key areas,
four of which involved direct contact with the public (EAT2 para. 22). While he was able
to undertake the third element of the new job description in full, he was compromised in
the fourth and fifth elements and he could not undertake the first and second elements at
all. At Lidl, Mrs Garrett was expected ‘to undertake the full range of roles within the
store as required’ (EAT3 para. 4) and ‘the practice at the Woolwich store was that all
members of staff had to undertake all roles within the store, including working on the
tills, checking c-dates and moving stock’ (EAT3 para. 11). A risk assessment considered
Mrs Garrett was ‘fit within the limits of her disability’ (EAT3 para. 10) and ‘able to
undertake most of the tasks of her job with suitable adjustments’ (EAT3 para. 8). The one
part of her job which was a cause for concern was her role as key holder in the event of
an in-store emergency (EAT3 para. 9) and for this reason she was unable to continue in
her job at Woolwich. That Ms Hamed could no longer work as a flight attendant was not
in dispute. Rather, it was the offer of a customer services role which included a set of job
tasks, some of which, on the assessment of the company’s own OHD, she could not per-
form because of her impairment which was the subject of the claim. The position was
offered without any adjustments to the standard job description.

Theme 2: Re-organisation Increases Job Complexity and Reduces

Job Flexibility
The effects of reorganisation often increase the number and variety of tasks included
within a job description and/or result in a tighter, less flexible job description, reducing
the range of jobs which could potentially be performed by a disabled employee. In three
of the four cases reported, it was a reorganisation (or acquisition) that triggered the
exclusion of an existing employee with an impairment. In each case it was the wider job
description, with additional job tasks and greater inflexibility to vary the job description,
which was the source of the exclusion. The ‘schematic’ at London Underground at once
increased the job description and removed the opportunity to informally vary it.
Reorganisation within the SNU at South Yorkshire Police required PCs to perform a
wider range of tasks and, at the same time, removed the previous discretion to vary these
Foster and Wass 715

tasks in which ‘members of the team tended to find their own niche’ (EAT2 para. 9).
Following acquisition by BMI, the rigid rule whereby flight attendants are either well
and working or sick and not working precluded Ms Hamed from continuing in her
administrative position.

Theme 3:Team Working and Production Chains

This concerns the interlinked nature of one set of standard job roles within a ‘chain of
production’. Jobs, and job systems, each designed around notions of a typical worker,
and which exclude provision for flexibility between job roles and jobs within the system,
cannot accommodate impairment in a member of the team within either the job (see first
theme above), or within the system. The job of an SAMF at London Underground, a PC
in South Yorkshire Police and a customer services assistant at BMI are designed so that
each team member undertakes the same set of tasks and is fully interchangeable with
other members. At Lidl, some job roles overlap with other team members while others
are unique so that job descriptions fit together to cover all the necessary tasks, but with-
out unnecessary duplication of roles. In each organisation the tasks and jobs are inter-
linked within the production chain and any mismatch between the individual employee
and the standard employee, around which the job has been designed, in any one link in
the chain places the system as a whole at risk. The system of jobs at the Woolwich store
was considered unworkable because Mrs Garrett could not reliably undertake one of her
roles. The impact of Mrs Garrett’s inability to undertake one role within the set of stand-
ard roles was exaggerated by the inflexibility of the system so that, even though she is
considered by the OHD to be ‘fit within the limits of her disability’ (quoted above), she
is perceived by her manager as being ‘unable to do large parts of her job’ (EAT3 para. 9).
At London Underground, the schematic relied on full inter-changeability of staff between
jobs and it was claimed that Mr Vuoto’s team would suffer unreasonably as a result of his
impairment (although evidence from fellow employees indicated that they did not object
to working around Mr Vuoto’s disability). In a production chain of interlinked jobs, the
effects of an impairment-induced mismatch of capabilities and requirements in any one
part of that chain can spread into an entire shift, roster or production process.

Theme 4:Team-based Performance Management and Rewards

The effects of team-based performance targets and performance-based pay systems add
a further (artificial) layer of inflexibility to that arising from standardised, team-based
and multiple-tasked jobs. There is evidence at both London Underground and Lidl that
fixed team-based performance targets operated without provision for an individual to
deviate from a standard performance by reason of impairment. Significantly, the pro-
posed accommodation in both cases is for the employee with impairment to go ‘outside’
the system for the purposes of organising their work, measuring their performance and
determining their salary. The shifts and job tasks that Mr Vuoto could manage were
incompatible with any roster group so that his manager could only accommodate him if
‘he be allowed to go one above the numbers of staff at Green Park [station]’ (EAT1 para.
17). Non-standard productivity from any employee was simply incompatible within the
716 Sociology 47(4)

performance targets under the schematic. It was because the manager’s request for ‘one
above’ was refused higher up the command chain that ‘The claimant was told that …
there was no job at Green Park during the hours he was currently working and that he
would not be allowed to carry on doing what he was doing’ (EAT1 para. 23). The EAT
did not accept this argument: ‘We are not satisfied that there would have been significant
disruption to London Underground’s activities … There is considerable flexibility in the
way London Underground can organise its activity’ (EAT1 para. 67). Similarly, at Lidl,
a request was made that Mrs Garrett be made a ‘supernumerary’ manager, meaning that
her salary costs (and her contribution) were excluded from the store’s productivity calcu-
lation. At Lidl, the request was granted and the claimant was employed outside the nor-
mal work process.

Theme 5: Advice of the Occupational Health Department is Over-ruled

Mr Vuoto was dismissed on the grounds that his impairment precluded employment in
his job, although this contradicted the evidence of the company’s OH and HR depart-
ments which had deemed him able to return to work on the basis of his previous adjust-
ments. South Yorkshire Police Force had been advised by its OHD that Mr Jelic’s
condition precluded front-line duties, that it was likely to be permanent and would
‘probably attract the provisions of the DDA’ (EAT2 para. 10). Nevertheless, it was the
view of his manager that Mr Jelic ‘must get his performance to the next level’ and
‘move out of his comfort zone’ (EAT2 para. 17). With the exception of the OHD, all the
Force’s personnel who dealt with Mr Jelic’s request for adjustments were unfamiliar
with the policies and procedures relating to managing attendance, ill-health and disabil-
ity and the Head of Personnel had received no training in the DDA (EAT2 para. 15). At
BMI, the employer ‘didn’t even take advice from its OHD as to the possibility of the
claimant taking on the customer services agent role or indeed pursing what adjustments
or variations to that role could be made’ (EAT4 para. 5). Relying on Ms Hamed to
investigate her own adjustments, the HR Manager had adopted ‘completely the wrong
way of looking at the problem’ (EAT4 para. 26) and needed reminding that ‘The whole
purpose of the need to make reasonable adjustments is to accommodate an employee
who is disabled, who can carry out some tasks in alternative employment but not others’
(EAT4 para. 25).

Concluding Discussion
William-Whitt and Taras (2010: 534) advocate that ‘Employers must do more than
attempt to fit someone who is disabled into a position designed for someone who is not’.
This article has explored some of the reasons why employers often do not do this and the
consequences for employees.
The first four themes identified from the EAT case studies highlight the complex
design of many modern jobs: organised on largely unchallenged assumptions of what
constitutes a typical or ideal worker. Ableist norms, like gendered norms, have shaped
the world of work and continue to do so. They are deeply embedded in the practices,
policies and culture of organisational life. An abstract job could be designed around the
Foster and Wass 717

skills and competencies of a non-standard employee but, as the EAT cases demonstrate,
this would require a radical shift in established attitudes amongst managers. It makes
good business sense to retain employees that organisations have invested in and the
majority of employees develop their disability while already in employment (IPPR,
2003: 1). Nevertheless, EAT cases profile inflexible managers lacking in imagination,
even when solutions such as redeployment and job redesign are supported by OH and
HR advisors. Multi-tasking and inter-changeability are increasingly features of modern
jobs, but for an employee unable to perform in any one task, but still able to make a posi-
tive contribution, the consequences can be catastrophic. At Lidl, the employee was
accommodated ‘outside’ the management system but at London Underground, South
Yorkshire Police and BMI, disabled employees were removed from the organisation
itself, through dismissal.
From a policy perspective, disability legislation already contains two provisions that
could, in theory, facilitate flexible solutions. The first is the duty to make workplace
adjustments. The second is the duty on employers to ensure that organisational policies,
practices and criteria (commonly referred to as PCPs) do not place disabled employees
at a ‘substantial disadvantage’. In relation to ‘reasonable’ adjustments, our EAT cases
suggest that what employers understand by this concept may differ from the courts. The
test of ‘reasonableness’ in law is an objective one which ultimately can only be decided
by an ET. If employers, employees, their representatives and the judiciary hold different
interpretations of what is ‘reasonable’, conflict is inevitable. The DDA gave disabled
people the positive right to request adjustments. This is an active rather than a passive
right since an employer is obliged to justify a refusal. When deciding whether a request
is reasonable or not, employers routinely seek evaluations from OH specialists but then
appear to ignore the advice given (Theme 5). This raises questions concerning the status
of expert medical opinion when it conflicts with the prevailing organisational logic. The
law relies on a medical model of disability, yet medical opinion is marginalised in organ-
isational decision-making. Disability legislation allows employers to justify a decision to
refuse an adjustment on operational grounds, or on the basis of proportionate cost. Thus,
decision-making remains in the hands of managers who, if wedded to the concept of a
standard worker, will view an adjustment as disruptive or unworkable and costly in terms
of time and resources.
Research suggests that requesting an adjustment can be interpreted as a challenge to
managerial prerogative (Foster, 2007). Disabled employees exercising this right thus
risk disrupting established power relationships between employees and managers.
Enduring negative social attitudes towards disabled people in wider society, which are
also reflected in organisational PCPs, also make it difficult to operationalise legal
rights. Legislation appears to presuppose that work organisations understand and have
mechanisms to combat prejudice and that employers and disabled employees share a
common purpose: to keep the latter in work. Our findings suggest otherwise. A root
and branch re-evaluation of organisational PCPs capable of identifying the normative
assumptions of ableism contained within them would be necessary to challenge pre-
vailing managerial and organisational attitudes. Only then might the disabling psycho-
emotional effects of intentional and unintentional offensive behaviour that employees
with impairments experience (noted earlier by Thomas, 2007) be addressed.
718 Sociology 47(4)

Interestingly, organisational PCPs that disadvantage disabled people, but which were
originally introduced to address liberal equal opportunities concerns for equal treatment
in recruitment, include the standard job and person specification. In the same way that
feminists observed that women would continue to be disadvantaged in the labour market
because jobs were designed around male norms, disabled people will never achieve
organisational ‘fit’ when jobs are designed around ableism. By virtue of their impair-
ment, disabled people are different and require different treatment, something that con-
tinues to confuse managers brought up on liberal concepts of equality (Foster, 2007).
Our analysis indicates that a long-term organisation-based agenda is required to bring
about a revolution in attitudes, values, social prejudices and organisational culture. In the
shorter term we identify two potential policy routes that could be further explored. The
first is supported by the findings of the Black Review (Black, 2008), which recommends
an enhanced role for OH specialists in the workplace. Our research suggests their views
are marginalised and regarded as advisory, rather than educational, by inflexible manag-
ers. Our second suggestion is more radical. Fevre et al. (2011), like Hoque and Noon
(2004) before them, observe that most medium and larger organisations have formal
policies aimed at addressing ill-treatment in the workplace, but whether they are under-
stood, or simply exist to meet compliance objectives, is difficult to establish. They also
note that there is no shortage of government-funded advice available to employers to
help them address ill-treatment in the workplace, from bodies such as the Equality and
Human Rights Commission (EHRC), Advisory, Conciliation and Arbitration Service
(ACAS) and Access to Work. Our suggestion is, therefore, that employers, either as a
formal part of the internal grievance process or as part of an investigation that precedes
this, be obliged to demonstrate before a case reaches court that they have engaged with
advisory bodies in a meaningful way and have sought to resolve disability-related dis-
putes. The fine tuning of how this would work and evidence of non-compliance that
could be presented to a court would need to be further considered and are beyond the
scope of this study. However, such a provision could provide valuable independent
expertise from outside the organisation to educate and advise managers and diffuse the
disrupted power relationships that result from employees exercising their right to request
adjustments.

Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or
not-for-profit sectors.

Notes
 1. In their report Anatomy of Economic Inequality in the UK conducted on behalf of the
Government Equalities Office, the National Equality Panel (2010: 117) conclude that ‘disa-
bled people face some of the greatest employment disadvantages of any group we examine’.
  2. See Williams and Marvin, 2012, for a discussion of the concept of ableism.
  3. It is worth noting that, in comparison to the New Deal for Lone Parents, the New Deal for
Disabled People has not been successful (Parekh, 2010: 78–9, 83).
  4. Under-representation may be exaggerated if disabled employees conceal their impairment for
fear of discrimination.
Foster and Wass 719

  5. EATs are based on an appeal which very often relates to a failure of procedure, the misinter-
pretation of a point of law or whether or not the claimant’s impairment qualifies as a disability
under the DDA.
  6. EAT1 UKEAT/0123/09/DA.
  7. The case was appealed by London Underground on the grounds that the adjustments required
were unreasonable. Mr Burnett [manager] ‘acknowledged his duties to consider reasonable
adjustments’ but he said that ‘this was not limitless’ (EAT para. 54). The EAT dismissed the
appeal in October 2009.
  8. EAT2 UKEAT/0491/09/CEA and [2010] IRLR 744.
  9. Redeployment as a PC would have involved Mr Jelic replacing an existing (non-disabled) PC
and the ET’s decision was appealed by the Chief Constable on the grounds that the Force was
not required to ‘bump’ another employee out of his job in order to accommodate Mr Jelic. Its
appeal failed.
10. EAT3 UKEAT/0541/08/ZT.
11. UKEAT/0292/10/RN.

References
Abberley P (2002) Work, disability, disabled people and European social theory. In: Barnes C,
Oliver M and Barton L (eds) Disability Studies Today. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Acker J (1990) Hierarchies, jobs, bodies: A theory of gendered organizations. Gender & Society
4(2): 139–58.
Acker J (1998) The future of ‘gender and organizations’: Connections and boundaries. Gender,
Work & Organisation 5(4): 195–206.
Acker J (2006) Inequality regimes: Gender, class, and race in organizations. Gender & Society
20: 441–64.
Alvesson M and Billing YD (1992) Gender and organisation. Toward a differentiated understanding.
Organization Studies 13(1): 73–103.
Bedeian AG (2007) Scientific management and Stakhanovism in the Soviet Union: A historical
perspective. International Journal of Social Economics 17(10): 28–36.
Berthoud R (2008) Disability employment penalties in Britain. Work Employment & Society 22(1):
129–48.
Berthoud R (2011) Trends in the Employment of Disabled People in Britain. Institute for Social
and Economic Research, Working Paper Series No. 2001–3. Colchester: Essex University.
Billing Y (1994) Gender and bureaucracies – a critique of Ferguson’s ‘the feminist case against
bureaucracy’. Gender, Work & Organisation 1(4): 179–93.
Black C (2008) Working for a Healthier Tomorrow: A Comprehensive Review of Work and Health.
Department for Work and Pensions. London: The Stationery Office.
Calas MB and Smircich L (2006) From the woman’s point of view ten years later: Toward a femi-
nist organization studies. In: Clegg S, Hardy C and Nord W (eds) Handbook of Organization
Studies, 2nd edn. London: Sage, 284–346.
Dickens L (2007) The road is long: Thirty years of equality legislation in Britain. British Journal
of Industrial Relations 45(3): 463–94.
Edwards C and Imrie R (2003) Disability and bodies as bearers of value. Sociology 37(2): 239–56.
Ferguson K (1984) The Feminist Case against Bureaucracy. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University
Press.
Fevre R, Lewis D, Robinson A and Jones T (2011) Insight into Ill-treatment in the Workplace:
Patterns, Causes and Solutions. Cardiff: Cardiff School of Social Sciences.
720 Sociology 47(4)

Ford H (2008) My Life and Work. London: BN Publishing.

Foster D (2007) Legal obligation or personal lottery? Employee experiences of disability and the
negotiation of adjustments in the public sector workplace. Work, Employment & Society 21(1):
67–84.
Foster D and Fosh P (2010) Negotiating ‘difference’: Representing disabled employees in the
British workplace. British Journal of Industrial Relations 48(3): 560–82.
Foster D with Williams L (2011) The past, present and future of equality agendas: Problems of
intersectionality in theory and practice. In: Blyton P, Heery E and Turnbull P Reassessing the
Employment Relationship. London: Palgrave Macmillan.
Gleeson B (1999) Geographies of Disability. London: Routledge.
Green F (2008) Demanding Work: The Paradox of Job Quality in the Affluent Economy. Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press.
Green F (2001) It’s been a hard day’s night: The concentration and intensification of work in late
twentieth century Britain. British Journal of Industrial Relations 30(1): 53–80.
Hall E (1999) Workspaces: Refiguring the disability employment debate. In: Butler R and Parr
H (eds) Mind and Body Spaces: Geographies of Illness, Impairment and Disability. London:
Routledge.
Hales C (2001) Managing through Organization, 2nd edn. London: Business Press.
Hochschild AR (1983) The Managed Heart. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Holvino E (2010) Intersections: The simultaneity of race, gender and class in organization studies.
Gender, Work & Organization 17(3): 248–477.
Honey S, Meagre N and Williams M (1992) Employer’s Attitudes towards People with Disabili-
ties. Brighton: Institute of Manpower Studies.
Hoque K and Noon M (2004) Equal opportunities policy and practice in Britain: Evaluating the
‘empty shell’ hypothesis. Work, Employment & Society 18(3): 481–506.
IPPR (2003) 1 in 5 adults has a disability – government must do more to get disabled people jobs.
Institute of Public Policy Research, press release, 12 June.
Jones M (2006) Is there employment discrimination against the disabled? Economic Letters 92(1):
32–7.
Jones M and Wass V (2011) Understanding Changing Disability-related Employment Penalties in
Britain 1998–2011. ESDS Government, Labour Force Survey Users Meeting London, Royal
Statistical Society, 6 December.
Kanter RM (1977) Men and Women of the Corporation. New York: Basic Books.
Lester R and Caudill D (1987) The handicapped worker: Seven myths. Training and Development
Journal August: 50–1.
Meagre N (2011) cited in TUC Touchstone. Available at: http://touchstoneblog.org.uk/2009/07/
disabled-people-and-the-recession-new-information/
Meagre N, Bates P, Dench S, Honey S and Williams M (1998) Employment of Disabled People:
Assessing the Extent of Participation. Research Report no. 69. London: Department of Educa-
tion and Employment.
Miller P, Parker S and Gillinson S (2004) Disablism: How to Tackle the Last Prejudice? London:
Demos.
Morrell J (1990) The Employment of People with Disabilities: Research into Polices and Practices
of Employers. Research Paper 77. London: Department of Employment.
National Equality Panel (2010) Anatomy of Economic Inequality in the UK. London: Government
Equalities Office.
Newell A (2007) Structural Change. In: Crafts N, Gazeley I and Newell A (eds) Work and Pay in
Twentieth Century Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Foster and Wass 721

OECD (2007) Sickness, Disability and Work: Breaking the Barriers, Vol. 2: Australia, Luxembourg,
Spain and the United Kingdom. France: OECD Publishing.
Oliver M (1990) The Politics of Disablement. London: Macmillan.
Oliver M (1996) Understanding Disability: From Theory to Practice. London: Macmillan.
Parekh A, MacInnes T and Kenway P (2010) Monitoring Poverty and Social Exclusion. London:
Joseph Rowntree Foundation and New Policy Institute.
Rose M (1988) Industrial Behaviour (Research and Control), 2nd edn. London: Penguin.
Shakespeare T (2006) Disability Rights and Wrongs. London: Routledge.
Smith DE (1979) A sociology for women. In: Sherman JA and Torten E (eds) The Prism of Sex:
Essays in the Sociology of Knowledge. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.
Thomas C (1999) Female Forms: Experiencing the Understanding of Disability. Buckingham:
Open University.
Thomas C (2007) Sociologies of Disability and Illness: Contested Ideas in Disability Studies and
Medical Sociology. London: Palgrave Macmillan.
Tomaney J (1990) The reality of workplace flexibility. Capital and Class 40(Spring): 29–60.
Weber M (1964) The Theory of Economic and Social Organization. New York: Free Press.
Williams W and Mavin S (2012) Disability as constructed difference: A literature review and
research agenda for management and organization studies. International Journal of Manage-
ment Reviews, forthcoming.
Williams-Whitt K and Taras D (2010) Disability and the performance paradox: Can social capital
bridge the divide? British Journal Industrial Relation 48(3): 534–59.
Woodhams C and Danieli A (2000) Disability and diversity – A difference too far? Personnel
Review 29(3): 402–16.

Deborah Foster is a Senior Lecturer in the HRM Section at Cardiff Business School. She
has developed a particular interest in disability discrimination and gender inequality in
the UK, European and Chinese public sectors and has recently published this research in
Work, Employment & Society and The British Journal of Industrial Relations.

Victoria Wass is a Reader at Cardiff Business School. She has a long-term interest in the
employment effects arising from disability and she advises the courts on how to quantify
these in claims for loss of earnings.
Date submitted November 2011
Date accepted May 2012
453795
12
SOC47410.1177/0038038512453795SociologyKelly

Article

Sociology
47(4) 722­–738
Popular Culture, Sport and © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
the ‘Hero’-fication of British sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512453795
Militarism soc.sagepub.com

John Kelly
University of Edinburgh, UK

Abstract
A number of culturally significant practices have become incorporated into promoting and
normalising British militarism in the face of increasing controversies surrounding Britain’s role
in the ‘War on Terror’. Utilising a critical discourse analysis, this article draws on Goffman’s
deference and demeanour work and asserts that in conjunction with other popular cultural
practices, sport is being co-opted into a multi-agency strategy that positions the military,
government, media and citizens in a joint ceremony of supportive affirmation of UK militarism. A
discursive formation, which circumscribes legitimate discourses around the ‘War on Terror’, is
shown to symbolically annihilate critical opposition to British aggression in Iraq and Afghanistan
whilst normalising the joint ceremony of support.

Keywords
deference, demeanour, hero-fication, militarism, sport, symbolic annihilation

Introduction
This article analyses the ideological role that popular cultural activities are increasingly
performing in support of the UK military during the post-9/11 US/UK-led ‘War on
Terror’ (WoT). This ‘war’ has formed the basis of an emerging body of work within cul-
tural studies (Denzin, 2004; Denzin and Giardina, 2007; Giroux, 2004, 2008; Kellner,
2004) and the sociology of sport (Jansen and Sabo, 1994; King, 2008; Stempel, 2006).
Falcous and Silk (2005) reveal the ideological work of the American corporate media
and US sport in ‘foreclosing doubt’ around wars in Afghanistan and Iraq in the face of
critical commentary of official accounts. The same authors (2006) analyse the Australian
corporate media’s response to boxer Anthony Mundine’s critical remarks about

Corresponding author:
John Kelly, Institute for Sport, Physical Education and Health Sciences, Moray House School of Education,
University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh EH8 8AQ, UK.
Email: john.kelly@ed.ac.uk
Kelly 723

Australia’s involvement in the WoT. Scherer and Koch (2010), meanwhile, provide a
reading of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation’s broadcast of the ‘Tickets for Troops’
initiative in the National Hockey League, concluding that men’s ice hockey helped pro-
mote both the war in Afghanistan and the Conservative party of Canada. King (2008),
Silk and Falcous (2005) and Butterworth (2005, 2008, 2010) reveal the extent to which
the Super Bowl, Olympic Games and Major League Baseball have been co-opted into
promoting and normalising official US government discourses of the WoT.
Since 2006, both the United States and Canada have established official military pub-
lic relations departments. Operation Tribute to Freedom (USA) and Operation Connection
(Canada) seek to manufacture consent for their post-9/11 military operations. Operation
Tribute to Freedom (OTF) for example, states that its public relations strategy ‘identifies
media opportunities … for returning Soldiers [sic] to share their experience with their
local communities in an effort to ensure the public maintains a direct connection to
today’s army’ (OTF, 2010, my emphasis). Operation Connection uses community-based
activities to raise the military’s profile and invites young Canadians to ‘fight with the
Canadian Forces’ (Scherer and Koch, 2010). The Canadian Department of National
Defense sponsored the Canadian Interuniversity Sport leagues, allowing the military a
presence at all university sporting events and access to target recruits (2010). The target-
ing of university sport is also shown to be central to the USA, with Butterworth and
Moskal revealing the paradox of a US military hardware manufacturer sponsoring a US
college bowl competition renamed ‘the Armed Forces Bowl’. They note:

In this context, the Armed Forces Bowl cannot be seen as an independent event, nor can the
patriotic and militaristic displays be understood as isolated; rather, they represent a substantive
articulation of the form of militarism that reduces citizens to spectators and normalises the
presence of war in general and ‘the war on terror’ specifically. In the midst of declining
American public support for the war in Iraq, the rhetorical production of citizenship through
sports may be understood as an effort to counter resistance by fostering identification with the
‘troops’ while eliding the realities of war. (2009: 414)

This article shifts attention to the United Kingdom, highlighting the plethora of paral-
lel activities that have emerged during this time and attempts to explain these activities
specifically in sociological terms. It begins by outlining the discursive formation
(Foucault, 1972) surrounding Britain’s military personnel and its recent operations, high-
lighting the political-ideological aspects to preferred readings of the WoT and the cor-
responding power of language to juxtapose hero with extremist within militarism
discourse. Militarism is used here to capture the ideological normalising processes that
present militarism as necessary and natural extensions of nation-states’ civil society
(Bernazzoli and Flint, 2009; Woodward, 2005). Bernazzoli and Flint correctly highlight
the need to connect the individual to wider society when explaining their successful
mobilization during conflict and peace. They note:

… when societies are mobilized into conflicts, this action is predicated on ideas about the
naturalness of conflict and enemies … but in order for these appeals to be successful, they are
combined with a focus on moral imperatives and ‘obligation to the nation’. (2009: 400)
724 Sociology 47(4)

This article extends this account to consider the constructed moral obligation of ‘the
nation’ towards militarism by drawing on the intersection of militarism, popular culture
and sport. The theoretical approach utilises Goffman’s deference and demeanour work to
reveal the reciprocal nature of social conduct and how it enables counter-hegemonic
views to be symbolically annihilated, whilst containing debate surrounding Britain’s
post-9/11 military actions. A selection of illustrative examples of popular culture being
co-opted into ‘the nation’s support for heroes’ are highlighted in order to contextualise
the power of the discourse to embed itself within everyday British life, before discussing
three illustrative examples in detail, which expose the hegemonic processes surrounding
war discourses in post-9/11 UK.

Theoretically Framing the Discourse of Remembering

‘Heroes’
Britain’s role in the WoT has faced public opposition, including questions of legiti-
macy over the Iraq invasion (with three official inquiries and questions over UK
government discourses of regime change and weapons of mass destruction), growing
concerns over rising casualties (with Burnham et al.’s 2006 Lancet article estimating
Iraq deaths to average 500 per day), embarrassment over alleged allied war crimes
(see Leigh, 2010), increasing realisation of continued political instability in
Afghanistan despite years of occupation, and evidence that UK military action has
increased the risk of terrorism to British citizens (Manningham-Buller, 2010). Yet, in
Britain a discursive formation circumventing questions of political legitimacy is
becoming institutionalised as the way to frame the WoT. As Hall explains, the discur-
sive formation:

… governs the way that a topic can be meaningfully talked about and reasoned about. It also
influences how ideas are put into practice and used to regulate the conduct of others. Just as a
discourse ‘rules in’ certain ways of talking about a topic, defining an acceptable and intelligible
way to talk, write, or conduct oneself, so also, by definition, it ‘rules out’, limits and restricts
other ways of talking, of conducting ourselves in relation to the topic or constructing knowledge
about it. (1997: 44)

The discursive formation circumscribes acceptable and unacceptable discussion of

the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts, juxtaposing ‘hero’ with ‘extremist’ in an ideological
hierarchical dualism. Hero and extremist are inescapably tied in an inter-dependent
relationship – linguistically and politically – legitimising one and demonising the other
in a structured moral hierarchy. In UK military discourse, ‘hero’ becomes synonymous
with soldier or ‘our boys’, contrasted against the Other, rebel fighters of the invasion(s)
and occupation(s), who become labelled ‘extremists’ or ‘insurgents’. Thus, the politi-
cally charged moral hierarchy of UK ‘soldier’ vs Afghanistan (Iraq) ‘insurgent’ is rein-
forced revealing a powerful, if implicit, hierarchy of morality that articulates for us the
virtuous and heroic British soldier to be juxtaposed alongside evil insurgents.
During conflicts, media narratives become powerful conduits between government
and citizen. In the USA, Altheide and Grimes (2005) describe ‘war programming’, as a
Kelly 725

media-centred propaganda framework that silences war critics, while Gartner (2011)
illustrates the power of ‘casualty images’ shaping public opinion around the war. Stabile
and Kumar claim the media helped sustain the ‘cynical ploy’ (2005: 765) of justifying
war in Afghanistan as liberating women while obscuring the USA’s legacy of aiding
Islamic fundamentalism. In the UK, media narratives frame British soldiers as vulner-
able heroes (Woodward et al., 2009). Yet the mediatisation of militarism has witnessed
the media acting in a variety of roles, as critical observer, military publicist, or battle-
ground itself (Thussu and Freedman, 2003). Edwards and Cromwell’s (2009) analysis
of the BBC’s reporting of Britain’s role in Iraq, however, illustrates this media’s mili-
tary publicist role. Citing the work done at Cardiff University, which showed that the
BBC ‘displayed the most “pro-war” agenda of any broadcaster’ (Lewis, 2004: 28), they
explain:

A key feature of BBC reporting is its selective labelling of bias. This is detected when powerful
interests – notably the government and powerful corporations – are subject to criticism. By
contrast, journalism that faithfully echoes the government line is viewed as neutral. Thus, the
assumption that the US and UK governments are motivated by humanitarian concern in Iraq is
a ‘neutral’ view. (2009: 29)

Evidencing an example of such ideologically laden reporting, they cite the BBC’s Ten
O’clock News reporter Paul Woods, who reported, ‘the coalition came to Iraq in the first
place to bring democracy and human rights’ (2009: 30). As Edwards and Cromwell high-
light, a potentially illegal and undoubtedly violent invasion is replaced in BBC reporting
with the polite euphemism ‘came to Iraq’, and the questionable official orthodoxy of
bringing democracy and human rights is willingly endorsed.
Interpretations, therefore, must be considered as part of a broader process of produc-
tion and diffusion of texts that are inescapably connected to particular social, political
and historical power relations. Whilst individuals are able to interpret and appropriate
messages in differing ways, through what Thompson (1988) describes as the ‘space of
transformation’ and Philo (2007) refers to as ‘circulation’, Hall reminds us of the inti-
macy between cultural norms or values and their collective representation in language:

We are born into a language, its codes and its meanings. Language is therefore … a social
phenomenon. It cannot be an individual matter because we cannot make up the rules of language
individually, for ourselves. Their source lies in society, in the culture, in our shared cultural
codes, in the language system – not in nature or in the individual subject. (2007: 34)

Thus, whilst individuals are free to appropriate cultural messages, they do so not in a
political vacuum but in ‘shared cultural codes’. However, the extent to which these cul-
tural codes are shared is seldom universal due to subtle differences in the values and
meanings associated with contested symbols or actions. Where signifiers have contested
meanings consent is often manufactured, as the American and Canadian governments
recognise with their aforementioned respective military propaganda departments.
Therefore, in order to investigate further, Goffman’s work on the nature of deference and
demeanour allows us insight into the relationships between individuals and the produc-
tion and appropriation of wider ideological messages.
726 Sociology 47(4)

Illustrating the reciprocal nature of social conduct, Goffman noted that ‘one man’s
[sic] obligation will often be another’s expectation’ (1967[1956]: 49) and that failure to
conform and confirm each position endangers the success of both the micro-level social
encounter and the wider societal implications for future encounters of this sort:

[I]ndividuals must hold hands in a chain of ceremony, each giving deferentially with proper
demeanour to the one on the right what will be received deferentially from one on the left …
evidence of this possession is thoroughly a product of joint ceremonial labour, the part expressed
through the individual’s demeanour being no more significant than the part conveyed by others
through their deferential behaviour toward him [sic]. (1967[1956]: 85)

Deference involves engaging in behavioural rituals of ‘avoidance’ and ‘presentation’ in

order to act appropriately and in convention with the norms expected of one in whichever
role one finds her/himself at a given moment. This is exemplified by, for example, avoid-
ing using the personal name of a superior (avoidance) or positively commenting on a
friend’s new haircut or dress (presenting). Demeanour, meanwhile involves ‘attributes
derived from interpretations others make of the way in which the individual handles
himself [sic] during social intercourse’ (1967[1956]: 78). It is, therefore, important to
note the centrality of others’ interpretations in the successful construction and reinforce-
ment of identities here, including the enabling effect such a symbiotic dynamic has in the
construction of preferred identities. As Goffman explains:

A willingness to give others their deferential due is one of the qualities which the individual owes
it to others to express through his [sic] conduct, just as a willingness to conduct oneself with good
demeanour is in general a way of showing deference to those present. (1967[1956]: 82)

The public, therefore, plays an important role in joint ceremony with the media and
military in recreating and sustaining identities and these interactions relate closely to
the power some have to ascribe certain behaviours deviant or desirable. Woodward’s
account of militarism correctly acknowledged that armed conflict is only possible if a
whole range of ‘activities, processes and practices’ (2005: 727) occur. But whilst weap-
ons manufacture, soldier recruitment, housing, facilities, information and communica-
tion technologies are essential, so too is the ideological ‘support of a grateful nation’.
Thus, Goffman allows us to offer an innovative conceptualisation of civil-military rela-
tions beyond the organisational to consider the sociocultural, discursive and relational
spheres.

Methodology
Critical discourse analyses are usually tied to power and social interests (Fairclough,
2001, 2003; Philo, 2007). One should consider the position of power by locating medi-
ated expressions of anything meaningful:

… in relation to the historically specific and socially structured contexts and processes within
which, and by means of which, these symbolic forms are produced, transmitted and received.
(Thompson, 1988: 361)
Kelly 727

Echoing Thompson’s call, Philo (2007) criticises those textual analysts who fail to
adequately consider the production and context of texts. In describing the work of the
Glasgow University Media Group (GUMG) (of which he is part) Philo explains:

… we were interested in how language was linked to wider social processes and how individual
meanings and communications related to conflict and divisions within society as a whole …
The issue then was not to look simply at the descriptions which were offered of the world in a
specific text, but to look at the social relations which underpinned the generation of these
descriptions. (2007: 5)

Thus, this critical discourse analysis avoids seeking to ‘discover’ patterns over a fixed
event or mediated product. Rather, it locates one common discourse around the hero-
fication of militarism and theoretically engages in a critical discourse analysis of it. The
main aim is to locate these examples within their wider ideological systems in ways simi-
lar to the GUMG’s analyses of their substantive topics.

[I]t was not possible to analyse texts in isolation from the study of the wider systems of
ideologies which informed them and the production processes which structured their
representation … This linking of production, content and reception became the basis of our
methodological approach. (Philo, 2007:14)

The illustrative examples relate explicitly to broader historical, political and

national discourses around the hero-fication of militarism and have been selected
because they are perhaps the most high profile examples whereby dominant and alter-
native discourses around the WoT are simultaneously present and, as such, they reveal
an overarching ideological narrative around the hero-fication of militarism in the UK.
Three examples are presented, combining to reveal the subtle hegemonic influences
surrounding post-9/11 UK militarism. The first two examples centre on the 2009 St
Paul’s Iraq Commemorative Ceremony because here we see the contrasting narratives
captured in one event. The first example reveals the most common narrative (of sup-
port) surrounding UK militarism and is illustrated in the deference shown to and
demeanour of two of the major protagonists of the service (a grieving mother and an
acting serviceman). The second example focuses on the media reaction to remarks by
the Archbishop of Canterbury at this ceremony, in which he questioned the UK gov-
ernment’s decisions to go to ‘war’. Here the annihilation of alternative voices is
revealed by focusing on illustrative media articles from two national newspapers (The
Sun and The Telegraph) responding to the Archbishop’s comments. The final example
draws from the world of sport, a well-established cultural site for engendering kinship
and the imagined community of nation. It focuses on what is possibly the UK’s most
visible example of dissent towards the UK government’s WoT public relations activi-
ties.1 The media reaction to sections of Celtic FC’s supporters who objected to the
Earl Haig poppy being implanted onto Celtic’s jersey on Remembrance weekend is
specifically analysed. It draws from Scotland’s most popular national newspapers
(Daily Record and Scottish Sun).2 This type of dissent from Celtic fans has occurred
in every one of the three years of this newly emerged practice. It illustrates the power
of the discursive formation to shape the media and club’s (Celtic FC) response to
728 Sociology 47(4)

those who have a counter-hegemonic position regarding the articulation of UK mili-

tarism and remembrance amid the ongoing WoT.

Popular Culture and the ‘Hero’-fication of British

Militarism
In September 2007 the British army chief, General Dannatt, called for greater public sup-
port of ‘the troops’ (BBC, 2007). Soon after, a multi-agency campaign of newly created
‘support the troops’ initiatives emerged. Official events include homecoming parades
and an annual Armed Forces Day. These have been supported by the Royal British
Legion-inspired Wootton Bassett homage to the returning dead British military, an
extended BBC prime-time interview with Prince Charles (BBC1, 2008) framed around
the ‘tough and testing duties’ of serving UK soldiers, and the Queen’s 2009 Christmas
message focusing on supporting the military. Two newly initiated and apparently inde-
pendent charities, Help for Heroes and Tickets for Troops, have emerged and both appear
remarkably similar to the American Department of Defense’s Welcome Back Veterans
and the Canadian Defense Department’s Tickets for Troops. Television has witnessed
both its autumn and spring season prime-time Saturday evening programmes promote
the ‘support the troops’ message with X Factor 2008 and 2010 releasing a ‘song for
heroes’ and Dancing on Ice 2011 including Tickets for Troops patron Lance Corporal
Johnson Beharry VC as one of its ‘celebrity’ dancers. Additionally, serving soldier
Katrina Hodge (nicknamed ‘Combat Barbie’) replaced the dethroned Miss England in
the 2009 Miss World contest; active soldiers ‘The Trio’ released a Christmas 2009 album
Coming Home; soldiers’ partners, ‘The Choir, Military Wives’, released a Christmas
2011 single; Prime Minister (Gordon Brown) and serving military personnel took centre
stage at the grand finale of ITV’s Britain’s Best awards programme; an Oscar-like mili-
tary award show labelled The Millies emerged; Sky News initiated a military-inspired
‘For Queen and Country’ week; and a Sunday night prime-time ‘Concert for Heroes’ at
Twickenham was screened live on BBC1 (12 September 2010). In 2008 the Ministry of
Defence (MoD) began ‘advising’ teachers on what to include in history lessons, resulting
in the National Union of Teachers accusing the MoD of behaving ‘unethically’ (Curtis,
2008). This alleged unethical behaviour included strategically targeting disadvantaged
schools to distribute army recruitment materials, a tactic that the USA and Canada have
been accused of employing (D’Abord Solidaires, 2009). Indeed, Canada’s Operation
Connection has been accused of ‘predatory recruitment strategies’ in targeting the work-
ing class, ethnic minorities and university students to enlist (Scherer and Koch, 2010).
The emergence in the UK of this series of multi-agency practices and ‘traditions’ is
remarkably similar to the PR-induced activities of the US and Canadian governments.
In October 2009, a special Iraq War commemoration service was staged at St Paul’s
Cathedral and witnessed former Prime Minister Tony Blair, along with senior Royal
Family members, accompanying representatives of all the armed forces in presenting to
‘the nation’ an institutionalised national demeanour of pride and sorrow. Tracey Hazel,
mother of a killed soldier, lit a special candle as part of the ceremony, commenting, ‘the
service is a fantastic idea. It makes me so proud to be British and a lot of other people
should be’ (4NI.co.uk, 2009). Royal Navy representative Jon Pentreath, a reader at the
Kelly 729

service, left little doubt as to what the purpose of such public ceremonies is in fostering
desired levels of reciprocal deference and demeanour within and between military, poli-
ticians, media and the public when he asserted, ‘it’s important for the nation to under-
stand what members of the armed forces and their families are going through’ (BBC,
2009). By utilising Goffman’s deference and demeanour work, this call for citizens to
deferentially understand (which usually includes the tacit expectancy of a dual unques-
tioning appreciation) is mirrored in joint ceremony by military demeanour.

The individual cannot establish these attributes for his [sic] own by verbally avowing that he
possesses them … he can, however, contrive to conduct himself in such a way that others,
through their interpretation of his conduct, will impute the kinds of attributes to him he would
like others to see in him … through demeanour the individual creates an image of himself, but
properly speaking this is not an image that is meant for his own eyes. (Goffman, 1967[1956]:
78, my emphasis)

This joint responsibility requires both parties to play their part accordingly – thus, the
military, which cannot establish these attributes and avow that it possesses them itself,
relies on others to do this work for it. Therefore, the need for the public to understand
(and appreciate) is only one half of the equation. The other unarticulated half involves
soldiers (and other military personnel) needing to feel ‘the nation’ understands and sup-
ports them by ascribing the positive, heroic attributes to them they would like others to
see, making these pleas necessary when spontaneous support appears lacking. The fol-
lowing two examples reveal this further. On being crowned Miss England, ‘Combat
Barbie’ announced that ‘people just do not appreciate the army enough’ (Daily Telegraph,
2009). Meanwhile, commenting on the military receiving free tickets for sport and music
events, Major Spicer explained, ‘to have the odd perk is great, but just as important is the
thought that what we do is appreciated’ (Tickets for Troops, 2011, my emphasis).
These deference and demeanour ceremonies of support are fundamental requirements
for maintaining soldier morale. As previous studies have shown, one of the necessary
conditions in the process of transforming civilians into soldiers – willing to kill, maim
and die – is for soldiers to feel the public supports them and their actions (Grossman,
1995; Nadelson, 2005). What appears, therefore, on the surface to be individual behav-
iour is on closer inspection embedded more broadly in societal norms, values and con-
ventions – ‘shared cultural codes’ (Hall, 1997: 34). As Goffman explained:

Deference images tend to point to the wider society outside the interaction, to the place the
individual has achieved in the hierarchy of this society … the image of himself [sic] the
individual owes it to others to maintain through his conduct is a kind of justification and
compensation for the image of him that others are obliged to express through their dereference
to him. Each of the two images in fact may act as a guarantee and check upon the other.
(1967[1956]: 82–3)

The joint ceremony between deference and demeanour – with solemn speeches from a
grieving mother and pleas for nation-wide understanding and appreciation from active
service personnel – provide fertile ground for self-fulfilling mutual reinforcement and
support for UK-sponsored military violence whilst at the same time making meaningful
730 Sociology 47(4)

opposition problematic. As Chomsky highlights, the power of slogans like ‘support our
troops’ and ‘help our heroes’ is that they camouflage ideological policies whilst remain-
ing difficult to oppose:

Who can be against that? … It doesn’t mean anything. That’s the point. The point of public
relations slogans like ‘Support our troops’ is that they don’t mean anything … Of course, there
was an issue. The issue was, do you support our policy? But you don’t want people to think
about that issue. That’s the whole point of good propaganda. You want to create a slogan that
nobody’s going to be against, and everybody’s going to be for. Nobody knows what it means,
because it doesn’t mean anything. Its crucial value is that it diverts your attention from a
question that does mean something: Do you support our policy? (2002: 25–6, original emphasis)

Thus, both Hazel’s and Pentreath’s pleas – that others should become proud of Britain
and that the public needs to understand – are difficult to object to, yet equally translate,
by virtue of joint ceremonies of deference and demeanour, into the soldiers’ (and griev-
ing loved ones’) need to feel supported – in order to reinforce their positive/heroic posi-
tion to both themselves and the wider public. Meanwhile questions surrounding
government policy become entangled in patriotic platitudes.
Many of the aforementioned examples are banal and, perhaps as a result of this and
the hegemonic power to render them apolitical, have witnessed no major dissention. The
power of such a hero-fication process is revealed, however, when one considers the few
examples of public dissent alongside the symbolic annihilation that accompanies such
rare dissention, and it is to these examples we now turn. These are unavoidably selective
examples and originate from ceremonial and/or commemorative events, which, by their
nature, render dissent particularly problematic in such contexts. However, this opens up
the debate to consider the hegemonic power to contain resistance in both popular and
high cultural activities where the political is embedded as the banal (family entertain-
ment) and where resistance is predetermined as poor taste (ceremonies). Maintaining
hegemony succeeds when resistance is carefully framed in terms defined by the domi-
nant groups. It is mildly paradoxical that counter-hegemonic voices (and their annihila-
tion) are more common in commemorative or ceremonial events because whilst requiring
sombre solemnity, unlike the banal and ‘apolitical’ sport and culture activities, their
politicised undertones are more visible thus more likely to elicit politicised dissent.
It was during the 2009 St Paul’s Iraq Commemoration that the Archbishop of
Canterbury asked for reflection on the wisdom of the decisions to go to war. Despite his
assertion that supporters and detractors of the war may be ‘rash’, and despite his entirely
legitimate questioning of the political decisions that led to the deaths being remembered,
both the Sun’s defence editor and senior features writer accused the Archbishop of
‘hijacking’ the service ‘to spout an anti-war rant’ (Dunn and Phillips, 2009). The Sun’s
major justification appeared to rest on the ubiquitous argument that ‘they’re soldiers not
politicians’ and ‘we have to support our troops’. Thompson in The Telegraph (2009) was
equally critical, accusing Dr Williams of ‘attention seeking’ and ‘leaving ordinary folk
scratching their heads’. It should be noted that there were others who did not openly criti-
cise the Archbishop. However, it is difficult to find any mainstream journalist openly
supporting the Archbishop’s position, with most merely reporting his comments before
focusing on the preferred narrative of ‘heroes’ being remembered. Unconditional support
Kelly 731

for ‘war’, therefore, is presented as non-political. Yet, when questions are raised, even
within the context of the ‘nation’s’ official Church’s leading Archbishop reflecting on the
spiritual morality of the collective decisions made on ‘our’ behalf, it becomes political
and the questioner is symbolically annihilated as an extraordinary sly, attention-seeking
rabble-rouser.

Sport and the ‘Hero’-fication of British Militarism

Many of the ‘nation’s’ sacred rituals have been ‘helping heroes’ since General Dannatt’s
plea for increased support and, just like its high streets, its annual commemoration days,
its most popular television shows, its national news programmes, its music industry, its
beauty contestants, its royal family and its education system, ‘the nation’s’ sport is but
one of the fertile sites for aiding the hero-fication process.
Manufacturing consent often involves embedding dominant ideological signifiers
into society’s sacred rituals, making the USA’s, Canada’s and the UK’s remarkably simi-
lar official initiatives unsurprising. Prior to the 2010 England vs Wales Six Nations rugby
match at Twickenham, vice-patrons of both rugby unions Princes William and Harry
greeted, as guests of honour, servicemen injured in Iraq and Afghanistan. In season
2009–10, the Football League announced its season-long official charity partner would
be ‘Help for Heroes’, and in March 2010 it celebrated its official ‘helping heroes’ week.
As part of the public relations activities, each of the 72 clubs staged a designated Football
for Heroes match, provided a promotional photo featuring players with Help for Heroes
banners and balls, emerged from the tunnel behind a Help for Heroes banner and ensured
captains and officials posed at kick-off with a Help for Heroes banner (Football League,
2010). The apparent apolitical conflation of sport and charity combined with an unequiv-
ocally politicised message from ex-Conservative party cabinet member Lord Mawhinney,
who, in his role as chairman of the Football League, asserted:

The contribution being made by our armed forces around the world is truly humbling. As a
nation we do not thank them enough for the sacrifices they make. The Football for Heroes week
will provide an excellent opportunity for supporters to show their appreciation for the
outstanding work being done. (Football League, 2010, my emphasis)

Additionally, during Remembrance Day weekend in November 2008, 2009 and 2010, all
English and Scottish Premier League football clubs were asked to display a specially
embroidered Earl Haig poppy on club shirts. In the build up to the 2010 football World
Cup involving England, newly appointed British Prime Minister David Cameron
addressed British soldiers in Afghanistan with a message of support from the England
football manager, Fabio Capello.3 It read, ‘we are all very proud of what you’re doing
and you are the real heroes’ (BBC, 2010).
The power of this narrative, of heroes doing good work, often against a deviant ‘other’,
is revealed by analysing the reaction that occurred in response to a section of Celtic FC
fans who objected to their club’s shirt displaying the poppy. They have protested every
year this newly created tradition has occurred, distributing leaflets connecting British
militarism to civilian deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq and walking out of their club’s match
732 Sociology 47(4)

after 10 minutes in 2008. In describing this, Carson (Scottish Sun) utilised vernacular usu-
ally reserved to report terrorists, exclaiming their actions to be an ‘outrage’ representative
of a ‘hardcore group’ ‘plotting to disrupt the poppy day event’ (2008). In 2009, a small
group4 remained outside the stadium during the official Remembrance Sunday minute
silence being held inside the stadium and, in 2010, a group unfurled a banner during the
match which read ‘your deeds would shame all the devils in hell: Ireland, Iraq, Afghanistan.
No bloodstained poppy on our hoops.’5 Responding to this incident, Celtic FC released a
statement on its club website promising to ‘ban those identified as responsible from Celtic
Park’. It remains unclear on what grounds they are to be banned, with no reason given
other than the claim that they have ‘embarrassed’ and ‘tarnished’ the club. Indeed, the
discursive formation appears to be so strongly embedded there is a complete refusal by
some to allow it to be challenged and this appears to be the main rationale for Celtic’s
statement and the near universal negative response by the media.
Prominent Scottish journalist James Traynor’s headline (2009) left little doubt about
the discursive formation, commenting on the 2009 actions – ‘We must silence spiteful
minority.’ He anchors the event as allowing ‘Europe’s war dead 60 seconds of fleeting
respect’. Whilst we should contextualise the apparent ceremonial commemorative nature
of these public displays, their increasing seepage into supporting current conflicts cannot
be overlooked. The wider discursive and political reality, conflating Remembrance with
the ‘WoT’, is revealed when Traynor later asks ‘who are these spiteful people who refuse
to honour and respect the millions who were slaughtered and who continue to be slaugh-
tered in the name of freedom’ (my emphasis)? Rather than exclusively remember
Europe’s war dead (which in itself overlooks non-European victims and the militaristic
paraphernalia so central to UK Remembrance), it is, as Traynor himself asserts, also
about remembering those who ‘continue’ dying and being ‘slaughtered in the name of
freedom’, a claim that, like Mawhinney’s earlier statement, is undeniably political, sub-
jective and controversial. This articulation illustrates the ease with which ‘supporting the
troops’ becomes ‘supporting the policy’. Traynor accuses the small number of dissenters
of being filled with ‘hate’, ‘anger’ and ‘ignorance’ and of refusing to ‘let others remem-
ber’. Yet the reality of the situation and its wider political context were overlooked,
preventing the subtlety of the actual protest from being revealed whilst seeking to con-
tain and silence alternative voices. The fans remained outside the stadium – making
spurious the claims that they refused to allow others to remember – and their protest was
accompanied by anti-war literature and the singing of a ballad commemorating Aidan
McAnespie, an Irish Gaelic footballer who, in 1988, was unlawfully killed by a shot to
the back from a British soldier.6 This was not revealed, facilitating much of the annihilat-
ing discourse of ‘despicable’ and ‘ignorant’ fans. Thus, potentially relevant and legiti-
mate grounds for objections are overlooked in favour of emotive annihilating phrases
like ‘spiteful’, ‘ignorant’, ‘despicable’ and ‘shameful’, resulting in foreclosing doubt,
closing down debate and ultimately annihilating alternative voices.
By assuming the ‘decontextualised voice’ (Wertsch, 1990) of reason, Traynor, like
Thompson, Dunn and Phillips in relation to the Archbishop of Canterbury, reveals an
ideologically laden framing of the dissenting voices. Traynor presents himself as the
neutral, patriotic, rational, caring and proud voice of reason to be contrasted with the
biased, unpatriotic (Outsider), irrational, hate-filled and shameful voice of this small
Kelly 733

number of Celtic supporters. This is further reinforced by Carson’s terrorist vernacular of

a ‘hardcore group’ ‘plotting’ an act of ‘outrage’. Dunn, Phillips and Thompson, mean-
while juxtapose their neutrality with the Archbishop’s ‘attention seeking’ ‘divisive views
on a number of subjects’, and his politicised agenda leaving ‘ordinary people scratching
their heads’. Despite Traynor’s own aforementioned assertion that the events were con-
nected to current sacrifices, he also overlooks the fact that Afghanistan and Iraq were
overtly referred to by the protestors thus constituting an essential element of their
grounds for dissention. Traynor then drifts perilously close to xenophobia, exclaiming,
‘these people need to understand we are Scottish … We don’t have any desire to become
Irish … Those who do should scramble over the wall or catch a ferry from Stranraer and
leave the rest of us alone.’ Traynor mirrors the sentiments of the racist ‘Famine Song’
that has become popular among some in Scotland as a way of racially abusing Irish-
Catholics in Scotland by branding them outsiders and telling them to ‘go home’ (Kelly,
2011). This positions objectors as outsiders, Others and non-Scots, who should go
home, and are to be juxtaposed with ‘us’, authentic Scots who all share the same values
including universal support for the hero-fication of militarism. ‘Hate’, ‘anger’ and
‘ignorance’ are used to symbolically annihilate the objectors’ position whilst simultane-
ously attempting to demarcate us – the established Scottish group who support the hero-
fication of militarism – from them – the ‘despicable’, hate-filled outsiders hell-bent on
transforming non-political remembrance into spite and hate. Thus, with an ideologically
preferred anchoring of meaning, dissenting voice is symbolically annihilated by an
apparently neutral and objective press.
This juxtaposition of deviant versus non-deviant reveals itself further by understanding
the interplay between public relations work and the daily interaction that others fulfil in
order to reinforce and further confirm the preferred image of the self (or in our case, the
military) being constructed. As Goffman notes, ‘the individual must rely on others to
complete the picture of him [sic] of which he himself is allowed to paint only certain
parts’ (1967[1956]: 84). The current hero-fication strategy, with its plethora of multi-
agency initiatives becomes clearer. The joint responsibility of public, media and military/
politician is made obvious. The rhetoric is ‘the troops’ do a great job and they’re (‘our’)
‘heroes’ by virtue of the fact they are British military alone, irrespective of the actual
‘work’ being done. Their position vis-a-vis being UK military guarantees them (almost
universal demand for) respect and hero-fication. The joint chain of ceremony necessary to
successfully carry out such image-work requires a military demeanour of heroes doing
good work – suitably supported by a willing media and culture industry – whilst the public
deference is to salute, cheer and flag wave. The media’s deference is to uncritically sup-
port official UK government policy lines – to act as publicist not critical observer (Thussu
and Freedman, 2003) – and become primary messenger of the nation when the tributes to
bravery, selflessness, courage and heroism are required in order to assuage the nation’s
grief over the death of another British soldier. It is also to show due demeanour of revul-
sion and annihilation towards those who publicly dissent. Meanwhile, as Lord
Mawhinney’s and Major Spicer’s aforementioned comments reveal, the sporting authori-
ties incorporate its members’ fans into deferentially supporting and appreciating ‘the out-
standing work being done’. These events are thus re-presented to us as demonstrating our
appreciation. The ambiguity over whether they are government sanctioned or independent
734 Sociology 47(4)

grassroots movements are part of their strength. As Butterworth and Moskal astutely note
in relation to the official public relations programme America Supports You:

[T]his programme is an invention of the Department of Defense. Thus, America Supports You
presents the illusion that Americans are independently moved to support the military, when in
this case at least, they are given the script by the bureaucracy that depends on the military-
industrial complex. (2009: 421, original emphasis)

Whether it is promoting ‘Help for Heroes’ at Football League games or displaying Earl
Haig poppies on Premier League football shirts, these ceremonial acts combine to strip
the military’s ‘work’ of its realities, which include substantial civilian deaths, increasing
casualties among UK forces, destruction of the towns and cities of other people’s coun-
tries, and the growth and sustaining of future home-grown and overseas terrorists as a
direct result of UK/US acts of violence.
Unless one is explicitly speaking out against this hero-fication, thus inviting public
derision, one is assumed to acquiesce. As the Archbishop of Canterbury and the section of
Celtic fans illustrate, those who deviate from a position of dogmatically ‘supporting the
troops’ by turning attention to questions of policy and ideology are likely to be symboli-
cally annihilated in a joint ceremonial ritual that reinforces dominant ideas of patriotic
citizen to be juxtaposed with unpatriotic ‘outsider’ and/or deviant. Woodward et al.
explain that ‘the persistence of the idea of the soldier as essentially heroic suggests a need
to give meaning to loss … [T]he need for ascription of meaning reflects anxieties about
the legitimacy of the conflicts in which they occurred’ (2009: 219). Indeed, but crucially
it also gives soldiers a feeling of support enabling them to carry on their ‘good work’.

Conclusion
Sport’s utility as a cultural form to engender and inculcate symbols of nationhood render
its role in these events as unsurprising. Nevertheless, its role as a unifying cultural form
remains complex and contradictory as the Celtic fans rejecting and opposing official UK
militarist doctrine illustrate. In order to successfully execute a war, governments need
obedient and unquestioning soldiers willing to kill and die on their behalf (Grossman,
1995; Nadelson, 2005). This is a central feature of army training. Governments (and the
soldiers) also require populations to be unquestioning and obedient, and part of ‘the
nation’s’ training is the annual institutionalised homage to militarism and human sacri-
fice at Remembrance Sunday and the emerging plethora of all-year round ‘remembering
heroes’ events and activities.

Deference and demeanour practices must be institutionalised so that the individual will be able
to project a viable, sacred self and stay in the game on a proper ritual basis … Where ceremonial
practices are thoroughly institutionalised … it would appear easy to be a person. Where
ceremonial practices are not established … it would appear difficult to be a person. (Goffman,
1967[1956]: 91)

Thus, projecting the preferred image of heroic soldiers fighting terror for our freedom
requires a certain institutionalised status if it is to succeed. This article reminds us of the
Kelly 735

intimate interplay between the political and the popular cultural. It illustrates the paradox
of a discursive formation of national militarism in the UK that claims to be apolitical yet
acts to reinforce an ideologically politicised hero-fication of militarism agenda. This is
exemplified in the unsubtle shifting of meaning of Remembrance – from a symbol of
never forgetting the victims of two World Wars to symbolising support for our heroes in
Iraq and Afghanistan. When this agenda is challenged, the discursive formation helps
commentators overlook their own politicised accounts whilst revealing and demonising
the Others’ as highly political and, by association, negative. These processes are closely
dependent upon the rituals of deference and demeanour expected of the actors and insti-
tutions involved in the joint ceremony. That is, there is an unquestioning deference of
appreciation and glorification that good citizens should be united in giving to the mili-
tary, and for those who refuse to take their expected place in the ceremonial order, or
worse, challenge the order itself, a special demeanour is given back. Deference and
demeanour, therefore, work two ways here – first, there is the hero-fication process
towards the military. Second, a total repudiation and rejection of any legitimate argument
against this process occurs a priori without considering the opposing argument by virtue
of the fact they oppose us and therefore deserve only a negative and dismissive demean-
our which is manifested in a symbolic annihilation involving branding them outsiders,
extremists, and terrorists.

Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the two anonymous reviewers for extremely helpful comments on earlier
drafts.

Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or
not-for-profit sectors.

Notes
1. With the exception of the tiny pocket of ‘radical’ Muslim protestors who, in Luton in 2009,
jeered returning British soldiers.
2. With both the Archbishop and the Celtic illustrations, the media examples were selected
because they captured the broad sentiments of the wider print, digital and television mediated
commentary of both incidents.
3. Around the same time, ex-England international David Beckham made a similar visit, making
similar comments.
4. Author attended match and observed the events on 8 November 2009 at Falkirk FC’s stadium.
5. The hoops refer to the green and white hooped Celtic jersey.
6. The British soldier was found guilty of firing with negligent discharge and subsequently dis-
charged on medical grounds.

References
4NI.co.uk (2009) Queen honours Iraq troops, 10 October. Available at: http://www.4ni.co.uk/
northern_ireland_news.asp?id=100862
736 Sociology 47(4)

Altheide DL and Grimes JN (2005) War programming: The propaganda project and the Iraq War.
The Sociological Quarterly 46: 617–43.
BBC (2007) Army chief warns of social gulf, 22 September. Available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/
hi/uk/7006720.stm (accessed 23 September 2007).
BBC (2009) Service honours UK Iraq personnel, 9 October. Available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/
hi/8295868.stm (accessed 10 October 2009).
BBC (2010) Cameron reads Capello’s message of support to UK troops, 11 June. Available at:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/10290821 (accessed 11 June 2010).
BBC News 24 (2010) Hardtalk, 13 December.
BBC1 (2008) Interview with Prince Charles. Trooping the Colour, 13 June.
Bernazzoli RM and Flint C (2009) Power, place and militarism: Toward a comparative geographic
analysis of militarization. Geography Compass 3(1): 393–411.
Burnham G, Lafta R, Doocy S and Roberts L (2006) Mortality after the 2003 invasion of Iraq.
A cross-sectional cluster sample survey. The Lancet, 11 October. doi: 10.1016/S0140–
6736(06)69491–9
Butterworth M (2005) Ritual in the ‘Church of baseball’: Suppressing the discourse of democracy
after 9/11. Communication and Critical/Cultural Studies 2(2): 107–29.
Butterworth M (2008) Fox Sports, Super Bowl XLII, and the affirmation of American civil reli-
gion. Journal of Sport and Social Issues 32(3): 318–23.
Butterworth M (2010) Major league baseball welcomes back veterans, and the rhetoric of ‘support
the troops’. In: Briley R (ed.) The Politics of Baseball: Essays on the Pastime and Power at
Home and Abroad. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 226–40.
Butterworth M and Moskal SD (2009) American football, flags, and ‘fun’: The Bell Helicopter
Armed Forces Bowl and the rhetorical production of militarism. Communication, Culture and
Critique (2): 411–33.
Carson A (2008) Celtic fans in poppy outrage. The Scottish Sun, 7 November. Available at: http://
www.thescottishsun.co.uk/scotsol/homepage/news/article1902396.ece
Chomsky N (2002) Media Control. The Spectacular Achievements of Propaganda, 2nd edn. New
York: Seven Stories Press.
Curtis P (2008) MoD accused of propaganda in Iraq worksheets for schools. The Guardian online,
14 March. Available at: http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2008/mar/14/schools.uk1
D’Abord Solidaires (2009) Putting an end to the ‘great war for civilization’. In: Kowaluk L and
Staples S (eds) Afghanistan and Canada. Montreal: Black Rose Books, 3–11.
Daily Telegraph (2009) ‘Combat Barbie’: Miss England Katrina Hodge launches Miss World 2009, 9
November. Available at: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/politics/defence/6529042/
Combat-Barbie-Miss-England-Katrina-Hodge-launches-Miss-World-2009.html
Denzin N (2004) The war on culture, the war on truth. Cultural Studies-Critical Methodologies
4(2): 137–42.
Denzin N and Giardina M (eds) (2007) Contesting Empire, Globalising Dissent: Cultural Studies
After 9/11. Boulder, CO: Paradigm.
Dunn TN and Phillips M (2009) A disgrace, Your Grace. The Scottish Sun, 10 October. Available
at: http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/campaigns/our_boys/2675598/Archbishop-
of-Canterburys-war-rant-mars-troops-tribute.html
Edwards D and Cromwell D (2009) Newspeak in the 21st Century. London: Pluto Press.
Fairclough N (2001) Language and Power. London: Pearson/Longman.
Fairclough N (2003) Analysing Discourse. London: Routledge.
Falcous M and Silk M (2005) Manufacturing consent: Mediated sporting spectacle and the cul-
tural politics of the ‘War on Terror’. International Journal of Media and Cultural Politics
1: 59–65.
Kelly 737

Falcous M and Silk M (2006) Global regimes, local agendas: Sport, resistance and the mediation
of dissent. International Review for the Sociology of Sport 41(3–4): 317–38.
Football League (2010) League offers help for heroes. Available at: http://www.football-league.
co.uk/officialcharity/helpforheroes/news/20100303/league-launches-football-for-heroes-
week_2269991_1982252
Foucault M (1972) The Archaeology of Knowledge. London: Tavistock.
Gartner SS (2011) On behalf of a grateful nation: Conventionalized images of loss and individual
opinion change in war. International Studies Quarterly 55: 545–61.
Giroux H (2004) The Terror of Neoliberalism: Authoritarianism and the Eclipse of Democracy.
Boulder, CO: Paradigm.
Giroux H (2008) Beyond the biopolitics of disposability: Rethinking neoliberalism in the new
gilded age. Social Identities 14(5): 587–620.
Goffman E (1967[1956]) The nature of deference and demeanour. In: Goffman E Interaction Rit-
ual: Essays on Face-to-Face Behavior. New York: Pantheon, 47–95.
Grossman D (1995) On Killing. The Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society.
London: Back Bay Books.
Hall S (1997) The work of representation. In: Hall S (ed.) Representation. Cultural Representa-
tions and Signifying Practices. London: Sage, 13–64.
Jansen SC and Sabo D (1994) The sport/war metaphor: Hegemonic masculinity, the Persian Gulf
War, and the new world order. Sociology of Sport Journal 11(1): 1–17.
Kellner D (2004) Media propaganda and spectacle in the war on Iraq: A critique of US broadcast-
ing networks. Cultural Studies/Critical Methodologies 4(3): 329–88.
Kelly J (2011) ‘Sectarianism’ and Scottish football: Critical reflections on dominant discourse and
press commentary. International Review for the Sociology of Sport 46(4): 418–35.
King S (2008) Offensive lines: Sport-state synergy in an era of perpetual war. Cultural Studies-
Critical Methodologies 8(4): 527–39.
Leigh D (2010) Afghanistan war logs: Secret CIA paramilitaries’ role in civilian deaths. The
Guardian, 25 July. Available at: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/jul/25/afghanistan-
civilian-deaths-rules-engagement
Lewis J (2004) Television, public opinion and the war in Iraq: The case of Britain. International
Journal of Public Opinion Research 16(3): 295–310.
Manningham-Buller E (2010) Verbal account given to the UK Iraq Inquiry. BBC news report
available at: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-10693001 (accessed 21 July 2010).
Nadelson T (2005) Trained to Kill. Soldiers at War. London: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Operation Tribute to Freedom (2010) http://www.army.mil/otf/paos.html (accessed 21 July
2010).
Philo G (2007) Can discourse analysis successfully explain the content of media and journalistic
practice? Journalism Studies 8(2): 175–96.
Scherer J and Koch J (2010) Living with war: Sport, citizenship and the cultural politics of post-
9/11 Canadian identity. Sociology of Sport Journal 27: 1–29.
Silk M and Falcous M (2005) One day in September/A week in February: Mobilizing American
(sporting) nationalism. Sociology of Sport Journal 22: 447–71.
Stabile CA and Kumar D (2005) Unveiling imperialism: Media, gender and the war on Afghani-
stan. Media, Culture & Society 27(5): 765–82.
Stempel C (2006) Televised sports, masculine moral capital, and support for the US invasion of
Iraq. Journal of Sport and Social Issues 30(1): 79–106.
Thompson J (1988) Mass communication and modern culture: Contribution to a critical theory of
ideology. Sociology 22(3): 359–83.
738 Sociology 47(4)

Thompson D (2009) Archbishop Rowan Williams on Iraq: Typically orotund, typically sly. The
Telegraph, 9 October. Available at: http://blogs.telegraph.co.uk/news/damianthompson/
100013127/archbishop-rowan-williams-on-iraq-typically-orotund-typically-sly/
Thussu DK and Freedman D (2003) Introduction. In: Thussu DK and Freedman D (eds) War and
the Media. London: Sage, 1–12.
Tickets for Troops (2011) http://www.ticketsfortroops.org.uk/
Traynor J (2009) We must silence spiteful minority. Daily Record, 9 November. Available at:
http://blogs.dailyrecord.co.uk/jimtraynor/2009/11/we-must-silence-spiteful-minor-1.html
Wertsch JV (1990) The voice of rationality in a sociocultural approach to mind. In: Moll LC (ed.)
Vygotsky and Education: Instructional Implications and Applications of Sociohistorical Psy-
chology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 111–26.
Woodward R (2005) From military geography to militarism’s geographies: Disciplinary engage-
ments with the geographies of militarism and military activities. Progress in Human Geogra-
phy 29(6): 718–40.
Woodward R, Winter T and Jenkings KN (2009) Heroic anxieties: The figure of the British soldier
in contemporary print media. Journal of War and Culture Studies 2(2): 211–23.

John Kelly teaches a range of modules at the University of Edinburgh including courses on globali-
sation, the media and sport, sociology of sport, and qualitative research methods. He has published
on topics ranging from the sociology of Scottish rugby union fans, Hibernian FC’s Irishness, and
the mediatisation of ‘sectarianism’ in the Scottish press. He is currently co-editing a book on
Scotland, football and bigotry (with John Flint at Sheffield) and has recently co-written a textbook
(with Gyozo Molnar at Worcester) called Sport, Exercise and Social Theory: An Introduction,
which should be published later this year with Routledge.
Date submitted March 2011
Date accepted May 2012
453796
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512453796SociologyChase and Walker

Article

Sociology
47(4) 739­–754
The Co-construction of © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Shame in the Context sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512453796
of Poverty: Beyond a Threat soc.sagepub.com

to the Social Bond

Elaine Chase
University of Oxford, UK

Robert Walker
University of Oxford, UK

Abstract
Scheff (2000, 2003) has argued that shame, while recognised as a social emotion, is frequently
explored outside of the social matrix and with limited reference to its role in human behaviour.
Drawing on empirical qualitative research with adults living in poverty in the UK, this article
illuminates a) how the co-construction of shame (feeling shame and being shamed) is fundamental
in framing how people living in poverty respond to the social demands on them; and b) how
shame as a phenomenon may also take on a dynamic of its own, ultimately used by those feeling
shame to distance themselves from the socially constructed and denigrated ‘Other’ (Lister, 2004).
The article shifts the analysis beyond shame arising from a threat to the immediate ‘social bond’
(Lewis, 1971), instead presenting it as a social fact which not only undermines human dignity but
risks the atomisation of modern society.

Keywords
co-construction, colloquialisms of shame, ‘othering’, poverty, shame, social bond, social
solidarity

Introduction
Shame, along with embarrassment, pride and guilt, is widely understood as a ‘self-
conscious’ rather than a basic emotion such as anger or fear. Essentially it entails a
negative assessment of the self made with reference to one’s own aspirations and the

Corresponding author:
Elaine Chase, Oxford Institute of Social Policy, Department of Social Policy and Intervention,
Barnett House, 32 Wellington Square, Oxford OX12ER, UK.
Email: elaine.chase@spi.ox.ac.uk
740 Sociology 47(4)

perceived expectations of others, and is manifested as a sense of powerlessness and

feeling small (Tangney et al., 2007). While the literature on human psychology has
engaged extensively with shame as a social emotion (Gilbert, 1998; Miller, 2006;
Tangney and Fischer, 1995; Tracy et al., 2007), it has arguably tended to explore its
dynamics outside of the social matrix (Scheff, 2000, 2003).
This said, within the literature exploring the social dynamics of poverty, the inter-
section between shame and poverty has increasingly become the subject of important
analysis and policy discourse (Jones and Novak, 1999; Lister, 2004; Tomlinson et al.,
2008). Indeed, as early as the late 18th century, Adam Smith (1776) spoke of the
essential requirements of a linen shirt and leather shoes for a man to be able to live
without shame in society. The inability to procure the material goods which denote the
contemporary symbols of success have continued to be recognised as having detrimen-
tal social consequences (Lister, 2004); and Sen defines shame as a universal attribute
of poverty (cited in Alkire, 2002: 185).
Building on the work of Lewis (1971), Scheff (2003: 255) offers a sociological defini-
tion of shame conducive to the psychosocial analysis of poverty as follows:

Shame is the large family of emotions that includes many cognates and variants, most notably
embarrassment, guilt, humiliation, and related feelings such as shyness that originate in threats
to the social bond. This definition integrates self (emotional reactions) and society (the social
bond).

Importantly, such a definition allows for an examination of what Scheff considers the
frequent allusions to the emotion of shame even when it remains unnamed. There is, he
argues, a certain ‘taboo’ surrounding the word ‘shame’ – a word in English which has
strength in connotation perhaps not always matched in other languages (Walker, forth-
coming). Parallels can thus be drawn with the implicit but not labelled ‘shame’ in
Adler’s inferiority complex; in Cooley’s notion of self monitoring (1922) – imagining
how we are assessed in the eyes of others and feeling either pride or shame; and in
Goffman’s (1967) notion of ‘saving face’.
Drawing on an analysis of interviews with adults living in poverty in the UK, this
article extends Scheff’s (2000, 2003) study of the impact of shame on social bonds to
consider its more pervasive role in undermining social solidarity. The overriding focus
here is on how shame is almost always co-constructed – combining an internal judge-
ment of one’s own inabilities; an anticipated assessment of how one will be judged by
others; and the actual verbal or symbolic gestures of others who consider, or are deemed
to consider, themselves to be socially and/or morally superior to the person sensing
shame.
It begins by presenting poverty as a meta arena for the emergence of shame, espe-
cially in contemporary British society where success is largely measured according to
the attainment of economic goals. Access to this dominant social world is through mate-
rial consumption and not having the resources for such consumption leads to social
retreat and, ultimately, reduced social capital. These processes are further exacerbated
by the sense of disempowerment induced by shame itself, generating feelings of inabil-
ity, lack of agency or control and culminating in a sense of being controlled and
Chase and Walker 741

dehumanised by the systems and structures which govern access to social and material
resources.
The article goes on to illustrate the different arenas within which shame is co-con-
structed and how people living in poverty are acutely aware of its potential emergence in
every social interaction (Goffman, 1963). In response, they often attempt to avoid shame
at all costs, by withdrawing from social interactions which might expose their hardship
and pretending that they are coping when they are not. Such strategies are hazardous
since people risk having their financial inadequacies revealed and, through their with-
drawal, risk fundamentally compromising their social connections.
Extending this analysis, the article then illuminates a further strategy employed to
retain a level of dignity and respect by people living in poverty. This entails defining a
stratified social structure within which a clear distinction is drawn between ‘us’ and
‘them’. The ‘them’ looking up the hierarchy are those with power and influence who
remain ignorant of, and insensitive to, the circumstances of ‘us’ facing hardship – indeed
‘they look down on us’. The ‘them’ looking down the hierarchy is the classified ‘Other’
(Lister, 2004), those who are less worthy and of lower status to ‘us’. Such categorisation,
a protective response to the ubiquity of poverty-induced shame, it is argued, not only
fragments the social bonds in the immediate milieu, but threatens social solidarity more
broadly and adds further pressure towards the atomisation of modern society.

Methodology
Using the national Indices of Deprivation for England 2007 (Communities and Local
Government, 2008), two research sites were selected within the two most deprived
deciles and geographically situated in the south east of England. Within these sites, par-
ticipants were accessed via a range of community-based advice and children’s centres.
In-depth interviews were held with a total of 42 adults (11 men and 31 women)
between April and October 2011. All adult participants had between one and seven
dependent children (average of 2.1). Participants were selected as eligible to participate
in the research if they lived within the defined geographical area and fulfilled the crite-
ria of a) having dependent children; and b) having ever been in receipt of one or more
benefits (including job seekers allowance, JSA; income support, IS; employment and
support allowance, ESA – previously defined as incapacity benefit IB).
The research was promoted under the title of ‘Coping with Hard Times’, deliberately
avoiding any direct reference to the word ‘poverty’ so as not to alienate potential partici-
pants (see for example, Hooper et al., 2007). Interviews were inductive, allowing inter-
viewees to lead the discussion in relation to a range of key topic areas, beginning with a
broad prompt such as ‘tell me a bit about your current situation’. Using a series of sub-
sequent open-ended questions to guide the discussion at appropriate points, participants
were asked about: their current financial situation; the types of difficulties (if any) they
were facing; the types of strategies they employed to mitigate economic hardship; the
sources and types of support (if any) they felt they had access to; the extent to which
those not facing economic hardship understood the difficulties they might be facing; how
the circumstances of people on low incomes were presented in the media and in policy
discourses; and what could be done to better support people facing economic hardship.
742 Sociology 47(4)

Background data on demographic profiles, household composition, approximate

household income, employment status and housing tenure were gathered from adults
using a simple supplementary questionnaire employed at the end of each interview.
The research design received ethical approval from both departmental (Social
Policy and Intervention) and inter-departmental research ethics committees at the
University of Oxford. All interviews were recorded using a digital recorder, with the
prior permission of research participants, and transcribed. A thematic analysis was
conducted of all transcripts.

Experiences of Hardship
With a few exceptions, the terms ‘poor’ or ‘poverty’ were rarely used by participants
(Flaherty, 2008). Instead allusions to current or past financial hardship were made via a
range of words and analogies such as; ‘struggling’, ‘it’s really hard’, ‘nightmare’, ‘going
round and round in circles’, ‘struggling to keep head above water’, ‘scuppered’, ‘stuck
in a rut’, ‘scrimp, save, borrow, beg and steal’, ‘robbing Peter to pay Paul’ and ‘battering
your head against the wall’.
At the time of interview, approximately 10 per cent of respondents were in full or
part-time employment; the remainder were in receipt of one or more welfare benefits.
Almost all adults interviewed described having to make tough decisions on a daily
basis over whether to pay bills or provide food and clothing for children. Several spoke
of having a shortage of food in the house, having to go to food banks (local church
organisations offering non-perishable foods and assistance with debt management), or
having to ask family or friends for food or money. Several people lived in over-crowded
conditions, were temporarily homeless or were forced to occupy poor quality housing
which had a detrimental impact on their own health and that of their children.
While some people had known such hardship most of their lives, others reflected on
changing circumstances which meant that they had encountered poverty for the first
time. Divorce, separation or bereavement left some women and men in severe economic
circumstances, often with limited work opportunities conducive to their caring respon-
sibilities. Others had faced redundancy, or had had to stop working due to illness or
disability, resulting in a significant reduction in household income. Mike,1 for example,
had previously spent seven years working in a local factory. After the death of his wife,
he was forced to leave his job to take care of his one-year-old disabled daughter, a
change which had a profound impact on his circumstances:

But once I lost my job, I just couldn’t possibly make ends meet. I was just getting deeper and
deeper in debt and, in the end, I just had to stop paying them (debts), because I couldn’t do it.
I’d never been in this situation and I just didn’t really grasp the sort of bare bones of it, you
know … like how much you have to struggle.

These personal struggles were more generally framed by a consensus that within the
present economic climate (viewed as a result of a combination of the recession and the
austerity measures brought in by the Conservative–Liberal Democrat Coalition
Government) everyone was finding things ‘tougher’ than in the previous few years.
Chase and Walker 743

Rising food and fuel (gas and electricity) prices, increased Value Added Tax (VAT),
limited work opportunities, ‘exorbitant’ bus fares and rises in the general cost of living
all exacerbated daily struggles to ‘make ends meet’.

Shame as a Co-constructed Emotion

Either integral to their descriptions of poverty, or in response to further prompting about
how their stricken circumstances made them ‘feel’, allusions to shame were pervasive in
people’s accounts of their lives. Yet in keeping with the analysis that shame often goes
unnamed (Lynd, 1958; Scheff, 2000), is coded (Retzinger, 1995), and may in fact be
‘taboo’ (Scheff, 2003: 240), rather than verbalising ‘shame’, most participants instead
used a range of words and terms synonymous with the concept. Hence, ‘awkward’,
‘embarrassed’, ‘guilty’, ‘rotten’, ‘degraded’, ‘crap’, ‘useless’, ‘worthless’, a failure’,
‘uncomfortable’, ‘funny’, and ‘dirty’, were all used to convey how people felt about
themselves or were made to feel in certain social interactions.
These terms, what we might refer to as the colloquialisms of shame (expressions or
‘verbal cues’, Retzinger, 1995: 1107, which denote the emotion but do not actually name
it), constituted the body of language through which people described the psychological
impact of failing to meet certain goals or expectations set by themselves or society.
Importantly, while the psychological literature draws a robust theoretical distinction
between ‘shame’ and ‘guilt’ (Lewis, 1971; Tangney et al., 2007; Tracy et al., 2007) – the
former associated with a negative evaluation of the global self over which one has little
or no control; the latter with an internal negative assessment of certain behaviour which
is controllable or could have been avoided – research participants employed the terms
largely interchangeably. The effects of a sense of failure or rejection, irrespective of the
emotion described were, nonetheless, the same (Scheff, 2000, 2003). In keeping with
other research, people’s narratives often revealed significant self-criticism of their abili-
ties to cope financially, despite evidence to the contrary of their extensive efforts to care-
fully manage scarce resources (Batty and Flint, 2010; Flint, 2010; Hooper et al., 2007).
However, participants did make an important distinction between their own personal
sense of inadequacy and a perceived negative assessment of them by others as a result of
their economic and social status. The colloquialisms of shame were thus used in a slightly
different way to describe how the media and those with power and status generated, or
attempted to generate, feelings of failure and insignificance. The verbal and non verbal
signals of others’ disapproval were variably listed as, ‘looking down on’, ‘turn their nose
up’, ‘judge’, ‘think we’re all the same’, ‘don’t get to know you’, ‘treat (or look at) you
like shit’, ‘prey on people like us’, ‘exploit people like us’. Some people described
attracting multiple social stigmas by virtue of their circumstances, such as being a young
single mother, being a recipient of benefits and living on a particular (housing) ‘estate’.

Arenas for the Construction of Shame

This symbiotic relationship between feeling shame and being shamed was prominent in
participants’ narratives and illustrated with reference to many different arenas in which
they felt ‘awkward’ or ‘embarrassed’ as a result of their poverty at one end of the
744 Sociology 47(4)

spectrum, and ‘worthless’, ‘a failure’ and ‘crap’ at the other. Indeed, the first hints of such
awkwardness emerged in the course of the interviews when participants frequently
lowered their voices when talking about sensitive issues such as being out of work, being
on benefits, being a single mother, or having no money. Various other bodily signals
associated with feelings of shame were also intermittently observed by the researcher,
including gaze aversion, head down or a slumped posture (Dickerson et al., 2004; Gilbert,
1998; Tangney et al., 2007).

Shame and the Family

Many participants reflected on how family support often made the difference between
‘keeping your head above water’ or sinking. Christine, for example, spoke of how her
mother provided food for herself and two children several times a week when she
didn’t have, ‘what you would call a decent meal to give them’. However, such support
sometimes became the locus of shame as various participants spoke of a heightened
uneasiness with having to resort to family help. This ‘awkwardness’ for Hilda, for
example, stemmed from the fact that, ‘I am a mum now myself and I should not have
to go to my mum all the time just for a pint of milk or a loaf of bread’; and for Tina
because, ‘Obviously it was my choice to have the children, and probably not being able
to afford them is a horrible feeling.’
For Greg, such feelings were tied to the expectations he had of himself as a man. His
dependence on his partner for ‘the food in my belly’, he said, made him feel ‘like shit …
I’m the man of this relationship. I am meant to be the man … to take care of the missus
and my kids. And I don’t, and I hate feeling like I do with myself because of it.’
Iterations of ‘feeling guilty’, ‘feeling rotten’, ‘awkward’, ‘useless’, ‘letting myself
down’ or ‘ashamed’ were common in relation to how participants viewed their inability
to provide for children (see Hooper et al., 2007). Equally, most parents felt conscious of
the level of awareness their children had about the degree of hardship that they were
facing. Tina repeated with ‘guilt’, the words of her five-year-old daughter, ‘mummy
when you’ve got enough pennies in your purse can I start doing ballet again?’ Similarly,
Jenny described her ‘guilt’ at having emptied her son’s savings account to pay off debts
when, ‘I had the bailiffs threatening’. She had, she said, pretended to him that the money
was safely put away for when he was older, when in truth there was nothing left.
Similarly, there were numerous other descriptions of the painful public exposure of
straitened circumstances with respect to children. Having to watch other children on the
housing estate eat ice cream and not be able to buy one for their own children, having to
apply for a hardship fund to pay for a child’s school trip, or being unable to meet the
demands of children for sweets when out shopping all had the same detrimental impact
of instilling a sense of failure as parents.

Shame in Social Interactions

Everyday social encounters were equally spaces within which participants were prone to
feelings of failure or rejection. Tony’s account of feeling ‘pretty worthless’, for example,
centred on a recent incident where he had no money to buy the subsidised breakfast for
Chase and Walker 745

himself and his four-year-old daughter at the Saturday morning fathers’ group. On that
occasion, someone else in the group had bought them a bacon sandwich. While he
considered this to be ‘quite a sweet’ gesture, it made him feel painfully inadequate and
he concluded the anecdote with, ‘yeah, poverty stinks’.
A lack of money also frequently impacted on the ability to maintain appearances,
which in turn damaged confidence and self-esteem and meant that people constantly
anticipated feeling shame in social contexts (Goffman, 1963). Jessica’s embarrassment
stemmed from having become ‘a second hand Rose’, everything she wore, she said,
was passed down to her from friends. One of Trevor’s main anxieties was the antici-
pated shame of others finding him unable to keep his flat looking and smelling nice. He
worried, he said, that he could no longer afford polish and constantly had to look at
whether he had enough money on the electric meter before he could switch on the
Hoover. For Tony, it was his inability to have a haircut which, he said, made him look
and feel ‘like crap’ whenever he looked in the mirror. Sonia feared that if she put her
two sons in second-hand clothes or cheap trainers and football boots they would be
teased or bullied at school.
Others found that when they had fewer resources, they experienced a process of being
socially ostracised. Debbie referred to the silent disapproval people had of her once she
no longer had money and started to receive benefits, ‘they never say anything but it’s the
way they stop asking you out and the way they don’t visit you like they used to’. Equally,
there was a spatial dimension to how people felt they were perceived and viewed by oth-
ers. Certain housing estates, for example, were associated with social or moral deficien-
cies such as places of high unemployment, high rates of young motherhood, crime or
drug use. Karen commented, ‘they class these as benefits estates you know? … full of
down and outs. And I’m like, “I’m no down and out and I’m living there.”’
Borrowing money was frequently cited as a means of meeting the constant pressure
of social and family expectations (Hamilton, 2012). Stuart, for example had been
invited, with his two daughters, to accompany a friend on a free holiday. Despite his
best efforts, he had not managed to save the money for the hidden costs of the trip
(travel, food and spending money) and predicted that he would have to take out a loan
to manage, something he had to do at least once a year to ‘cover one thing or another’.
The consequent debt accrued to banks, social funds, credit card companies, mail order
catalogues and personal loan companies generated a further source of shame. So too did
being unable to keep up electricity and gas payments and having to succumb to asking
neighbours or family members to store food in fridges or provide cooking facilities.
More broadly, interviewees felt the generalised stigma of being in debt and felt judged as
profligate or incompetent when, on the contrary, they had only been trying to meet the
day-to-day demands of raising a family (Hooper et al., 2007).

Shame in Interactions with Bureaucracy

A significant factor determining participants’ likelihood of feeling or anticipating shame
was whether or not they were working; indeed, interviewees described being constantly
judged in relation to their work history. This finding is in keeping with our other analysis
of the views held by the general public about people on low incomes (Chase and Walker,
746 Sociology 47(4)

forthcoming). Unsurprisingly therefore, feeling degraded, looked down on, judged and
not listened to were ubiquitous in people’s accounts of their interactions with welfare
institutions. With a few exceptions, where particular benefits advisors were described as
helpful and supportive, these encounters were typically depicted as frustrating and soul
destroying. Being treated as a group, or ‘just a number’; having to explain circumstances
over and over again to different people; having to constantly complete forms; being
made to feel small or like a ‘sponger’; and not having previous employment records
recognised, were repeatedly given as examples of how the process of claiming benefits
became dehumanising. Sonia, for example, commented:

If you check my work record, you can see that I haven’t always claimed benefits … and I just
thought ‘if you checked that, you wouldn’t make me feel so bad about sitting here’.

The media portrayal of the archetypal ‘benefit family’, with numerous children and
making large demands on taxpayers’ money, was one which participants were acutely
aware of. They saw this stereotype as a target for derision and criticism and often felt that
they too were ‘tarred with the same brush’. Interviewees frequently commented on how
the media generated clichéd portrayals of housing estate residents, associating them with
criminality, dysfunction and indolence (Golding and Middleton, 1992; Lister, 2004;
McKendrick et al., 2008). Mike, for example, commented, ‘there’s a stigma attached to
it. You know … living on a council estate, being on benefits … it’s like the image por-
trayed in the media and stuff – you’re this kind of asbo-hoodie.’
The unfairness and insensitivity of these assertions was referred to by many partici-
pants who felt misunderstood and blamed for situations beyond their control. Trevor, for
example, had recently had his disability living allowance (DLA) stopped following a
health assessment and commented:

… it comes across in theory as scroungers on the dole, or on the DLA, you know … ‘I can’t get
enough money on the dole so I’ll go on the sick’ … Again it’s a stigma … it makes you feel like
scrounging … I’m not scrounging … I’m asking for what I put into the system.

Others commented on the fact that besides being dehumanising, the benefits system
was becoming increasingly punitive. While participants were not in principle opposed to
an evident ‘crackdown’ on ‘others’ said to be exploiting the system, they did feel that
they often unfairly bore the brunt of such institutionalised shaming. Hayley had a four-
year-old attending school part time and a four month-old baby. She resented, she said, the
fact that she still had to attend ‘back to work’ reviews when in reality employment was
not, for the foreseeable future, a viable option. Some people described being forced to
participate in obligatory back to work courses which were perceived as a ‘waste of time’,
serving little or no practical purpose in terms of helping them find work. The threatened
sanction for not attending such courses, however, was reportedly a cut in benefits such as
JSA, one which several people interviewed had experienced.
A range of other bureaucratic structures such as schools, housing providers, banks or
loan companies were described as settings within which people described feeling sub-
jected to shame. Many described being bombarded by threatening letters and phone calls
Chase and Walker 747

from debt collectors and bailiffs and being forced to hide away to avoid the public
denouement of their circumstances. Others spoke of how they anticipated and often
‘dreaded’ the disapproval they would face in their interactions with certain organisations
and services. Jenny, for instance predicted a forthcoming meeting with the head teacher
of her son’s primary school:

The headmistress, she’s got a little tick box and she’s like, ‘well, she lives on A (name) Road,
that ticks her off as one bad parent; she’s a single mother; she doesn’t have a job. Well we can
clearly see that she’s got emotional problems and she’s struggling. Son’s got behavioural
problems’ … so when I go to that meeting, she’s there thinking, ‘oh my God, it’s just another
one of those mothers’, and she couldn’t give two monkeys about what I’m saying.

Responses to Poverty-induced Shame

Grappling with Pride
Throughout the course of the research, participants frequently engaged with the notion of
‘pride’ in sharp juxtaposition to their allusions to shame. The need to preserve pride
became a reason for not asking for help or assistance no matter how hard things became.
Susie was a support worker in a children’s centre, working alongside health visitors and
other professionals who were earning a lot more than her. She explained why she hid the
fact from her colleagues that she was struggling financially:

Because that would make me the same person that I’m trying to help. That’s what I was there for,
I was part of the support network for someone else. And if I let my guard down – how could they
help me? What, go to a food bank? Have you ever been to a food bank? Your name goes down
on a piece of paper. I don’t like the thought of me being on pieces of paper that I’m hard up.

Pride was also frequently expressed in relation to having a strong work ethic, having
a good previous history of working, or bringing up children in particular ways – for
example making sure they had access to a range of activities, learning opportunities, and
were fully engaged in their education. Others spoke of the pride that came from working,
even when there was no or limited financial gain. Indeed, in the absence of paid work
opportunities, some people had taken up volunteer jobs in order to access what they saw
as the social benefits of being in a work environment, such as the camaraderie they
experienced or the kudos of being seen to be ‘making a contribution’ to society.
Yet for many, jeopardising pride to a greater or lesser extent became an inevitable part
of getting by. Pride thus became something that you had to ‘swallow’, ‘lose’ or ‘bury’ in
order to maintain a family or simply survive. Stuart reflected on how it felt to ask for
food handouts through the church and commented, ‘It’s not a thing we like to do but …
if you can’t swallow your pride, then forget it.’

Withdrawal and Pretence

Having limited resources was commonly described as a reason for consciously with-
drawing from certain social situations. Not having money to buy anything to wear to a
748 Sociology 47(4)

wedding or to afford a gift, not being able to buy a round of drinks in the pub, or having
nothing smart to wear to go out on a date with a new partner, were variably described as
obstacles to engaging socially. Many spoke of how they would like to get out more often,
to relax with friends and to socialise, but avoided social situations which highlighted
their limited resources. This left them feeling isolated and socially ostracised. And when
times were hard, Sonia said she wondered what the point was in socialising anyway:

Sometimes there ain’t no point in socialising, ’cos what are you going to talk about? Your bills?
Your debt? So, yes, that does make you withdraw I suppose … there’s nothing to talk about
except that you feel a bit depressed, you haven’t got enough money to pay that bill or eat that
day.

Within social situations, finding ways to conceal financial hardship or the fact that
they were in receipt of benefits was a strategy commonly identified by participants.
Mike, for instance, commented:

On the rare occasions that I go out, if I meet someone and I’m chatting to them and that, I don’t
really say, ‘I’m on the dole’, I just parrot fashion my last job. I just say, ‘Yeah I work in the
factory’. It’s a pretty faceless job anyway. So yeah, I suppose there’s probably a little bit of
shame in there somewhere. It’s that you’re a bit embarrassed that you’re not working, you know.

Rosemary described how she stoically always gave the impression that everything
was fine, even when she was really struggling. Both Gary and Teresa spoke of avoiding
sharing information about where they lived, anticipating that certain negative assump-
tions would be made about them if they did. Sonia went on to describe how she disguised
the fact that she was on income support:

I don’t like people knowing I am on benefits. If I didn’t know you, I’d tell you I worked. I class
this as a proper job (working as a volunteer), that’s why I wear the identity badge that way (back
to front) so no one sees that I’m volunteering … so it looks like I’m doing a proper job.

Loss of Agency and Control

While in practice it was difficult to disentangle the impact of financial hardship itself
from the associated feelings of low self-worth on people’s sense of agency, a number of
participants described how day-to-day financial struggles, and the worry and anxiety
they caused, frequently led to a sense of powerlessness and a degree of physical as well
as psychological disintegration. Karen said that money worries made her physically sick;
Jessica attributed her hair loss and psoriasis in large part to the financial stresses she was
under; and Deva felt that the same stress had been a contributing factor to his recent heart
attack.
Embedded in participants’ narratives was a sense that poverty was inextricably
linked to a persistent sense of failure in measuring up to social norms and expectations.
Such feelings were compounded for some by an inability to command control over their
lives and often complex circumstances. Tony spoke of his inability to deal with the
daily economic strife he faced, commenting, ‘I don’t manage. I just get very depressed.’
Chase and Walker 749

And Mike, who had two weeks previously started medication for depression com-
mented, ‘it’s like a cloud over you almost, you know … because there’s no possibility
of me changing – ’cos I can’t go out to work because of her (daughter’s) medical needs.’
Several people reported how they had contemplated or attempted suicide as a result of
not seeing a way out of their current circumstances (Tangney et al., 2007). Jessica rea-
soned that she was so troubled by her financial situation prior to accessing the help she
needed that, ‘I was going to give my life up because of the debt and stuff’. Similarly,
Julie, spoke of how the financial situation combined with a relationship breakdown and
the strain of coping alone with two sons, one of them with learning difficulties, had led
to a suicide attempt, ‘I got so depressed and couldn’t cope with the situation and money
and everything else that was going on … it was just too much’.

The Emergence of the ‘Them’ and ‘Us’ Discourse

There was a strikingly common reference to ‘them’ as compared to ‘us’ in people’s nar-
ratives. Essentially, the ‘them’, in the first instance, referred to people with power and
money, considered far removed from the circumstances of research participants. They
had ‘no idea’ or ‘no clue’ about how much they were struggling and, it was felt, would
have ‘no chance’ surviving on such limited resources. This ‘them’ and ‘us’ discourse
laid the basis for a social stratification within which participants positioned themselves
and others. While the ‘us’ shared an understanding of their difficulties, were ‘in the
same boat’, and would help when they could, the ‘them’ would not. Deva commented,
‘Only the poor people help the poor people because they understand how difficult it is.’
And to some extent this shared connection between ‘us’ helped mitigate the impact of
shame. Christine, for example, spoke of how she frequently had to ask a neighbour for
help when she ran out of toilet roll half way through the week and had no money to buy
more. Though embarrassing on one level, she said, she knew that she was equally likely
to be asked for tea bags or a cup of sugar as the week went on and her neighbours were
struggling to make ends meet.
Yet, the ‘them’ and ‘us’ categorisation was also used to distinguish the ‘us’ from
another ‘them’, positioned lower down the social hierarchy from ‘us’. What emerged,
therefore, was a complex process of social positioning (Dahrendorf, 1959) where others
were classified as inferior to oneself according to certain comparative criteria, those who
were working and those not working; those who had previously worked and those with a
more chequered work history; those with one or two children and those with large fami-
lies; people who were considered ‘citizens’ and others who were viewed as ‘outsiders’.
Typically, for example, people who were working but still hard up saw themselves as
having a strong ‘work ethic’ and a track record of previous work. This gave them a
moral trump and enabled them to distance themselves from those they considered to be
‘happy’ not working or ‘not bothered about’ claiming benefits. And this same tendency
of ‘Othering’ (Lister, 2004) was mirrored among those who were not working and claim-
ing benefits. While participants desperately wanted to distance themselves from the
archetypal benefit claimant portrayed through the media, they often identified others
who they felt fed such stereotypes and hence became critical of others (Batty and Flint,
2010). Teresa’s assertions, for example, typify this view:
750 Sociology 47(4)

I’m not a scrounger, I’m just in a difficult situation. Why should I be looked on as a scrounger?
I’m not, I’m educated and it’s just that I can’t get a job. There are those … I’m not going to lie
… I do know some who are capable of working and they choose not to. Those guys make me
angry … Yeah I do see where the tabloids get that from because there are people who are like
that. You know, girls who will just keep having kids because they refuse to go to work. It’s not
that they’re taking care of their children, they look on their children as a burden but they’re
getting benefits because of the kids. So tabloids have got it half right, but we’re not all like that,
not all of us.

And equally, people defended their position of being on benefits and not finding
work by focusing on immigrant workers who they claimed, ‘have taken all the jobs and
housing’. Aida neatly summarised this process by signalling with her hands a hierarchy
of classifications (used by her synonymously with class) which she had observed:

With all these things it’s about class … they classify you that you’re on benefit, they classify
you down there … if you’re working part time, you come a bit … one level up. If now I go full
time, like now I want to go to university, they give me a place, I’d be there (at a higher level).

While on the one hand examples of self-deprecation abounded in participants’ narra-

tives (Batty and Flint, 2010; Flint, 2010), on the other, there was an apparent need to
salvage elements of social and moral standing by positioning themselves at a distance
from the socially constructed and archetypal ‘Other’ – the uncaring benefit recipient
unwilling to work for a living. This ‘projected shaming’ – shame imposed on others who
do not meet an acceptable standard of attitudes and/or behaviour paralleling our own –
arguably helps mitigate any shame or anticipated shame which people living in poverty
are prone to experience themselves. At the same time, however, this process works
against fostering social solidarity among people in shared difficult circumstances and,
instead, divides the ‘us’ into multiple ‘others’.

Discussion
Emotions of pride, dignity, embarrassment, awkwardness, shame and guilt were inter-
twined in complex ways in people’s narratives, terms such as shame and guilt fre-
quently used interchangeably and shame often alluded to without being named as such,
signifying perhaps the ‘taboo’ of shame (Scheff, 2003). These complexities aside, a
coherent thread ran through the narratives – people facing economic hardship fre-
quently suffered interactions with others in family, social and institutional settings in
which they were made to feel inferior and unworthy. The triggers for these emotions
were both internal and external. They were borne out of a sense of failure in meeting
self-imposed expectations such as to progress along certain work or education trajec-
tories, provide or care for others, or remain independent of institutionalised welfare
support. Equally, these emotions were socially constructed via a complex array of
norms and values which dictated people’s worth largely in relation to economic goals.
Each of the participants described how events had construed to make it increasingly
difficult for them to provide for themselves and their families. Some had become ill,
some had acquired disabilities, others had experienced redundancy, separation or divorce,
Chase and Walker 751

others still had taken on caring responsibilities which made working an unrealistic option
for the foreseeable future. Yet despite these different trajectories, the majority of people
felt an acute sense of being ‘tarred with the same brush’. They felt the intensely dehu-
manising effect of being treated, by the media, the general public, by politicians and by
the welfare institutions they entered, as a homogenous category of people who were ‘not
bothered’, ‘spongers’, ‘scroungers’ or ‘benefit bums’. Such shame and disdain were used
as forms of moral tools which accentuated people’s sense of deficiency, and undermined
core emotions of dignity, pride, self-esteem and confidence.
There were numerous occasions where interviewees variably described avoiding
social situations which risked exposing their lack of resources; pretending that they were
coping better than they were; making out they were working when they were in receipt
of benefits; and not admitting to needing help because it would mean a loss of pride or
face (Goffman, 1967). Such responses led to temporary withdrawal, hiding or pretence
at one end of the spectrum, to attempted suicide and permanent social withdrawal at
the other, ultimately demonstrating the potential of poverty-related shame to eliminate
those who feel unable to measure up to the normative expectations of society.
Equally, such feelings were evoked by dominant cultural norms and values and the
essentially regulative (Butler, 1990; Foucault, 1977) discourses generated by contemporary
British society. Participants repeatedly alluded to certain prevailing ‘truths’ which governed
the attitudes and behaviour of the general public towards them. These ‘truths’ were seen to
be played out within the media, public, political and policy discourses. A central tenet of
such ‘truths’ saw poverty as a direct result of people not working, with welfare benefits
being the main source of income. Thus poverty was reported as having become intrinsically
associated with those on benefits, who were ‘work shy’, ‘scroungers’ or ‘can’t be bothered’
and who were responsible for raising families into, and hence perpetuating, poverty.
In the early 1970s Sir Keith Joseph, the then Secretary of State for Social Services in
the UK, spoke of a ‘cycle of transmitted deprivation’, poverty which was passed on
from one generation to the next. This notion, insinuating a moral deficit on the part of
those living in poverty, mirrored the work of sociologists such as Oscar Lewis in the
USA (1969) who had coined the term, ‘culture of poverty’. From the late 1980s, similar
assertions were taken up under the growing discourse in the UK, propagated by Charles
Murray (2001), of the ‘underclass’– a section of society who lacked aspirations, had no
work ethic nor any sense of shared responsibility to contribute to society. While, over
time, the language has become tempered – the ‘hard to reach’, the ‘problem family’, and
the contemporary ‘troubled’ or ‘multiple problem family’ (Hooper et al., 2007) – the
underlying assumption remains; that there is a residual core of people living in poverty
largely of their own making, and that they inculcate a ‘value system’ which is trans-
ferred from one generation to the next.
Throughout the research, participants repeatedly indicated how they were acutely
aware of these representations of the individual, rather than structural, causes of poverty.
Indeed, they appeared so powerful that, although they held no explanation for interview-
ees’ own circumstances, they seemed to provide an account for how the ‘them’ (those
people down the social hierarchy) had ended up in poverty. Hence, the imperative for
participants to distance themselves from the stereotypical welfare recipient, responsible
for their own lot and inculcated so firmly in the public psyche. Indeed, almost everyone
752 Sociology 47(4)

we spoke with at some point in their narrative sought to ensure that they were not
perceived as ‘one of them’.
This co-construction of shame, the internal sense of inadequacy combined with the
externally imposed disapproval for failing to live up to society’s expectations, appears to
have potent ramifications. The dominant public, policy and media discourses described
above serve ultimately to differentiate those deemed as socially deserving of support
from those who are undeserving – social constructs surrounding poverty that have been
sustained for centuries and certainly since the introduction of the Elizabethan poor laws.
The more insidious effects of such discourses are observed, however, via the social divi-
sions and hierarchies that begin to emerge as individuals strive to distance themselves
from the socially constructed ‘undeserving’ recipient of welfare – inextricably linked in
the public perception to the person in poverty.
Hence there was evidence of shame being a dynamic, cyclical process which raises
important questions about its role in society. If one feels shamed, is one bound to feel the
need to shame others? Almost all adult participants in the study identified other individu-
als or groups who they categorised as having a lower social or moral status than them-
selves. Young mothers who continued to have babies allegedly to access housing and
benefit payments; people who claimed benefits and worked illegally; the ‘foreigners’ or
‘asylum seekers’ who usurped available work opportunities by accepting lower than
average pay or had apparently easier access to housing and accommodation than ‘local’
people. Thus, to some extent others provided an alibi for one’s own circumstances and
served to deflect or lessen the sense of internal shame

Conclusion
Previous research exploring the place of shame in society has highlighted the taboos
surrounding it (Scheff, 2003); its ubiquitous yet unnamed presence (Lynd, 1958;
Retzinger, 1995); its role alongside pride as a premier social emotion (Scheff, 2000);
and its implicit recognition in concepts such as Adler’s inferiority complex and
Goffman’s (1967) ‘saving face’. The shame of poverty and its injurious impact on self-
esteem and sense of worth has equally been documented elsewhere (Lister, 2004) and
participants in this research have clearly borne testament to it. Shame – whether felt or
anticipated – epitomises the threat to any social bond between a person and their social
environment. This research suggests that when the context of such interactions is pov-
erty, and particularly in a society where consumerism is increasingly seen as the mark
of success, the potential for shame is perhaps limitless.
The research further suggests, however, that shame in the context of poverty can pos-
sibly have an even more destructive impact on social solidarity. Here we have seen how
the dominant portrayals of those living in poverty in the UK, and especially those who
are welfare recipients, are deeply derisive. By striving to distance themselves from these
humiliating and negative constructions of ‘the poor’, people appear to enter into pro-
cesses of ‘othering’ through which they can vindicate themselves as valid social beings.
While the power of such ‘othering’ towards people living in poverty has previously been
articulated by Lister (2004), what emerges in this analysis is the strength of its ripple
effect – people who sense being defined as the ‘Other’ appear to distance themselves
from the label by passing it to ‘others’. Poverty-induced shame undoubtedly undermines
Chase and Walker 753

human dignity and for that reason alone warrants further analysis. Perhaps more impor-
tantly, however, it demands our attention because of its power not only to divide com-
munities along the lines of ‘ them’ and ‘us’ but to generate a fragmented ‘us’, hence
adding further pressure towards the atomisation of modern society.

Acknowledgements
First and foremost, the authors would like to express their sincere thanks to all the research partici-
pants for their support to this research and for sharing their experiences with us. We would also like
to acknowledge our colleagues within the international study from which this article was drawn:
Grace Bantebya, Sohail Choudhry, Frederick Golooba-Mutebi, Erika Gubrium, Jo Yongmie, Ivar
Lødemel, Sony Pellissery, Leemamol Mathew, Amon Mwiine, Yan Ming. Finally, we express our
sincere thanks to the Economic and Social Research Council and the Department for International
Development that funded the project.

Note
1. All the names of participants have been changed to ensure anonymity.

References
Alkire S (2002) Valuing Freedoms: Sen’s Capability Approach and Poverty Reduction. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Batty E and Flint J (2010) Self-Esteem, Comparative Poverty and Neighbourhoods. JRF Research
Paper No. 7. Sheffield: Sheffield Hallam University, Centre for Regional, Economic and
Social Research.
Butler J (1990) Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. London: Routledge.
Communities and Local Government (2008) The English Indices of Deprivation 2007. London:
Communities and Local Government.
Chase E and Walker R (forthcoming) Regulative discourse and the imposition of shame in the
context of poverty in the UK.
Cooley CH (1922) Human Nature and the Social Order. New York: Scribner’s.
Dahrendorf R (1959) Class and Class Conflict in Industrial Society. Stanford, CA: Stanford
University Press.
Dickerson SS, Gruenewald TL and Kemeny ME (2004) When the social self is threatened: Shame,
physiology, and health. Journal of Personality 72(6): 1191–216.
Flaherty J (2008) I mean we’re not the richest but we’re not poor: Discourse of ‘poverty’ and
‘social exclusion’. Unpublished thesis, University of Loughborough.
Flint J (2010) Coping Strategies? Agencies, Budgeting and Self Esteem amongst Low-Income
Households. JRF Research Paper No. 5. Sheffield: Sheffield Hallam University, Centre for
Regional, Economic and Social Research.
Foucault M (1977) Discipline and Punish. London: Allen and Lane.
Gilbert P (1998) What is shame? Some core issues and controversies. In: Gilbert P and Andrews
B (eds) Shame: Interpersonal Behavior, Psychopathology and Culture. New York: Oxford
University Press, 3–38.
Goffman E (1963) Stigma. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall.
Goffman E (1967) Interaction Ritual. New York: Anchor.
Golding P and Middleton S (1992) Images of Welfare: Press and Public Attitudes to Poverty.
Oxford: Martin Robertson.
Hamilton H (2012) Low-income families and coping through brands: Inclusion or stigma?
Sociology 46(1): 74–90.
754 Sociology 47(4)

Hooper CA, Gorin C, Cabral C and Dyson C (2007) Living with Hardship 24/7: The Diverse
Experiences of Families in Poverty in England. London: The Frank Buttle Trust.
Jones C and Novak T (1999) Poverty, Welfare and the Disciplinary State. London: Routledge.
Lewis HB (1971) Shame and Guilt in Neurosis. New York: International Universities Press.
Lewis O (1969) Culture of poverty. In: Moynihan D On Understanding Poverty: Perspectives
from the Social Sciences. New York: Basic Books, 187–220.
Lister R (2004) Poverty: Key Concepts. Cambridge: Polity.
Lynd H (1958) On Shame and the Search for Identity. New York: Harcourt Brace.
McKendrick J, Sinclair S, Irwin A, O’Donnell H, Scott G and Dobbie L (2008) The Media, Poverty
and Public Opinion in the UK. London: Joseph Rowntree Foundation.
Miller M (2006) Shame and Psychotherapy. Available at: http://www.columbiapsych.com/
shame_miller.html
Murray C (2001) Underclass +10: Charles Murray and the British Underclass 1990–2000.
London: Civitas.
Retzinger S (1995) Identifying anger and shame in discourse. American Behavioural Scientist
38(8): 1104–13.
Scheff T (2000) Shame and the Social Bond: A Sociological Theory. Santa Barbara: University of
California at Santa Barbara.
Scheff T (2003) Shame in self and society. Symbolic Interaction 26(2): 239–62.
Smith A (1776) The Wealth of Nations. London: Strahan and Cadell.
Tangney JP and Fischer KW (eds) (1995) Self-conscious Emotions: The Psychology of Shame,
Guilt, Embarrassment and Pride. New York: Guilford Press.
Tangney J, Stuewig J and Mashek D (2007) What’s moral about the self-conscious emotions? In:
Tracy J, Robins R and Tangney J (eds) The Self-Conscious Emotions. New York: Guilford
Press, 21–37.
Tomlinson M, Walker R and Williams G (2008) Measuring poverty in Britain as a multi-dimen-
sional concept, 1991 to 2003. Journal of Social Policy 37(4): 597–620.
Tracy J, Robins R and Tangney J (eds) (2007) The Self Conscious Emotions: Theory and Research.
London: Guilford Press.
Walker R (forthcoming 2013) The Shame of Poverty: Global Perspectives. Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press.

Elaine Chase is a Research Officer at the Institute of Social Policy, Department of

Social Policy and Intervention at the University of Oxford. Her research is primarily
concerned with the sociology of health and well-being. She has conducted numerous
studies with children, young people and families likely to experience marginalisation
and disadvantage both in the UK and internationally.

Robert Walker is Professor of Social Policy at the University of Oxford. Previous roles
include Professor of Social Policy at the University of Nottingham and Director of the
Centre for Research in Social Policy at Loughborough University. He is a Fellow of the
Royal Society of Arts and a Research Affiliate of the National Poverty Center, University
of Michigan. Particular research interests include poverty, social exclusion, family
dynamics and budgeting strategies, children’s aspirations and employment instability and
progression.

Date submitted March 2012

Date accepted May 2012
453790
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512453790SociologyRagnarsdóttir et al.

Article

Sociology
47(4) 755­–775
The Global Financial Crisis © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
and Individual Distress: sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512453790
The Role of Subjective soc.sagepub.com

Comparisons after
the Collapse of the
Icelandic Economy

Berglind Hólm Ragnarsdóttir

City University of New York, USA

Jón Gunnar Bernburg

University of Iceland, Iceland

Sigrún Ólafsdóttir
Boston University, USA

Abstract
Sociologists have emphasized that abrupt social changes can evoke subjective deprivation that
can create subjective injustice and emotional distress. The global economic crisis offers an
opportunity to examine this issue. This article builds on relative deprivation theory and proposes
that economic crises evoke three subjective comparisons that influence distress: comparisons to
1) past outcomes; 2) the situation of others; and 3) expected future outcomes. Using a national
survey obtained during the economic crisis in Iceland, we examine how these comparisons
influence subjective injustice and emotional distress (anger and depression). Results indicate that
perceived reduction in the standard of living has a more pronounced effect on subjective injustice
and anger, 1) when individuals think that the crisis has harmed them more than others; and
2) when they have negative expectations about their future. The study implies that subjective
comparisons can moderate the effect of sudden social change on distress.

Keywords
economic crisis, emotional distress, Iceland, relative deprivation, subjective comparisons,
subjective injustice

Corresponding author:
Jón Gunnar Bernburg, Faculty of the Social and Human Sciences, University of Iceland, 101 Reykjavík, Iceland.
Email: bernburg@hi.is
756 Sociology 47(4)

Introduction
Sociologists have emphasized that abrupt social changes can trigger subjective depriva-
tion that can create subjective injustice and emotional distress. Economic fluctuations
provide a case in point. As Durkheim (1951[1897]) argues in his seminal work on sui-
cide, sudden economic fluctuations may change social conditions so rapidly that they
become temporarily inconsistent with common goals that people have internalized. At
such historical moments, many feel unable to achieve their goals and may experience
injustice and frustration. In a similar vein, Davies (1962) argues that in an economic
downturn many people experience injustice and frustration because they no longer have
things that they value and had in the past. For Davies, a crisis is particularly conducive
to injustice and frustration if it occurs suddenly after a prolonged period of increasing
prosperity, because during such periods people internalize high expectations about their
economic future that are then shattered in the crisis.
In short, theorists have emphasized that sudden social changes, including economic
crises, can create distress, because not only can they create economic problems, but they
may also trigger subjective deprivation when people suddenly face a changed world.
However, limited direct research exists on how subjective deprivation may link crises
and individual distress. Studies have examined aggregate-level effects of economic
downturns on rates of physical and mental health problems, substance use, suicide, and
crime (Brenner, 1987; Durkheim, 1951[1897]), and individual-level research has exam-
ined the effect of objective hardship on emotional distress during recessions, including
unemployment and economic hardship (Dooley et al., 1994; Tausig and Fenwick, 1999).
Research generally finds harmful effects of recessions on mental health, although there
is heterogeneity in the findings (Zivin et al., 2011). Thus, research indicates that crises
generally increase distress, but since it has mostly focused on the (aggregate- or individ-
ual-level) effects of economic factors (see Krahn and Harrison, 1992), we know little
about the mechanisms through which crises influence distress (see Hedström and
Swedberg, 1998).
Relative deprivation theory provides a starting point to identify some of these mecha-
nisms. Relative deprivation refers to the perception of unfair disadvantage compared to
a reference point that is salient to the individual; for example, compared to others in
society, or to one’s own situation at another point in time (Crosby, 1976; Merton and
Rossi, 1968; Runciman, 1966; Smith et al., 2011; Stouffer et al., 1949). In the current
article, we build on relative deprivation theory and argue that economic crises evoke and/
or render three types of subjective comparisons more salient. First, people compare their
current economic situation to what it was before the crisis (comparison to past outcomes).
Second, they evaluate whether the crisis has harmed their economic situation more than
it has harmed the situation of others in society (comparison to the situation of others).
Third, crises encourage people to anticipate their future situation (comparisons based on
expected future outcomes). We argue that these three comparison processes interact in
influencing subjective injustice and emotional distress during economic crisis.1
Large-scale crises, such as the recent global economic crisis, provide opportunities to
study processes linking abrupt social change and individual experience. Hit particularly
hard and abruptly by the economic crisis, Iceland provides an ideal social setting for
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 757

such research (Benediktsdóttir et al., 2011). As in other affluent countries, a prolonged

period of economic growth preceded the economic crisis in Iceland. This period of ris-
ing expectations ended abruptly in a national drama in a single week in October 2008,
in a sudden bankruptcy of almost the entire banking system in Iceland. The subsequent
crisis entailed a large drop in living standards and widespread economic difficulties and
rising unemployment. Moreover, the crisis triggered widespread discontent among
the Icelandic public that entailed the perception that the collapse had resulted from
corruption in the financial and political sectors.
The current article uses Iceland as a test case for examining the role of subjective
comparisons in distress during an economic collapse. In what follows, after describing
the social context of the Icelandic crisis, we build on relative deprivation theory and
discuss the three comparison processes presumably evoked by major economic crises.
We then use a national survey conducted during the midst of the economic crisis in
Iceland, in 2009 and 2010, and examine how the comparison processes influence sub-
jective injustice and emotional distress (anger and depression).

The Economic Crisis in Iceland

In the years leading to the financial collapse in 2008, between 1993 and 2007, growth
characterized the Icelandic economy and the public experienced large increases in the
standard of living, triggering rising goals and expectations. Many families bought new
and/or bigger houses, renovated their houses with expensive materials and equipment,
bought multiple new expensive cars, and travelled abroad several times a year. Many of
those who did not immediately achieve such goals developed expectations that they
would attain them at some point. This development intensified in the years leading up to
the crisis, following the privatization of two large state banks in 2002. Between 2004 and
2007, annual economic growth averaged around 6.5 percent. The banks enhanced the
public’s goals and expectations by offering easy loans to buy cars and houses, and the
press dutifully reported on the lifestyle of the rich and the consumerism characterizing
their way of life. In 2007 Iceland reportedly had the highest standard of living in the
world (United Nations Development Programme, 2007), and opinion polls showed a
historical peak in the public’s economic expectations.2 Icelanders had become used to
thinking that they would continue to enjoy rising economic affluence.
The financial collapse thus created an abrupt change in Icelandic society. The three
largest banks in Iceland, all former state banks, went bankrupt in a period of nine days in
October 2008. As these banks jointly comprised about 85 percent of the banking system,
the economic shock was severe (Matthíasson, 2008). The collapse almost wiped out the
Icelandic stock exchange completely, with huge losses for investors as well owners of
capital and real estate (including many homeowners). The Icelandic currency fell more
than 95 percent against the dollar, and Iceland became the first developed country to
require assistance from the International Monetary Fund in 30 years. National economic
production decreased by 6.7 percent and 4 percent in 2009 and 2010, respectively
(Statistics Iceland, nd.a), and private consumption may have fallen by more than 20 percent
during autumn 2008 and spring 2009 (Jónsson, 2011). Unemployment increased from 1
758 Sociology 47(4)

percent of the labour force in 2007 to 8 percent in 2009 (Statistics Iceland, nd.b).The
Icelandic public experienced media coverage of a bleak economic future for the country,
including the threat of the state not being able to pay its foreign debt. During the reces-
sion in 2009 and 2010, expectations about the country’s economic affluence reached a
historical low point in opinion polls.3
In the minds of many Icelanders, corruption caused the economic crisis. Prominent
public voices stated that the bank crash resulted from corruption in the financial sector,
stemming in part from a failure of the government to regulate it (Report of the Special
Investigation Commission, 2010). The widespread public discontent created a legiti-
macy crisis for Icelandic politics, which intensified in a series of public meetings held in
downtown Reykjavík during fall 2008 and ultimately resulted in mass protest and riots
that brought down the ruling government in January 2009.

Subjective Comparisons and Relative Deprivation

Relative deprivation theory emphasizes that subjective comparisons influence how
people experience their situation, and that they do so independently of the objective
attributes of the situation (Crosby, 1976; Merton and Rossi, 1968; Runciman, 1966;
Stouffer et al., 1949). How individuals perceive their situations in comparison to sali-
ent reference points shapes their level of satisfaction, and thus they do not need to
experience objective economic hardship to be dissatisfied. Perceiving an outcome unfa-
vourably in comparison to a salient reference point, that is, having negative ‘referent
outcomes’ (Folger, 1984), may create feelings of relative deprivation (Crosby, 1976).
Such feelings of unfair disadvantage are presumably distressing and harm well-being.
These can be feelings of having an unjust status or they can appear as emotional distress
manifested through anger and depression (Smith et al., 2011).
Various reference points are potential sources for subjective comparisons, includ-
ing 1) one’s past outcomes; 2) perception of the situation of others; and 3) expected
future outcomes (Levine and Moreland, 1987). First, past outcomes provide a refer-
ence point in that they have shaped current wants and expectations. Second, the per-
ception of other individuals or groups with whom individuals identify with influences
how they experience their situation, because such comparisons shape their goals,
expectations, and ideas about deservingness (Runciman, 1966). Thus, individuals can
experience relative deprivation when thinking that their situation is worse than that of
others with whom they identify and compare themselves (Bernburg et al., 2009;
Gartrell, 2002; Merton and Rossi, 1968). Third, expected future outcomes constitute a
reference point. Individuals are less inclined to accept a perceived disadvantage if they
think that this situation will not improve or will become worse, while they are more
likely to accept a disadvantage if they anticipate an improvement (Levine and
Moreland, 1987).

Comparisons in the Social Context of an Economic Crisis

Building on the general idea that social context shapes subjective comparisons (Runciman,
1966), we propose that major economic crises can evoke and/or render salient three types
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 759

of subjective comparison: comparison to past outcomes, to the situation of others, and to

expected future outcomes.

Comparison Based on Past Outcomes

The historical-social context influences how individuals select their reference points
(Graziano, 1987; Mirowsky, 1987). Thus, a sudden economic crisis may direct the
individual’s reference point to a better past. Many individuals experience a drop in
their standard of living, creating a negative comparison to their past situations. Such
comparisons may trigger relative deprivation, especially if the crisis occurs suddenly
after a prolonged period of prosperity during which individuals have internalized high
expectations (Davies, 1962). Providing an ideal social setting for examining this idea,
Iceland went through a prolonged period of economic prosperity and rising expecta-
tions that ended abruptly in the financial collapse.
Moreover, social context shapes the tendency for perceived disadvantage to result in
feelings of unfairness (Crosby, 1976; Markovsky, 1985). Individuals tend to evaluate per-
ceived disadvantage as unfair if the social context defines it as the result of illegitimate
processes (Lind and Tyler, 1988; Skitka, 2009). Also, people are more likely to evaluate a
perceived disadvantage as unfair if social context encourages them to blame it not on them-
selves but on forces beyond their control (Crosby, 1976; Reis, 1987; Testa and Major,
1990). Accordingly, perceived loss blamed on an economic crisis may be particularly
likely to trigger relative deprivation, as individuals may tend to blame their perceived loss
on forces beyond their control (e.g. inflation or cutback in public welfare). Moreover, as in
the Icelandic crisis, people may see their reduction in the standard of living as caused by
illegitimate processes, such as corruption, further triggering relative deprivation. Again, it
is a widespread view among the Icelandic public that corruption caused the crisis.
Few studies have examined how perceived reduction in standard of living during an
economic recession influences distress. A survey conducted by Krahn and Harrison
(1992) during a 1980s recession in Alberta, Canada, is an exception. Building on relative
deprivation theory, this study found that working-class people who perceived a reduction
in their standard of living in the recession indicated more support for government redis-
tribution, suggesting that experiencing a reduction in living standard in a crisis can trig-
ger grievance toward the social order.
Accordingly, we hypothesize that individuals who perceive a negative change in their
standard of living during the crisis will experience more subjective injustice, anger, and
depression, net of their current economic situation (Figure 1, path a).
Levine and Moreland (1987) have argued that individuals can have several salient
reference points simultaneously, suggesting an interplay (interaction effects) among dif-
ferent comparisons. We propose that two other comparison processes may moderate the
effect of perceived reduction in standard of living on distress: 1) the perception of how
the crisis has harmed others; and 2) expectation of future outcomes.

Comparison to the Situation of Others

Social theorists (Merton, 1968; Runciman, 1966) have emphasized that democratic
features, such as equal opportunity, egalitarian values, and high social mobility,
760 Sociology 47(4)

Figure 1.  Hypothesized effects of subjective comparisons on distress (all paths have a
predicted positive sign).

encourage people to compare themselves to common standards, as opposed to restrict

their comparison to individuals in their personal networks or social class. Democracies
promote unrestricted comparisons, whereby people tend to evaluate the justice of their
situations in reference to generalized ideas about the situations of others in the
society.
A sudden, large-scale crisis may lead individuals in democratic societies to evaluate
whether the crisis has harmed them more than other members of the society. The Icelandic
context in particular is likely to encourage individuals to compare whether the crisis has
harmed them more than other Icelanders. Bernburg et al. (2009) have argued that, due to
the relative ubiquity of social mobility, shared belief in equal opportunities, and cultural
homogeneity, Icelandic society promotes unrestricted social comparisons based on
national identity. Moreover, as Tajfel (1978) has argued, when a group collectively expe-
riences an adversity this same group can become a stronger reference group for its mem-
bers. The economic collapse was particularly dramatic, a collectively-felt event that may
have strengthened Icelanders as a reference group.
Given the pivotal role of social comparisons in the evaluation of disadvantage, we
suspect that people may evaluate the justice of change in their living standard due to
crisis based on such comparison. That is, individuals may evaluate the justice of their
perceived economic loss due to crisis based on how, in their minds, the crisis has
harmed their situation relative to how it has harmed the situation of others in the soci-
ety. In what follows, we refer to this experience as the perceived relative impact of the
crisis.
This argument implies an interaction effect, whereby one comparison process (com-
parison with the situation of others) conditions the effect of another (comparison to past
outcomes) on distress. Thus, the perceived relative impact of the Icelandic crisis may
modify the association between reduced living standard and distress (Figure 1, path b).
Even a large drop in the standard of living during crisis may not trigger much distress if
individuals think that the crisis has harmed others more than themselves. Conversely,
even a small drop in the standard of living may create distress if individuals believe that
the crisis has harmed them more than most others. The perceived relative effect of the
crisis may also influence distress directly (Figure 1, path d).
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 761

Comparison Based on Expected Future Outcomes

Economic crises can create widespread anxiety about the future (Brenner, 1990). In a
recession, fearing job loss, inflation, cuts in public welfare and so on, expectations
about one’s future may become a particularly salient reference point. Research has
shown that expectations about a worsening future status, such as job loss, can harm
health and mental well-being (Burgard et al., 2009). Crises provide an opportunity to
examine how expectations influence distress. We test whether negative expectation
of the future influences subjective injustice and emotional distress (Figure 1, path e).
Moreover, expectations may condition the individual’s experience of economic loss,
implying an interaction effect. Specifically, perceived reduction in living standard may
have a more pronounced effect on distress when individuals have negative expectations
about future outcomes (Figure 1, path c).

Relative Deprivation and Individual Outcomes

Research has underscored that relative deprivation – a feeling of unfair disadvantage
created by negative comparison – can create distress (Smith et al., 2011). Thus, unfa-
vorable comparisons can trigger perceived injustice and anger (Bernburg et al., 2009;
Testa and Major, 1990), depression and anxiety (Smith and Ortiz, 2002), and worse
physical health (Yngwe et al., 2005). We focus on three outcomes that should stem
from negative subjective comparisons: perceived injustice, anger, and depression.
Given well-known gender differences in emotional distress (Rosenfield and Smith,
2010), it is important to capture both internal (depression) and external (anger)
expressions of distress. This strategy allows us to examine the robustness of the
results across different outcome variables.

Method
Face-to-face interviews were conducted using a national sample of Icelandic adults (18
years and older). Trained interviewers visited all participants in their own homes. For
probability sampling, we used a complete list of all individuals who have an Icelandic
social security number (Iceland’s National Registry). We used cluster sampling, to save
cost in obtaining data outside of the metropolitan area. We created 17 clusters represent-
ing differently populated areas nationwide, and then randomly selected individuals from
each cluster. The number of individuals selected randomly from each cluster was directly
proportional to the population living in areas represented by the cluster, so weighting is
not necessary.4
The final response rate is 63 percent (948 interviews completed). Deletion of cases
due to missing values resulted in 812 valid cases for the current analysis (86 percent of
completed interviews). We have examined how the sample represents selected popula-
tion parameters: gender, age, and employment. The sample reflects these parameters
quite well, although males are slightly under-represented (constituting 49 percent of the
sample but 50 percent of the population), as are young people (21 percent of the sample
762 Sociology 47(4)

are individuals between 18 and 29 years of age, a group constituting 24 percent of the
population).

Dependent Variables
We use an index for subjective status injustice comprising the mean score on two, five
point questions: ‘Do you ever get angry or frustrated due to your status in the society?’,
and ‘Overall, do you feel that your current status in the society is just or unjust?’ The
index ranges from 1 (minimum subjective injustice) to 5 (maximum subjective injustice).
Cronbach’s alpha is 0.63. Anger is measured with the mean answer for five questions
about how often during the week prior to the survey respondents experienced irritability,
fits of temper, arguments, a want to break or smash things, and whether they had screamed
or thrown things (see Bernburg et al., 2009). The answers ranged from 1 (never) to 4
(very often). Cronbach’s alpha is 0.70. Finally, we measure depression using the mean
score on three questions about how often during the week prior to the survey the respond-
ent experienced ‘sadness or having little interest in doing things’, ‘feeling sad or blue’,
and ‘not being excited about anything’. Answers ranged from 1 (never) to 4 (very often).
Cronbach’s alpha is 0.81.

Subjective Comparisons
We created three novel measures for the subjective comparison processes: perceived
change in standard of living during the crisis, perceived relative financial effect of the
crisis, and expectations. Perceived change in standard of living is a scale: ‘Compared to
the way your standard of living was before the crisis hit in fall 2008, how is your standard
of living today?’ The point scale ranges from 1 (much better than before the crisis)
through 4 (about the same as before the crisis) to 7 (much worse than before the crisis).
Relative effect of the crisis is also a scale: ‘Many people in Iceland have had financial
problems because of the crisis. What effect do you believe the crisis has had on your
financial situation compared to other Icelanders?’ The scale ranges from 1 (much better
effect) through 5 (same effect) to 11 (much worse effect). Finally, we measure negative
expectations using the mean for two questions: (1) ‘Do you believe that your standard of
living will in the near future …’ and (2) ‘Do you believe that your status in society will
in the near future …’. Responses range from 1 (get much better) to 5 (get much worse).
The combined index ranges from 1 (highly positive expectations) to 5 (highly negative
expectations). Cronbach’s alpha is 0. 070.

Control Variables
Household income is measured with a ranked scale indicating total monthly household
income, ranging from 1 (lowest income category) to 17 (highest income category). We
use four dichotomous variables for occupational status: part-time employment, currently
unemployed, currently receiving pension or disability, and other status (student, home-
maker, other), with full-time employment as the baseline group. We measure educational
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 763

Table 1.  Descriptive statistics (N = 812).

Mean Standard Minimum Maximum

deviation value value
Negative subjective comparisons
Change in standard of living 4.1 1.1 1 7
Relative effect of the crisis 5.5 1.9 1 11
Expectations about future outcomes 3.1 .66 1 5
Social demographics
Sex (Female = 1) .51 .50 0 1
Age 45.5 16.6 18 92
Marital status (married/cohabiting = 1) .53 – 0 1
Number of children in household .85 1.1 0 6
Primary education (baseline group) .32 –  
Educational attainment
  Primary education (baseline group) – – – –
  Secondary education .38 – 0 1
  University education .30 – 0 1
Capital area .65 – 0 1
Household income 10.2 4.5 1 17
Employment status
  Full-time work (baseline group) – – – –
  Part-time work .14 – 0 1
 Unemployed .03 – 0 1
  Receives pension/disability .10 – 0 1
  Other status .12 – 0 1
Dependent variables
Subjective injustice 2.6 .96 1 5
Anger 1.4 .36 1 3.40
Depression 1.7 .71 1 4

attainment using two dichotomous variables, secondary education and university educa-
tion, with primary education (or less) as the baseline group. Gender is coded 1 for women
and 0 for men. We allow for a nonlinear effect of age by including both age and age
squared in the regression analysis. A dichotomous variable is coded 1 for individuals
living in the Reykjavík metropolitan area, and 0 if otherwise. We measure number of
children on a scale ranging from 0 (no child in household) to 6 (six or more children in
household). Finally, we use a dichotomous variable for marital status, coded 1 for those
who are married or living with a partner, and 0 otherwise. Table 1 shows descriptive
statistics for all variables.

Results
The three comparison processes exhibit different distributions in our data. A majority of
the respondents (62%) experienced a reduction in their standard of living during the
764 Sociology 47(4)

crisis (Figure 2), while only 18 percent believe that the crisis has had a worse effect on
them than on others (Figure 3). The distribution of respondents’ expectations of the
future is slightly more balanced; 35 percent anticipate a negative change in their standard
of living in the near future, and 11 percent think that their social status will worsen
(Figure 4). That these comparison processes are so differently distributed may have
important implications if indeed they turn out to interact in their effects on distress. For
example, if social comparisons condition the effect of perceived reduction in living
standard on distress, the effect of perceived reduction on distress may be quite modest
because so few individuals experience negative social comparisons in this setting. We
turn to this issue again after testing the hypotheses.
We test the hypotheses presented in Figure 1 using regression models presented in
Table 2. We estimated three models, one for each dependent variable: subjective
injustice, anger, and depression. All models include the main effects of the three com-
parison processes (which have been grand-mean centered), the multiplicative terms
for the predicted interaction effects, and the control variables.5
Model 1 shows the effects of the three subjective comparisons on subjective injustice.
The results lend some support for the hypotheses. As predicted (Figure 1, path a),
perceived reduction in living standards has a significant and modest main effect on sub-
jective injustice (beta = 0.16). Also as predicted (Figure 1, path e), negative expectations
about future outcomes have significant main effects on subjective injustice (beta = 0.13).
However, perceived relative effect of the crisis has no significant effect on subjective
injustice, contrary to prediction (Figure 1, path d).
Both the interaction terms are statistically significant. The effect of perceived
reduction in living standards on subjective injustice interacts with the other

Figure 2.  Distribution of perceived change in standard of living during the crisis.
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 765

Figure 3.  Distribution of perceived relative impact of the crisis.

Figure 4.  Distribution of expectations about future outcomes.

two comparison processes. Thus as predicted (Figure 1, path b), the effect of perceived
reduction in living standards on subjective injustice is significantly more pronounced
when individuals believe they have been harmed more by the crisis than others. Also as
predicted (Figure 1, path c), perceived reduction in living standards has significantly
766 Sociology 47(4)

Table 2.  Least squares regression models for the effects of subjective comparisons on the
indicators of distress.

Dependent variables

  Subjective injustice Anger Depression

  Model 1 Model 2 Model 3

Independent variables Regression Standardized Regression Standardized Regression Standardized

coefficients coefficients b coefficients coefficients b coefficients coefficients b
Negative subjective comparisons
Negative change in standard .14*** .16 .02 .05 .08** .13
of livinga
Relative effect of the crisisa .03 .05 –.01 –.04 –.00 –.01
Negative expectationsa .19*** .13 .03 .07 .02 .02
Interaction terms
Negative change in standard .06*** – .02*** – .02 –
of living TIMES Relative
effect of the crisis
Negative change in standard .08* – .03** – .05 –
of living TIMES Negative
expectations
Control Variables
Sex .06 – .01 – .11* –
Age .05*** – –.01 – .00 –
Age squared –.001*** – .00 – –.00 –
Married/relationship .03 – .01 – –.08 –
Children .02 .02 .03** .10 .01 .01
Secondary education –.24** – –.02 – –.11 –
University education –.31*** – –.04 – –.15* –
Capital area .11 – .07 – .01 –
Household income –.03*** –.16 –.01* –.09 –.02** –.11
Part–time work .07 – .00 – –.07 –
Unemployed .10 – .16* – .06 –
Receives pension/disability –.08 – –.03 – –.03 –
Other status .01 – .01 – .08 –
Constant 2.0 1.6 2.0  
R² .17 .14 .07  

Notes: aMeasures for subjective comparisons are grand-mean centered and can be interpreted as main
effects. bStandardized coefficients are reported only where appropriate; that is, for continuous independent
variables only. *p< .05; **p< .01 (two-tailed tests).

more pronounced effect on subjective injustice as individuals have more negative expec-
tations. Finally, the control variables influence subjective injustice, as we would have
predicted. There is significantly less subjective injustice among the educated and among
those having higher incomes. Finally, age has a nonlinear effect on subjective injustice;
subjective injustice increases up to about age 50 and then decreases with age.
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 767

We further examine these interaction effects in Figures 5 and 6. Figure 5 displays the
effect of perceived change in living standards on subjective injustice in three subgroups:
individuals who feel the crisis had a better effect on their situation than others, those who
feel it had a similar effect on them, and those who feel it has had a worse effect on their
situation than others. The results illustrate the pattern of interaction effects. A perceived
drop in living standards has the most pronounced effect on subjective injustice in the
group of people who think they have been harmed more by the crisis than others (beta =
0.27). The effect is slightly weaker among those who feel the crisis has affected them
similarly to others (beta = 0.21). No significant effect emerges among those who think
that the crisis has harmed them less than others.
Figure 6 shows the effect of perceived reduction in standard of living on subjective
injustice in three subgroups: those who expect a positive change in their economic status
in the near future, those who expect no change, and finally those who expect a negative
change in their economic situation. The results show that perceived drop in living stand-
ard is moderately associated with subjective injustice in the group of individuals who
expect their situation to worsen in the near future (beta = 0.27), but no such effects are
observed in the other groups.
We now turn to Model 2 in Table 2, which presents the regression of anger. Although
the comparison processes have no significant main effects on anger, there are significant

Figure 5. The partial slope effect of perceived change in standard of living on subjective
injustice in three subgroups: those who think that the crisis has harmed them less than most
others (N = 292), similar to most others (N = 375), and more than most others (N = 145).
All control variables from Table 2 have been set at their grand-means.
768 Sociology 47(4)

Figure 6. The partial slope effect of negative change in standard of living on subjective injustice
in three subgroups: those who expect positive change (N = 179), those who expect no change
(N = 338), and those who expect negative change (N = 295). All control variables from Table 2
have been set at their grand-means.

interaction effects. Thus, perceived reduction in living standards has a significantly more
pronounced effect on anger if individuals 1) think that the crisis has harmed them more
than others; and 2) have negative expectations about future outcomes. Results for the
control variables indicate that having children is associated with increased anger as is
low household income and unemployment.
Again, we further examine the interaction effects by testing the effect of perceived
change in living standard on anger in subgroups. Figure 7 shows how the effect of
perceived negative change in living standards on anger is contingent on the perception of
the relative impact of the crisis. This effect is significant and moderately strong for those
who think that the crisis had a worse effect on them than on others (beta = 0.26). By
contrast, a perceived drop in living standards has no significant effect on anger in the
other two groups. Figure 8 shows that a perceived drop in living standards influences
anger only among those who believe that their economic situation will worsen in the near
future (beta = 0.18). These results further support the pattern of interaction effects that
we have proposed above (again, see Figure 1, paths b and c).
Finally, the results for depression lend only partial support for our hypotheses. Thus
Model 3 indicates a modest main effect of a perceived reduction in the standards of living
on depression (beta = 0.13). The other comparison processes do not have significant
effects on depression. Moreover, the interaction terms are not significant; the association
between a perceived reduction in living standards and depression is not significantly
contingent on the other comparison processes. Finally, we find significantly less depres-
sion among the educated and among high income earners.
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 769

Figure 7. The partial slope effect of negative change in standard of living on anger in three
subgroups: those who think that the crisis has harmed them less than most others (N = 293),
similar to most others (N = 376), and more than most others (N = 147). All control variables
from Table 2 have been set at their grand-means.

Figure 8. The partial slope effect of negative change in standard of living on anger in three
subgroups: those who expect positive change (N = 179), those who expect no change (N = 340),
and those who expect negative change (N = 297). All control variables from Table 2 have been
set at their grand-means.
770 Sociology 47(4)

The Buffering Effects of Subjective Comparisons

The results in Figures 5-8 illustrate how the two processes, comparison to others and
expectations, buffer the overall (main) effect of perceived reduction on subjective
injustice and anger. Consider the moderating effect of social comparisons shown in
Figures 5 and 7, while perceived reduction has the most pronounced effect in the group
who thinks that the crisis has harmed them more than most others, only 18 percent of
the respondents belong to that group, and thus the overall (main) effect of perceived
reduction is reflected more by the weak effect observed among those who experience a
more favourable social comparison. Likewise, in Figures 6 and 8, a perceived reduction
in standard of living influences subjective injustice and anger only in the group which
has negative expectations, reducing the overall (main) effect of perceived reduction on
these indicators of distress.

Conclusion
Inspiring our study is the classic idea that sudden social changes, economic crises in
particular, create distress as a result, not only of objective economic deprivation, but also
of subjective deprivation (Davies, 1962; Durkheim, 1951[1897]). We have extended this
idea by building on relative deprivation theory, arguing that economic crises can evoke
subjective comparisons that condition the effects of suddenly worsening conditions on
distress. We have used the economic collapse in Iceland as a test case for our argument,
examining how three types of subjective comparisons influenced subjective injustice and
emotional distress during the midst of the recession in Iceland.
The analysis reveals two key patterns. First, we find partial support for the idea that
comparison to the situation of others conditions the effect of perceived reduction in the
standard of living on distress. Thus, we find that a perceived reduction in the standard
of living has only modest overall effects on subjective injustice and depression, and no
overall effect on anger. However, perceived reduction in standard of living has a more
pronounced effect on subjective injustice and anger among individuals who think that
the crisis has harmed them more than others. In fact, a perceived reduction in standard
of living has no effects on subjective injustice and anger if individuals believe that the
crisis has affected them less than others. However, we find no interaction effects for
depression. A perceived reduction in standard of living is the only comparison process
significantly influencing depression in our data.
Second, expectations about future outcomes moderate the effects that a perceived
reduction in the standard of living has on subjective injustice and anger. A perceived
reduction in the standard of living influences subjective injustice and anger more if
individuals have negative expectations, but it has no effect on these indicators of
distress among those who have positive expectations. Again, we find no interaction
effects for depression.
Our study contributes to social research in a few respects. It contributes to research
focusing on the link between economic crises and mental health (Brenner, 1987, 1990;
Davalos and French, 2011; Dooley et al., 1994; Durkheim, 1951[1897]; Tausig and
Fenwick, 1999; Zivin et al., 2011). We are among the first to examine the role of
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 771

subjective comparisons in linking crises and distress (see Krahn and Harrison, 1992).
Our findings suggest that social comparisons and expectations may buffer the effect of
worsening living conditions on individual distress. Thus when there is a widespread
perception that most people have been hit hard by a crisis, most individuals may tend to
accept their economic loss because they think that others have been hit at least just as
badly. A large majority of Icelanders believe that the crisis has harmed them similarly
or less than it has harmed others, apparently producing a weak overall effect of per-
ceived reduction in standard of living on subjective injustice and anger. Ironically, a
widespread perception of despair creates a social context where even a large drop in the
standard of living has only a small overall effect on individual distress. Likewise, the
effects of worsening living conditions on distress seem contingent on whether the social
context encourages pessimism about the future.
The findings may provide a clue as to why economic crises sometimes have only
weak effects on mental health (e.g. see Davalos and French, 2011). The effects of crises
on well-being may depend on social contextual factors influencing 1) how many indi-
viduals think they have been hit worse by the crisis than others; and 2) how many indi-
viduals are pessimistic about their status in the near future. Crises may increase distress
more when these perceptions are widespread. Such perceptions in turn may be shaped by
various factors, including media coverage and political reactions, which may or may not
reflect the objective reality of a particular crisis. Our individual-level study cannot
address these issues directly, and thus more research is needed.
Our study demonstrates how relative deprivation theory helps to link broad social
conditions with individual well-being, contributing to scant direct research on the issue.
Although social comparisons are held to play a role in mediating macro social condi-
tions, including inequality (Bernburg, 2010; Blau and Blau, 1982; Wilkinson and Pickett,
2007; Yngwe et al., 2005) and economic crises (Davies, 1962), on distress, research on
this issue rarely uses direct measures of subjective comparisons. Our use of direct meas-
urement suggests that social comparisons can sometimes buffer the effect of disadvan-
tage on distress. Again, the widespread perception that one’s loss during the crisis is no
worse than the loss of others appears to buffer the overall effect of perceived economic
loss on some forms of distress in the Icelandic crisis.
This study has limitations. First, it is non-experimental and does not directly test
causal statements. We can examine only whether the statistical patterns are consistent
with our theoretical argument. Moreover, relying on cross-sectional data has prevented
us from measuring the focal constructs in a temporal order. Although our model focuses
on here-and-now perception of current conditions in relation to three different reference
points, measuring subjective injustice and distress before as well as during crisis would
provide a stronger test of our model. Moreover, although we control for the current eco-
nomic situation, assuming that perception of change in the standard of living is largely
reflective of objective change in the standard of living (Krahn and Hartnagel, 1992),
ideally we need to include objective economic change in the model.
It remains to be seen whether subjective comparisons constitute ‘fundamental mecha-
nisms’ (Hedström and Swedberg, 1998) that generally help to explain how sudden change
influences distress and well-being. We acknowledge that other comparison processes
may also play a role, including, for example, cross-national comparisons (Whelan et al.,
772 Sociology 47(4)

2001); that is, comparisons with citizens of other countries less affected by the global
crisis. In conclusion, examining the interplay of subjective comparisons may help future
research to understand how individuals experience sudden social change. Iceland has
been an ideal setting to examine this issue. The Icelandic crisis was severe and occurred
suddenly after a long period of rising expectations, and it was related to images of
corruption in public opinion. This situation often characterizes major economic crises.
We call on future research to apply our model in settings characterized by economic
crises and other types of abrupt changes.

Acknowledgements
We thank Clayton Fordahl, Janet Gornick, Patrick Sachweh, Jason Schnittker, Heather Smith,
Thorolfur Thorlindsson, and two anonymous reviewers for helpful comments. An earlier version
of this paper was presented at the XVII World Congress of Sociology in Goteborg Sweden in July
2010.

Funding
The study was aided by grants from the Icelandic Centre for Research, Edda – Center of Excellence,
and University of Iceland Research Fund.

Notes
1. Subjective comparisons are not always self-interested. Scholars have acknowledged this point
by discussing the difference between egoistic and fraternal relative deprivation (Runciman,
1966). Egoistic relative deprivation refers to sense of deprivation on behalf of oneself, while
fraternal relative deprivation refers to sense of deprivation on behalf of one’s social group.
Research indicates that while egoistic relative deprivation influences distress, fraternal relative
deprivation influences participation in collective activity (Smith and Ortiz, 2002). In this
article, we examine only comparisons that can potentially trigger egoistic relative deprivation,
because we are focusing on explaining distress and not collective activity.
2. The Gallup’s Expectation Index comes from a regular opinion poll of the Icelandic public. The
index, which ranges from zero to 200 points, reduced from 155 points in May 2007 to about 20
points in January 2009. The index fluctuated between 25 and 67 during the midst of the recession,
in 2009 and 2010. See: http://www.capacent.is/frettir-og-frodleikur/vaentingavisitala
3. See Note 1.
4. The largest cluster is Iceland’s only metropolitan area, namely, the Reykjavík area. This area
comprises 65 percent of the country’s population (roughly 152,000 inhabitants), and thus
65 percent of our sample is taken from this cluster. The four largest urban areas outside of
Reykjavík (Akureyri, Reykjanesbær, Akranes, Selfoss), form four separate clusters, repre-
sented in our sample in direct proportions to the population. That is, each of these towns
comprises about four percent of the population of Iceland, and accordingly about four percent
the sample comes from each town. For smaller towns and rural areas, we randomly selected
the clusters. For example, there are 12 towns in Iceland ranging from 1000 to 1999 inhabit-
ants, and we randomly selected two of these towns into our sample. Since about five percent
of Iceland’s population comes from towns in this particular population range, five percent of
our sample comes from the two towns.
  Due to the potential problem of correlated errors stemming from within-cluster homogene-
ity (Kish and Frankel, 1974), we have estimated intra-class correlations for the dependent
variables (with cluster as the Level 2 unit in statistical program HLM 5.05). The correlations
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 773

are very low (0.0009, 0.002, and 0.0008, for subjective injustice, anger, and depression,
respectively), indicating trivial effects of within-cluster homogeneity on the standard errors
in our models.
5. We note that the key results in Table 2 hold while adding controls for housing debt and amount
of savings owned by the household (results from this supplementary analysis are not shown),
but due to missing values, we present the results without them.

References
Benediktsdóttir S, Daníelsson J and Zoega G (2011) Lessons from a collapse of a financial system.
Economic Policy 26(66): 183–235.
Bernburg JG (2010) Relative deprivation theory does not imply a contextual effect of country-
level inequality on poor health: A commentary on Jen, Jones, and Johnston (68:4, 2009).
Social Science & Medicine 70: 493–95.
Bernburg JG, Thorlindsson T and Sigfusdottir ID (2009) Relative deprivation and adolescent out-
comes in Iceland: A multilevel test. Social Forces 87: 1223–50.
Blau JR and Blau PM (1982) The cost of inequality: Metropolitan structure and violent crime.
American Sociological Review 47: 114–29.
Brenner MH (1987) Relation of economic change to Swedish health and social well-being, 1950–
1980. Social Science & Medicine 25: 183–95.
Brenner MH (1990) Influence of the economy on mental health and psychophysiological illness:
International perspective. Community Mental Health in New Zealand 5: 2–10.
Burgard SA, Brand JE and House JS (2009) Perceived job insecurity and worker health in the
United States. Social Science & Medicine 69: 777–85.
Crosby F (1976) A model of egoistical relative deprivation. Psychological Review 83: 85–113.
Davalos ME and French MT (2011) This recession is wearing me out! Health-related quality of life
and economic downturns. Journal of Mental Health Policy and Economics 14: 61–72.
Davies JC (1962) Toward a theory of revolution. American Sociological Review 27: 5–19.
Dooley D, Catalano R and Wilson G (1994) Depression and unemployment: Panel findings from
the epidemiologic catchment area study. American Journal of Community Psychology 22:
745–65.
Durkheim É (1951[1897]) Suicide: A Study in Sociology. New York: Free Press.
Folger R (1984) Perceived injustice, referent cognitions and the concept of comparison level. Rep-
resentative Research in Social Psychology 14: 88–108.
Gartrell CD (2002) The embeddedness of social comparison. In: Walker I and Smith HJ (eds)
Relative Deprivation. Specification, Development and Integration. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 164–84.
Graziano WG (1987) Lost in thought at the choice point: Cognition, context, and equity. In: Mas-
ters JC and Smith WP (eds) Social Comparison, Social Justice, and Relative Deprivation.
London: Lawrence Erlbaum, 265–94.
Hedström P and Swedberg R (1998) Social mechanisms: An introductory essay. In: Hedström P
and Swedberg R (eds) Social Mechanisms: An Analytical Approach to Social Theory. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1–31.
Jónsson G (2011) Boom and Crisis in Iceland through the Prism of Consumption. Presented at the
Crisis and Renewal conference, University of Iceland, 2–3 June November.
Kish L and Frankel MR (1974) Inference from complex samples. Journal of the Royal Statistical
Society 36: 1–37.
Krahn H and Harrison T (1992) ‘Self-referenced’ relative deprivation and economic beliefs: The
effects of the recession in Alberta. Canadian Review of Sociology 29: 191–209.
774 Sociology 47(4)

Levine JM and Moreland RL (1987) Social comparison and outcome evaluation in group con-
text. In: Masters JC and Smith WP (eds) Social Comparison, Social Justice, and Relative
Deprivation. London: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Lind EA and Tyler TR (1988) The Social Psychology of Procedural Justice. New York: Plenum
Press.
Markovsky B (1985) Toward a multilevel distributive justice theory. American Sociological
Review 50: 822–39.
Matthíasson T (2008) Spinning out of control: Iceland in crisis. Nordic Journal of Political
Economy 34: 1–19.
Merton RK (1968) Social structure and anomie. In: Merton RK (ed.) Social Theory and Social
Structure. New York: Free Press, 185–214.
Merton RK and Rossi AS (1968) Contributions to the theory of reference group behavior. In:
Merton RK (ed.) Social Theory and Social Structure. New York: Free Press, 279–440.
Mirowsky J (1987) The psycho-economics of feeling underpaid: Distributive justice and the
earnings of husbands and wives. American Journal of Sociology 92: 1404–34.
Reis HT (1987) The nature of the justice motive: Some thoughts on operation, internalization,
and justification. In: Masters JC and Smith WP (eds) Social Comparison, Social Justice, and
Relative Deprivation. London: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Report of the Special Investigation Commission (2010) The Causes of the Collapse of the Icelandic
Banks 2008 and Related Events. Reykjavík: Special Investigation Commission.
Rosenfield S and Smith D (2010) Gender and mental health: Do men and women have different
amounts or types of problems? In: Scheid TL and Brown TN (eds) A Handbook for the Study
of Mental Health: Social Contexts, Theories, and Systems. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 256–67.
Runciman WG (1966) Relative Deprivation and Social Justice. London: Routledge and Kegan
Paul.
Skitka LJ (2009) Exploring the ‘lost and found’ of justice theory and research. Social Justice
Research 22: 98–116.
Smith HJ and Ortiz DJ (2002) Is it just me? The different consequences of personal and group
relative deprivation. In: Walker I and Smith HJ (eds) Relative Deprivation. Specification,
Development and Integration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 91–118.
Smith HJ, Pettigrew TF, Pippin GM and Bialosiewicz S (2011) Relative deprivation: A theo-
retical and meta-analytic review. Personality and Social Psychology Review. doi:
10.1177/1088868311430825
Statistics Iceland (nd.a) An Overview of Gross Domestic Product and Gross National Product
from 1945-2011. Available at: http://www.statice.is
Statistics Iceland (nd.b) Employment, Unemployment and Labour Force – Original Data – Monthly
2003–2012. Available at: http://www.statice.is
Stouffer SA, Schuman EA, DeVinney LC, Star SA and Williams RB (1949) The American
Soldier: Adjustment During Army Life, vol.1. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Tajfel H (1978) Differentiation between Social Groups: Studies in the Social Psychology of
Intergroup Relations. London: Academic Press.
Tausig M and Fenwick R (1999) Recession and well-being. Journal of Health and Social Behavior
40: 1–16.
Testa M and Major B (1990) The impact of social comparisons after failure: The moderating
effects of perceived control. Basic and Applied Social Psychology 11(2): 205–18.
United Nations Development Programme (2007) Human Development Report 2007/2008.
New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Ragnarsdóttir et al. 775

Yngwe MA, Fritzell J, Burström B and Lundberg O (2005) Comparison or consumption?

Distinguishing between different effects of income on health in Nordic welfare states. Social
Science and Medicine 61: 627–35.
Whelan CT, Layte R, Maitre B and Nolan B (2001) Income, deprivation, and economic strain.
An analysis of the European community household panel. European Sociological Review 17:
357–72.
Wilkinson RG and Pickett KE (2007) The problems of relative deprivation: Why some societies
do better than others. Social Science & Medicine 65: 1965–78.
Zivin K, Paczkowski M and Galea S (2011) Economic downturns and population mental health:
Research findings, gaps, challenges and priorities. Psychological Medicine 41: 1343–8.

Berglind Hólm Ragnarsdóttir is a doctoral student in sociology at the City University

of New York, Graduate Center. Her research interests include social stratification and
inequality, social psychology and gender. She is currently a research associate at LIS
Cross-National Data Center where her work focuses on projects related to cross-national
stratification, inequality and gender and work.

Jón Gunnar Bernburg is a professor of sociology at the University of Iceland. He has a

PhD in sociology from the State University of New York at Albany. He has studied topics
in several areas of sociology, including labelling and stigma, anomie, relative depriva-
tion, and neighborhood effects. His current work focuses on the economic crisis in
Iceland. Jon Gunnar has published in various journals, including Social Forces, Social
Science and Medicine, and Criminology.

Sigrun Olafsdottir is an assistant professor of sociology at Boston University. Her research

stands at the intersection of medical, political, and cultural sociology. She is particularly
interested in how larger political and cultural contexts influence individual outcomes and
attitudes. She is the Principal Investigator on an NIH-funded grant, titled ‘A Comparative
Approach to Health Inequalities’. Her work has appeared in numerous journals, includ-
ing Journal of Health and Social Behavior, Social Science Medicine, and European
Sociological Review.

Date submitted January 2012

Date accepted May 2012
457276
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512457276SociologyLewis et al.

Article

Sociology
47(4) 776­–792
Representation and Practical © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Accomplishment in the sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512457276
Laboratory: When is an soc.sagepub.com

Animal Model Good-enough?

Jamie Lewis
Cardiff University, UK

Paul Atkinson
Cardiff University, UK

Jean Harrington
University of Exeter, UK

Katie Featherstone
Cardiff University, UK

Abstract
Biomedical science is dependent on standardised rodents. These lab-rats and lab-mice are different
from their wild cousins. Interest in the genetic basis of a variety of phenotypes has meant that lab-
rodents have been bred over many decades as resources for experimental science. We focus on
the use of lab-rodents as animal models in the study of single-gene human medical conditions. The
animals’ status as models is not a given. Scientists calibrate animals against the medical phenomena
which they are intended to represent. In turn, human medical conditions and the patients who
manifest them have to be calibrated against the rodent models. The creation of animal models
and their interpretation is, therefore, part of the practical work of biomedical scientists and their
adjustment is a key aspect in determining when the model is good-enough.

Keywords
animals, calibration, health, human, measurement, models, practice, representation, standards

Corresponding author:
Jamie Lewis, MRC Centre for Neuropsychiatric Genetics and Genomics, Cardiff University, 6 Museum
Place, Cardiff CF10 3BG, UK.
Email: lewisjt1@cardiff.ac.uk
Lewis et al. 777

Introduction
We document the work of biomedical scientists in using rodent models of human
diseases for single-gene disorders. We illustrate the work of choosing animal models to
represent human medical phenomena, and of making those medical conditions, in turn,
fit the models. The choice of species and the calibration of models are, therefore, funda-
mental aspects of the practical work conducted by biomedical scientists, as is the deter-
mination that any given model is good-enough. The notion of ‘good-enough’ in the social
sciences derives, in part, from the work of Winnicott (1953) and has subsequently been
applied to a wide number of phenomena, in management for instance being related to the
Pareto Principle: diminishing returns mean that striving for perfection is self-defeating.
It is also used in systems engineering and software development to describe a level of
representation adequate for functionality, and is widely used in discussions of scientific
measurement. Our own use here derives more from the phenomenological tradition,
especially the work of Alfred Schütz (1967), to capture the practical work of deciding
how and when a representation is deemed adequate for the users’ interests at hand.
All forms of research involve a type of simplification and representation. Delamont
et al. show how research fields – from anthropology to biochemistry, to artificial
intelligence – are ‘predicated on particular ways of establishing conventional representa-
tion and simplifications’ (2000: 114). Modelling, in particular, is a type of simplification
and representation intrinsic to experimentation, and animal modelling is a particular
form that plays a fundamental role in the biomedical disciplines.
Mice, rats and zebrafish account for over 90 per cent of the animals used as models in
biomedical research. Laboratory rodents include transgenic mice (where DNA from an
organism has been inserted into the embryo), knock-out and knock-in rodents (where a
specific gene has been removed from or inserted into the animal) and animals with
surgical lesions. These lab-rodents are among a wide range of contemporary bio-objects:
organisms and assemblages that transform boundaries between species, between the
human and the non-human, and between the organic and non-organic (Vermeulen et al.,
2012). Transgenic rodents are part natural, part artificially created (Holmberg and Ideland,
2009, 2012; Shapiro, 2002). They are ‘progressively transformed from holistic naturalis-
tic creatures into analytical objects of technical investigation’ (Lynch, 1988: 266). They
are, as Michael (2001) suggests, ‘bespoke’ organisms. Such transformation requires work
and interpretation on the part of laboratory scientists.
There have been animal ‘models’ of the human and the social in many cultural and
historical contexts. Fable and folklore have used exemplary animal species to ‘model’
human social behaviour: for example, the anthropomorphising of the industrious bee or
ant, the wise owl and the cunning fox. They are all illustrative of the ways in which we
take animals to be essentially like humans despite differences (Daston and Mitman,
2005). The pervasive phenomenon of totemic species represents another way in which
natural kinds can be used as metaphors whereby social and cultural categories have their
homologies in the natural world (Lévi-Strauss, 1963). Likewise, Ritvo (1987) documents
culturally defined homologies between social status and animal pedigrees.
Contemporary animal models are used in biomedical research to create a distinctive
form of correspondence. They are used to represent distinctive features of human
778 Sociology 47(4)

medical conditions. As we shall see, they cannot do so in every possible detail, and there
are often trade-offs between functional value and representational detail. Laboratory
rodents are, therefore, simultaneously like and unlike their human counterparts, as are the
manifestations of illness, produced by genetic manipulation or surgically induced lesions.
They are part of a constellation of biomedical phenomena that bring human and animal
domains into alignment (cf. Agamben, 2004; Birke et al., 2007; Brown and Michael,
2004; Haraway, 1997).

Methods
This article derives from three projects examining the scientific and medical work within
stem cell laboratories and clinical genetics services. Animal modelling is fundamental to
the practical work at all these sites. First, we draw on observation and interviews at a
laboratory we call Cell-lab, conducting experimental foetal tissue research into
Huntington’s and Parkinson’s diseases (Jamie Lewis). Second, the article draws on
observations and interviews at four research centres focusing on stem cell treatments,
which we call TransLab (Jean Harrington). Third, the article draws on an ethnographic
study of Rett Syndrome, documenting multiple sites where it is enacted and represented
(Katie Featherstone). Fieldwork at the research sites was conducted between 2006 and
2010. Jamie Lewis spent six months with research technicians and cell and behavioural
scientists in an animal house observing the performance of behavioural tasks on labora-
tory rodents. Jean Harrington spent varying periods of up to three weeks over four years
observing and interviewing stem cell scientists, clinicians and animal welfare officers.
Katie Featherstone spent 18 months carrying out ethnographic fieldwork, following a
local clinical and scientific team and the wider scientific field at international confer-
ences. Interview data from the three sites were transcribed and analysed, while fieldnotes
were written up immediately following observations of laboratories, clinics and confer-
ences. All datasets have been analysed thematically, and are the basis of publications
elsewhere (Featherstone and Atkinson, 2011; Harrington and Stephens, 2010; Lewis and
Atkinson, 2011; Stephens et al., 2012). Our analytic aim here is to draw out a generic
account of themes that have been identified across the various research sites dealing with
the good-enough model.

Models
A model, by definition, in order to function as a model, must preserve some essential
features of the original, while discarding or simplifying others. If not, it will expand to
encompass the same degree of detail as the original. It would be like the map described
by Borges (1988). The map-maker progressively incorporated features until the map
grew to the same size as the original territory, rendering it functionally useless. Modelling
implies a number of activities or functions: models simplify, they standardise, and they
stand proxy for other objects. Animal models do all of these things – substituting for
human actors, embodying selected biological and medical traits in standardised and man-
ageable ways, and being among several versions or representations of disease entities.
Models can vary depending on the number of features they mimic and what they omit,
Lewis et al. 779

each being a gloss on the original (Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970). Simplified representations
are often preferred over more detailed versions for the purposes of scientific presentation
(Mulkay and Gilbert, 1984) and complex data are routinely broken down in order to ren-
der them tractable (Star, 1983). Furthermore, models embody the practices of framing
and answering scientific questions (Fox-Keller, 2000).
In biomedicine, ‘model’ has two connotations. On the one hand, the biomedical
communities we study refer to laboratory animals as ‘models’. This is what might be
called the ‘bio-object’. Analytically speaking, on the other hand, we can identify a
much broader, generic process whereby representations are constructed and circulated.
These can take many concrete forms – from laboratory animals, to photographs and
video-recordings, to statistical representations, to graphic representations, and so on.
The latter are all ‘models’ in the broader sense.
Our general contention is that the power of any given model – in whatever material
embodiment – is not a given. There is no natural set of representations or equivalences
that confers the status of model. Models need to be achieved. Their representational
capacities have to be worked at continually. The degree of correspondence needs cali-
brating and adjusting in the course of everyday laboratory work. Human medical con-
ditions and versions of them in rodents are no different in this respect. They too require
alignment through such work and through professional judgments of adequacy, includ-
ing deciding when the model is good-enough.

Choosing and Calibrating Animals

First, scientists need to consider what species to use. When considering the ‘appropri-
ate material’, the modeller must ask: what is the model’s function – for example to map
a particular biological pathway or to mirror a human disease? Which animal is then
best suited to achieve this and is the animal practically and morally viable for use in
experimentation? Indeed, the decision over which animals should be used in experi-
mentation has had an awkward and often controversial history, encouraging ethical as
well as biological debates (French, 1975; Knight, 2011). For example, when deciding
what constitutes an animal in the laboratory there may be distinctions drawn between
vertebrate and invertebrate species; such demarcation lines are entangled with emo-
tional, ethical and cultural values as well as scientific ones (Paton, 1984).
In the laboratory, a stable hierarchy and menagerie of species has emerged, including
yeast, worm, fly, mouse, rat, through to monkey and chimpanzee. This scale reflects the
complexity of the organism, the amount of DNA shared with humans, as well as more
elementary characteristics such as the size of organs and speed of reproduction. Once
made, the choice of species, in turn, implies investment in infrastructure, and commit-
ment to an array of specific experimental techniques and expertise. Paton (1984) reports
that it was towards the beginning of the 20th century that rodents emerged as the most
common subject for experimentation. The appearance of the mouse, for example, has
been traced back to C.C. Little’s research into cancer and genetics (Radar, 1998, 2004);
while Clause (1993) tells a similar story about the standardisation of the Wistar rat.
Endersby (2007) discusses the significance of the two rodent species which have become
standard animal models for biomedical research. They are used to display the molecular
780 Sociology 47(4)

basis of many human diseases and enable proof-of-principle studies for novel diagnostic
and treatment strategies (cf. Davis et al., 1998; Wanga et al., 2005). Although animal
models are artefacts designed to be shared across scientific communities and are often
referred to as boundary objects (Star and Griesemer, 1989), boundary walkers (Haraway,
1997), or boundary crawlers (Holmberg and Ideland, 2009), the specific features of each
model have become associated with distinct fields of biomedical science. Research
groups have therefore been known to align and identify themselves with particular
animal models (Kohler, 1994). Accordingly, each species has large-scale, international,
scientific communities attached to them.
Next, a research group must decide whether an animal model achieves a good-enough
equivalence to their target medical condition: whether it will develop a symptom or
disease or respond adequately to treatment. There is always, in principle, the practical
problem for the model user: How ‘good’ is a good-enough animal model? How many of
the original features of the human disease must be preserved? How many functions need
to be implemented in the design? How reliable does the model need to be to work? In
other words, the adequacy and fidelity of any model must be judged.
Two dimensions are therefore involved in animal modelling. First, there is the vertical
dimension: that is, the choice of animal species for the model. This reflects degrees of
general similarity to humans, from the simplest organisms such as yeasts to more com-
plex organisms such as primates. For example, Brown and Michael (2001) discuss scien-
tists’ discursive work in establishing the position of pigs within such a calculus of
comparison with humans. This vertical axis also reflects pragmatic issues, such as the
ease of breeding laboratory populations and the infrastructure they require. Indeed, the
vertical axis represents a series of similarities and differences between species that cor-
responds to the process of replacement or transposition (Friese and Clarke, 2012).
Second, there is the horizontal dimension; that is, the axis of similarity to a specific
medical condition or symptom that can be achieved. The horizontal axis represents the
processes whereby particular populations or even individual animals are matched to
selected features of the target medical condition. We argue that the vertical axis repre-
sents relationships of a metaphorical nature (based on difference, separation and substi-
tution), while the horizontal axis represents relationships of a metonymic kind (based on
selected affinities). The latter, we maintain, depends on processes of calibration – the
iterative adjustment of the rodent model and the disease model to bring them into align-
ment for the purposes of practical experimentation.1 In the rest of the article we use
empirical data to illustrate how the metaphorical and metonymic are intertwined in the
process of making the good-enough model.

Rodents as Standard
As already indicated, the choice of species is the first decision to be made. Mouse and rat
currently sit in that good-enough space to satisfy a Darwinian-inspired evolutionary
resemblance to humans (warm-blooded mammals with a close-enough genetic affinity),
whilst are also arguably ethically less problematic than other possible candidates (e.g.
ape, or the domesticated cat or dog). That is, mouse and rat are both sufficiently similar
to and different enough from humans to have emerged as the marquee animals for use in
Lewis et al. 781

biomedical experimentation. These similarities and differences combined with their

experimental amenability make rodents functional experimental animals, although they
cannot replicate various kinds of human functions, such as higher cognitive processes,
language, or bipedal posture and gait.
Rats and mice – rodents that embody the instrumentation of modern genetics – are
both used in the biomedical research reported here. The two standard species co-exist, in
part, because different scientific communities (molecular biology and behavioural stud-
ies) currently work together under the domain of translational research. Two clear exam-
ples of this are research into Huntington’s disease (HD) and Rett Syndrome (RTT).
HD is a dominantly inherited, degenerative neurological condition characterised by
complex phenotypic behavioural and neurological features, which cause involuntary
twitching and chronic jerky uncontrollable movements, leading to complete disability,
cognitive impairment and dementia. In the world of molecular and histological research
on HD, the mouse is the material of choice as it can be manipulated to be representative
of the human HD gene. In the following quote, Dr Green explains how the mouse is the
superior model for the sequence of nucleotides CAG:2

The whole genetics behind it is [different]. They could only get, I think, 50 CAG repeats into
the rat … In Huntington’s there’s up to 120 CAG repeats or something but they couldn’t get
anything high. Whereas with mice you can get various lengths of CAG repeats. (Dr Green,
Cell-lab)

Dr Green’s comments are representative of the wider field of transgenic animals. The
genetic engineering of animals – with the exception of mice – has been a relatively slow
process requiring significant financial and infrastructural investment. As she explains,
within HD research they have not been able to create a transgenic rat with high enough
CAG repeats and this renders it a poor genetic model compared to the mouse.
Further exploration of HD research, however, reveals that if the behavioural features
of the condition are the focus, then the rat becomes the experimenter’s preferred rodent.
When asked therefore to justify why the laboratory uses both rodents, the response was:

Because you’ve got different flexibilities in each. So in mice it is much easier to make
transgenics [for Huntington’s] … The reason for using rats is that they are much better at doing
animal behaviour – really substantially better – so if you’re looking at complex behaviours that
are maybe more akin to human behaviour, then you’re much better off with a rat. It’s also got a
bigger brain, so you know if you’re doing transplantations … it’s much easier, the bigger the
brain the easier it is to do those sorts of experiments. (Prof Stephens, Cell-lab)

Professor Stephens’ comment provides us with confirmation that the mouse is easier to
manipulate at the genetic level and, likewise, that the rat is the preferred model to study
complex behaviour: rats perform experimental tasks more willingly and demonstrate a
range of behaviours that are perceived to be more ‘akin’ to human behaviour. Rats also
have larger brains, which mean surgical modifications such as inserting therapeutic
grafts are easier to perform. She uses the term ‘flexibilities’ to describe how each animal
(even those animals from the same order of species) and therefore each model has its
advantages and disadvantages.
782 Sociology 47(4)

A colleague elaborates further on the relationships between mouse and rat.

Corroborating the previous two extracts, she explains that mice are ‘easier’ to manipulate
at a molecular level. She goes further, however, explaining that although this delicacy
and intricacy is valued within molecular biology, these same ‘traits’ mean that they are
not always robust enough for behavioural experimentation, particularly in comparison to
the more gregarious rat.

Mice were generated first because it’s easier to generate a [transgenic] model in a mouse … But
mice are not as easy to test with because they’re a bit temperamental and they have a habit of
just dying … Rats are a bit more robust. I’m a bit mouseist because I’m allergic to them, but
rats are just generally more robust animals and they have less tendency to being nervous about
being handled and less tendency to just keel over and die. (Dr Dunbar, Cell-lab)

Dr Dunbar aligns herself with rats, claiming that they are more sturdy and comfortable
around humans than mice. Nevertheless, she recognises the history of the mouse-model
and it is clear that the laboratory uses both animals. Therefore when it comes to calibrat-
ing the choice of animal to the human disease, different scientific groups value different
animals. Species alignment is based on local preferences.
A particular species may become associated with a disease, or a specific feature of
that disease. For example, it would appear that the transgenic mouse has a closer genetic
affinity to human HD, while the rat with a lesion provides a better imitation of human
HD behaviour. The global choice of species used to stand in place for the human (meta-
phorical relations) therefore has to be matched with local laboratory expertise. Scientists
endeavour to calibrate particular features of the animal against different features of the
medical condition (metonymic relations).
There are, of course, other practical reasons for using rats as models over and above
any behavioural equivalence to humans. Although significantly larger than the mouse,
the rat is still a smaller and cheaper option compared to other mammalian candidates.
Larger mammals tend to live longer and, as such, might mirror the human lifecourse or
disease trajectory more faithfully. However, smaller mammals with a shorter life-cycle
such as the rat are considered to be more in harmony with the temporal rhythms of
experimentation and research, an exemplar of how models are situated in particular
worlds and judged through different lenses and temporal frames. Therefore what makes
a model good-enough depends on which attributes are prioritised and valued, and by
whom. In terms of biological resemblance it might be argued that a primate would be a
better model, but in terms of experimental practicalities (which include regulatory barri-
ers, methods, resources and infrastructures) the rat may be considered to be a better
option, as the following quote indicates:

You’ve got to look at the whole disease and then you’ve also got to look at how we can represent
that disease to perhaps try to find strategies to alter the disease progress. In terms of what’s
available for testing for example, arguably, a primate would be much better … to use to model
human disease. But, of course, primates are very expensive, you can’t use many of them, there’s
lots of legal implications, there’s lots of social implications … so we have to find other models
and so we use the rat. Rats are very cheap, you can produce lots of them, they’re in common
use. Socially there’s less of a problem than with primates. (Dr Grant, Cell-lab)
Lewis et al. 783

The claim from Dr Grant is not that the mouse and rat are [necessarily] the best candi-
dates for biological imitation, but that any decision is also bound up in ethical, social,
cultural and institutional judgments. The choice of mouse or rat may reflect their avail-
ability just as much as any special suitability. To state that ‘there we are, so we have to
find other models and so we use rat’ is to suggest that rodents are good-enough because
they are made to be.

Models for Particular Purposes

As we have already suggested, rodents need to be aligned, or calibrated, with the selected
features of the human medical condition. In the case of HD there is no single rodent
model but a proliferation of models within models, each representing a smaller or a
larger array of symptoms. Models can be matched to a particular feature of a disease or
biological pathway. In Professor Stephens’ work examining the effectiveness of inserting
therapeutic grafts into the brains of rats, the rat with a surgical lesion provides a stable
model adapted to experimental requirements.

If you have more models and if you understand fully the complexities of those models then
it gives you more options as to match the therapeutics up to that model. That’s the big
advantage. For example lesion-models are probably not very good for therapeutics but
they’re ideal for testing very quickly whether your grafts are going to work rather than
waiting for an animal to get to two years old before you sacrifice it and see whether your
grafts have survived or not, which is an issue that we have. (Professor Stephens,
Cell-lab)

Rather than having to keep models alive for extended periods, with all the associated
staff and resources costs, the lesion-rat model provides reliable and speedy results.
The global choices of which animal to use are, however, influenced heavily by local
practices, local traditions and local expertise. The following example describes the
close alignment of Cell-lab with the mouse-model. The team has been using mice-
models for a long time, and they exude a sense of comfort with this locally understood
model.

The mouse-model has been around for a long time and so people just use what’s available. The
rat-model is quite new and certainly new to our group. We’ve had it for three years now … I
mean each model has got its own characteristics. Like for example one model will have lots of
histology and others will have lots of behavioural problems. So, if you want to test, if you want
to do lots of histology we’ll do one model, if you want to do lots of behavioural stuff you would
try another model. (Mr Edwards, Cell-lab)

The good-enough animal is therefore the most practical animal: the one that is available,
known and understood by experts within the particular laboratory. The practical reality is
that at the bench there is not an abundance of models to choose from, and researchers are
often guided but sometimes constrained3 by the historical and institutional tendencies of
their laboratory.
784 Sociology 47(4)

Anthropomorphising and Evidential Visibility

As described, the model animal is calibrated against the target phenomenon. In other
words, scientists are always faced with the issue of how good a fit the model is. In
research on human medical conditions, this depends on adjudicating how well the animal
model replicates the desired human characteristics. Here, we see a process of anthropo-
morphising taking place.

You can train them very well. They have paws which when you look closely at them, they’re
not too dissimilar to hands you know? (Dr Grant, Cell-lab)

This relationship and equivalence between paw and hand is used to demonstrate the
jerky, uncontrollable movements associated with HD. The same process of equivalence
can be demonstrated in mouse-models of Rett Syndrome (RTT); a severe neurodevelop-
mental disorder causing profound intellectual and physical disability, particularly in
females. Linked with mutations in the MeCP2 gene (Amir et al., 1999), a range of
mouse-models of RTT have been built without functional MeCP2 (Chen et al., 2001;
Guy et al., 2001; Pelka et al., 2006; Shahbazian et al., 2002). The MeCP2-deficient mice
typically have a stunted body and small brain, develop tremors, and suffer from hind
limb clasping, and irregular breathing, usually dying 6–12 weeks after birth (Chen et al.,
2001; Guy et al., 2001). Phenotypically, it is described as having similar features to chil-
dren with RTT and therefore demonstration of the mouse-model is central to many con-
ference papers delivered on the subject.
A particularly strident version of this relationship was given by one of the leading sci-
entists in the field who had created one of the first and most widely used mouse-models.
During her paper, she pronounced that the phenotypic presentation of her mouse-model
and the human ‘are the same’. To demonstrate this point she played a video of a tiny mouse
in a cage; its whole body shaking uncontrollably. She described the mouse as displaying
some of the key features of RTT in a child; the ‘paw clasping’ represented hand stereotyp-
ies (repetitive, purposeless actions) and the uncontrollable shaking a sign of epilepsy:

The mouse and human phenotypes are the same, they are normal at 2–3 months, then they
display fore paw clasping, and bite when handled and they can be more severe and have
seizures. (Fieldnotes)

However, what constitutes the key clinical features of RTT appears to be modified in this
context. Whilst ‘hand stereotypies’ is a central clinical feature of the syndrome, breathing
irregularities, epilepsy or EEG abnormalities are supportive features and are not central
to a diagnosis of classic RTT (Rett Syndrome Diagnostic Criteria Working Group, 1988).
In the mouse-model described above, however, the pronounced physical features dis-
played become the syndrome. The mouse’s paw clasping and uncontrollable shaking is
said to reveal the inner molecular change and the key physical signs of the syndrome:

Why Retts? Well we have mice, it has symptoms which can be expressed in the mouse e.g.
seizures, abnormal gait, breathing. So not only at a cellular level in the brain but also
physically – seizures, altered gait – it’s got the phenotype as well. (Fieldnotes)
Lewis et al. 785

Furthermore, returning to the example of the HD mouse, the relationship between rodent-
paw and human-hand changes in the context of touch. Contrary to the close association
made between paw and hand, in an earlier discussion, a research technician at Cell-lab
explained the function of the rat’s tongue is to feel and touch, doing some of the jobs of
human hands.

Rats can feel and touch and search for food with their tongues. They have remarkably sensitive
tongues. (Fieldnotes)

It would therefore appear that the anthropomorphising of human traits can be selec-
tive depending on what scientists want to see, with some features selected whilst oth-
ers are ignored. Nevertheless, a model appears to be deemed good-enough when it
provides evidential visibility of a condition or disorder. As Mr Edwards states, the
model needs to ‘mirror’ the human disease within a particular social world to become
good-enough.

Unless it mirrors human disease then your strategies [for] checking it aren’t very good. I mean
that’s from a behavioural point of view, you may look at the histology and if the histology
mirrors human disease you may want to use strategies to alter the histology. But, from my point
of view my projects are primarily behavioural. So it becomes good-enough when the rat starts
looking like somebody with Huntington’s. (Mr Edwards, Cell-lab)

Fundamentally, biomedical scientists need to decide how faithfully the mouse repli-
cates standard features found in the human, and these can occur on multiple levels:

Well you have to look at your model on different levels. You have to look at whether it
mimics the pathology of the disease, whether it mimics the behavioural and the cognitive
aspects of the disease and whether when you try and treat it, it reduces the deficits that you
had before. If it produces the right deficits … if it has the correct pathology and all that kind
of thing and they all add in together, then you say ‘oh, that’s a good model’. (Ms Whaling,
Cell-lab)

As is explained in the extract, the model needs to be considered from various levels,
which includes its vertical (metaphorically) and horizontal (metonymic) dimensions.
Taken together the model is therefore made to work through evidential visibility.

Making the Model Work: Creating Real-life Scenarios

In the laboratory, animals are also linked to the human by connecting the ways in which
the model responds to stimuli and the ways in which the disease responds to experimen-
tal interventions. Returning to the field of HD, the quote below captures how lesion-rats
mirror some phenotypic aspects of the human disease. It suggests experimental findings
indicate that ‘stimulated’ rats have better functional recovery than those which have little
or no stimulation, and likens this to the work of a physiotherapist treating and ‘stimulat-
ing’ patients with HD. In making this connection, the translation from the impact of
stimuli on models to clinical interventions is forcefully made:
786 Sociology 47(4)

One of the post-docs here, who recently left, did a lot of work on environmental enrichment …
He basically put … one set of rats into a cage where they didn’t have much stimulation and a
set of rats where there are lots of things to play with, you see that there’s sort of best functional
recovery in the ones where they’re sort of stimulated. That could be translated to the real world,
like for example a physio could have some intervention where she’s sort of stimulating patients.
So you sort of see parallels there. (Dr Harris, Cell-lab)

Here the laboratory and the clinic are drawn closer together as behavioural scientists
endeavour to replicate clinical interventions. On occasions, equivalence is therefore not
just found in the bio-objects created in the laboratory but also in the surrounding milieu,
since in targeted experiments the good-enough model also includes an adjustment of the
animal’s surroundings.
As described above, the use of a model depends on practical judgments about which
features of the disease can be expressed and manipulated in the model and which aspects
can be left out. It also depends on the practical work of simply making the experiment
work (cf. Fujimura, 1988). This is always about practical local decision-making on the
part of the scientists. Personal choices, local compromises and imperfections are there-
fore necessary trade-offs when choosing which models to work with. As Dr Grant sug-
gests, research communities have to make do with the best model or good-enough model
currently available. As an example, he compares the use of pigs, which are said to more
closely resemble the human in size, physiology and anatomy, with rats and mice:

If you want to take pigs to human disease you’ve got to test your strategies. What sounds like a
really good idea initially doesn’t turn out to be. So the advantage of using the rat is, as we said
really, [they are] cheap to use and [there’s] lots of them. And they work quite well … It is just
an indicator that the models [we have], perhaps, don’t represent the human disease as well as
you would want. But, you know it’s the best that we’ve got really. (Dr Grant, Cell-lab)

Dr Grant explains how the HD model does not represent the disease as well as he would
like. Consequently, scientists continue to model different features of HD, suggesting
there is unlikely to be a perfect model. It is therefore clear that it is not just the fidelity of
the mouse in representing the human ‘in general’ that is at issue (the metaphorical rela-
tionship) but also the extent to which the simulation of ‘the disease’ or symptom is a
good-enough one (metonymic relationship).
The training of rodents by laboratory technicians to perform behavioural tasks for
experimental research is paramount to this process. In addition to the practical problems
of description and measurement already discussed, deviant cases and outliers must also
be managed. The removal of outliers can be troublesome for technicians and scientists.
For example, at what point should they remove what they consider to be an under- or
over-performing mouse from an experiment? Furthermore, to what extent can the under/
over performance be explained by the manipulation of the gene (the disease) or by an
uncooperative animal? Here the rodent is reintroduced into the situation as an animal as
well as some abstraction of a disease.

How are they trained? Actually they’re quite good in that they do learn very quickly. For a
situation such as the balance beam where it’s on a slope, you put them at the bottom of the
Lewis et al. 787

slope, it seems mice naturally go upwards. So they’ll just turn round and they’ll walk
upwards and then, to encourage them, you put a cage mate at the top so they’ve got something
to go to … Rotor rod you just do – gradually build up the speed. They get it very quickly.
Whereas water maze, I don’t actually teach them to swim but you kind of dip them in the
water … You sit them on a platform which is out of the water and with a big flag on it and
you kind of dip them at the side of the platform so they go straight to the platform because
they see the flag. You just encourage them to swim further and further away very slowly, and
if they do panic, take them out, give them a bit of a dry and then try again, slowly. (Ms
Johnson, Cell-lab)

To model is also to control and make uniform. There is, however, a long-standing ten-
sion between the desire to mechanise and standardise and the individual specificities of
animal care. Standardisation is an attempt to remove local variations from modern sci-
ence (Birke et al., 2007). Nevertheless, during the pilot stage of each test, local decisions
are made on the aptitude and ability of particular animals to perform the tasks; if classi-
fied as unfit, animals may be rested from an experimental practice or taken out of the
study altogether.

If I started testing a mouse in water maze and it wasn’t doing very well compared to what it
normally does, I may stop it after four trials in that day’s data, feed it up and then start it again
the next day. So I guess, in the end, I’ll probably just delete all the mouse’s data because it
obviously wasn’t right in the first place or things like that. But I don’t think I’ve ever been in a
situation where I’ve actually needed to do that really, just like a couple of times. You obviously
get the odd mouse that’s died during the evening or something … I don’t think it ever really
makes a difference to the results. I’ve never known a mouse that’s freaked out enough to not
give good results, if that makes sense. (Ms Johnson, Cell-lab)

Although uncommon, animals that cannot produce ‘good data’ despite ‘encouragement’
are removed from study samples. As a research technician explains, if the animals are not
able to perform prior to the intervention they are not put through surgery and do not
become a disease model.

Either you try and encourage them a bit to do the tests or if they really won’t do anything you
just have to leave them out at the end of the day. What you normally do is test them prior to
having a lesion. If they won’t do anything then you leave them out at that stage and you don’t
put them through the surgery and that kind of thing. (Ms Johnson, Cell-lab)

Nevertheless, this does not completely solve the problem of whether a poor experimental
performance by a rodent following the insertion of a lesion is the result of the surgical
intervention or simply an ‘off’ day for the rodent.
To establish the continuity of experimentation it is therefore essential to have a stock
of mice with the same genetic pattern. However, successive breeding can cause deterio-
ration in the familial line, with progressive litters of mice becoming ‘sicker and sicker’.
The result is that the stock of mice may be too sick or die before an experiment can be
run. A post-doc at TransLab explains the difficult balance between having a stock of
mice with the ‘correct’ amount of features that approximate disease, and being able to
run a successful experiment:
788 Sociology 47(4)

Experiment-wise my main restriction is my animals. You know about my sick animals, that we
have our knock-down mice that are very small and have no hair, and they die very quickly. So
my work is kind of restricted as to how many of them are alive at the time of the experiment, or
I have to plan my weeks around when they are born and when they will be used … So that’s a
big influence … They were too young last week [to carry out the experiment], they would be
ideal this week but they’re dead. We never used to lose them this early, we were losing them at
just before four weeks, but now they are dying at three weeks and they’re not back crossed any
more. (Dr Harold, TransLab)

Here we have an example of how scientists need to construct a good-enough, robust

model. There is a danger in going too far: although increased molecular manipulation
may be a closer representation of the disease, the mice can become too sick to function
as a working model.
A workable model does not, therefore, retain all potentially relevant features. Although
visual evidence can be matched in the model organisms, other aspects do not necessarily
correspond. Induced disease in rodents, for instance, may not retain the developmental
nature of medical conditions in humans:

I suppose the only downside of some of the models we use is quite often we use them, start off
with a healthy animal and we give it a lesion and then it immediately becomes unhealthy,
immediately has a disease, whereas it generally progresses in humans and patients. (Ms
Whaling, Cell-lab)

When modelling neurodegenerative disorders, there is limited success in replicating the

degenerative nature of human disease or how the diseased human interacts with their
social environment. The dependence on experimentation means that the environment
and temporal development may be stripped out.
Finally, the adequacy of a disease model depends on the description of the disease.
It is not just the animal that is the model – it is also the disease category, which is itself
an ideal-type. Researchers therefore need to determine what counts as the essential
features of the disease itself. The process of calibration therefore is not a one-way pro-
cess. In order to generate adequate, standardised models, the human medical condition
itself requires calibration. If the model is intended to replicate the disease, then the
disease itself also requires standardisation. This is from Cell-lab:

Professor Endacott presents a split slideshow. On the left are some rodent behavioural tests
being performed in the laboratory. While on the right of the screen are HD patients performing
similar tests in the clinic. He explains how the behavioural tests performed in the laboratory
have influenced the behavioural tests in the clinic. (Fieldnotes)

The switch from human HD to rodent HD is apparently as smooth as the switch between
rodent HD and human HD. The same is true for RTT: the representativeness of the
mouse-models used within this field was never called into question at conferences and it
was common for speakers to seamlessly alternate between the description of their mouse-
models and the child with RTT. An example is given below where throughout her pres-
entation, a Japanese clinical expert described by a delegate as ‘the Japanese Rett queen’
switched fluidly between the animal and child. She repeatedly emphasised that the
Lewis et al. 789

knock-out mice she used had clinical and behavioural features of the syndrome that were
‘similar to the girls’; the mouse ‘replicates’ the syndrome.

‘We are looking at the hippocampus and neuron developments in the brain of mecp2-null
mice’. She describes the clinical features of the mice without MECP2 as displaying key clinical
features to girls with the syndrome ‘these mice are similar to the girls, at 3–5 weeks they are
pre-symptomatic, at 6–9 weeks they are symptomatic, clasping, ataxia, seizure like behavior.
So the mecp2 mouse behaviorally replicates the delayed onset and symptoms observed in
human patients’. (Fieldnotes)

The reflexive relationship between rodent and human therefore not only redefines the
disease, it can also become the disease.

Discussion
The problem for all modellers is equivalent to the phenomenon of experimental regress
(Collins, 1985). We cannot know if an experiment is appropriately designed and con-
ducted until it yields ‘the right’ results; yet we simultaneously use those experiments to
derive the results in the first place. In the same way, scientists cannot know how good a
model is until it predicts the ‘right’ outcome, but cannot know the right outcome in the
absence of accurate models. Like all problems of regress (Collins, 1985; Stephens et al.,
2012), it reflects the fact that in practice there cannot be a gold-standard that is independ-
ent of the procedures used to make observations, measurements, predictions or estimates.
Consequently, when we turn to the use of animal models in medical research, we encoun-
ter precisely the same issues. Scientists are confronted with making decisions concerning
the adequacy of the model itself, the interpretation of their results, and their extrapolation
to the target medical condition.
In practice, regress is not a matter of anxiety or uncertainty on the part of scientists.
Practical scientific work rests on the good-enough principle. Animal models do not have to
be perfect. They are selected because they furnish more-or-less adequate representations of
certain key features. Judgments of adequacy depend on disciplinary preferences and local
cultures, as well as the specific research problem at hand. Therefore, if animal models are
pervasive in contemporary biomedical research, so too are the judgments that inform their
choice and use. We have stressed how the choice of animal species reflects both practical
and representational issues. Mice and rats provide complementary experimental opportu-
nities, as well as furnishing different practical affordances. But their relevance for the spe-
cific medical conditions under investigation is not a given. It rests on further processes of
judgment and practical action in the laboratory. The scientists need to adjudicate whether
and how the lab-animal adequately represents specific features of the target disease in
humans, and therefore whether the model is good-enough for all practical purposes. As we
have also shown, this is not a simple, one-way process. The key features of the disease
itself have to be aligned with symptomatic and behavioural features of the rodent model.

Funding
The support of the ESRC is gratefully acknowledged. This work is part of the research programme
of the ESRC Genomics Network at Cesagen.
790 Sociology 47(4)

Notes
1. Calibration is a type of comparison between measurements, one of known correctness and
another made in as similar a way as possible to the first.
2. All scientists’ names are pseudonyms.
3. Bench scientists could be said to be bannistered (both guided and constrained) by the tradi-
tional preferences of their laboratory.

References
Agamben G (2004) The Open: Man and Animal. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Amir RE, Van den Veyver IB, Wan M, Tran CQ, Francke U and Zoghbi HY (1999) Rett
Syndrome is caused by mutations in X-linked MECP2, encoding Methyl-CpG-binding pro-
tein 2. Nature Genetics 23: 185–8.
Birke L, Arluke A and Michael M (2007) The Sacrifice: How Scientific Experiments Transform
Animals and People. West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press.
Borges JL (1988) Collected Fictions. (trans. A Hurley) New York: Penguin.
Brown N and Michael M (2001) Switching between science and culture in transpecies transplantation.
Science, Technology and Human Values 26(1): 3–22.
Brown N and Michael M (2004) Risky creatures: Institutional species boundary change in biotech-
nology regulation. Health, Risk and Society 6: 207–22.
Chen RZ, Akbarian S, Tudor M and Jaenisch M (2001) Deficiency of Methyl-CpG-Binding protein-2
in CNS neurons results in a Rett-like phenotype in mice. Nature Genetics 27: 327–31.
Collins HM (1985) Changing Order: Replication and Induction in Scientific Practice. London:
Sage.
Clause BT (1993) The Wistar Rat as a right choice: Establishing mammalian standards and the
ideal of a standardized mammal. Journal of the History of Biology 26: 329–49.
Daston L and Mitman B (2005) Thinking with Animals: New Perspectives on Anthropomorphism.
New York: Columbia University Press.
Davis JA, Naruse S, Chen H et al. (1998) An Alzheimer’s disease-linked PS1 variant rescues the
development abnormalities of PS1-deficient embryos. Neuron 20(3): 603–9.
Delamont S, Atkinson P and Parry O (2000) The Doctoral Experience. London: Falmer Press.
Endersby J (2007) A Guinea Pig’s History of Biology: The Plants and Animals who Taught us the
Facts of Life. London: William Heinemann.
Featherstone K and Atkinson P (2011) Creating Conditions: The Making and Remaking of a
Genetic Condition. London: Routledge.
Fox-Keller E (2000) Models of and models for: Theory and practice in contemporary biology.
Philosophy of Science 67(Supplement): S72–S86.
French RD (1975) Antivivisection and Medical Science in Victorian Society. London: Princeton
University Press.
Friese C and Clarke A (2012) Transposing bodies of knowledge and technique: Animal models at
work in reproductive science. Social Studies of Science 42(1): 31–52.
Fujimura J (1988) The molecular biological bandwagon in cancer research: Where social worlds
meet. Social Problems 35: 261–83.
Garfinkel H and Sacks H (1970) The formal properties of practical action. In: McKinney JC and
Tiryakian EA (eds) Theoretical Sociology. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 338-66.
Guy J, Hendrich B, Holmes M, Martin JE and Bird A (2001) A mouse Mecp2-null mutation causes
neurological symptoms that mimic Rett Syndrome. Nature Genetics 27: 322–6.
Haraway D (1997) Modest_Witness@Second Millenium: Female Man_Meets_OncoMouse. London:
Routledge.
Lewis et al. 791

Harrington J and Stephens N (2010) A social science view on the FRAME symposium: Identities
and networks. ATLA: Alternatives to Laboratory Animals 38(Supplement): 101–4.
Holmberg T and Ideland M (2009) Transgenic silences: The rhetoric of comparisons and trans-
genic mice as ordinary treasures. BioSocieties 4: 165–81.
Holmberg T and Ideland M (2012) Challenging bio-objectification: Adding noise to transgenic
silences. In: Vermeulen N, Tamminen S and Webster A (eds) Bio-Objects: Life in the 21st
Century. Farnham: Ashgate.
Knight A (2011) The Cost and Benefits of Animal Experimentation. Basingstoke: Palgrave
Macmillan.
Kohler R (1994) Lords of the Fly: Drosophila Genetics and the Experimental Life. Chicago, IL:
University of Chicago Press.
Lewis J and Atkinson P (2011) The surveillance of cellular scientists’ practice. BioSocieties 6(4):
381–400.
Lévi-Strauss C (1963) Totemism. (trans. R Needham) London: Merlin Press.
Lynch M (1988) Sacrifice and the transformation of the animal body into a scientific object:
Laboratory culture and ritual practice in the neurosciences. Social Studies of Science 18(2):
265–89.
Michael M (2001) Technoscientific bespoking: Animals, publics and the new genetics. New
Genetics and Society 20(3): 205–24.
Mulkay MJ and Gilbert N (1984) Opening Pandora’s Box: A Sociological Analysis of Scientists’
Discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Paton W (1984) Man and Mouse: Animals in Medical Research. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Pelka GJ, Watson CM, Radziewic T et al. (2006) Mecp2 deficiency is associated with learning and
cognitive deficits and altered gene activity in the hippocampal region of mice. Brain 129(4):
887–98.
Radar K (1998) ‘The mouse people’: Murine genetics work at the Bussey Institution, 1909–1936.
Journal of the History of Biology 31: 327–54.
Radar K (2004) Making Mice: Standardizing Animals for American Biomedical Research, 1900–1955.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Rett Syndrome Diagnostic Criteria Working Group (1988) Diagnostic criteria for Rett Syndrome.
Annals of Neurology 23: 425–8.
Ritvo H (1987) The Animal Estate. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Schütz A (1967) The Phenomenology of the Social World. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University
Press.
Shahbazian M, Young J, Yuva-Paylor L et al. (2002) Mice with truncated MeCP2 recapitulate
many Rett Syndrome features and display hyperacetylation of histone H3. Neuron 35(2):
243–54.
Shapiro K (2002) A rodent for your thoughts: The social construction of animal models. In: Hen-
ninger-Voss M (ed.) Animals in Human Histories. Rochester, MI: University of Rochester
Press, 439–69.
Star SL (1983) Simplification in scientific work: An example from neuroscience research. Social
Studies of Science 13: 205–28.
Star SL and Griesemer JR (1989) Institutional ecology, translations and boundary objects:
Amateurs and professionals in Berkeley’s Museum of Vertebrate Zoology 1907–39. Social
Studies of Science 19: 387–420.
Stephens N, Lewis J and Atkinson P (2012) Closing the regulatory regress: GMP accreditation in
stem cell laboratories. Sociology of Health and Illness. Available at: http://onlinelibrary.wiley.
com/doi/10.1111/j.1467-9566.2012.01482.x/abstract (accessed 02 October 2012).
Vermeulen N, Tamminen S and Webster A (eds) (2012) Bio-objects: Life in the 21st Century.
Farnham: Ashgate.
792 Sociology 47(4)

Wanga Y, Lui W, Wada E, Murata M, Wada K and Kanazawa I (2005) Clinico-pathological rescue
of a model mouse of Huntington’s disease by siRNA. Neuroscience Research 53(3): 241–9.
Winnicott D (1953) Transitional objects and transitional phenomena. International Journal of
Psychoanalysis 34: 89–97.

Jamie Lewis is a Research Associate within the MRC Centre for Neuropsychiatric
Genetics and Genomics at Cardiff University. He is a Science and Technology Studies
(STS) scholar with interests in animal modelling, regulation of stem cell research, bioin-
formatics and public engagement. He is one of the co-founders of Cardiff sciSCREEN
and the Translation: From Bench to Brain public engagement arts collaboration. His
most recent article was ‘The surveillance of cellular scientists’ practice’ (co-authored
with Paul Atkinson; BioSocieties, 2011).

Paul Atkinson is Distinguished Research Professor of Sociology at Cardiff University.

He is an Academician of the Academy of Social Sciences. He was one of the editors of
the Routledge Handbook of Genetics and Society and alongside Sara Delamont is one of
the founding editors of the Sage journal, Qualitative Research. His recent publications
include Everyday Arias: An Operatic Ethnography, and Creating Conditions: The
Making and Remaking of a Genetic Syndrome (co-authored with Katie Featherstone;
Routledge, 2011).

Jean Harrington is an Associate Research Fellow at Egenis, the ESRC Centre for
Genomics in Society, University of Exeter. Following a working background within the
pharmaceutical industry and private education she moved into the academic discipline of
sociology, focusing on the translation of stem cell knowledge, concepts and techniques
into novel medical application. Along with her continued work on Translation, her cur-
rent interests lie in the concept of the animal model in medical research and the inter-
twining of the biological and cultural, including the political and regulatory spheres.

Katie Featherstone is a Senior Lecturer and Director of Postgraduate Studies in the School
of Nursing and Midwifery Studies at Cardiff University. Her expertise is in the sociology
of biomedical knowledge, with particular emphasis on the social consequences of genetic
technologies. She has produced a body of work examining kinship and disclosure in the
context of genetic risk information; the classification of genetic syndromes and their
social consequences; and the diagnosis and classification of medical entities. The recur-
rent theme of this work is the production and translation of biomedical knowledge and the
interaction between the laboratory, the clinic, and patients.
Date submitted October 2011
Date accepted May 2012
454350
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512454350SociologyBenson and Jackson

Article

Sociology
47(4) 793­–809
Place-making and Place © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Maintenance: Performativity, sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512454350
Place and Belonging among the soc.sagepub.com

Middle Classes

Michaela Benson
University of York, UK

Emma Jackson
University of Glasgow, UK9201162012

Abstract
This article introduces performativity and processes of place-making into discussions about
middle-class residents’ place attachments. It draws on interviews with middle-class residents
in two different London neighbourhoods, Peckham (inner urban, socially mixed) and West
Horsley and Effingham (commuter belt villages), to argue that (1) the practice of place is key
to understanding middle-class claims to belonging; and (2) ways of ‘doing’ neighbourhood must
be understood within the context of other circulating representations. While respondents in
Peckham work with or against prevailing discourses about their neighbourhood as they perform
place, in the commuter belt, residents strive to uphold the image of their village as the rural idyll,
a classed and racialised vision. The contrast between the inner city and commuter belt reveals the
different performative registers through which place is practised; while in Peckham middle-class
residents invest in processes of place-making, respondents in the commuter belt engage instead
in active processes of place maintenance.

Keywords
belonging, middle classes, performativity, place and space, residential practices

Introduction
This article compares how middle-class residents relate to and practise place in two London
neighbourhoods: an inner city, socially mixed, gentrifying neighbourhood and an exurban

Corresponding author:
Michaela Benson, Department of Sociology, University of York, Heslington, York YO10 5DD, UK.
Email: michaela.benson@york.ac.uk
794 Sociology 47(4)

setting, two proximate villages in the commuter belt. These neighbourhoods are different in
terms of their attractions and amenities, their socio-demographic make-up, their reputations
in the public imagination, and their histories of middle-class settlement.
Through these two case studies, we illustrate the value of incorporating performativity
and a focus on the ‘doing’ of place into discussions of belonging, accounting for the
various ways in which middle-class residents constitute neighbourhood and claim
moral ownership over their places of residence (e.g. Savage, 2010; Savage et al., 2005;
Watt, 2009). By focusing on the concept of place-making as a set of discursive prac-
tices, we argue for an analysis of the relationship between middle-class residents and
place that recognises that neighbourhoods are shaped not only through imaginings, but
also through practice and the ongoing processes through which class and place intersect.
In this rendering, place-making may also be generative of subjectivities; the repetitive
actions directed at making places of residence simultaneously reconstruct classed
identities. The comparison of processes of ‘doing’ place across the rural/urban divide
allows for nuanced insights into the complexities of the way that the middle classes
practise place. Moreover, in these two contrasting examples we can see how place is
not just adopted by the middle classes but actively made and maintained. People do not
merely select a place to live that matches their habitus; rather places are made through
repeated everyday actions and interventions that work on both the neighbourhood and
the individual.

Setting the Scene

The research presented here is part of the comparative research project ‘The Middle
Classes in the City: Social Mix or just “People Like Us”? A Comparison of Paris and
London’. The study examines the middle-class residents living in five different types of
neighbourhood across each of these cities – gentrified, gentrifying, gated community,
suburban and exurban. In particular, the project asks how the middle classes relate to
their place of residence and to the other people living within it, focusing on the extent to
which considerations of social mix or the recognition of ‘people like us’ (Butler with
Robson, 2003) influence residential choice.
In total, we conducted 171 interviews with middle-class residents in London, spread
equally across the five neighbourhoods.1 These were complemented with five interviews
with key individuals (these included councillors, local business owners, heads of local
associations) in each neighbourhood. Walking tours of each neighbourhood led us to
select down to the level of particular streets. We then mailed letters calling for participation
to all addresses in those streets. Respondents were, therefore in part, self-selecting, con-
tacting us if they wanted to take part. Nevertheless, we managed to get a good mix of
respondents in terms of gender and age, although this cannot be taken to be representative.
Interviews were semi-structured, incorporating themes such as residential choices and
trajectories, social relations, use of public services and local amenities, political engage-
ments, and relationship to place. We used an inductive process to design a coding struc-
ture, deriving our categories from the data. We tested these against the French data and
refined these categories further. In this manner, codes reflected the themes emerging
from the interviews across the whole project. Although we used NVivo software to organise
Benson and Jackson 795

data thematically, the process of analysis has involved moving between these NVivo
‘nodes’ and full transcripts to ensure that the richness of transcripts is not lost.
Peckham, part of the London Borough of Southwark, is both socially and ethnically
mixed, shaped over the years by a combination of changing economic fortunes and
waves of immigration. Within Peckham, we focused on a socially mixed, gentrifying
neighbourhood, an area that lies between Rye Lane and Bellenden Road. This area has
undergone significant change over the past 10 years, notably through interventions by
Southwark Council to ‘improve’ the area; for example, the Bellenden Renewal Scheme,
which included grants to households to improve the exteriors of their properties and the
commissioning of new street furniture from some of its local resident artists (notably but
not solely Antony Gormley). Interviews with middle-class residents highlighted that
relative affordability, proximity and transport connections to central London were the
main attractions of the area.
West Horsley and Effingham, villages in the commuter belt, are located outside the
M25, between Guildford and Leatherhead, and are within easy reach of train stations,
which offer a regular service into London Waterloo (45–50 minutes). Once farming com-
munities, in these villages today there are low levels of social housing and very little
affordable housing. The villages are now home to majority middle-class, professional
populations, attracted to the rural surroundings and good transportation links. The con-
trast with Peckham reflects the racialised and classed spatial division between the rural
and the urban in Britain (see Tyler, 2003).
The selected statistics presented in Table 1 show some of the differences and similarities
between the populations of these neighbourhoods. The difference in ethnic composition
and tenure is particular marked; Peckham is much more ethnically diverse and has higher
levels of both social housing tenants and renters in the private sector. However, our sample
of middle-class residents in Peckham was predominantly white British and European,
with only two Black and Minority Ethnic (BME) interviewees, women from Vietnam
and St Lucia. Equally, in West Horsley and Effingham the sample was exclusively white,
bar one respondent who identified as Anglo-Indian. In terms of middle-class occupations,
the occupational groupings (NS-SeC) demonstrate that Peckham has a similar percentage of
people employed in NS-SeC 2 to our exurban locations but Peckham has a slightly lower
percentage of people employed in NS-SeC 1.

From Insiders and Outsiders to Doing and Performing

Place
Residential practices are a key feature of identification, instilling a sense of belonging
that may translate into how individuals define their position within the social structure
(Butler with Robson, 2003; Savage et al., 2005). In this respect, it is critical to understand
the role of place in shaping and responding to the classed subjectivities of residents.
The literature on people’s attachments to their place of residence – broadly encapsulated
in the term ‘belonging’ (e.g. Cohen, 1982; Pahl, 1965, 1966; Savage et al., 2005) – draws
attention to the different relationships that people may have to place depending on their
biographies and preconceptions, with middle-class residents claiming moral ownership over
place through their (relative) symbolic power. We argue that such conceptualisations of
796 Sociology 47(4)

Table 1.  Comparing neighbourhoods in terms of ethnic group, tenure and NS-SeC
classifications2.

Neighbourhood Peckham West Horsley Effingham

Super output area Southwark Guildford Guildford
025C 0003A 0003G
Ethnic group (KS06) White: British 58.5% 93.9% 94.2%
  White: Irish 4.0% 0.5% 0.9%
  White: Other 5.7% 4.7% 2.8%
  Black or Black British: Caribbean 12.0% 0.3% 0.2%
  Black or Black British: African 6.9% 0.3% 0.2%
  Black or Black British: Other Black 2.9% 0.1% 0.2%
Tenure (KS18) Owner occupation 47.5% 83.6% 86.3%
  Households in rented 52.5% 16.4% 13.7%
accommodation
NS-SeC (KS14A) All people aged 16–74 1138 889 885
  Population (16–74) in NS-SeC 1 11.9% 18.1% 15.6%
(Large employers, higher managerial
occupations, and higher professional
occupations)
  Population (16–74) in NS-SeC 2 26.5% 25.3% 26.4%
(Lower professional and higher
technical occupations)
  Population (16–74) long-term 2.7% 0.4% 0.3%
unemployed

belonging do not recognise (1) how symbolic power is claimed in a neighbourhood through
spatial practices; (2) the dynamics and nuances of people’s relationships to place; or (3) that
place is dynamic and performative.
People’s attachment to their neighbourhood – broadly encapsulated in the term
‘belonging’ – is well-trodden territory in the social sciences with a focus on understanding
the different ways that people relate to place. For example, Pahl’s (1965) seminal work
on the commuter belt demonstrated how commuters moved into villages, inspired by the
desire for a quality of life that they imagined existed in more rural settings, the generic
‘village/community in the mind’. These villages then became the sites of contestations
over space, as middle-class incomers came up against the ‘real’ communities of working-class
and agricultural workers, drawn together by their common economic fate, leading to the
large scale replacement or displacement of working-class and farming communities
(Cloke, 2005a, 2005b; Phillips, 1998a, 1998b). While their experiences at times
contradicted these images of rural living, middle-class incomers continued to hold onto
such imaginings, with the result that it shaped how they interpreted their lives there
(Pahl, 1966, 2005, 2008).
More recently Savage et al. (2005) claimed that the distinction between insiders and
outsiders within works such as Pahl’s was outdated in an era of globalisation. Indeed,
Pahl (2008) has more recently stressed that the imagined constitution of communities
should be attributed as equally to the working classes as to the middle classes. Following
Benson and Jackson 797

a Bourdieusian framework, Savage et al. (2005) argue that belonging results from lining
up habitus with a series of different fields within social space. Therefore incomers to an
area are able to claim belonging as a result of their choice to move to an area that holds
functional and symbolic importance for them, and subsequently claim moral ownership
over the place that they live (elective belonging).
While such accounts are valuable in outlining how the middle classes relate to place,
they do not account for the generative dimensions of habitus nor of the different ways in
which fields are manipulated by individuals within them; insufficient attention is given to
the ongoing interplay between people and places, the performative dimensions of belong-
ing and the processes by which particular places become (de)valued. We argue that by
introducing the concept of performativity, place-making can be understood as a discursive
practice in action through which place and classed subjectivities intersect and are shaped.
Paul Watt’s (2009) discussion of selective belonging, whereby middle-class residents
draw boundaries around their neighbourhood in order to disaffiliate from, in their minds,
less desirable areas close by, introduces the idea that middle-class belonging (and hence
subjectivity) is contingent on the degree to which place can be claimed by residents. For
Watt’s respondents, the neighbourhood could not be fully claimed, or the residents fully
electively belong, because of the stigma of the wider area. We stress that there is a need
for further examination of both how such middle-class residents respond to and utilise
circulating representations of place within their claims to belonging and how s/elective
belonging is manifested through the ‘doing’ of neighbourhood.
As we argue, bringing together theories of space as in progress (De Certeau, 1988;
Lefebvre, 1991; Massey, 1994) with the literature on neighbourhood belonging and class
(Savage, 2010; Savage et al., 2005; Watt, 2009) allows for a more nuanced understanding of
how the claiming of moral ownership over place (Savage, 2010) works as an ongoing pro-
cess that may be tied up in the struggle over the definition of place. In other words, choice
alone cannot explain how people’s residential practices translate into a sense of belonging;
there are other factors at play, such as prevailing representations of place, that have to be
negotiated by residents. It is against this background that we argue that place, and our
respondents’ relationships to it, should be understood as performative (Bell, 1999; Butler,
1990) and dynamic (Lefebvre, 1991; Massey, 2006).
Lefebvre’s three categories of spatial production (spatial practice, representations of
space, representational space) can be used to unpick some of the different types of space-
producing processes at work in the two neighbourhoods. While our analysis is not framed
around strict definitions of these three categories, the idea of space as produced through a
range of everyday practices, regulatory processes and imaginings underpins the arguments
laid out in this article. The category of representations of space is particularly useful (‘space
as directly lived through its associated images and symbols … It overlays physical space,
making symbolic use of its objects’ (Lefebvre, 1991: 39)) in explaining how people’s spa-
tial practices are related to circulating images and representations of specific places (e.g.
Peckham) and types of place (e.g. the rural village).
Representations of space are intimately tied to the performative dimensions of resi-
dential practices and belonging. Our understanding of performativity derives from Judith
Butler’s definition, focusing on ‘that reiterative power of discourse to produce the phenomena
that it regulates and constrains’ (1993: 2; see also Butler, 1990). In this respect, repeated
discursive practices enact and reinforce particular understandings of place; it is therefore
798 Sociology 47(4)

through the practice of everyday life that space is remade and place re-inscribed on the
individual (see also Fortier, 2000; Gregson and Rose, 2000; Leach, 2005) Inserting
performativity into discussions of social class, Skeggs argues that class identities are
performative, continually reaffirmed and produced: ‘What we read as objective class divi-
sions are produced and maintained by the middle class in the minutiae of everyday prac-
tice, as judgements of culture are put into effect’ (2004: 118). In this article we extend this
analysis of the production of class to the production and maintenance of particular neigh-
bourhoods by the middle classes. Using performativity in this way helps us to conceptu-
alise how being a Peckham resident or a ‘country person’ is not just a state of mind but
actualised in place and on the person through mundane processes. It is in part through this
‘doing’ that neighbourhoods are created and maintained, and, as Massey argues, constitu-
ent identities are (continually) moulded (2006: 154).
In the remainder of the article we compare the performative register of place-making
in two different types of neighbourhood. While, in Peckham, the middle-class attempt to
appropriate space as their own, in West Horsley and Effingham efforts are directed instead
towards the maintenance of space over which they already have moral ownership. While
our focus here is on the middle classes and their relationship to place, it is conceivable that
similar processes are at work in the way that people from other socio-economic groups
relate to place, albeit within the context of varying degrees of symbolic power.

Peckham: A Contested Place

One boasts the Sacré-Coeur, Salvador Dali, Picasso and Van Gogh. The other has abandoned
car parks and dark echoes of the murder of Damilola Taylor. On the face of it, Paris’s famed
Montmartre and London’s infamous Peckham have very little in common. But all that is about
to change.
The Southwark district will throw off its associations with Del Trotter of TV’s Only Fools and
Horses and relaunch itself as London’s artists’ quarter, the UK’s answer to the French capital’s
right bank. (Simon Tait, 2011, emphasis added)

Peckham is a loaded signifier, a place with a reputation. It carries associations with a

Cockney white working class, as typified by the television programme Only Fools and
Horses and with gang and gun crime, particularly since the murder of Damilola Taylor.3
More recently, media coverage of the area has focused on stories of regeneration and the
emergence of Peckham as a trendy, arty place. This above extract from the Independent
newspaper is typical in drawing on repertoires of (racialised) danger, an emerging cool
art scene and an association with Trotters Independent Traders.
Our respondents’ narrations of Peckham both draw on and counter these circulating
images. Therefore, their accounts have to be understood in conjunction with these repre-
sentations of space and in the context of an area with a reputation, a place which, George,4
who has lived there for over 30 years, stressed, ‘is not naturally middle-class territory’.
Battling against the area’s reputation was central to our respondents’ stories of arrival.
Many described a process of arrival whereby friends and family warned them against
Peckham:
Benson and Jackson 799

I think also because neither of us are Londoners neither of us went ‘huh! Peckham?’ whereas
most people who we told … They were like ‘OH MY GOD! You’re crazy!’ ‘But it’s gorgeous!’
(Lucy)
… when you tell people you’ve moved to Peckham, they’re amazed you’re not bleeding to
death in a corner somewhere. (Daniel)

It was common for interviewees to contradict or laugh off these powerful and negative
associations. While there was some concern over safety, most associate danger with the
estates in North Peckham that they consider as outside of their neighbourhood and as
largely unrelated to them. Various intertwining narratives emerge as our respondents
made sense of their choice to live in Peckham. Navigating their way around what they
believed to be the negative received images of Peckham, they often stressed how it had
improved, drew boundaries around their own (middle-class) neighbourhood within
Peckham (cf. Watt, 2009), and strived to reclaim history, stressing Peckham’s credentials
as a traditionally middle-class area (cf. Blokland, 2009).
In both the following extracts a narrative of progress is invoked and the middle-class
area of the neighbourhood is distinguished from the rest:

Peckham in the past didn’t really used to have a very good reputation, and still not I suppose …
but I suppose where we live we’re like in a bubble, as you know it’s like this little Bellenden
village … so you get this lot of little bubbles in areas that are sometimes perhaps poor and not
very wealthy. (Annette, emphasis added)
When I first came here, it was almost impossible to get a taxi from central London to come back
here, after dark … You know it just had this reputation. […] I never used to say I lived in
Peckham I said Peckham Rye; it sounded more like a nursery rhyme! Doesn’t it, actually when
you think about it, Peckham is something, and Peckham Rye is something else! (Peter, emphasis
added)

The example of black cabs previously being unwilling to come to Peckham is a recurring
story, used as proof of the area becoming less stigmatised over time, but perhaps also as
proof of the area becoming further incorporated into London. Beyond this, the distinc-
tions that both Peter and Annette made between their area and wider Peckham were
illustrative of the way that many interviewees defined their neighbourhood.
It is worth staying with that last quotation in order to probe what the ‘Peckham’ (that
‘is something’) and the Peckham Rye (‘something else’) are being understood as. On the
whole, the (predominantly white) interviewees were keen to stress the value of living in
a diverse neighbourhood. In fact a key element of being ‘people like us’ (Butler with
Robson, 2003) was being able to cope with the diversity of Peckham, while other people
could not. As Daniel, a man in his thirties, explained, ‘You don’t move to Peckham if you
are uncomfortable with living in an area with a large black population.’ For the two BME
respondents, the comfort of living in a diverse area was particularly important. For Dr
Huang, a Vietnamese woman, not standing out as different and the presence of shops that
sold the ingredients for Vietnamese cooking were crucial.
Simultaneously, it was clear that for many of our respondents the shopping street of Rye
Lane in particular roused ambivalent feelings even if, at times, some praised its diversity
800 Sociology 47(4)

and others actively expressed their dislike. Whatever their feelings about Rye Lane, our
respondents referred to it in heavily racialised, rather than classed, terms: as ‘Africa’,
‘Little Lagos’, and ‘Third World’.
In contrast to their representations of Rye Lane, interviewees keenly stressed the
existence of middle-class spaces within Peckham. For example, Lucy said ‘when you
actually delve into what Peckham actually is and particularly this bit of Peckham, the
Bellenden type bit, it’s actually a little bit more like you would see in Dulwich’. The
contrast in how respondents refer to their own immediate neighbourhood and Rye Lane
can be understood as processes of selective belonging (Watt, 2009), where the middle
classes both appropriate the meaning of place and invest in it, while also distancing
themselves from the more stigmatised aspects of the area.
Respondents also laid claim to Peckham as a middle-class place by stressing its
middle-class history, reading the Victorian architecture of the area as a marker of pros-
perity. They seemed to grab hold of Peckham’s middle-class moment in the 19th cen-
tury in order to challenge both the prevailing image of Peckham, but also to lay claim
to how the area should be in the future. For example, one respondent, an architect,
described how, above the surface of the street, one could ascertain the middle-class
heritage of Peckham.

As an architect, we would like to have the Rye Lane … as a conservation area, so that it’s
preserved … if you go there you will see that if you just lift your nose and you’ll see all these
Dutch-influenced buildings, Victorian brickwork, you know fabulous property, and some
should be listed as well … it’s looking like it could become a conservation area, which would
limit developers, and limit owners not to do whatever they want. (John)

As we go on to consider, these re-imaginings of Peckham not only provide another

way of talking about the place that challenges contemporary negative images, but through
being lived reinscribe meaning on place (Leach, 2005), and also provide a basis for con-
certed action.

Place-making in Peckham
The discourses of place outlined above can be tied to actions: Peckham has improved,
therefore we must keep on improving it; our area is distinct and middle class, therefore
we need to support local businesses; and Peckham is naturally a middle-class place,
therefore the grandeur of the past must be reinstated. Such processes are, as Blokland
(2009) argues, selective and can be exclusionary of other residents who do not have the
symbolic power to make their imageries of place dominant.
The relationship of our middle-class respondents in Peckham to their place of resi-
dence is reminiscent of the ‘place-in-the-mind’ identified by Butler with Robson (2003)
among a similar group of people in Brixton, another contested place. However, in the
case of Peckham, middle-class residents also attempt to shape their place of residence
through their place-making activities. If we take ‘Peckham-of-the-mind’ as performative and
actualised in space through the repetition of spatial practices, then we can examine how
‘“belonging” to place can therefore be understood as an act of territorialisation’ (Leach,
2005: 302). The middle classes thus intervene in re-making ‘Peckham’ in various ways,
Benson and Jackson 801

ranging from everyday practices (shopping, renovating a house) to their concerted

efforts to intervene in the future of the area (getting involved in local campaigns).
One respondent, a newspaper journalist, who was keen to use her position to write
about Peckham, positioned herself as writing against the prevailing image of Peckham,
thus intervening in Peckham as a ‘representation of space’ (Lefebvre, 1991):

… anyone who took a risk here in an entrepreneurial way, it would be really nice if it worked
out … I think that we do feel quite protective because we often do get bad press, and its
snobbish press actually … if something new opens we try to review it or get it into the paper.
(Julia)

This idea of supporting the local businesses on Bellenden Road was often presented by
respondents as a way of sustaining their vision of the neighbourhood. It should be said
that the same level of responsibility wasn’t expressed towards the meat, fish or vegetable
shops on Rye Lane; it is a particular middle-class version of the local that is being
supported.
Another way in which respondents intervened in the area was through local campaigns
about changes to the physical landscape. Attempts to reclaim the Victorian grandeur of the
past (see also May, 1996) can be seen in efforts such as the campaign for stripping back
the shops around Peckham Rye station to reveal the original Victorian building. As they
attempt to reconstruct Peckham to reflect their own imaginings and tastes, our respond-
ents’ concerns about the wider built environment thus carry with them an undercurrent of
social class.
The example of Peckham shows how processes of s/elective belonging need to be
considered in the context of ‘representations of space’. The various practices that these
middle-class residents adopt exemplify how middle-class people attempt place-making
when the meaning of their place of residence is contested. In the context of a research
project examining five neighbourhoods across London, it was in Peckham where we
found the most passionate claims to neighbourhood belonging. This is a sense of belonging
that is not just felt or expressed through narratives of selective belonging but is also
performative. Interventions are made in the realm of meaning and the physical environment,
while also reaffirming place-based identities.

The Village as a Place Apart

In contrast to Peckham, respondents in the commuter belt do not have to defend their resi-
dential choice in the face of notoriety. Instead there was a sense that the village needed to
be preserved, to maintain its rural character in the face of possible suburbanisation.
For the most part, it seemed that the decision to live in the commuter belt was initially
inspired by the desire for the generic ‘village-in-the-mind’ (Pahl, 1965, 1966). Interviewees
commonly drew on widely recognised social constructions of the countryside as they
accounted for their choice of residence. As Sarah, who had lived in the village for 22 years,
explained, ‘I think this area is small enough to feel like a community, to feel like an entity in
itself, not just a suburb of London’ (emphasis added). The wider middle-class valorisation
of living in a village in the commuter belt, framed by the idealisation of the countryside
as the rural idyll, provides a route through which respondents are able to claim legitimacy for
802 Sociology 47(4)

their residential choices. Owning and living in a house in the countryside, albeit within easy
reach of London, acts as a kind of positional commodity, made possible by the individual’s
cultural and economic capital, while also maintaining and reinforcing their position within
the middle classes (Little, 1986; Phillips, 1998a). This broad representation of place is drawn
on and upheld precisely because of its loaded symbolic significance.
Central to this image was a sense of the ‘close village community’ (Matilda). There
was, however, some dispute over the extent to which community was available and
accessible. While for some residents, community was something that they actively par-
ticipated in, others acknowledged the presence of community, even if this was something
that they did not have the time or inclination to take part in, and others yet stressed that
a sense of community was lacking.
Despite the variation in how people understood community locally, there was con-
sensus over the value of living in a rural environment, of being a resident of a village
surrounded by greenbelt, close to areas of natural beauty (e.g. the Surrey Hills). This
was particularly evident in respondents’ fears that the village or indeed the surround-
ing area might change and they took efforts to control change and development.

… its density, its space, it’s all disappearing, and it’s one of the reasons you choose to live here is
for that feeling of space. We would be very upset if they decided to build on the field opposite. At
the moment we look out the front and we’ve got a horse field opposite, which is very nice. If you
look out and you’ve got houses, the atmosphere is not going to be the same. (Sarah, Effingham)

Such nostalgic images of the countryside and community available locally are, how-
ever, ‘intertwined with specifically white middle-class social and moral values’ (Tyler,
2003: 492; emphasis added); ‘the countryside is popularly perceived as “white land-
scape” … predominantly inhabited by white people’ (Agyeman and Spooner, 1997; see
also Neal, 2002). The whiteness of these representations of the rural, and respondents’
efforts to uphold this, became most apparent in discussions of an established Gypsy-
Traveller community in Effingham.5

… so there’s the end of Orestan Lane, which is the end nearest the Plough and going down, and
a concern you get at the other end of Orestan Lane, it turns into something rather different,
there’s a bit of mistrust of the other bit … It’s got a traveller … there’s lots of houses down there
that are actually illegal, no planning consents … (Timothy, Effingham)

In these accounts the Gypsy-Traveller population was presented as being on the periphery of
the village, as distinct from the rest of the village and in need of control. As Okely stresses,
‘[T]he history of the Gypsies is marked by attempts to exoticise, disperse, control, assimilate
or destroy them’ (1983: 1). Respondents’ accounts of the local Gypsy and Traveller commu-
nity clearly reflect this ambivalence, with the Gypsies cast as part of the countryside, but not
as an integral part of the village, with the potential to disrupt, particularly through their posi-
tion as a racialised other or white underclass (Holloway, 2007; Sibley, 1997).
The lack of trust of many respondents for the Gypsy-Traveller population sat along-
side a perception that ‘others’ were a (albeit unsatisfactory) part of rural life. As Sibley
(1981) and Halfacree (1996) stress, Gypsy-Traveller populations – particularly roman-
tic images of their lives – have historically been a part of representations of the rural
Benson and Jackson 803

idyll. Stephen, for example, positioned Gypsy-Travellers with other ‘natural’ annoyances
of country life, ‘it’s rather like bad smells and things, you have to put up with, well, this
is semi-countryside’. Respondents thus expressed rather ambivalent views about this
population. Read within the context of wider representations of rural life, the presence
of the Gypsy-Traveller site at once challenges pre-existing discourses of the rural, and
reinforces them, highlighting the extent to which ‘the definition of the rural … is not
simply shaped by pre-existing discourses but is also highly contested’ (Holloway, 2007:
18). Respondents’ presentation of the Gypsy-Travellers thus draws attention to the
dynamism of the rural idyll, how ‘it is reproduced and contested through contemporary
social practice’ (2007: 18).
In a similar manner, those residents of the villages who lived in social housing were
also placed on the periphery, and, as the following quotation identifies, as having a dif-
ferent sense of responsibility to their place of residence:

… it’s [social housing] got a different feel to here even though it’s only a road up, which is
quite strange … It just doesn’t feel as well tended … it feels a little bit neglected down there.
(Emma, West Horsley)

Aside from the discussion of Gypsy-Travellers and social ‘others’, reflections on the limited
ethnic diversity of the villages identified individual ethnic minority members of the community,
or highlight that the ethnic minority residents were often involved in local commerce:

… you’ve got the odd Indian … I don’t think you see a true black face at all. There are several
shops in East Horsley which are run by Indians. The post office at the Bishops Mead end, she’s
incredibly popular because she’s such a darling, she is so helpful with the old people and she’s
just so sweet. (Margaret, West Horsley)

By identifying these ‘exceptions’ respondents reinscribe the village as a place of white-

ness, reinforcing the invisibility of ethnic minorities in the British countryside (Agyeman
and Spooner, 1997; Neal, 2002). Furthermore, highlighting the functional roles that these
individuals played within the community, respondents confirmed that these others were
not typical ‘country people’.
While in Peckham there is a clear agenda to change the representations of space, in
West Horsley and Effingham there is a desire to keep things the way they are, to preserve
the village as a rural place, to confer to white middle-class understandings of what the
village should be. The following section goes on to illustrate some of the ways in which
they practise place to these ends.

Place Maintenance in West Horsley and Effingham

… if you try to do too much you’re going to start changing the nature and character of the
village really aren’t you? (Mark, Effingham)

While the sense of a generic ‘village in the mind’ characterised by middle-class imaginings
of the rural goes some way in explaining residential choice, the day-to-day experiences of
804 Sociology 47(4)

our respondents demonstrate how place is maintained through action, even if this is
directed at preventing (undesirable) change, and how residential practices feed back into
identities.
Community was one dimension of this. Place, experienced through community,
could be relatively spontaneous and contingent upon particular circumstances – the
Christmas fayre, the village fête, or bad weather. However, those who felt part of a dis-
tinct village community expressed an almost moral responsibility to its maintenance. As
Lesley, who had lived in Effingham for 40 years, explained, ‘you can’t just sit and hope
you’ll have community, you’ve got to actually take part’. This translated into everyday
engagements with the community, including sitting on the Parish Council, or school’s
board of governors, getting involved in local clubs (e.g. amateur dramatics, choir) and
locally oriented voluntary work. Arguably, participation in these activities often
depended on longevity of residence and age, with older, often retired people more
involved than younger neighbours. Place – whether maintained, as in the case of these
two commuter belt villages, or made, as in Peckham – is thus continually reiterated
through the work of individuals.
In Effingham, the sense of reproducing the village through action was regularly traced
back to Barnes Wallis who had lived in the village for nearly 40 years.6 As Stephen
described, he had been a local benefactor, ‘a great village man’, whose local initiatives
had ‘an impact on the village’, laying the foundations for future philanthropic work
within the community. Current ‘self-help’ work in the village includes the Parish
Council’s maintenance of playing fields and the establishment of a local housing associa-
tion. In this respect, through their participation in community, respondents maintained
the identity of the village (see also Tyler, 2003).
There was also, as in Peckham, agreement that local businesses should be supported,
even if the extent to which respondents did this varied. For some people, shops were the
‘heart of the community’, and visiting them became a way of finding out what was going
on locally. For others, it was mere convenience that led them to use these. This was seen
as a way of preserving the village, with people who do not regularly use the local ameni-
ties expressing guilt that they did not:

I say you should use the local store up the road … because when they’ve gone people are going to
miss them, and I say that when people just come in for a bar of chocolate, I say ‘aren’t you going
to buy anything else? You know, poor Steve [shopkeeper] can’t survive on your bar of chocolate
madam’. So we buy as much as we can, don’t we? (Richard, West Horsley, emphasis added)
… the little village market we really only get milk and butter, things that we’ve run out of I’m
ashamed to say. (Carol, Effingham)

Although largely unmarked and unnamed, whiteness was expressed through norma-
tive assumptions about the village, and inflected through class identities (cf. Franken-
berg, 2004), in particular the history of white, middle-class residence in the area (Tyler,
2003). The ‘doing’ of the local also implicitly reproduces class and ethnic distinctions,
reaffirming these villages as white, middle-class spaces. Such everyday practices can be
read as reinforcing, in Nayak’s terms, ‘the silent cartography of whiteness’ (2010: 2375).
At times these practices were made explicit in respondents’ accounts:
Benson and Jackson 805

… generally speaking the whole area is middle class, and it’s a middle-class activity going to
shop in your local butchers, and it’s quite clear from the queue in there on a Saturday morning
that people are more interested in the fact that the meat is organic than that it’s the cheapest that
you can get. (Timothy, Effingham)
One [pub] is more about eating than the other one is, the other one being more about drinking,
and the one more about drinking for a long time had the wrong kind of people in, you didn’t
necessarily want to mix with … lots of itinerants … (Stephen, Effingham)

Such discourses further reinforce both the classed and racialised constitution of village
life in the minds of middle-class residents. Social practice was directed at the reproduc-
tion of this (cf. Holloway, 2007), in particular expressing the pervading desire to pre-
serve the social composition of the village:

… people are quite protective of the Horsleys as they are, and that’s with the type, colour, creed,
age, affluence for people that live here, and also what goes on in terms of the environment …
in truth I’m probably part of it as well. If push came to shove I’m quite happy keeping it as it is
really … if we had Bulgarians I’m sure it would change the feel of the place. (William, West
Horsley, emphasis added)

Ian, who had lived in West Horsley for 14 years, recognised this sense of ‘protection’ and
‘preservation’ directed towards the village, although he was critical of this ‘… the com-
munity, does have a life … it sort of has an ethos which is very Surrey, professional pres-
ervation of what we have, and maintenance of what we have’. ‘Protecting’ the village is
thus directly linked to the preservation of the status quo, both in ethnic and social terms.
Alongside these social concerns lies another set of practices directed at the preser-
vation of the environmental amenities. This included interventions in planning and
development of the greenbelt, stopping changes to roads, including lighting, usage and
traffic restrictions. In large part, middle-class residents’ interventions responded to
fears of suburbanisation:

I certainly don’t want street lighting just to protect me from my fears of people jumping out of
the hedges … it won’t be a rural area any more … Let’s keep it as rural as we can and not try
and make us into a suburb. (Margaret, West Horsley, emphasis added)

‘Doing’ place in this way reaffirms the village as middle-class and rural, with individuals
developing their sense of being a country person. Their objections to various potential
changes often unquestioningly presented life in a rural village as quality of life. Central to
these assessments was the ‘natural’ environment and a concern for its preservation: ‘No
telephone masts … No streetlights. No calming traffic in the road … Things should stay
as natural as possible’ (Richard). Although there were some minor irritations (e.g. wild
animals and bad smells), these were tolerated as part of rural life.
Place maintenance was even more marked when it came to the development of local
land. This was particularly evident among residents in one road in Effingham, who
expressed the most passionate claims for the preservation of the rural and against chang-
ing the character of their road. This translated into actions to block the development of
residential properties. Residents often had views of open fields from their properties, and
806 Sociology 47(4)

this was clearly something that many of them valued. The fact that so many people in the
road were in support of the rural and the view from their houses brought out a sense of
solidarity among residents in relation to planning issues, with the result that it seemed to
be extremely difficult to get planning permission passed for anything that people deemed
to change the character of the road. Mark, who had lived in Effingham for nearly 10
years, quotes a local councillor as saying, ‘Every time we get an application from there,
people will always try to turn it down for some reason, because they say it’s going to
spoil the rural character.’
By distinguishing place maintenance from place-making, we argue that place mainte-
nance, while appearing relatively passive, is in fact a way of discursively producing place
through action. Unlike the processes of place-making that go on in Peckham, which are
directed at making the neighbourhood in the respondents’ image, actions in the commuter
belt are instead focused on warding off unwelcome change, in particular suburbanisation.

Conclusion
The comparison of the discursive practices of place-making in two very different neigh-
bourhoods has demonstrated that middle-class place-attachments need to be understood
within the context of circulating representations of place. These two ways of doing and
performing place reflect the different intensities with which people relate to their places
of residence, how these correspond, or not, to existing representations of particular
places and the amount of energy expended in intervening in the neighbourhood. While
we have outlined two ways of doing and performing place, within this there is consider-
able diversity in the way that people relate to place; the individual’s relationship to place
is both messy and ambiguous (Massey, 2006).
For our respondents in Peckham, the strength of popular representations is something
that they find themselves variously working with and against as they try to establish
Peckham as an appropriate place for people like them to live. Respondents in Peckham are
engaged in a process of getting their neighbourhood recognised (by others like them) –
investing it with symbolic meaning. Such investments in neighbourhoods are also – if we
follow the line that place-making shapes subjectivities – self-investments through which
they generate a particular habitus that means that they can live in Peckham. This habitus,
as we demonstrate elsewhere, forms the basis of intra-class distinction (Jackson and
Benson, n.d.).
In contrast, for residents of the commuter belt, representations intersect with
place-making practices in a different way; the pervading understanding of the coun-
tryside as a white, middle-class space means that rather than appropriating space,
they are instead trying to maintain their moral ownership over place, controlling
neighbourhood change and keeping at bay certain unwanted elements of the com-
munity. These residents thus engage in what we refer to here as active place maintenance.
In this process they reconstitute the neighbourhood as an appropriate place for
people like them to live, and continually reconstruct their own disposition for living
in these areas, performing being a ‘country person’; repetitive acts of place maintenance
are as much about the ‘doing’ of middle-classness as they are about the identity of
places.
Benson and Jackson 807

Therefore, these two case studies show how middle-class imaginings of place are not
just ‘in the mind’ but are actualised in neighbourhoods. It is not only the case that class
is projected onto place in a unilateral manner, places are made and maintained by everyday
practices and interventions that in turn may shape the classed identities of people; place
is both performative and dynamic.

Acknowledgements
The authors would like to thank the other members of the project ‘The Middle Classes in the City’,
and particularly Gary Bridge and Tim Butler for their readings of previous drafts of the paper,
alongside the two anonymous reviewers who gave valuable feedback on an earlier version.

Funding
This article is based on research funded by the Economic and Social Research Council (RES-062-
33-0002) and the Agence Nationale de la Recherche.

Notes
1. This was matched by an equivalent number in Paris.
2. Extracted from 2001 ONS UK census data available from the ONS website http://www.ons.
gov.uk
3. Damilola Taylor was a 10-year-old Nigerian schoolboy who bled to death in the stairwell of
a block of flats in the North Peckham estate in 2000.
4. All names that appear in the text are pseudonyms. Unless otherwise indicated, respondents
are White British.
5. A further site in Effingham (Home Farm) is also being considered by Guildford Borough
Council for a new Gypsy and Traveller settlement.
6. The inventor of the bouncing bomb used in the ‘Dambusters’ raid in the Second World War.

References
Agyeman J and Spooner R (1997) Ethnicity and the rural environment. In: Cloke P and Little J (eds)
Contested Countryside Cultures: Rurality and Socio-cultural Marginalisation. London:
Routledge, 197–210.
Bell V (1999) Performativity and Belonging. London: Sage.
Blokland T (2009) Celebrating local histories and defining neighbourhood communities: Place-
making in a gentrified neighbourhood. Urban Studies 46(8): 1593–610.
Butler J (1990) Gender Trouble. New York: Routledge.
Butler J (1993) Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of Sex. London: Routledge.
Butler T with Robson G (2003) London Calling: The Middle Classes and the Re-making of Inner
City London. Oxford: Berg.
Cloke P (2005a) Rurality and rural otherness. In: Cloke P, Marsden T and Mooney P (eds) Handbook
of Rural Studies. London: Sage, 447–57.
Cloke P (2005b) Rurality and racialised others: Out of place in the countryside? In: Chakraborti N
and Garland J (eds) Rural Racism. Cullompton: Willan, 17–35.
Cohen A (ed.) (1982) Belonging: Identity and Social Organisation in British Rural Cultures.
Manchester: Manchester University Press
De Certeau M (1988) The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press.
808 Sociology 47(4)

Fortier A-M (2000) Migrant Belongings: Memory, Space and Identity. Oxford: Berg.
Frankenberg R (2004) On unsteady ground: Crafting and engaging in the critical study of white-
ness. In: Bulmer M and Solomos J (eds) Researching Race and Racism. London: Routledge,
104–18.
Gregson N and Rose G (2000) Taking Butler elsewhere: Performativities, spatialities and subjec-
tivities. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 18: 433–52.
Halfacree K (1996) Out of place in the country: Travellers and the ‘rural idyll’. Antipode 28(1):
42–72.
Holloway S (2007) Burning issues: Whiteness, rurality and the politics of difference. Geoforum
38(1): 7–20.
Jackson E and Benson M (n.d.) Neither ‘deepest, darkest Peckham’ nor SE22: The middle classes
and their ‘others’ in an inner London neighbourhood. International Journal of Urban and
Regional Research (under review).
Leach N (2005) Belonging, towards a theory of identification with space. In: Hiller J and Rooksby
E (eds) Habitus: A Sense of Place. Farnham: Ashgate, 297–314.
Lefebvre H (1991) The Production of Space. Trans. D Nicholson-Smith. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Little J (1986) Social class and planning policy: A study of two Wiltshire villages. In: Lowe P,
Bradley T and Wright S (eds) Deprivation in Rural Areas. Norwich: Geo Books, 135–50.
Massey D (1994) Space, Place and Gender. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Massey D (2006) For Space. London: Sage.
May J (1996) Globalisation and the politics of place: Place and identity in an inner London
neighbourhood. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 21(1): 194–215.
Nayak A (2010) Race, affect, and emotion: Young people, racism and graffiti in the postcolonial
English suburb. Environment and Planning A 42(10): 2370–92.
Neal S (2002) Rural landscape, representation and racism: Examining multicultural citizenship
and policy-making in the English countryside. Ethnic and Racial Studies 25(3): 442–61.
Okely J (1983) The Traveller Gypsies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Pahl R (1965) Class and community in English commuter villages. Sociologia Ruralis: Journal of
the European Society for Rural Sociology 1: 5–23.
Pahl R (1966) The rural–urban continuum. Sociologia Ruralis 1(3–4): 299–329.
Pahl R (2005) Are all communities in the mind? The Sociological Review 53(4): 621–40.
Pahl R (2008) Hertfordshire commuter villages: From geography to sociology. Journal of Social
Research Methodology 11(2): 103–7.
Phillips M (1998a) Investigations of the British rural middle classes – Part 1: From legislation to
interpretation. Journal of Rural Studies 14(4): 411–25.
Phillips M (1998b) Investigations of the British rural middle classes – Part. 2: Fragmentation,
identity, morality and contestation. Journal of Rural Studies 14(4): 427–43.
Savage M (2010) Identities and Social Change in Britain Since 1940: The Politics of Method.
Oxford: Clarendon.
Savage M, Bagnall G and Longhurst B (2005) Globalization and Belonging. London: Sage.
Sibley D (1981) Outsiders in Urban Society. Oxford: Blackwell.
Sibley D (1997) Endangering the sacred: Nomads, youth cultures and the English countryside.
In: Cloke P and Little J (eds) Contested Countryside Cultures: Rurality and Socio-cultural
Marginalisation. London: Routledge, 211–24.
Skeggs B (2004) Class, Self, Culture. London: Routledge.
Tait S (2011) Introducing the New Montmartre, It’s Del Boy’s Manor, Peckham SE15. The
Independent, 27 March.
Tyler K (2003) The racialised and classed constitution of English village life. Ethnos 68(3):
391–412.
Benson and Jackson 809

Watt P (2009) Living in an oasis: Middle-class disaffiliation and selective belonging in an English
suburb. Environment and Planning A 41: 2874–92.

Michaela Benson is a lecturer in Sociology at the University of York. She previously

worked on the ESRC-ANR funded project ‘The Middle Classes in the City: Social Mix
or Just “People Like Us”?’. Her research interests focus on the spatialisation of class,
with a particular interest in residential mobilities. She has published extensively on life-
style migration, focusing on the empirical case of British middle-class migration to rural
France. Her monograph The British in Rural France: Lifestyle Migration and the
Ongoing Quest for a Better Way of Life (Manchester University Press, 2011) was short-
listed for the BSA Philip Abrams Memorial Prize (2012).

Emma Jackson is an Urban Studies Journal Research Fellow at the University of Glasgow.
From 2010 to 2012 she worked on the ESRC-ANR funded project ‘The Middle Classes
in the City: Social Mix or Just “People Like Us”? A Comparison of Paris and London’.
Emma received a PhD from the Department of Sociology, Goldsmiths, for her thesis
‘Young Homeless People and Urban Space: Displacements, Mobilities and Fixity’ in
2010. Emma’s research interests include urban sociology, class, space/place and
mobilities.
Date submitted November 2011
Date accepted June 2012
454352
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512454352SociologyHeinemann and Lemke

Article

Sociology
47(4) 810­–826
Suspect Families:  DNA © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Kinship Testing in German sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512454352
Immigration Policy soc.sagepub.com

Torsten Heinemann
Goethe University Frankfurt, Germany

Thomas Lemke
Goethe University Frankfurt, Germany10201152012

Abstract
Since the 1990s, many countries around the world have begun to use DNA testing to establish
biological relatedness in family reunification cases. Family reunification refers to the right of family
members living abroad to join relatives who hold long-term residence permits or are citizens
of a given country. Using Germany as an exemplary case, the article explores different societal
implications and consequences of parental testing for family reunification. Special attention is
drawn to the implicit model of family and kinship that informs this immigration regime. We argue
that DNA analyses for family reunification establish and strengthen a biological family model
which is in contrast to the more pluralistic and social concepts of family in Germany and in many
societies in Europe and North America. The argument is based on a document analysis and
interviews with representatives of NGOs and immigration authorities, lawyers, geneticists, and
applicants for family reunification.

Keywords
DNA profiling, family reunification, geneticisation, Germany, immigration, parental testing

Introduction
Family reunification is currently the most important form of immigration to Europe
(European Migration Network, 2008, 2011c; Kreienbrink and Rühl, 2007).1 The term
refers to the right of family members living abroad to join relatives who hold long-term
residence permits or are citizens of a given country. Applicants are required to provide

Corresponding author:
Torsten Heinemann, Faculty of Social Sciences, Goethe University, Robert-Mayer-Strasse 5, D-60325
Frankfurt am Main, Germany.
Email: heinemann@soz.uni-frankfurt.de
Heinemann and Lemke 811

official documentation such as birth and marriage certificates and passports in order to
prove their identities. Providing such pieces of evidence is often difficult, especially in
countries that do not use official documents to establish identity or where those docu-
ments have been lost or destroyed due to politically unstable situations. But even if
applicants possess the required documents, the information is sometimes rejected by
immigration authorities as they question the authenticity of the documents.
In the 1990s, some host countries began to use DNA analysis to resolve cases in
which they considered the information presented on family relationships to be incom-
plete or unsatisfactory (Esbenshade, 2010; Taitz et al., 2002a, 2002b). Today, at least 20
countries around the world (including 16 European countries) have incorporated parental
testing into decision-making on family reunification in immigration cases: Australia,
Austria, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Italy,
Lithuania, Malta, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Switzerland, Sweden, the UK,
and the USA (European Migration Network, 2008, 2009). Although there is some media
coverage of the issue (Funk, 2007, 2008, 2009; Gaserow, 2007; Kieser, 2008; Martin,
2011; Schmidt, 2007; Swarns, 2007), research and scientific publications in this field are
rare. So far, the topic has only stirred interest among legal scholars and in the human
rights literature (Frenz, 2008; Murdock, 2008; Taitz et al., 2002a, 2002b; Weiss, 2011).
While some research has been done on the social implications of paternity testing
(Fonseca, 2011; Freeman and Richards, 2006; Richards, 2010; Turney, 2006, 2011), the
impact of DNA testing on immigration policies and family concepts remains a scientific
non-issue.
This article highlights important social and political implications of DNA analysis for
family reunification by using Germany as an exemplary case. The article starts with an
overview of the right to family reunification in the European and German legislation and
the role of DNA tests in this context. The second section presents evidence that DNA test-
ing for family reunification is increasingly being employed in administrative decision-
making in Germany. Furthermore, we show that in the context of family reunification
certain rights and legal guarantees are inoperative that protect individuals from the abuse
of their genetic information, which results in a criminalisation of, and general suspicion
towards, applicants for family reunification. The third section demonstrates that the use of
parental testing in decision-making on immigration endorses a biological concept of family
and kinship. We argue that DNA kinship testing for family reunification results in a geneti-
cisation of the family. The focus on genetic links tends to devalue social forms of family
that are seen as secondary. Moreover, it establishes a ‘double standard of family recogni-
tion’ for native citizens and immigrants (Murdock, 2008), as the requirement of a biologi-
cal link between family members is diametrically opposed to family recognition policies in
most host countries, which emphasise social rather than genetic ties.
The findings presented in this article are based on a qualitative study involving ‘mul-
tisite research’ (Clarke, 2005: 146) within a grounded theory framework, using docu-
ment analysis and interviews. We reviewed and analysed relevant documents that deal
with parental testing in immigration contexts such as laws, guidelines, directives, min-
utes of parliamentary debates, government and expert committee reports, NGO materi-
als and media reports. Additionally, we conducted semi-structured in-depth interviews
with actors in the field (Bogner et al., 2009): five experts working for German and
812 Sociology 47(4)

international NGOs, five officers in German aliens departments and immigration

authorities, four lawyers specialising in family and immigration law, and five geneti-
cists or forensic doctors in genetic and forensic laboratories. We also interviewed seven
applicants for family reunification who underwent a DNA test during the application
procedure. Anonymity was guaranteed to all our interviewees, in accordance with the
code of ethics of the German Sociological Association and the statement of ethical prac-
tice of the British Sociological Association. The interviews were only conducted after
the interviewees gave their informed consent to participate and agreed to be recorded.
On average, they were 90 minutes long. For the analysis, the interviews were tran-
scribed, anonymised, and then interpreted using a qualitative content analysis approach
(Flick, 2007, 2009; Mayring, 2004).

The Right to Family Reunification in Germany: Legal

Framework and Historical Determinants
The right to family reunification is derived from the protection of the family as laid
down in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (Jastram and Newland, 2001).
The most important European legal document with regard to family reunification is the
Council Directive 2003/86/EC (Council of the European Union, 2003). This directive
was ratified in 2003 with the aim of aligning the regulations on family reunification as
stated in the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union. It not only con-
tains legal information on the rights of the applicant and the family, but also provides
a framework for administrative practice, e.g. how to prove the family relationship of
an unmarried couple.2 However, this framework leaves considerable room for interpre-
tation regarding the underlying concept of family, the right of minors to apply for fam-
ily reunification, the age limit for minors and also spouses, the coverage of travel costs
by state funds, and the status of marriage as a prerequisite for the application (European
Commission, 2011).3
In Germany, the Residence Act (Aufenthaltsgesetz, AufenthG) as part of the
Immigration Act (Zuwanderungsgesetz, ZuwandG) incorporated most of the regula-
tions of Council Directive 2003/86/EC and adapted them to national law.4 Part 6, con-
taining sections 27–36, is specifically concerned with family reunification. The
Residence Act explicitly states that the right to family reunification is meant to protect
the family in accordance with the Basic Law (Grundgesetz, GG). Generally speaking,
every spouse, either a German or a foreigner who is in possession of a temporary or
unrestricted residence permit, can be the sponsor of an application for family reunifica-
tion. The sponsor and his/her partner need to be married, and he/she also is expected to
provide an adequate income and enough living space for the prospective united family.5
Children holding a temporary or unrestricted residence permit may serve as sponsors
and apply to be reunited with their parents as well, but generally the provisions assume
that the sponsor is an adult.
The Residence Act establishes a nuclear family model, as the right to family reunifi-
cation is legally recognised only for spouses over 18 years old and their underage chil-
dren (European Migration Network, 2011a, 2011b; Huber, 2010). Under exceptional
circumstances, so-called extraordinary hardship, the right of residence can also be
Heinemann and Lemke 813

granted to more distant relatives such as grandparents, children who have reached adult-
hood and siblings of any age (Walter, 2009). However, in 2010 only 306 residence per-
mits for family reunification were issued to more distant family members, which was
only 0.6 per cent of all residence permits granted for family reunification (Federal Office
for Migration and Refugees, 2011: 92).
These fairly strict regulations have to be interpreted in the German historical con-
text by taking into account the immigration wave in the 1960s and 1970s, which
occurred as a result of the German ‘economic miracle’ (Wirtschaftswunder). During
that time, Germany actively recruited foreign workers as so-called Gastarbeiter from
the Mediterranean countries. Between 1961 and 1971 the number of foreigners living
in the country went up from 700,000 to almost 3.5 million, most of them being
Gastarbeiter. This was the most significant immigration wave Germany had seen in its
history (Bade and Anderson, 1994: 90). Following the economic slowdown in the
1970s, the recruitment of foreign labour came to a halt. After the German government
introduced the ‘Anwerbestopp’ in 1973, family reunification was the most important
form of immigration because a significant number of Gastarbeiter wanted to stay and
be reunited with their families in Germany. In the 1980s there was a huge public and
political debate about how to cope with this family-related influx of migrants. As an
outcome of these discussions, Germany introduced a strict policy on family reunifica-
tion in its amendment of the Aliens Act in 1990. The amendment codified the nuclear
family as a model for family reunification and set narrow guidelines for the maximum
age of children to be reunited with their parents. It was also around this time that DNA
analyses were first used in family reunification cases in Germany (Geneticist 2).
Even today, there are more applications for family reunification than for asylum. In
2010, 48,589 asylum seekers submitted applications for asylum (41,332) or the renewal
of their asylum status (7,257), while 54,865 residence permits were granted for the pur-
pose of family reunification (Federal Office for Migration and Refugees, 2011: 13, 91).
Given its quantitative dimension, family reunification receives a great deal of attention
from policy makers, legislators, and NGOs and is considered of strategic importance to
steer immigration to Germany.

Family Reunification and Administrative Decision-making:

Informational Self-determination vs. Genetic Surveillance
Family members who apply for family reunification in Germany have to establish their
family status by official documents or other suitable pieces of evidence. A lawyer spe-
cialising in immigration law mentioned in an interview that there are at least 15 possible
ways to prove a family relationship in immigration cases: certificates of birth, marriage
or death, wedding photos, family and holiday photos, statements in the asylum procedure
hearings, sworn declarations by the applicants or by persons who know the applicants
personally, common bank accounts, regular money transfers, phone calls, email
exchanges and internet chats or sound and full particulars about the family relations
made in the course of the official interview for the asylum application (Lawyer 2).
However, German immigration offices will not necessarily accept these pieces of
evidence for an existing family relation, either because they consider them insufficient to
814 Sociology 47(4)

prove family bonds or because they suspect fraud.6 Even in cases where legal documents
are provided, it is a common administrative practice to ask the applicants for a DNA kin-
ship report (European Migration Network, 2011b; Federal Government of Germany,
2008; Frenz, 2008; Kreienbrink and Rühl, 2007). Moreover, the German Federal Foreign
Office has published a list of over 40 countries whose documents are not acknowledged
by German embassies at all because they assume that their system of identity registration
lacks systematic and sound procedures (Federal Government of Germany, 2008).7
Immigrants from these countries will find it extremely difficult to prove a family rela-
tionship by official documents. To obtain permission to reunite with family members,
they generally have to resort to DNA testing.
DNA kinship testing is explicitly mentioned in the general administrative regulations
for the Residence Act (no. 27.0.5 AVwV AufenthG). The Federal Government of
Germany and the Federal Ministry of the Interior stress that DNA tests are not to be seen
as a constraint but as an opportunity for the sponsors and applicants to prove the validity
of their application (Federal Government of Germany, 2008). Furthermore, they empha-
sise the voluntary character of the DNA tests and argue that it is up to the applicants
whether they wish to take up this option. Finally, the authorities point out that DNA
analyses are only used as a last resort to establish family links required if all other pos-
sible options to verify family relatedness have been exhausted. ‘Normally, we just check
the documents and that’s it. We really only ask for the DNA test in very rare cases, where
no legal documents can be provided’ (Immigration officer 2).8 Similarly, the Federal
Foreign Office, which is responsible for issuing visas for family reunification, stated in
response to an inquiry by the authors that the ‘DNA test for family reunification is not a
standard but only an exceptional case and [. . .] is only offered to the applicants if evi-
dence relevant to the issue cannot otherwise be provided’ (Immigration officer 4).
However, the results of our research indicate that DNA testing for family reunification
is not an ultima ratio but a standard tool for the verification of a family relationship in
immigration cases (UN High Commissioner for Refugees, 2008; NGO officer 2, NGO
officer 3). The head of the immigration authority of a major city in Germany declared in
a written statement sent in response to an inquiry by the authors: ‘While there is no obli-
gation for applicants even from countries with an insufficient official documentation
system to prove family relation by DNA evidence, parental testing is an appropriate and
frequently used tool of verification’ (Immigration officer 5, emphasis by the authors). A
senior UNHCR officer mentioned in an interview that ‘we observe an inflationary use of
DNA analyses for family reunification for refugees from Africa and South East Asia’
(NGO officer 3). Similarly, a refugee advisor from a church information centre stated
that in 2010 alone she had supervised more than 20 cases of Somali refugees who were
asked to prove their family relations by a DNA test in the course of the family reunifica-
tion procedure.
While the Federal Foreign Office and the Aliens Departments in the urban districts
make no secret of the fact that DNA tests are used to determine the legitimacy of an
application for family reunification, they do not publish any statistics on how frequently
they employ this measure (Federal Government of Germany, 2008, 2010). At present
there is no reliable information on the number of tests that have been conducted so far in
the application process for family reunification. The use of DNA tests for family reunification
Heinemann and Lemke 815

has been covered by the German press, and articles in several newspapers published
some years ago suggested that such tests were at that time being conducted in at least 600
cases annually (Funk, 2007; Gaserow, 2007). Since then, the number has certainly
increased. The five laboratories we visited to interview geneticists and forensic doctors
alone conducted a total of approximately 900 tests for family reunification in 2010.
There is a very competitive market for DNA kinship testing in general and for immigra-
tion purposes in particular, and there are more than 50 laboratories in Germany that offer
DNA analyses for family reunification.9 Refugee advisors and representatives of NGOs
we spoke to report that applicants from some countries such as Somalia, Eritrea, or
Burma are almost always asked to provide DNA evidence for their family relations
(NGO officers 1 and 2, Lawyers 1, 2, 4). Thus, there is empirical evidence to indicate that
the number of DNA analyses conducted in immigration cases is significantly higher than
900 per year.
Moreover, it is important to note that the figure provided here is not identical with the
number of persons involved and the visas issued on the grounds of a DNA test result. A
single DNA test for family reunification normally includes at least three persons: the
alleged father, the alleged mother, and the child. If the test is positive and confirms the
biological relatedness, two visas for family reunification are granted as normally only
one person is already living in Germany. Given that there are many cases with two, three,
or even more children, the number of visas granted on the basis of a DNA test is even
higher. In our interviews with the applicants for family reunification the average family
consisted of five persons, which results in four visas that are granted on the basis of a
single DNA test. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that at least 3600 visas or 9 per
cent of the total of 40,210 visas for family reunification in 2010 were granted only after
DNA evidence was provided (Federal Office for Migration and Refugees, 2011: 91).
Since their introduction in the beginning of the 1990s, kinship tests for family reuni-
fication in Germany have been conducted in a legal grey area, since the procedure was
not covered by any law. DNA testing for immigration purposes was first regulated in the
Genetic Diagnostics Law (Gendiagnostikgesetz, GenDG), which contains a section deal-
ing exclusively with parental testing (GenDG, Part 3, Sec. 17). The law was passed by
the German parliament on 24 April 2009 and entered into force on 1 February 2010. The
general focus of this law is on the right to informational self-determination, with the aim
of protecting individuals from the abuse of their genetic information.10
However, for the use of genetic data in the context of family reunification important
legal guarantees are inoperative. Firstly, and this almost goes without saying, the right to
informational self-determination in the context of family reunification is just a formal or
theoretical right. In practice, it may well be the only chance for a person to reunite with his/
her family if the documents he/she has provided are not deemed appropriate to prove fam-
ily relations. A burden of proof is on the applicant, which may force him or her to resort to
a DNA test. Therefore, it might be doubted how voluntary the use of DNA analysis in this
context can be if the application for family reunification will be rejected otherwise. A
senior UNHCR officer we interviewed argued that the voluntariness of the DNA test can
be compared to the ‘voluntary departure’ from Germany for rejected asylum seekers who
will otherwise be deported anyway (NGO officer 3). Here, we note a remarkable parallel to
forensic DNA profiling: ‘Persons who refuse to give a “voluntary” sample (which is their
816 Sociology 47(4)

legal right) attract police attention and become more suspicious as a result.’ (Walsh and
Buckleton, 2005: 459) It is assumed that someone who rejects the ‘voluntary’ DNA test has
something to hide (Prainsack, 2010; Zadok et al., 2010).
Secondly, immigrants have no right to decide what happens to the DNA profiles once
the test has been carried out. They cannot demand that their samples be destroyed, and
their data might be used for criminal prosecution purposes if there is reasonable suspi-
cion that a criminal offence has been committed by the immigrant in question (GenDG,
Sec. 17, Clause 8). Their profile may be stored in a DNA database in accordance with the
Prüm Convention, and this information may be exchanged among European member
states for crime prevention purposes (Prainsack and Toom, 2010). Therefore, applicants
for family reunification may come under general suspicion of criminal activity. While
the Genetic Diagnostics Law in its entirety strengthens the right to informational self-
determination for German citizens, it denies immigrants this right. In general, the legal
framework for DNA testing in family reunification cases establishes an environment of
mistrust towards immigrants and provides new means for surveilling them (Aas, 2006,
2011).

Kinship and DNA Testing: Social vs. Biological Concept

of the Family
The strong focus on a biological family model in family reunification cases contrasts
with the social understanding and the legal framing of the family in Germany. The routi-
nisation of divorce and remarriage and the legal recognition of same-sex unions with the
introduction of the Life Partnership Act (Lebenspartnerschaftsgesetz, LPartG) in 2001
have generated heterogeneous patterns of family structure and a diversity of new kin
connections that are not necessarily based on biological ties. In recent years, several laws
have come into force or been amended with the aim of emphasising the social aspects of
parenthood and paternity, e.g. the Children’s Law Reform Act (Kindschaftsrechtsreform)
of 1998 and the amendment of the regulations for paternity fraud. In this perspective,
parenthood is not defined in terms of biological relatedness but rather as a social relation.
The Federal Court of Justice (2008) argued in a judgement that such a socio-familial
relation exists if the legal father has been shown to be responsible for looking after the
child. If this is the case, the biological father cannot challenge the already existing social
fatherhood. This line of argumentation of the Federal Court of Justice has recently been
upheld by the European Court of Human Rights (Ahrens v. Germany, 2012; Kautzor v.
Germany, 2012).
Furthermore, married and unmarried couples have increasingly been treated equally
in legal practice in the last 10 to 15 years, and it has been made easier for unmarried
couples and same-sex partners to adopt stepchildren. These legislative steps also stress
the family as a social relation. In a press release in 2009, the Federal Constitutional Court
(2009) pointed out that ‘biological parenthood is not prioritized over legal and social
notions of the family in the jurisdiction of the Federal Constitutional Court’ (see also
Fehrenbacher, 2009).
However, in German immigration law a different trend can be observed. The increas-
ing use of parental testing in family reunification cases endorses an understanding of
Heinemann and Lemke 817

family as a biological entity. Consequently, migrants will find it difficult to enter

Germany if they live as part of different kinds of family. The restriction to the nuclear
family makes it nearly impossible for larger families that consist of more than just par-
ents and their biological underage children to reunite in Germany (European Migration
Network, 2011a). Relevant carers who live in the same household and relatives with
whom important emotional bonds exist (e.g. the grandparents) may have to stay in the
migrant’s country of origin. Even foster children and adopted children are not covered by
the biological family concept. According to German immigration law, no distinction
shall be made between biological children and adopted children if the applicants can
prove the adoption by official documentation. However, as German authorities regard
official registration systems in many countries as insufficient, this will lead to problems
in administrative practice. In such cases, investigations by lawyers officially accredited
by the German embassies in the country of origin are required to allow for successful
family reunification (Federal Government of Germany, 2008). These lawyer-assisted
investigations are not only difficult to initiate but also expensive. Another problem of
parental testing for family reunification is related to the current practice of German
authorities to ask for both a maternal lineage test and DNA kinship reports on all family
members. The German Lawyers Society reported a case of an Afghan family where the
father only learned from the DNA test in the visa application procedure that one of the
children born in the marriage was not his biological child (German Bar Association,
2009). Such discoveries are a heavy burden for all family members, and may result in
estrangement between family members and in extreme cases in family separation instead
of reunification.
The administrative practice of family unification in Germany displays a substantial
legal and social difference between and contradictory treatment of native citizens and
immigrants. The latter have to comply with a traditional heterosexual biological family
model in order to be officially recognised as family in immigration cases. At the same
time, in public opinion and in recent legislation the family is mostly defined by social
dimensions for native German citizens. As social aspects such as affection and caring for
each other become more and more important, the biological family model seems increas-
ingly inadequate to capture the complexities and dynamics of contemporary family rela-
tions. Furthermore, the legally enforced definition of the family as biological ancestry
often contrasts with concepts of family in the migrants’ countries of origin. In many
cultures, the term ‘family’ goes beyond biologically related persons by including persons
to whom only social relations exist.11
The problems that arise from these conflicting definitions of the family for native citi-
zens and immigrants can be illustrated by a parental test that was carried out in a German
laboratory in 2010. The application for family reunification by a man, a woman and a girl
from Somalia was turned down by the German authorities earlier that year because they
questioned the authenticity of the documents provided. Thus, the applicants had to resort
to a DNA test to prove their family relatedness. The test result showed that neither the
alleged father nor the alleged mother was biologically linked to the child. In other words,
the test result demonstrated that these three persons were not a family in terms of biologi-
cal relatedness. However, the staff of the DNA lab were so convinced that the applicants
were indeed a family, even though the result was negative, that they wrote letters to the
818 Sociology 47(4)

immigration authorities arguing that the result could only be explained by an exchange
of children in the hospital and that they would nevertheless advocate family reunifica-
tion. It is quite remarkable that the institution that produced a test result which eliminated
the possibility of a family relation according to their own definition still felt obliged to
argue that the three persons were a ‘true’ family. The case was reported to us by the
geneticists involved in the procedure (Geneticist 3), and their argument was clearly based
on a social definition of the family.12
These different standards for family recognition exist not only in Germany but in many
host countries.13 As family policies in these countries favour social notions of the family,
there is a possibility that the different legal status for native citizens and immigrants may
further develop, as for the latter group the focus is on biological relatedness while same-sex
partnerships and patchwork concepts of family are not equally recognised.
To understand the specific focus on family as a biological entity in immigration pol-
icy, it is useful to turn to the concept of ‘geneticisation’. This term was coined by the
Canadian sociologist Abby Lippman at the beginning of the 1990s to account for the
social and cultural impact of the new genetics (1991). Lippman employs the neologism
to critically analyse a (medical) perspective that conceives of genes as a programme for
the development and regulation of organisms, and regards genetics as the central concep-
tual model to explain human life and behaviour, health and disease, normality and devi-
ance. Since its original formulation, the term has been used by many social scientists to
designate ‘a social process through which concepts, theories, social structures, and indi-
vidual and social practices [. . .] are gradually changing to recognise and incorporate the
explanations and rationalities of the new genetics’ (Lippman, 1991: 19; see also Fitzgerald,
1998; Koch, 2002; Ten Have, 2004). While some theoretical and normative underpin-
nings of the concept have met with significant criticism (Gibbon, 2002; Novas and Rose,
2000; Rouvroy, 2008), it is still useful as an analytical instrument and descriptive notion
(Kollek and Lemke, 2008).
Medical anthropologist Kaja Finkler has used this theoretical perspective to ana-
lyse the impact of the new genetics on family relations and kinship. Her study is based
on extensive fieldwork in the USA and interviews with breast cancer patients, healthy
women from families affected by breast cancer, and adopted children seeking contact
to their biological parents. The results show that the ideas of her interviewees on fam-
ily and kinship are dominated by a ‘genetic inheritance ideology’ (Finkler, 2000: 10;
see also Finkler et al., 2003). Concepts of inheritance and the significance of genetic
transmission informed the experiences of the individuals and their relations to their
children, parents and other relatives. Finkler demonstrates that family and kin con-
nections are framed in terms of genetic ties. In this geneticised perspective, families
are less defined by voluntary bonds than by a common genetic heritage. The genetic
map postulates proximity between individuals that are separated by spatial or genea-
logical distance. It transcends emotional alienations and conflicts between family
members. Even family members who no longer see each other or who have broken off
contact remain genetically close. In this perspective family ties are primarily experi-
enced in terms of genetic heritage, and genetic bonds are seen as more fundamental
and stable than family ties based on love, affection and the free will of the partners
(Finkler, 2000; Finkler et al., 2003).14
Heinemann and Lemke 819

Thus, the idea of a common genetic origin determines the self-image and the identity
of family members. It is, however, important to take into account another aspect of
geneticisation: genetics not only shapes personal identity and concepts of family and kin,
but it might also contrast with existing self-concepts. In institutional contexts, genetic
tests often function as a kind of ‘truth machine’ (Lynch et al., 2008) that organises an
epistemological field of visibilities and statements and determines what is within the
realm of truth (Foucault, 2000). This machinery promises to verify the ‘real’ or ‘genuine’
criminal offender, and claims priority over non-genetic forms of explanation and experi-
ences derived from everyday life (Lemke, 2004).
The use of DNA analysis in the context of family reunification can accordingly be
conceived of as a ‘truth machine’ that will ‘reveal’ the ‘true’ kin and help to distinguish
him/her from the ‘pretended’ family member. This procedure of family verification is
seemingly more precise than identity papers and official documents, and claims to pro-
vide a transparent access to the body by making visible lines of belonging and networks
of kinship. The idea of family verification by DNA analysis neglects the complexities of
the technology and its internal limits.15 It relies on the erroneous idea of a stable and
unchanging body (Lynch et al., 2008: 191; Mol, 2002) that can be addressed as the basis
for identification, and supports the phantasm of a fictitious control by technological
means that allows for more safety and efficiency. However, the search for identification
and trust is the other side of a culture of mistrust and imagined danger by ‘unidentified
subjects’ ‘whose minds cannot be trusted but whose bodies do not lie’ (Aas, 2006: 156).
This ambiguity of parental testing for family reunification in Germany and many
other countries also points to the contradictory implications of biotechnological innova-
tions for the concept of the family. On the one hand, genetic and reproductive technolo-
gies such as in vitro fertilisation or egg donation allow for a detachment of social
parenthood from biological relatedness. Some social scientists have argued that parent-
hood can be disassembled into its integral parts – in analogy to a construction kit – and
recombined in a completely flexible way (Beck, 1990). On the other hand, the same
technologies are used to reproduce and reinstate the idea of an unchangeable body and
‘natural’ concept of family (Weigel, 2002). As a consequence, biological notions of fam-
ily and kinship are strengthened further. Here we note an interesting paradox: while
genetic and reproductive technologies undermine the idea that family relations and par-
enthood are natural relationships founded on biology, they are simultaneously being
employed to reaffirm and re-establish this idea. Apparently, the decomposition of natural
family relations and the reconfiguration of family concepts by the use of genetic tech-
nologies comes at the price of a naturalisation of society (Franklin, 2000).

Conclusion
In this article we have discussed some implications that result from the use of DNA test-
ing in the context of family reunification. While it is certainly a legitimate interest of the
German political authorities, and generally of all nation-states, to regulate immigration
and to prevent fraudulent family reunification, the trend to rely increasingly on DNA
testing results is a two-fold problem. Firstly, the idea of a scientific and safe basis of fam-
ily relations that ‘trumps’ any other kind of evidence to document family relations (from
820 Sociology 47(4)

interview material to identity papers) fails to take into account privacy concerns and the
right to informational self-determination concerning genetic data. Secondly, the use of
DNA tests in the context of family reunification nurtures the idea of a biological family
and tends to devalue alternative conceptions of family as less important and secondary.
The requirement of a biological link between family members contrasts with family
recognition policies and legislation in Germany, and in many other host countries, which
emphasise social rather than genetic ties.
To be clear: the argument presented here is not directed against the use of DNA kin-
ship tests in family reunification procedures as such; nor is it our intention to argue for a
ban on their use in the context of immigration. Quite the contrary: under certain condi-
tions, they may well be a helpful tool for both applicants and immigration authorities. In
Germany, applicants often have to wait for years until their documents are checked and
verified by the authorities and it takes a long time before they can hope to be reunited
with their family members. With a DNA test, the decision is sometimes made within less
than four months from the application to the final decision. This is also why immigration
lawyers often advise their clients to take the test. ‘We, the lawyers, are quite pragmatic
in this respect. It has to go fast [and] the DNA test is helpful in this respect’ (Lawyer 2).
Also, a DNA test might be useful if no official documentation and identity papers are
available and the application would be rejected otherwise.
However, the findings of this empirical study indicate that a more balanced approach is
needed in German immigration policy, one that acknowledges the limits of DNA kinship
testing as a way of verifying family relatedness. It is necessary to reconsider administrative
decision-making in order to take into account privacy concerns, issues of data protection,
and the complexities and diversity of family arrangements in contemporary societies. The
institutional focus on DNA testing as a way of proving family relations and the mobilisation
of a biological concept of family which consequently marginalises social aspects of family
life produce new constraints for immigrants. They establish double standards as applied to
native citizens and immigrants in respect of their legal and political rights, and promote a
culture of mistrust and fear.

Acknowledgements
This research is part of the international project ‘DNA and immigration. Social, political and ethi-
cal implications of DNA analysis for family reunification’ (IMMIGENE). We would like to thank
our project partners for valuable discussions and helpful comments. We would also like to express
our gratitude to two anonymous reviewers for instructive criticism of an earlier version of this
article and to Gerard Holden who copy-edited the text.

Funding
We kindly acknowledge the funding of the German Federal Ministry of Education and Research
(grant number 01GP0903).

Notes
1. In 2009, two million first residence permits were issued in the European Union. At 27 per cent,
family reasons were the most important ground on which a residence permit was issued, fol-
lowed by remunerated activities with 24 per cent (European Migration Network, 2011c: 1).
Heinemann and Lemke 821

2. See Council Directive 2003/86/EC Art. 5, Sec. 2, Clause 2 ‘The application shall be accompanied
by documentary evidence of the family relationship [. . .]. If appropriate, in order to obtain evi-
dence that a family relationship exists, Member States may carry out interviews with the sponsor
and his/her family members and conduct other investigations that are found to be necessary.
When examining an application concerning the unmarried partner of the sponsor, Member States
shall consider, as evidence of the family relationship, factors such as a common child, previous
cohabitation, registration of the partnership and any other reliable means of proof.’
 3. The European Migration Network provides an overview of the different legislation and
administrative practices in the European Union (http://emn.intrasoft-intl.com/html/index.
html).
  4. The German Immigration Act was ratified in 2004, and entered into force on 1 January 2005.
  5. Refugees do not need to provide a living wage and living space if they apply for family reuni-
fication within three months after they have been officially recognised by the Federal Office
for Migration and Refugees.
  6. There has been press coverage of a case where more than 10 pieces of evidence were provided
but not accepted by the German Foreign Office (Funk, 2008; Gaserow, 2007). As it is very
time consuming to file a complaint in a German court against the immigration authorities, the
lawyer advised the clients to take the DNA test (Lawyer 2).
  7. Almost all blacklisted countries are from Sub-Saharan Africa and Central and South-East
Asia. The latest information is available on the website of the German Federal Foreign
Office: http://www.konsularinfo.diplo.de/Vertretung/konsularinfo/de/05/Urkundenverkehr__
Allgemein/Urkundenverkehr.html
  8. All quotes from the interviews have been translated by TH.
  9. The professional organisation for experts in parental testing (‘Kommission zur Feststellung
der Qualifikation von Abstammungsgutachtern’) lists 54 laboratories that offer DNA analy-
ses for family reunification (see http://www.kfqa.de). The authors know of eight additional
laboratories that are not included in the list but are officially accredited to perform DNA
kinship tests.
10. The right to ‘informational determination’ is grounded in the general right of personal-
ity rooted in Art. 2(1) and Art. 1(1) of the Basic Law, which protects the personal sphere
of life, guaranteeing the respect of human dignity and the right of free development
of one’s personality. The term was introduced by the German Federal Constitutional
Court (Bundesverfassungsgericht) in a ruling relating to personal information. In its
decision on 15 December 1983 it held that ‘[. . .] in the context of modern data pro-
cessing, the protection of the individual against unlimited collection, storage, use and
disclosure of his/her personal data is encompassed by the general personal rights of
the Basic Law. This basic right warrants in this respect the capacity of the individual
to determine in principle the disclosure and use of his/her personal data. Limitations
to this informational self-determination are allowed only in case of overriding public
interest.’ The Court claimed that every citizen has in principle a right to control the
flux of all information relating to him/her. It also reasoned that the present and future
conditions of data processing and collection permit a wide variety of possible abuses
against which the individual has to be protected (65 BVerfGE 1, 1983).
11. A case in Denmark impressively illustrates this problem: ‘Of all the Somalis who were sub-
jected to DNA testing by the Danish Immigration Service from January 1997 to September
1998, 58% received a negative result. Somali community leaders responded to these findings
by stating that “the concept of family is very different in [Somali] culture, and many Somalis
are not aware of the Danish concept of who is a family member and thereby entitled to family
reunification”’ (Taitz et al., 2002b: 26–7).
822 Sociology 47(4)

12. At the time of the interview, the applicants were still waiting for the decision of the immigra-
tion authorities.
13. Murdock (2008: 1521) describes the situation in France as follows: ‘While parenthood is
considered a multi-faceted relationship for French citizens, immigrants are limited to defin-
ing the parent-child relationship as genetics-based. While French family law was modified
to prevent the creation of any formal distinction between legitimate and illegitimate chil-
dren, the differing standard applied to immigrants creates a new foundation for disparity.
Children of immigrants who are not genetically linked to their parents are given a second-
ary status and the relationship is not recognized, despite the fact that the child may be with
the only parent she has ever known. This dual standard implies that French families may
recognize multi-faceted relationships, but without documentation, an immigrating family
may only be trusted when they assert the most basic nuclear family structure.’
14. See also the results of the qualitative study conducted by David Armstrong, Susan Michie
and Theresa Marteau. They analysed sessions of genetic counselling, and investigated how
the identity of the counsellees is constructed in the counselling process and how the genetic
definition of family was endorsed by the counsellors at the expense of social concepts: ‘The
processes of exploring the family tree and mapping the genetic links therefore serve to state
forcibly that genetic status was non-negotiable. There was never discussion of “who you are”
as this was pre-given by the density of the genetic map: identity was located in genetic make-
up’ (Armstrong et al., 1998: 1657).
15. While parental testing is a very precise way to determine biological relatedness, the technol-
ogy itself also has some limits: e.g. mutations may occur that lead to an exclusion of maternity
or paternity even though a biological relation exists (Dawid et al., 2001; Karlsson et al., 2007;
Mansuet-Lupo et al., 2009; Morling et al., 2003).

References
Aas KF (2006) ‘The body does not lie’: Identity, risk and trust in technoculture. Crime, Media,
Culture 2(2): 143–58.
Aas KF (2011) ‘Crimmigrant’ bodies and bona fide travelers: Surveillance, citizenship and global
governance. Theoretical Criminology 15(3): 331–46.
Ahrens v. Germany (2012) Application no 45071/09. European Court of Human Rights.
Armstrong D, Michie S and Marteau T (1998) Revealed identity: A study of the process of genetic
counselling. Social Science and Medicine 47(11): 1653–8.
Bade K and Anderson L (1994) Immigration and social peace in united Germany. Daedalus
123(1): 85–106.
Beck U (1990) Elternschaft als Baukastensystem. Die genetische Selbstkorrektur und Selbstgestal-
tung der Menschennatur. In: Beck U and Beck-Gernsheim E (eds) Das ganz normale Chaos
der Liebe. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 209–13.
Bogner A, Littig B and Menz W (2009) Interviewing Experts. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Clarke AE (2005) Situational Analysis. Grounded Theory after the Postmodern Turn. Thousand
Oaks, CA: Sage.
Council of the European Union (2003) Council directive No 2003/86/EC. EUR-Lex. Official Jour-
nal of the European Union L: 12–18.
Dawid AP, Mortera J and Pascali VL (2001) Non-fatherhood or mutation? A probabilistic approach
to parental exclusion in paternity testing. Forensic Sci. Int. 124(1): 55–61.
Esbenshade J (2010) An Assessment of DNA Testing for African Refugees. Immigration Policy
Center. Available at: http://www.immigrationpolicy.org/special-reports/assessment-dna-test-
ing-african-refugees
Heinemann and Lemke 823

European Commission (2011) Green paper on the right to family reunification of third-country
nationals living in the European Union (Directive 2003/86/EC). EUR-Lex. Official Journal of
the European Union 2011(735): 1–12.
European Migration Network (2008) Family Reunification. Available at: http://emn.sarenet.
es/Downloads/prepareShowFiles.do;jsessionid=34091D1858021A8AEFF08FFAD3430FC3?
directoryID=105
European Migration Network (2009) Ad-hoc query on conducting other investigation (using a
DNA Test) in family reunification. Available at: http://emn.sarenet.es/Downloads/download.
do;jsessionid=70411902EF878F98B78D9FB2365FE086?fileID=826
European Migration Network (2011a) Ad-hoc query on the concept of family member. Available
at: http://emn.intrasoft-intl.com/Downloads/download.do;jsessionid=7F8DBC3558C33B034
345570430EF4870?fileID=1257
European Migration Network (2011b) Ad-hoc query on verification of legality and genuineness
of marriage and validation of paternity. Available at: http://emn.intrasoft-intl.com/Downloads/
download.do;jsessionid=7F8DBC3558C33B034345570430EF4870?fileID=1245
European Migration Network (2011c) Key EU migratory statistics. Available at: http://emn.
intrasoft-intl.com/Downloads/download.do;jsessionid=CF86D21BC6C852ED97A95E46FA
AEAB77?fileID=2119
Federal Constitutional Court (2009) Pressemitteilung Nr. 98/2009 vom 25 August 2009. Available
at: http://www.bundesverfassungsgericht.de/pressemitteilungen/bvg09-098.html
Federal Court of Justice (2008) Decision of 30 July 2008 – XII ZR 150/ 06.
Federal Government of Germany (2008) DNS-Abstammungsgutachten im Rahmen von aufen-
thaltsrechtlichen Identitätsfeststellungen. Antwort auf die Kleine Anfrage der Abgeordneten Ulla
Jelpke, Sevim Dagdelen, Jan Korte und der Fraktion DIE LINKE. Drucksache 16/7698: 1–5.
Federal Government of Germany (2010) Vorwürfe gegen Ausländerbehörden wegen Gentests bei
binationalen Eltern. Antwort der Bundesregierung auf die Kleine Anfrage der Abgeordneten
Sevim Dagdelen, Ulla Jelpke, Wolfgang Neskovic, weiterer Abgeordneter und der Fraktion
DIE LINKE. Drucksache 17/1096: 1–9.
Federal Office for Migration and Refugees (2011) Das Bundesamt in Zahlen 2010: Asyl, Migra-
tion, ausländische Bevölkerung und Integration. Nuremberg.
Fehrenbacher A (2009) Das Anfechtungsrecht der Behörde bei rechtmissbräuchlichen Vater-
schaftsanerkennungen zur Erlangung eines Aufenthaltstitels. Zeitschrift fur Ausländerpolitik
und Auslanderrecht 29(1): 22–7.
Finkler K (2000) Experiencing the New Genetics: Family and Kinship on the Medical Frontier.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Finkler K, Skrzynia C and Evans JP (2003) The new genetics and its consequences for family,
kinship, medicine and medical genetics. Social Science and Medicine 57(3): 403–12.
Fitzgerald J (1998) Geneticizing disability: The Human Genome Project and the commodification
of self. Issues in Law and Medicine 14(2): 147–63.
Flick U (2007) Designing Qualitative Research. London: Sage.
Flick U (2009) An Introduction to Qualitative Research London: Sage.
Fonseca C (2011) Law, technology, and gender relations: Following the path of DNA pater-
nity tests in Brazil. In: Browner CH and Sargent CF (eds) Reproduction, Globalization and
the State: New Theoretical and Ethnographic Perspectives. London: Duke University Press,
138–53.
Foucault M (2000) Truth and power. In: Faubion JD (ed.) Michel Foucault: Power. New York:
The New Press, 111–33.
Franklin S (2000) Life itself: Global nature and the genetic imaginary. In: Franklin S, Lury C and
Stacey J (eds) Global Nature Global Culture. London: Sage, 188–227.
824 Sociology 47(4)

Freeman T and Richards M (2006) DNA testing and kinship: Paternity, genealogy and the search
for the ‘truth’ of our genetic origins. In: Ebtehaj F, Lindley B and Richards M (eds) Kinship
Matters. Oxford: Hart, 67–95.
Frenz W (2008) Begrenzung ausländerrechtlicher Maßnahmen durch europäische Grundrechte.
Zeitschrift für Ausländerrecht und Ausländerpolitik 28(11–12): 385–8.
Funk V (2007) Ausländerbehörden setzen auf Gentests. Frankfurter Rundschau, 12 November,
p. 6.
Funk V (2008) Mal DNA-Test, mal Familienfoto. Frankfurter Rundschau, 30 September, p. 9.
Funk V (2009) DNA-Test für Flüchtlinge. Frankfurter Rundschau, 9 March, p. 1.
Gaserow V (2007) Grenzen dicht für Birmaner. Frankfurter Rundschau, 22 October, p. 8.
German Bar Association (2009) Stellungsnahme des Deutschen Anwaltsvereins durch den Aus-
schuss Ausländer- und Asylrecht zu §17 Abs. 8 des Entwurfes eines Gesetzes über genetisch
Untersuchungen bei Menschen (Gendiagnostikgesetz – GenDG) – Bundesrats-Drucksache
633/08 vom 29.08.2008. Available at: http://anwaltverein.de/downloads/Stellungnahmen-09/
SN0609.pdf
Gibbon S (2002) Re-examining geneticization: Family trees in breast cancer genetics. Science as
Culture 11(4): 429–57.
Huber B (2010) Aufenthaltsgesetz. München: CH Beck.
Jastram K and Newland K (2001) Family Unity and Refugee Protection. Paper commissioned by
UNHCR through the International Migration Policy Program of the Carnegie Endowment for
International Peace. Available at: http://www.unhcr.org/3bd3d4a14.pdf
Karlsson AO, Holmlund G, Egeland T and Mostad P (2007) DNA-testing for immigration cases:
The risk of erroneous conclusions. Forensic Sci. Int. 172(2–3): 144–9.
Kautzor v. Germany (2012) Application no 23338/09. Strasbourg: European Court of Human
Rights.
Kieser A (2008) Erzwungen freiwillige Gentests. Telepolis. Available at: http://www.heise.de/tp/
artikel/28/28648/1.html
Koch L (2002) The government of genetic knowledge. In: Lundin S and Akesson L (eds) Gene
Technology and Economy: An Interdisciplinary Perspective. Lund: Nordic Academic, 92–103.
Kollek R and Lemke T (2008) Der medizinische Blick in die Zukunft: Gesellschaftliche Implika-
tionen prädiktiver Gentests. Frankfurt am Main: Campus.
Kreienbrink A and Rühl S (2007) Family Reunification in Germany: Small Scale Study IV in the
Framework of the European Migration Network. Nürnberg: Bundesamt für Migration und
Flüchtlinge.
Lemke T (2004) Disposition and determinism – genetic diagnostics in risk society. The Sociologi-
cal Review 52(4): 550–66.
Lippman A (1991) Prenatal genetic testing and screening: Constructing needs and reinforcing
inequities. American Journal of Law and Medicine 17(1–2): 15–50.
Lynch M, Cole SA, McNally R and Jordan K (2008) Truth Machine: The Contentious History of
DNA Fingerprinting. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.
Mansuet-Lupo A, Henke J, Henke L et al. (2009) A paternity case with three genetic incompat-
ibilities between father and child due to maternal uniparental disomy 21 and a mutation at the
Y chromosome. Forensic Science International Genetics 3(2): 141–3.
Martin R (2011) Tax agency: DNA-test no proof of paternity. The Local. Available at: http://www.
thelocal.se/33698/20110510/
Mayring P (2004) Qualititative content analysis. In: Von Kardorff E, Flick U and Steinke I (eds) A
Companion to Qualitative Research. London: Sage, 266–9.
Mol A (2002) The Body Multiple: Ontology in Medical Practice. Durham, NC: Duke University
Press.
Heinemann and Lemke 825

Morling N, Allen R, Carracedo A et al. (2003) Paternity Testing Commission of the International
Society of Forensic Genetics. Recommendations on genetic investigations in paternity cases.
International Journal of Legal Medicine 117(1): 51–61.
Murdock TR (2008) Whose child is this? Genetic analysis and family reunification immigration in
France. Vanderbilt Journal of Transnational Law 41(5): 1503–34.
Novas C and Rose N (2000) Genetic risk and the birth of the somatic individual. Economy and
Society 29(4): 485–513.
Prainsack B (2010) Key issues in DNA profiling and databasing: Implications for governance. In:
Hindmarsh R and Prainsack B (eds) Genetic Suspects: Global Governance of Forensic DNA
Profiling and Databasing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 15–39.
Prainsack B and Toom V (2010) The Prüm regime: Situated dis/empowerment in transnational
DNA profile exchange. British Journal of Criminology 50(6): 1117–35.
Richards M (2010) DNA paternity testing, parentage and kinship. Reflections on some tendencies
in the UK and in the USA. L’Homme 21(2): 101–5.
Rouvroy A (2008) Human Genes and Neoliberal Governance: A Foucauldian Critique. London:
Routledge.
Schmidt W (2007) Einreise nur gegen Gen-Nachweis. taz, die tageszeitung, 23 October, p. 7.
Swarns RL (2007) DNA tests offer immigrants hope or despair. The New York Times, 10 April, p. 1.
Taitz J, Weekers JEM and Mosca DT (2002a) DNA and immigration: The ethical ramifications.
The Lancet 359(9308): 794.
Taitz J, Weekers JEM and Mosca DT (2002b) The last resort: Exploring the use of DNA testing
for family reunification. Health and Human Rights 6(1): 20–32.
Ten Have, HAMJ (2004) Geneticization: The socio-cultural impact of gentechnology. In: Magill G (ed.)
Genetics and Ethics: An Interdisciplinary Study. St. Louis, MO: Saint Louis University Press, 80–100.
Turney L (2006) Paternity testing and the biological determination of fatherhood. Journal of Fam-
ily Studies 12(1): 73–93.
Turney L (2011) The denial of paternity: Pregnancy as a risk to the ‘pure relationship’. Sociology
45(6): 1110–25.
UN High Commissioner for Refugees (2008) UNHCR note on DNA testing to establish fam-
ily relationships in the refugee context. Available at: http://www.unhcr.org/refworld/
docid/48620c2d2.html
Walsh SJ and Buckleton JS (2005) DNA intelligence databases. In: Buckleton JS, Triggs CM and
Walsh SJ (eds) Forensic DNA Evidence Interpretation. Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press, 439–69.
Walter A (2009) Familienzusammenführung in Europa. Völkerrecht, Gemeinschaftsrecht, Natio-
nales Recht. Baden-Baden: Nomos.
Weigel S (2002) Genealogie und Genetik. Schnittstellen zwischen Biologie und Kulturgeschichte.
Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.
Weiss MG (2011) Strange DNA: The rise of DNA analysis for family reunification and its ethical
implications. Genomics, Society and Policy 7: 1–19.
Zadok E, Ben-Or G and Fisman G (2010) Forensic utilisation of voluntarily collected DNA sam-
ples: Law enforcement versus human rights. In: Hindmarsh R and Prainsack B (eds) Genetic
Suspects: Global Governance of Forensic DNA Profiling and Databasing. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 40–62.

Torsten Heinemann is a postdoctoral research fellow in the Biotechnologies, Nature and

Society Research Group in the Faculty of Social Sciences at the Goethe University
Frankfurt/Main in Germany. His research interests are in social and critical theory, cul-
tural sociology and social studies of science and technology with a special focus on
recent developments in the neurosciences and genetic testing. Recent publications
826 Sociology 47(4)

include Populäre Wissenschaft: Hirnforschung zwischen Labor und Talkshow (Wallstein,

2012); Risky Profiles: Societal Dimensions of Forensic Uses of DNA Profiling
Technologies (co-edited with Thomas Lemke and Barbara Prainsack), Special Issue of
New Genetics and Society, 2012.

Thomas Lemke is Heisenberg Professor of Sociology with focus on Biotechnologies,

Nature and Society in the Faculty of Social Sciences of the Goethe University Frankfurt/
Main in Germany. His research interests include social and political theory, biopolitics,
and social studies of genetic and reproductive technologies. Recent publications include
Der medizinische Blick in die Zukunft. Gesellschaftliche Implikationen prädiktiver
Gentests (co-authored with Regine Kollek; Campus, 2008); Governmentality. Current
Issues and Future Challenges (co-edited with Ulrich Bröckling and Susanne Krasmann;
Routledge, 2011); Biopolitics. An Advanced Introduction (New York University Press,
2011); and Foucault, Governmentality and Critique (Paradigm, 2011).
Date submitted October 2011
Date accepted May 2012
454348
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512454348SociologyLangdridge and Flowers

Article

Sociology
47(4) 827­–840
Living with the ‘Enemy’:  © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
HIV and Inter-species sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512454348
Relating soc.sagepub.com

Darren Langdridge
The Open University, UK

Paul Flowers
Glasgow Caledonian University, UK

Abstract
Work exploring inter-species relating has offered a critique of the anthropocentrism evident
within much social sciences research and also suggested that the coming together of the human
and animal-Other may offer up potential for an opening-up of human existence. In this article we
explore this theoretical move and push it to the limits by examining the relationship between
the human and a very particular animal-Other, the Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV). Thus
we move the focus from an analysis of companionate human-animal relating (Haraway, 2003,
2008) to what appears to be antagonistic species relating. This is empirically grounded through
the story of one man living with this virus and how he has come to find a way to accommodate
the animal-Other. This article aims to not only advance theory but also provide insights into how
it might be possible to find new ways of living with a viral-Other.

Keywords
embodiment, HIV, inter-species relating, long-term coping

Introduction and Theoretical Background

The crisis of humanism – and the notable move to question the constitutive nature of the
human subject – resulting from the critiques of structuralism and post-structuralism has
meant that social theorists have recognised the need to move beyond the human and with
this address the question of the animal as Other. Wolfe (2003) further argues that,
combined with these theoretical advances, the massive growth in ethology and ecology

Corresponding author:
Darren Langdridge, Department of Psychology, Faculty of Social Sciences, The Open University,
Walton Hall, Milton Keynes MK7 6AA, UK.
Email: d.langdridge@open.ac.uk
828 Sociology 47(4)

have led to serious questions about the anthropocentrism that is at the heart of the human-
ist project. Instead, there is now a new and sustained interest in:

… what Emerson called the ‘Not-Me’ (the environment, from the bacterial to the ecosystemic,
our various technical and electronic prothesis, and so on) … for the theoretical reason that the
‘human’, we now know, is not now, and never was, itself. (Wolfe, 2003: xiii)

This article locates itself on the boundaries of this developing area, seeking to ground
theory in the empirical, first and foremost through the human in relation (to the animal
as Other), whilst recognising the danger that this might simply serve to re-situate the
human as the site constitutive of meaning. The Other in this particular case is the Human
Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) and in this article we draw on and extend Haraway’s
(2003, 2008) work on inter-species relating to explore the impact of (ostensibly) antago-
nistic species relating, through the body of one particular human being living with this
virus. The tension in attempting to ground the ‘Not-Me’ in the empirical is acknowledged
and taken seriously by critically examining the interplay between human and non-human
animal, albeit articulated through the body of the human. Our aim in this article is both
to develop theory on inter-species relating and also to better understand what it means to
coexist with a viral-Other and how such a coexistence might be most effectively realised.
In other words, we seek to explore additional aspects of distributed human subjectivity
and the impact of this on the experience of living with HIV.
Of particular theoretical interest here is the work of Haraway (2003, 2008), who
moved her attention from human-machine interaction (through the trope of the cyborg)
to human-other animal relating (in particular, companion species animals). Whilst resist-
ing any call to the ‘post-human’, Haraway convincingly argues that, through a gradual
co-evolution, humans and companion animals have become inextricably linked and in
the process ‘open up’ the world for each other. That is, the material-semiotic presence of
companion species allows for an ‘a ha’ moment for the human in which more of the
world is revealed and therefore more of humanity becomes known. Noting the fact that
human genomes can be found in only 10 per cent of all cells in the human body with the
other 90 per cent inhabited by genomes of bacteria, fungi and so on, she comments that
‘to be one is always to become with many’ (2008: 4). This symbiotic relationship is
extended outwards to consider the relationship between human and animal-Other, chal-
lenging the long-held belief of human exceptionalism, of the divide between human and
all others.
Haraway (2008) concentrates primarily on the relationship between companion spe-
cies, notably ‘man’s [sic] best friend’, the dog. Recognising the difficulties inherent in
delineating a firm line between species, she identifies the companion as that which we
might consort or keep company with and the species as that which we might seek to see
or behold in search of an ‘autre-mondialisation’ founded on the inevitable knots that bind
us. In the process, Haraway takes issue with both Derrida (2002) and Deleuze and
Guattari (1987) for failing to recognise the way in which inter-species communication
can occur through meeting the gaze of non-human animals by taking up the invitation to
work or play with them. She contrasts this with the work of notable biologists, such as
Barbara Smuts, who saw communication as the key to understanding the animal-Other
Langdridge and Flowers 829

and in the process ourselves in relation. This becomes the focus of Haraway’s discussion,
as she sniffs out vivid examples of the coming together of human and companion animal,
through work, laboratory experimentation, dog breeding and training and the spectacle
of understanding ‘naturecultures’.
What Haraway (2008) touches on but fails to consider in any depth, however, are
other forms of inter-species relating, forms which are more obviously problematic but
nonetheless important. This is understandable, of course, given Haraway’s primary con-
cern with companionate species but it does leave a lacuna with regard to other more
problematic forms of inter-species relating. Of importance here is antagonistic species
relating, of the kind that may co-evolve from the coming together of human and virus. Is
this simply a case of ‘aggressive’ antagonism or might there be more to these relation-
ships than that? Can a more productive relationship be developed between human and
virus and can this lead to a more tolerable life found in relation with rather than in con-
flict with the animal-Other? That is, can this and does this relationship reveal more of
what it means to be human and also open up the possibility for new ways of coping with
the challenges of living long term with HIV?

The Viral-Other
Viruses occupy a liminal space between the living and non-living; described as ‘organ-
isms on the edge of life’ they possess genes and evolve by natural selection but do not
have their own metabolism and require a host cell to survive (Rybicki, 1990). Viruses
have a very small number of genes and, due to their peculiar way of reproducing, it
seemed highly unlikely that they would be able to gain many more, as they are suscepti-
ble to lethal mutations (Zimmer, 2011). For many biologists, the low number of genes in
viruses and the resultant inability to carry genes to let them eat, grow or expel waste,
combined with the fact that they cannot reproduce by splitting in two, leads to them
being categorised as non-living, with the International Committee on Taxonomy of
Viruses declaring in 2000 that viruses are not living organisms. However, there was no
consensus on this matter with many scientists rejecting the declaration outright. The
recent discovery of mimiviruses, with very large numbers of genes and a cell-like struc-
ture that can itself be infected by a virus, in particular has challenged the categorisation
of viruses as non-living (Zimmer, 2011).
For the purposes of this article these arguments are to some extent incidental, as the
focus here is on the way in which two organisms, of whatever kind, coexist and how the
human partner in this relationship understands the viral-Other as antagonistic or com-
panionate. When thinking through Haraway’s (2008) arguments, the viral-Other presents
itself as a bastard version of the companion animal-Other at the heart of her thesis. They
trouble the very notion of the animal-Other, not only through their status as living or not
but also through the complex ways in which they coexist in harmony or conflict, as the
harbinger of life or death. We cannot live without viruses: they are necessary for repro-
duction, the production of a proportion of the oxygen we breathe, amongst many other
things. They not only lead to bodily illness but also play a necessary role in bodily sur-
vival. As Zimmer (2011) argues, the key is not to engage in problematic boundary wars
830 Sociology 47(4)

about what constitutes life but rather to see viruses existing on a continuum at the
opposite end of life to ourselves but nonetheless important for the totality of life itself.
The presence of viruses within the human host is complex, only becoming the focus
of embodied consciousness when they act to disrupt the ‘body passed by in silence’
(Sartre, 1969[1943]), when they trouble our everyday way of embodied living through
ill-health. That is, as Toombs (1993: 70–1) explains: ‘Illness engenders a shift of atten-
tion. The disruption of the lived body causes the patient explicitly to attend to his or her
body … The body thus becomes transformed from lived body to object-body.’ There is
no simple opportunity to see the animal-Other here, no chance of mutual gaze and under-
standing (cf. Haraway, 2008). However, perhaps there is an opportunity to find a way to
relate – as our bodies come to our attention through illness – that recognises the way in
which they inevitably form part of our embodied being-in-the-world-in-relation to an
animal-Other.

The Challenge of Living with HIV

Large numbers of people are now living long term with HIV, and other viruses such as
Hepatitis C, as a result of the considerable advances in medical treatment in the last 20
years. Whilst a considerable amount of research has examined experiences of people
living with HIV there has been relatively little work examining the long-term impact
of living with a virus on people’s understandings of embodied subjectivity. Issues of
embodied subjectivity are clearly crucially important amongst people living with HIV as
the illness and drug treatment regimes have a significant impact on the physical appear-
ance of the body (alongside a person’s lived experience of his/her body).
In addition, the person and virus may come to be seen as one by the medical profes-
sion, by friends and family and, most importantly, by the person living with HIV him- or
herself. One example of this concerns the language used to describe infection. There is a
growing frequency in the use of the phrase ‘I am HIV’ rather than ‘I have HIV’ amongst
people diagnosed. Whether this is simply a linguistic shortcut or something more pro-
found is not known but if we contrast this to self-descriptions from people with other
diseases then it raises important questions about understandings of selfhood (in relation
to others). To hear someone state ‘I am flu’, ‘I am TB’ or ‘I am cancer’, when describing
what is ostensibly the same state of disease, would be astonishing but is somehow accept-
able with HIV. Flowers and Davis (2012) address this issue when considering the obsti-
nate nature of essentialism in gay men’s understandings of both sexual identity and HIV.
It appears that HIV status jostles or intertwines with sexual identity as a key marker of
selfhood within the context of biomedicalisation. This particular linguistic move speaks
to the sense of a viral takeover, at least in psychosocial terms, leaving space only for the
self to seek sanctuary in the mind, conceived as separate to the body. How is the relation-
ship between person and virus maintained in these circumstances? Is there the possibility
of embracing or regaining a sense of embodied subjectivity? Is there a productive rela-
tionality between person and virus, some accommodation between the two, or a constant
ongoing battle, with the person resisting and policing his/her body in the face of an
unwanted aggressor? Most importantly, what is the impact of different strategies in relat-
ing to the virus for the experience of living long term with such diseases? Are some
Langdridge and Flowers 831

strategies more successful in ameliorating psychological difficulties than others? Finally,

and of significance for social theory, what does living with say about humanity in the
face of the Otherness of the non-human, specifically that which has been traditionally
understood as an antagonistic Other.
One of the key challenges of managing HIV is that, as a retrovirus, the genetic infor-
mation of the virus actually becomes integrated within the host. The ‘normal’ transla-
tion of genetic information from DNA to RNA is essentially and literally corrupted and
completely inverted through the process of reverse transcription, which means the virus
effectively becomes a core part of the host’s DNA. Effective treatments can now control
the virus within the body and reduce damage to the immune system. Treatments reduce
levels of the virus within blood to the limits of detectability. However, HIV remains in
certain tissues within the body, described as ‘sanctuary sites’ or ‘viral reservoirs’. These
sites include ‘Lymph nodes and lymphatic tissue; the gastrointestinal tract, from the
tonsils to the rectum; the central nervous system; the thymus, where T-cells are edu-
cated, mature and multiply; and the testicles’ (Bernard, 2006). Thus the virus is oddly
obdurate and can be thought of as fundamentally integrated within the person living
with HIV. Furthermore, HIV acts as ‘gatekeeper’ of the apparent truce with other poten-
tially pernicious viruses – once infected and the immune system compromised a whole
host of viral cease fires (for instance with cytomegalovirus) are out of the window.
Infection thus leads not only to the challenge of living with the Human Immunodeficiency
Virus, but also potentially with many other viruses that we might otherwise be less
likely to encounter.
For people infected with HIV, one paradox of effective treatment is that the anti-viral
medication rather than the virus itself is increasingly the cause of ‘problematic’ symp-
toms. For instance, the body may become visibly marked out through lipodystrophy or
lipoatrophy, with the anti-retroviral treatment literally etched on the body of the patient.
Equally, uncertainties remain concerning the long-term effects of anti-retroviral treat-
ment in terms of risks for cancers, coronary heart disease and diabetes. One of the chal-
lenges of supporting adherence (which must remain at around 98%) is the blurring of
symptom aetiology (the elision of the effects of the virus within the tangible effects of the
treatments). For participant-led accounts of these dilemmas see Flowers, 2010, or for a
review of interventions to ameliorate them see Harding et al., 2011.

Sam – Learning to Live with the Viral-Other

In the following section we draw on the experience of one man living with HIV – Sam.
Sam was diagnosed with HIV in 1994 and so has been living with the virus for over 20
years. His story comes from a study of gay men living with HIV in Scotland and their
reactions to diagnosis, explored through a phenomenological study of their experience.
Data were collected through one-to-one interviews. The interview style consisted of a
dynamic of reflection, followed by further questioning relating to what the participant
had just said. Throughout the interview, the talk flowed from a general account of experi-
ence, to a very detailed, retrospective account of specific thoughts and feelings. For
specific details of the study design and methodology see Flowers et al. (2011). Of the 14
HIV-positive participants within that study, Sam was unique in his ability to describe his
832 Sociology 47(4)

changing relationship with HIV. This unique perspective is invaluable in providing an

alternative understanding of the possibility of how one may learn to live with a viral-
Other differently. In contrast to the interviews conducted with other participants he was
the only participant to draw upon diaries and his own poetry as key ways of sharing the
experience of living with HIV within the interview itself. Two interviews were also nec-
essary in this case (around one month apart) due to the length of the interviews and need
for Sam to go to another appointment during the first interview.
Throughout the following analysis, we draw primarily on Haraway’s (2008) argu-
ments about inter-species relating alongside ideas from the sociology of science and
technology (Callon, 1986a, 1986b; Latour, 1991). Central to this approach is the idea
that all actants in a network of relations may contribute to the production of the particu-
lar world-in-process being considered. No a priori assumptions are made about the
importance of particular entities, whether human, viral or medico-technical, accepting
that the primary source of data in this study is a human account. This account is not
privileged for offering insight into a particular human psyche but instead is understood
to provide the most readily accessible and pertinent route into an understanding of the
assembly of relations concerning the meaning and potential involved in living long
term with a viral-Other.
Sam’s process of learning to live with the virus is, in his own words, ‘transformative’
as his world is opened up in relation to this ostensibly antagonistic Other. His under-
standing of what it means for him to live with HIV has shifted over the years through a
gradual rapprochement between human and virus. This is not simple acceptance of diag-
nosis and then a continuing battle to deal with the effects of the interloper but something
much more significant, a recognition of a ‘fusion of bodily horizons’ (Langdridge,
2005), not between two people but between human and non-human, to touch and be
touched by the animal-Other. His ability to be affected by the viral-Other and move
towards a companionate relationship is a beautiful example of Latour’s notion of articu-
lation (2004). Here, the virus elicits different behaviours from Sam with him learning to
be affected by the Other, not simply through some western individualist and intrapsy-
chic act of selfhood but rather through the – medico-technologically mediated – rela-
tionship with a viral-Other. The notion of articulation is significant here for the way in
which it allows for us to take on board both the artificial and material aspects of embodi-
ment and relationality. Such articulation only becomes possible through biomedical
intervention, through the coming to awareness of the presence of the viral-Other that
results from HIV testing. Indeed, it is the test itself that affects Sam and thus mediates
the encounter between human and viral-Other. The microscopic nature of HIV pre-
cludes a face-to-face encounter, which is not to say that such an encounter is any the less
important, and thus requires a relationship between, at the very least, ‘patient’, ‘doctor’
and ‘HIV test’ to make it manifest in consciousness.
His first encounter with HIV is, however, relatively mundane though not inarticulate
since the presence of the viral-Other still profoundly affects him, as his diary entry
reveals. His account of diagnosis describes his fight against HIV, shock, fear and anxiety
but also relief at getting a diagnosis and reducing the uncertainty around being HIV posi-
tive. Even here, whilst issues of being-towards-death (Heidegger, 1962[1927]) were now
figure rather than ground in his world, Sam was determined to ‘make this bastard thing
Langdridge and Flowers 833

work for me’. His determination is fuelled by anger and a willingness to engage in a
knock-down fight with this viral interloper.

I know I’m still in shock, it’s very strange. I watched old people today and thought about not
growing to that age, about not actually wanting to, knowing that I’ve, I’m positive has in fact
lifted a strain off me, I had not realised that, I had not realised I was, the uncertainty caused me
a great deal of stress. I slept last night without much trouble, something I’d not done for a while,
I’m going to make this bastard thing work for me, I’m going to learn to do what I want, I am
important, I have a more concentrated life now, it must be of great value, I will learn to drive, I
will travel more, I will be more creative, I will write, I will be remembered. [sound of page
turning] I do not know at this point, I do not at this point fear death, I don’t suppose to die that
soon, there’s too much to do, I’m glad that I can face this with [name 3] and with [name of
partner]’s help I would like him to have … and with [name of partner]’s help… . And so I think
that that, in fact I’m sure that that probably, I think I had probably been a positive a hell of a lot
longer before then, [yeah] and I think that probably I kept myself alive, through that time. Un
un un wittingly kept myself alive through that time, [yeah yeah] just because I had a this
attitude of wanting to fight this thing.

Sam, his friends and loved ones resisted being subsumed within a medical model of
health and ill-health and instead sought to live out their lives with hedonistic abandon.
This was not bodily neglect but a refusal to enter the domain of the ill, a refusal to shift
their embodied subjectivities from their present sense of selfhood to that of the biomedi-
cal. Humour and ‘self abandon’ through pleasure enabled a distance to be maintained
between self and viral-Other, acknowledging their practical health needs and the chal-
lenge of living with a ‘monster’ whilst not embracing an identity as ill. Hedonism acted
as both a continuation of a particular lifestyle but also a counter to illness, enabling Sam
and his friends to neatly side-step the dangers of being subsumed within a biomedical
world of ill-health and an emptying out of the lived body by technology. Sam’s sense of
embodiment may have shifted from ‘a body passed by in silence’ (Sartre, 1969[1943]) to
a human-viral body, whilst the move to medico-technical body, with its consequent
requirements for continual health surveillance, at least within everyday living, was
actively refused.

You know he was just he was just actually that sort of you know sort of, you know and we were,
we were, we would almost make jokes about it. Um er … And not see it as as some – well it
was a great monster, but er it didn’t we weren’t allowing it to frighten us out of our lives you
know, because we we had very vibrant fun filled lives … I think perhaps it what it, what it was
was … a non conf … non confirmation to a lifestyle which you might have seen as a change,
you know: you’re ill now, so you’re going to have to, you’re going to have to get yourself
together, that’s that’s where the self abandon comes in. ‘No I’m not going to,’ you know ‘I’m
not going to change anything.’ That’s the sort of self abandon I’m talking about, so maybe it’s
not quite such a self abandoning as I, as actually in the background, is the process of of actually
keeping yourself together. So it seems like self abandoning, but in fact what you’re doing is is
that you’re not letting it stop you being yourself, funnily enough, so it’s quite the opposite!

Soon after diagnosis it was a diary that came to occupy the role of medical repository,
with Sam splitting off this aspect of living with HIV from his experience of everyday
834 Sociology 47(4)

living and other diary writing activities. The impact of medical surveillance (through
CD4 counts, bodily self-inspection, etc.) became ground rather than figure in Sam’s life
through their representation in a medico-technological diary. Whilst Sam was diagnosed
before the current regime of drug treatments he was still subject to medico-technological
interventions (regular testing, drug trials, and medical examination). Rather than allowing
the medico-technological body to subsume the body living with the virus, Sam relegated
this aspect of embodied selfhood to a specific diary, separate from his other diary. Here,
it could be acknowledged and recorded with a reciprocal relationship between the human,
virus, and medical technology (embodied through the HIV medical professional) mani-
fest in paper form, enabling Sam to live with the viral-Other less affected by the ‘mundan-
ity’ of medico-technological surveillance than might otherwise have been possible.

I started a separate ‘HIV and me’ diary, sort of separate from my other life time … it was getting
in the way of the flow of this diary in that I was describing mundane things like CD4 cell counts
… every boil that my body got and every rash … I’d actually found it boring.

A Process of ‘Transformation’ and Rapprochement

With the passing of time, the relationship between Sam and virus evolves and through
this evolutionary process his worldview begins to change. He highlights the way in
which HIV has changed him for the better, led to a more compassionate, more human
sense of subjectivity alongside his belief that there is no place for regret. The temporal
nature of existence (cf. Heidegger, 1962[1927]) is also emphasised as his HIV diagnosis
and the threat of death, brought to conscious awareness through the loss of friends and
loved ones to AIDS, leads to him living much more in the present, rejecting his former
tendency to put things off for the future:

… we’ll probably come to that later when I when I’ll start talking perhaps about the ways, ways
in which I’m thankful for being HIV positive, um because I see that in fact it’s it changed my,
the way I am, it’s change changed my character for the better, so so … I have no, I might even
read you another poem about um having no regrets about being HIV positive, because I know
at the time of my diagnosis, I was having a good time, so should have a regrets about having a
good [yeah] time? No so you know, it’s it’s just it’s attitude, it’s to do with attitude towards
what’s happening to you, [aye] and my attitude at that time point in time, well what if life still
goes on here? … Live life in the moment, this is the moment, this is the moment and I might, I
might not be able to do it tomorrow, I might, you know we don’t know where we’re going here,
and just that the the why put off till till tomorrow what you can do today, so that that that whole
sort of just …

With time Sam’s understanding of HIV being the ‘monster’ or ‘alien’ intruder is trans-
formed upon the twin recognition that ‘making a friend’ of your enemy dissipates its
power and that rather than fight this ‘enemy’ a better strategy might be to nurture his
body. Resistance to the threat engendered by this particular animal-Other gradually made
less sense as he came to recognise the way in which his own embodied subjectivity was
inflected by that of the virus. This led to a more caring and compassionate relationship to
his own selfhood. The relationship experienced is closer than we see in Haraway (2008),
Langdridge and Flowers 835

though even when describing the closeness to her doggy companions she notes the
exchange of saliva (and hence bacteria) that may be manifest through a loving lick. Here
we see the relationship between human and animal-Other move to an enfolding of ‘flesh’
within ‘flesh’ (cf. Merleau-Ponty, 1968[1964]) that is more ontologically profound, more
bodily significant and more emotionally affecting. The intertwining of self and Other,
realised through the medico-technical realisation of the presence of the viral-Other,
offers Sam an opportunity to become more human, to develop his sense of selfhood
through the most profound of ‘a ha’ events.

You’ve got to, you’ve you’ve got, you know, if you make a friend of your enemy, he’s not your
enemy anymore … not even, actually, no because not long after that moment, I realised that in
fact, it was part of me, I did realise that it was part of me, so how could I, how could, could …
yes so I did start off with this idea of this this thing being something to be resisted, um … and
I’m not sure exactly when the change came, I couldn’t really put a, or you know there wasn’t a
defining, a defining moment as to when it changed that I I then started to think about it as being
part of me, as opposed to um, but I think it might have had something to do with my belief that
one way in which I thought I could attack the HIV – and it’s a total fantasy this, was I used to
lie, I I it would be really nice sunny days, and I’d go for walks by myself, and I would sit in the
sun and I would meditate in in the sun, not sun bathe, it’s not … it wasn’t some sort of strange
er way to get a tan, and I used to think that the energy of the sun, not not the, not its heat, but just
the energy of the sun, um … could could change me, could heal my body. I think that’s probably
what it was, so I had this meditation where I would allow the energy of the sun to heal my body,
um and that might have had something to do with it, that the idea that it starts, it’s a nurturing
process that’s going on. So what I wasn’t doing, I wasn’t fighting HIV, I was nurturing my body,
and it’s some somewhere in in that process, um the two things became the same thing. The
fighting and nurturing were the same thing …

This is further nuanced by his realisation that he must not only nurture himself but also
resist hatred as the fight against HIV involves a fight against his own embodied subjectiv-
ity. Sam understands the anger that is at the heart of conflict as a negative response to
something that is now a part of his own body, part of himself. The metaphor of war shifts
to a ‘symbiotic dance’ between human and virus. Dualisms, whether this is mind-body,
oneself-another or human-animal, are rejected and a new connectedness is emphasised
between all aspects of his world. There is the beginning of the possibility of ‘breaking-
bread with’ the companion Other (from the Latin root of companion: com - panis),
acknowledging them, not through the visual connection between the eyes of human and
canine (Haraway, 2008), but rather through the medico-technical manifestation of the
viral-Other within the human as a result of HIV diagnosis. It is the viral-Other, manifest
through the medical technology of HIV testing, that induces new articulations through an
opening-up of selfhood through a sense of distributed subjectivity. In Despret’s (2004:
114) terms, we might argue that the virus ‘embodied the chance to explore other ways by
which human and non-human bodies become more sensitive to each other’.

You’re right, ok um … [So that …] what what changed was the realisation was that was that
this is well wait a minute, wait a minute, I think that what’s changed is that I can’t hate myself,
you know I can’t I can’t hate something that’s inside me, how can you hate something that’s
inside you? I mean that just logically that doesn’t sound right from from the start you know. If
836 Sociology 47(4)

you, if if the whole nature of conflict, and conflict revolution, er er resolution, is about
negotiation, so there you are that’s that’s the, let’s let’s negotiate how we live together, and ok
so we that that’s not the same as being, you’re saying, you see where do I see the divide? It’s
like the old er er problem of a Cartesian problem about mind and … So how can you, how can
it, how can you hate something: alright that’s your body, [yeah] you’re not your body, [yeah]
and then you have you have, that’s a … You see, but there is it’s a symbiotic dance you see, is
that these things are so, they’re so um … er, it’s not, it’s not two separate things, it’s the one
same thing, going back to Buddhism again, you know it’s that it … the same thing, the mind,
it’s all connected, [yeah] it’s there’s you know, being apart … it’s it’s all …

DNA becomes the ultimate marker of biological selfhood with Sam moving to finally
recognise his relationship to HIV through an acknowledgement that it is part of his bio-
logical foundations. He seemingly accepts a foundational, potentially reductionist,
understanding of biology and subjectivity through the course of his emerging under-
standing of his relationship to this virus. Such a reductionist discourse does not involve
a simple erasure of key distinctions between human and virus but represents a very clear
understanding of the biological reality of this particular and rather peculiar relationship.

Right, how is HIV part of me, [yep] um … it is, it is part of my DNA … love me, love my HIV
that was the sort of thing that was going on there I guess, that em, um … Well there you are
that’s just, you know, what you can’t you can’t pick and mix your options when it comes to
having to truly relate wholesomely with people; you can’t say: oh well you know, I like you but
I’m not so keen on your HIV. Um I think I’ve said to you before, you know, it’s the nature it, is
it’s er, it’s in our DNA, it’s in our RNA, it’s you know …

There is a profound intertwining between human and animal-Other at the heart of

Sam’s rapprochement between human and virus. There is increasing awareness of what
it means to be human, of living in the present and a process in which his world is opened
up. We witness an example of intercorporeal being emerging, the realisation of flesh in
Merleau-Ponty’s (1968[1964]) terms as human and animal-Other are connected through
a double belongingness. Sam and HIV perceive and touch each other with world and
body, human and animal-Other inextricably intertwined in a chiasm. The relationality
demonstrated here is of the same order, though subtly transformed, as that described by
Haraway (2008) and the relationship between human and companion animal. Much as
we might see in pregnancy (Young, 1985: 30), this relationship ‘challenges the integra-
tion of my body experience by rendering fluid the boundary between what is within,
myself, and what is outside, separate.’ Merleau-Ponty (1968[1964]) uses the example of
touch to highlight the reversibility of flesh but this ontological point implies a fundamen-
tal enfolding or invagination beyond this one mode of perception. As Young (1985: 30)
points out with pregnancy and we can extend here with human viral-Other relating, flesh
may actually become enfolded with an-Other, in a way that becomes companionate but
is still asymmetrical. The virus does not have conscious awareness of the relationship –
the relationship is only in principle reversible – and, in Merleau-Ponty’s terms, the viral-
Other is a mirror of Sam’s conscious awareness of living with HIV, conditioning Sam’s
understanding of embodied selfhood itself. The viral-Other assumes less Otherness, less
of a sense of threat and the possibility of it further mutating into a ‘docile’ companion is
realised in Sam’s imagination:
Langdridge and Flowers 837

It’s now something, it’s it’s it’s it’s a a a it’s a … [exhales] given that we’re we’re surviving
on drugs, I would hope that then in fact, you know I – that’s fine that’s just the way it is, um
… would I rather it was out of me? Yes, but that’s not to say, that’s not to say that you’d want
to kill it, you would just want it for, for it to transform into something else, and er and er, it
might do that, I mean I don’t know. None of us know where we’re going with HIV, it might
well be that one cure for HIV, is to let it be, is just to to actually um protect our bodies, so as
our bodies can function … and that and if we leave it long enough, what will happen to the
HIV? What will it mutate into? It might mutate into something, a a docile, you know we don’t
we don’t know. If we don’t attack it, it might not attack us, you know it’s … I don’t know.
[aye] Um …

But this is neither a simple passive acceptance of HIV nor a giving of oneself over to the
virus, as Sam, of course, wishes that he did not have to be in relation with HIV but does
not see the answer as a fight, as an aggressive antagonism. Instead, he seeks a genuine
rapprochement in which the viral-Other is also transformed into a docile companion.
Sam also notably refuses to take up the label ‘I am HIV’ that is introduced by the inter-
viewer, a phrase commonly heard from people living with the virus to describe their
status and identity, in which an essentialist identity of ‘being HIV’ appears to assume a
dominant status (Flowers and Davis, 2012).

I: Do you know, right I just, you know, do you know the phrase: ‘I’m HIV’. Why do
people use that and not: ‘I am HIV positive’, or ‘I’ve got HIV’?
S: I think I probably do actually, no I do I think I sometimes, either more, that er …
if somebody, if I was in a conversation with somebody, I would actually probably
say ‘I’m HIV positive’. I think actually I would say that.

His thoughtful and considered understanding includes a sense of relationality with the
virus without loss of selfhood or the adoption of an identity label of ‘being HIV’. His
verb choice (‘to have’ rather than ‘to be’, implied through the inclusion of ‘positive’ in
his self-description) is notable (cf. Flowers and Davis, 2012) and contrasts markedly
with the expressions of many other gay men living with HIV. As Flowers and Davis
highlight, the status of HIV as an illness entails many consequences, particularly for gay
men. They become bound up in an assembly of relations between self, medical profes-
sion, biotechnology (and biotechnological surveillance), the still stigmatising social
world, supportive community relations, friendships and much else besides, in which it
necessarily becomes a central part of their identity. Sam does not escape or avoid this, of
course, but his identity remains that of Sam, not the Human Immunodeficiency Virus or
medico-technological object, whilst accepting his HIV positive status, inextricably
bound up in an embodied relation with this particular animal-Other.

Conclusions
Sam’s story is exceptional and through this we can – perhaps – identify new possibilities
for how we might better face the challenge of living with HIV, as well as how we might
best encounter those other viral and bacterial ‘mess-mates’ that are intrinsic to life. The
continued biomedical struggle to separate us permanently from this viral interloper must,
838 Sociology 47(4)

of course, continue, but until the time when separation becomes a reality there is a need
to understand how we might live together, how we might cope better with this particu-
larly troubling animal-Other. It is the medico-technological that makes the relationship
with a viral-Other manifest but in this case there is not an emptying out of the lived body
through medical technology. The medico-technological body is relegated to a diary and
instead it is the body in relation with the virus that takes centre stage. Sam’s story offers
a particular resolution with human and viral-Other learning to find some sense of accom-
modation, a stance that may better equip us humans to live long term with HIV and allow
for an opening up of the world rather than its closing down. Flesh is conditioned by the
viral-Other, with this particular human consciousness articulated more fully as a result.
It is clearly a very human story, of struggle and survival, but it is also much more than
that. It is a remarkable story of human-animal relating, of a coming together, or enfold-
ing, involving the coexistence of species that – at this moment in history – must meet and
resolve their differences, one way or another.
Haraway (2008) rightly focused her attention on the relationship between human and
companion animal, recognising the way in which these vital relationships lead to humans
becoming more worldly, becoming more than they were before their encounter. What we
argue here is that this idea of human and animal-Other might also usefully be extended to
account for animal-Others beyond the companionate, beyond those that already coexist in
normally caring relationships. In addition, we also provide an extension to Merleau-Ponty’s
notion of flesh. Flesh is enfolded here not simply with an object of consciousness or ele-
ment of one’s own body, but with a material Other, an-Other of a different species and one
which has traditionally been understood as antagonistic. Living with an antagonistic other,
one on the edge of life itself, has traditionally been understood as a battle, a war in which
the animal-Other must be fought and destroyed. Sam’s story alerts us to a new possibility,
that of a coming together between human and viral-Other and an imaginary possibility of
these two creatures becoming more companionate. There is a real sense of the intertwining
of human embodied subjectivity with that of the animal-Other and wider social world.
This relationship is fundamentally mediated by the medico-technological, for it is only
with the intervention of testing that the virus is made manifest in human consciousness,
with its continuing presence further mediated through drug regimes and continual medical
surveillance. Whilst efforts to find a biomedical solution must undoubtedly continue, in the
mean time an extension of Haraway’s ideas might be valuable in developing an under-
standing of relationality that, whilst complex and troubled, is fundamentally human, dem-
onstrated through the desire to nurture a positive and constructive relationship with the
world that we inhabit and all those ‘mess-mates’ that we might encounter therein.
Whilst this article has focused on a case study of one man and his virus it is worth
considering the resonance of his story and our analysis with a range of other conditions.
Other blood-borne viruses, for example, such as hepatitis, present obvious corollaries.
The herpes viruses also merit distinct investigation with their far higher prevalence and
the concomitant challenging demands of living well with the virus (to avoid stress-
related outbreaks of symptoms in which the virus leaves the central nervous system and
sheds particles within the outside world). Equally, Sam’s particular relationship to HIV
speaks to many cancer stories and the similar challenges of maintaining embodied sub-
jectivity when the body is understood to have attacked itself.
Langdridge and Flowers 839

Together these possibilities speak to the theoretical and potentially therapeutic

implications of attending closely to the relational aspects between human and animal-
Other. In contrast to the common discourses framed around a model of jeopardy, in
terms of conceptualising relationality between human and animal/viral-Other through
the tropes of survivor, remission, and outbreak, or the dichotomous dynamics sug-
gested by biomedical understandings of infectious disease, here we have highlighted a
more radical alternative. This alternative involves the possibility of a gradual rap-
prochement between human and animal-Other, such that there is both a greater possi-
bility of embodied subjectivity and also potential for a more articulated, more
fundamentally human, sense of selfhood within the context of the challenge of ‘illness’
that we all must face.

Acknowledgements
We would like to thank the two anonymous reviewers for their helpful and very constructive
comments on this article. It was improved greatly as a result of their insightful input.

Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or
not-for-profit sectors.

References
Bernard EJ (2006) AnfAR funds ‘bold’ viral eradication studies: The search for a cure. NAM
AidsMap. Available at: http://www.aidsmap.com/en/news/2D810D00-BB98-4892-A263-
2D97216624E7.asp (accessed 18 May 2012).
Callon M (1986a) The sociology of an actor-network: The case of the electric vehicle. In:
Callon M, Law J and Rip A (eds) Mapping the Dynamics of Science and Technology. London:
Macmillan, 19–34.
Callon. M (1986b) Some elements for a sociology of translation: Domestication of the scallops
and fishermen of St. Brieuc Bay. In: Law J (ed.) Power, Action and Belief: A New Sociology
of Knowledge? London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 196–233.
Deleuze G and Guattari F (1987) A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. B
Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Derrida J (2002) The animal that therefore I am (more to follow). Trans. D Willis. Critical Inquiry
28: 369–418.
Despret V (2004) The body we care for: Figures of anthropo-zoo-genesis. Body & Society 10(2–3):
111–34.
Flowers P (2010) HIV transitions: Consequences for self in an era of medicalisation. In: Davis M
and Squire C (eds) HIV Treatment and Prevention Technologies in International Perspective.
Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Flowers P and Davis M (2012) Obstinate essentialism: Identity transformations amongst gay men
living with HIV. Psychology and Sexuality. DOI: 10.1080/19419899.2012.679364.
Flowers P, Davis M, Larkin M, Church S and Marriott C (2011) Understanding the impact of
HIV diagnosis amongst gay men in Scotland: An interpretative phenomenological analysis.
Psychology and Health 26(10): 1378–91.
Haraway D (2003) The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness.
Chicago, IL: Prickly Paradigm Press.
Haraway DJ (2008) When Species Meet. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
840 Sociology 47(4)

Harding H, Liu L, Catalan J and Sherr L (2011) What is the evidence for effectiveness of inter-
ventions to enhance coping among people living with HIV Disease? A systematic review.
Psychology, Health & Medicine 16(5): 564–87.
Heidegger M (1962[1927]) Being and Time. Trans. J Macquarrie and E Robinson. New York:
Harper and Row.
Langdridge D (2005) ‘The child’s relations with others’: Merleau-Ponty, embodiment and psycho-
therapy. Existential Analysis 16(1): 87–99.
Latour B (1991) Technology is society made durable. In: Law J (ed.) Technology, Power and the
Modern World. Keele: Sociological Review Monograph, 103–31.
Latour B (2004) How to talk about the body? The normative dimension of science studies. Body
& Society 10(2–3): 205–29.
Merleau-Ponty M (1968[1964]) The Visible and the Invisible. Trans. A Lingis. London: Routledge
and Kegan Paul.
Rybicki EP (1990) The classification of organisms at the edge of life, or problems with virus sys-
tematics. South African Journal of Science 86: 182–6.
Sartre JP (1969[1943]) Being and Nothingness. Trans. H Barnes. London: Routledge.
Toombs SK (1993) The Meaning of Illness: A Phenomenological Account of the Different Per-
spectives of Physician and Patient. Dordrecht: Kluwer.
Wolfe C (ed.) (2003) Zoontologies: The Question of the Animal. Minneapolis: University of Min-
nesota Press.
Young IM (1985) Pregnant subjectivity and the limits of existential phenomenology. In: Ihde D
and Silverman HJ (eds) Descriptions. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.
Zimmer C (2011) A Planet of Viruses. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Darren Langdridge is Senior Lecturer in Psychology at the Open University, UK,

Honorary Professor of Psychology at Aalborg University, Denmark, and a UKCP accred-
ited existential psychotherapist working in private practice. His work is primarily con-
cerned with the application of theory to contemporary issues in sexualities, alongside the
development of methodology and new modes of practice. He founded and co-edits
Psychology and Sexuality, a journal published by Taylor and Francis and is currently
working on his next book for Oxford University Press (due out in 2013), provisionally
titled: Sex-Sexuality-Citizenship: Beyond the Boundaries of Belonging.

Paul Flowers is Professor of Sexual Health Psychology at Glasgow Caledonian University,

UK. He is an academician of the Academy of Social Sciences. He currently runs the
Health Protection and Improvement research group at Glasgow Caledonian University.
He attained his PhD from the University of Sheffield in 1997 and is an inter-disciplinary
applied researcher with an interest in the contribution of the social sciences to applied
health research with a particular focus on the field of sexual health. He has drawn upon
multiple epistemologies addressing very diverse research questions ranging from the
phenomenological to evidence-based health promotion.
Date submitted December 2011
Date accepted May 2012
453787
2012
SOC47410.1177/0038038512453787SociologyHookway

Article

Sociology
47(4) 841­–857
Emotions, Body and Self: © The Author(s) 2012
Reprints and permissions:
Critiquing Moral Decline sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038512453787
Sociology soc.sagepub.com

Nicholas Hookway
University of Tasmania, Australia

Abstract
Morality is argued to be in a state of decline in the contemporary West. This article identifies two
dominant strands of moral decline sociology: the ‘cultural pessimists’ and the ‘communitarians’.
The article argues that these two dominant assessments of moral loss are underwritten by a set
of assumptions concerning ‘society’ as the necessary source of morality and a disparaging view of
emotion, body and self-authenticity culture. Drawing on Bauman, Ahmed, Irigaray and Taylor, the
cultural pessimist and communitarian diagnoses of the moral present are critiqued as offering an
overly pessimistic account of contemporary morality that ignores society as a ‘morality-silencing’
force and denies the ethical significance of self, emotions, body and therapeutic ideals of self-
improvement and authenticity.

Keywords
authenticity, Bauman, body, decline sociology, emotions, ethics, morality, self-fulfilment

Introduction
Narratives of moral decline are influential in current popular and intellectual western
debate but also run deep in a sociological tradition of moral crisis or loss. This article
traces this ‘decline’ genre of sociology in two dominant camps of modern ‘loss sociol-
ogy’. In the first camp are the ‘cultural pessimists’ who maintain that with the decline of
religion and traditional forms of authority, Westerners have become ‘narcissistic’ and
uncaring as they become absorbed by a ‘therapeutic’ culture where the ‘self improved is
the ultimate concern of modern culture’ (Bell, 1976; Lasch, 1979; Reiff, 1987[1966]:
62). In the other camp are the ‘communitarians’ who argue that a breakdown of
community and an ensuing individualism have undermined a common moral culture and

Corresponding author:
Nicholas Hookway, School of Sociology and Social Work, University of Tasmania, Locked Bag 1340,
Launceston 7250, Tasmania, Australia.
Email: nicholas.hookway@utas.edu.au
842 Sociology 47(4)

a shared sense of responsibility toward others (Bellah et al., 1996; Etzioni, 1994;
MacIntyre, 1985).
Although there is distinct overlap between these two models of moral loss – both
share concern over the weakening of traditional forms of authority, indifference to the
past and the impacts of a consumer society – the key difference is that the cultural pes-
simists locate weakening cultural authority and the rise of a therapeutic ethos of self-
fulfilment as the principal explanation of moral decline whereas communitarians situate
moral decline in the absence of a shared narratable framework for moral action related to
weakening community, tradition and social bonds.
Cultural pessimists view our current moral vacuum as the product of cultural transfor-
mation whereas for communitarians it is the result of social breakdown of communal
ties. Communitarianism offers not only a diagnosis of modern moral malaise but also an
agenda for remedy, hoping to restore communities, neighbouring, civic connectedness
and a sense of social responsibility (Frazer, 2000). The social context in which both
camps are writing is also a key point of difference. The cultural pessimists are writing
largely as critics of 1960s liberationist culture while communitarianism formed as a
response to the economic excesses of the 1980s, specifically the rise of neo-capitalism,
hyper-consumption and a free-wheeling market that accompanied fears of atomised self-
interest and materialistic acquisitiveness.
Drawing primarily on Bauman, but also on Ahmed, Irigaray and Taylor, this article
critiques the ‘cultural pessimist’ and ‘communitarian’ perspectives as providing an
unnecessary insistence on morality achieved outside the self in the sanctifying agents of
‘society’, ‘religion’ or ‘community’ and developing a one-dimensional reading of emo-
tions, body and authenticity. Both strands of moral decline sociology are critiqued as 1)
offering a romanticised picture of the society-morality nexus; 2) dismissing the possibil-
ity of emotions and body as morally productive; and 3) overlooking self-fulfilment and
authenticity as potentially positive contemporary cultural values.

Contemporary Assessments of Moral Decline

Moral Decline Take 1:The Cultural Pessimists
Phillip Reiff (1987[1966]), Christopher Lasch (1979) and Daniel Bell (1976) are key
figures in the ‘cultural pessimistic’ tradition of conservative social science. They share a
common concern with the weakening of cultural authorities, the concomitant rise of
‘psychological man’ (Rieff, 1987[1966]: 10) and an exaggerated preoccupation with
interior life and hedonism as the ultimate values of life. This moral impoverishment of
modern culture is evident in Reiff’s (1987[1966]) and Lasch’s (1979) psychoanalytic-
based discussions of cultures of ‘therapy’ and ‘narcissism’ and Bell’s (1976) concerns
regarding a consumer-based ‘fun morality’.
Reiff (1987[1966]) offers a scathing critique of the anti-authoritarian and ‘anything
goes’ moral culture he saw emerging from the ashes of a post-religious 1960s America.
For Rieff the shift from the religious authority of the priest to the secular authority of the
therapist embodied a wider cultural failure in the West. Working from the ‘anthropologi-
cal assumption’ that ‘everything is possible to human beings’, Reiff argues that the key
Hookway 843

to a meaningful personal and communal life is to know what not to do: to have an under-
standing of what is not allowed and what is impermissible (Woolfolk, 2003: 247). The
‘proper’ role of culture is to instruct through authority figures such as preachers and
fathers that ‘repression is truth’ (Eisen and Lewis-Kraus, 2008). Culture’s function is to
create a moral order through prohibition and deprivation of desire and passion. As Reiff
puts it, ‘the limitation of possibilities was the very design of salvation’ (1987[1966]: 15);
or ‘it is no, rather than yes, upon which all culture and inner development of character,
depend’ (1990: 284). These motifs of restriction are central to the formation of moral
character, orientating individuals outwards to the group and the society rather than
inwardly to the self.
For Reiff, the establishment of moral order requires repressive inhibition, where cul-
ture establishes and maintains a set of restrictive motives that liberate through control
rather than release. The fundamental problem with therapeutic culture in the Reiffian
tradition is that it is ‘remissive’ rather than ‘repressive’ (Reiff, 1987[1966]: 121). Therapy
society, argues Reiff, denies the prohibitive function of culture and transforms moral
problems into analytic issues for the self-actualising and emotional self. Morality
becomes a problem to be worked out, talked through and emotionally managed under the
guidance of the pseudo authority of the therapist (Wright, 2008: 326). Moral transgres-
sions are transformed from an external faith-guilt complex into internal psychological
and emotional issues dealt with in the form of dread and anxiety. A culture rooted in
therapeutic modes of thought and practice erodes the moral order by privileging the lim-
itlessness of the id at the detriment of a regulatory and restrictive cultural superego.
Reiff adopts a Freudian model of self and society where moral crisis is premised on
weakening cultural authority and inadequate repression of the id in a culture of expres-
sive individualism and self-fulfilment. In other words, vertical forms of cultural
authority – a culture’s interdictory ‘thou shalt nots’ – are flattened for the horizontal
and pardoning authority of the unregulated and emotionally unbounded self. In a tell-
ing sentence on the amoral dangers of sentiment and emotion, Reiff (1987[1966]: 49)
writes:

The saving arrangements of Western culture have appeared as symbol systems communicating
demands by stoning the sensual with deprivations and were thus operated in a dynamically
ambivalent mode. … our culture developed, as its general technique of salvation, assents to
moral demands that treated the sensual part of the self as an enemy.

Once more the emotions are taken as a destructive moral force, something to be restrained
– ‘stoned with deprivations’ – rather than expressed as a necessary condition for the
establishment of normative order. The very hope of a normative order depends in Reiff
on a culture’s capacity to act as a bulwark against the realm of the sensual – the realm of
bodily instincts, passions and emotions.
A similar model of moral decline is advanced in the social theory of Daniel Bell
(1976). Like Reiff, Bell argues that the turn to therapeutic cultures of self-fulfilment have
undermined religious forms of orientation and meaning, issuing an unparalleled permis-
siveness and hedonism. Bell’s basic argument, as outlined in The Cultural Contradictions
of Capitalism (1976), is that transformations in modern capitalism created a disjuncture
844 Sociology 47(4)

between a productive economy built on an earlier Protestant model of hard work, disci-
pline and delayed gratification and a consumer culture that promoted hedonism, play and
instant gratification (1976: 74).
The ‘new capitalism’ opened up a fundamental contradiction between a social struc-
ture that required restraint and impulse control and an emerging consumer culture that
exalted freedom and self-fulfilment. As Bell (1976: 72) put it: ‘one is to be “straight” by
day and a “swinger” by night’. Targeting the development of mass marketing, instalment
buying and a pervasive media and popular culture, Bell argued that consumerism was
threatening to corrode an older Protestant social reality and its concomitant values of
frugality, saving and renunciation of pleasure for a materialistic hedonism and individual
happiness. A ‘goodness’ morality was being lost for a ‘fun morality’ (Bell, 1976: 71).
In similar reasoning to Reiff’s importance of ‘stoning the sensual with deprivation’,
Bell argues that contemporary morality was no longer orientated to ‘what you cannot do’
but what you can do; a morality rooted not in the ‘intrusion’ of the impulses but their very
‘unleashing’. A ‘fun’ morality was the disastrous result of an emerging consumer age
which trades in the currency of pleasure, instant gratification and ‘letting go’ at the
expense of older Protestant virtues of restraint, renunciation and control. This scenario
was driven not only by the emergence of consumer culture but also by the breakdown of
religious forms of authority and the fracturing of a system of shared values. Like Reiff,
Bell was fearful about what the displacement of religion would mean for the establish-
ment of a moral order that he took to be central to social cohesion.
Reiff’s anxieties about weakening cultural authority are echoed in Bell’s assumptions
concerning the role of culture in regulating ‘human nature’. Bell states: ‘human culture
is a creation of men, the construction of a world to maintain continuity, to maintain the
“un-animal” life’ (1976: 170). It is not surprising to discover that he portrays the fall of
religion as a negative shift from a culture of restraint to a culture of release (1976: 14).
In Bell’s words: ‘the problem in modern society is that release itself has gone so far as to
be without bounds’ with the result that ‘nothing is forbidden, [and] all is to be explored’
(1976: 50). The ‘modern hubris’ is diagnosed as ‘the refusal to accept limits’ (1976: 170).
Bell (1976: 171) worried that without a suitable replacement for the sacred and higher
orientating structures, individuals would become submerged in a nihilistic void and ‘the
shambles of appetite and self-interest and the destruction of the moral circle which
engirds mankind’.
Lasch (1979) draws on similar assumptions in his map of the psychic impacts of
‘social crisis’ on ‘private life’. He accounts for the decline of morality in terms of the
displacement of religious modes of authority by therapeutic modes of self-fulfilment.
According to Lasch (1979: 11), the weakening of institutional and patriarchal forms of
authority has had damaging consequences for the organisation and experience of self and
identity. The widespread erosion of models of authority like ‘fathers, teachers and
preachers’ has created a psychological imbalance between the moderating and punitive
‘ego ideal’ and the aggressive and seething pre-Oedipal ‘superego’. Lasch argues that the
‘ego ideal’ develops later in life from ‘respected models of social conduct’ while the
‘superego’ is formed early in life in relation to instinct-denying parental authorities
(1979: 12). In other words, without the internalisation of admired models of authority
later in life, the aggressive and sadistic ‘superego’ takes precedence over the restraining
Hookway 845

‘ego ideal’. Lasch suggests that the unleashing of the ‘superego’ means we quite literally
revert to a childish rage and brutality (1979: 12). Like Reiff and Bell, Lasch is making
the case that the absence of traditional forms of authority creates a psychological disequi-
librium between controls and releases, between inhibition and gratification, between
restraint and impulse.
It is within this social and psychological space that Lasch contends that the moral
climate of modern society comes to be defined through the lens of ‘psychic self-
improvement’ and ‘an intense preoccupation with the self’ (1979: 25). A ‘narcissistic
culture’ attempts to screen the anxiety, depression and sense of personal emptiness that
stems from the contradiction between conformity to the rules of social interaction and
the absence of authoritative moral expectations. The role of therapy is to alleviate the
desperation of personal life through an ethic of ‘self-preservation’ or attendance to
the immediate emotional requirements of the self. Lasch suggests ‘mental health’ is ‘the
modern equivalent of salvation’ (1979: 13, 27). In the struggle to alleviate anxiety and
psychological unrest, we see the development of a ‘culture of narcissism’; that is, a
culture pathologically preoccupied with the care and well-being of the self:

Having no hope of improving their lives in any of the ways that matter, people have convinced
themselves that what matters is psychic self-improvement: getting in touch with their feelings,
eating health food, taking lessons in ballet or belly-dancing, immersing themselves in the wisdom
of the East, jogging, learning how to ‘relate’, overcoming the ‘fear of pleasure’. (1979: 4)

The search for self-fulfilment within the private realm of the self, while purported as a
refuge from an ‘anarchic social order’, offers little hope of escape in Lasch’s analysis. It
is a symptom of the disease rather than a treatment. Here the self disintegrates as it
becomes overcome by inner rage, an inability to feel and care for others, to look beyond
the present and an overwhelming sense of meaninglessness. The outside world becomes
a mirror of the emptiness, rage and uncertainty that absorbs the contemporary self.
Together Reiff, Bell and Lasch proffer a pessimistic assessment of the contemporary
moral condition. The breakdown of traditional forms of moral and religious authority
and the rise of ‘narcissistic’ and ‘therapeutic’ cultures in contemporary social life have
little to offer beyond empty and meaningless self-gratification and self-actualisation.
Having sacrificed obedience to a higher authority for an intensive focus on the expres-
sive, consuming, and self-actualising self, the modern West is left with amoral, uncaring
and ‘narcissistic’ selves (Lasch, 1979). In the end, morality has little hope in a culture in
which the individual is allowed to create their ‘own set of rules’, where ‘no’ has disap-
peared from our moral vocabulary, and where foundational moral laws enforced by reli-
gious tradition and higher moral authorities have disappeared.

Moral Decline Take 2:The ‘Communitarians’

‘Communitarian’ authors form a second strand of social theory influential in diagnosing
moral decline in contemporary western society. The central premise of communitarian-
ism is that widespread individualism and the decline of community are eroding shared
moral life. While the communitarians and the cultural pessimists share a concern about
846 Sociology 47(4)

the weakening of religion, traditional authority and the rise of consumerism, the prime
mover of contemporary moral loss for communitarian thinkers is the erosion of commu-
nity life and shared values (Bellah et al., 1996; Etzioni, 1994; MacIntyre, 1985).
If the central concerns of the cultural pessimists are the negative consequences of an
expanding therapeutic ethos, the rise of ‘psychological man’ and an increasingly permis-
sive culture, for communitarians it is the lack of a shared moral consensus and a frame-
work for common values driven by weakening community (Bellah et al., 1996; Etzioni,
1994; MacIntyre, 1985). Thus, cultural pessimists focus their critique on the dominance
of cultural values of self-improvement, narcissism and hedonism, while communitarians
concentrate on the weakening of shared social bonds and values and the negative impli-
cations this has for a sense of civic, public and social responsibility.
Etzioni, a prominent US communitarian theorist, asserts that community is ‘the most
important sustaining source of moral voice’ (1994: 31). Etzioni writes that ‘human behav-
iour must be made orderly’ so as to avoid ‘spousal abuse and the abuse and neglect of
children; to curb inappropriate sexual urges and aggressive feelings; to encourage people
to work and save, and not withdraw from the social realm into mind-altering states’ (2001:
360). The moral order he proposes is fundamentally a social order established in a web of
community relations that establish shared meaning and values (1994: 24).
Community, for Etzioni, is the pulse of morality, ensuring individual actions are ori-
entated toward moral ends through membership of collectives constituted by common
values. Community, therefore, is constituted by two elements: the first, a web of affective
and reinforcing social relations among a group of individuals; and, second, a commit-
ment to a common value system undergirded by a common history and identity (2001:
359). Etzioni argues that these two pillars of community have been eroded in late moder-
nity, meaning we live in an increasing state of moral malaise. Etzioni agrees with Robert
Putnam’s (2000) analysis of fraying and weakening social bonds in the contemporary
West – people are less likely to bowl together, birdwatch, have dinner together, etc. – but
he goes further than Putnam by arguing that these activities are socially important but
morally trivial. In other words, they meet the social connection criterion of community
but not the moral component. For Etzioni (2001), Putnam’s analysis is ‘sociologically
light’ as it overlooks the key question of how new moral cultures can be formed in the
modern West.
This leads Etzioni to postulate that even if people started ‘bowling together’ again this
does not equate to the restoration of morality. Bowling may have its own interactional
order based on rules of etiquette but it lacks any substantial engagement with the ‘big’
moral issues of our time, such as global climate change, rising social inequality, new
developments in technology or domestic or international politics. Here Etzioni finds sup-
port for his position in an empirical study on four different voluntary organisations by
Nina Eliasoph (1988).
Etzioni reads Eliasoph’s study as confirmation that voluntary organisations serve
needs for social attachment but are morally trivial. This triviality is captured in Eliasoph’s
example of mothers who provide emotional support to each other within voluntary
organisations: ‘Mothers discussed with one another difficulties they faced in bringing up
their children.’ For Etzioni this meets the criterion of bonds but does not constitute
morality. Without the restoration of both legs of community life, Etzioni argues the West
Hookway 847

faces ‘the danger of moral anarchy’ where common values are finally sold off to frac-
tured and self-interested individuals intent on ‘making it’ (1994: 123; 2001: 361).
Robert Bellah and colleagues’ (1996) analysis of the moral consequences of the weak-
ening of contemporary community life takes a similar alarmist tone. In a large-scale
empirical analysis of the moral understandings of Americans, Bellah et al. (1996: xlii,
xxx) conclude that ‘individualism may have grown cancerous’ as our ‘basic sense of soli-
darity with others’ is undermined and private attachments outweigh public commitments.
Bellah et al. (1996: 98), taking a similar line to Reiff, but couched with specific concern
over declining community, are critical of a ‘therapeutic contractualism’ which positions
the self as the ultimate arbiter of right and wrong, encouraging a belief that ‘each per-
son’s ultimate responsibility [is] to himself or herself alone’ (1996: 129). Further, Bellah
et al. suggest that the therapeutic attitude places an unmanageable stress on the individ-
ual as they come to endlessly scrutinise and monitor how they are feeling, what they
want and where they are going. Bellah et al. argue that this excessive management of
inner feelings – how am I feeling, am I in touch with my feelings, am I acting according
to my feelings – becomes so ascetic as to be unbearable (1996: 139).
Bellah et al.’s analysis indicates that the key problem with modern individualism is
that moral choice proceeds without ‘objectifiable criteria’ of right and wrong and that the
‘self and its feelings become our only moral guide’ (1996: 76). Individualism has become
our ‘first language’, which prevents a conception of ‘a larger framework of meaning’ to
orient self and community and shared visions of the public good. Brian Palmer, an
American businessman, is used as an exemplary figure in the telling of this argument.
Brian’s values and life-story – marked by a divorce and a shift from dedication to mate-
rial success to family and children – is argued to rest on a ‘fragile foundation’ as he is
unable to explain why his new life is better than his old one. Brian is taken as testament
of modern individualistic culture, ‘suspended in a glorious but terrifying, isolation’ as his
values are ‘vague’, no more than ‘personal preferences’ and lack ‘any wider framework
of purpose or belief’ (1996: 8, 6). Bellah et al. conclude that only the past republican and
biblical traditions can save Americans from the threat of modern individualistic values
such as those held by Brian Palmer.
Communitarian philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre (1985) offers an equally critical
reaction to the breakdown of community and the modern recourse to the self. MacIntyre
contends that with the weakening of community and the impoverishment of social roles
individuals have lost access to a common moral vocabulary (McMylor, 1991: 21). He
argues that we only know ourselves in relation to our inherited social roles: as fathers,
sisters, teachers, citizens, and members of occupational, clan and nation-based collec-
tives (MacIntyre, 1985: 220). These roles anchor identity, cement social relations and
provide a compass that orientates moral life. For MacIntyre (1985: 220), it is the mutual
obligations and duties embedded within these role structures that ‘constitute the given of
my life, my moral starting point’ (1985: 220). Social roles and the shared goals they
articulate within a community are morally loaded, providing the basis of the production
of virtues, moral obligations and the sharing of moral stories.
It is within this context that MacIntyre dislikes the social characters he sees as domi-
nant in modern culture: the ‘aesthete’, the ‘manager’ and the ‘therapist’. For MacIntyre,
these modern characters are emptied of moral meaning, promoting manipulative
848 Sociology 47(4)

means-end relationships but being themselves incapable of determining the moral worth
of the ‘ends’ they promote. The ‘aesthete’ relates to others in terms of achieving their
own ends, based on the promotion of pleasure and avoidance of boredom while the
‘manager’ and the ‘therapist’ are in the game of achieving ends (one bureaucratic, the
other personal) with maximum efficiency but they are silent on the moral content of
‘ends’ (McMylor, 1994: 26).
It is from this impoverished character line-up, MacIntyre argues, that contemporary
individuals come to construct an emotivist self. The ‘emotivist’ self – ‘which can be
anything’ but ultimately is ‘nothing’ – takes charge of moral decision-making but lacks
the essential social and moral building blocks (1985: 32). Like the ‘aesthete’, the ‘man-
ager’ and the ‘therapist’, we lack the means by which to determine the morality of ‘ends’.
In a detrimental move for morality, and resembling the cultural pessimists’ stance, the
disencumbered self becomes the locus of moral action rather than of virtuous social roles
and character. The result is that Westerners bicker and squabble over right and wrong
based on arbitrary personal and emotional preferences with no access to a real morality
or impersonal criteria with which to settle disputes (Fevre, 2000: 22). Morality still exists
in the contemporary present but takes on a severely impoverished form, reduced to the
futile deliberations of an emotivist self that lacks narrative and historical meaning. While
MacIntyre admits that small moral pockets of community endure in modern life, he dis-
tinguishes ‘well-ordered tradition’ from fragmented traditions like our own – the key
dimension of a ‘well-ordered tradition’ being that ‘genuine moral consensus’ exists.
Communitarian thought is expressly critical of any move to the self and individual as
a potential source of morality. For Etzioni, Bellah and MacIntyre, a modern culture pos-
tulating the uniqueness and authenticity of the individual can only result in a diminishing
care for others and a self-defeating culture of self-fulfilment. Morality cannot be left to a
de-socialised and emotional self guided only by the ends of its ‘own personal wants and
inner impulses’ (Bellah et al., 1996: 77). The proper place of morality is not self-
interested or emotionally irrational individuals but ‘agreed-upon standards of right and
wrong’ or ‘basic settled values’ formed and transmitted by community and social roles
(Bellah et al., 1996: 140; Etzioni, 1994: 25; MacIntyre, 1985). Any focus on interior and
emotional life – of ‘finding oneself’ or listening to ‘moral feelings’ – can only lead to an
empty morality and a pervading sense of meaninglessness (Bellah et al., 1996: 163).
Communitarians argue that the social foundations of morality need to be shored up
across the spheres of education, family, community, religion and politics. Etzioni (1994:
256–7) argues that remoralisation needs to start with the family where parents can enact
their ‘educational-moral duties’. His model of family is hosted by two parents who,
rather than being consumed with career achievement, focus on ‘moral education and
character formation’. Similarly, Bellah et al.’s (1996: 152) hope for the reconstruction of
moral life lies in the restoration of religious, civic, familial and educational-based ‘com-
munities of memory’ which orientate and sustain us beyond the pursuit of individual
fulfilment. For MacIntyre, the resuscitation of past narratives of heroism and Aristotelian
forms of virtue within institutions such as charities, voluntary organisations, churches,
schools and universities open possibilities for the rational re-establishment of morality.
The virtues sustained in community life offer a retrieval of moral life ‘through the new
dark ages which are already upon us’ (1985: 263). In sum, it is only through a return to
Hookway 849

the past that communitarians believe we can come to ‘know that it does make a differ-
ence who we are and how we treat one another’ (Bellah et al., 1996: 282).

Critiquing Moral Decline Assumptions

Critique 1: Society as ‘Morality-Silencing’ Force
Morality is unequivocally top-down in the cultural pessimistic and communitarian
accounts of moral decline, focused as they are on the negative moral consequences of
weakening tradition, religious authority and community. Morality must be rooted in
higher authoritative structures that preside over and regulate the inherently egoistic and
appetitive individual. Morality must come from something higher than the self; the self
cannot be a source of morality. It is only through authoritative social structures that
moral commitments and sentiments can be harnessed, endorsed and affirmed (Smart,
1999: 168).
For both cultural pessimists and communitarian thinkers, community and religion are
the proper origins of morality. A central issue with this position is it ignores how ‘society-
cum-religion’ can operate, as Bauman (1989: 174) defines it, as a ‘morality-silencing’
force. This critique is particularly relevant to the communitarian agenda of Bellah,
Etzioni and MacIntyre. The communitarians preclude the possibility that community,
that revered site of moral production, could itself be a source of immorality. A parallel
argument can be made regarding the overly optimist reading that the cultural pessimists
and the communitarians share concerning organised religion as a positive moral force.
An obvious point is that religion arguably ‘tears’ as it much as it ‘binds’. It fragments and
punctures societies, groups and the individual body as much as it anoints and sacralises.
This is not to castigate or pigeon-hole religion as a poisoning and irrational force – as
provocateurs such as Richard Dawkins (2006) and Christopher Hitchens (2007) do – but
to point out a glaring hole in decline accounts of morality and to offer a more ambivalent
reading of religion.
Bauman offers a powerful critique of the communitarian agenda. Bauman’s central
concern is that society, community and religion ‘expropriate’ individual moral responsi-
bility for commands from above and actively exclude alternative moral voices – he wor-
ries that the promise of togetherness and mutual understanding is sold for the cost of
freedom, autonomy and a promised release from the ‘torments of moral responsibility’
(1995: 278). The nub of Bauman’s critique is that analyses focused on the achievement
of morality outside the self in ‘community’, ‘society’, ‘religion’ or ‘tradition’, endorse
conformity and rule-following, sapping individual moral freedom and promoting intoler-
ance of moral difference.
The value of Bauman’s position is that it forces communitarianism to come to terms
with the construction of Otherness as a corollary of a shared moral community and to ask
what this means for relations to others outside one’s own preference – one’s own child,
family, community or ‘neo-tribe’ (Maffesoli, 1996). Bauman’s question to the communi-
tarians is what happens to those outside the social role, the community, the tribe, or the
nation? For example, if virtues, as MacIntyre (1985) suggests, are defined relative to
community goals, what happens to individuals or groups who do not share the communal
850 Sociology 47(4)

position (Hall, 1991: 102)? Bauman’s answer is that they are branded as strangers, dan-
gerous threats to the shared values and beliefs that hold the community together – or as
outsiders who provoke nothing but ‘indifference’ from the ‘we’ (Tester, 1997).
There is a degree of elitism in the communitarian assumption that we need to create
communities to sustain morality through the current ‘dark ages’, dismissing ‘managers’,
‘bureaucrats’ or ‘therapists’ as the ‘barbarians’ who have ‘been governing us for some
time’ (MacIntyre, 1985: 245). This same elitism is evident in how Bellah et al. (1996: 8)
dismiss the morality evoked by Brian Palmer. Despite describing Brian as showing ‘ten-
derness and admiration’ for his wife, ‘genuine devotion’ for his children and a ‘resilient
self-confidence’, these moralities are dismissed seemingly because they lack foundation
in biblical or republican traditions.
Bauman articulates how an emphasis on community goals may not only exclude alter-
native moral voices but also endorse crusades of exclusion and intolerance based on the
defence of sameness (1991: 234–5). The obsessive search for communal moral founda-
tions in the face of moral uncertainty can promote fundamentalist positions, which eman-
cipate individuals from freedom and ambivalence but promote an intractable intolerance
of difference and ambiguity. As a consequence, Bauman encourages an acceptance of
moral contingency and uncertainty rather than a desperate attempt to shore up moral
ambivalence in the false safety of moral islands of sameness.
Bauman’s challenge to communitarianism takes on a particular significance in light of
the pluralisation and fragmentation of community in contemporary life. This begs the
question of whether Etzioni, Bellah and MacIntyre’s analyses are offering anything more
than a nostalgic wish to return to a time when moral certainty was possible. These theo-
rists place hope in education, family, civic and religious traditions to ensure the proper
instruction of morality, but we must ask what moral precepts and rules are to be taught in
a social world marked by diverse communities, diverse values and the fracturing of any
over-arching community (Smart, 1999: 158). The practical implementation of communi-
tarianism stems from an authoritarian moral project which imposes a homogenised
model of community, and excludes or castigates those who do not fit the moral mould.
The West’s history of colonisation and dispossession of ‘those not like us’ gives testa-
ment to the dangers of this kind of communitarian position.

Critique 2: Emotions, Body and Feeling as Morally Generative

The second key issue with decline accounts is that the self, emotions and the sensual
body are regarded as inimical to morality. In both decline traditions, the function of soci-
ety is to restrain the body and the instincts for the purposes of creating moral order. In the
absence of the sanctifying structures of society, religion and community, the unregulated
body, the self and its passions are always ‘profane’ and never ‘sacred’. Reiff, Bell and
Lasch, for instance, in the first camp of moral decline, assume that culture should be built
on the restriction of aggressive and sensual impulses – a prohibitive culture that must
treat ‘the sensual part of the self as an enemy’ (Reiff, 1987[1966]: 49) or otherwise be left
to ‘the shambles of appetite and self-interest’ (Bell, 1976: 171). The essence of moral
decline in conditions of late modernity is diagnosed as a push toward the emotional and
bodily self without externally imposed limitation.
Hookway 851

Similar concerns are explicit in the communitarian camp. MacIntyre’s ‘emotivist’

self, Bellah’s fears over the ‘self and its feelings’ and Etzioni’s worries about ‘sexual
urges’ and ‘aggressive feelings’ all give testimony to a pessimistic view of the individual.
The self and the emotions are morally untrustworthy, if not destructive, needing to be
tutored in the communitarian foundations of family, school and community life. Etzioni’s
use of Eliasoph’s study, mentioned earlier, is instructive here. Etzioni ignores how moth-
ers offering each other emotional support within voluntary organisations could constitute
an act of morality. If actions do not stem from a common value system rooted in com-
munity then they do not make the moral grade according to Etzioni.
The problem with the ‘cultural pessimists’ and ‘communitarians’ is that the indi-
vidual is curtailed into a sort of Freudian realm of anti-social instincts and desires at
the expense of seeing the positive social and moral dimensions of feeling, emotion and
embodiment. They rule out the possibility that emotions and embodied feeling can be
morally generative and performative: how emotions might morally ‘do things’ (Ahmed,
2000). Both bodies of thought dismiss the possibility of individual embodied emotion
– moral feeling – as a source of moral action. They disregard the increasing importance
of emotional agency and ‘emotional reflexivity’ to the formation of self, subjectivity
and the very production of social and moral life in de-traditionalised conditions
(Holmes, 2010).
The critique of a culture of self and emotion that is central to decline accounts reveals
a masculine bias in which moral loss is theorised as the outcome of the demise of mas-
culine authority figures – the priest, the father, and the virtuous hero – who embody
rationality and objective reasoning over a feminine or therapeutic ethos of care, subjec-
tivity, listening and emotion (Elliott and Lemert, 2006: 70; Wright, 2008: 327). These
theories rest on Freudian assumptions that personality and character are formed in mas-
culine and rational relations of separation, repression and authority through the father,
rather than relations of bodily connection and emotional identification with the mother
(Irigaray, 1991: 31; Wright, 2008: 328).
Bauman (1993, 1995), Ahmed (2000) and Irigaray (1991) are useful here in moving
beyond decline assumptions, thinking through questions of morality in relation to emo-
tion, feelings and bodies. Central to Bauman’s (1993: 67) postmodern ethics is emotion
and feeling – ‘acting out of affections’ – as key strategies of moral action enacted within
relations of unconditional responsibility to the Other (Bauman, 1993: 67; 1995: 62).
Rather than morality being based in conformity to ‘heteronomous rules’, emotions are
seen as central drivers of moral choice prompted by the authority of ‘face’. Morality is
not a social construction beaten down by society, tradition or community or the rational
operation of universal laws but a matter of moral feelings commanded in infinite respon-
sibility to the Other (Bauman, 1995: 62).
While Bauman is helpful in directing the discussion of morality toward the positive
role of emotions, Ahmed and Irigaray can help extend Bauman by operationalising ‘how’
emotions work within ethical encounters, integrating the body within an ethics of
Otherness. Bauman may consider moral feeling as a contemporary substitute for mod-
ernist ethical rule-following but Ahmed ‘particularises’ how the emotions work within
concrete embodied encounters, while Irigaray introduces the sexed body as a site of
moral and spiritual reverence. For Ahmed, emotions are ‘relational’, moving ‘toward’
852 Sociology 47(4)

and ‘away’ from particular bodies and objects (2004a: 8). Emotions are not just ‘psycho-
logical dispositions’ but are ‘performative’; ‘they do things’ (Ahmed, 2004b: 26, 27, 32).
Emotions act as vehicles of demarcation between ‘us’ and ‘them’, inscribed and played
out on the surfaces of bodies. Irigaray, on the other hand, brings the body directly into
ethical encounter. Writing through the female body (Rose, 2003: 54), Irigaray uses meta-
phors of ‘angels’, ‘mucosity’ and ‘lips’ to engender a ‘carnal ethics’ where bodies unfold
toward each other; where wonder, joy, touch and corporeality create a mutual space for
communion in difference. The body is a site of spiritual and moral energy constituted not
in the absolute realm of God but through sexuality, desire and the flesh (Irigaray, 1991:
175). This is an ethics, as Irigaray (1991: 180) writes, that ‘crosses the boundary of the
skin into the mucous membranes of the body’.
Ahmed and Irigaray not only underscore emotional embodiment as morally signifi-
cant outside decline accounts but also push a Baumanian ethics beyond an abstracted and
infinite Other. In Ahmed and Irigaray, emotions and bodies are given ethical power as
moral responsibility is constituted in a system of emotional response, receptivity, speak-
ing and communication occurring through and within embodied relations (Ahmed, 2000:
147). Unlike Bauman’s view, the Other is not someone distant and abstract, always out
of reach and a cause of anxiety, but one rooted in emotional exchange, communication
and thus joy and pleasure.

Critique 3: Self-improvement and Authenticity as Cultural Values

In addition to castigating emotions and the body as morally destructive, the cultural pes-
simist and communitarian diagnoses of the moral present deny how therapeutic and self-
fulfilment cultures expressed in cultural values of personal authenticity or ‘being true to
the self’ could be morally productive (Taylor, 1992). Decline accounts read private con-
cern for self-fulfilment over public commitment as narcissistic or self-orientated rather
than other-directed. This position seems based on an old split between ‘private’ and ‘pub-
lic’, ignoring how ‘de-differentiating’ tendencies of globalisation, individualisation and
pervasive media and communication culture have upset a traditional distinction between
public rationality and a private arena of emotions (Elliott and Lemert, 2006: 70). The
distinction implies that any move to the private sphere is evidence of increased self-
absorption and egoism.
This can be seen first in the analysis of therapy and, second, in relation to practices
of self-improvement. Theorists like Reiff, Lasch, Bellah and MacIntyre seem to always
read the therapeutic self as amoral. While not denying the possibility for narcissism, it
is equally important to recognise how contemporary therapeutic and confessional cul-
tures, such as talk-shows, reality TV and blogging, can place an accent on questions of
emotion, suffering and ‘moral makeover’ – on becoming a ‘better’ person (Elliott and
Lemert, 2006: 124). Wright (2008: 333, 2006), for instance, pointing to cultural devel-
opments such as the advent of telephone counselling, the Australian Royal Commission
on Human Relationships and revelation of abuse in the Catholic church, argues that
therapy culture with its focus on the sanctity of the self, interpersonal relationships and
the emotional realm opens up consideration of caring relations and social justice. Wright
(2006) suggests that the therapeutic privileging of the emotional and the intimate can
Hookway 853

have a substantive social and political consequence as it promotes openness about

abuse, distress and suffering. Therapy culture can have emancipatory, care and justice
consequences both at the individual and collective levels as it provides ‘a language and
legitimacy to claims of oppression, abuse and violence’ otherwise not seen (2006: 309).
A similar argument can be made concerning the one-dimensional readings of prac-
tices of self-fulfilment and self-improvement advanced in theories of ‘narcissism’. For
example, do Lasch’s (1979: 4) examples of the turn to ‘the wisdom of the east’ or ‘eat-
ing health food’ have to be read as indices of a meaningless and narcissistic moral
impoverishment? Could these practices not be re-interpreted as self-originating acts of
ethics – as acts of personal authenticity that morally recognise the Other (Taylor,
1992)? The yoga practitioner teaches their disciples that ‘everything is connected’,
how nature, humans and the environment form an integral whole which places ‘us’ as
‘species’ in multiple relationships of responsibility to both self and others. Does the
‘wisdom of the East’, captured for example in the recent growth of Buddhism in the
West (Phillips and Aarons, 2007), not centre on an ethics of minimising suffering for
self and others?
Further, why read eating ‘health food’ as simply self-indulgent? Recent research in
the area of food and the ethics of consumption shows how the growth of fair-trade and
cruelty-free products, the slow food movement, practices of ‘buycotting’ and vegetari-
anism can figure in new forms of lifestyle politics, engender new modes of ethical citi-
zenship and encourage a virtuous ‘politics of the self’ (Lewis, 2008; Littler, 2005).
What decline theories overlook is how cultures of therapy and self-fulfilment can be
constructed within a more positive frame of ethical regard for others. If social theory
moves outside restrictive decline assumptions concerning the self and values of self-
development, this gives room to orientate to a more affirming view of the moral self
rather than the disparaging one constructed by the ‘cultural pessimists’ and the
‘communitarians’.
Charles Taylor (1992) provides a useful framework for analysing how contempo-
rary values of authenticity and self-improvement can be understood outside decline
assumptions. Taylor, like Bauman, is optimistic about the possibilities of a culture
built on the creative potential and freedom of the moral self. Taylor (1992: 81; 2007)
suggests that the ethical ideal of authenticity – wrapped in notions of self-discovery,
self-fulfilment and personal improvement – now plays a central role in modern west-
ern culture.
Rather than diagnosing the search for personal authenticity as an expression of narcis-
sism or hedonism, as in the decline theories of Reiff, Lasch or Bell, Taylor (1992: 11)
constructs what he calls a ‘work of retrieval’ which mediates between the ‘straight boost-
ers’ and the ‘outright knockers’. Taylor turns to the moral possibilities of a contemporary
ideal of authenticity built on the principle of ‘being true to yourself’ (1992: 26). This is a
moral mode that rests in the moral ideal of ‘being true to my own originality’, which is
‘something only I can articulate’ (Taylor, 1992: 29).
Taylor (1992: 74) contends that ‘at its best’ authenticity as a contemporary ideal
‘allows a richer model of existence’. Rather than destroying it point-blank for its weak-
nesses, Taylor sets as his task to raise the bar of the ideal, arguing that we should raise
the practice to the level of the ideal, an ‘ideal’ which in its higher forms calls upon people
854 Sociology 47(4)

to adopt a self-responsible form of life that engenders people to be ‘true to themselves’

within relations of responsibility to others. The key to achieving this is a tempered ver-
sion of authenticity that acknowledges its ‘constitutive tensions’ (1992: 71). This is a
reconstructed ideal that balances the creative, original and non-conformist dimensions of
authenticity – the artistic aspects – with external signifiers, points of reference outside
the self and relations with others.
Taylor acknowledges that authenticity is inevitably a concept of freedom but he warns
of an unfettered self-determining freedom that ignores wider ‘horizons of significance’
and the fundamentally dialogical dimensions of human life. He suggests that it is only
through others and ‘horizons of significance’ such as history, nature, charity, citizenship
and God that we come to know and recognise ourselves in meaningful ways (1992: 45–8;
68). Taylor argues that the individual choosing and feeling self is absurd taken in isola-
tion from others (1992: 36, 39).
The self makes no sense in separation. Identity and feelings can only make sense
when connected and justified in relation to pre-existing horizons of importance, meaning
and relationship. Accordingly, Taylor warns of the dangers of celebrating choice for
choice’s sake: there is a need for external conditions in which we can assume that some
decisions and evaluations are judged to be inferior or superior to others. Not all choice
and decisions can float with the same gravity or worth. This would lead to a trivial rela-
tivism where no choice, no evaluation or course of action would have more significance
or importance than any other. Authenticity as an ideal for guiding moral practice there-
fore must connect to something beyond and exterior to the self (1992: 40). Like the poet,
the musician or the artist, moral creation is personal and intensely subjective but it is still
connected to a social self; personal sensibility finds significance in the construction of a
world independent of self-choice and feeling (1992: 89). The value of Taylor is that he
recovers the moral self and practices of self-improvement from the straight-out nega-
tively of decline theory but does not trivialise morality to a sort of unfettered self-
determining and disencumbered freedom.

Conclusion
The central argument of this article is that cultural pessimist and communitarian strands
of moral decline sociology are underpinned by a set of problematic assumptions con-
cerning the necessity of authoritative social structures for the production of morality and
correspondingly produce a one-sided reading of the social and moral role of emotions,
body and values of self-authenticity. Three specific critiques were made: first, the insist-
ence on society as the only legitimate moral force; second, overlooking the moral capac-
ity of emotions and body, and third, ignoring self-fulfilment and authenticity as viable
moral structures.
The first critique was based on the assumption that decline sociology constructs
morality as an achievement established purely in the individual’s submission to society.
Using Bauman, it was suggested that the main drawback with this conception is that it
fails to acknowledge immorality as a potential corollary of society (Bauman, 1989). This
critique problematises the shared assumption of moral decline sociologists that the weak-
ening of external agencies such as faith, community and tradition has rendered moral
Hookway 855

order terminal. It was argued that communitarianism is particularly vulnerable to this

critique. Etzioni, Bellah and MacIntyre offer a romantic return to ‘community’, ignoring
how the insistence on a common value system can silence individual moral responsibil-
ity and exclude alternative moral voices.
Second, the claim was made that the cultural pessimists and the communitarians share
a disparaging view of feeling, emotions and body as potential moral structures. In par-
ticular, the arguments of Reiff, Etzioni and Bell consign self, emotion and bodies to a
destructive id-like aggression, desire and egoism. Utilising the work of Bauman, Ahmed
and Irigaray, it was maintained that these shared assumptions ontologically preclude
emotions and the body as a source of moral engagement. Further, Ahmed and Irigaray
were suggested to be useful in extending Bauman’s emphasis on feeling as moral guide
and integrating the body into an ethics of Otherness.
Last, it was argued that the cultural pessimist and communitarian traditions offer a
one-dimensional view of cultures of therapy and self-fulfilment as unavoidably egoistic
and self-absorbed. In doing so, they overlook the morally creative potential of the self,
particularly within the frame of an ‘ethics of authenticity’ (Taylor, 1992). This is a model
of ethics that positions self-development and self-fulfilment, embodied in the ideal of
‘being true to the self’, as workable moral structures in late-modernity. The article ges-
tures at how theorists such as Bauman (1993, 1995), alongside Ahmed (2000), Irigaray
(1991) and Taylor (1992), are important for theorising alternative moral structures out-
side decline models of ‘narcissism’ or ‘community breakdown’. Rather than evidence of
western moral decay, this article argues that emotion, the body and values of authenticity
and ‘being true to the self’ can be theorised as providing powerful frameworks for eve-
ryday moral action.

Acknowledgements
I wish to thank Daphne Habibis and Douglas Ezzy for their guidance and professional support.
Thanks also to the anonymous reviewers for their constructive feedback and advice.

Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial or
not-for-profit sectors.

References
Ahmed S (2000) Strange Encounters: Embodied Others in Post-coloniality. London: Routledge.
Ahmed S (2004a) Cultural Politics of Emotion. London: Routledge.
Ahmed S (2004b) Collective feelings, or, the impressions left by others. Theory, Culture and
Society 21(2): 25–42.
Bauman Z (1989) Modernity and the Holocaust. Cambridge: Polity.
Bauman Z (1991) The social manipulation of morality: Moralizing actors, adiaphorizing action.
Theory, Culture and Society 8(1): 137–51.
Bauman Z (1993) Postmodern Ethics. Cambridge: Polity.
Bauman Z (1995) Life in Fragments: Essays in Postmodern Morality. Cambridge: Polity.
Bell D (1976) The Cultural Contradictions of Capitalism. New York: Basic Books.
Bellah R, Madsen R, Sullivan WM, Swidler A and Tipton S (1996) Habits of the Heart: Individu-
alism and Commitment in American Life. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.
856 Sociology 47(4)

Dawkins R (2006) The God Delusion. London: Bantam Press.

Eisen AM and Lewis-Kraus GL (eds) (2008) Sacred Order/Social Order. Vol. III. Philip Rieff,
the Jew of Culture: Freud, Moses and Modernity. Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia
Press.
Eliasoph N (1988) Avoiding Politics: How Americans Produce Apathy in Everyday Life. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
Elliott A and Lemert C (2006) The New Individualism: The Emotional Costs of Globalization.
New York: Routledge.
Etzioni A (1994) The Spirit of Community: The Reinvention of American Society. London: Simon
and Schuster.
Etzioni A (2001) On social and moral revival. Journal of Political Philosophy 9(3): 356–71.
Fevre RW (2000) The Demoralization of Western Culture: Social Theory and the Dilemmas of
Modern Living. New York: Continuum.
Frazer E (2000) Communitarianism. In: Browning G, Halchi A and Webster F (eds) Understand-
ing Contemporary Societies: Theories of the Present. London: Sage, 178–90.
Hall RT (1991) Communitarian ethics and the sociology of morals: Alasdair MacIntyre and Émile
Durkheim. Sociological Focus 24(2): 93–104.
Hitchens C (2007) God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. New York: Warner
Books.
Holmes M (2010) The emotionalization of reflexivity. Sociology 44(1): 139–54.
Irigaray L (1991) Questions to Emmanuel Levinas. In: Whitford M (ed.) The Irigaray Reader.
Oxford: Blackwell, 178–89.
Lasch C (1979) The Culture of Narcissism: American Life in an Age of Diminishing Expectations.
New York: WW Norton.
MacIntyre A (1985) After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory. London: Duckworth.
McMylor P (1994) Alasdair MacIntyre: Critic of Modernity. London: Routledge.
Lewis T (2008) Transforming citizens? Green politics and ethical consumption on lifestyle televi-
sion. Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies 22(2): 227–40.
Littler J (2005) Beyond the boycott. Cultural Studies 19(2): 227–52.
Maffesoli M (1996) The Time of the Tribes. London: Sage.
Phillips T and Aarons H (2007) Looking ‘east’: An exploratory analysis of western disenchant-
ment. International Sociology 22(3): 325–41.
Putnam RD (2000) Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York:
Simon and Schuster.
Reiff P (1987[1966]) The Triumph of the Therapeutic: Uses of Faith after Freud. New York:
Harper and Row.
Rose G (2003) A body of questions. In: Pryke M, Rose G and Whatmore S (eds) Using Social
Theory: Thinking through Research. London: Sage, 47–64.
Smart B (1999) Facing Modernity: Ambivalence, Reflexivity and Morality. London: Sage.
Taylor C (1992) The Ethics of Authenticity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Taylor C (2007) A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Tester K (1997) Moral Culture. London: Sage.
Woolfolk A (2003) The therapeutic ideology of moral freedom. Journal of Classical Sociology
3(3): 247–62.
Wright K (2006) Therapy culture. In: Beilharz P and Manne R (eds) Reflected Light: La Trobe
Essays. Melbourne: Blank Inc, 302–12.
Wright K (2008) Theorizing therapeutic culture: Past influences, future directions. Journal of
Sociology 44(1): 321–36.
Hookway 857

Nicholas Hookway is a Lecturer in Sociology at the University of Tasmania. His work

focuses on the construction of moral identity in late modernity. His other research inter-
ests are kindness, religion and spirituality, new media and online research technologies.
Date submitted April 2011
Date accepted May 2012
488702
2013
SOC47410.1177/0038038513488702SociologyBook Review Essay

Book Review Essay

Sociology
47(4) 858­–864
Class, Inequality and © The Author(s) 2013
Reprints and permissions:
Wellbeing sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038513488702
soc.sagepub.com

Shelina Visram
Durham University, UK

Ken Roberts
Class in Contemporary Britain (2nd edn)
Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011, £24.99 pbk (ISBN: 9780230238664), x + 262 pp.

Jonathan Rose
The Intellectual Life of the British Working Classes (2nd edn)
New Haven, CT:Yale University Press, 2010, £12.99 pbk (ISBN: 9780300153651),
544 pp.

Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett

The Spirit Level:Why Equality is Better for Everyone
London: Penguin, 2010, £10.99 pbk (ISBN: 9780241954294), 400 pp.

In August 2011, riots took place in several cities and towns across England following a
protest over the death of a man shot by police in the working-class district of Tottenham.
Numerous commentators have offered explanations for the unrest and why it spread so
quickly, with some pointing to a complex mix of economic and social tensions, and oth-
ers attributing it to ‘criminality pure and simple’.1 It is unsurprising that the riots tended
to be concentrated in areas characterized by high poverty, unemployment and depend-
ency on welfare. One-third of the adults involved had no qualification higher than GCSE
level and 35 per cent were claiming out-of-work benefits (compared to 12% of the work-
ing-age population) (Home Office, 2011). Depending on the commentator’s ideological
position, these individuals were either portrayed as marginalized, disaffected members
of the working classes or as ‘chavs’, a term used synonymously with a type of ‘feral
underclass’. In his book of the same name, Owen Jones (2010) explores the way in which
use of the word ‘chav’ in the UK often suggests middle-class contempt towards

Corresponding author:
Shelina Visram, Centre for Public Policy and Health (CPPH), Wolfson Research Institute, Durham University
Queen’s Campus, University Boulevard, Thornaby, Stockton-on-Tees TS17 6BH, UK.
Email: shelina.visram@durham.ac.uk
Book Review Essay 859

working-class people who fail to behave in ways that they deem respectable. Jones also
describes class hatred as the last acceptable prejudice. This work and the London riots
both draw attention to the growing economic and social inequalities in Britain, which
contribute to the persistent segregation of society along class lines.
All three of the books reviewed deal with the issues of inequality and class segrega-
tion, albeit in very different ways. Ken Roberts provides an overview of the contempo-
rary situation in Britain in terms of the composition and defining characteristics of the
main social classes, as well as highlighting how and why these have changed over time.
He uses class theory to explain the observed patterns and trends in social and economic
inequalities, and to explore their consequences from a sociological point of view.
Jonathan Rose focuses on the working classes and provides an in-depth historical account
of their engagement with education, literature and other scholarly pursuits. By drawing
on a diverse range of sources, he sheds light on the intellectual lives of ordinary people
and the inter-relationships between culture, democracy and equality. In contrast, Richard
Wilkinson and Kate Pickett are epidemiologists whose work investigates the relationship
between inequality and a wide range of health and social problems. Using data generated
during years of research, they provide extensive evidence to suggest that income inequal-
ities within societies play a more important role than inequalities between societies. One
of their major findings is that a larger gap between the rich and poor results in worse
outcomes for everyone in society, although the poorest groups suffer the most from
greater inequality. Their work goes further than that of Roberts and Rose in suggesting
what could and should be done to make societies more equal.

Class Inequalities Today

Roberts sets out to explore an issue that is central to the work of many sociologists; that
is, ‘how the class divisions that arise in economic life are liable to spill-over into people’s
minds and wider social relationships, and the implications for their political activities
and preferences’ (p. 17). The book begins by referencing Wilkinson and Pickett’s research
demonstrating that Britain is the third most unequal country in the western world,
although their work actually refers to the UK as a whole. Reference is also made to the
work of Harriet Bradley (1996), who identified three key challenges to class theory:
changes in the class structure, increasing awareness of other social divisions, and post-
modern thought, which challenges the possibility of objective knowledge of the ‘real’
world. As a consequence, there is no universally agreed class scheme, yet the Goldthorpe/
NS-SEC (National Statistics, Socio-Economic Classification) scheme is set out as the
most appropriate tool for mapping and exploring the role that class plays in our lives.
This represents a type of employment aggregates approach, which groups together occu-
pations that share common ‘employment relations’ (p. 21). The various criticisms of this
approach are acknowledged but Roberts maintains that employment is the best single
indicator of class and uses the Goldthorpe/NS-SEC scheme as an organizing framework
throughout the remainder of the book.
There have been important changes in the composition of all social classes, as well as
changes in their relative and absolute sizes. Major trends include the shift from manufac-
turing to service sector jobs and from manual to non-manual occupations, which have
860 Sociology 47(4)

important implications for class demographics and social mobility. For example, Britain’s
working class can be considered both a shrinking and ageing population, whereas the
middle class is younger and more diverse. This is because ‘the growth of the middle class
has required many of these new positions to be filled from beneath … High proportions
have been upwardly mobile (drawn from the working and intermediate classes)’ (p. 70).
Roberts paints a rather positive picture of growing numbers of children born into the
working class throughout the 20th century who then moved into the middle class. It is
acknowledged that these trends in social mobility have contributed to the disorganization
and disempowerment of the working class. Furthermore, as the middle class grows and
the rate of growth slows, it is becoming increasingly self-recruiting. This creates the
conditions that favour the development of ‘characteristic middle class lifestyles, forms of
consciousness and political dispositions’ (p. 208), where currently there is difficulty in
identifying distinctive social, cultural and political characteristics. It can be argued that
the contemporary middle class or classes are defined by their individualism and frag-
mentation. While Roberts accepts that numerous divisions exist – for example, between
those at different occupational levels or working in different sectors – he asserts that
these ‘often pale into insignificance when set against the split between the entire middle
class on the one hand and the working class on the other’ (p. 155).
A similar debate occurs in relation to whether or not a single, unified underclass exists
in Britain. Roberts sets out the main arguments for and against, before concluding that
‘Disadvantages can occur in many different combinations, thereby creating more than
one disadvantaged group’ (p. 106). These groups are seen as impoverished members of
the working class, concentrated in inner cities and council estates of the sort described by
Lynsey Hanley (2008) in her work on the history and decline of social housing. Drawing
on her own experiences of growing up on an estate, Hanley uses the term ‘a wall in the
head’ to describe the feeling of being excluded from the wider world. While it is true that
disadvantage tends to cluster in particular families and neighbourhoods, Roberts chal-
lenges the idea that cultural or inter-generational transmission of poverty is inevitable.
He also highlights the ‘mass of contrary evidence’ (p. 62) for the assertion that income
inequalities are the result of market forces. Class theory is offered as an alternative expla-
nation for the contemporary situation where, in spite of changes over time in absolute
rates of social mobility, relative rates have remained stable. There has also been a long
history of victim blaming or attempting to ‘distinguish between the deserving and unde-
serving poor’ (p. 105). In summing up the situation for those who have been most harshly
affected by recent economic changes, Roberts states:

Maybe a blunt truth is that these groups are superfluous to economic requirements in what is
still, possibly more so than ever before, a work-centred society. Thus the disadvantaged are
most likely to remain fragmented, marginal, semi-connected, and another blunt truth is that
they are all products of our society, not under or outside, or aliens from elsewhere. (p. 107)

A Cultural History
While the previous book will be useful to anyone seeking an introductory text on class
theory, Rose’s work may find a wider readership among those with an interest in history,
Book Review Essay 861

education or literature. It sets out to ‘enter the minds of ordinary readers in history, to
discover what they read and how they read it’ (p. 1), focusing on the period dating from
before the Industrial Revolution to the mid-20th century. In essence, the aim is to explore
how and why the British working classes sought to educate themselves in the tradition of
the ‘autodidact’ (a self-taught person). This aim is methodically and meticulously
addressed by drawing on the memoirs of these autodidacts, supplemented by social sur-
veys, library registers, school records and other sources. As well as referencing many
well-known authors, artists and thinkers, Rose provides numerous inspiring personal
stories. Readers in northern England in particular might enjoy the story of ‘The most
famous example of a menial labourer emancipated by an arrogantly elitist author …
Catherine McMullen’ (p. 40), more commonly known as the prolific writer Catherine
Cookson. While it is suggested that these manual workers desired ‘intellectual independ-
ence’ and sought ‘to become individual agents in framing an understanding of the world’
(p. 12), there were also benefits to be gained from collective action and the creation of
‘their own network of informal self-schooling programs’ (p. 57). Rose goes on to give
examples, from mutual improvement societies (Chapter 2) and miners’ institutes (Chapter 7)
to the Workers’ Educational Association (WEA) and Ruskin College (Chapter 8). They
created the conditions for the formation of the labour movement, yet ‘these institutions
are scarcely mentioned in studies of labour history’ (p. 58).
Education is often seen as a way to move beyond the boundaries of one’s social class
at birth and achieve social mobility. However, mass education can also be considered a
tool of the state in training citizens to ‘become obedient cogs in an industrial machine’
(p. 146). There was an initial suggestion that this approach could not be reconciled with
the autodidact tradition:

That was the autodidacts’ mission statement: to be more than passive consumers of literature,
to be active thinkers and writers. Those who proclaimed that ‘knowledge is power’ meant that
the only true education is self-education, and they often regarded the expansion of formal
educational opportunities with suspicion. (p. 57)

Using historical data, Rose is able to assert that ‘schools certainly were dismal places in
the early nineteenth century’ (p. 148) from the perspectives of working-class children,
but that the situation improved as the century progressed. A distinction is made in these
data between childhood responses to school, which are generally favourable, and pre-
sent-day (adult) opinions, when regret is often expressed over the lack of educational
opportunities made available. Cultural literacy greatly improved over the course of the
20th century but questions are still raised as to whether this cultural wealth is shared
equally between poor and affluent groups:

In that sense, E.D. Hirsch is entirely right to criticize the maldistribution of knowledge in
contemporary America. When he argues that democracy and equality are impossible without
mass cultural literacy, he is only saying what generations of British working people knew in
their bones. (p. 236)

In spite of the often romantic tone, this book is well written, witty and thought pro-
voking. It challenges many widely held assumptions about the individual and collective
862 Sociology 47(4)

pursuits of members of the British working classes. The vested interests of the middle
and upper classes in suppressing the intellectual pursuits of those considered to be
beneath them in the social hierarchy and excluding them from so-called high culture are
illuminated. Cultural elitism combined with rapid social and economic changes have
subsequently contributed to the decline of the autodidact tradition, which Rose describes
as ‘a great loss’ (p. 464) both for the working classes and for society as a whole.

Why Equality Is Better for Everyone

In a similar vein, Wilkinson and Pickett demonstrate the negative effects of inequality for
whole societies as well as for the poorest groups in a society. They start by highlighting
an important paradox in asking the provocative question, ‘How is it that we have created
so much mental and emotional suffering despite levels of wealth and comfort unprece-
dented in human history?’ (p. 3). Throughout history, the most effective way to improve
quality of life has generally been to raise material living standards, which are closely
linked to economic growth. However, this association is breaking down for the world’s
most affluent countries, and not because the biological limits of human life expectancy
have been reached. While acknowledging that there is still much to be done in the devel-
oping world, Wilkinson and Pickett focus on countries where the vast majority of people
no longer have to worry about their basic material needs being met and yet long-term
rises in numerous health and social problems have been observed. They set out to exam-
ine this ‘contrast of material success against the social failure of many rich countries’ (p.
4) by collecting internationally comparable data on as many problems as they could
locate reliable figures for. These include levels of trust (Chapter 4), obesity (Chapter 7),
children’s educational performance (Chapter 8) and violence (Chapter 10). For each of
these indicators, Wilkinson and Pickett set out to do the following: ‘Rather than blaming
parents, religion, values, education or the penal system, we will show that the scale of
inequality provides a powerful policy lever on the psychological wellbeing of all of us’
(p. 5). While their argument is not particularly new, it is supported by a comprehensive
and growing body of scientific evidence.
Unlike Roberts and Rose, Wilkinson and Pickett are not sociologists or historians
and their concern is not with class theory. In fact, they admittedly pay little attention to
existing work on social class classifications and instead focus exclusively on income
inequality. This enables them – as epidemiologists – to conduct cross-country compari-
sons and make an ‘assessment of whether the gaps between groups are bigger or smaller
in one country than another’ (p. 276). They make excellent use of figures to clearly
illustrate the way in which their findings support their hypotheses. For example, graphs
are provided side-by-side to illustrate that the positive relationship observed between
their index of health and social problems and income inequality disappears when the
index is plotted against national income per person instead (pp. 20–1). Three key ques-
tions arise, the first being whether the relationship is simply an artefact of the data
selected for inclusion in the analyses. In the paperback edition of the book, Wilkinson
and Pickett take the opportunity to address this query by reiterating that they ‘used the
most reputable data sources and took the data for as many of our 25 countries as were
available – warts and all’ (p. 281). However, this has not ended the debate as to whether
Book Review Essay 863

or not their work is based on ‘bad science’. Some do not believe they have demonstrated
that greater equality is actually better for everyone in society. They have responded to
these criticisms by referring to multiple sets of data demonstrating that, regardless of
how people are classified, people in each category are healthier than people in the same
category in a less equal society.
The second question concerns causality, as an association between inequality and
wellbeing is not sufficient to demonstrate that one causes the other. This is challenging
when it is not possible to experimentally reproduce inequalities in a sample of the popu-
lation and observe the effects. However, Wilkinson and Pickett are able to draw on a
number of experimental and observational studies to support their argument. For exam-
ple, there have been studies exploring changes in the behaviours of Indian children in
situations before and after their caste is made known, and also demonstrating that captive
primates that are given a lower rank in an artificially engineered hierarchy take more
cocaine than higher ranking primates. The implication is that ‘performance is affected by
being categorised as socially inferior’ (p. 193), even in environments where the inhabit-
ants experience the same material conditions.
The final question, if it is accepted that inequality is to blame for many of the prob-
lems observed in affluent societies, is what can and should be done about it. This is
where Wilkinson and Pickett have attracted a great deal of ‘fair criticism and foul
attacks’ (p. 277). They suggest that a happier, healthier society could be created by
restricting people’s lifestyle choices and material possessions, which sounds a lot like
Communism and may be particularly unpalatable to right-wing readers. However, the
book has gained cross-party support, with the British Prime Minister citing it in his pre-
election address on the ‘Big Society’ policy idea. Although the final section of the book
becomes something of an anti-consumerist manifesto, the tone is optimistic and the aim
remains to improve quality of life for everyone. Reference is made to a not-for-profit
organization set up by the authors to campaign for greater income equality.2 While some
may describe this organization as propaganda masquerading as social science, others
will see it as a means of working together to achieve social justice based on the availa-
ble empirical evidence. As Wilkinson and Pickett state, ‘At the most fundamental level,
what reducing inequality is about is shifting the balance from the divisive, self-inter-
ested consumerism driven by status competition, towards a more socially integrated and
affiliative society’ (p. 233).

Conclusion
A common theme running through each of the three books is the idea that inequalities –
whether they are social, cultural or health related – have detrimental effects on society.
This provides further support for Michael Marmot’s (2010) argument for proportionate
universalism, which involves addressing health inequalities by taking action across the
whole social spectrum. Where the books and authors differ is in their approaches to
examining and explaining these inequalities. Roberts draws primarily on sociological
class theory and states that ‘it is not difficult to demonstrate that people who are born into
different social classes have very different, very unequal, life-chances’ (p. 182). By
examining historical trends, he suggests that a distinct underclass could emerge,
864 Sociology 47(4)

particularly if recent levels of unemployment persist. Rose bases his thesis on historical
data and primarily on first-hand accounts from manual workers, which might easily be
dismissed as anecdotal evidence. By giving a voice to those that have previously been
assumed to have little to offer, he challenges the widespread cultural elitism that both
acts as a form of inequality in itself and also contributes to maintaining segregation
between the social classes in Britain. Wilkinson and Pickett take an international per-
spective and, using data from the world’s richest countries, examine the relationship
between inequality and wellbeing. Debates continue as to the strength and direction of
this association but the evidence base in support of their work is growing. Essentially,
inequality is unlikely to be good for your health and wellbeing.

Notes
1. Quote from a speech on the London riots given by the Prime Minister David Cameron on
Tuesday 9 August 2011.
2. Information can be found on the Equality Trust website: http://www.equalitytrust.org.uk

References
Bradley H (1996) Fractured Identities: Changing Patterns of Inequality. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Hanley L (2008) Estates: An Intimate History. London: Granta.
Home Office (2011) An Overview of Recorded Crimes and Arrests Resulting from Disorder Events
in August 2011. London: Home Office.
Jones O (2010) Chavs: The Demonization of the Working Class. London: Verso Books.
Marmot M (2010) Healthy Lives: Strategic Review of Health in England Post-2010 (The Marmot
Review). London: University College London.

Shelina Visram is a lecturer in the Centre for Public Policy and Health at Durham University. She
also works with Fuse (a UKCRC Centre for Translational Research in Public Health). Shelina’s
research interests include health promotion, social inequalities in health, and the use of lay knowl-
edge in public health interventions. She recently completed a doctorate on the role of lay health
trainers in facilitating positive lifestyle changes in socio-economically disadvantaged communi-
ties, and is currently preparing a number of papers based on this research.
488701
2013
SOC47410.1177/0038038513488701SociologyBook Reviews

Sociology
47(4) 865­–870
Book Reviews © The Author(s) 2013
Reprints and permissions:
sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav
DOI: 10.1177/0038038513488701
soc.sagepub.com

Jacqueline Kennelly
Citizen Youth: Culture, Activism, and Agency in a Neoliberal Era
Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011, £58 hbk (ISBN: 9780230106680), 206 pp.

Reviewed by: Michael P. Mowbray, Simon Fraser University, Canada

Taking up the ‘uneasy sibling relationship’ between ‘youth citizen and youth activ-
ist’, Citizen Youth: Culture Activism, and Agency in a Neoliberal Era begins with a
distinction between permissible citizenship roles (‘good citizen’) in contrast to those
which are disqualified and disvalued (‘bad activist’). Kennelly thus sets out to define
‘the symbolic edges of a container that encapsulates a certain kind of contemporary
youth citizenship’ (pp. 3–4). In so doing, the author sketches a brief but cogent his-
tory of the discursive construction of youth citizenship in Canada, with a particular
focus on the exclusions and differential valuations of practices and identities implied
by contemporary liberal notions of ‘active citizenship’ (euphemistically, ‘activism’)
as individualized charitable work, undertaken on behalf of others by members of the
middle classes, comfortably consistent with parameters laid out by the capitalist
state. Such constructions, Kennelly suggests, are typical of rooted institutional habit
in citizenship education. In exploring the dynamics of antiglobalization, antipoverty,
anticolonialism and antiwar youth engagement which seeks to push beyond such
containment, Citizen Youth subsequently highlights intrinsic tensions in these latter
contexts as it draws on ethnographic detail garnered through interviews, focus-
groups and in situ observation with youth activists in Vancouver, Toronto and
Montreal to depict the participants’ experience of adherence to such oppositional
commitments.
Perhaps most indispensable in this account is the author’s extrapolation of a critique
of youth activist subculture(s) that highlights the potential for the perpetuation of
entwined class and ‘race’ harms, uncomfortably consonant with the limitations of the
‘active citizenship’ model. Responding to the perennial sociological problem of locating
a site of agency amidst the sedimentation of social relations, rules and resources,
Kennelly proposes to conceptualize a ‘relational modality of agency’. ‘Relationality’ in
this case designates ‘the centrality of interpersonal relationships’ (p. 166) rather than the
operations of structured oppositions (i.e. in discourse). Citizen Youth is thus concerned to
articulate the conditions and implied provisos of ‘invitation’, acceptance and personal
comfort within ‘radical’ activist groups.
866 Sociology 47(4)

In addition to a recurrent theme stressing the ‘guilt and anxiety’ (p. 107) and empha-
sis on personal choice associated with the emotional makeup of the self-perfecting neo-
liberal subject (cf. Nikolas Rose), the problematic of (sub)cultural capital is at the
forefront of Kennelly’s critique. The goals of projects aimed at the furtherance of social
justice objectives are ‘undermined and complicated’ by a situation in which entry and
ease in activist settings is in part contingent upon ‘fit’ vis-a-vis a particular subcultural
identity located within a field possessed of its own unique doxa, and ‘only attainable by
a limited few’ (p. 108). Such identities, the author suggests, often play out in a kind of
‘working-class/middle-class performance’, what Kennelly terms ‘performing grunge’.
Whatever the merits of the terminological choice, this amounts to an expression of
symbolic authority:

… whereby one must demonstrate a certain kind of ‘working-class comportment’ (through

taking low-income jobs, wearing used clothing, and living in cheap housing, for example), but
do so from within a middle-class frame (be highly educated, be cognizant of relevant theorists,
and be articulate about one’s political ideologies). (p. 136)

The prospect, then, of ‘misalignment between habitus and field’ (p. 122), demonstrated
through the testimony of research participants of working-class and immigrant back-
grounds, stands out alongside the potentially exclusive consequences of affinity-based,
informally constituted networks.
The argument provides, as Kennelly intends, an informative heuristic with which
to approach contemporary youth activism. The slim volume is richly illustrative –
the author’s predilection for substantial block quotes from research participants a
welcome choice – though leaving the reader keen for further elaborated accounts of
key terms and thematic foci (‘performing grunge’, for example). I was struck by
Kennelly’s largely successful articulation of a situation intuitively grasped (and at
times more explicitly tussled with) by others familiar with the activist subcultures
she describes, and while I would have been pleased to encounter explicit engage-
ment with the considerable literature immanently produced (i.e. in social movement
media), the already extensive scope of the work readily excuses this absence. Nor
is what is on offer by any means an unsympathetic critique. As the author suggests
in an endnote, chiding the Canadian pop-theoretical critics Joseph Heath and
Andrew Potter (authors of The Rebel Sell) for their obtuse rebuke of ‘counter-cul-
ture rebels’, the pervasive resilience of class, ‘race’ and the structuring influence of
contemporary (neo)liberalisms in forming individual tastes, preferences and subjec-
tivities calls for a perceptive sociological endeavour rather than moralism or real-
politik (pp. 165–6).
Citizen Youth stands out not only for the pertinence of the analysis and the effective
presentation of ethnographic data, but for the concision and accessibility of an account
that works its way across issues of concern to contemporary scholars of social move-
ments, citizenship and education and to many others, like the research participants them-
selves, directly implicated in the important work of conscientization and organizing in
the name of social justice.
Book Reviews 867

Laura Morales and Marco Giugni (eds)

Social Capital, Political Participation and Migration in Europe: Making Multicultural
Democracy Work?
Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011, £61 hbk (ISBN: 9780230244160), 328 pp.

Reviewed by: Silvia Galandini, University of Manchester, UK

The debate about how migrant and ethnic minority groups can be integrated into the
political system of the country of residence has become increasingly relevant for both
scholars and policy-makers. This edited collection seeks to contribute to this debate by
presenting findings from a research programme led by a network of European scholars
that gathered an extensive amount of data amongst migrant and autochthonous groups in
10 European cities (eight countries) between 2004 and 2008, by employing the same
research design and data collection strategies within each.
The main objective of the book is to describe and account for the patterns of migrant
political participation by investigating the interplay among three main factors: individual
political attitudes, socio-economic, demographic and immigration-related characteris-
tics, or human capital (micro-level); individual- and group-based organizational
resources, or social capital (micro- and meso-level); host-country political opportunity
structure, or political capital (macro-level).
The focus of the analysis is clarified by Morales in her theoretical chapter. Political
integration is defined as the ability of migrant groups to utilize any modes of engagement
available in order to access the mainstream political life and influence political pro-
cesses. Two important elements emerge from this definition: firstly, the multidimension-
ality of the concept of political participation, which includes electoral and non-electoral
behaviours as well as political attitudes; and secondly, the need to compare the level of
engagement not only across migrant groups but also between migrant and autochthonous
populations. On the basis of this definition, the nine empirical chapters explore the deter-
minants of a wide array of political attitudes and behaviours from both within- and cross-
group perspectives.
Chapters 3 and 4 concentrate on the influence of national political opportunities on
political participation. Whereas Cinalli and Giugni identify and investigate both dis-
cursive and institutional components of political capital, González-Ferrer focuses on
the openness of national rules of citizenship acquisition. Similarly, Myrberg and
Rogstad examine the extent to which different national models of integration shape
migrant political participation by looking at the specific and contrasting cases of
Norway and Sweden.
This attention to the moderating effect of national political opportunities on the rela-
tionship between individual- and group-level resources and political participation is
maintained throughout the volume. Cross-city and cross-group analyses are carried out
to test the influence exerted on electoral and non-electoral behaviours by numerous
micro-level determinants, such as membership in ethnic organizations (Chapter 6), indi-
viduals’ transnational practices (i.e. participation in homeland politics and attachment to
the country of origin) (Chapter 7) and religiosity (i.e. church attendance and membership
868 Sociology 47(4)

in religious organizations) (Chapter 10). This combination of micro- and macro-analyti-

cal dimensions is also the focus of two chapters that shift the attention from political
behaviours to political attitudes, which are measured through the concepts of political
trust and efficacy in Anduiza and San Martín’s contribution, and city and neighbourhood
attachment in the study by Devadason.
One of the most interesting chapters is Morales and Pilati’s contribution on migrants’
social capital. By effectively integrating individual, group and national variables, the
study shows how the political impact of both individual- and group-level social resources
developed between co-ethnics, namely ‘bonding’ social capital, depends on two main
factors: the openness of institutional opportunities and the focus of the political actions
considered. As regards the latter factor, the study develops an exceptionally refined
measure of political participation which distinguishes modes of engagement addressing
matters related to the migrants’ ethnic group and home country from those tackling issues
in the mainstream (host) society and country of residence.
All in all, the book succeeds in its intent to point out the extreme complexities entailed
by the study of migrant political integration. Although the within- and between-group as
well as cross-context variations in patterns and determinants of migrant political integra-
tion have been highlighted by previous literature, this edited collection provides further
empirical evidence of this heterogeneity on the basis of more recent, more refined and
considerably more extensive data. The absence of a formal division of chapters in the-
matic sections allows the reader to explore this complexity in a very flexible manner and
to identify the multiple ways in which the various contributions interact and overlap. An
effective attempt to organize this complexity is found in the concluding chapter which
presents the main results for each analytical dimension. The main weakness of the vol-
ume relates to the application of a fully multidimensional analytical approach incorporat-
ing group, individual and national variables. Despite the great variety of determinants
considered, the majority of the studies primarily focus on micro- and macro-level fac-
tors, as also pointed out by Giugni and Morales. Nonetheless, the book represents an
important stimulus for future studies to address this interaction between human, social
and political capitals, and is furthermore a valuable resource for those who are interested
in the determinants of political inclusion or more generally would like to explore the cur-
rent issues of ethnic and migrant political participation in Europe.

Carolyn Pedwell
Feminism, Culture and Embodied Practice:The Rhetorics of Comparison
Abingdon: Routledge, 2012, £28 pbk (ISBN: 9780415528887), 192 pp.

Reviewed by: Michelle Kempson, University of Warwick, UK

Pedwell’s Feminism, Culture and Embodied Practice: The Rhetorics of Comparison

engages on a theoretical level with feminist work that address a variety of embodied
practices, including female genital cutting (FGC), ‘western’ body modification prac-
tices (such as cosmetic surgery procedures), anorexia and the veil. The purpose of the
book is to map the distinct rhetorical strategies identified in the work of feminist
Book Reviews 869

theorists who embark upon cross-cultural comparisons of these practices, and to offer
an alternative perspective that is equipped to address the complexity, and usefulness, of
such comparisons.
In the first two chapters, Pedwell sets out the theoretical framework of the study.
Here, she identifies a strand of feminist literature that prioritizes an ‘anti-essentialist’
framework in relation to the gendered aspects of embodied practices. Whilst she agrees
that gender essentialism hinders attempts to understand embodied practices in relational
terms, Pedwell also warns that in constructing ‘western’ and ‘third world’ women as
mutually exclusive subjectivities, these theorists risk merely reproducing the binaries
they seek to challenge.
In Chapter 3, Pedwell develops her critique of two overlapping approaches to the
comparative analysis of ‘African’ FGC and ‘western’ body modification procedures. She
terms the first of these the continuum approach, which inadvertently erases cultural and
national differences by emphasizing the ‘sameness’ of these practices. Secondly, she
outlines the analogue approach, whereby similarities between embodied practices are
noted, but understood to be embedded within multiple continuums. Pedwell argues that
both of these approaches fall short of a rounded analysis of embodied practices because
neither ‘provides a model capable of moving beyond the multiple problems associated
with essentialist binaries’ (p. 61).
Pedwell’s objective in Chapter 4 is to interrogate cross-cultural comparisons made by
feminist theorists between the adornment of the veil and the development of the eating
disorder anorexia. She insists on the need for these theorists to implement frameworks
that do not prioritize gender over other axes of identification, such as nation, religion,
race and sexuality. She goes on to suggest that embodied practices are better understood
in relational terms, rather than through the identification of commonalities that construct
these practices as products of the same gendered oppressions. To this end, Pedwell argues
that feminist theorists should endeavour to produce cross-cultural analyses of embodied
practices that incorporate an understanding of how these practices constitute one another:

Feminists situated in divergent social and geopolitical locations might more successfully
develop understanding, awareness and empathy across cultural and national boundaries through
unravelling, and mutually engaging with, the processes through which embodied cultural
differences are relationally and hierarchically constructed. (p. 84)

Pedwell expands on this point by suggesting that the utilization of a ‘web frame-
work’ – a conceptual map that situates embodied practices within a complex relational
framework in order to highlight their interconnectedness – provides an appropriate
basis for the conceptualization of cross-cultural approaches to the study of these prac-
tices. Such an approach sidelines engagement with the experiences of the individual in
favour of a conceptualization of these practices that foregrounds their intersectional and
relational aspects.
Although Pedwell attempts to account for the comparisons made between embodied
practices (through the implementation of hierarchical, intersectional and relational
frameworks), a more substantive engagement with theorizations of the female body, and
‘femaleness’ itself, as social constructions would have been beneficial. Such
870 Sociology 47(4)

an engagement would have provided a necessary foundation from which to assess the
rhetorical ‘handling’ of cross-cultural theorizations of embodied practices. However,
having said that, this book does provide a necessary ‘next step’ for the theorization of
embodied practices by identifying the specific theoretical pitfalls that reproduce cultural
binaries and erase geopolitical and cultural context from the conceptualization of such
practices.
This book will be of interest to scholars working within the fields of cultural studies,
feminist theory, gender studies, race and ethnicity studies and sociology.
 The British Sociological
Association Annual
Conference 2014
Wednesday 23 - Friday 25 April 2014
(Postgraduate Workshop: Tuesday 22 April 2014)
University of Leeds

Call for Papers

The British Sociological Association invites submissions to its Annual Conference.
Participants can present on any sociological research topic.

The theme for the 2014 annual conference is: Changing Society

Suggestions for grouped sessions within the open streams are welcomed . All BSA
Study Groups are encouraged to contribute posters/papers and other activities.
There will also be an opportunity for study groups to meet independently

Online Abstract Submission

www.britsoc.co.uk/events/conference

Important Dates
Friday 18 October 2013 Final deadline for abstract submission
Friday 17 January 2014 Last date for presenters to register

Contact the BSA Events Team

Email: events@britsoc.org.uk
Telephone: +44 (0)191 383 0839

BRITISH
The l!nt>oh _ _ _ _ lo a eon_,. lmted byCluoranlN . Aoglot-.d In England . . i W...._ SOCIOWGICAL
eon_..-. 3890729. ~ - o-ty - 1080235. VAT Aego..lion - 734 1722 50. ASSOCIATION
Sociology
Journal of the British Sociological Association

Sociology and the Global Economic

Crisis
Special Issue Call for Papers
Deadline for submissions: 31 August 2013
We hear it on the radio. We see it on television . We read it in the newspapers, online
magazines, and biogs. Our imaginaries and daily experiences are saturated by the global
economic crisis . Yet, to what extent are we able to translate this quotidian reality into
adequate forms of knowledge? Has the crisis highlighted important limits in our sociological
imagination linked either to the subdivision of our discipline or, more fundamentally,
questioned the contemporary relevance of sociology as a social science?

This special issue, to be published in October 2014, invites contributions that will :
• Explore how sociology can contribute to a better understanding of (the lived
experience of) the global economic crisis ; and/or
• Reflect on how social processes and movements confronting the crisis can inspire a
new sociological imagination .

This ambitious special edition aims to bring together contributions that:

• Bridge disciplines
• Unsettle conventions
• Cosmopolitanise epistemologies
• Renew sociology

Editorial Team
Ana C. Dinerstein , University of Bath, UK
Gregory Schwartz, University of Bath , UK
Graham Taylor, University of the West of England , Bristol, UK

The editors welcome contributions on relevant topics in any field of social science engaging
with sociological research , from early career and established academics, and from those
outside academia .

Queries: To discuss initial ideas or seek editorial advice, please contact the special issue
editors by email on sociology.specialissue.2014@gmail.com

Full call for papers can be viewed at http:1/soc.sagepub.com/

BRITISH
($)SAGE I ASSOCIATION
SOCIOLOGICAL