Vasilikie Demos, Marcia Texler Segal - Gender and The Local-Global Nexus, Volume 10 - Theory, Research, and Action (Advances in Gender Research) - Emerald Group Publishing Limited (2006)

GENDER AND THE
LOCAL-GLOBAL NEXUS: THEORY,

RESEARCH, AND ACTION
i
ADVANCES IN GENDER
RESEARCH
Series Editors: Vasilikie Demos and
Marcia Texler Segal
Recent Volumes:
Volume 1: Theory, Methods and Praxis – Edited by
Marcia Texler Segal and Vasilikie Demos, 1996
Volume 2: Cross-Cultural and International
Perspectives – Edited by Vasilikie Demos
and Marcia Texler Segal, 1997
Volume 3: Advancing Gender Research Across, Beyond
and Through Disciplines and Paradigms – Edited
by Vasilikie Demos and Marcia Texler Segal, 1998
Volume 4: Social Change for Women and Children – Edited
by Vasilikie Demos and Marcia Texler Segal, 2000
Volume 5: An International Feminist Challenge to
Theory – Edited by Vasilikie Demos and
Marcia Texler Segal, 2001
Volume 6: Gendered Sexualities – Edited by Patricia Gagné
and Richard Tewksbury, 2002
Volume 7: Gender Perspectives on Health and Medicine: Key
Themes – Edited by Marcia Texler Segal, Vasilikie
Demos with Jennie Jacobs Kronenfeld, 2003
Volume 8: Gender Perspectives on Reproduction and
Sexuality – Edited by Marcia Texler Segal,
Vasilikie Demos with Jennie Jacobs
Kronenfeld, 2004
Volume 9: Gender Realities: Local and Global – Edited by
Marcia Texler Segal and Vasilikie Demos, 2005
ii
ADVANCES IN GENDER RESEARCH VOLUME 10
GENDER AND THE

LOCAL-GLOBAL NEXUS:
THEORY, RESEARCH,
AND ACTION
EDITED BY
VASILIKIE DEMOS
University of Minnesota-Morris, Minnesota, USA
MARCIA TEXLER SEGAL

Indiana University Southeast, Indiana, USA
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iv
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION: GENDER AND THE

LOCAL-GLOBAL NEXUS – THEORY,
RESEARCH, AND ACTION
Vasilikie Demos and Marcia Texler Segal vii
THINKING OF GENDER IN A HOLISTIC SENSE:

UNDERSTANDINGS OF GENDER IN SULAWESI,
INDONESIA
Sharyn Graham Davies 1
VARIATIONS IN MASCULINITY FROM A

CROSS-CULTURAL PERSPECTIVE
Edwin S. Segal 25
IS THERE A NEED TO (UN)GENDER THE PAST?

Denise Pahl Schaan 45
YOUNG PEOPLE’S ATTITUDES TO GENDER ISSUES:

ASIAN PERSPECTIVES
Chilla Bulbeck 61
A COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS OF SEX ROLE

IDEOLOGY IN CANADA, MEXICO AND THE
UNITED STATES
Richard J. Harris, Juanita M. Firestone and 97
Paul J. Bryan
v
vi CONTENTS
THE ‘‘FREE UNIVERSITY OF WOMEN.’’

REFLECTIONS ON THE CONDITIONS FOR
A FEMINIST POLITICS OF KNOWLEDGE
Paola Melchiori 125
SPY OR FEMINIST: ‘‘GRRRILA’’ RESEARCH

ON THE MARGIN
Elizabeth L. Sweet 145
MARKETING SOCIAL CHANGE AFTER

COMMUNISM: THE CASE OF DOMESTIC
VIOLENCE IN SLOVAKIA
Magdalena Vanya 163
LIFE HISTORY AS NARRATIVE SUBVERSION:

OLDER MEXICAN WOMEN RESIST AUTHORITY,
ASSERT IDENTITY, AND CLAIM POWER
Tracy B. Citeroni 195
ABOUT THE AUTHORS 219
SUBJECT INDEX 225

INTRODUCTION: GENDER
AND THE LOCAL-GLOBAL
NEXUS – THEORY, RESEARCH,
AND ACTION
With Volume 10, Gender and the Local/Global Nexus: Theory, Research and
Action, a milestone has been reached in Advances in Gender Research. When
we began to work on Volume 1 (Segal & Demos, 1996) of the series, we called
for papers that advanced knowledge of gender theoretically, methodologi-
cally and in practice. That volume subtitled, ‘‘Theory, Methods and Praxis,’’
contains six papers exploring trans-genderism, love and gender stratification,
gender issues among African Americans, women’s liberation and strategies
for social change. With the exception of one, each article focuses on advances
in gender knowledge culturally relevant to North America.
Our concern after completing the first volume of the series was to expand
the identification of advances in gender knowledge beyond western culture
and, especially, the culture of the United States. Volume 2 (Demos & Segal,
1997) features papers presented at Research Committee 32, Women and
Society, of the International Sociological Association and containing
an implicit or explicit critique of the western paradigm. Since Volume 2,
virtually every volume of the series pays some attention to issues of gender
outside of North America and Europe, and nine of the ten papers in Volume
9 (Segal & Demos, 2005) involve the consideration of gender in places
outside the United States.
Volume 10 has in common with Volume 1 a focus on theory, research and
action. It differs from the first volume in its multidimensional representation
of time and place as context for the study of gender. Clearly, since 1996, and
beginning with the 1999 protests in Seattle, Washington against the policies
of the World Trade Organization, the International Monetary Fund, the
World Bank and other economic institutions, people throughout the world
have become sensitive to the social and cultural implications of economic
vii
viii INTRODUCTION
globalization. Saskia Sassen (2004, p. 274) addresses the relationship bet-

ween globalization, local communities and gender. She notes (2004, p. 274):
Both in global cities and in survival circuits, women emerge as crucial economic actors.
It is partly through them that key components of new economies have been built.
Globalization allows links to be forged between countries that send migrants and coun-
tries that receive them; it also enables local and regional practices to go global.
The papers in Volume 10 have as background a world in which the local/

global connection is salient. They examine gender and its implications for
feminist action within this setting. The papers fall into three overlapping
categories. The first category, theory, involves the theoretical consideration
of gender across place and time. The second, research, reveals cultural diffe-
rences in attitudes toward gender, and the third, action, concerns the
feminist implications of gender as hierarchy.
Theory: The concept of gender across place and time. Three papers ex-
plicitly address the theoretical conceptualization of gender with respect to
the impact of place and time. Sharyn Graham Davies ‘‘Thinking of Gender
in a Holistic Sense: Understanding of Gender in Sulawesi, Indonesia,’’
Edwin S. Segal’s ‘‘Variations in Masculinity from a Cross Cultural Pers-
pective’’ and Denise Pahl Schaan’s ‘‘Is There A Need to (Un) Gender the
Past?’’ All three reveal how the conceptualization of gender affects our
observations. Graham Davies and Segal are both concerned with the effect
of imposing a western bipolar view of gender in places where it is defined
more fluidly, while Schaan considers the effect of using contemporary defi-
nitions of gender to understand the past in archaeological studies.
Graham Davies argues that the western bipolar one-way relationship
between gender and sexuality has led to the marginalization of sexuality in
Feminist or Women’s Studies and of gender in Queer Studies. She notes that
there is no one-way relationship between the two; rather, they interplay.
Segal makes two critical points (1) the western bi-polar conception of the
sex-gender-sexuality system is spreading and (2) its adoption has resulted in
the loss of flexibility in our understanding of human diversity throughout
the world.
Graham Davies and Segal both take up the problem of the ‘‘emic versus
etic’’ or insider versus outsider distinction in examining gender. The emic
perspective is that of the insider, the individual who is a part of and a
participant in the culture examined. The etic perspective belongs to the
outsider, the person who observes, but is not a part of or a participant in the
relevant culture. Historically and typically, the etic position has been a
‘‘western’’ position and the emic a ‘‘non-western.’’
Introduction ix
Both Graham Davies and Segal discuss the complex implications for the
conceptualization of gender posed by the distinction and reveal that for any
particular culture there is not just one emic or etic perspective, but a
number. In addition both are concerned that gender not be seen as separate
from other variables. Graham Davies argues that gender is a ‘‘holistic’’
concept composed of many parts including biological and sexual, and Segal
views gender as a part of a ‘‘sex-gender-sexuality’’ system.
Schaan’s paper serves to caution us further. She argues that a trouble-
some conflation of Gender Studies with Feminist Studies in archaeology
has led to a distorted analysis of the past. She notes that Gender Studies
involves a consideration of gender as a cultural phenomenon while Feminist
Studies involves a consideration of gender as hierarchy and that the con-
flation of the two results in creating a bias toward the western, agency,
individual, equality view of the past. Thus, when this view is used to guide
research, it can create a misreading of the past.
Research: Data-based differences in gender. Chilla Bulbeck in her arti-
cle ‘‘Young People’s Attitudes to Gender Issues: Asian Perspectives’’ and
Richard J. Harris, Juanita M. Firestone and Paul J. Bryan in ‘‘A Compar-
ative Analysis of Sex Role Ideology in Canada, Mexico and the United
States’’ use survey data to identify actual gender attitudes across different
cultures. Bulbeck finds support for expected cultural differences in gender
attitudes between South Australians and Asians, while Harris et al. find a
more nuanced pattern of gender attitudes among people of Canada, Mexico
and the United States than might be expected. Bulbeck compares South
Australians with Asians from six countries with respect to four sets of at-
titudes: same sex relations, role reversal between wife and husband, por-
nography and sharing housework. She finds that the Australians have a
‘‘choice and individualism orientation’’ while the Asians have a ‘‘collectivity
and obligation orientation.’’
Harris et al. find that Mexicans are likely to be more conservative than
Canadians and Americans from the United States in their sex role ideology,
but they also show the difference is only slight, and that ‘‘machismo’’ is
associated with being male more in the United States and Canada than in
Mexico. Further, they note that age, political ideology and school finishing
age are more predictive of sex role ideology than is nation.
Action: Feminism and change. Paola Melchiori’s ‘‘The ‘Free University of
Women.’ Reflections on the Conditions for a Feminist Politics of Know-
ledge,’’ Elizabeth L. Sweet’s ‘‘Spy or Feminist: ‘Grrrila’ Research on the
Margin,’’ Magdalena Vanya’s ‘‘Marketing Social Change after Commu-
nism: The Case of Domestic Violence in Slovakia’’ and Tracy B. Citeroni’s
x INTRODUCTION
article, ‘‘Life History as Narrative Subversion: Older Mexican Women

Resist Authority, Assert Identity and Claim Power’’ address the feminist
implications of theory and research for social action and change.
Both Melchiori and Sweet focus on the production and integration of
feminist knowledge in academia. Melchiori, a founder of the Free University
of Women in Milan, Italy, traces the emergence of this feminist institution
from the late 1970s and early 1980s trade unionist movement, which cul-
minated in an agreement allowing employees to attend 150 hours of classes
on Marxist thought and class consciousness paid by their employers. At
first, the classes were attended by men. In time women began taking and re-
taking the classes, and they along with their feminist teachers lost interest in
Orthodox Marxism, and turned to the pursuit of embodied self-knowledge.
By 1986, the Free University of Women in Milan was established. Melchiori
notes that the students and their teachers recognized the misogynist basis of
disciplinary knowledge and discovered that they could suspend the mascu-
line in a setting where they interacted with other women. She explains that
the women were able to see that knowledge is not neutral. In addition, she
points to the women’s recognition of the mother figure as a reflector of
women’s own knowledge across the generational divide.
Sweet’s paper reveals greater challenges to the production of feminist
knowledge than does that of Melchiori. In it, Sweet compares academic
experiences she had as a feminist scholar and teacher. Her paper begins
dramatically with her experience teaching an economic development course
at a university in Omsk, Russia. While there, and as result of papers written
by her students, Sweet was investigated by the FSB (the successor to the
KGB, the intelligence agency of the former Soviet Union). The FSB com-
plained that Sweet’s students had obtained incorrect information about
firms in Omsk and that this jeopardized the economic stability of the area.
The media learned about the incident and Sweet became headline news with
her story ‘‘Spy or Feminist?’’ Because authorities decided Sweet was not a
threat, but only a ‘‘feminist,’’ she could continue to do the work she wanted
to do. In recounting this experience as well as others she had in the United
States and Mexico, Sweet reveals ways in which feminists are marginalized
in academia. Further, she argues that paradoxically this very marginaliza-
tion provides feminists with opportunities to exercise their will, and do their
work, thereby promoting change.
Vanya addresses the problem of employing western strategies to promote
feminist change in Eastern European countries. Focusing on the ‘‘Every
Fifth Woman,’’ campaign in the newly–independent Slovakia, Vanya traces
Introduction xi
the emergence of domestic violence as an issue on the discursive and the

institutional levels.
In order to comply with the terms of western funding, a coalition of
women referring to themselves as ‘‘Every Fifth Woman’’ (the frequency of
domestic abuse in Slovakia) was formed. Again in compliance with the
requirements of funding, the women staged a media campaign to sensitize
the populace about the issue. The public relations consultant acting in ac-
cord with western patterns urged the women to pare down their complex
feminist stance on domestic violence to simple language that could be easily
communicated through the media. Vanya observes that as a result of the
media campaign, domestic violence was criminalized, but attitudes toward
domestic violence remained unchanged. Unlike the effect of such campaigns
in the west, Slovakia’s history of anti-statist and anti-government resistance
meant that ‘‘lip service’’ was given to changes in discourse while local at-
titudes remained untouched. Vanya explains the attitudinal failure of the
‘‘Every Fifth Woman’’ as a result of two ‘‘gaps’’: discursive and strategic.
On the discursive level, complex feminist ideas were never adequately com-
municated to the populace; on the strategic level, the campaign was a ‘‘top-
down’’ affair, one which never had grass roots support. Vanya shows how
the uncritical application of imported strategies and the strings attached to
western funding led to the failure of a campaign in Eastern Europe.
The themes of theory, research and action overlap in the various articles.
Graham Davies, Segal and Schaan clearly point to some of the research
implications of gender, a major one being the misinterpretation of other
cultures or the past. Bulbeck and Harris et al., too, reveal the interaction of
theory and research as they discuss differences in attitudes toward sex role
ideology, gender and related concepts.
To the extent that theory and research about gender reveal gender in-
equality or injustice – a social problem, the papers also imply the need for
feminist action and change. Further, Melchiori, Sweet and Vanya reveal
that feminist action cannot be isolated from theory and research. Perhaps
the paper that most clearly speaks to the interrelationship of theory, re-
search and action is that of Citeroni. Citeroni argues that the non-positi-
vistic narrative use of life history provides a means of discovering how older
Mexican women represent or show resistance to the patriarchal construct of
identity and that story telling is a form of powerful democratic resource. The
life histories show that while older Mexican women may be stereotyped as
‘‘sages’’ or ‘‘servants’’ to their families, they are most concerned about their
autonomy.
xii INTRODUCTION
Looking back over a decade of developing this series, we are pleased with
our efforts as they are reflected in Volume 10. The papers in this volume
advance gender research in a number of ways. They aptly demonstrate the
complex relationships among theory, research and feminist social action;
they remind us that gender research is not always synonymous with feminist
research and that even feminist research is not about women alone, and they
situate gender research and action in time and place. While all the authors
are western-trained scholars, explicit in some papers, implicit in all, are both
applications and critiques of western assumptions about sex, gender and
sexuality categories and attitudes, western scholarship and western para-
digms for social action. We believe ability to reflect and revise, to apply and
augment, is a crucial advance in our scholarship, one that bodes well for the
next decade.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The editors would like to say goodbye to our previous editorial support
team, Ann Corney and Joanna Scott, whose encouragement and assistance
gave us sustenance, and to extend greetings to J. Scott Bentley. We would
also like to thank our families and to welcome Marcia’s grandson Joseph
Louis Block who was born as we were completing the work on the volume.
REFERENCES
Demos, V., & Segal, M. T. (Eds). (1997). Advances in gender research: Cross cultural and
international perspectives (Vol. 2). New York, NY: Elsevier (JAI).
Sassen, S. (2004). Global cities and survival circuits. In: B. Ehrenreich & A. R. Hochschild
(Eds), Global woman: Nannies, maids, and sex workers in the new economy (pp. 254–275).
New York, NY: Henry Holt and Company.
Segal, M. T., & Demos, V. (Eds). (1996). Advances in gender research: Theory, methods and
praxis (Vol. 1). New York, NY: Elsevier (JAI).
Segal, M. T., & Demos, V. (Eds). (2005). Advances in gender research: Gender realities: Local
and global (Vol. 9). New York, NY: Elsevier (JAI).
Vasilikie Demos
Marcia Texler Segal
Editors
THINKING OF GENDER
IN A HOLISTIC SENSE:
UNDERSTANDINGS OF GENDER
IN SULAWESI, INDONESIA
Sharyn Graham Davies
ABSTRACT
Based on eighteen-months of fieldwork in Sulawesi, Indonesia, this paper

advances two arguments concerning gender. First, it contends that gender
is a concept of great significance in Sulawesi. Unlike some observers who
have undervalued the centrality of gender in the region by asserting that
factors such as social status are more salient in daily life than gender, this
paper argues that gender actually underscores other factors such as status
considerations. The second argument the paper advances is that gender in
Sulawesi is a holist concept resulting from various compositions of bi-
ology, subjectivity, sexuality, performativity, and ideology. A multitude of
amalgamations are possible and so gendered identities transcend binary
constructions. As such, Sulawesi acknowledges a variety of gendered
identities. Using ethnographic data to examine how these various aspects
contribute to an individual’s gender identity, this paper reveals the im-
portance of gender in Sulawesi, and introduces a holistic way of thinking
of gender.
Gender and the Local-Global Nexus: Theory, Research, and Action

Advances in Gender Research, Volume 10, 1–24
Copyright r 2006 by Elsevier Ltd.
All rights of reproduction in any form reserved
ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(06)10001-6
1
2 SHARYN GRAHAM DAVIES
CONTEXTUALIZING SULAWESI
The archipelagic nation of Indonesia consists of 17,000 islands straddling
the equator, half of which are inhabited. It is the world’s fourth most pop-
ulous country with 240 million citizens, and with 85 percent adhering to
Islam, it is the largest Muslim nation in the world. Indonesia has over 300
ethnic groups, speaking more than 500 languages and dialects. The orchid-
shaped island of Sulawesi is located in the center of the Indonesian archi-
pelago, north of Bali and to the west of Kalimantan. South Sulawesi is home
to the Bugis ethnic group who comprise over three million people. Bugis are
renowned seafarers (Ammarell, 1999; Pelras, 1996), and have undertaken
extensive migrations to various parts of Asia (Acciaioli, 1989; Anderson,
2003). While fishing provides a livelihood for many Bugis, farming and
cultivation are also important daily activities. Most Bugis identify as Mus-
lim and Sengkang, the area where I did my fieldwork, boasts a high per-
centage of people who have made the pilgrimage to Mecca. While the
influence of Islam is strong, daily customs and practices continue to be
inflected with more traditional ones. As a popular saying goes: Makassar
people (the southern neighbors of Bugis) hold tight to religion; Bugis people
hold tight to adat (traditional customs and practices) (cf. Graham, 2004c).
THE IMPORTANCE OF GENDER IN SULAWESI
In order to appreciate the holist nature of gender, it is necessary to under-

stand the importance of the concept of gender in Bugis society. Unfamiliar
with the Bugis gender system, observers are wont to miss many of the ways
in which gender is articulated. There is no indigenous term equivalent to
‘‘gender’’ – gender is used in academic discourse, and increasingly in the
public arena, and jenis kelaminan is used to describe genitalia. Moreover,
neither the Bugis nor Indonesian languages have a gender specific singular
third person pronoun to differentiate women and men. For some, the sa-
rong, that long strip of cloth wrapped around the body and worn by men
and women, does not gender the body as do pants and skirts (Kennedy,
1993, p. 3). For others, the relative lack of body and facial hair, and the
more uniform height of men and women blur gender distinctions. Further-
more, Bugis women are not marked by rituals such as foot-binding, scaring,
tattooing, or full clitoridectomies, which serve to signal the transition to
womanhood in some other societies (Atkinson, 1982, p. 257). Gender
may not initially seem significant because women and men appear to enjoy
Thinking of Gender in a Holistic Sense 3
relatively equal status (cf. Errington, 1990; Pelras, 1996; Reid, 1988). An
early traveler to the region indeed noted this.
The women appear in public without any scandal; they take active concern in all the
business of life; they are consulted by the men on all public affairs, and frequently raised
to the throne, and that too when the monarchy is elective. (Crawfurd, 1820, p. 74)
These factors do not serve, however, as evidence of what Geertz (1973),

referring to Bali, calls a ‘‘unisex society’’ (pp. 417–418, fn.414). Rather, an
emic understanding and examination of gender reveals that gender is a
clearly highlighted concept in Bugis South Sulawesi; gender is just not ar-
ticulated in ways that a person from elsewhere might easily recognize. As
Errington (1990, p. 5) asserts:
I am not arguing that the differences between men and women are, in fact, highly
marked socially in island Southeast Asia; actually, I think they are not – if they are
contrasted with differences in certain other parts of the world rather than taken on their
own terms. But within the societies themselves, subtle differences may be important as
gender markers but may go unnoticed by observers.
Observers might miss the subtleties of gender, and they might also see other
criteria of difference – such as origin, ethnicity, class, age, generation, and
status – as more significant than gender and in the archipelago (e.g. Millar,
1983). For instance, neither the Indonesian nor Bugis languages have sep-
arate words for brother and sister. Rather, what is linguistically differen-
tiated is whether the sibling is older or younger. This differentiation, based
on relative age rather than sex, has been used as evidence to suggest that
gender is subordinate to age as an organizational principle. I maintain,
however, that in order to see how these aspects of difference actually op-
erate, an understanding of the gender issues which underlie them is essential.
For example, status is of central importance in Bugis society and struggles
for status acquisition are highly contested (Millar, 1989). Yet, the path an
individual follows to achieve, or loose, status is governed by strict gender
considerations. When the importance of gender becomes clear, it is possible
to appreciate gender holism. One way to see the importance of gender is by
analyzing issues of social location (cf. Davies, 2006).
While acknowledging that in Bugis society the gender system is highly ela-
borated and formal, Millar (1983) argues that it is not a master organizational
principle because the significance of gender is lost in the struggle for status:
y gender relations in Bugis society are almost entirely subordinate to a cultural pre-
occupation with hierarchical social location. Social location is an attribute of each in-
dividual and has far less to do with gender than with individual characteristics
distributed without reference to gender. (p. 477)
While not wanting to underestimate the importance of social location in

Bugis society, I suggest that rather than being subordinate to social location,
gender concerns actually circumscribe appropriate means by which indi-
viduals can gain or lose social standing. Indeed, Millar (1983) herself com-
ments, ‘‘the gender system is constructed, and patterns of male–female
behavior function, in accord with the overarching concern of the Bugis to
learn and maintain their social locations’’ (p. 482). This indicates the im-
portance of gender, even if it still considers status as the overarching con-
cern. Indeed, nowhere are notions of idealized masculinity and femininity
clearer than in struggles for social location – it is, after all, by exemplifying
these ideals that individuals can achieve increased social standing.
When status contestation occurs, challenges are made among men, or
among women. As Chabot (1996) notes, social mobility ‘‘demands of the
men that they be in a constant relation of opposition to other men,’’ not to
women (p. 179). Similarly, when women are in competition, be it over seat-
ing arrangements at weddings or the style of clothing outfits, it is with other
women. In cases where individual standing is being challenged, it is carried
out among women, or among men.
Womanhood is clearly defined in Bugis society, and exemplifying fem-
ininity enables a woman to move up the social ladder. Local and state
discourses, and Islamic doctrines, actively promote ideals of womanhood.
A woman is considered the embodiment of her family’s honor (Chabot,
1996). As such, she must be discrete and reserved in everything she does. The
national government promotes the idea that a woman’s greatest achieve-
ment, and indeed her natural role, is as wife and mother. It is through
pursuing these functions that a girl becomes a woman, and hence a legit-
imate and worthy member of the Indonesian nation-state (Suryakusuma,
1996). Dove-tailing with local and national discourses are the teachings of
Islam. Islamic models of womanhood shape appropriate behavior for
women. Muslim women are morally required to marry. Once married, a
woman can legitimately bear children, an achievement which accords her a
level of status and respect (Manderson, 1980). A woman is female-bodied,
heterosexual, married, a mother, and dressed modestly and appropriately
(e.g. her sarong is tucked-in rather than rolled down like a man’s). A woman
acts demurely, speaks politely, is refined and reserved, and identifies and is
identified as, a woman.
What being a man means is also clearly defined in South Sulawesi, and the
model must be adhered to in order for social status to be awarded. Local
discourses assert that men embody and exude qualities such as self-disci-
pline, reason, authority, physical strength, aggression, and are in control of
their passions (Millar, 1983, 1989; Peletz, 1995, 1996). Men must protect
their family’s honor (Chabot, 1996). Making extended voyages and return-
ing home wealthy and wise contribute to the status of a man (Acciaioli,
1989). State ideology, coupled with school curricula (Parker, 1997), declares
that men must be husbands and fathers, although, unlike women, men are
not defined solely by these attributes. Islam compliments these models of
manhood, and defines men as breadwinners who support and protect their
family. A man is male-bodied, heterosexual, married, and a father. A man is
assertive and aggressive and controlled.
From this analysis we can see how gender is of significance in everyday
Bugis life. There are thus very strict models of gender identity and what
being a woman and a man means is clearly defined in Bugis society. Status is
a highly contested and important aspect of Bugis culture, but it is under-
pinned by considerations of gender. Individuals who are unable to conform
to these models are often located in a separate conceptual category. There is,
then, a high degree of gender variance precisely because not everyone fits the
normative models. In South Sulawesi, there are five gendered identities:
makkunrai (woman), oroané (man), bissu (androgynous priests), calabai’
(transgendered males), and calalai’ (transgendered females) (cf. Graham,
2004a). It is gender holism which both forces multiple gender categories (e.g.
if a female does not conform to the norms of womanhood she becomes
other than a woman) and the multiplicity of genders which forces gender
holism; a chicken and egg scenario. So what then is gender holism?
GENDER HOLISM
Gender in Sulawesi can be thought of as a holistic concept made up of a
variety of factors. Such an idea was first articulated to me by a friend named
Eka, a calabai’ in hir late twenties.1 I published the following quote from Eka
in an earlier article (Graham, 2004b) and reproduce it here as it is particularly
illustrative of the variety of factors that constitute gender and the importance
of viewing these factors in context. When I asked Eka what s/he sees as the
most important factor in hir identifying as calabai’, s/he responded:
It’s not like there’s just one thing, it’s like there are many things and they’re all im-
portant. You see if you pull this bit out and that bit out what are you left with? Just a
bunch of pieces that really make no sense. It’s like one of those puzzles that don’t mean
anything until you put all the pieces together. Then you can see what it is. When there
are just scattered pieces lying around, what do they mean? Once you put it all together
you can see what it is and then you can ask questions: Who put it together? Who made
the pieces? But there is no point asking these questions until you see it all put together.
Eka’s response gave me insight into how many Bugis conceptualize the
gendered self; gender is a multi-faceted concept comprised of various in-
tersecting factors. Taking onboard Eka’s advice, while it is possible to ex-
amine key constituents of gender, focus must remain on the fact that these
constituents interact with numerous other elements in the development of
gendered identities. The remainder of this article builds on an earlier paper
(Graham, 2004b) and dissects these various constituents, including the sig-
nificance of the body in forming a gendered identity, subjectivity and its
relationship to the process of gendering, the role of performance in gender
construction, and the relationship between sexuality and gender.
Embodied Gender
As Turner (1984, p. 1) notes, there is an obvious and prominent fact about

human beings: they have bodies and they are bodies. Yet while all humans
have bodies, the meanings attached to them, and the way they are integrated
into the gender system, differ according to the society. In some societies,
such as the Hua of Papua New Guinea, gender is determined by what bodies
do. For instance, gender is distinguished through possession of menstrual
blood, vaginal secretions, parturitional fluids, or semen. Children, premen-
opausal women, postmenopausal women who have had two or fewer chil-
dren, and old men, are said to be figapa (an uninitiated person who is said to
be ‘‘like a woman’’), whereas postmenopausal women who have borne three
or more children are believed to have been defeminized and belong to the
category kakora (like a man). Here gender is determined through bodily
emissions and experiences. Moreover, gender is mutable for any one indi-
vidual woman or man as she or he gets older and, for instance, has children
(Meigs, 1990, pp. 99–112).
In Melanesia, Herdt (1984) argues that masculine gender identity is
reached through ritualized homosexuality whereby men inseminate boys so
they can obtain this fluid which initiates manhood. Gender is thus consti-
tuted through the flow of substances. Hoskins (1990) argues that for the
Kodi of West Sumba, Indonesia, gender is determined by modalities of
movement: female is stable, unmoving; male is active, mobile. Moreover,
individuals are also believed to contain female and male souls.
In South Sulawesi, the body is also of great significance in respect to the
formation of a gendered self. The biological sex of a baby is pronounced at
birth, a factor verified by genitalia. Genitalia indicate the role an individual
will later play in reproduction and it establishes future occupations and
social limitations. For example, women are necessarily female and as such
they are expected to give birth. This physiological fact means that a baby
boy can never become a woman because to be a woman, one must nec-
essarily be female. Similarly in order to become a man, one must necessarily
be male. We see here, then, that the significance of the body in gender
formation undermines the argument that it is only when we look at the
experience of transgendered individuals that the importance of differenti-
ating biological sex from cultural gender becomes evident (cf. Bolin, 1994;
Shapiro, 1991; Stone, 1991; Wieringa & Blackwood, 1999, p. 17).
Eri is in many ways exactly like a man. S/he dresses like a man, wears her
hair short, establishes intimate relationships with feminine women, and is a
DJ in the capital city of South Sulawesi – being a DJ is a particularly
masculine job. Yet, Eri was born female. So when Eri goes to the mosque,
even though most of society would see hir as a man, s/he must pray as a
woman because s/he is biologically female. Similarly, Westphal-Hellbush
(1997, p. 239) notes that mustergil (similar to calalai’) in Iraq have to pray as
women or else their prayers will be of no consequence.
One of Eri’s peers, Rani, reveals that although s/he too is calalai’ and
therefore in many ways just like a man, s/he must pray as a woman because
if s/he does not, God will not recognize hir and not hear hir prayers. Yulia,
a calabai’ who arranges weddings in the town of Sengkang, was born male.
S/he has contemplated medical procedures to feminize hir body. However,
Yulia concedes that hir biological sex is enduring: ‘‘But you know, no mat-
ter how much silicon I get pumped into me, I will always be betrayed by this
[points to hir Adam’s apple]. We [calabai’] can get breast implants, we can
get our penis cut off and a hole made, but we can never get rid of
this y because if we did we wouldn’t be able to talk.’’
Such accounts reveal that regardless of the extent to which an individual
adopts characteristics of a particular gender, biology is never forgotten in
respect to identity. As Whitehead (1981) notes for North America, ‘‘Even in
the case of the berdache [two-spirit people] y the sheer fact of anatomic
masculinity was never culturally ‘forgotten,’ however much it may have
been counterbalanced by other principles’’ (pp. 86–87). I did not hear,
however, Yulia, or any other calabai’, speak of being trapped in the wrong
body. This differs from Murray’s (1999, p. 149) findings:
I want to emphasize here that behavior needs to be conceptually separated from iden-
tity, as both are contextually specific and constrained by opportunity. It is common
for young women socialized into a rigid heterosexual regime, whether in Asia or the
West, to experience their sexual feelings in terms of gender confusion: ‘if I am attracted
to women then I must be a man trapped in a woman’s body. (cf. Bolin, 1994; Stone,
1991)
More in line with conceptions of gender in Sulawesi, Don Kulick (1998),

who researched travesti (a subjectivity similar to calabai’) in Brazil, found,
‘‘Travesti consider that males are males and females are females because of the
genitals they possess. God made a person male or female y what He did
can never be undone – one can never change the sex with which one was born’’
(p. 193). While travesti believe this, Kulick (1998) notes that they also believe
that, ‘‘even though God made a person irreversibly male or female by install-
ing a particular set of genitalia, the different morphology of those genitalia al-
lows for different gendered possibilities to be explored and occupied’’ (p. 193).
In a similar way, calabai’ acknowledge that they have a male body and
that God intended them to have a male body. It is, in effect, impossible
therefore to be trapped in the wrong body. This may explain in part how
some calabai’ can be very devout Muslims and make the pilgrimage to
Mecca – indeed, I heard some people, including calabai’, wonder how ca-
labai’ could be committing a sin when this is how God made them, with a
male body and a calabai’ constitution. It should be noted, though, that when
calabai’ make the pilgrimage to Mecca, they must go dressed as men.
Moreover, after they become a Haji, a sexual relationship with a man is
considered especially immoral. In practice, however, calabai’ Haji maintain
relationships with men, often with no overt negative sanctions applied to
them – see Peletz’s (1995, 1996) analysis of the differences between official
and practical responses.
While at times performativity theory is helpful in elucidating the concept
of gender in South Sulawesi (as we will see shortly), at other times it is not
particularly applicable. For instance, performativity theory does not allow
for recognition of the importance of the body in notions of gender. While
Butler recognizes that there must be ‘‘some kind of necessity’’ that accom-
panies bodily functions (e.g. feelings of pleasure), bodies only become visible
within gendered regulatory schemas. It is these schemas that produce the
‘‘domain of intelligible bodies’’ (Butler, 1993, p. xi). Butler (1993) argues that
we need these schemas because the body does not make sense on its own: ‘‘to
claim that sex is already gendered, already constructed, is not yet to explain
in which way the ‘materiality’ of sex is forcibly produced’’ (p. xi). However,
because she disputes the physical basis of the ‘‘materiality of sex,’’ ‘‘Butler
cannot escape the impression that she sees a person’s gender identity as
almost an artificial and dispensable phenomenon’’ (Wieringa & Blackwood,
1999, p. 14).
Although fundamental, the body on its own does not form a gendered
subjectivity in South Sulawesi, partly because of the specific conception of
the body. Male and female are recognized as the two main bodily forms, but
they are not conceived of as polar extremes. The theory of sexual dimor-
phism is too simplistic and, as Grosz (1991, pp. 34–36) suggests, bodies can
be seen on a continuum, displaying various amalgamations of male and
female physical qualities. Other scholars have also suggested a multiple sex
paradigm. For instance, Martin and Voorhies (1975, p. 86) propose that,
‘‘physical sex differences need not necessarily be perceived as bipolar.’’
A respected Bugis man, Pak Hidya, affirms this: ‘‘Real women are here
[he drew a line and pointed to one end] and real men are here [he pointed to
the other end]. And then you have calalai’, calabai’ and bissu spread out
along this line. Because they aren’t at the ends [of the continuum], they have
different characteristics (sifat).’’ Following this conceptualization, although
Yulia and Pak Hidya are both male they are considered to occupy different
positions on the gender continuum.
Instead of proposing a gender continuum, some Bugis speak of the phys-
ical body as being constituted through various amalgamations of male and
female. Pak Rudin, a local Islamic leader, considers that, ‘‘calalai’ have an
x-factor (faktor-x). It’s a physiological (fisiologi) thing. While their sex
(kelamin) is female, inside they are not like other women. They are different.
They have some male aspects.’’ A Bugis man of noble descent, Puang
Nasah, claims, ‘‘Calabai’ are not men (bukan laki-laki) but their sex organ
(kelamin) is male y they have a different genetic make-up. I don’t know
what men are, maybe XY [chromosomes]? Well, if so, calabai’ are XXY. But
then some may be more woman than man, and then they would be XYY.’’
This understanding of the body allows for the possibility of various
compositions. It also promotes awareness of androgyny. Bissu (transgende-
red priests) are envisaged as the perfect embodiment of female and male
attributes; this is how they get their potency. Indeed, there is a range of
literature concerning androgyny in Asia, specifically attesting to its power
and potency (Andaya, 2000; Anderson, 1972, p. 14; Errington, 1989, p. 12,
1990; Graham, 1987; Hoskins, 1990; Nanda, 1990, pp. 20–32; Peletz, 1996,
p. 4; Scharer, 1963, pp. 18–23).
One well-known tale in South Sulawesi involves the sacred plough, which
bissu guard. The sacred plough is used to sow the first crop of every season
and the only one who can lower it from its resting place is someone of the
opposite sex to the plough. Not knowing the sex of the plough, bissu
have thus been entrusted with this role because they are a mix of both male
and female; if the plough is male, then the bissu can be female, or vice versa
(cf. Chabot, 1996, p. 191).
This discourse of complementarity is fundamental to understanding Bugis
notions of the body. Because the body is believed to be constituted by
complementary elements, all individual compositions differ. So whereas

Minangkabau society acknowledges only two sexes, which result in two
genders (Blackwood, 1999), Bugis society acknowledges varying degrees of
femaleness and maleness. This acknowledgment conditions notions of gen-
der. For instance, the idea of being trapped in the wrong body is not useful
in explaining Bugis gender variance. A female who exhibits signs of mas-
culinity is not thought of, or thinks of hirself, as a man trapped in the wrong
body. Rather, hir particular gender configuration means that s/he is a mas-
culine female, a calalai’.
In this discussion of gender and bodies in South Sulawesi, there are two
key points. First, while we need to ‘‘suspend y all assumptions that gender
is grounded in biological sex’’ (Kulick, 1998, p. 11) (i.e. a female necessarily
becomes a woman), we need to acknowledge that the body is a fundamental
factor in Bugis gender formation (i.e. a male will never become a woman).
Notions attached to the body thus need to be disentangled and analyzed
when examining Bugis gender identity. As Paul (1993) asserts, we need to
move away from simplistic biological models which conflate biological,
psychological, and social categories of sex, gender, and sexual behavior –
this differs from Nanda’s (1994) findings in India where she concludes, ‘‘The
term hijra also collapses the two different analytical categories of sex and
gender; the Western social scientific distinction between these two terms is
not part of Indian discourse’’ (p. 381). Second, while two primary forms of
the body are acknowledged, male and female, physical sexes are not nec-
essarily thought of as opposites in South Sulawesi. Rather, the body is
considered to be a unique configuration of femaleness and maleness. Par-
ticular understandings of the body thus contribute to gender formation, and
this allows insight into Bugis gender ideology.
Subjectively Gendered
Notions of subjectivity and spirituality combine with perceptions of the

body in Bugis ideas of gender formation. Some literature does emphasize
this point (e.g. Nanda, 1990, p. 99), but some scholars of gender (e.g. Butler,
1990, 1993) do not seem to take such notions under consideration.
Islam forms a fundamental aspect of Bugis social and cultural life (Pelras,
1996, p. 4). It is not surprising, therefore, that many people identify fate
(kodrat), destiny (nasib), and God’s will as key contributors to gender for-
mation. A devout Muslim, Leena, notes, ‘‘Well I’m calalai’ because of God’s
plan [which God] has for all of us, and that plan is for me to be calalai’. It’s
my kodrat and you have to follow it.’’ Andi Tenri is a middle-aged calabai’
and s/he reveals, ‘‘It’s part of God’s plan, you know, for me to be calabai’.
It’s my kodrat. At one point or another, your kodrat must appear (i.e. the
real you must come out).’’ Another calabai’ named Andu asserts, ‘‘This is
my destiny (nasib) given to me by God.’’ To this statement Andu’s mother
replied, ‘‘We never wished for a calabai’ child, but what can you do? It’s
God’s will.’’ Such thoughts are not uncommonly expressed.
I came to be calabai’ from birth. Also, when I got a bit older, I started playing with girls’
toys. It’s a fate (kodrat) given by God. I didn’t really want this life, well, I would never
have chosen it, but it’s God’s will. I’m not one of those fake calabai’ you often see, that
just decide to become calabai’ at a later stage in life. I am asli (the real thing). At first my
parents were very angry, but after a while, when I started to earn a good income and be
productive, well, they couldn’t be mad any longer. Besides, how can you change your
kodrat? (Andi Enni)
In contrast, some people believe that fate can be challenged. A local reli-
gious leader (imam), Haji Mulyadi, reveals, ‘‘According to calabai’ they
believe it’s their kodrat, but they say that because it’s their hobi (hobby).
And because it’s their hobi, they can change it. Here is the proof y some
calabai’ have kids! So you see their inner nature can change (sifat bisa
berubah). Certainly their dominant nature is woman, but there is a way out.
For instance, they can change their genitals (berubah kelaminannya).’’
Many informants also referred to having a particular spirit (jiwa) or soul
(roh) which provoked their gender development. Cappa’ works in the city of
Makassar as a DJ and s/he responded to my question of why s/he became
calalai’ in this way: ‘‘I guess it’s this jiwa I have. I don’t really know (enta-
lah), it’s just this jiwa.’’ For 23-year-old Tilly, ‘‘It’s just natural, it’s just me.
Jiwa is also very important; you must have the jiwa calabai’.’’ Ance’, a
calalai’, made reference to roh, revealing, ‘‘I always wanted to be like my
brothers because I have this roh.’’ Haji Mappaganti, who is devoutly re-
ligious and made the pilgrimage to Mecca not too long ago, declares:
I’ve known from when I was really little that I would be calabai’. I always wanted to
wear women’s clothes and to play girls’ games and do everything like a girl. My behavior
made my parents very angry, though. They would hit me and try to get me to be more
manly. It didn’t work. I am like I am because I have this roh, and it can’t be changed.
What is emphasized in the above narratives is a force beyond the indivi-

dual’s control, which has the power to direct their gender identity. For
others, the driving factor is not so easily articulated.
I don’t know how I know. I just have to be like this. I have no choice; I am forced
(terpaksa). Even though my parents don’t, well they would rather, at least at first, that I
was like a man, it’s just not me. I just have to be who I am, to be like this [calabai’], you
know? (Sakir).
Some informants express their assumption of a gender identity in terms of

faktor x, which signifies something unknown. Maman states, ‘‘I have eight
sisters. I was treated like a son since I was born. For me, becoming calalai’ was
because of my parents and faktor x.’’ For Ellie, a calabai’ in hir late twenties,
gender identity resulted from a combination of family influence and faktor x.
I have six older brothers and I was chosen to be the daughter because my mother
desperately wanted a girl. She used to dress me up in dresses, you know. I think I’m
calabai’ half because of this upbringing, and half because of faktor x. I don’t really
understand it though. I don’t think that I would be like this [calabai’] if my family,
especially my mother, didn’t always treat me like a girl, you know, dress me like a girl,
take me to the market, give me girls’ toys, tell me to play with the girls. But then if
I didn’t have this faktor x, then my parents wouldn’t have made me calabai’. And even if
I had this faktor x, but my parents treated me like a boy and expected me to be like a
boy, then I probably wouldn’t be calabai’ either. So I guess it must be half and half, both
factors have to be there.
Faktor x is used here as a way of articulating an anomalous internal dy-

namic which impacts on an individual’s gender development.
Ellie and the others introduced above do not conform to hegemonic ideals
prescribed to their body type. As such, they find ways to justify their ap-
propriation of an alternative gender identity. Subjectivity and concepts such
as fate and destiny are important in consolidating this identity. In instances
where a particular influence cannot be expressed, the term faktor x is em-
ployed. Subjectivity and spirituality are thus used to reinforce and express
gender identity.
Performing Gender
Writing of Gerai in Kalimantan, Christine Helliwell (2001) argues, ‘‘men

and women are not understood as fundamentally different types of person:
there is no sense of a dichotomized ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity.’ ’’ Rather,
men and women are seen as having the same kinds of capacities and pro-
clivities, but in differing degrees. For instance, men may be seen as braver
and more knowledgeable about local law (adat), while women are seen as
more persistent and more enduring. So while distinctions are made between
women and men, the basis on which individuals are gendered is not derived
from the character of their body (especially their genitalia). Rather, as
Helliwell notes, gender ‘‘is understood as constituted in the differential ca-
pacity to perform certain kinds of work, a capacity assigned long before
one’s bodily being takes shape’’ (Helliwell, 2001). For Gerai, then, gender is
based on roles and occupations.
For Bugis, too, roles and occupations contribute to gender identity. To be

calalai’ is not merely a matter of deciding that one is calalai’. There are
certain prescriptions which must be adhered to. Rani works as a blacksmith,
a form of work which is considered extremely masculine and not suitable for
women. Rani has also assumed the role of husband and father, thus rein-
forcing the notion that although s/he is female-bodied, s/he is not a woman.
Performing these roles helps confirm hir identity as calalai’.
In addition to roles and occupations, gender in South Sulawesi is deter-
mined in part according to how an individual acts. For instance, Idi, a
30-year-old man, reveals, ‘‘My friend is calabai’ and s/he was forced to
marry a woman, but s/he is still calabai’ because of how s/he acts.’’ More-
over, Haji Mulyadi, states:
Calabai’ are born with signs (tanda-tanda) of being calabai’. Look at Haji Bacco’, when
s/he was at school s/he was already showing signs of being calabai’. They like to play
with girls. They don’t like playing with boys. So their nature (sifat) has already devel-
oped. I guess then it’s a biological (biologis) thing, but also society has its influence.
Some narratives also include reference to individuals mixing stereotypical

men’s and women’s behaviors. For instance, Jero’, a man of about thirty,
notes:
There are lots of different types of calabai’, and not only that, they have many different
moods. For instance, a calabai’ can be walking down the street all, you know, girlish and
giggly, but then if s/he gets hassled s/he will raise hir fists and get ready to fight y and if
they need to fight to stand up for themselves then they will. So calabai’ have a feminine
and a masculine side. Indeed, their name is waria, right, woman along with man (me-
mang namanya waria toh, wanita sama pria).
Waria is an amalgam of two Indonesian words, wanita (woman) and pria

(man), and it refers to a nationally recognized subjectivity similar to calabai’
(cf. Boellstorff, 2000, 2004). Jero’ points out here that calabai’ and waria are
a mix of feminine and masculine attributes. Similarly, Puang Sulai, a high-
ranking noble man states:
Calabai’ are amazing (hebat) hey! Like Fitri [a local school teacher], s/he goes to school
wearing trousers and is really strict with all the kids; yells at them and is pretty mean.
Then s/he comes home, takes off hir trousers, puts on a skirt and make-up and doesn’t
yell any more!
Dress and accessories also contribute to gender identity. For Ance’, an

aesthetic reason for being calalai’ is given: ‘‘You know the real decider for
me? It was clothes. I hate women’s clothing, they are so hot and tight and
uncomfortable. I never wear baju bodo (traditional blouse), kebaya (tradi-
tional Malay dress), or even duster (a loose house-dress made from cotton).
Yuck!’’ A bissu named Mariani signals hir identity by using male and female
symbols in hir style of dressing. When on special occasions Mariani wears
the potent (sakti) bissu clothing, s/he adorns it with flowers (a feminine
symbol) and a kris (small knife, a masculine symbol). Furthermore, while to
Western senses Santi’s style of dress (mini-skirt, tight T-shirt, heavy make-
up) may reflect (hyper)femininity, in South Sulawesi such apparel is rarely
worn by women. By dressing in this way, Santi reinforces hir identity as
calabai’.
In developing a gender identity, the roles one carries out, the behaviors
one exhibits, the occupation one pursues, and the way in which one dresses,
are all important contributing factors and must be acknowledged when
thinking of gender in South Sulawesi. It is here that the assertions of per-
formativity theorists, such as Judith Butler, is helpful. Drawing on the work
of linguistic philosopher J. L. Austin (1955), Butler (1990, 1993) writes of
the process of subject formation in terms of performativity, where enacting
identities brings those identities into being, rather than expressing a pre-
determined being (cf. Kondo, 1997, p. 4). The notion of performativity
allows us to examine dominant ideologies and the ways individuals emulate,
modify, and resist these prescriptions in daily life. Interwoven into such
discourses are ideas of acting out a particular role. For Butler, it is precisely
the multiple factors, culturally and historically brought together and labeled
(e.g. man, woman, calalai’, calabai’, bissu), that incite gender identities
through the performative force of their repetition. According to Butler,
there are no essential ‘‘masculine’’ or ‘‘feminine’’ characteristics, only phe-
nomena (perhaps from other domains of life, such as tradition) that come to
be labeled in gendered terms. An analysis of Bugis gender can thus confirm
some aspects of Butler’s theories. For instance, many parts of Bugis gender
can be deconstructed into ultimately ‘‘non-gender’’ factors.
There are, however, dangers associated with placing too much emphasis
on the visible performative aspects of gender vis-à-vis other factors. While
the wearing of certain clothes or behaving in a particular manner contribute
to gender identity, these alone do not constitute a gendered identity in South
Sulawesi. Moreover, visible affirmations of a particular gender do not tell
the whole story. While hegemonic ideology presents ideal models for men
and women, the fact that an individual conforms to this model does not
mean they are passively reproducing it. Conversely, if calalai’ appear to
emulate men in many respects (e.g. in dress and behavior), it does not follow
that they are merely copying men; the fact that calalai’ are female is never
forgotten and calalai’ use this to their advantage, and indeed, in many ways,
calalai’ actively subvert ideal masculinity (cf. Graham, 2001).
As such, Butler’s work on gender performativity is helpful only to a point

when analyzing Bugis gender. Butler (1990) underplays the agency of her
subjects: ‘‘there is no gender identity behind the expressions of gender; that
identity is performatively constituted by the very ‘expressions’ that are said
to be its results’’ (p. 25). This line of thinking undermines any challenge
individuals make to dominant gender discourse. Moreover, performativity
theory does not take into account an individual’s conscious gender deve-
lopment because it argues that individuals are merely copying an already
written script. Employing this repertoire of performativity is dangerous,
therefore, because individuals may be portrayed as inauthentic, as copying
heterosexual norms and heterosexuality – as in the case of butch-femme
subjectivities, (cf. Murray, 1999) – or as merely role playing. As Eves (2001)
argues, in this context the language of performativity and play is harmful
because it invites further dismissal and ridicule of alternative identities by
painting them as mere reproductions.
Performativity is useful in addressing some aspects of gender identity in
South Sulawesi – for instance, it shows how dominant theories shape gender
and it helps explain the way certain roles, occupations, behaviors, and dress
contribute to Bugis gender identity. It does not acknowledge, however, the
importance of the body in Bugis understandings of gender formation, or the
central role factors such as religion, fate and destiny play. Performativity
theory does not, therefore, provide for a comprehensive theoretical frame-
work for the analysis of gender in South Sulawesi.
Sexing Gender
Another important factor in the formation of Bugis gender identity is sex-

uality and the sexual act. Sexuality may justify forms of behavior, or con-
versely, types of behavior may convince someone of their sexuality – the use
of the term sexuality here refers to erotic desire, with whom individuals have
sex, and the roles they may play in sexual encounters. As such, sexuality is a
central component in gender formation in South Sulawesi (cf. Graham,
2004c; Oetomo, 1996).
Until recently, around the 1980s, sexuality was largely dismissed by the-
orists as an important factor in the study of identity – researchers who paid
attention to sexuality were often viewed with wariness. According to Vance
(1991), the study of sexuality was not seen as a ‘‘legitimate area of study,’’ an
attitude that cast doubt ‘‘not only on the research but on the motives and
the character of the researcher’’ (p. 875). For instance, Evans-Pritchard
published his article on ‘‘sexual inversion among the Azande,’’ which
observed female same-sex relations, 40 years after his fieldwork (Blackwood

& Wieringa, 1999, p. 40). Similarly, Van Lier, who had taken an interest in
female same-sex relations in Surinam, stopped his interviews with women
after he discovered that this topic was frowned upon by academics. His
work would not be published for another 40 years (Blackwood & Wieringa,
1999, p. 40). More recently, Saskia Wieringa published short stories on her
encounters with lesbians in Jakarta and Lima under a pseudonym partly
‘‘because of the lesbophobia in my institute and my work at large’’ (Wie-
ringa, 1999, p. 209). Jeffery Weeks (1999) also recounts, ‘‘I was once warned
by a well-meaning head of department that my academic career would go
nowhere if I continued to write about sex [but then the tragedy of the AIDS
epidemic made it] socially necessary to research and write about sexuality in
a serious manner’’ (p. 11).
Evident in the burgeoning array of literature on sexuality is how different
societies view the relationship between gender and sexuality (Caplan, 1987).
For instance, Unni Wikan (1977), who studied gender in Oman, concludes,
‘‘It is the sexual act, not the sexual organ, which is fundamentally consti-
tutive of gender. A man who acts as a woman sexually, is a woman, so-
cially’’ (p. 309). Similar conclusions are reached by Don Kulick (1997, 1998)
who argues that in Brazil it is sexuality, or, more specifically, the sexual act,
which determines one’s gender identity. Kulick is thus able to divide Bra-
zilian society into men and not-men according to whether they engage in
active/penetrative sex (which men do), or passive/receiving sex (which not-
men do, i.e. travesti and women). This contrasts with Aarmo’s (1999) work
on Zimbabwe and Elliston’s (1999) work on Tahiti where they assert that
the construction of gender is not tied to sexed-body assignment, but that
gender produces sexuality. Elliston (1999) argues, ‘‘Gender, then, is not
contingent on or derived from sexual practices; rather, gender produces
sexuality, or, more accurately, Polynesians conceptualize gender difference
as productive of sexuality’’ (p. 238).
In Bugis society, gender and sexuality are interwoven. Erotic desire and
the roles an individual plays in sexual acts, are contributors to gender iden-
tity. Often sexual awakening can induce the development of an individual’s
gender identity, as expressed below by two calabai’ in their thirties.
When I kissed my girlfriend it felt like kissing a sister. It was just plain. I always admired
men more, you know, but just to look at. I was arranged to be married but I really didn’t
want to. I kissed a guy, you know, to see what it felt like. Enak (Delicious)! And then
I knew that I wanted to be with men; to be like a wife (Yanti).
I feel like I’ve always known that I was calabai’, but for a long time it was a feeling
I couldn’t explain. I knew definitely in 1983 [at the age of twenty] because this was when my
parents arranged my marriage to my first cousin, a girl from Boné. But before the marriage
went ahead, a number of boys came up to me and said I should try it with them to make
sure. They said ‘try me first’. I said o.k. I was a little scared though, but as it happened
I really liked it. It was good! So then I knew that I couldn’t marry this girl?(Yulia).
For Yanti and Yulia, sexual satisfaction guided their identification as ca-
labai’. Calalai’, too, commonly reveal sexuality as a contributing factor in
their gender formation.
You know, the most important factor was influence from a linas [a feminine woman who
is attracted to calalai’]. You see, I was chosen and seduced by a linas over a long time,
and this is what made me become ill (sakit). Before, I wasn’t ill, I used to just act like a
man (dulu saya tidak sakit, cuma gaya seperti lelaki). Then there was a linas who always
approached me and wanted to be partners (pacaran). At first, when we became friends,
I didn’t think about sex. The linas kept paying me lots of attention, but I was still scared
because I still had feelings like a woman. I was still 16 then. But I was from a broken
home and I really enjoyed all the attention I was getting. So finally I too became ill (saya
ikut sakit) and became a hunter (calalai’) (Eri).
Eri’s eventual attraction to, and relationship with a linas may be seen as a
continuation of hir masculine behavior, which was ‘‘like a man.’’ However,
s/he still had feelings like a woman and so it was not necessarily an inevi-
table progression. Without the attention from a linas, Eri may not have
developed a calalai’ identity. Indeed, as Murray (1997, p. 256) writes, ‘‘Al-
though gender and sexuality may be distinguished analytically, they are far
from being independent from each other. Indeed, outside the elite realm of
academic gender discoursing, sexuality and gender generally are expected to
coincide’’ (cf. Jackson, 1997, p. 168, 2000, p. 417; Murray, 1994, p. 60,
1995). Interesting comparisons can be made with Blackwood (1999, p. 186)
who, while in West Sumatra, found herself slotted into a gender identity
rather than the sexual identity she thought she occupied. Wieringa (1999)
similarly found in Jakarta that her desire for women was not interpreted
merely as erotic preference, but underscored, in the eyes of people around
her, her entire gender identity.
The connection between gender and sexuality is strong. Indeed the Mayor
of Sengkang, the town where I lived, once said at a public speech, ‘‘Indeed
you would not be waria (calabai’) if you did not like men’’ (‘‘Memang bukan
waria kalau tidak suka sama pria’’). He signaled here that without a desire
for men, calabai’ would not be calabai’. A calabai’ who likes women may be
considered a fake calabai’:
Some calabai’ like women, but they’re not real calabai’. Real calabai’ never like women.
I am an authentic calabai’ (asli calabai’) because I’ve never liked women (Haji Map-
paganti, devoutly religious calabai’).
The roles an individual plays in sexual acts is an important contributor to

gender identity. Wikan (1977, p. 309) writes, in Oman ‘‘the man who enters
into a homosexual relationship in the active role, in no way endangers his
male identity, whereas the passive, receiving homosexual partner cannot
possibly be conceptualized as a man.’’ Kulick (1997, p. 574) asserts that
it is the males who are anally penetrated who are usually ‘‘classified and
named, not the males who penetrate them (who are often simply called
‘men’)’’ (cf. Johnson, 1997, p. 91).
In Bugis society too, the role an individual plays in sexual encounters is a
consideration in one’s gender identity, although certainly not to the same
extent that it is in Oman and Brazil. Dilah, a calalai’, declares, ‘‘We don’t
want to be penetrated. It’s like our role to penetrate our partners. You
know y well, that’s how it works.’’ Women are sexually penetrated, ac-
cording to Dilah, and one way s/he differentiates hirself from women is by
being the one who penetrates, not the penetrated. Eka also notes, ‘‘Calabai’
are entered (dimasuk). Men are never entered. No!’’ Yulia, a calabai’, affirms
this: ‘‘No, [my male partner] doesn’t want it like that [to be penetrated]. He
just wants to enter me.’’
These narratives show that a clear link is made between gender identity
and sexual behavior (cf. Johnson, 1997, pp. 91–93). It does not necessarily
follow, however, that sexual roles determine gender, or, as Wikan (1997)
found in Oman, ‘‘the receiving homosexual partner cannot possibly be
conceptualized as a man’’ (p. 309). For instance, in Makassar, the capital
city of South Sulawesi, men are increasingly requesting to be penetrated by
calabai’ (cf. Kulick, 1997). As one informant, Takrim, a 30-year-old man,
reveals: ‘‘Something very interesting is happening. Increasingly, men do not
want to fuck (bo’ol) calabai’ or be sucked by calabai’, but to be fucked
(dibo’ol) by calabai’ or to suck calabai’ until the calabai’ come (keluar) in
their mouth.’’ In such cases, being sexually penetrated does not mean that a
male can no longer be conceptualized as a man. Possibly one of the reasons
that this does not endanger a man’s masculinity is that sexuality alone does
not determine gender in South Sulawesi.
Such examples reinforce the idea that gender identity is conditioned by
sexuality, although it is not necessarily determined by sexuality (cf. Peletz,
1996, p. 123). In some respects, Western theory does not seem to prepare one
particularly well for analyzing the interrelations of sexuality and gender. For
instance, Peter Jackson (2000) argues, ‘‘The theoretical split between gender
and sexuality, which is now institutionalized in the disciplinary divide be-
tween feminism/women’s studies and gay-queer studies, means that Western
analysts are poorly equipped to understand gender/sex transformations
at the global level’’ (p. 418). Pringle (1992) further articulates this division
between discourses arguing, ‘‘The categories of sexuality and gender have a
schizoid relationship. For much of the time they ignore each other com-
pletely, with the result that there is a large literature which treats sexuality as
if gender barely exists and another literature on gender that ignores or
marginalizes sexuality. Despite this, assumptions are constantly made about
their connectedness’’ (pp. 76–77). We must, therefore, reconceive gender and
sexuality in their inseparable relatedness rather than in their specific dis-
tinctiveness (cf. Jackson, 2000, pp. 418–420). Indeed, although rarely cited,
Judith Butler is opposed to the idea that sexuality can be radically separated
from the analysis of gender (cf. Osborne & Segal, 1994, p. 32). In this
section, then, I have tried to avoid the assumptions of a Western theoretical
split to show how, in Bugis society, sexuality impacts in various ways on an
individual’s gender identity; often underpinning a gender identity, some-
times confirming a suspected gender identity.
CONCLUSION
This paper has explored ways in which the salience of gender is revealed in
daily Bugis life. Ideals of femininity and masculinity are clearly defined and
reinforced through local and state ideology and Islamic discourse. It is
through adhering to gender norms that individuals retain and improve their
social location. While status is an overarching concern in Bugis society, it is
underpinned by gender considerations. The importance of gender and the
strictness of gender codes mean that if a person does not adhere to nor-
mative prescriptions, they may become seen as other than a woman, or as
other than a man. The significance of gender, combined with the concept
of gender holism, enables Bugis society to acknowledge five gendered cat-
egories.
This paper also examined emic conceptions of gender and considered how
individuals become gendered beings. Focusing on the relationship between
bodies and gender it was seen that the body is an essential constituent of
gender formation, although it does not solely define an individual’s gender
identity. The paper also revealed that individual embodiment is made up of
varying amounts of femaleness and maleness. The way in which subjectivity
contributes to gender identity was discussed, affirming that value be given to
personal narratives in accounting for the formation of gender identity. An
examination of how gender is impacted by the roles individuals play, oc-
cupations they pursue, behaviors they enact, and self-presentation was also
undertaken. Evidence was given of how exhibiting certain behaviors can

mean that a male (or female) is not considered a man (or a woman). The
paper also discussed discourses of sexuality, showing how erotic desire and
the roles individuals play in sexual encounters contribute to gender identity.
In thinking about gender in Bugis South Sulawesi, the central importance
of gender and the variety of components that form gender identities need to
be acknowledged and appreciated. Grasping these two points fosters a bet-
ter understanding of how gender operates in the region. Emic understand-
ings of gender in Sulawesi thus highlight the importance of gender and the
multiplicity of gender identities, enriching our collective understanding of
the vitality and complexity of gender.
NOTES
1. Calabai’ is an indigenous word used to describe male-born individuals who
are in many ways more like women in their dress and behavior than like men
(cf. Graham, 2004a). Calalai’ are female-born individuals who are like men in their
dress and behavior (cf. Graham, 2001). Bissu are androgynous priests who arguably
constitute a fifth gender in South Sulawesi (cf. Andaya, 2000; Graham, 2004a).
Neither the Bugis nor Indonesian languages discriminate between gender, using in-
stead the gender non-specific pronouns i/na and dia respectively. In this paper, I
use hir and s/he to evoke a subjectivity outside the binary she/he, her/his. Hir and
s/he also suggest an identity not reliant on moving from one normative gender to
the other (cf. Blackwood, 1999; Wilchins, 1997). All informants’ names contained in
this paper are pseudonyms. All conversations were conducted in Indonesian, with
some segments in Bugis.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank Tom Davies, Greg Acciaioli, Lyn Parker, and most
especially the people I lived with in Sulawesi between 1999–2001, for helping
me develop the ideas contained in this paper. I would also like to acknow-
ledge the support I have received from the Auckland University of
Technology, the University of Western Australia, the Australian National
University, Hassanudin University, and a Huygen’s scholarship to conduct
research at Leiden University and the KITLV in the Netherlands. Some of
the data contained in this paper has previously been published (Graham,
2001, 2004b; Davies, 2006) and I thank the editors for granting permission
to use this material.
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VARIATIONS IN MASCULINITY
FROM A CROSS-CULTURAL
PERSPECTIVE$
Edwin S. Segal
ABSTRACT
Most well-known conceptualizations of sex, gender and sexuality privilege
one version or another of a Western European or North American bi-polar
paradigm. However, such a focus ignores the ethnographic evidence for a
larger range of sex–gender–sexuality constructs. This paper outlines
parameters for known variations in cultural constructs of sex–gender–
sexuality systems, and raises questions about contemporary trends in
understanding sex, gender and sexuality. As a first step, and because the
data are more plentiful, I focus on variations in cultural constructions of
sex, gender and sexuality relevant to physiological males, leaving a thor-
ough exploration of constructions relevant to physiological females for
another paper. The contemporary spread of Western cultural hegemony,
as well as some opposition to that model, has categorized many indigenous,
multi-polar sex–gender–sexuality systems as either in need of moderniza-
tion or simply not quite civilized. The result is a loss, not only of knowledge
$
Earlier versions of this paper were presented at the Primavera 2002 conference, Texas A&M
International University, Laredo, Texas, March 21–23, 2002 and the 15th World Congress of
Sociology, Brisbane, Australia, July 7–13, 2002.

ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(06)10002-8
25
26 EDWIN S. SEGAL
about human plasticity in this area, but also a loss of cultural flexibility in
organizing and dealing with human biocultural variation.
I am concerned here with two issues, both of which revolve around bipolar
sex–gender–sexuality paradigms. First, is the spread of a generalized western
hegemony, not only in areas of economics and politics, but also in other
cultural domains. Second is the gradual (and sometimes not so gradual)
shift, in some cultures, from a multi-polar gender framework to a more
‘‘modern’’ bipolar frame of reference. Both produce a ‘‘normalization’’ of
the western model.
As various cultures come to adopt a gender framework perceived as being
more in line with that acceptable to the world’s hegemonic powers, they lose
flexibility in understanding and dealing with variations within their societies.
In addition, the ability of the social sciences to understand the dynamics of
human sexuality and gender construction is lessened. Our theoretical frame-
works are impoverished and our grasp of human potential is diminished.
Even though it can be said that all cultures change all the time, or as
Sahlins (1985) puts it, culture is, in part, a continuous process of interpre-
tation and reinterpretation, there is still stability, both from the perspective
of the participant (who may not be able to perceive the constant change) and
the external observer. Some changes are more important and more salient
than others. In either case, as we approach a body of cultural data, we need
to consider the viewpoint from which the data have been assembled and
constructed. If we adopt an emic point of view, the perspective of a culture’s
participant, we will get one version of the phenomenon being examined.
Given our contemporary understanding of variation within a culture, it is
likely that there are several different etic perspectives to be found, some of
which might even seem to be in contradiction. If we adopt an etic construct,
the perspective of the analyst, we will find ourselves with yet another con-
struction of the data, which again, may exist in contradiction to one or more
of the emic perspectives. In the end, we can be sure that for any group of
people, their cultural world is multiple and the various extant versions do
not always center on any but the broadest, vaguest consensus.
Ethnographic data, both emic and etic, indicate that a segment of the
world’s cultures have developed gender paradigms that go beyond the
western sense of two gender poles. At the current state of aggregated cross-
cultural material, we cannot say how many cultures (present or historical)
contain more than two gender poles. The consequence is that we can only
rely on impressionistic assessments.
Variations in Masculinity from a Cross-Cultural Perspective 27
In the absence of such a definitive count, the impression produced by the

extant literature is that multi-polar cultures usually deal with physiological
females and physiological males differently. In general, morphological men
are more likely to be seen as possibly fitting into more than one named,
institutionalized position with a distinct gender construction and that mor-
phological women are more likely to be seen as falling along a continuum of
variations, all of which are considered womanly and feminine. The classic
instance is the difference between the Manly Hearted Women among the
Mandan and other plains Indians and the Berdache,1 also among North
American plains groups. While morphological men might, as the result of a
vision quest or other spirit visitation, occupy the separate berdache social
position, Manly Hearted Women were still women, and might be valued
even more highly than ‘‘ordinary’’ women.2 While some instances of women
actively engaged in warfare can best be understood as gender role trans-
formations, e.g., the ‘‘Amazon’’ warriors of 18th and 19th century Daho-
mey, others are indicative of the sort of gender transcendence illustrated by
the Mandan (Jones, 1997) or Piegan (Edgerton, 2000) Manly Hearted
Women. The point here is that, at least in these instances, physiological
women did not cease being sociological women, while physiological men
might cease being sociological men.
There are two possible avenues to understanding this apparent phenom-
enon: (1) it is an accurate description of ethnographic reality and requires
explanation. If this is the case, I expect that a robust socio-cultural expla-
nation will be derived from a universal asymmetry in gender constructs
(Quinn, 1977). (2) It is an artifact of a sex–gender asymmetry among field
workers engaged in the appropriate research. Suggestive literature in this
direction has a long history, stretching from Bowen (Bohannan) (1964) to
Elliston (1999). Since these are not mutually exclusive, an accurate assess-
ment of the reality probably lies between these possibilities. An additional
complication rises from the fact that the extant literature does not always
utilize the same definitions for concepts and terms.
Given variations in how the terms are used in the literature, in this article
I have adopted the following definitions. I use ‘‘sex’’ to refer to biological
traits and ‘‘gender’’ to refer to the constructs that each culture associates
with a biological trait complex. However, sex is not simply a matter of
equipment or plumbing. Each culture also carries norms guiding the use of
biological equipment. So that in fact we really have biological or morpho-
logical sex, cultural sex and gender. These three are linked, in each culture,
in ways that produce a sex–gender–sexuality complex.
28 EDWIN S. SEGAL
Something more needs to be said about cultural sex. Much of traditional

biology sees this facet of sex as facilitating reproduction, which is said to be
the primary raison d’etre for biological sex. And in evolutionary terms that
is probably an accurate construction. However, as DeWaal (1995) notes,
there are at least two species, human beings and bonobos (pygmy chim-
panzees), for whom sex (as I have defined it) regularly takes on non-repro-
ductive functions. De Waal’s observations of bonobo behavior indicate
sexual activity regularly used in what he refers to as ‘‘reconciliations,’’ be-
havior mending social fences in the aftermath of an altercation. Some of the
activity is male initiated and heterosexual; some is female initiated and
heterosexual; some is male initiated and same-sex oriented, and some is
female initiated and same-sex oriented.
He believes he has also observed ‘‘recreational’’ sex, but without speaking
to the bonobos, it is a difficult determination to make with surety. However,
with human beings the issue is quite different. We are faced with sexual
behavior used in a variety of ways. There is, of course, reproductive sex, and
because we can communicate with each other, we can be sure when sex is
simply recreational. In addition, anthropological research like that of Herdt
(1981) has clearly demonstrated another variety of cultural sex, one that is
neither reproductive nor recreational, which might be termed ‘‘instrumen-
tal’’ sex. This category is easily open to a variety of subcategories; some like
rape as an instrument of war are decidedly distasteful, others may be the
stuff of various utopian fantasies, and yet others, like use of fellatio, doc-
umented by Herdt (1981), put sexual activities to the service of cultural ends
that have little to do with overt eroticism. The point is not to embark on a
terminological or taxonomic endeavor, but rather to simply make it clear
that ‘‘simple’’ sex and sexual behavior among human beings are probably
more varied and more complex than for any other mammal.
Kath Weston (1993) has argued that gender cannot be defined with any
precision, and she is right, if what we are looking for is a universal set of
traits. However, if we adopt a culture-specific approach, then while the
specifics of gender may vary from culture to culture, we can still maintain
the general sense I have just outlined. The cultural gender construct consists
of both signifying elements and performance elements. A person assumes
the signifying elements, e.g., clothing or hairstyle, and exhibits the per-
formance elements. While biological sex is something a person has, regard-
less of behavior, gender is seen only when it is performed or signaled.
I begin with the biocultural perspective that is central to anthropology.
Questions regarding the relative dominance of effects from biology or cul-
ture, popularly referred to as the nature–nurture debate, and academically
as the essentialist–constructionist debate, ask impossible and sterile ques-

tions, and so provide scientifically useless answers. These debates also priv-
ilege a bi-polar view of the world. Human beings are both biological
organisms and culture-bearing builders of societies. From that perspective,
the appropriate paradigm for guiding study in this area is one based on the
fact that biology and culture are two parts of an interacting human system.
Everywhere, human beings are born genderless, but sexed in the basic
mammalian pattern. Of course, a variety of genetic and hormonal anomalies
occasionally occur. These range from different genetic structures, e.g., XXY
and XYY, to other less clearly understood rare occurrences like androgen
insensitivity syndrome, in which a genetically male fetus does not respond to
the androgens released during gestation. The result is an apparently female
infant with male genetics.
However, until the second half of the 20th century and the discovery of
the structure of DNA, these variations were not perceived as such. They
were perceived primarily as the rare occurrence of one or another physi-
ological peculiarity, or as is often the case with androgen insensitivity syn-
drome, may not have been noticed at all. Even in those societies currently
making use of a variety of sophisticated biological tests of genetic structure
and hormonal balance, it is possible to argue that most people continue to
perceive these variations in terms of their effects on external appearances.
The biological reality of the anomaly is not as important as its cultural
placement. For example, the social and cultural location of intersexed in-
dividuals varies cross culturally. The Pokot, living in Kenya, respond to
intersexed individuals as an extremely unfortunate occurrence, and fre-
quently resort to infanticide (Edgerton, 1964). The Navajo classify such
individuals as belonging to a third category that is neither male nor female
(Hill, 1935). Most micro-cultures in United States culture tend to see such
people as mistakes of nature and seek to correct the error. For the Pokot,
there is no cultural place for those they call sererr, and those few who
survive live on the margins of the society. Currently, United States macro-
culture also has no place for intersexed individuals, but tries to fit them into
one of the two normatively accepted categories.
Recently, at least in North America and Western Europe, the Intersex
Society of North America (ISNA) and the GenderPAC, both of which claim
a membership including people who understand themselves as transsexual
transgendered or intersexed, have been agitating for an end to the assump-
tion that biologically intersexed people suffer from a malady (Turner, 1999).
They have also urged an end to automatic consideration of sex reassignment
surgery. Their’s is a vision of North American macro-culture as it might be.
30 EDWIN S. SEGAL
Their argument focuses on considering those we call intersexed as a third

sex, relatively rare (ISNA claims approximately 1 in 2,000 births), but a
normal human variation. However, it is still the case that the most frequent
occurrence is to view children born with ambiguous genital structures as
needing ‘‘treatment’’ so that they can fit into one of the two culturally
accepted poles.
Although both United States macro-culture and the Pokot can be said to
have a bipolar view of sex and gender, the conceptualizations are still very
different. For the Pokot, only those with the normatively appropriate mor-
phological structures can be transformed into gendered children (and ul-
timately adults). For the U.S., a surgical transformation renders biologically
anomalous individuals ‘‘fit’’ for the social and cultural transformation that
will occur. Ultimately, in every culture there is a process by which genderless
neonates are transformed into gendered children (or adults-in-training).
In many instances, the announcement of biological sex and an associated
gender status is the end of the story, for others it is not. It is also probably
the case that there are individuals in all societies for whom the assignment of
a sex–gender complex does not end with birth. Some cultures, such as por-
tions of the U.S. and the Pokot, cited above, tend to organize their gender
structures as rigidly defined bipolar systems. Others, such as Oman (Wikan,
1977, 1982) or Mohave (Devereaux, 1937), include more than two genders in
their cultural system. For yet others, such as the Igbo in Nigeria (Am-
adiume, 1987, McCall, 1996), the boundaries between gender categories are
flexible; there are circumstances under which women can be accepted as
men, and others in which men can be accepted as women.
A second process of gender transformation can often be discerned; one
taking place some time after the first transformation has been started. For
example, although physiologically intersexed individuals are recognizable at
birth, and the Navajo place them in a third category, nadle, the Navajo also
recognize a group of people they call those who pretend to be (or play the
part of) nadle (Hill, 1935). These individuals come to their status after
having begun socialization as masculine or feminine.
Generally, we might think in terms of three axes of post-childhood gender
transformation: one is of a temporary sort and has been long observed by a
variety of writers. For example, Murray (2000), Bullough (1976) and many
other writers have noted that rituals of license, such as carnival or Mardi
Gras, or rituals of rebellion (cf. Gluckman, 1956) often provide room for
transgressing gender norms. Murray is one of several writers who see this as
an often-covert acceptance of homosexuality, but as Gluckman points out,
it can be just the opposite. Regardless, a person engaging in a ritual of this
sort does change gender temporarily. The same can be said of female im-
personators, whether in Shakespeare’s plays, the film Victor Victoria, or a
contemporary stage act.
Much of Murray’s work is devoted to documenting variations in cultur-
ally acceptable sexual behavior. He tends to focus largely on variations in
male behavior, promoting the basic thesis that wherever such variations are
found they represent either a covert or an overt acceptance of homosexuality
as a normal human occurrence. However, Gluckman’s analysis of the Zulu
rituals he referred to as ‘‘rituals of rebellion,’’ suggests that a ritual focused
on license to overtly change behavioral and signifying gender markers, may,
in fact, represent an affirmation of ‘‘normally’’ acceptable behavior and a
rejection of the behavior licensed by the ritual. His particular case study was
of a yearly ceremony in which the Zulu king was reviled, and women dressed
as men and men dressed as women. The overt point of the ceremony was
that by having one day in which the king was badly treated and other,
particularly sexual, norms were violated, the Zulu polity was strengthened in
its ordinary cultural and political structures.
Theoretically, this temporary transformation can be seen as parallel to
linguistic and broader cultural code-switching phenomena. An individual
possesses the linguistic and cultural knowledge necessary for assuming a
position in more than one cultural or linguistic context, and switches from
one to the other as social situations require.
A second form of gender transformation is relatively rare (or at least
rarely reported). In the course of an ordinary life cycle a person moves from
one gender status to another. Among the Gabra in Kenya and Ethiopia,
men, as they age, pass into a period in which they are said to be seen as
women (Wood, 1999). In a slightly different vein, Turnbull (1986) argues
that Mbuti in the Ituri Rainforest region of Democratic Republic of Congo
are genderless until they marry. That is, they pass through childhood with-
out a distinct gender identity and are transformed only later.
There are two points to be made about the Gabra: (1) All men will
eventually become d’abella, men who are women. It is a part of a man’s
natural life cycle. (2) Although it is possible to talk of the Gabra as a bipolar
culture, they represent yet another variation on that theme.
Gabra do not seem to see polar opposites as discrete and separable, but as entangled
with each other ... the d’abella, the men who are women y show that in them too,
opposites come together in one place. (Wood, 1999, p. 166)
Like United States macro-culture, Gabra culture sees much of the world in
terms of a set of polar opposites; however, in a variety of instances, the Gabra
32 EDWIN S. SEGAL
bring these opposites together in a symbolic unification. This creates a certain

ambiguity that extends to Gabra descriptions of d’abella gender status. Wood
(1999) makes an important distinction here. He recounts that he was told
simply that d’abella ‘‘are women.’’ He emphasizes that he was not told that
d’abella are ‘‘like’’ women, and that distinction is significant. On formal and
ceremonial occasions people refer to them with feminine pronouns. ‘‘And
elements of their dress and behavior and value in society are understood as
feminine, as ‘‘belonging’’ to or ‘‘on the side’’ of women’’ (p. 175).
On the other hand, they are also referred to as korma, bull camels, and
they do not give up their masculinity; they continue to be linked to it even as
they become d’abella. Essentially, instead of being liminal, standing between
masculine and feminine, as North American Two Spirit People have been
seen, d’abella are both at the same time. They unite the polar opposites in
the status they acquire by growing older. The social location Gabra create
for d’abella, containing both masculine and feminine elements, suggests a
gender structure approaching that which Graham (this volume) calls holistic
for the Bugis in Sulawesi, Indonesia.
The Mbuti, living in the Ituri Forest region of the Democratic Republic of
Congo,3 represent a different model of gender transformation. Turbull
(1986) argues that until marriage Mbuti have no gender. That is, they are
not expected to behave in any particular ‘‘masculine,’’ ‘‘feminine’’ or other
similar fashion. Although there is, as there must be, gender learning, it is not
relevant to behavior until marriage. Under these circumstances, we could
even say that marriage is a gender transformative event in the Mbuti life
cycle in much the same way that it constitutes a transition to adulthood in
many other cultures.
The third form of gender transformation, the one I am most concerned
with here, is a more or less permanent second transformation. I use the
phrase ‘‘more or less permanent’’ because Wikan (1982) indicates that on
occasion those whom she calls xanith4 choose to become xanith and then
later choose to stop being xanith. A similar phenomenon has also been
reported for people in the Society Islands (Elliston, 1999). This category
contains examples from every continent, of people fitting a particular gender
status that is not one of the Western World’s ‘‘big two.’’ This is also the
category being referred to when people talk of a ‘‘third gender.’’5
Although we (western interpreters) tend to think in terms of an underlying
biological predisposition for this form of gender transformation, the so-
called (by European observers) Amazon warriors of 18th and 19th century
Dahomey make a very different case. The female warriors of Dahomey are
not the only instance of women being a regular part of the army to be found
in either Africa or other parts of the world (Jones, 1997), but they are
certainly the most famous and the best described, the only known instance
of a standing army led by an elite regiment of female soldiers. (Alpern, 1998,
Edgerton, 2000).
They also illustrate the extent to which biology does not play a deter-
ministic role in gender constructs. There may be a subtle interplay of bi-
ology, society and culture, as was certainly the case for the Amazons, but
the idea that one domain drives developments in another has no ethno-
graphic support. In that sense, these women provide an important body of
ethnographic data illuminating issues that underlie any consideration of
gender variations, male or female.
The kingdom was well established by the end of the 17th century. By the
18th and 19th centuries, Dahomey, which was defeated by the French in
1892, was a major conquest state on the West African coast. Sandwiched, as
it was between the more powerful empires of Oyo on the east (in what is now
Nigeria) and Asante on the west (in what is now Ghana), Dahomey, in the
three centuries of its independent existence, exhibited a number of unique
features, some of which were associated with its deep involvement in an
internal slave trade and plantation economy as well as slave trade directed to
the demands of a variety of European traders.
In contemporary terms, this was not an egalitarian system; it was a highly
militarized state, so much so that Richard Burton referred to it as a ‘‘black
Sparta’’ (Alpern, 1998). From our point of view it was a brutal state, but the
opportunities for women were many.
One of these was to join the ranks of the female warriors, who, at their
peak, numbered in the thousands. Their ranks were filled by volunteers,
conscripts and slaves (almost entirely war captives). All became part of
organized military units whose reputation for excellence was almost legen-
dary in the area. They regularly insisted that they had become men, or had
become better than men. But the terms of reference were always to a bipolar
sex–gender–sexuality system. As near as we can tell, any sort of biological
underlayment was not universal to these warriors, but pride in military
prowess, success and excellence were the salient criteria for the Amazons,
living as they did, in a society that was patriarchal and also had many
options for women beyond kinder, küche and küchen (Edgerton, 2000). The
Amazons of Dahomey represent one location on the continuum of femi-
ninity that existed within that society. But more than anything else, they
represent the extent to which cultural expectations direct cultural outcomes.
The crux of the problem I want to address here can be seen in Donham’s
(1998) discussion of Black South African male sexuality, which focused on
34 EDWIN S. SEGAL
the death of a Zulu man in 1993. In the course of his analysis he first cites
Neil Miller, a journalist, describing an interview with Linda,6 the person
Donham is discussing.
Township gay male culture y revolved around cross-dressing and sexual role-playing
and the general idea that if gay men weren’t exactly women, they were some variation
thereof, a third sex. No one, including gay men, seemed to be quite sure what gay meant
– were gay men really women? men? or something in between? .... (Miller, 1993, p. 14
cited by Donham, 1998, p. 7)
Donham goes on to note that ‘‘gay’’ was not actually the appropriate term
at the time.
In black township slang, the actual designation for the effeminate partner in a male
same-sex coupling was stabane – literally, a hermaphrodite. Instead of sexuality in the
Western sense, it was local notions of sexed bodies and gendered identities y that di-
vided and categorized. (Donham, 1998, p. 7)
It is important to note that much of township sexuality in South Africa was

conditioned by the strictures imposed by apartheid. We tend to think of that
system as being largely a matter of racial segregation, but it was more. It
focused on population control and the provision of cheap industrial labor,
which was housed in single sex hostels. Although stabane may have been the
appropriate term, and it may have had both connotations and denotations
very different from Western concepts of sexuality, the distortions produced
by apartheid obscured these differences, reducing them to little more than a
variant of female impersonation and a specifically subordinate sexual role.
While speaking of both Linda and Jabu, a friend of Linda’s with a penchant
for women’s dress in a west African style, Donham approaches questions of
point of view in understanding sex-gender-sexuality systems.
His comment raises one other complication of theoretical significance.
If it was gender that made sense to Linda and Jabu themselves ..., strangers in the
township typically used sex as a classificatory grid. That is, both Linda and Jabu were
taken by others as a biologically mixed third sex. Significantly, as far as I can tell, neither
ever saw themselves in such terms. (Donham, 1998, p. 8)
Anthropology ordinarily utilizes a distinction between the cultural insider’s

view (emic) and the external observer’s view (etic). We are faced here (and
I suspect in many other instances) with two emic constructions of the same
socio-cultural facts. In one, there is a category beyond what we usually think
of as the ordinary two, and in the other there is not.
Donham ends his analysis by noting that the collapse of apartheid has led
to changes in the cultural constructions of a local sex–gender–sexuality sys-
tem. Although he provides the requisite caveats, he also tends to see the
process as a variety of ‘‘modernization’’ matching the ‘‘modernization’’ of the

socio-cultural system that was apartheid. Given the artificial constraints cre-
ated by apartheid, there is justification in this approach. However, consid-
ering a bipolar homosexual–heterosexual paradigm as more modern than
other paradigms tends to obscure the range of human variation. It also tends
to gloss over the two discrepant views of sex–sexuality variations he describes.
In another context, similar discrepancies are reported by Kulick (1998)
among travestis in Brazil.
Kulick’s discussion of the travestis describes a group of genetically male
people engaged as professional prostitutes. These men insist on their male-
ness and while preserving their male genitalia, also take female hormones or
obtain silicon implants to enhance the femaleness of their external appear-
ance. In terms of the framework used here, the travestis blur the lines be-
tween sex and gender, emphasizing the extent to which even physiological
sex may be considered a cultural construct, at least in its non-reproductive
aspects. In this way, travestis represent one resolution of issues created by
individuals who see themselves as transsexual or transgendered.
A similar phenomenon can be found in areas of Southeast Asia, particularly
Thailand. However, the underlayment of Theravada Buddhism adds a few
complicating dimensions. Even though Thailand’s gender structure is, at base,
bipolar, the addition of beliefs in reincarnation and the transience of life, leads
to a measure of acceptance for those termed kathoey (Taywaditep, Coleman,
& Dumronggittigule, 2001). But the social construction of kathoey is also
affected by these factors as well as by the impact of the contemporary, globally
interactive world. In trying to understand the Thai system, it is important to
remember that Thailand is the one portion of Southeast Asia that never came
under control of European colonial regimes. The result is that the contem-
porary blending of European cultural elements with local cultural patterns is
considerably more selective and involves fewer serious contradictions. Much
of contemporary Thai society seems directed toward absorbing foreign cul-
tural elements, often seen as being ‘‘modern,’’ into the existing cultural gender
constructs, perceived as being ‘‘traditional’’ (Taywaditep et al., 2001).
Traditionally, the term, kathoey, referred to people with indeterminate
physical genitals. Today the label does not have clear referents. It can be
used to refer to homosexual men and sometimes to those we might refer to as
transgendered or transsexual. Even those who identify themselves as kathoey
use the term in all this variety. There are also a series of more explicit terms,
a few of which are phrases built around kathoey, for example, ‘‘long haired
katthoey,’’ ‘‘kathoey dressing as a woman,’’ ‘‘third sex’’ and ‘‘second kind
of woman’’ (Winter, 2002). Along with the Thai term translating as
36 EDWIN S. SEGAL
‘‘male-female,’’ there are also the English slang terms ‘‘ladyboy’’ and ‘‘la-
dyman.’’ All of these carry a connotation of not male, but also not quite
female either. The linguistic sense of an additional gender that stands be-
tween masculine and feminine is unmistakable.
Within this amorphously defined group, some, similarly to the Brazilian
travesti, take hormones to enhance a female appearance, but few actually
undergo surgery for sexual reassignment, although it is available in Thailand
(Taywaditep et al., 2001). Kathoey fit several separate sub-categories within
Western models, but none of these do justice to Thai cultural realities.
Thai people mainly see the kathoey as either the ‘‘third gender,’’ or a combination of the
male and female genders. Alternatively, they are also seen as a female gender, but of
the ‘‘other’’ variety, as reflected in a synonym ying pra-phayt song, meaning ‘‘women of
the second kind.’’ (Taywaditep, 2001, p. 37)
Basically, it seems that Thai people have tried to fit a second (or more) male
gender into a basic Thai bipolar sex–gender–sexuality system. The result is a
system that recognizes more than two gender positions, but accords prestige
and status to only two. But even this is something of an oversimplification,
for as Taywaditep et al. (2001) notes:
Nevertheless, the kathoey have been a well-known category in the sexual and gender
typology of the Thai culture. Children and adults can often identify at least one kathoey in
every village or school. Despite their subtle ‘‘outcast’’ status, the village kathoey are often
given duties in local festivities and ceremonies, mostly in female-typical roles such as floral
arrangements or food preparation. The kathoey seem to have adopted the ‘‘nurturer’’ role
prescribed to Theravada women, and ideas of female pollution (e.g., the touch taboo and
fear of menstruation) are extended to the kathoey as well. Social discrimination varies in
degrees, ranging from hostile animosity to stereotypic assumptions. Some of the assump-
tions are based on the idea that the kathoey are unnatural, a result of poor karma from
past lives; other assumptions are typical of generalizations about women as a whole. (p. 37)
This cultural fuzziness, this lack of sharply delineated sex–gender–sexuality

borders is also mirrored in the languages of Southeast Asia (Wong, 2003).
Wong’s observation of linguistic complications is not surprising, but is not
often incorporated in discussions of gender variations, and most assuredly is
applicable beyond the confines of Southeast Asian languages. We need only
ask questions about the proper pronouns to use for the Tewa kwidó (see
below) or the Omani xanith. Neither the social sciences nor English in any
part of the world has developed a commonly accepted vocabulary for deal-
ing with such circumstances. The other side of this problem can be phrased:
What is the proper form of translation from a language with no gendered
third person singular pronoun, e.g., Swahili into English? Again, there is no
commonly accepted solution.
In the Thai case, as Wong notes, the result is a set of multi-polar sex–
gender–sexuality paradigms varying significantly from Western models.
However, even keeping this stricture in mind, it is still possible to say that
sex–gender–sexuality systems in Thailand represent a largely successful cul-
tural effort to fit gender variations into a bipolar framework without vi-
olating either the basic bipolarity or the empirical existence of people who
do not fit into a simple bipolar model.
In a slightly different frame of reference, Murray (2000) tries to subsume
all non-standard, non-heterosexual relationships under a model of three
different types of homosexuality. Perhaps the most important starting point
is to note that he changes the nature of the discourse from sex–gender–
sexuality paradigms or even simply societal gender structures, to issues of
sexual behavior. That is, he has, like most Western cultures, foregrounded
behavioral sex as the most salient aspect to be examined. He proposes a
tripartite typology: Age-structured, Gender Stratified and Egalitarian ho-
mosexualities as encompassing all of the ‘‘imaginable structurings of same-
sex sex’’ (2000, p. 1). It is also interesting to note the extent to which
Murray’s book is also strongly androcentric, although it does give a few
brief nods to same-sex sexual behavior among women.
The result is a shift of focus from socio-cultural gender constructs to
culturally mediated sexual activity. His entire book, which contains a wealth
of carefully considered ethnographic material, is organized on the cultural
definitions of who takes dominant or receptive positions. While a part of his
data fits that construct, his model, which denies the possibility of gender
constructs beyond masculine and feminine, cannot deal with instances such
as that noted by Jacobs and Cromwell (1992), while exploring the cultural
construction of, kwidó, a Tewa ‘‘third gender’’ category, one of those po-
sitions Williams (1992) would include under the general term berdache.
In the course of her fieldwork, Jacobs was told a person could be ho-
mosexual, heterosexual, bisexual or trisexual. One of her male informants
provided these definitions:
homosexual—‘it means I have sex with other men’
heterosexual—‘means I have sex with women’
bisexual—‘means I have sex with women and men’
trisexual—‘means I have sex with women, men, and with Joe [pseudonym]’ [the Tewa
kwidó]. (1992, p. 55)
A three or four gender system creates a more complex set of gender-based

relationships than are contemplated by a system derived from northern
38 EDWIN S. SEGAL
European and North American constructs. It is useful to note here that

Jacobs’ informant’s construction of potential sexualities makes use of both a
homosexual–heterosexual dimension, as well as a three gender paradigm.
Elsewhere (Segal, 1997), I have noted the possibility of discrepant emic
understandings of a single phenomenon.
Beyond the simple categorization and application of a label was the informant’s expla-
nation that the kwidó was not gay, though some people called him that, but was, rather
made a kwidó by spiritual powers. Jacobs goes on to note that the elders she spoke to
said that kwidó should be raised ‘to be who they are’ aided by adult kwidó’s socialization
to proper third-gender behavior and knowledge. (Segal, 1997)
The Tewa, in the southwestern United States, are not the only people among
whom this sort of internal disagreement can be discerned. It is also the case
for the Society Islands, which include Tahiti. In that setting, the person
occupying a non-masculine, non-feminine gender position is termed a mahu,
and is often a morphological male.7 Here, it seems that a man’s sexual
relations with a mahu are conceptualized (except by the mahu) as a re-
placement for relations with a woman. No one (except the mahu) seems to
consider questions of sexual orientation (Levy, 1971, 1973). By way of con-
trast, for the Tewa, orientation seems to be an issue. Sex with a kwidó is a
distinct cultural category and, Jacobs indicates, kwidó might have sex with
other kwidó.
In both instances, we are confronted with a heterogeneity of emic under-
standings that is all too often glossed over in anthropological literature. An-
other difficulty is the veneer of Eurocentric ethnocentrism and homophobia
created by the European colonial enterprise over a span of, at least 200 years
in most portions of the globe. In the instance of the Tewa, the major source
has probably been an Anglo-Euro-American Protestantism. It is somewhat
facile, but the shorthand reference to European colonialism and missionary
activities fairly expresses the world-wide trends of which this is a part.
The traditional Tewa explanation of the kwidó’s origins in an encounter
with superhuman forces grants an element of sacredness to his nature. In the
fallout from the confrontation with Euro-American culture and its agents,
for the most part, that has been lost and concepts of a variety of sexual sins
have become part of Tewa cognitions (Jacobs & Cromwell, 1992). On the
other hand, Jacob’s fieldwork is of relatively recent date, and the Tewa third
gender continues as a part of both beliefs and behaviors.
In contrast, I am not as certain that the status, mahu, as found in the
Society Islands, constitutes a third gender in the definitive way the kwidó
does. The largest part of the difficulty lies in the nature of the early sources,
none of which, took the people’s perspectives into account, but the data that
do exist are suggestive in a number of directions. By the latter half of the
20th century, when attention to emic perspectives had become more com-
mon, most of the world was in the throes of the sort of ‘‘modernization’’
noted by Donham, although not as a result of so felicitous a process as the
collapse of apartheid. The effects of colonial and mission culture in shifting
local cultural understandings of sex–gender systems are pervasive, and sex-
uality was a prime target.
The mahu of the Society Islands seem to represent a sex–gender–sexuality
category that is available to both men and women. Levy (1971, 1973) claims
that there are only morphologically male mahu, and Gilmore (1990) fol-
lowing him, refers to them as ‘‘practicing homosexuals.’’ However, this
construction of the data is problematic. First of all, the Society Islands seem
to be a region in which gender dimorphism is relatively light, and people
seem unconcerned about sharp gender distinctions (Elliston, 1999, Levy,
1973). This is exactly the sort of social setting most conducive to a multi-
polar sex–gender–sexuality system (Munroe & Whiting, 1969).
Most important is the confusion of categories currently found in the
Society Islands. Of these, mahu has the longest history, and might be re-
ferred to as the ‘‘traditional’’ category. There are other contemporary cat-
egories that explicitly link sexual behavior with gender, but mahu separates
gender and sexuality in a way more complex than can be reviewed here. The
merging of contemporary categories, derived from the global reach of large
scale, powerful, Western societies, with indigenous sex–gender–sexuality
systems is a subject for an entire paper on its own.
Elliston’s (1999) explication makes clear what may be a central question
in the study of sex–gender–sexuality systems. That question can be under-
stood as a matter of sequencing. In each particular culture of sex, sexuality
and gender, which is perceived as producer and which as product? The very
asking of the question points to the interaction of biology and culture,
rather than to the primacy of one over the other.
Elliston’s analysis of sexuality–gender categories in the Society Islands
helps clarify the apparent confusion. Mahu refers to the oldest layer, one in
which experience and observed behavior produce gender, which, in turn
directs people to their sexual partners, regardless of their morphology, i.e.,
produces sexuality.
Other categories (raerae, petea, lesbiennes) refer to same-sex sexual re-
lationships, coupled with coordinated gender behavior, and are conceived
of as referring to categories of sexuality and gender derived from French
colonial influence. The major difference, however, seems to be that for
40 EDWIN S. SEGAL
people assuming positioning within these categories, sexuality and gender

behavior both exist within a performative foreground, whereas:
While the gender-coded meanings attached to mahu were consistently foregrounded by
the men, women and mahu with whom I worked y, the sexuality of mahu was con-
sistently backgrounded. (Elliston, 1999, p. 236)
By way of contrast, we might consider the way in which Western cultural

constructs, more linear in format, first place sex as the producer of sexuality
and gender, which then produce behavior. These two different visions of the
relationship between sex, gender and sexuality help us to understand both
Christian missionary and other religious difficulties with the sex–gender–
sexuality systems of other parts of the world as well as phenomena such as
Zimbabwean or Ugandan governmental fulminations that homosexuality is
a foreign import. For reasons probably related to colonial hegemony and
the education of current leaders, the western model is adopted, rather than
any other one. It goes without saying that the two models delineated here,
the Western and a Polynesian, do not exhaust the possible cultural con-
structions. Additional research needs to be done to ascertain the range of
empirical realities for models of the relationship among sex, gender and
sexuality.
CONCLUSION
One of the reasons Murray (2000) has difficulty accepting the concept of
genders beyond two has to do with his foregrounding of sexual activity,
focusing on the physiological characteristics of the partners. However, fol-
lowing Lang (1998), the issues involved are both complicated and clarified
by introducing terminology based on gender. Thus, to use the example
reported by Jacobs and Cromwell and cited above, people might engage in
hetero- or homo-gender relationships, and these may, or may not be sexual
in nature. The former are usually approved of and sought after by the
culture being examined, while the latter may not be. Jacobs’ informant,
then, provided one category of homo-gender relationships and three differ-
ent ways to engage in hetero-gender relationships. The advantage of this
sort of terminology is that it contains fluidity and in that way privileges a
particular culture’s sex–gender–sexuality system, rather than putting all
cultures into the same sex–gender–sexuality model.
Graham’s work on Sulawesi (this volume) and her argument that the
Bugis utilize a set of five named gender categories makes clear the limitations
of the four-gender model implicitly used here, derived largely from the data
available. That model may well be an artifact of both the English language
and Western cultures, as they have developed through the 18th to 20th
centuries. For many of the cultures discussed here, as well, probably, as for
the many historic cultures whose data are already lost, it is likely that sex–
gender–sexuality systems were more complex and less culturally salient than
they are for a 21st century world of Western hegemony.
Ultimately, reducing all sex–gender–sexuality systems to acceptance or
rejection of homosexuality, imposes a universal foreground and a bi-
polar system that is consistent with the dichotomous thinking of most
Western cultures. If we look at the western system, which operates with
two intersecting dichotomies (masculine–feminine and heterosexual (per-
mitted)–homosexual (forbidden)), and the effort to change that model and
the values and meanings attached to it, the desire to demonstrate the ‘‘ac-
ceptance’’ of homosexuality on the large cross-cultural canvas becomes un-
derstandable. But the distortion of complex sex–gender–sexuality systems in
service to that aim does a disservice to the cultural integrity of many peoples
and to their efforts to recapture traditional patterns that have often been
suppressed.
NOTES
1. Although the term berdache has a long history of anthropological use in a non-
pejorative connotation, many Native American activists object to its use both be-
cause of its pejorative and inaccurate Franco–Persian roots, and because it is a term
applied by outsiders. I use it here because it is still the only generalized term standing
beyond the bounds of specific ethnic groups, and because it is still the most widely
recognized term. The term slowly coming to replace it, at least as far as Native
Americans are concerned, is ‘‘Two Spirit,’’ which reflects Native American con-
structions, but does not necessarily reflect other cultural constructs.
2. It is also important to note that there were/are cultures (e.g., the Mohave) with
parallel institutional structures, and in other plains cultures, some women did, on
their own initiative, assume roles comparable to male berdache. However, on a cross-
cultural level, it is most often the case that female gender variations have been
individualized and male variations have been institutionalized.
3. In light of the current military activities and destructive conditions in this very
region, which borders on Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda and Sudan, it is quite possible
that the Mbuti way of life no longer exists and that the people themselves may have
suffered a great deal. However, at the time of this writing, no reliable information
about these possibilities is available.
4. Wikan (1982) uses ‘‘x’’ to indicate a soft fricative similar to the German ‘‘ch.’’
‘‘Th’’ represents an aspirated ‘‘t.’’
42 EDWIN S. SEGAL
5. There is also literature referring to a ‘‘third sex.’’ In some instances, as with the
Navajo nadle, the reference is to an individual who would, in the United States, be
called intersexed. In other instances, the term is the result of a conflation of sex and
gender (cf. Turner (1999) for a discussion of the difficulties involved in treating ‘‘sex’’
and ‘‘gender’’ as completely discrete categories).
6. In response to ‘‘What’s in a name ... ?’’ Donham notes that in South Africa, at
least among Zulu, Linda can, ordinarily, be either a man’s name or woman’s, and so
it joins the list of other androgynous English names, even though it has a predom-
inantly feminine marking in American English.
7. Levy (1971, 1973) claims that only men were/are mahu. However, Elliston
(1999) documents the existence of both morphological males and morphological
females who take on the mahu status. In light of the relatively low level of gender
dimorphism in the Society Islands, her projection that this was also probably the case
in traditional, i.e., pre-colonial, times seems logical.
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44
IS THERE A NEED TO (UN)GENDER
THE PAST?
Denise Pahl Schaan
ABSTRACT
This paper is concerned with identifying and discussing how archaeolo-

gists may have engendered the past in unintended ways and produced
versions of social relations that, in the course of searching for antagonistic
gender relations, project our own (feminist) desires of equality, auton-
omy, and agency onto past societies. It is proposed that an adequate
recognition of the different dimensions of gender may help us to diffe-
rentiate cultural understandings of gender from the ideological use of
gender categories to establish hierarchical social relations.
INTRODUCTION
Reviewing the feminist literature on archaeology, I came to realize how

difficult it is to summarize and discuss the archaeological study of gender in
a comprehensive and analytical way. The reason for this is the existence of a
variety of approaches and understandings of just what the agenda for gen-
der studies is, as well as what constitutes a feminist approach to the con-
struction of archaeological knowledge. Although there have been a number
of conferences, published volumes and journals dedicated to discussing

ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(06)10003-X
45
46 DENISE PAHL SCHAAN
research on gender, it seems that the feminist critiques of gender research

(Balme & Beck, 1993; Brumfiel, 1992; Conkey, 1993; Conkey & Gero, 1997;
Conkey & Williams, 1991; Gero, 1996; Hodder, 1997; Wylie, 1993) have had
little effect on most work. Since 1984, when Conkey and Spector, in their
seminal article, called for a feminist integration of gender studies in a field
which had been largely dominated by a western, andocentric bias, archae-
ologists have incorporated (or not) feminist critiques in different ways,
producing a very diverse body of research.
In reviewing this innovative archaeology, I have found it useful to dis-
tinguish between ‘‘gender archaeology’’ and ‘‘feminist archaeology’’1 (Con-
key & Gero, 1997). Gender archaeology is represented by research concerned
with identifying gender in the past and making females visible. Feminist
archaeology, on the other hand, is represented mainly by theoretical ap-
proaches aimed at criticizing a western approach to science, and an em-
phasis on the ‘‘need to situate gender research within an explicitly feminist
framework’’ (Conkey & Gero, 1997, p. 411). Feminists have also questioned
whether it is appropriate to frame research on the basis of gender, thereby
assuming gender rather than investigating it (Conkey, 1993). Additionally,
both the assumptions that biological sex can be evaluated independently of
cultural values and that gender is always useful for understanding past
societies have been under scrutiny (Hodder, 1997).
Within the gender and feminist approaches, a number of different studies
have been published, and, although they have focused on similar issues (e.g.,
division of labor, ideology, use of space, participation in rituals and cer-
emonies, exercise of power, and so forth), they have produced different
accounts and explanations for past social behavior. Stemming in part from
the difficulty in translating feminist theory into archaeological practice,
differences between these two approaches are not always clear-cut. Some
authors have gone so far as to describe them as irreconcilable. Roberts
(1993, p. 20) observes, that ‘‘perhaps we have to separate the use of feminist
theory to address issues of gender in the past from the use of feminist theory
to reflect upon the construction of archaeological knowledge’’. Her state-
ment reveals the multifaceted character of feminist scholarship.
In archaeology, feminist thinking has not been unidirectional but has
evolved in parallel ways; it started with a critique of the andocentric bias, it
responded to that bias by finding women in the past, and finally, it turned to
questioning the practice of inserting women into the past (Joyce & Claassen,
1997, p. 2; Wylie, 1991). Not all research, however, has reached the third level.
This paper is concerned with identifying and discussing the ways in which
we have engendered the past in unintended ways by looking for women in
Is there a Need to (Un)Gender the Past? 47
antagonistic gender relations, and projecting our own (feminist) desires of

equality, autonomy, and agency onto past societies, thereby distorting past
reality. I believe that the problem derives mainly from: (1) the fluidity of
gender as it has been conceptualized, making it difficult to interpret its
manifestations in the archaeological record; (2) the confusion between cul-
tural constructs of gender roles and identities with the social and political
use of these roles and identities to establish oppressive and hierarchical
relations; and (3) the failure to acknowledge that social relations are per-
meated by values that establish various levels of hierarchy, present even in
small-scale societies. Western ideas concerning agency, equality, and indi-
vidualism have saturated archaeological research, projecting onto the past
our anxieties and ideals pertaining to the relationship between individuals
and society, and generating a misunderstanding of the past.
GENDER AND SOCIAL HIERARCHIES
Owing to the western separation of social sciences into distinct disciplines,

sociologists define gender as a social construct while anthropologists define
gender as the cultural construct of sexual differences. These conceptualizat-
ions do not simply reflect different points of view on the same observable
fact, but, I believe these conceptualizations reveal two different phenomena.
Gender as a cultural construct can be understood as the way a given
culture makes sense of biological sexual differences. It refers to a limited
number of categories of people (in general females and males, but see
Roscoe (1991) for an example on third gender) as distinctive in their social
roles and identities, encompassing the way a person is suppose to dress, to
behave, to talk, to make use of sexuality, to engage in subsistence activities,
to interact economically, and so forth. These aspects obviously vary from
culture to culture and, from an anthropological point of view, comparing
one culture to another is illustrative of the variability in human behavior.
Researching gender roles and identities within other cultures challenges
ethnocentrism, and urges us to reflect on our own cultural values and be-
havior. This is the kind of study that has characterized most of the literature
on gender, which I will call (after Joyce & Claassen, 1997) womanist studies.
Although mainly focusing on females, that research has shown the possi-
bility of locating women (and occasionally men, children, and elders) in the
past, emphasizing cross-cultural variability and challenging common as-
sumptions of gender roles as natural and associated with specific sexual
characteristics (Brumbach & Jarvenpa, 1997; Claassen, 1997; Claassen &
Joyce, 1997; Costin, 1996; P. L. Crown, 2000; Derevenski, 2000; Moore &
Scott, 1997). This research is important in showing how gender differs from
sex, since cross-cultural variations in gender roles do not always follow var-
iation in sexual characteristics. A few scholars have indeed questioned the
female/male dichotomy, discussing evidence for other genders (Hollimon,
1997), as well as exploring aspects of homosexual behavior (Casella, 2000).
Also see both Graham and Segal in this volume.
Gender as a social construct, on the other hand, refers to the way gender
ideologies (constructed from cultural understandings of gender) are used to
establish hierarchical and asymmetrical gender relations. Gender, as an as-
pect of social hierarchies, does not make much sense outside hierarchical,
hegemonic settings. When two or more categories of people enjoy diffe-
rential access, differential rights, and differential treatment solely on the
basis of their gender, the existence of an explicit hierarchy between them can
be identified. When the hierarchy is consistently established in favor of one
gender – usually male – a clear pattern of gender dominance is established
and it is likely to permeate all instances of social life.
Interestingly enough, gender hierarchies are likely to be more visible in
societies where egalitarian ideals are prevalent. For example, in kinship or
class societies, gender hierarchies, if they exist, are subordinated to gene-
alogical or economic principles. In this sense, elite women may enjoy high
status, power and freedom, and poor men are subordinated to them in the
hierarchical ladder.
As a reaction to essentialist conceptions of women and men as well-
bounded categories, scholars have stressed that gender relations are perme-
ated by other variables such as age, class, race, and faction. In fact, there are
studies showing that in some societies age and kinship are more important
than gender in defining one’s role and identity, as well as in defining hi-
erarchy (see, e.g., Descola, 2001; Fisher, 2001; Oyewùmı́, 1997). The same
studies, however, show situations in which certain groups of females clearly
lack agency. Can we conceive inexistence of gender hierarchies in contexts
where some females have no agency? How can we frame an analysis of
gender in contexts where hierarchical relations permeate many different
instances of social life, surpassing gender differences? How can we deal with
the fact that the female population is divided into many other categories,
thus making gender diffuse? Acknowledging the complexity of gender roles
and gender relations should not lead us to blur our investigation with a vast
number of contingent variables that prevent us from a clear analysis. There
is a need to frame gender in an analytically feasible and theoretically con-
sistent way.
My intent in separating gender as a cultural construct (as roles and iden-

tity) from gender as a social phenomenon (use of gender ideology to establish
social hierarchy) is related to the need for determining when (and how)
hierarchy and bias are based on gender. This intention may find parallels in
Wallerstein’s (2003) call for reconciling structure and history, revitalizing a
perspective that is quite peculiar to archaeology. This will allow us to (1)
people the past with females and males that are as different from us as that
reflect the many cultures in existence; and (2) locate in the past when and how
gender was used to define and reinforce hierarchical, asymmetrical relations,
especially, the conditions necessary for gender hierarchies to emerge and to
be politically manipulated. Archaeology has much to contribute in presenting
evidence for historical and cultural dynamics of gender hierarchies.
In order to decouple gender roles and identities from gender hierarchies,
we must conceive of the division of labor as part of a cultural understand-
ing, one that is not static, but dynamic, of gender roles. Therefore, gender
roles may be used to establish hierarchy, in particular situations, where
belonging to a certain gender category (or conversely not belonging to ac-
ceptable ones) will be sufficient reason for discrimination in the form of less
pay, lack of respect, low income, as well as restricted access (Foucault’s lack
of power) to services, goods, places, and positions. This may take the form
of discrimination against a group or an individual. Since such discrimina-
tion is historical, it has to be located within a historical process, thus de-
naturalizing its origins.
A LOOK AT THE LITERATURE ON GENDER
Research on gender is well-represented by a number of edited volumes that

show the engagement of several (mostly American and female) archaeo-
logists in looking for gender as a way to illuminate our understanding of
social relations in the past as well as rewriting prehistory within a feminist
perspective (see, e.g., Claassen & Joyce, 1997; P. L. Crown, 2000; duCros &
Smith, 1993; Gilchrist, 1999; Hays-Gilpin & Whitley, 1998; Nelson &
Rosen-Ayalon, 2002; Sørensen, 2000; Sweely, 1999; R. P. Wright, 1996).
Within these collections, there is a wide variety of approaches, which rep-
resent existing variability rather than some kind of collective understanding
of feminist archaeology. P. Crown (2000, p. 22) for example, admits that,
despite the growing literature on gender in archaeology ‘‘there is no single
notion on what we are attempting to elicit from this research or how should
we go about it’’.
Most of the papers agree there is a need to talk about gender, because
when gender is not explicitly addressed common sense leads people to assume
that men were the individuals who performed important actions (Conkey &
Spector, 1984; Gero, 1988). For example, Joyce and Claassen (1997, p. 8),
point out that the papers published under the title ‘‘Women in Prehistory’’
pose a ‘‘methodological and interpretive challenge to conventional assump-
tions’’. The diversity of issues discussed in the papers shows how quickly and
seriously female archaeologists challenged themselves to look for new read-
ings of old problems (see Claassen (1997) for a review of pre-1994 work).
The papers in the collection ‘‘Gender and Archaeology’’, for example,
aimed at demonstrating the many ways in which feminist scholars changed
archaeological agendas (R. P. Wright, 1996), by reviewing gender issues in
the past and introducing new questions. According to Wright (op. cit. p. 3)
the major premise of the book is the existence of many archaeologies of
gender, not a single approach. In fact, in discussing technologies, produc-
tion (Costin, 1996; R. Wright, 1996), and representations (Brumfiel, 1996;
Joyce, 1996), the articles show how a gender perspective can be applied to
different types of research, providing interesting new explanations for old
problems. A chapter on the practice of archaeology in the classroom and the
field shows also a concern with criticizing the bias in the profession (Gero,
1996; Romanowicz & Wright, 1996).
In areas better known archaeologically, the introduction of gender seems
not to pose a threat to conventional understandings, and gender has been
incorporated as another dimension of the analysis. For example, in the volume
entitled ‘‘Women and Men in the Prehispanic Southwest’’, the editor states
that, since there was already a good synthesis in that area, a closer look at the
gendered division of labor could lead to an assessment of effects that demo-
graphic and economic changes had on the lives of women and men, specifically
on ‘‘their tasks, health, prestige, and power within the community’’ (P. Crown,
2000, p. 5). In the volume, the authors are concerned with the sexual division
of labor and the ‘‘presence of gender hierarchies or gender asymmetries’’
(op. cit. p. 24). Here, the authors are studying middle-range societies – mostly
single villages – and they take the opportunity to draw comparisons between
different cultures. Although the inclusion of males in the analysis is welcome,
a number of problems emerge from the focus on women and men as
well-bounded categories. First, women and men are seen as distinct categories
that have distinct (sometimes complimentary, sometimes divergent) interests.
Second, concepts such as prestige, power, status, gender hierarchies, and
negotiation of gender are used without criteria and simple associations
between archaeological features, status, and gender are drawn freely.
Following another path, ‘‘Manifesting Power’’ represents a collection of

papers that focus on the relationship between power and gender. However,
instead of problematizing that relationship, the articles employ different
conceptions of power, frequently interchanging concepts of power with
status and economic autonomy. Sweely (1999, p. 11), for example, defines
power as ‘‘the capacity of individuals to pursue goals’’, focusing on indi-
vidual capacity to negotiate power in social relations. In fact, she conceives
power as depending on daily situations and ‘‘outside of a hierarchical,
dominance-oriented framework’’ (Sweely, 1999, p. 1). Since most of the
articles are concerned with demystifying the domestic-public dichotomy,
they tend to demonstrate that the conventional division of labor, when it
existed, did not lead to unequal relations. In this sense, there is an implicit
agenda of picturing a past in which females, even when tied to domestic
spheres, would have power and prestige. The problem present in many
analyses derives from a feminist critique of the archaeological approach to
the sexual division of labor. Conkey and Spector pointed out that archae-
ology had traditionally assumed that past activities were highly gendered
and that male activities were more highly valued than female ones. Female
archaeologists, then tried to ‘‘correct’’ the past, showing that though the
division of labor was gendered, it did not imply asymmetrical values. As a
result feminists projected the present onto the past (Balme & Beck, 1993).
One of the reasons examining gendered activities has been one of the
favorite avenues for archaeological inquiry on gender, is the fact that ar-
tifacts (the material remains of ancient activities) are highly visible in the
archaeological record. In this sense, feminist archaeologists began to explore
the relationship between performed activities and gender aiming at not only
locating females in the productive space, but also assessing the social and
economic importance of women’s activities for social reproduction. How-
ever, unless the research is theoretically and methodologically consistent,
there are a number of problems with that kind of approach. Conkey and
Spector (1984), for example, call attention to the fact that while the gender
division of labor may refer to the cultural association of a specific gender
with a particular task, this does not preclude the possibility of the task being
performed by another gender. It may be difficult to demonstrate the link
between gender and activity without relying on some kind of ethnographic
analogy. Moreover, generating conclusions on gender relations based on the
division of labor requires taking into account a variety of factors within a
historical perspective. While the gender aspect of the division of labor is
related to cultural traditions, the relative status and economic importance of
labor is determined by historical and sociopolitical processes.
As an example, Hegmon, Ortman, and Mobley-Tanaka (2000), in studying

the organization of space and gendered activities affirms that ‘‘task groups,
particularly if they are culturally recognized with architecturally defined spaces,
may be an important source of power. At the same time, some women within
task groups may be subject to the supervision of other women; thus although
task groups may be sources of power, they may also impose limits on an
individual’s autonomy’’ (op. cit. p. 49). It is evident here and in other chapters
of the book (Women and Men in the Prehispanic Southwest) that the gendered
division of labor is associated with levels of prestige, power, and status that the
authors define, using no criteria other than their own. It is indeed possible that
in many societies female labor was recognized as critical and as a source of
status, but that is something that has to be demonstrated rather than assumed.
In an article suggestively entitled ‘‘Women’s Work, Space, and Status’’,
Julia Hendon (1997) discusses the gendered division of labor in a site occupied
by Maya Elite in Copán, Honduras. Reasoning from iconography such as
that displayed on figurines and pottery, Hendon concludes that the social
division of labor was largely gendered, since women are depicted ‘‘spinning,
weaving, maize grinding and food serving, while men are shown hunting or
dressed as warriors’’ (Hendon, 1997, p. 37). Although men seems to be the
primary figures in ritual performance, the author points out that women are
clearly in culturally and economically important positions. They provide the
material items necessary for rituals (such as textiles and food). The division of
labor led to a division of space for work, but it did not cause segregation in the
mortuary space, where adults of both sexes and children were buried together.
Hendon concludes that differences between genders as depicted in their ac-
tivities did not lead to differences in prestige and status. The emphasis on
different types of work reveals gender complementarity and ‘‘parallel sources
of political and social power for men and women’’ (op. cit. p. 45). Hendon
explains that competition between elites led to the need for creating displays of
power in which women and men worked together (developing complementary
tasks) in order to guarantee the reproduction of the social system.
Without realizing it, Hendon shows that, since the goal was to promote
social cohesion and stability, gender was not in fact a way of discriminating
against a specific group. Consequently, her final conclusion – that control
over textile production was possibly a source of power and wealth that
would lead women to ‘‘act independently of men’’ (Hendon, 1997, p. 45) –
makes no sense within social groups that do not segregate people on the basis
of gender and where the goals are collective rather than factional. Hendon’s
article is an example of how gendered tasks may lead archaeologists to
use gender as a social category in understanding a society in which gender is
not an important organizing principle of hierarchy.
There are many cases in which the ‘‘division of labor’’ problem is framed
in a rather interesting and enlightening way. Brumbach and Jarvenpa (1997),
for example, question the ‘‘Man the Hunter’’ and ‘‘Women the Gatherer’’
paradigm, in which there is a traditional and universal division of labor
based mainly on men’s ability and strength for hunting and women’s im-
mobility caused by pregnancy and child rearing (see also Balme & Beck,
1993). In doing ethnoarchaeological research among a Chipewyan commu-
nity, the authors found that women participated in hunting as much as men
did, but that they tended to hunt small animals within a short distance from
the house, while men would spend more time searching for large animals far
away from the village. As a consequence, women’s and men’s hunting ac-
tivities would create different archaeological signatures: the discard of car-
casses and tools belonging to women were found closer to the household,
and men’s butchering sites would be located far away, thus making them
more difficult to recognize archaeologically. Other research has also shown
that the economic significance and consequences of hunting for the division
of labor is more complex than commonly assumed; and that incorporating a
gender perspective facilitates an understanding of this complexity (Balme &
Beck, 1993; Kent, 1998; Sassaman, 1992; Szuter, 2000).
In general, there is much to gain when the research is framed within a
chronological perspective (e.g., demonstrating how particular historical con-
ditions especially affected women’s labor). A case in point is Brumfiel’s
(1991) study of how the advent of the Aztec rule in Mexico affected women’s
workload and the organization of production. She contrasts iconographic
imagery (women cooking and weaving) with evidence for specialization in
production between sites. She found that although the dominant ideology
placed much emphasis on women producing cloth and food within the
household, the reality was that there was specialization of tasks and women
were in fact working for the market in communal workshops. The archae-
ological record shows that with the rise of the Aztec state important changes
were imposed on women’s mobility and workload, which were neither con-
veyed in the iconography nor documented by ethnohistoric sources.
FEMINIST ARCHAEOLOGY
The feminist critique in archaeology had, in its beginnings, a major impact

on the work of several female archaeologists who started questioning their
own masculine bias in producing knowledge. It generated a search for fe-
males in the past, as research designs began to incorporate a gender com-
ponent. As many authors have pointed out, just asking about women implies
questioning the most common assumptions of the framework that had been
utilized (Wylie, 1993). It can be said, however, little of that work has gen-
erated novel theoretical approaches (Balme & Beck, 1993, p. 70), since it was
produced only by reframing research questions.
In many instances, research on gender has distanced itself from feminist
critique. The feminist approach to archaeology today has involved a critique
of the way archaeologists practice science, how they do research (both the-
oretically and empirically), how they interpret results, and how the results are
presented (Conkey & Gero, 1997). A feminist approach requires not only an
acute criticism of established ‘‘facts of science’’ but also the ability to create
novel and convincing explanations, particularly, since scrutiny over feminist
construction of knowledge tend to be more severe than other constructions.
Archaeologists seem to look at feminism as a political endeavor, without
realizing that the production of scientific knowledge is always political and
historical (Balme & Beck, 1993). The study of gender has generated a subfield
within archaeology, since it does not seem to be useful for most of the questions
archaeologists want to ask. At the same time gender studies claim that a gender
perspective can provide more accurate reconstructions of the past. They imply
that situations in which gender was irrelevant have been mistakenly gendered.
For this reason, it is necessary to reconcile gender studies and feminist theory,
and thus provide a structural, historical framework for the study of gender.
UNGENDERING THE PAST?
Research on gender has shown that, despite the ambiguity of the archae-
ological record and claims of the invisibility of social actors, it is possible to
find females in the past, and it is important to identify the gender of social
actors in order to construct a more truthful vision of the past as a correction
for the largely andocentric prehistory inherited by archaeologists. It is a fact
that the past was populated by biological females and biological males,
people who differed from each other according to their age, ethnicity, fac-
tion, group affiliation, abilities, obligations, and so forth. We have learned
that gender is visible whenever we start looking for it (Oyewùmı́, 1997,
p. 31), despite its irrelevance to most issues under investigation. In fact
archaeologists have asked themselves about the usefulness and legitimacy of
using gender categories to understand social behavior in the past.
One interesting example of possible problems related to using gender as
an analytical category is the study of ceramic figurines. Female figurines
found in a variety of agrarian societies were traditionally considered to
represent goddesses or objects used in fertility rites (Conkey, 1989; Ehrenberg,

1989; Roosevelt, 1988). The reason for that was the recurrence of figurines
displaying protuberant bellies and breasts. During the last decade, however, a
number of authors have criticized those assumptions, exploring the figurines
in a different way. First they have noticed the great variability among the
figurines, in terms of shapes, sizes, techniques of decoration, as well as the fact
that they were not all female (Barstow, 1978). Alternative readings provide
other explanations for their use including as toys, objects of domestic cults,
and representations of individuals (Bailey, 1994; DeBoer, 1998). Moreover,
authors have emphasized the importance of looking at the context in which
figurines are found before suggesting interpretations.
Although the majority of figurines are in general females, it is also com-
mon to find male figurines or figurines without representation of biological
sex, sometimes interpreted as a third gender. But what if the figurines did
not represent gendered individuals, but something else? Some authors have
now suggested that classifying figurines according to gender may have pre-
vented us from discovering other possible information, such as those fig-
urines may differ from one another primarily on the basis of age
(Gvozdover, 1989; Marcus, 1998). The point Marcus makes illustrates well
how our own systems of classification (based on our western categories)
influence our reading of the past. In this case, using gender as a basis of
differentiation would lead to a very different reading of the past than would
using other categories such as age. Several authors have in fact questioned
the importance of gender in organizing social relations. For example,
Nelson, Glowacki, and Smith (2002) criticize the assumption that gender
hierarchies are present in all state societies. They point to the case of the
Silla State (Korean peninsula – 57 BC to 668 AD) where hierarchies were
primarily built on the basis of genealogy (casts) and age. The abundant
evidence for gender equality is believed to reflect the fact that the basic
principle of organization was kinship.
In tribal or traditional societies, gender may be used to organize labor or
ritual or to establish hierarchy. But when gender is not used as a social
institution, when being male or female is not a prerequisite for belonging to
exclusive social groups or for developing social roles, gender may not exist
at all. In investigating traditional societies, any oppression, lack of power or
agency that we perceive at the individual level cannot be evaluated on the
basis of gender unless the social relationships are framed as such.
Oyewùmı́, in ‘‘The Invention of Women’’ tries to demonstrate how gender
as a western concept was used to understand a society (the Yoruba) which
was not itself organized along gender lines. An apparent contradiction is the
fact that marriage is polygamous. Yet, it seems odd to us that a society that
was highly hierarchical was presented to us as gender and oppression free.
The Yoruba societies, as well as the caste system in India, are examples of
hierarchical social arrangements among age groups or social groups where
the well-being of the social group and its reproduction is the goal, not the
self-realization of the individual. In western society, where freedom and
individualism are supposed to be the norm, everything that may conspire
against the desired equality is considered pernicious.
Dumont (1970) points out that humans are always valuing and ranking
things and people among each other. It is known that in the so-called egali-
tarian societies, there are commonly castes or hierarchical groups even in the
absence of economic inequality. Dumont believes our ideals of equality
prevent us from understanding hierarchy while, at the same time, creating
other types of inequality. ‘‘The fusion of equality and identity has become
established at the level of common sense. This makes it possible to under-
stand a serious and unexpected consequence of egalitarianism. In a universe
in which men are conceived as no longer as hierarchically ranked in various
social or cultural species, but as essentially equal and identical, the diffe-
rence of nature and status between communities is sometimes reasserted in a
disastrous way: it is then conceived as proceeding from somatic character-
istics – which is racism’’ (Dumont, 1970, p. 16). In other words, in a dem-
ocratic state, people tend to establish hierarchical relations based on race
and gender, which can be more easily diluted into the system than patterns
of dominance/subordination based on caste and age.
It seems that the feminist critique in archaeology has to go further in
criticizing our own bias. Roberts (1993, p. 18) affirms that the paradox of
gender is that it cannot afford to challenge the framework. For her the
solution is to include gender ‘‘within the broader realm of social theory’’
where its importance would be ‘‘minimized and its potential appropriated’’.
I do not think that gender as a category of analysis has to be abandoned or
set aside in some instances. However, the excessive emphasis of gender as
individual identity has to be abandoned in favor of more social, historical
approaches. Gender as a category of analysis has to be reframed and in-
vestigated as a culturally meaningful concept that, within historical circum-
stances, may be used to justify hierarchical social relations. The dynamics of
the culture and the historical processes constitute the milieu where the study
of gender might find its place.
Based on the issues discussed above, it is worth envisioning an agenda for
feminist studies in archaeology. I will delineate below some of the issues and
strategies that I think are important.
(1) Archaeologists will still want to show that the past was populated by
women, men, and children, because ‘‘when gender is not explicit, it is
assumed’’ (Conkey & Williams, 1991).
(2) We may want to show that our current social arrangements (gender
identity and gender roles) are not ‘‘natural’’, but dependent on historical
and cultural processes. We do not want to place our understanding of
gender as more ‘‘evolved’’ than other peoples, but show that we have
much to learn from other cultures. Especially, we may want to research
the existence of other genders and different cultural and social under-
standings for homosexuality, in order to deconstruct feminine and mas-
culine as ‘‘natural’’ gender categories.
(3) We may want to improve the visibility of gender in the archaeological
record, developing new methodological approaches.
(4) We may want to question our own assumptions about gender. Although
‘‘bias is unavoidable and an important part of the interpretation’’
(Hodder, 1997), we may want to have some control over our own bias,
at least to the point of having it explicitly assumed. As Roberts (1993,
p. 16) has pointed out, ‘‘the ultimate aim of the incorporation of gender
into archaeology is to produce less biased accounts of the past’’. We
should not, then, substitute male bias with feminist bias.
(5) Finally, we may want to investigate how gender ideology and gender
hierarchies are constituted, how they are manipulated, and how they
change through time. A historical perspective provides the best back-
ground against which we can evaluate social relations, because it in-
volves both process and change. Archaeology, as a discipline that studies
processes of cultural change, is, indeed, well suited for this mission.
NOTES
1. Conkey and Gero (1997, p. 423) establish a difference between archaeology of
gender and gendered archaeology, where the latter would involve the ‘‘interrogation
of archaeological inquiry’’.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A first version of this paper was written for Kathleen Blee’s Global Feminisms
Seminar, at the University of Pittsburgh in the Spring of 2003. I cannot
express with words how much I enjoyed discussing current feminist litera-
ture with such an intelligent group, made up of women from different
backgrounds, whose enthusiasm and shamelessness in exposing their ideas

enriched the debates enormously, transforming an academic course to an
amazing intellectual experience. Although this paper was not discussed with
them as much as I wished, I feel that my understanding of the importance of
feminist theory for the development of social sciences and particularly archae-
ological theory and practice was definitely shaped in that warm environment.
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YOUNG PEOPLE’S ATTITUDES
TO GENDER ISSUES:
ASIAN PERSPECTIVES
Chilla Bulbeck
ABSTRACT
Academic and popular commentators of Asia find it almost impossible not
to reach for metaphors of breathtaking economic and social change,
fanned by the winds of globalization. This chapter explores the extent to
which young Asian values concerning gender relations in the household,
pornography and prostitution are similar to or different from those of
young westerners. While some respondents themselves talk of the impact
of globalization on attitudes in their countries, clear differences in atti-
tudes as well as vocabularies or justifications for those attitudes are found,
the Asian samples, usually but not always, expressing a different set of
responses from the Anglophone or Western samples.
INTRODUCTION: BACKGROUND TO THE STUDY
A China correspondent recently argued in an Australian newspaper that,

among other signs, the trebling of China’s divorce rate over two decades
to now constituting 30 percent of marriages is due to ‘improvements in

ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(06)10004-1
61
62 CHILLA BULBECK
material life which have allowed people to focus more on their emotions’
(Professor Xu Anqi of the Shanghai Academy of Social Sciences). A female
representative, Zheng Yu, of the Beijing Hongqiao Marriage Introduction
Company says, ‘In the past people paid more attention to the family, to
responsibility and put their own individual happiness on the second level.
But many young people today, their only idea is to pursue their own hap-
piness’. Catherine Armitage, the correspondent, concludes that the younger
generation, ‘liberated by the market’, is asking whether they live for them-
selves or their parents, children and others who love them: ‘Their quest is
driving social change in China at a rate unimaginable to their parents, let
alone their ancestors’ (Armitage, 2002, p. 12). This article addresses Arm-
itage’s suggestion that gender relations are changing rapidly among the
middle classes of Asia, no longer reflecting obligations to parents or society
more generally, but a thoroughly Western pursuit of individual happiness.1
The data that informs the analysis come from a research project funded
by a large Australian Research Council grant. The original purpose of the
grant was to survey young South Australians concerning their attitudes to
feminism and gender issues. The questionnaire included questions concern-
ing young people’s political involvements and socio-economic data. The
questions on attitudes to the women’s movement were taken from a Time/
CNN survey (reported in Bellafante, 1998) and the gender issue items de-
rived from a study of three generations of Welsh women (Pilcher, 1998).
Pilcher discussed role reversal, abortion, whether women’s equality had
been achieved, same-sex sexual relations and pornography. I added a further
question concerning shared housework. Respondents were required to an-
swer each question on a four-point scale: strongly agree, agree more than
disagree, disagree more than agree, strongly disagree, while they were also
given the option of ‘no opinion/don’t know’. There was space for respond-
ents to make comments in relation to each question.2
After designing the questionnaire and surveying about half the school
students in the South Australian sample, I became convinced that the data
would be more revealing if I included some international comparisons, spe-
cifically with countries in the Asian region, but also with other so-called
Western nations, so that Australia did not stand alone as the example of a
‘Western’ society. I expanded my sample to encompass the 10 locations
shown below in Table 1, meanwhile adding samples in Western Australia
and New South Wales. In the Australian samples, I used cluster sampling to
obtain respondents from each major school types: government, private
Protestant, private Catholic. Funding did not permit replication of this ideal
survey method in the other sites, apart from Tokyo to a partial extent. In
Young People’s Attitudes to Gender Issues 63
Table 1. Sources of Young Respondents at School or University by

Gender (Numbers in Brackets).
Source Female Male (%) High School University Percent of Total
(%) (%) (%)
Australia 65 (511) 35 (279) 84 (664) 16 (127) 46.4 (791)

a
(South Australia) 66 (295) 34 (149) 80 (357) 19 (85) 26.2 (444)
(Western Australia) 57 (145) 43 (111) 84 (216) 16 (41) 15.0 (256)
(New South Wales) 79 (71) 21 (19) 99 (91) 1 (1) 5.3 (91)
USA 63 (59) 37 (33) 10 (9) 90 (86) 5.5 (95)
USA (Portland) 66 (31) 34 (16) 18 (9) 81 (39) 2.8 (48)
(Santa Monica) 62 (28) 38 (17) 0 (0) 100 (47) 2.7 (47)
Canada (Winnipeg) 50 (21) 50 (22) 49 (21) 51 (22) 2.5 (43)
India 61 (79) 39 (50) 60 (79) 40 (52) 7.6 (131)

(Mumbai) 72 (44) 28 (17) 48 (30) 52 (32) 3.6 (62)
(New Delhi) 52 (35) 48 (33) 71 (49) 29 (20) 4.0 (69)
Vietnam (Hanoi) 58 (33) 42 (24) 15 (9) 85 (51) 3.4 (60)
Republic of Korea 52 (31) 48 (29) 50 (30) 50 (30) 3.5 (60)
(Seoul)
China (Beijing) 51 (25) 49 (24) 49 (24) 51 (25) 2.9 (49)
a
Thailand 50 (61) 50 (61) 49 (40) 51 (42) 7.2 (123)
(Bangkok) 50 (30) 50 (30) 50 (20) 50 (20) 3.5 (60)
(Chiang Mai) 50 (31) 50 (31) 48 (20) 52 (22) 3.7 (63)
Indonesia 66 (37) 34 (19) 49 (29) 51 (30) 3.3 (59)
(Jogjakarta)
Japan (Tokyo) 66 (197) 34 (100) 27 (138) 73 (163) 17.5 (301)
Total 62 (1055) 38 (641) 61 (1043) 37 (628) 100 (1711)
Notes: Due to some respondents failing to indicate their sex, gender and source, sub-totals are
not always the same and gender sub-totals do not sum to total respondents.
a
Four (Australian), 20 (Bangkok) and 21 (Chiang Mai) vocational student respondents are not
shown in the table.
Tokyo, I used my contacts during a year’s secondment to Tokyo University

to survey a number of university classes and three school classes (the latter
being much more difficult to access, which explains the predominance of
university students in the Japanese sample).3
In each of the other cities I found a local researcher, who was given in-
structions to secure about 30 university and 30 high school students, at least
64 CHILLA BULBECK
half of whom in each sample were female. As can be seen from Table 1, some
local researchers produced near perfect 50–50 splits in either gender or sample
source or both, but others faced difficulties of one sort or another, expressed
in the uneven split between high school and university students. Given the
tiny size of my samples, I sought to survey middle-class urbanites, although
I was guided by the local researcher in Chiang Mai, who suggested surveying
some vocational school students, and in Delhi, who recommended including a
high school where Hindi was the language of instruction, to make my samples
more socio-economically inclusive. I explained to my local researchers that
I administered the questionnaire during class-time, but not all were able to
duplicate this method. As a result the samples are not completely comparable.
On the other hand, there are clear patterns in the results, suggesting that
young middle-class urbanites in each of these locations do have distinct un-
derstandings of gender issues in the home and in sexual relations.4
The questions I will discuss in this chapter asked for the respondents’
attitudes to four gender issues: sharing housework, role reversal (in which
the husband stays home to care for the children and does the housework and
the wife is engaged in paid work), same-sex sexual relations and pornog-
raphy/nudity. From her interview data, Pilcher (1998) developed what she
called ‘vocabularies’ or sets of justifications respondents gave for their an-
swers. Pilcher (1998, pp. 129–133) discovered a clear dominance of individ-
ualism and liberalism as mechanisms for reading feminist moral questions,
particularly in her middle and youngest cohorts. Members of the oldest
cohort were more likely to use a traditionalist anti-feminist discourse.
In my sample, there were a good number of comments that did not fit
into Pilcher’s categories, and which required further analysis. In particular,
I identified three more ‘collectivist’ vocabularies: doing something because it
was ‘good for others’ (love/sharing), because of a ‘duty/obligation’ to others
or because it was good for ‘national development/progress’. The expanded
vocabularies, usually capturing at least 80 percent of the comments in each
national sample, are shown below.
Vocabularies for Discussing Gender Relations (see Pilcher, 1998, pp. 129–130)
Pro-feminist
Feminist Identifies the needs or situation of women as a
collective group; discusses the women’s
movement; understands women are
systematically and structurally disempowered
in relation to men; uses terms developed by
feminism such as ‘oppression’
Equality (and rights) Supports equality between the genders, or equal

opportunities within which women’s rights,
e.g. to vote, work, an abortion, an education
are a sub-set (but also rights of men, unborn
child in some answers)
Individualism Individual choice or preference, irrespective of
social norms or gender roles
Love/sharing Good for couple to share housework, love is
justification for same-sex sexual relations
Situation-dependent Opinion is conditional and attitude may vary
from couple to couple or situation to situation
(for example, commitment to sharing
housework might ‘depend’ on whether both
partners have an equally stressful job, or
women’s access to abortion might ‘depend’ on
whether she was raped or the child will be born
malformed)
Duty, obligation A duty to protect, support others, e.g. men,
women or parents their children; obligations as
citizens of a country; linked to this is notion of
doing something for the well-being or good of
others, e.g. good for children to be raised by
two parents – and so overlaps with
‘collectivism’
Progress, Contributes to national development, progress
modernization/ or modernization, for example, gender equality
national development is a mark of modern society. But this can be a
justification FOR the women’s movement or
gender equality or AGAINST change in
gender relations
Traditionalist Men should be in dominant or superior position
in society or there is a man’s place and a
woman’s place, most commonly invoking as
justificatory reasons (where any are given)
religious or biological essentialist claims, for
example, men and women are built differently.
Opposition to pornography/nudity or
homosexuality as ‘evil’, ‘unnatural’, ‘morally
wrong’. A sub-strand was ‘men are
disadvantaged’: identifying ways in which men
suffer, e.g. due to positive discrimination,
women cannot take a joke, feminism has gone
‘too far’
Anti-feminist
66 CHILLA BULBECK
I want to place my findings alongside some ‘figures’ of the Asian woman

that circulate, not only in the popular media but also in women’s studies and
other academic literature on Asia. The two figures I will discuss are ‘the new
middle class’ (in relation to sharing housework and role reversal) and the
idea of the exotic sexualized Asian (in relation to homosexual relations and
pornography). These figures refer to other images, such as ‘Asian tigers’,
‘sex tourism’ and ‘third genders’. They are framed by notions of
globalization and the uneven circulation of commodities, labor and ideas.
For example, Westerners engage with Asians as consumers at home and
abroad: purchasing cheap electronics and clothing or traveling to Asia as
tourists seeking short-term exotic sexual encounters.
THE ‘NEW’ MIDDLE CLASS AND CHANGING

FAMILY FORMS
From ‘Electric’ Girls to Companionate Marriage
Although she has only recently become a cause celèbre in anti-globalization

protests in the United States (1), political economists and gender in deve-
lopment studies have long been familiar with the ‘electric girls’ whose pas-
sive compliance and ‘nimble fingers’ (2) have spun and assembled the wealth
of the Asian dragons. Her sexualization has been studied in her dreams of
marrying a ‘man with a necktie’ in South Korea (Louie, 1995, p. 421; see
also Kim, 1997), and her sexual exploitation by supervisors, and most
famously her construction by Aiwha Ong as ‘electric girls’ (in Malaysia).
This triple pun reflects her employment in the electronics industry, her
search for the bright lights and her supposed unrestrained sexuality
(Ong, 1987). These women are neither as sexual nor as passive as some of
the popular representations suggest, as indicated by the title of Ong’s book:
Spirits of Resistance. South Korean factory workers in particular are well
known for their successful struggle to form unions and improve conditions
and their major role in the democracy movement in South Korea
(Sohn, 1999, p. 38; Nam, 2002, pp. 79–82, 87).
In Communist China and Vietnam, the woman worker has been
conceived somewhat differently. The heroine of communist development
was the ‘iron woman’ who excelled in work traditionally ascribed to men
(Hooper, 1979, p. 127). In Vietnam, the Communist state draws on both
socialism and Vietnam’s official matriarchal heritage (Fahey, 1998, p. 233)
to explain the significant role of women in the economy. Furthermore, while
women’s participation in the workforce in most Southeast Asian countries

has increased dramatically in recent decades, in some South Asian countries,
for example India, women’s involvement has remained low, increasing only
marginally since 1971 (Brasted, 2000, pp. 202–203).
Although it is the ‘electric girls’ who have captured the imagination of
feminist and other writers, the majority of women in most Asian countries
still live in the villages and are farm workers (Stivens, 1994, p. 377).
Furthermore, domestic workers may work in more hazardous, isolated and
lower-paid conditions than even the free-trade zone workers (Bello & Rose-
nfeld, 1990, p. 313) but have only recently gained scholarly attention. Also
against the bulk of Asian women’s experience (3), apart from Japan, is
growing academic interest in the ‘new’ middle classes of Asia. Examples
include the collections by Sen and Stivens (1998), Gender and Power in
Affluent Asia, and by Munshi (2001), Images of the ‘Modern Woman’ in Asia.
The new middle-class woman is conceived in a combination of three roles:
(1) consumer of household white goods as well as feminine beauty products,
(2) participant in companionate marriage and modern motherhood and (3)
professional or white collar worker in the city (for example, Cook, 1998, p. 262
for Thailand). Whether or not in paid work, many middle-class women, apart
from in South Korea and Japan, have domestic servants responsible for most
of the housework and much childcare (Sen, 1998, pp. 56–57 for Indonesia;
Fahey, 1998, p. 239 for Vietnam; Mallee, 2000, p. 78 for China). In South
Korea, the ‘Missy syndrome’ denotes the young consumerist and body-
conscious South Korean professional housewife. The term first became pop-
ular in Japan in the 1970s and was introduced into Korea in the 1990s by a
department store to advertise household appliances, baby foods, cosmetics and
so on. Missies ‘treat marriage and family as steps toward self-development,
rather than y as binding institutions’ (Lee, 2000, p. 23) as did previous gener-
ations. In Malaysia and Vietnam, women’s magazines and advertisements
cultivate modern ‘ideas about intimacy, romantic love, the individual and the
interpersonal based on notions of psychological well-being’, in some cases
linked to cosmetics, clothes and gyms (Stivens, 1998, pp. 6, 8; Fahey, 1998,
pp. 227, 229).
In Indonesia, in the early 1970s the Family Welfare Movement identified
women’s roles first as producer of future generations, second as wife and
faithful companion to her husband, third as mother and educator of her
children, fourth as manager of the household and finally as citizen
(Sen, 1998, p. 36). In 1993, a new government document identified joint
family roles and responsibilities, insisting on the equality of men and women
in public roles ‘as citizens and as human resources for development’. This
68 CHILLA BULBECK
included the responsibility of both parents to nurture children, adolescents

and youth and build a prosperous and happy family life (Sen, 1998, p. 47).
According to Krishna Sen (1998, pp. 35–36), the working woman is re-
placing the housewife as the paradigmatic female subject, icon of Indonesia
as a modern nation, at least in terms of middle-class Jakartan women.
Professional women are increasingly common in advertisements for banks,
real estate, cars and computers (Sen, 1998, p. 47). Today, many young
Indonesian women equate sexual liberation with ‘modernity’ and ‘personal
liberation’ (Suryakusuma, 1996, p. 115). A familiar and well-rehearsed dis-
course promulgated by state organizations gave my Jogjakartan respond-
ents a ready set of handles by which to discuss gender differences, as
suggested by the homogeneity of their comments.
In China, by contrast, rejection of the Cultural Revolution and the Gang
of Four also takes the form of denunciation of the ‘Iron Girls’, to now
emphasize psychological and physiological differences between the sexes
(Jacka, 1997, pp. 41, 194), differences which were repressed by the Mao era.
Instead of the ‘we’ of factory, farm or family, an emerging ‘I’ attends to her
emotional and sexual needs, her personality development (Croll, 1995,
p. 150). Given that economic reform has closed down state enterprises and
forced many women out of the workforce, women have been encouraged to
‘return home’ and express their true natures in beautification, motherhood
and consumption. Women are increasingly represented in advertisements as
‘flower vases’, luxuriously adorned and promoting consumerism, for exam-
ple, lovingly addressing a vacuum cleaner as ‘I love Little Swan’ (Hooper,
1998, pp. 167, 181). In Vietnam there is a similar pressure on women dis-
placed from closed down state factories to turn to consumerism and to work
supplementing the husband’s role (Pettus, 2003). Despite these official pro-
nouncements, around 90 percent of women aged 20–40 in China are still in
paid employment (Hooper, 1998, pp. 182–183). Indeed my female respond-
ents did not generally support the ‘return home’ movement, although
Chinese male respondents were more enthusiastic.
The Results (1)
To the three Anglophone samples, a man becoming a ‘househusband’ and a

woman entering the paid workforce was on a continuum with sharing
housework, both expressions of equality or individual choice. Almost all the
Asian samples (apart from the Japanese and Korean females) do not agree.
Sharing housework received high endorsement, despite some die-hard tra-
ditionalist men in Korea and male advocates of the new gender relations in
China and Vietnam. While sharing housework is generally endorsed at

about the same rate across the samples (Chart 1), role reversal is not
(Chart 2). This contrast is particularly acute for the Jogjakartans, followed
by Thailand. By contrast, the young Chinese women show similar support
for both sharing housework and role reversal, while the young Chinese men
reveal a similar lack of support for both propositions. One can see the same
kind of gender divide in the Korean sample.
Respondents relied on societal expectations, to some extent based on
dominant practices, to produce their different understandings of shared
housework and childcare vis-à-vis role reversal. While some Anglophone
male respondents used a traditionalist discourse, particularly to resist role
reversal, the major discourses used by these samples were equality for shar-
ing housework and individualism for role reversal. There was widespread
acceptance that it was only fair to share housework equally if both partners
were working the same number of paid hours. By contrast, the individualist
vocabulary was used to allow individuals to choose the less common prac-
tice of role reversal (compare Charts 3 and 4). By contrast, the Asian sample
endorsed housework in terms of equality (Chart 4) and rejected role reversal
in terms of tradition (Chart 5) and was more likely than the Anglophone
samples to endorse shared housework in terms of a duty to one’s partner or
children (Chart 6):
men and women complement each other so they must work together and share equally in
whatever they do (Indonesia, female, 180221931).
yes, they should share work equally and understand each other’s responsibilities and
problems and should take care of each other to run the home smoothly (India, female,
150182743).
both share the housework, showing their commitment to equality. They are interested in
each other so the family atmosphere is warm, comfortable and happier. They feel they
have the same duty (Vietnam, female, 120152606).
both husband and wife must take responsibility for the care of the children. Children
need both parents so that they are not favouring one parent above the other (Indonesia,
female, 180221915).
we should devote maximum time to our children as they are our future (India, male,
150191782).
partners should care for their children equally, not because they are earning equally but
for balance, development of child. Children can’t be built properly with one hand (India,
male, 150182755).
nowadays children like to talk with mum not with father. It will be nice if men have
chance to get close to their children (South Korea, male, 130161629).
70
female agree
re
male agree
female agree strongly
100 male agree strongly

90
80
70
60
50
40
30
20
10
0
US A Canada Australia Japan Korea China Vietnam Thailand India Indonesia weighted
CHILLA BULBECK
average
Chart 1. If Both Partners in a Household are Working the Same Number of Paid Hours, they Should Share Housework and
Childcare Equally: Agree Strongly and Agree by Sex and Country Sample.
Young People’s Attitudes to Gender Issues
100 female agree
90 male agree
80
70
50
40
30
20
10
0
USA Canada Australia Japan Korea China Vietnam Thailand India Indonesia weighted
average
Chart 2. It is Fine in a Marriage or Relationship for the Man to Stay at Home and Do the Housework and Look After the
Children, if there are Any; and for the Woman to Go Out and Work Full Time.
71
72
female- sharing
male - sharing
female - reversal
60 male - reversal
50
40
30
20
10
0
average
Chart 3. Individualist Vocabulary for Sharing Housework and Role Reversal by Gender and National Sample.
CHILLA BULBECK
female - sharing
male - sharing
female - reversal
50
45 male - reversal
40
35
30
25
20
15
10
5
0
average
Chart 4. Equality Vocabulary for Sharing Housework and Role Reversal by Gender and National Sample.
73
74
female - sharing
90
male - sharing
80
70 female - reversal
60
male - reversal
50
40
30
20
10
0
average
Chart 5. Traditionalist Vocabulary for Sharing Housework and Role Reversal by Gender and National Sample.
CHILLA BULBECK
female - sharing
80
male - sharing
70
60 female - reversal
50 male - reversal
40
30
20
10
0
average
Chart 6. Duty/obligation Vocabulary for Sharing Housework and Role Reversal by Gender and National Sample.
75
76 CHILLA BULBECK
However, they generally did not apply the same template to role reversal.
Indeed the relatively high usage of duty/obligation, particularly by the In-
donesian respondents, was linked to opposition to role reversal (see Chart 6).
Thus while Indonesia’s official policy advocates that couples share their
domestic duties, there is no official endorsement for husbands staying at
home to raise the children. Indeed a number noted that role reversal was
‘savaging our customs’ (Vietnam), was ‘just stupid’ (India), ‘shameful’
(Korea), ‘very ridiculous’ (China), ‘not proper’ or ‘ugly’ (Thailand). In
South Korea, where half of the sample was a women’s study class, a number
contrasted their comfort with the ‘stereotype’ with tentative endorsement of
gender equality, one bravely saying: ‘I want my lover to do what she wants
to do. Marriage shouldn’t be the end of life’ (Korea).
Two female Thai respondents offered feminist justifications for role
reversal:
so the man sees that housework and raising children is just as difficult as working outside
of the house (Thailand, female, 160202828).
in order to change society because men and women have the same/equal role in society
(Thailand, female, 160202822).
There were a number of strands to the traditionalist discourse; few of them

would come as a surprise to a Western feminist audience, arguing against
similar claims over the past decades. Women were ‘more talented in looking
after children and doing the housework’ and should do these tasks ‘for the
sake of the next generation’ (China); women have ‘instincts’ for housework
(Vietnam), while men are incompetent at controlling children (India). Some
were explicit concerning the disruption of power relations implied by role
reversal, contrasting ‘man’s destiny to be the head of the family and to earn
money for the family’ (Indonesia, 180221937) with women’s ‘weakness’ –
‘though they have equal rights’ (Thailand, 160204836). A strong thread in
these arguments is the notion of duty, particularly men’s duty to support the
family, related to ‘true love’ for one female respondent, and having nothing
to do with equality for another respondent:
it is as much a traditional ‘Asian’ value as it is a men’s ego that a man must be the
breadwinner in the family, simply because he is the head of the family (Indonesia,
female, 180222965).
my husband loves me, is interested in me and takes care of me, so he tries to be the
breadwinner of the family in both the economic and social aspects and still helps me in
housework – it is wonderful husband that I love (Vietnam, female, 120152590).
the man has to take care of the woman because he is a gentleman (but it doesn’t have to
do with women being equal to men) (Thailand, male, 160201800).
Several commented on women’s duties, for example, to sacrifice her career

for the family’s sake (China) or to ‘maintain the harmony in the family’
(Indonesia). Of course, the endorsement of shared housework and child-
rearing sometimes meant that role reversal was opposed for this very reason:
it is improper to either one in a marriage to stay at home all the time, for everybody has
many talents and goals. Except to those who are completely uninterested in work, it is
boring and passion killing to stay at home doing housework and looking after the
children (China, female, 140172709).
In my presentation of a version of this paper at Curtin University, Krishna

Sen suggested that men could happily endorse sharing housework and
childcare because most middle-class Asian families had domestic servants to
do the work. But then, presumably, role reversal would also be acceptable
because it would not entail any actual domestic duties. In fact, I suspect that
a major reason for endorsing shared housework and rejecting role reversal is
that childcare and housework responsibilities are no more shared in most
Asian families than they are in Australian ones. This has been labeled
‘pseudomutuality’ in relation to housework patterns in Australia (Bittman
& Pixley, 1997, pp. 145–171) where there is a contradiction between a dis-
course of equality and a practice of inequality. Only one Chinese respondent
and two Indian respondents noted ‘pseudomutuality’ in their own cultures.
More gave the game away in their comments. Thus, respondents spoke of
women ‘supplementing’ their husbands’ income (Indonesia, 180222954) or
the husband ‘helping’ the woman (China, 140171677) if he has time
(Vietnam, 120152572). He ‘can do the trivial things such as housework but it
is more important for him to work with great ambition’ (China, 140171692)
as the ‘the mighty pillar of the family’ (China, 140171687).
Commenting perhaps on the new ideas circulating in advertisements and
women’s magazines, one Indonesian respondent concluded:
modernization and globalization aside it is still a man’s duty to earn money for the family
and it is a wife’s duty to provide loving care for her children (Indonesia, female, 180222958).
SEXUAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF AND BY

ASIAN SOCIETIES
‘Pulling a butterfly’ and the ‘global gay’
Alluding to the construction of India’s sexual history as a long night of

sexual repression by British colonial rule, Mary John and Janaki Nair
78 CHILLA BULBECK
(1998, p. 1) ask:
Is there a way of charting sexuality in India that does not begin with the Kamasutra (the
text) and end with ‘Kama Sutra’ (the condom), separated by an intervening period of
darkness illuminated fleetingly by the laborious pieties of erotic temple sculptures?
The Kamasutra addresses a male citizen while women are defined according
to their sexual relationship with the protagonist, for example, as accessible
to a single man, two men or all men (Roy, 1998, pp. 60–63). By contrast
with the single male subject of the Kamasutra text, the Kamasutra (or KS)
condom advertisements suggest ‘a new public legitimation of sexuality in the
form of consensual, mutual, safe and private heterosexual pleasure’, a
nuclear family independent of pre-modern regulation (John, 1998, p. 382).
The Kamasutra was also a handbook of Western sexual liberation in the
1970s, although few Western devotees noted its sexism. Similarly, the nimble
fingers of Asian women have not only helped build the economic miracle in
the free trade zones and the suburban homes of middle-class North Ameri-
cans or Gulf Oil families, they also work in the red light districts of Bangkok
and Manila, Tokyo and Sydney (4). Thailand is the west’s ‘imagined
Orient’ in films like The King and I, Emmanuelle and The Good Woman of
Bangkok, a trajectory in which Thai women increasingly displace Thai men
(Manderson, 1997, pp. 136, 137). Good Woman is not about Thailand, but
about Europeans in Thailand, constructing both the women and the country
as ‘superfeminine, submissive’ and rape-able (Manderson, 1997, p. 125).
However, Western clients are suspicious that the prostitute’s submissiveness
is merely an act, that ‘She’s pulling a Butterfly’ (Garber, 1992, p. 124).
Prostitutes must be sexually available before they can demonstrate that they
are sexually submissive. This is revealed most clearly in the strip shows
(Manderson, 1992, pp. 452, 460–462). Thai transvestites, cross-dressed
actors and transsexuals ‘perform in ways that reflect their (Thai) perceptions
of the feminine, or their perceptions of Western notions of the feminine;
often they parody both’ (Manderson, 1997, p. 125). The strip show format
was translated into the degrading depiction of a Filipina wife in the
Australian movie Priscilla Queen of the Desert, an image of excessive,
tasteless sexuality rather than submissive compliance.
Another exotic sexualization of the Asian other is in stories of third gen-
ders, constituting a topic in several edited collections in the early 1990s, for
example, Asian Homosexuality (Dynes and Donaldson, 1992) and Oceanic
Homosexualities (Murray, 1992). Examples include the hijras of India and the
kathoey of Thailand. For Western academics, a central question has con-
cerned the extent to which these third genders are social roles arising either
because of more rigid gender role differentiation in Asian and Pacific societies
or are expressions of sexual identity. Generally speaking, the answer is that
Asian societies have transgender roles while Western societies have sexualized
gay subcultures. The story then proceeds to the westernization of Asian ho-
mosexuality into the ‘global gay’ as ideas circulate in magazines or with Asian
travelers returning from overseas, as gay people meet through the internet or
at international conferences (Altman, 2001, pp. 94, 96). More recently, an-
thropological studies have interrogated the ways in which both ‘traditional’
third gender roles and ‘gay subculture roles’ mutually influence each other in
different Asian locations (Altman, 2001, pp. 88–89; Sang, 2003). For exam-
ple, gayness in Thailand inscribes itself between the ‘complete man’ and the
demasculinized kathoey (Jackson, 1997) who takes on ‘feminized’ gender
roles. Gayness aligns itself with masculinity through ‘straight acting’, defined
against the negative other of the kathoey. Thus gayness is not an import from
the west, but rather a ‘marking of what has always existed in Thailand by was
previously overlooked’ (Jackson, 1997, pp. 168–189).
Where Western academics, tourists and media commentators sexualize
Asian societies, some local Asian activists reject these images as contributing
to the violence against Filipina or Thai women, all of whom are deemed
to be sexually available. Prostitutes are held in low esteem in urban Thai
society because of their rural and non-Thai ethnic origins (Cook, 1998, p. 253;
Hamilton, 1997, p. 145). Chinese Thai men distinguish the Chinese wife’s
body as the ‘domestic flower’, who provides regular coitus, children and
family stability, from the ‘wild flower’, the Thai sex worker, who provides
temporary eroticized experiences (Bao, 1999, p. 68). Middle-class activist Thai
women (Cook, 1998, p. 250) position Thai prostitutes as ‘dutiful daughters’
who struggle to support their families and child prostitution as symptomatic
of the violence and misery caused by modernization (Cook, 1998, p. 258).
Just as the ageing decry the loss of morals in the west, across Asia there
are cries against the ‘corrupting’ effects of Western ideas, transmitted
through films, pornography, television, the traffic in people as migrant
workers, as prostitutes and as tourists. Corruption is evidenced in a greater
incidence of premarital sex, more visible prostitution and gay subcultures. In
China, pornographic materials circulate in magazines that contain stories of
sexual brutality alongside knitting patterns (Evans, 1997, pp. 14–15). In
Vietnam, there is concern that ‘homosexuality is becoming a vogue among
young people’ and that ‘these social wrongdoings and disgraceful practices
[have come] to be recognized as new, fair and reasonable norms’ (Dang,
1996, p. 72). In rural Thailand customary law, that physical contact between
men and women before marriage is a transgression, has not changed. But
80 CHILLA BULBECK
handholding or body contact on a motor cycle is perceived by the young as

quite ordinary and rapid adjudication by elders does not necessarily follow
observed contact (Lyttleton, 1999, p. 32). Men use their wages and mobility
to pay the bride-price for a woman they plan to abandon, a practice
encouraged by the belief that AIDS cannot be caught from village girls
(Lyttleton, 1999, pp. 32–39). In fact, the young respondents in my sample
were more often traditionalists in their opposition to homosexuality and
pornography than enthusiastic advocates of these new sexual freedoms.
Furthermore, rather than simply understanding this as yet another ex-
ample of Western ideas displacing Eastern ‘realities’, two further points can
be made in relation to reading these data. One concerns the notion of
‘tolerance’ in societies where face is important. The second relates to
collective understandings of sexual relations in some Asian contexts.
While there might be strident criticism of gay-identified homosexual men as
‘diseased’ or ‘perverted’ in Thailand, this criticism is rarely matched by prac-
tical interventions to make men conform to heterosexual norms. Thai views
are ‘tolerant yet unaccepting’, prepared to ‘put up with, or permit to exist’.
The Western homophobic discourse is both intolerant and non-accepting, so
that Western observers miss this distinction in Thai society (Jackson, 1999,
p. 229). ‘Coming out’ can be both highly inappropriate and superfluous, where
leading a double life is not necessarily equated with duplicity and deception
(Jackson, 1997, pp. 178, 188). Similarly, many Thai villagers recognize pros-
titution as an industry in which women can earn well, but are reluctant to
acknowledge young women they know are sex workers, suggesting they are
score keepers in snooker halls and so on (Whittaker, 1999, p. 53). The strong
burden on young women to support their families is met without confronting
quite how this is achieved (Pongsapich, 1997, p. 36). While talking about sex
is confrontational, condom distribution is less so and cute condom cartoons
and advertisements are everywhere (Borthwick, 1999, p. 214).
Stories of collective sexual meanings, framed in terms of honor, shame
and face, inform understanding of at least one cross-gender role. In South
Sulawesi, women can take on the role of Calalai’ (a term meaning ‘false
man’) to save their families from being shamed by a daughter who does not
marry and bear children. But some of these women also make personal
choices. They call themselves ‘tomboi’ or ‘hunter’ because ‘we hunt down
love and then pounce on it’ (Dilah, a Calalai’ in Graham, 2001). In India,
the women’s movement accepted, while also seeking to extend, the meaning
of rape as linked to communal relations, an attack on the collective group
she represents. In some Indian communities, a woman’s body is explicitly
used by one man or group as a vehicle to punish her family, caste, clan,
religious group, as in ‘landlord rape’ or ‘caste rape’ (Ram, 2000, p. 66).

More recently, some women’s centers in India work with women within the
framework that rape is an unacceptable individual violation of her body, for
example, by husbands or ex-partners.
With these caveats in mind, let me turn to the results.
The Results (2)
Where Lyttleton paints a portrait of young rural men and women indulging
in illicit sexual relations against the preferences of their elders, a number of
my Chiang Mai respondents were very disapproving of ‘women engaged in
many bad activities, for example, going out at night’, showing ‘their skin’,
having no ‘self-respect’ or not being ‘very polite’. In relation to homosex-
uality, where the individualist discourse was used by Anglophone and Jap-
anese samples to accept this practice (see Charts 7 and 9), the traditionalist
discourse was deployed by the Asian samples to oppose homosexual
relations (see Charts 7 and 10). The pattern is not as clear for pornography,
where young Asian men in several samples are just as enthusiastic about
female nudity as the Anglophone and Japanese samples are. Women, by
contrast, oppose pornography in most of these samples (Chart 8). While the
willingness to accept homosexuality as an individual’s choice is deployed
largely by the Anglophone and Japanese samples, the idea that women can
freely choose (or not) to pose for nude photographs and viewers can freely
choose to view them is a much more widely used justification in relation to
pornography, particularly in the case of male respondents (see Chart 11). By
contrast, female Asian respondents, apart from Japan and South Korea,
express a traditionalist opposition to pornography. They are only joined by
male respondents to any significant degree in India and Indonesia
(Chart 12). I will return to these gendered patterns after a discussion of
the vocabularies used by the respondents to justify their attitudes.
Different combinations of a standard set of ingredients produced the tra-
ditionalist discourse across many of the Asian sub-samples. In places like
Indonesia, the religious argument of homosexuality as a sin was dominant. In
Indonesia, South Korea and Vietnam, homosexuality was also understood to
be a psychological illness. In almost all the samples, some respondents saw
homosexuality as ‘unnatural’ or ‘disgusting’, while some Indonesians saw it as
‘plain stupidity’ or ‘foolishness’. Dangers were also alluded to, both physical
dangers (like AIDS) and social (ostracism). A less virulent strain of com-
ments, largely from India and China, suggested there was a proper time in life
for sexual relations (and indeed viewing pornography), and 16 was too young.
82
90
80
female agree
70
60 male agree
50 female agree strongly
40
male agree strongly
30
20
10
0
SA
lia
na
ea
nd
am
l
ta
ad
pa
di
si
ra
to
hi
la
ne
U
In
tn
Ko
an
Ja
st
ai
d
e
do
Au
Th
te
C
Vi
h
ut
In
gh
So
ei
w
Chart 7. Same-Sex Sexual Relations between People Over the Age of 16 are Acceptable: Gender and Nationality.
CHILLA BULBECK
female agree
90 male agree
80
70
50
40
30
20
10
0
a
lia
a
SA
a
m
na
nd
l
ta
ad
pa
si
re
di
na
ra
to
hi
la
ne
U
In
Ko
an
Ja
st
ai
et
d
do
Au
Th
C
te
Vi
h
In
ut
gh
So
ei
w
Chart 8. Female Nudity in Magazines is Acceptable: Agree Strongly and Agree by Sex and Country Sample.
83
84
female - individualist
80
70 male individualist
60
50
40
30
20
10
0
SA
lia
na
nd
l
ta
ad
pa
re
di
si
na
ra
to
hi
la
ne
U
In
Ko
an
Ja
st
ai
et
d
do
Au
Th
te
C
Vi
h
ut
In
gh
So
ei
w
Chart 9. Gay Sexual Relations are Acceptable: Individualist Discourses by Sex and Country of Sample.
CHILLA BULBECK
100
90
80 female traditionalist
70
male traditionalist
60
50
40
30
20
10
0
SA
lia
na
nd
ia
ia
l
ta
ad
pa
re
es
na
ra
to
hi
la
U
In
Ko
an
Ja
on
st
ai
et
d
Au
Th
te
C
Vi
h
d
ut
In
gh
So
ei
w
Chart 10. Gay Sexual Relations are Acceptable: Traditional Discourses by Sex and Country.
85
86
50
45
40 female - individualist
35 male individualist
30
25
20
15
10
5
0
USA Canada Australia Japan China South Ko Thailand Vietnam India Indonesia weighted
rea total
Chart 11. Female Nudity in Magazines and Advertising is Acceptable: Individualist Discourse by Sex and Country.
CHILLA BULBECK
70
60
50 female traditionalist
40 male traditionalist
30
20
10
0
USA Cana Aust Japa Chin Sout T V I Indo w
da ralia n a h Ko hailand ietnam ndia nesia eighted
rea total
Chart 12. Female Nudity in Magazines and Advertising is Acceptable: Traditionalist Discourse by Sex and Country of
Sample.
87
88 CHILLA BULBECK
Young people lacked responsibility, were unable to judge the consequences of

such grave actions or would be distracted from their studies. Capturing the
flavor of many of these responses was this comment from China:
unmarried people should be prohibited from having sexual relations in order to maintain
social stability and control the spread of certain sexual diseases (China, male, 140171692).
This comment suggests collective reasons for restricting young people’s

access to sex. Other respondents explicitly identified social reasons:
homosexuality (and less often pornography) are anathema to ‘Vietnamese
fine custom and tradition’, posed ‘hazards’ to ‘traditional’ Indian culture,
caused the degradation, despoilation or uglification of Thai culture, violated
the ‘wisdom’ and ‘values’ of Indonesia. In India, female nudity ‘would push
our country’s future toward darkness and our progress would be hampered’.
In China, part of the official rhetoric in relation to homosexuality, pros-
titution and pornography identifies these as pollutions imported from the
west. Several respondents noted that the government did not approve of
magazines showing nudity. Students reflected on the challenge from the west,
even if they opposed the official discourse, for example, accepting homo-
sexuality now that human relations are ‘complicated’ by the ‘development of
society’ or claiming that ‘we should open our minds in this open world’. In
other national samples, an international perspective was suggested:
in today’s globalized and transparent world, children grow fast and so they mature fast.
Sexual relations with the same sex is fine as long as the persons are responsible for their
act (Indonesian, male, 180221930).
according to statistics, 5% of world population is homosexual. I think they need to be

treated equally with other people (Vietnam, female, 120152591).
Several Anglophone respondents referred to the sermon of self-help

literature: we have an obligation to ourselves to search for and express
our ‘true’ selves, our authentic sexual identity:
by this age most people are sure about their sexuality and if they’re confused what’s
wrong with experimenting to try and find out. It’s better than living the rest of your life a
lie or in doubt about who you are (Australia, female, 10021004).
some people do like things that are different but people should be them selfs (Australia,
female, 2105611885).
Similarly, to many of the Japanese respondents, gay love ‘couldn’t be

helped’ (male), or ‘regardless of sex, a human being can love the humanness
of the partner’ (female).
By contrast, the Korean respondents were, on the whole, more ambiv-
alent. They expressed tension between traditional opposition to homosex-
uality and claims that it was ‘fine if they love each other’ or the ‘right’ of
individuals to make this choice in a ‘diverse’ society. Generally speaking,

however, the trope of love and happiness was absent from the young
Asians’ comments. Indeed some of the Indonesians and Indians felt that
homosexuality would only bring unhappiness. Others were puzzled by the
very notion, given that large numbers of people of the opposite sex are
available and no one could find homosexual relations sexually ‘exciting’.
Let me turn to the gender differences in the attitudes to these two sexual
issues. According to many radical feminists, lesbian relationships should be
legalized while (violent and abusive) pornography should be illegal. Indeed a
number of samples of young women take up this ‘feminist’ position, in that
their opposition to pornography is greater than their opposition to homo-
sexual relations, as indicated in Chart 14. In almost every sample, the fe-
males disapprove of pornography more so than they do homosexuality; the
reverse being the case for the males. Only the Korean and Indonesian fe-
males are more approving of pornography than homosexuality and only the
Canadian males are more approving of homosexuality than pornography.
Indeed a good number of female respondents used a feminist discourse to
oppose pornography (see Chart 13), although not to endorse same-sex
sexual relations (the negligible to zero use of the feminist vocabulary in relation
to homosexual relations is not charted). In fact, the feminist and traditionalist
discourse often become blurred when discussing pornography, with terms like
‘degradation’ potentially indicative of either discourse, unless it is connected
more explicitly with women’s rights: ‘[nudity] degrades women, it violates
women’s dignity, women’s right and status’ (Indonesia, female, 180221926).
In India, Indian feminists have blackened film hoardings and picketed
cinemas in their initiatives against the ‘ubiquity of sexual imagery for male
consumption’ (John & Nair, 1998, p. 29). Following some Western jurisdic-
tions such as Canada, the Indian legal system added a law in 1987 which
sought to prevent the depiction of women ‘in a manner which is derogatory to
women or denigrating women or which is likely to corrupt public morality’
(Agnes, 1995, p. 137). As in Canada, there is debate amongst feminists con-
cerning whether such legislation actually arms the moral majority rather than
feminists, particularly as many of the cases in Canada were brought against
lesbian and gay publications (Gotell, 1997). Thus many respondents, in India
and elsewhere, criticized the objectification of women in pornography:
‘women aren’t a showpiece or a toy’, a ‘furniture piece to be kept at home and
admired’ or used to sell men’s products. Some young Indonesians also spoke
of ‘exploitation’, ‘sexual harassment’ and reinforcing the ‘male stereotype’.
The South Korean males responded to the lessons learned in their
women’s studies class at Ewha University, with strong use of the feminist
discourse (Chart 14), although, here too, the traditional and feminist
90
40
female - feminist
30
male - feminist
20
10
0
USA Canad Austra J China South T V India Indon w
a lia apan Koreahailand ietnam esia eighted to
tal
Chart 13. Female Nudity in Magazines and Advertising is Acceptable: Feminist Discourse by Sex and Country.
CHILLA BULBECK
Weighted average
Male
Indonesia Female
India
Vietnam
China
Thailand
Korea
Japan
Australia
Canada
USA
-40 -30 -20 -10 0 10 20 30 40 50
Chart 14. Difference between Approval of Pornography and Same-Sex Sexual Relations by Gender and Country: Agree Plus
Agree more than Disagree (the Left-Hand Side Shows Greater Disapproval of Pornography; the Right-Hand Side of Ho-
mosexual Relations).
91
92 CHILLA BULBECK
rhetorics were interwoven. One respondent described it as ‘disgusting’ to

treat ‘women as sexual objects’ and the viewers and photographers as
‘animals’. In Vietnam and China, following the official communist line, there
was more opposition to the commodification of women’s bodies, which are
in fact ‘beautiful’ if not used commercially. A feminist position suggested:
in today’s society women have achieved equal status with men. So I think the above-
mentioned things are a kind of insult to women. Women’s rights are respected. It should
be strongly opposed since women are no longer men’s toys (China, female, 140171683).
CONCLUSION
Anthropologists and regional scholars are generally leery of the dualist op-
positions I have used in this paper. But I believe that something of value, in
terms of broad brush strokes, can be said about differences between Western
and Asian approaches to gender issues, while allowing for the exceptions,
such as Japanese respondents’ greater use of the individualist vocabulary for
the sexual issues and the shifts made possible by exposure to feminist ideas,
as with the South Korean males. Following Gayatri Spivak’s defense of
strategic essentialism, I call this thought experiment ‘strategic dualism’. As
Spivak (in Spivak with Rooney, 1994, p. 179) suggests, ‘you deconstruc-
tively critique something which is so useful to you that you cannot speak
another way’. Just as Spivak has defended the pragmatic value of essen-
tialism for political purposes in concrete situations, so too I think a claim
can be made for strategic dualism. There are differences of power, resources
and culture across the world even if they do not line up neatly into first and
third worlds. While simple oppositions between us and them quickly become
blurred once we start exploring the issues, we need a place to start the
analysis, categories with which to organize ideas even as they become com-
promised and complicated in discussion. So, bravely, I will conclude by
saying that issues of collectivity and obligation seem more to characterize
the Asian responses, while individualism and choice mark the Anglophone
responses. Access to these different discourses interacts with social pre-
scriptions to influence opinions concerning gendered workload divisions in
the household, pornography and same-sex sexual relations.
NOTES
1. Klein (asks why the abuses in sweatshops in Asia, which have been going on for
decades, became prominent in the mid-1990s. The slogan of the 1990s that Asian
workers were taking ‘our’ jobs began to give way to ‘Our corporations are stealing
their lives’. The power of the logos also makes consumers feel complicit in the wrongs
these brands commit (Klein, 2000, pp. 332–335).
2. The idea of ‘nimble fingers’ has arisen from an oft-quoted Malaysian govern-
ment brochure: ‘The manual dexterity of the oriental female is famous the world
over. Her hands are small and she works fast with extreme care’ (see Bulbeck, 1988,
p. 99 for a summary of the discussion).
3. For example, China’s middle class is a tiny fraction of the population,
estimated at 4.3 million Chinese (Hooper, 1998, p. 168).
4. In Thailand, it is estimated that two million women work in the sex industry,
including migrants from Burma and Cambodia, and that an estimated 50,000 Thai
women work illegally in the Japanese sex industry (Phizacklea in Westwood &
Phizacklea, 2000, p. 132). Western female tourists also engage in liaisons with Thai
men which have a commercial aspect (Hamilton, 1997, p. 146).
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have benefited from feedback on interpretation of my results from audi-
ences in Eugene Oregon (my thanks to Joan Acker for arranging the sem-
inar), New Delhi (thanks to Patricia Uberoi), Mumbai (thanks to Veena
Poonarcha) and Perth (thanks to Krishna Sen). My thanks go to the par-
ticipants in all the localities involved in this research and to my local re-
searchers: Dou Wei in Beijing; Suryono Gentut in Jogjakarta; Alok Ranjan
Jha in New Delhi; Parul Khampara in Mumbai; Phung Thu Thuy in Hanoi;
Kumna Jung in Seoul; Sukanya Pornsopakul in Chiang Mai; Chonmasri
Patcharapimol in Bangkok; Aya Kimijima, Miya Suga, Yukako Shibata,
Yukiko Tani, Iida Hiroyuki, Kazuko Tanabe, Nakao Hidehiro and Kazuyo
Kamikubo in Japan; Mark Moritz and Bayard Lyons in the USA; Mireille
Huberdeau in Winnipeg; Sharon Rouse, Simon Davey and Lara Palombo in
Australia. My special thanks to Jenni Rossi who devised the coding manual,
coded all the questionnaires and created the ever-expanding SPSS file to our
mutual satisfaction, and to Saul Steed who assisted Jenni with coding the
comments. Jenni and Saul are the most enthusiastic and competent
researchers one could wish to have.
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A COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS OF
SEX ROLE IDEOLOGY IN CANADA,
MEXICO AND THE UNITED STATES
Richard J. Harris, Juanita M. Firestone and

Paul J. Bryan
ABSTRACT
This study is a secondary analysis of attitudinal data collected by the

World Values Study Group in 1990. Focus is upon differences in sex role
ideology among the North American countries of Canada, the United
States, and Mexico. Specifically, efforts are made to determine if Mexico
exhibits significantly more conservative attitudes about gender roles than
its northern neighbors. Further emphasis will be placed upon determining
whether or not the notion of ‘‘machismo’’ truly exists among Mexican
males. The population consists of persons 18 years of age or older and was
selected by stratified random sample in the United States and Canada,
and quota sampling in Mexico. Weights are employed to ensure that the
samples are nationally representative.
Findings suggest that, after the implementation of demographic and
attitudinal controls, Mexicans are slightly more likely to exhibit more
traditional attitudes about appropriate gender behavior. The ‘‘notion’’ of
an element of ‘‘machismo’’ in Mexico, however, does not hold up to the
rigors of statistical analysis. Instead, findings illustrate that being a male

ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(06)10005-3
97
98 RICHARD J. HARRIS ET AL.
in Canada or the United States is more likely to predict conservative

gender role ideology than being a male in Mexico. Nevertheless, being
male was one of the weaker predictors of conservative gender ideologies in
all of the models. Finally, the strongest correlations were between the
dependent variable and the age at which the respondent finished school,
age of respondent, and political ideology.
INTRODUCTION
Most of the prior research conducted on gender role ideology in regards to

the United States, Canada, or Mexico focuses upon the countries individ-
ually. While some cross-national approaches that examine the differences in
the positions of women in hierarchies of authority in the United States and
Canada do exist, this research effort has been unsuccessful at locating any
work that focuses specifically on a comparison of gender role ideologies of
persons in Mexico with either of the countries previously mentioned. For
this reason, most works examined focus strictly upon Canada or Mexico or
the United States.
Two complementary characterizations related to gender roles have been
strongly associated with Mexican culture – machismo and marianisimo
(Wood & Price, 1997). Machismo as traditionally conceived forms a world
view that exalts patriarchy by assuming masculinity, virility, and physicality
as the ideal essence of ‘‘real’’ men (Mosher & Tomkins, 1988; Torres, Solb-
erg, & Carlstrom, 2002; Villereal & Cavazos, 2005; Wood & Price, 1997). Of
course, most recent publications criticize traditional conceptualizations of
machismo as exaggerated archetypes (Gutmann, 1998, 2003; Mirande, 1997;
Neff, 2001; Torres et al., 2002). These recent works highlight the variations
on the macho script, which are used to fit environmental circumstances and
life stage and family situations (Mosher & Tomkins, 1988). In spite of var-
iations in actual behaviors, most researchers acknowledge an overarching
macho ideology, which is supported through media emphasis on males as
exciting, action, violence, and male heroics (Mosher & Tomkins, 1988; Neff,
2001; Villereal & Cavazos, 2005).
The complementary characteristic marianisimo typically refers to a stro-
ng identification with and attachment of individuals to their family roles
(Mirande & Enriquez, 1979; Sabogal, Marin, Otero-Sabogal, Marin, &
Perez-Stable, 1987; Ybarra, 1988). Research from this tradition often
assumes working-class Hispanic women place a high value on the maternal
and related domestic roles, and that this value preference is reinforced by
A Comparative Analysis of Sex Role Ideology in Canada 99
parents and husbands who do not encourage their focus on higher education
and career skills (Mirande & Enriques, 1979; Wood & Price, 1997; Ybarra,
1988). It is not clear whether traditional expectations about gender roles in
Mexican origin families are rigid or are necessarily fluid in order to meet
current circumstances (Ybarra, 1982). Thus, Mexican families may retain
symbolic allegiance to traditional gender roles, but in practice be adaptive in
acting out role behaviors as required by such environmental demands as
labor market structures, and the power of majority ideologies in shaping
individual decisions (Tienda, 1982; Baca Zinn, 1976, 1982, 1994; Ybarra,
1988; Fernandez Kelly, 1991; Williams, 1990; Segura, 1992). Research on
Hispanic women in the United States indicated that as their structural cir-
cumstances more closely resembled women of other race and ethnic groups,
the more similar were their gender role beliefs (Harris & Firestone, 1998).
Research on the issue of women in Mexico focuses on economics and
household labor as a means of analysis. Chant (1991) looked at female labor
force participation and household structure in the cities of Puerto Vallarta,
León, and Querétaro. Focusing on whether or not women participated
equally with men in the varying labor forces and if household structures
influenced that participation, she concluded that, while industrial produc-
tion had increased, it was poverty that motivated household ideologies to
shift in a manner that would allow women to work outside of the home in
order to subsidize their husbands’ incomes (Chant, 1985; 1991). This has
been corroborated by much recent research (Benerı́a, 1991; Chant, 1996;
Chant with Craske, 2002; Gonzalez de la Rocha, 2000; Martin, 1990;
McGee & Gonzalez, 1999). The jobs typically held by poorer women rarely
pay well enough to support a family entirely and rarely offer opportunities
for advancement (Chant, 1991, p. 223). However, they were associated with
changes in beliefs about ‘‘typical’’ roles for women (Cerrutti, 2000; Chant,
1996; Martin, 1990, p. 197). Unfortunately, increased female participation
in the labor force did not necessarily result in a more egalitarian sharing of
household duties (Cerutti, 2000; Chant, 1991; Chant, 1996; Tiano, 2001,
p. 1517). Thus, there was no lessening of sexist practices in regards to
women and their positions in the labor force and household.
Gender by itself does not totally explain one’s ability to enter the labor
force. In fact, the lack of access to positions of authority, higher wages, and
responsibility appeared to be less true for wealthier, more educated women. In
other words, the manner in which sex and class interact to influence one’s
ability to participate more fully in the labor market may be more telling of
women’s positions in Mexico than gender alone. One way to conceptualize
differences in class is to examine the types of paid and unpaid work performed
by Mexican women. Benerı́a and Roldán (1987, pp. 13–15) discussed these
types of labor in terms of ‘‘industrial homework, subcontracting, and house-
hold dynamics.’’ Industrial homework consisted of tedious manual tasks that
were performed in the household to produce products that could then be sold
in the markets or streets. These tasks included assembling plastic flowers or
toys, packing sunflower seeds, assembling garments or finishing textiles,
making raspas (snow cones). Further, entire colonias (neighborhoods) were
centered about a particular industry. The colonia of Tacubaya focused on
assembling plastic flowers and packing cloth, while women in El Molinito
packed metal sponges and finished textiles (Benerı́a & Roldán, 1987, p. 22).
Industrial homework appeared to be the purview of poorer women and was
engaged mostly by married women attempting to subsidize the income of their
husbands and single, female heads of household. Often, however, the income
generated from this activity was insufficient and required women to engage in
other moneymaking activities as well. These included paid domestic labor,
part-time work in local eating houses, and subcontracting in garment houses.
These women often were solely responsible for the unpaid domestic labor they
engage in at home, the industrial homework in which they are engaged, and
the organizing of their children’s efforts in relation to that industrial home-
work. Further, women in the colonias often shared in the responsibilities of
childcare when they were required to engage in part-time work outside of the
home.
Upper- and middle-class Mexican women were generally not bound to the
same kinds of unpaid domestic labor that were required of lower class
women (Garcia & de Oliveira, 1997, p. 381). This is likely due in part to the
high abundance and low cost of domestic laborers (Cerrutti, 2000). Further,
wealthier women appeared to be more encouraged to pursue both educa-
tional and career goals. However, while this was encouraged in women who
continued to live with their parents, they were still expected to set those
goals and pursuits aside when they married and moved from their parents’
homes into the houses of their husbands. After examining the percentage of
household labor, industrial homework, and subcontracting performed by
women of all classes, Benerı́a and Roldán (1987) concluded that it is a
misperception that increased access to the labor force influences and forces a
loosening of traditional gender roles within the household. In fact, their
findings suggested the opposite. It was economic necessity that required
household dynamics to accommodate women’s entry into the paid labor
force as a means of subsidizing household income. In other words, observ-
able changes in the status of labor force participation for women were less
attributable to changing gender role ideology and more to the result of pure
economic need, as evidenced by the types of positions in which women were

employed. A survey of Mexican production firms as to the reasons given for
hiring women demonstrate quite traditional gender role ideology. Fifteen
percent of the responses stated that women were good employees because of
their ability to follow orders. The careful manual work that required the
dexterity of female hands trained to sew and embroider was the reason why
another 28% of companies hired their women employees. Finally, 3% stated
that they preferred to hire women because they were less troublesome than
men.
In the United States most work related to gender role attitudes highlights
how attitudes have become more liberal over time. For example, Harris and
Firestone (1998) documented a ubiquitous convergence toward egalitarian
attitudes among Whites, African Americans, and Hispanic American
women in the U.S. As documented by Bryant (2003), both men’s and
women’s traditional views about gender roles declined during their college
experience, and women held more egalitarian views than men at college
entry and after 4 years.
The work of Thornton, Alwin, and Camburn (1983) in the early 1980s
examines the shifting sex role attitudes of persons living in the United States
and examines attitudinal as opposed to behavioral data. Findings demon-
strated that gender role ideology was becoming more egalitarian over time.
Substantial differences were observed across generations. Daughters dem-
onstrated more liberal views in 1980 ‘‘y than their mothers had in 1962’’
(Thornton et al., 1983, p. 213). Further, striking differences in attitudes were
noted between boys and girls (see also Bryant, 2003 who found similar
differences between male and female college students). According to the
authors, sons consistently scored more conservatively than daughters. In-
terestingly, when the researchers examined the attitudes of mothers and
their sons, the more liberal scores typically observed in the younger gen-
eration were offset by the disparities in attitudes between men and women
(Thornton et al., 1983, p. 215).
The authors attributed these shifting attitudes to increased labor force
participation among women. More recently, Firestone, Harris, and Lambert
(1999) and Harris, Firestone, and Bollinger (2000) also supported these
findings. Similar to the findings of Benerı́a and Roldán (1987) in Mexico, the
authors suggested that female labor force participation influences and is
influenced by gender role attitudes. Specifically, ‘‘the finding of both cause
and effect relationships between work and sex role attitudes reinforces the
importance of biases produced by assuming causal influence in one direc-
tion,’’ (Thornton et al., 1983, p. 225) and detracts from the focus on the
influence of economic need as a catalyst for labor force participation. Fur-

thermore, gender role ideologies becoming less traditional could lead to
more egalitarian expectations (and socialization experiences) for men and
women, including those related to participation in paid labor and differ-
ential wages (Firestone et al., 1999).
A study in the province of Newfoundland, Canada suggested that eco-
nomic need has required household structures to shift in a manner similar to
those discussed previously in regards to Mexico and the United States
(Sinclair & Felt, 1992). The Great Northern Peninsula is one of the poorer
areas of Canada, and is primarily a fishing region. Study of this region
focused on shifting gender role ideologies and practices among the poorer
married women in more ‘‘peripheral’’ regions of Canada. Sinclair and Felt
(1992) found that although paid labor remained mainly the purview of men
in the region, increased need required more and more women to leave the
home, at least part time, in order to work in the fishing industry as a means
of increasing household income. As in Mexico, however, women remained
almost wholly responsible for the unpaid domestic labor that is required to
maintain the household. In fact, domestic labor among the men and women
of this region was divided into traditional gender role categories. Women
typically engaged in household maintenance inside the home, meal prep-
aration, childcare, and the like. The men, on the other hand, engaged in
lawn maintenance, car repair, and the cutting of wood. Interestingly, when
there were children under 15 years of age in the home, women typically
engaged in fewer household-related duties and spent more time in childcare.
This lower percentage of household duties engaged in by women was typi-
cally because of the presence of children-helpers and not the additional
assistance of their partners (Sinclair and Felt, 1992, p. 65). Finally, the data
suggested that the relationship between sex and task was significant in all
cases of household and labor force duties, demonstrating that, as in Mexico,
a strong division of labor existed between poorer men and women.
Recent studies conducted in Canada also highlight the liberalizing of
gender role attitudes among racial and ethnic minority groups as well as
religious groups (Kim, Laroche, & Tomiuk, 2004; Eid, 2003). These studies
also indicate that acculturation had a significant liberalizing impact on
wives’ orientations toward gender roles, but did not have a significant im-
pact on changing men’s traditional beliefs about gender role expectations
(Kim et al., 2004; Eid, 2003). Interestingly, September, McCarrey, Bara-
nowsky, Parent, and Schindler (2001) found that women incorporated more
instrumental ideologies into their gender role orientations while remaining
more expressive than men. While the addition of instrumental concerns
among many women produced an overall liberalizing shift in gender role

attitudes among university students, sex remained highly correlated with
women remaining significantly more likely to exhibit traditional, expressive
orientations (September et al., 2001).
A few studies do focus on cross-national differences in sex in relation to
positions of authority. This relationship is also likely to impact views about
appropriate gender role behaviors. Results suggest greater disparity in ac-
cess to positions of authority in those countries with larger gross national
products (GNPs). In other words, women are more likely to be underrep-
resented in administrative positions, managerial positions, and elected po-
litical positions in those countries with higher GNPs. In fact, even in the few
countries that are headed by women, most of the other powerful political
positions are held by men, both federally and locally (Moore & Shackman,
1996, p. 273). This is equally true of groups whose purpose is to influence
policy. An example of this in the United States is the observable gender gaps
in union memberships. Despite the fact that three women continue to join
unions for every one man that joins (Mellor, 1995, p. 706), very few women
hold an office or serve on committees. Further, ‘‘while higher rates of female
enrollment in secondary education increase the relative odds for women in
administrative/managerial occupations,’’ higher levels of GNP per capita
lower those odds (Moore & Shackman, 1996, p. 281). Ultimately the authors
found that neither high levels of economic prosperity, nor the development
of women’s ‘‘human capital’’ increased their likelihood of having greater
access to positions of authority.
Attempting to explain the variations that do exist between countries in
regards to women’s access to positions of authority in the workplace,
Wright, Baxter, and Gunn (1995) suggested that although persons in Sweden
(not a country that will be examined in this analysis) appear to be much more
egalitarian in their gender role ideology than the United States, a gender gap
in positions of authority exists in Sweden that is much larger than that
observed in the United States. Other findings suggest that once a woman has
managed to obtain a position of authority in the United States, she has no
more difficulty climbing the ranks than she did obtaining her original po-
sition. This appears to be less true in Canada however. Instead, it is more
difficult for a woman to rise to an authoritative position, the higher that
position is in the hierarchy. Further, as is to be expected, levels of occu-
pational segregation by gender, pay disparities, and sexual and reproductive
rights for women are fairly similar in both the United States and Canada.
These variations suggest Wright and his colleagues (1995) were explained
mostly by (1) the availability of managerial/administrative positions and
(2) the presence and ability of politically organized women’s groups intended
to combat discrimination and challenge barriers to women’s advancement.
Our research focuses on differences in the North American countries of
Mexico, Canada, and the United States. We employ attitudinal data as a
means of discovering the differences in gender role ideology among people
in the three countries. Independent variables used include sex, marital sta-
tus, the age the respondent finished school, the respondent’s age, labor force
participation, political views, social class, and whether or not the respondent
is a member of a racial or ethnic minority group. The first hypothesis is that
after controlling for demographic and attitudinal variables, gender role
ideologies expressed by American and Canadian respondents will be as tra-
ditional as those expressed by Mexican respondents. In addition, in order to
explore the existence of the notion of ‘‘machismo’’ among Mexican males,
we hypothesize that after controlling for demographic and attitudinal var-
iables, Mexican males are no more likely to exhibit traditional sex role
ideologies than male respondents in America or Canada.
METHODS
Study Population
This research is a secondary analysis of attitudinal data collected by the

World Values Study Group (1994) These surveys were conducted in the
‘‘mass publics’’ of 45 countries and consist of adults over the age of 18 (World
Values Study Group). From those 45 countries surveyed, three have been
selected for the purposes of this analysis. They include Canada, the United
States, and Mexico. The survey instrument was administered by Gallup
Canada, The Gallup Organization (USA), and Market and Opinion Research
International (Mexico). In the United States and Canada, stratified random
sampling was utilized. Mexico utilized quota sampling based upon ‘‘sex, age,
occupation, and region’’ (World Values Study Group, 1994, p. 11). Weights
are employed to insure that the samples are nationally representative.
Univariate information for the complete samples for each country indi-
cates that in Canada 51% of the respondents were female and 49% were
male. The respondents’ mean age was 42 (SD ¼ 13). The mean age for
finishing school was 18 (SD ¼ 2.4). Ninety-four percent of the population
was Caucasian. The remaining respondents (6%) have been placed in a
‘‘minority’’ category.1 In Mexico, 45% of the respondents were female and
55% were male. The respondents’ mean age was 34 (SD ¼ 13). The mean
age for finishing school was 16 (SD ¼ 3.8). Nineteen percent of the pop-
ulation was Caucasian. The remaining respondents (80%) have been placed
in a ‘‘minority’’ category (see Table 1). In the United States, 50% of the
respondents were female and 50% were male. The respondents’ mean age
was 44 (SD ¼ 18). The mean age for finishing school was 18 (SD ¼ 2.2).
Eighty-four percent of the population was Caucasian. The remaining re-
spondents (16%) have been placed in a ‘‘minority’’ category.
Measurement and Procedure
The independent variables included in this analysis include marital status,

sex, age, labor force participation, a scale measuring political views, class,
race, or ethnicity, and an interaction term looking specifically at married
males. Table 1 provides the univariate distributions for the cases included in
the regression analyses. Originally, respondents could respond to the var-
iable measuring marital status as married, living as married, divorced, sep-
arated, widowed, or single. The variable asks for the respondent’s ‘‘current’’
living situation. With this in mind, ‘‘married’’ or ‘‘living as married’’ was
coded as one and the remaining possible responses were coded as zero. The
sex variable was dummy coded so that zero equals female and a score of one
equals male. Labor force participation has been coded, as closely as pos-
sible, to approximate a measure of full-time employment. Respondents
working in the labor force for 30 h a week or more were coded as one in
order to determine if larger amounts of labor force participation influences
one’s gender role ideology. Two dummy variables were created to measure
class.2 The first measures whether or not a respondent is upper or upper-
middle class (coded as 1), with other respondents being coded as zero. The
second variable identifies middle-class, non-manual workers and skilled
manual laborers (coded as 1), with other respondents coded as zero.
In an attempt to measure race/ethnic minority status, minorities of several
different ethnicities (Negro Black; South Asian Indian, Pakistani; East Asian
Chinese, Japanese; Arabic; Other) have been grouped together and coded as
one, while Caucasians have been coded as zero (see Table 1). This grouping
of minorities together is necessary because of the small numbers of cases in
the varying categories as well as the varying racial and ethnic makeup of the
countries being analyzed. For the purposes of this analysis, the term mi-
nority is used to indicate a ‘‘power minority’’ as opposed to a demographic
minority. For example, in Mexico 79% of the respondents were not Cau-
casian. They have, nevertheless, been coded as minorities in an attempt to
capture the difference in their sex role attitudes as compared to Caucasians
106
Table 1. Univariate Informtion about Variables in Analyses.
Variable Description Total Canada Mexico USA
Mean SD Mean SD Mean SD Mean SD
Sex role ideology Eight-point index 3.66 1.84 3.575 1.856 3.927 1.714 3.554 1.893
(SEXIDEOL) measuring sex role
ideology. 0 ¼ most
liberal response;
8 ¼ most conservative
response
Marital status 1 ¼ currently married or .627 .484 .678 .467 .531 .499 .645 .479
(MARRIED) living as a married
couple; 0 otherwise
Gender (MALE) 1 ¼ male; 0 otherwise .501 .500 .487 .500 .537 .499 .489 .500
Age when respondent left 1 ¼ completed at 12 or 6.161 2.928 6.548 2.333 4.611 3.864 6.878 2.182
school (V356) younger;
2 ¼ completed at 13;
RICHARD J. HARRIS ET AL.

10 ¼ completed at 21 or
older
Age (AGE) Measured in years. 40.544 16.677 42.443 16.652 33.806 13.009 43.460 17.655
Range ¼ 18–90
Respondent spends 1 ¼ respondent spends .485 .500 .490 .500 .420 .494 .524 .500
30+ h in the labor 30 h or more in the
force per week labor market per week;
(GT30HR) 0 otherwise
A Comparative Analysis of Sex Role Ideology in Canada
A scale measuring the This variable has been .032 .996 .016 1.009 .048 .989 .036 .989
leftness or rightness of standardized. Negative
respondents political numbers indicate a
views (ZPOL) more liberal political
ideology. Positive
numbers indicate a
more conservative
political ideology
Upper or upper-middle 1 ¼ upper and upper- 1.48 .355 .182 .386 .109 .311 .143 .350
class (UPRCLASS) middle class; 0
otherwise (this variable
is interviewer coded)
Middle non-manual and 1 ¼ middle non-manual .677 .468 .661 .474 .617 .487 .733 .443
skilled manual workers and skilled manual
(MDLASS) workers; 0 otherwise
Married male 1 ¼ married male; 0 .333 .471 .049 .215 .786 .410 .135 .342
(MARMALE) otherwise
Race or ethnicity 1 ¼ persons who are not .277 .447 .347 .476 .304 .460 .341 .474
(MINORITY) Caucasian;
0 ¼ Caucasian
Mexico (MEXICO) 1 ¼ persons in Mexico; .265 .441
0 ¼ persons in the
United States or
Canada
Canada (CANADA) 1 ¼ persons in Canada; .356 .479
0 ¼ persons in Mexico
or the United States
Note: Total, N ¼ 3096; Canada, N ¼ 1102; Mexico, N ¼ 819; U.S., N ¼ 1175.
107
(the typical ‘‘power majority’’). An interaction term has also been created,
which examines the impact of being a married male over and above the
effects of either variable independently (1 ¼ married male; 0 otherwise).
Since there is no variable in the data set that measures completed years of
formal education, we used a variable that asks the age of the respondent
when they last finished schooling. Responses include 10 categories that will
be included in the analysis as it was originally coded. The youngest category
is 12 or younger and each consecutive value increases 1 year at a time until
the highest value (21 years of age and older). This variable has been included
under the assumption that the older a person is when she or he finishes
school, the more likely she or he is to have completed more schooling. This
is, of course, an imperfect measure and this must be taken into account
when interpreting this analysis (see Table 1).3
The variable measuring age in years is an interval/ratio-level variable and
begins at 18 years of age.4 A scale measuring liberal or conservative political
values has been included as an independent variable in this analysis as well.
The scale was originally a 10-point scale with 1 being the most liberal and 10
being the most conservative view. The respondent was asked to place herself
or himself on the scale. Because being politically left, moderate, or right
might mean something different in Mexico than it would in the United
States or Canada, the scale has been standardized (z-score ¼ (variable mean)/
standard deviation) in order to compare the responses cross-nationally. In this
case, negative responses indicate more liberal political views, while positive
responses suggest a more conservative political ideology.5 Table 2 on the
following page provides an explanation, which will serve as a legend for the
variables included in the analysis as well as the means and standard devi-
ations for all three countries combined and separately. All variables are
approximately normally distributed.6
The dependent variable created for this analysis is an eight-variable sex
role ideology index. The eight variables included in the index have been
dichotomized so that a score of zero indicates the most egalitarian response
and score of one indicates the most traditional answer. The questions and
distributions for each nation are shown in Table 2.
The first variable asks if it is necessary that a woman have children in
order to be fulfilled. The possible answers included ‘‘needs children’’ and
‘‘not necessary.’’ This was originally coded so that ‘‘needs children’’ equaled
one and ‘‘not necessary’’ equaled two. It has been recoded so that ‘‘not
necessary’’ equals the more egalitarian response, which was coded as zero.
The second variable asks if the respondent approves of a single woman
having a child outside of a stable relationship with a man. Originally, a
A Comparative Analysis of Sex Role Ideology in Canada
Table 2. Descriptions, a Statistics, Means, and Standard Deviations of Variables Included in Sex Role
Ideology Index.
Variable Description Canada Mexico USA
Mean SD Mean SD Mean SD
Woman needs children to be 1 ¼ woman does need a child to .2497 .4294 .4769 .4997 .2122 .4090
fulfilled (V215) be fulfilled (conservative
response); 0 otherwise
Woman as single parent (V217) 1 ¼ woman should not have a .6098 .4880 .5525 .4974 .6038 .4893
child as a single parent
conservative response
(conservative response); 0
otherwise
Working mother (V218) 1 ¼ a working mother cannot .3011 .4589 .3395 .4737 .2681 .4431
establish as warm and secure a
relationship with her children
as a mother who does not
work (conservative response);
0 otherwise
Pre-school child suffer if mother 1 ¼ a pre-school child is likely to .5200 .4998 .7724 .4195 .4908 .5501
works (V219) suffer if his or her mother
works (conservative response);
0 otherwise
Women want a home and child 1 ¼ a job is all right, but what .4321 .4956 .5980 .4905 .5480 .4979
(V220) most women really want is a
home and children
otherwise
Being a housewife is fulfilling 1 ¼ being a housewife is as .7044 .4565 .6744 .4688 .7273 .4455
109
(V221) fulfilling as working for pay
otherwise
110
Table 2. (Continued )
Variable Description Canada Mexico USA
Mean SD Mean SD Mean SD
A job is the best way for a 1 ¼ having a job is not the best .4685 .4992 .3819 .4861 .4185 .4935
woman to be independent way for a woman to be an
(V222) independent person
otherwise
Husband and wife should 1 ¼ both the husband and wife .3218 .4674 .1759 .3809 .3108 .4659
contribute to income (V223) should not contribute to
household income
otherwise
Note: Canada, N ¼ 1334, a ¼ .5493; Mexico, N ¼ 1296, a ¼ .5101; United States, N ¼ 1522, a ¼ .5596.
RICHARD J. HARRIS ET AL.

response of one indicated approval, a response of two indicated that it

‘‘depends,’’ and a score of three indicated disapproval. This has been re-
coded so that an indication that it depends or that the respondent disap-
proves has been coded as one and approval has been coded as zero.
The third through the eighth variables originally allowed respondents to
indicate strong agreement, agreement, disagreement, strong disagreement,
or that she or he did not know. The third variable asks if a working mother
can establish as secure a relationship with her children as a mother who does
not work. In this case, strong agreement and agreement were coded as zero
and disagreement and strong disagreement were coded as one. As with the
remaining five variables included in the index, a response of ‘‘don’t know’’
was declared missing. The fourth variable questions the likelihood that a
pre-school child will suffer if his or her mother works. Strong agreement and
agreement were, in this case, coded conservatively (1) and disagreement and
strong disagreement were coded as zero. The fifth variable states that a job is
fine, but that most women really want a home and children. Strong agree-
ment and agreement were coded conservatively (1) and disagreement and
strong disagreement were coded as zero. The sixth variable states that being
a housewife is as fulfilling as working for pay. Again, strong agreement and
agreement were coded conservatively (1) and disagreement and strong dis-
agreement were coded as zero. The statement that having a job is the best
way for a woman to be an independent person (the seventh variable in the
index) was coded so that strong agreement and agreement were coded lib-
erally (0) and disagreement and strong disagreement were coded as one. The
eighth variable asks for degree of agreement/disagreement with the idea that
both the husband and wife should contribute to household income. This was
coded so that strong agreement and agreement were coded liberally (0) and
disagreement and strong disagreement were coded as one.
All variables were added to create the gender role index (see Table 2). The
index’s reliability scores were a ¼ .5493 in Canada, a ¼ .5101 in Mexico,
and a ¼ .5596 in the United States.7 Explanations, mean scores, and Stand-
ard deviations associated with the variables in the index as well as a statistics
are summarized in Table 2.
RESULTS
As shown in Table 3, the results from an analysis of variance indicated a
significant relationship exists between the index measuring sex role ideology
and the three countries selected for analysis (F ¼ 18.955, df ¼ 2, p ¼ .0000).
Table 3. Means Analysis of Sex Role Ideology by Country (Canada,

The United States, and Mexico).
Variable (N) F DF Sig. F Mean Standard Deviation Z Z2
Canada (1334) 3.602 1.864

USA (1522) 3.587 1.857
Mexico (1296) 3.972 1.772
Entire population (4152) 18.9548 2 .000 3.712 1.841 .095 .0091
There are not, however, substantial differences between the mean score of
each country as indicated by the weak correlation (Z ¼ .095) and the very
small variance explained (Z2 ¼ .009). For example, the United States scored
the most liberally on the index (mean ¼ 3.587, SD ¼ 1.864), while Mexico
scored most conservatively (mean ¼ 3.972, SD ¼ 1.772), and Canada’s
score was similar to that of the United States (mean ¼ 3.602, SD ¼ 1.864.).
Eight separate OLS regression analyses have been performed in an at-
tempt to examine the influences of the independent variables upon gender
role ideology. The first two analyses examine attitudes in Canada, Mexico,
and the United States combined. The analysis was first performed without
the inclusion of an interaction term focusing on married males and then
repeated with the term included. The analyses (presented in Table 4) are
both significant (stage 1 F ¼ 46.098, po.001; stage 2 F ¼ 42.247, po.001).
In Table 4, Stage 1, there are significant relationships between the dependent
variable and the independent variables that measure being married, being
male, the age the respondent finished school, the respondent’s age, working
30 or more hours a week, political ideology, and being from Mexico. The
strongest predictor in the model is age (b ¼ .228). This suggests that the
older a person is, the more likely she or he is to have a conservative sex role
ideology. Being from Mexico is the second strongest predictor in the model
(b ¼ .128) and also suggests a more conservative gender role ideology
among those respondents from Mexico. Another one of the stronger rela-
tionships is between sex role ideology and the age at which the respondent
finished going to school. The relationship is inverse and weak to moderate.
In other words, the older a respondent was when she or he finished going to
school, the more liberal his/her attitudes about gender roles.
Persons who are married, males, and persons with more conservative
political ideologies are also slightly more conservative in their attitudes
about gender roles. Persons working in the labor force 30 or more hours
a week, however, demonstrate slightly more liberal attitudes. The model
Table 4. Regression Analysis of Sex Role Ideology by Marital Status,

Sex, Age When Respondent Left School, Age, Labor Force Participation,
Political Ideology, Class, Country, and Race/Ethnicity (Canada, Mexico,
and the United States).
Stage 1 Stage 2
b SE b b b SE b b
Married .182 .066 .047 .195 .089 .051

male .399 .063 .108 .417 .102 .113
Age left school .076 .012 .122 .076 .012 .121
Age .025 .002 .228 .025 .002 .228
Work 30+ h/WK .204 .066 .055 .202 .067 .054
Political views .252 .031 .136 .252 .031 .136
Upper class .153 .115 .030 .154 .115 .030
Middle class .016 .086 .004 .015 .086 .004
Minority .180 .096 .044 .180 .096 .044
Canada .005 .073 .001 .005 .073 .001
Mexico .532 .104 .128 .533 .104 .128
Married male .029 .130 .007
Constant 2.807 2.796
F¼ 46.098 42.247
Sig. F ¼ .000 .000
R2 .141 .141
N ¼ 3096
Source: World Values Data Set.

po.05.
po.01.
presented in Table 4, stage 1 explains 14% (R2 ¼ .141) of the observed

variance in gender role ideology as measured by the index. Stage 2 includes
an interaction term for married males. The variable is not significant and
there is little impact on the dependent variable. Further, the same variables
that were significant in stage 1 are significant here with very little change in
the strength and direction of the relationships, as evidenced in the slopes
displayed in Table 4. There is also no increase in the explanatory power of
the model as a result of including the interaction term. About 14% of the
variance observed in the dependent variable is explained by the model with
the interaction term as well as the one without it (R2 ¼ .141).
The analyses included in Table 4 are intended to provide a comparison
of sex role ideology of persons in Mexico, Canada, and the United States.
In these models, the United States serves as part of the constant. The
coefficient for Canada is not significant. However, the relationship between
living in Mexico and sex role ideology is one of the stronger relationships in
the model. This suggests that there are significant differences between the
sex role ideology of Mexican and American respondents, but not between
American and Canadian respondents. Tables 5–7 move beyond this straight-
forward comparison and attempt to explain the observed variance in gender
role ideology within the individual countries.
A regression analysis of the same independent variables used above and
their relationship to sex role ideology in Canada is displayed in Table 5.
Stages 1 and 2 are both significant (Stage 1: F ¼ 28.294, po.001; Stage 2:
F ¼ 26.653, po.001). The significant relationships in stage 1 are between the
dependent variable and whether or not the respondent is male, the age of the
respondent when she or he finished school, age, working 30 or more hours a
week in the labor force, political views, and being a member of an ethnic or
racial minority group.
The strongest relationships are between the dependent variable and the
respondent’s age as well as the age the respondent finished school. Results

Political Ideology, Class, and Race/Ethnicity (Canada).
Stage 1 Stage 2
b SE b b b SE b b
Married .104 .112 .026 .028 .150 .007

Male .397 .105 .107 .197 .185 .053
Age left school .112 .024 .141 .113 .024 .142
Age .032 .004 .284 .030 .004 .272
Work 30+ h/WK .304 .112 .082 .332 .114 .090
Political views .200 .051 .109 .198 .051 .107
Upper class .122 .187 .284 .101 .188 .021
Middle class .119 .148 .030 .140 .149 .036
Minority .743 .240 .086 .742 .240 .086
F¼ 28.294 26.653
Sig. F ¼ .000 .000
R2 .189 .190
N ¼ 1102

po.05.
po.01.

Political Ideology, Class, and Race/Ethnicity (Mexico).
Stage 1 Stage 2
b SE b b b SE b b
Married .226 .126 .066 .377 .174 .110

male .320 .117 .093 .468 .167 .136
Age left school .073 .016 .164 .073 .016 .164
Age .020 .005 .151 .020 .005 .152
Work 30+ h/WK .032 .119 .009 .042 .119 .012
Political views .221 .057 .128 .221 .057 .128
Upper class .069 .211 .013 .056 .211 .011
Middle class .227 .134 .064 .213 .135 .061
Minority .002 .141 .000 .003 .141 .001
F¼ 12.636 11.537
Sig. F ¼ .000 .000
R2 .123 .125
N ¼ 819

po.05.
po.01.
suggest that older respondents are slightly more likely to have more con-
servative gender role attitudes (b ¼ .284). Further, the relationship between
sex role ideology and the age of finishing school is weak to moderate and
inverse (b ¼ .141). This suggests that the older a person is when she or he
finishes school, the more likely she or he is to have a more liberal sex role
ideology. Males, persons with more conservative political views, and mi-
norities are also slightly more likely to be conservative in terms of their
attitudes about gender roles.
The model explains 19% of the observed variance in sex role ideology as
measured by the index. Stage 2 includes the interaction term focusing upon
married males. The relationship between the interaction term and the de-
pendent variable is not significant. With the exception that being male is no
longer significant in Stage 2, there are no significant differences in the re-
lationships between the independent variables included in the two models
as a result of the term’s inclusion.8 Nineteen percent of the observed var-
iance is explained by the model. As in Table 4, there was no increase in the

Political Ideology, Class, and Race/Ethnicity (United States).
Stage 1 Stage 2
b SE b b b SE b b
Married .217 .110 .055 .276 .148 .070

male .420 .106 .111 .505 .178 .133
Age left school .060 .026 .069 .061 .026 .070
Age .020 .003 .189 .021 .003 .191
Work 30+ h/WK .231 .113 .061 .223 .114 .059
Political views .315 .053 .165 .316 .053 .165
Upper class .014 .211 .003 .016 .211 .003
Middle class .245 .163 .057 .243 .163 .057
Minority .681 .157 .123 .685 .157 .124
F¼ 19.216 17.318
Sig. F ¼ .000 .000
R2 .129 .130
N ¼ 1175

po.05.
po.01.
explanatory power of the model by including the interaction term (Stage 2:

R2 ¼ .190).
Table 6 replicates the above analyses for Mexico. As in the previous
tables, both Stages 1 and 2 are significant (Stage 1: F ¼ 12.636, po.001;
Stage 2: F ¼ 11.537, po.001). The significant relationships in stage 1 are
between the dependent variable and being male, the age of the respondent
when she or he finished school, the age of the respondent, and political
views.
The age the respondent finished school is the strongest relationship in the
model and is inversely related to gender role beliefs (b ¼ .164). The older
the respondent is when she or he finishes school, the less likely the re-
spondent is to answer conservatively regarding gender roles. Persons with
conservative political views and males are also more likely to exhibit a
conservative gender role ideology. The model explains 12% of the variance
in the dependent variable (R2 ¼ .123). The inclusion of the interaction term
in Stage 2 is, again, not significant. Marital status becomes significant,
however, and suggests that married persons are slightly more likely to have
more traditional gender role ideologies. Nevertheless, the explanatory power
of the model is not substantially increased by the inclusion of the interaction
term (R2 ¼ .123 (Stage 1); R2 ¼ .125 (Stage 2)).
The regression analyses performed for the United States were both sig-
nificant as well (Table 7, Stage 1: F ¼ 19.216, po.001; Stage 2: F ¼ 17.318,
po.001). The significant variables in stage 1 include being married, being
male, the age of the respondent when she or he finished school, age, par-
ticipation in the labor force for 30 h or more a week, political views, and
being a member of a racial or ethnic minority. The strongest relationships
are between the dependent variable and the respondent’s age as well as the
dependent variable and the respondent’s political views. This suggests that
older respondents are slightly more likely to have conservative views re-
garding gender roles (b ¼ .189). Also, persons with more conservative po-
litical views, married respondents, and males are slightly more likely to score
conservatively. Inverse relationships, on the other hand, exist between a
respondent’s gender role ideology and the age at which she or he finished
school, working in the labor force for 30 or more hours a week, and mi-
nority status. In other words, persons who were older when they finished
their schooling, persons who work in the labor force 30 h or more per week,
and racial and ethnic minorities are more likely to exhibit more liberal
gender role ideologies.
The model explains 13% of the observed variance in the dependent var-
iable (Stage 1: R2 ¼ .129). The interaction term focusing upon married
males is included in Stage 2. The model, as stated previously, remains sig-
nificant. There are no significant shifts in the individual relationships with
the dependent variable with the exception that marital status and labor force
participation are no longer significant. Further, the inclusion of the inter-
action does not improve the explanatory power of the model, and remains
13% (Stage 2: R2 ¼ .13).
COMPARING RESULTS FOR CANADA, MEXICO,

AND THE UNITED STATES
The unstandardized regression coefficients presented in Tables 5–7 allow the

researcher to compare the impact of the independent variables across each
country. The relationships that are significant in all of the models are be-
tween the dependent variable measuring sex role ideology and the inde-
pendent variables measuring the age of the respondent, the respondent’s age
when she or he finished school, the respondent’s political views, and being a
male. Significant relationships also exist between the dependent variable and
the independent variables measuring labor force participation and the re-
spondent’s ethnic or racial minority status in the United States (Table 7) and
Canada (Table 5). These relationships, however, are not significant in Mex-
ico (Table 6). The age the respondent finished school is a stronger predictor
of sex role ideology in Canada (b ¼ .112) than in the United States
(b ¼ .060) or Mexico (b ¼ .073).
The same is true with the relationship between the respondent’s age and
the dependent variable. Being an older person is slightly more predictive of
conservative attitudes about gender roles in Canada (b ¼ .032) than in the
United States (b ¼ .020) and Mexico (b ¼ .020). Results suggest that con-
servative political views, on the other hand, are more predictive of con-
servative gender role ideologies in the United States (b ¼ .315) than in
Canada (b ¼ .200) or Mexico (b ¼ .221). Similarly, being a male in the
United States (b ¼ .420) appears to be slightly more indicative of conserv-
ative attitudes about sex roles than being a male in Canada (b ¼ .397) or
Mexico (b ¼ .320). Although it is not significant in Mexico, working in the
labor force 30 h a week or more is predictive of more liberal gender role
ideology in both Canada (b ¼ .304) and in the United States (b ¼ .231).
Finally, while there is no significant relationship between being a racial
and ethnic minority and the dependent variable in Mexico, the relationship
is almost opposite in direction and strength for the United States
(b ¼ .681) and Canada (b ¼ .743). In other words, while being a minor-
ity in the United States is predictive of a more liberal sex role ideology,
racial and ethnic minorities in Canada are more likely to have more con-
servative attitudes about gender roles.
DISCUSSION
These results fail to support Hypothesis One. In fact, findings suggest that con-
trolling for marital status, sex, the age the respondent left school, the respond-
ent’s age, labor force participation, political views, social class, and minority
status, still result in Mexico being a significant predictor of a conservative
gender role ideology. However, Hypothesis Two is supported, as findings
suggest that being a male in the United States or Canada is more likely to
predict conservative gender role ideologies than being a male in Mexico when
controlling for those variables listed above. In other words, Mexican males
exhibit no more of a ‘‘machismo’’ attitude than male respondents in the U.S.
or Canada. In fact, there is a smaller difference between men and women in

Mexico than between their American or Canadian counterparts, at least as
those views are measured here. This directly contradicts the often-expressed
popular myth of the chauvinist Mexican man.
Because the gender role questions used in these surveys focus on the
legitimacy of homemaker roles for women, it may be the case that they do
not capture Mexican attitudes about gender roles as well as they do those of
Americans and Canadians. Accordingly, it may be the case that economic
demands in Mexico mean that, in spite of demonstrated traditional beliefs,
beliefs about homemaker roles are necessarily fluid. In the U.S. and Canada,
it may be the case that because of nostalgic cultural norms about the ideal
family, that the questions are more likely to distinguish traditional and non-
traditional attitudes. In their discussion of the liberalizing of gender role
ideologies in the United States, Thornton et al. (1983, p. 224) suggest that
education and generational cohort are two of the most substantial influ-
encing factors upon sex role ideology (see also Bryant, 2003; and Harris &
Firestone, 1998 for a discussion of women in the U.S.). Utilizing the var-
iables testing the respondent’s age as well as the age when she or he finished
school as proxies for generational cohort and education, Thornton et al.’s
finding is replicated in this analysis and suggests that these factors may be a
better focus for analysis than either gender or nationality. In fact, respond-
ent’s age as well as the age of the respondent when she or he finished school
were consistently the stronger predictors in the models. Our results expand
the analysis of Thornton et al. (1983) and suggest that this is the case not
only in the United States, but in Mexico and Canada as well.
The explanatory power of the models included in this analysis never ex-
ceeds 20%. The strongest R2 is associated with the Canadian model
(R2 ¼ .189). Twelve to thirteen percent of the variance is explained by the
models for both the United States and Mexico, and the comparative model
explains 14% in the three countries combined. The inclusion of the inter-
action term examining married males did nothing to increase the explan-
atory power of any of the models and resulted in no significant differences in
the slopes of any of the independent variables included in the models. To
improve the analysis, future research efforts might be better served by cre-
ating a series of dummy variables for age in order to capture cohort or
intergenerational impacts, as the differences observed in age in this analysis
are likely a result of a cohort effect rather than an aging one – that is, rather
than a shift to traditional gender ideologies as one ages.
Since the variable measuring social class was an interviewer coded var-
iable, future efforts might include a standardized earnings variable, which
would allow for different monetary units, changes because of inflation or

deflation as well as accounting for differences in standards of living and
poverty levels across nations. Other efforts might also include a variable
examining the impact of having children in the household and a variable
measuring the respondent’s religiosity. Nevertheless, this research does help
to support some of the work done by previous researchers in the United
States, and, further, expands these results by suggesting that stereotypes
regarding groups of people in other countries can be called into question by
controlling the same variables that contribute to more egalitarian or tra-
ditional gender role attitudes in the United States.
Finally, while results suggest moderate gender role ideologies among the
respondents in the United States, Canada, and Mexico overall, social defi-
nitions of appropriate behavior for men and women continue to change.
These changes, as documented and researched by several authors (Bryant,
2003; Harris and Firestone, 1999; Firestone, Harris, & Bollinger, 2000;
Thornton et al., 1983, p. 215), are evidenced by the relationships to age as
well as increases in the educational attainment of men (Bryant, 2003; Moore
& Shackman, 1996, p. 283) and women’s increased labor force participation
(Moore & Shackman, 1996, p. 285).
To conclude, results also suggest that conservative political values are
indicative of similar gender role attitudes regardless of nationality. With this
in mind, one’s attitudes about appropriately gendered behavior can be said to
be a part of a much larger social or political ideology and suggests that these
attitudes may be identified and addressed best by examining the broader
ideological context from which they stem. Certainly, these results highlight
the difficulty of engaging in cross-cultural research. On the one hand, to
accurately compare responses, questions have to be worded the same. On the
other hand, lack of sensitivity to cultural contexts may lead to impacts based
on respondents’ own cultural interpretation of the questions. In the end, the
globalization, which is producing systematic changes across nations may also
be impacting important attitudes and diminishing past differences.
NOTES
1. The desire to complete parallel regressions with exactly the same variables led
to this coding. The original codes for ethnicity in Mexico, however, differ substan-
tially from those in Canada and the U.S., with codes for white (19.8%), black
(0.5%), medium brown skin (35.5%), yellow skin (0.3%), light brown skin (22.6%),
Indian (5.6%), and dark brown skin (15.7%) (World Values Study Group, 1994).
Investigating variations among all categories established that the whites have a
considerably larger percent classified as upper and upper middle class (19.14%
compared to 8.82%, 11.27%, and 4.17) for the medium, light, and dark brown,
respectively, providing some support for the dichotomous minority group classifi-
cation. Further, responses on the gender role ideology variable were very similar,
with mean scores of 4.07, 3.88, and 4.06 for the medium, light, and dark brown. This
compares to 3.7 for the white respondents.
2. This variable was initially coded by the interviewer who was given specifications
as to how to categorize respondents. Beyond this, however, specifics as to the in-
terviewer’s instructions were not outlined in the available codebook.
3. A means test of the dependent variable by the age of the respondent when she
or he left school was performed for all three countries. Only Mexico demonstrated
significant deviations from linearity (p ¼ 003). It should be noted, however, that
there is only a difference of .03 between the R statistic and the Z. Further, as ex-
hibited by the means, the deviations occur mostly for those respondents of 21 years
of age or older, and is expected as fewer persons will go to college after completing
high school.
4. A means test of the dependent variable by the age of the respondent was
performed for all three countries. There are no significant deviations from linearity.
5. A means test of the dependent variable by the standardized political ideology
scale was performed. Both Mexico and Canada demonstrated significant deviations
from linearity (Canada p ¼ .000, Mexico p ¼ .0118). It should be noted, however,
that there is only a difference of .06 between the R statistic and the Z in Canada and a
difference of .05 in Mexico. Further, as exhibited by the means, the deviations occur
mostly as the mean increases for moderate respondents and decreases for those on
either political extreme and is expected.
6. Skewness and Kurtosis statistics were used as the basis for this assessment.
7. a coefficients are typically considered to be conservative measures of internal
consistency, and a’s over .5 are often accepted as sufficiently reliable measures,
especially given the difficulty of using the same questions across different cultures.
8. The largest observable difference is between the slopes of the labor force par-
ticipation variables (Step 1: b ¼ .032, Step 2: b ¼ .332). A t-test indicated there was
no significant difference (t ¼ .173).
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124
THE ‘‘FREE UNIVERSITY OF
WOMEN.’’ REFLECTIONS ON THE
CONDITIONS FOR A FEMINIST
POLITICS OF KNOWLEDGE
Paola Melchiori
ABSTRACT
In this paper I draw some reflections from the experience of the Free
University of Women in Milan, Italy. Through this experience it was
possible to clarify some of the main issues at stake in feminist knowledge
production and pedagogy such as: the relationship between women’s and
feminist culture, the knowledge production processes which occur among
women, their epistemology, and the kind of scientific rigor of such a body
of knowledge. These issues are particularly important from the perspec-
tive of teaching and transmitting feminism to a new generation of women.
INTRODUCTION
Culture is not a way to attain emancipation, but it is a precise answer to intellectual,
existential and vital needs. Culture is a tool for research concerning life, a ‘‘quality’’ of
life, not a ‘‘quantity’’ to be possessed.
The aim of our research is not only to reinstate female presence in various disciplines,
but to investigate the meaning of the fantastic and real man/woman, masculine/feminine,

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125
126 PAOLA MELCHIORI
relationship, which lies at the origin and shapes any kind of knowledge, finding out
which transformations a female subject brings into them. (Melchiori, 1986)
This is the opening ‘‘manifesto’’ of an institution created by a handful of

women, in Milan, Italy, which will soon reach its 20th birthday. The text was
written at its foundation, in 1986, after 10 years of experimenting with
different possible institutional forms. This independent organization was
called the ‘‘Free University of Women.’’ The women who founded the Free
University were feminists, some of them university professors, particularly
interested in what I would call, today, a feminist politics of knowledge. All of
them had been involved, at various levels, in research and action around the
issue of how the culture of resistance of an oppressed group can become an
autonomous culture, able not only to demystify the ideology of a culture and
a science with their pretended goals of objectivity, rationality, and univer-
sality, but also to move toward a new conception of science and culture. This
background and their feminist intellectual practice led them to invent space
autonomous from the academy. The autonomy of this space, the absence of
negotiations with bureaucracy, the freedom of thinking outside the frame-
works allowed an exploration and a clear identification, if not solution, of the
main issues at stake in feminist knowledge production and pedagogy.
THE ‘‘150 HOURS’’
The ‘‘150 Hours’’ is the name that was given to a contractual improvement
gained by Italian auto and steel workers in 1973, a time when Italian unions
were led by a radical generation of workers and joined by many intellectuals.
The employers had to pay for 150 hours every three years for cultural and
learning activities undertaken by each of their employees, who would add
the same amount of hours from their free time. The ‘‘150 hours’’ clause was
quickly adopted in other industrial sectors, and later extended to the un-
employed and adults in general, which brought many women, first workers,
then housewives and the unemployed, to the courses. All the unions decided
to give priority to remedial programs for older workers who had never had
access to schooling, followed by wider programs aimed at granting all
workers a high school diploma. The State was then asked to recognize such
independent programs as ‘‘public school.’’ During the same period, some
unions organized independent ‘‘university’’ seminars and training sessions
for top representatives of labor, political, and cultural groups. The political
thrust and strength, that had made the ‘‘150 hours’’ possible, also pushed
The ‘‘Free University of Women’’ 127
the public administration to agree to offer teachers and logistical support to

host workers’ evening programs in public schools and universities and, at
the same time, to recognize the best intellectuals chosen by unions and social
movements as trainers of all the teachers. In three years 100,000 metallurgic
workers went back to public schools with programs designed by Marxist
and leftist intellectuals.
Although the secondary school phase was more problematic owing to the
complexity of redesigning the curricula and the resistance from the State to
recognize the programs, at this higher level the experiment was huge, very
different from the adult schooling promoted in the Anglo-Saxon tradition.
It was an experiment managed directly by the unions, the workers’ cultural
vanguards together with some intellectuals. They had taken responsibility
for learning objectives, methods, and for negotiating the recognition of their
programs with state authorities. The choice of curricula, the composition of
the student body and teaching faculty amounted to a true political and
cultural experiment. Pupils consisted of blue-collar vanguards who had led
the 1968 struggles together with the students, and the teachers were these
same students who were coming back en mass to help and learn from their
blue-collar allies.
This experiment was an attempt by the lower classes at reclaiming and
modifying culture. The attempt was sustained by a rich Gramscian tradi-
tion, by the debate surrounding Brazil’s Paulo Freire’s exile to Geneva, but
above all by the questioning of the Marxist tradition that occurred in those
years, through a rereading of Lucaks, Rosa Luxembourg, and other intel-
lectuals. These writers were rethinking the formation of a class conscience
and a concept of political avant-garde in a different way than the classic
Marxist tradition. The main question at stake was what possibility this
political vanguard had, entering the world of culture, to rethink its meaning,
its neutrality, its production processes, its capacity to really afford the cre-
ation of a different culture and science. The general objectives, as mentioned
in the programs were for strengthening collective control over labor con-
ditions and production processes, reclaiming school education without ca-
pitulating to outdated standards, questioning school’s social function and
neutrality, and defining the intellectual’s role in relation to blue-collar and
lower classes. The intention was to avoid oversimplifications and to select
the best of the cultural tradition, reinterpreting bourgeois culture, and lo-
cating its usefulness from the point of view of alternative social and his-
torical positions. This needed a collective effort from different positions.
The workers’ avant-gardes, the Trade Unions who had got this space,
needed intellectuals to collaborate. A space opened up for an unusual
128 PAOLA MELCHIORI
collaboration between students and political leaders, each interested in the

political meaning of culture, science and education. Academics, intellectual
leaders within the unions, popular adult educators, and researchers joined in
many centralized and decentralized groups of discussion and curricula
planning at national and local levels. Such a process of collective reflection
appealed not only to independent intellectuals, teachers, and students, but
also to traditional academics. They opened the doors of their institutes to
blue-collar workers, invited unionists to lecture in their universities, and put
into question the goals and the social power of their knowledge.
The debate, the teaching and the programs focused on how to form an
‘‘alternative social consciousness.’’ A whole series of more specific questions
were raised: What kind of relationship should be established with middle-
class culture – acquisition, refusal, critique? How to go about building
knowledge and historical truths while maintaining and showing awareness
of partiality and non-neutrality? How does class-consciousness develop?
What are the linkages between experience and its symbolization, between
action and reflection? What is the role of teachers, of the full-time intel-
lectual, of the cultural organizer? What is the relationship among social
struggles, the changes that such struggles produce, and the cultural inter-
pretations of these transformations?
For years, classes were busy reading and debating the classics of the
political Marxist tradition for the light they could shed on the formation of
ideology. At that time, it was not uncommon for students and workers to
read together the works of Marx, Sartre, Lukacs, Merleau-Ponty, Marcuse,
Fanon, and others.
The influence of Paulo Freire meant that much attention was given to the
individual experiences of the people attending courses. Oral histories, real-
life anecdotes, the experiences of immigrants and factory workers were told
in the first person, collected into texts, worked through with the intent of
supporting research on how life experience combines with conscience pro-
duction and knowledge production, to the point that they could even change
the content of formal academic subjects and redesign their disciplinary
boundaries and epistemological tools. On the other side, some formalized
disciplines were used largely to offer new insights to unravel the cultural
patterns and meanings lying behind different life experiences.
In the best cases, from these interrelations, new fields, interdisciplinarily
reframed, were created. The best results were reached when strong intel-
lectuals of certain disciplines became available and were curious to rethink
their own foundation paradigms from these perspectives. In a renewed tie,
formed among social processes, political action, and different forms of
cultural analysis and knowledge, a political stand simultaneously questioned

ideology, the neutrality of science, and the constitution of disciplines, in an
attempt to find a new rigor and epistemology. Many intellectuals attempted
to bring the outcomes of these independent and alternative experiences
into academia and took the movement as their most important basis for
theorizing. We will see later how this attitude also strongly influenced
feminist ideas on how to set ‘‘women’s and feminist studies’’ inside the
universities.
FROM THE ‘‘CLASS’’ TO THE INDIVIDUAL

The results of this experiment presented many surprises. School classes
slowly formed into ‘‘free ports’’ where both cultural norms and politically
correct behaviors were put on hold. Listening passionately and investigating
individual stories rather than studying abstract ideology became para-
mount.
In this process, however, the mythology of abstract conceptions like
‘‘class’’ was progressively replaced by the real histories of people, and real-
life experiences, apart from ideology. This meant that the homogeneity of
the ‘‘class culture’’ began breaking down into differences and conflicts, the
real confrontation of what we would call today, many ‘‘situated knowledg-
es.’’ ‘‘Vanguards’’ become ‘‘people’’ filled with contradictory desires oscil-
lating between ‘‘integration’’ and ‘‘revolution.’’ The distance between the
idealization of the working class and the complex existence of real workers
became evident. Also evident was the ‘‘internalization of the oppressor.’’
Teachers were almost disappointed because they were expecting to find ‘‘the
leadership of the working class.’’ They found it difficult to manage the
complexity and uneasiness of dealing with contradictory and conflicting
individualities marked by an internal struggle between the values of the
oppressed and of the oppressor. The complexity of individual subjectivities
fragmented the compactness of ‘‘the idea.’’
When ‘‘class consciousness’’ was left free to express itself without the
constraints of political correctness, it displayed all its convoluted complex-
ity. An analysis of a deeper oppression having to do with the subjectivity of
the individual members of the working class started to enter Marxist ana-
lysis. Frantz Fanon, Marcuse, Laing, Foucault, and what was then called
the antiauthoritarian psychoanalytic movement, led by the psychoanalyst
Elvio Fachinelli and by Lea Melandri, who would be one of founders of the
Italian feminist movement. Melandri contributed greatly to the analysis of
130 PAOLA MELCHIORI
the subjectivity and the formation of the culture of a class that is at the same
time culturally colonized and yet in a position to demystify the ideological
constructions of the dominant sciences and culture.
‘‘MORE DUST IN OUR HOUSES, LESS DUST

IN OUR BRAINS’’
The title of this paragraph, above, is the heading of the class journal given
by the women who joined the courses during those years, mainly house-
wives. Following the first wave of auto and steel workers, women started
taking up courses; women workers, but mostly home workers, nurses, un-
employed women, migrant women, lately, brought different voices to the
working class. What happened was that at the end of each course, male
workers usually went back to their occupations, while women did not want
to leave the classes. They kept coming back, even to repeat the same course.
The voices of illiterate, working and popular classes of women started en-
tering the space of a public school. It was estimated that 2,000 women came
back to school in the first three years.
For the women, the courses proved to be places of discovery of ‘‘another
possible life;’’ they could give voice to their solitudes, consciousness and life-
experiences, free from cultural and political norms. A space, a social public
haven, was provided in which it was possible to talk in the first person about
women’s experiences about unspoken suffering, suffering that was con-
sidered worthy of study. The collective sharing of this life-based knowledge
became, literally, a condition for survival.
Feminist teachers immediately reached these spaces where ‘‘normal
women’’ were speaking to each other, raising consciousness, studying all
kinds of books voraciously, learning to express themselves, and giving fem-
inism the voices of women who feminism feared it would never reach. ‘‘Or-
dinary’’ women brought to the table a wealth of experiences and reflections
on the relationship between life and knowledge, between women’s culture
and feminist culture.
Women’s philosophy was formed at night, washing dishes, ironing shirts,
tiding things up when everybody is asleep. It was formed, they said, ‘‘when
everyone is gone, and our kids stop bringing us dirty laundry,’’ when the
purpose of ‘‘service’’ in our lives becomes most apparent and ‘‘emptiness
knocks at the door of our conscience.’’ It was at this juncture that women
discovered a ‘‘desire for knowledge of the world’’ which was also a desire for
‘‘knowledge of the self.’’ Little by little the courses were literally invaded by
women, mostly housewives, ‘‘more dust in our houses, less dust on our
brains.’’
Women’s real presence changed the terms of the intellectual and political
debate as the consciousness raising methodology of feminists was added to
the mix of Marxist and Gramscian traditions, and psychoanalysis. More-
over, after the initial enthusiasm, the increase in the number of women
joining the courses awakened a growing intolerance from the unions. They
were ‘‘disturbed’’ by women’s methodology and themes. The combination
of these factors with the attempt of Italian feminism to enlarge its reach
while keeping all its autonomy led to a separation of the women’s courses
from the unions and to the start of independent cultural organizations which
later became the ‘‘Free University of Women.’’
THE ITALIAN FEMINIST CONTEXT
The years between 1976 and 1980 coincided with a second feminist wave. In
this wave feminists were looking for more contact with women of different
experiences, classes, and history. The ‘‘cloistered’’ period of strict self-ac-
tualization was followed by attempts to make the feminist movement more
visible in society. A pedagogical setting was identified as the right space to
continue the work started in consciousness raising groups, a space to ana-
lyze the problems of power that were starting to appear in the ideal world of
sisterhood and the particular kind of authority that was, at the same time,
dominating the groups and putting them in crisis. It was considered that any
political practice where what is supposed to be transmitted is not only
knowledge, but a certain kind of ‘‘consciousness,’’ has a more or less visible
pedagogical implication made of the interconnection between an authority
coming from ‘‘the experience of life,’’ and an authority coming from a more
classic knowledge base.
The space of ‘‘150 hours’’ was ideal for developing a work of this kind.
Some of the ‘‘150 hours’’ course teachers were already feminists; others
joined the movement, attracted by the power of women whose great wisdom
was matched only by their great lack of formal acculturation.
It is important to note that Italian feminism, along with the political and
cultural background mentioned above, was strongly permeated by Marxist
culture and was born as a separation and differentiation from the left. What
in the United States was called the debate on the feminist standpoint, with-
out its later post-structuralist component, took place very early in Italy.
With two characteristics: a strong anti-institutional approach including the
132 PAOLA MELCHIORI
idea of trying to influence the academic world with its own principles and
rules, and the identification of psychoanalytic thinking as a tool particularly
important to understand the specific oppression of women.
The first meant that the prevailing idea, inherited also by women’s studies,
was not to enter the academic world but to dismantle the structure of a
self-pretended neutral knowledge and science, from the outside, from the
perspective and the strengths of the social movements and their organic
intellectuals, deepening the Marxian critique of ideology. According to
Marxian analysis of ideology, revisited through Gramsci and Lucaks, the
idea was that a really rigorous and creative knowledge could only be pro-
duced by intellectuals coming from a class whose position in economy and
society was able to unmask the lies of a false ideology. Academics, freed by
the need to strictly follow disciplinary and academic rules, conceived as
organic intellectuals, were welcome to collaborate in this deconstruction and
reconstruction process.
The second meant that, in this framework, Italian feminism, deepening
the analysis of the material basis of women’s oppression and trying to il-
luminate all the aspects of power and patriarchy, incorporating psychoan-
alytic tools into the analysis of patriarchy, and the critique of its ideology,
invented a ‘‘special version’’ of consciousness raising, called the ‘‘practice of
the unconsciousness.’’ The name was meant to combine a traditional con-
sciousness raising practice, taking as its basis the narrative of every single
woman, with a particular use of psychoanalysis, enacted in the ‘‘women’s
group.’’ The underlying hypothesis was that the group eliminates the phys-
ical presence of men, which is what impedes women from thinking of
themselves from themselves. As the psychoanalyst Manuela Fraire writes:
One of the elements that hinders the possibility for women to produce not only their own
culture but also a critical perspective on the existent one, is men’s physical presence. The
co-presence of men and women does not allow the women to think of themselves. They
answer a command so old as to be confused with the instinct leading to the fact that,
where the man is present, he represents the organizing mind and rationality, while
women are inevitably pushed to impersonate the body and instinctuality. (Fraire, 1989,
p. 128, Melchiori transl.)
In this ‘‘primary scenery’’ of patriarchy, women are obliged to represent the

continuity of existence while men can act the dreams of an immortal and
non-embodied mind. Out of the existence given to them by the male pres-
ence, paradoxically, the pervasiveness of its imaginary presence becomes
even more evident but can be kept at a distance, can be analyzed.
This primitive scenery of patriarchy becomes accessible to elaboration
and change only by this combination of material absence and imaginary
presence. In this situation the ‘‘group of women’’ does not guarantee any
difference per se. However, making visible the obstacles women meet in
thinking about reality and about themselves in a re-composition of mind
and body, trying to give voice to their own experience in their own way, they
can detect the misogyny that inhabits their intellectual world, show which
fears, complicities and seductions have to be elaborated, and thus become
subjects and producers of an autonomous culture. ‘‘The group of women’’
allows the permanence of this standpoint, through women’s collective pres-
ence and, making available to women a different imagination about them-
selves, legitimating different linkages between body and mind, and making
possible a different knowledge production process.
The evocation of motherhood is, in this sense, the possibility of making
alive again, recalling in a lived emotional experience, the presence of the first
element which constitutes every personal subjectivity: the mirroring eye of a
mother/woman. The re-composition of mind and body, made possible by a
women’s group, by a valorized mother’s eye, evokes however a work to be
done, a project for the future, not an already available inheritance of the
past. The recuperation of what was called a ‘‘feminine mediation’’ toward
the world, through a mother figure, is necessary, but dangerous and am-
bivalent. In order to understand the complex and contradictory dynamics of
women’s groups oscillating among strong sisterhood, strong rivalries, and
deadly personal competition, the specificity of a new mother/daughter re-
lationship with all its discoveries, ambiguities and ambivalences, had to be
taken into consideration.
The combination of Marxist critique of ideology and psychoanalysis, used
in consciousness raising groups, is, in my opinion, the most original and
interesting trait of Italian feminism. Among other things, it prompted many
academics to rethink their cultural formation and try what was called a
‘‘wild’’ interdisciplinary approach, a ‘‘stealing’’ of bits and pieces of various
disciplines, recombining them according to a different logic, and thereby
undoing the path that had led them to acculturation.
A new hierarchy of knowledge emerged during these processes, so diffe-
rent from the usual one, that one could easily remember group meetings
where the academics and even the professional analysts were rethinking and
silently accepting the guidance of ‘‘natural feminist leaders’’ who were rec-
ognized as able to weave a different set of connections between events and
knowledge, using different disciplinary approaches, making visible new
linkages and meanings which would have been meaningless in any tradi-
tional academic context. In that environment the recognized authority was
that of those who were able to keep together the dualities that patriarchal
134 PAOLA MELCHIORI
culture has created, who were able to create new meanings incorporating
lived experience and knowledge, and who were creating an ‘‘embodied
mind.’’ The roots of this authority were complex, a combination of con-
sciousness, life experiences, wisdom, critical rethinking about knowledge,
and its production processes from a point of view able to ‘‘see through’’
them, unveiling the critical silences that constitute them. Not an ‘‘only
women’’ knowledge but a critical women’s eye on knowledge, an eye not
immune to patriarchy, but able to detect its own complicity and, only from
that consciousness, able to build new knowledge.
WOMEN’S SPACES, WOMEN’S CULTURE: THE FREE

UNIVERSITY OF WOMEN
The independent organization that was created at this point was called the
‘‘Free University of Women.’’ ‘‘Free’’ being used here according to the
German ‘‘Freie Universitat’’ model, an autonomous university born in Ber-
lin in the 1960s, in the midst of the student movements, where the freedom
referred both to difference from traditional knowledge and also to reclaim-
ing of a conceptual rigor as valid as the academic one.
The idea was to give words and memory to women’s subjectivity and
experiences, contrasting them with academic cultures and disciplines in or-
der to rethink knowledge production, its system, and its epistemology. It
was implied that the teachers were feminists, researching and teaching
women the methodology of feminist research, more than its results, thereby
questioning the structure and process of knowledge production in the var-
ious disciplines. It was seen as crucial that the collaboration of different
women and feminists not be absorbed by academic mechanisms and by the
strength of the academic organization of knowledge. The presence of ‘‘or-
dinary’’ women was seen as a guarantee for not losing touch with women’s
culture as the real basis for feminist knowledge.
The strong collaboration between women and feminists came out of the
fact that many feminist teachers had found a deeper self-involvement with
women during the experiences of the ‘‘150 hours.’’ Teaching women a
knowledge that was at the same time an enemy and an object of love, a
knowledge not made for women and by women, going back to and openly
facing the price paid to enter any field of knowledge, in the presence of
almost illiterate women pupils, led to unforeseen results. Women not ac-
culturated, were and are, implacable memories of a feminine identity, living
memory of what one had to cut, to abandon, in the exercise of learning and
accepting the rules and the secrets of patriarchal knowledge. These women
were revealing to feminists the secret misogyny still embedded in their own
intellectual activity and knowledge.
More specific hypotheses about the relationship between women and
culture started to appear. Feminists had to question their own love for their
chosen disciplines, asking themselves to what extent culture was used to
mask their belonging to their gender, somehow guaranteeing them a neutral
identity. The structure and goals of culture were questioned from the point
of view of women’s real-life experiences and from the point of view of non-
elite cultures as well as from the point of view of the meaning of intellectual
activities in relation to sexuality.
A pedagogical setting was an ideal space to analyze all these issues in slow
motion. It was a protected setting, like a laboratory, where it was possible to
observe the making of a knowledge process for an individual woman starting
from its very beginning. Here the kind of questions that life experiences pose
to a knowledge system and to different disciplines, and also the interplay of
differences among women as sources of power and potential conflict could be
seen. Because in a formally recognized pedagogical setting the power of the
historically cumulated differences, of culture and of class, are explicitly de-
clared, and because the borders between teachers and pupils can be explicitly
made the objects of analysis, observation can be made of how the intellectual
power and the social power implied in these differences operates to affect the
ideal sorority of women working together in a common project.
Throughout this experience, identities and differences among women ap-
parently cut through ‘‘quantities’’ of culture, literacy, wealth, and class,
which inevitably create a hierarchy of values, and start to redesign them-
selves in unexpected ways. Various overlapping scenarios of a process of
knowledge production and transmission reenacted themselves under new
perspectives.
THE PEDAGOGICAL SETTING AS A LABORATORY
A course or class of women is first of all an environment. It can be described as

a complex forum crossed by a variety of currents and tensions giving place to
a force-field where many levels play and appear at the same time. How does a
woman enter the knowledge production process from her own body and not
have to forget her own sexual identity? This is the process to be observed. It
means unfolding the minute steps of how the intermittencies of the body link
with the work of symbolization, how intellectual activities are symbolized in
136 PAOLA MELCHIORI
relation to sexuality, how abstractions and generalizations are made, how

basic paradigms for judgment and further knowing are constructed.
More analytically, we can observe:
the meaning of cultural activities in the personal emotional balance of

women. The relationship between learning, its contents and its tools, its
activities, such as writing/ speaking/ reading: what I would call the (emo-
tional economy) of knowledge;
the secret animation of knowledge, that is, the secret life of disciplinary
thinking as a whole system and as a single discipline;
the interrogation that the chaos of experience poses to the structure of
knowledge itself, to its founding paradigms, and the implication in terms
of the relationship between reality and the abstractions necessary to
knowledge; and
finally, the interplay of differences among women in terms of the kinds of
power that emerge among women and in the building of the fabric of a
women’s society. These include the differences of social condition, cultural
history, time constraints, age, life situations, and emotional attachments.
Often, young and single women find themselves leading older women with
children and families along their cultural journey. Today older women
have to transmit to younger women their knowledge and experience.
These elements are important in a scenario, which willing or not, evoke
maternal and filial roles that continually give additional and side mean-
ings to the process of learning.
A CULTURE FOR LIFE

What needs to be understood first is the purpose of cultural activity in the
formation of any female subjectivity. The central goal in women’s quest is not
pure knowledge. It is always related to a quest for life. Cultural acquisition is
the stated goal of education and courses, but it occurs inside a relationship so
involving that it cannot be displaced by the objects of culture. Intellectual
work cannot be separated from emotional ties. Teaching and learning among
women allows a kind of restarting of the process under different conditions,
without first having to repeat the splitting of body and mind.
The first striking event, in terms of emotional setting, is the reawakening
of desire, a ‘‘sparkly feeling.’’ As one woman defined it, like an awakening.
What is waking up is the opening of the possibility to access reality with a
less painful symbolization process. It is the suspension of a sentence, the
reopening of a story with a different possible end, the tying back of old
threads. What is interesting is the fact that this feeling is shared by teachers
and pupils. The renewed tie to which I am referring is that between women’s
drives and the will for knowledge. The shadow usually cast by women’s
traditionally passive response to their own desires, mind, and body is blown
away. Action goes back to its neutral point, before the polarization of
characters fixes individual features into stereotypical historical identities.
The mere presence of another woman evokes the possibility of easing the
split between mind and body as the precondition of access to the world of
knowledge. This is the split responsible for setting the original contrapo-
sition between mind and body against each other, replicating countless times
the sexual dualism of ‘‘opposite’’ or, what is the same for women’s destiny,
its ‘‘complementary.’’
If ‘‘the man/woman relationship is the most fundamental locus of all
unequal relationships,’’ and if this relationship has ‘‘crept and multiplied in
the deepest strata of consciousness and society,’’ (Balandier, 1985, p. 83)
then the slightest intentional movement of symbolism makes it remerge in its
defining elements. A whole pattern which had remained submerged comes to
the surface. Teachers and students produce knowledge, but as the presence
of women’s bodies is unavoidable, they have to question themselves about
the relationship between their knowledge and their sexual identities.
A pupil is a receiver of a knowledge not created by and for women while
the teacher is the mediator of it. Knowledge is not ‘‘gendered’’ by changing
the gender of its mediator, but in this presence, a double process takes place.
On one hand, students/women can approach knowledge and learn under the
understanding eye of other women, now seeing their gender as the legitimate
subject of knowledge and thought. On the other, teachers ‘‘unlearn’’ their
knowledge.
If a feminist is supposed to have clarity about the meaning of the process
which is going on, she is not immune from the process. The feminist pres-
ence is the guarantee of a different possibility for women; they witness the
possibility of learning without sacrificing their own gender. But the process
involves teachers as well because what is at stake is the whole meaning of the
intellectual activity for a female subject. Therefore, from different positions,
both teachers and students go through similar experiences. Women’s pres-
ence reactivates for teachers’ dormant memories, reconnecting with the
emotional pathways, which lead women both to (new) modes of thought
and to new relationships with different thought modes.
The act of teaching women gets charged with all the cultural messages
relating to women, femininity, female, body and its equivalent, and in the
138 PAOLA MELCHIORI
process such messages become entrenched. Women who are learning evoke
the cumbersome weight of the female body, its resistance to the mind, but
they also guarantee that the female figure will not disappear in the process.
An original often forgotten process of re-enactment occurs, a process
through which teachers can re-live and re-look through the deep meaning of
their own cultural history in relation to their gender is re-enacted. They can
see the unfolding of their own process of symbolization, the approaching of
their intellectual activities and the deep reasons for the emergence of a
passion for a certain subject or a certain discipline. How do the activities of
the mind unfold in relation to the sexual polarities and the body: Subju-
gation? Control? Revenge? Oblivion? And which feelings, emotions, in re-
lation to which imagination of femininity and sexuality?
This thinking in presence with other feminine subjectivities, in reality and in
the imaginary, creates a collective ‘‘gendered eye’’ which is more than the
addition of the individual women. This collective eye, embodied by real and
imaginary presences, takes a stance outside patriarchal parameters; sets a
process which allows, promotes, and legitimates new links between emotions,
thoughts, and phenomena; and gives meaning to ideas and processes that
would not have any meaning in other contexts. This is what was at stake in
consciousness raising. The possibility of doing this together consciously and
explicitly, with a more refined and focused process of consciousness raising
about cultural and intellectual activities, is what Italian feminist psychoan-
alyst, Manuela Fraire, called, during a conversation, a ‘‘conscious raising of
second degree.’’ Here feminist consciousness is important; it means the ca-
pacity to understand the process, and possibly to readdress it.
Many ‘‘women’s studies’’ programs that were developed in the early years,
before the ‘‘gender studies’’ took over, inside the universities, rested on the
same premises: opening up to the ‘‘pressure exercised by obscure lives,’’ iden-
tifying the purpose of knowledge, and of possible applications of culture from
the point of view of women. We could wonder today, what was subsequently
lost of this attempt to re-compose life and knowledge, bodies and minds.
THE SECRET ANIMATION OF KNOWLEDGE
The legitimization of different questions, of certain modes of intellectual

operating has consequences. It modifies the structure of knowledge pro-
duction processes, their epistemology, their contents, and the kinds of
questions that give origin to a certain kind of research. It opens up to the
second scenery.
It appears clear, in analyzing the reactions to different disciplines, that

every discipline has a secret existence. Women’s voices that had been excluded
or hidden in the making of the basic paradigms of a discipline reappear as
secretly involved in the formation of any knowledge, as the phantasmic object
behind a man thinker. It is like opening up the boundaries of the knowledge
field to its subconscious images, the images men had in mind when creating
knowledge. This results in an interrogation into the quality of the subject/
object relationship at the core of every knowledge production.
Here again feminist work is important as it is able to give meaning to the
developments of the processes of teaching and learning, reintroducing and
making visible the critical passages, implied but hidden, showing embedded
assumptions, undeclared omissions, supposed logic, or ‘‘natural’’ deduc-
tions. In general, this means making visible some hidden part of the ‘‘ice-
bergs’’ that form the corpus of science and knowledge.
During classes it seemed that women instinctively reacted to something
behind the content of a particular discipline, producing reactions, symp-
toms, body language. Trying to give meaning to these reactions, other fem-
inists were called in to be observers and gather, and analyze the ‘‘symptoms’’
of uneasiness, restlessness or excitement surfacing during class activities, and
idiosyncrasies expressed toward academic subjects, so that it was possible to
clarify their meaning and unearth cultural artifacts buried deep inside the
history of knowledge.
And it was like the re-enactment of the mythical relation between a man and
his sexualized intellectual objects, leading to the foundation of the processes of
knowledge, staged right in front of the observers’ eyes. Just as in consciousness-
raising groups, the absence of the male body allowed women to experience the
lingering power of a ‘‘ghostly’’ male presence, analyzing its internalization, in
the same way knowledge, ‘‘filtered’’ through women’s reactions, did not cancel
the male imprint, it put it ‘‘on hold,’’ under a certain kind of scrutiny. This
scrutiny makes evident on one hand the male basic image secretly carried inside
any discipline and on the other the particular relationship that all teachers
entertain with their own field of knowledge, the emotional economy of knowl-
edge. Giving words to women’s and teachers’ feelings in reaction to every
discipline, the original metaphors become alive again.
In order to better explain what I mean, I refer to Fox Keller’s (1986) work
on the language of science. Fox Keller identifies the basic metaphors with
which science explains reality through examining the diaries and private
images of scientists, illuminating the core issues, and the hidden questions
scientists were attempting to answer with their research. She uncovers the
drive for knowledge and its ties to the drive for power over the female body
140 PAOLA MELCHIORI
as founding the basic scientific metaphors. In the basic paradigms, those

concepts that allow other concepts to be formed, the female body is seen as
something ‘‘to be penetrated in order to reveal its innermost secrets,’’ or
something to ‘‘comprehend and embrace,’’ something to be fully unveiled
and investigated (Fox Keller, 1986, pp. 51–52).
In the story of Barbara McClintock, the eccentric biologist who first
identified the DNA structure, Fox Keller (1983) makes clear how women
scientists, in order to really accept and fully appropriate any language, are
caught between self-recognition and alienation. Because to participate fully
in it, they have to ‘‘share its fundamental metaphors,’’ and, if a woman’s self
is represented as ‘‘inert matter,’’ ‘‘blind and passive nature,’’ then as soon as
she starts producing knowledge, she must accept an immediate and total
devaluation of her gender identity. Women may try to live in a state of self-
alienation, constantly deluded about their own identity, but at what price?
Many personal lives of women who were also intellectual creators, can be
read in this perspective.
At the Free University our work with uneducated women was impressive
in this sense, showing clearly how a hidden perception of these metaphors is
always at work. In parallel, the experience of the teacher showed the price
paid to move effortlessly within the parameters of any knowledge. Today
the situation is different because a new generation has access to a culture
partially revisited by women. But what about these hidden metaphors? And
what happens now that women teachers can be more easily seen as subjects
of knowledge?
The act of teaching to and learning by women reawakens ancient mores
buried deep inside memory. I call this ‘‘crossed maternity’’ to describe the
relationship between women teachers and women students. If the teacher is,
for the student, the passport to a knowledge that does not deny women’s
worth, the lack of academic knowledge of the women pupils, generally com-
bined with wisdom on life, is a guarantee that it is impossible to forget the
women, impossible to enter the world of knowledge accepting unconsciously
its founding metaphors and their content in terms of women being despised.
METONIMY AND METAPHOR: WHICH

GENERALIZATION, WHICH ABSTRACTION?
The third aspect of this process is the kind of abstraction and generalization
mainly used by women. In epistemological terms, the relationships, life-
culture, and subjectivity-experience-knowledge have not yet received a clear
mandate. The interrogation ultimately focuses on the crucial passage be-

tween the chaos of life and the orderly nature of thought. It aims at re-
vealing what has been removed from the act of thinking and why. It aims at
disclosing the extent to which such a removal has to do with the existence of
sexual duality.
The French philosopher Simone Weil worked on this problem through
her work on the role of analogy. Against the Aristotelian epistemology, she
preferred analogies because at the same time ‘‘they preserve reality in its
original terms’’ and ‘‘always oblige to rethink’’ (Weil, 1982, p. 147). With
the same motivation, other feminists in the 1970s focused on metonymic
thought in contraposition to metaphoric thought, because the latter still
allows some presence of the real object which is symbolized in language.
Looking at women’s courses, at the way they treat disciplines, a system-
atic ‘‘contamination’’ of levels and different disciplinary fields, takes place.
Analogies are randomly thrown around without respecting the division of
knowledge into its traditional fields. Such analogies contest and shuffle
languages around, stacking them in new ways, and creating new meanings.
Sometimes they are really chaotic, sometimes it becomes clear that the chaos
is due to the fact that they are organized around other perspectives. If we
look at the process of rejection that took place not only against women such
as McClintock, but also against men such as Gregory Bateson, we see that
one of the reasons for the rejection of their theories is the fact that they are
formulated in a way that academic tradition does not recognize, outside
classic disciplinary fields, using unusual visualizations or different modes of
proceeding in the intellectual work or asking different questions than the
ones allowed in the scientific tradition. Even before the solutions, the basic
questions are unacceptable.
Again using one example among many others, through the intellectual
history of Barbara McClintock, Fox Keller has shown McClintock’s ec-
centricity lay in the way she formulated her questions and in their peculiar
purposefulness, rather than in the results. Those ways of putting the ques-
tions were meaningless to her colleagues in the academy. One of her key
elements is the prominence given to the observation of ‘‘individual objects’’
without immediately trying for a generalization. Looked at from a classic
standpoint, some of these conceptual contaminations can be seen as mere
chaos. This chaos is the process of building a different (embodied) knowl-
edge. I used the term ‘‘wild knowledge’’ to define this attempt to use existent
knowledge without obeying to its parameters, stealing from it and deform-
ing it in order to achieve other objectives and visions of reality. This per-
spective revolves around the concept of a subject who interrogates
142 PAOLA MELCHIORI
knowledge, from the point of view of other priorities, asking questions,

which call for different answers.
Here again the interplay between feminists and women culture is impor-
tant. The role of a feminist is to see and give meaning to what happens. Even
more, it is important to defend a process too often threatened by self-
destruction, because of the shadow cast by a whole tradition of patriarchal
knowledge against these sometimes awkward attempts.
One is led to think that what is necessary to teach to women, is more the
study of the operative modes of knowledge, than the issues of ‘‘women’s
studies’’ themselves. Sometimes such modes are difficult to work through
even for those of us who are feminists, rooted as they are in the deep
misogyny of intellectual world. It is a misogyny that even feminists cannot
sometimes detect, a misogyny alive even in the very act of carrying out
women’s studies courses. It is sometimes difficult to remember the slow
motion of our own domestication embedded in the same apprehension of
the tools for our own liberation, the prices paid, and the reasons for its
failures. Women pupils immediately and mercilessly perceive this relation-
ship tying the teacher with her knowledge. Such women act as mirrors,
revealing at once the teachers’ subjugation to tradition, their acceptance of
culture as an act against themselves and their efforts to get out of this. How
many live the mastering of knowledge as a relief from a fastidious female
identity, an act of neutralization of gender. It would be interesting to re-
search if and how, among the current third or fourth wave of young fem-
inists who now work and study in a framework marked by women and
feminist thought, this has changed and what form it has taken.
DIFFERENCES AMONG WOMEN

There is a fourth aspect for observation in this laboratory. It has to do with
the aspect of the social fabric among women, its strengths and its fragilities.
In our experience women from diverse cultural and academic backgrounds
joined forces to carry out a project of research whose challenge was to
combine research on women’s knowledge with the political practice of
bringing together women from a wide array of cultures and hierarchical
positions. Their diversity can be measured both in terms of the variety of
women’s academic passions and in terms of where, in a hierarchical scale,
such passions fit and overlap with other differences having to do with class,
social and economic possibilities, and with all the power that comes from
money, class, and knowledge.
The observation of dynamics was very instructive and unexpected. As

I said before, meeting knowledge is a form of entering a public space, the
world. What happens in this situation is very similar to what happens
when women approach a public space where they find themselves torn be-
tween two different faithfulnesses: the one to their sex and the one to the sex
which is setting the rules of the game. In this world, the edge between
transgression and inauthenticity is even clearer. It is a common experience
to observe lacerations among women who rapidly break the early dreams of
sisterhood.
How to explain the gap between the strength of the awakening and the
quick accumulation of shadows in women’s groups? Analyzing the be-
haviors of teachers and pupils we can observe a parallel and mirroring
characteristic. I have called this a process of ‘‘crossed maternity,’’ making
the hypothesis that learning in these conditions means being legitimated by a
mother figure and, vice versa, that teaching in this context makes it impos-
sible to cancel the mother figure. The interplay and the importance of this
aspect cannot be underestimated, mostly in an intergenerational perspective.
How does it play, today, in our attempt to pass on feminism and knowledge
revisited through feminism to the new generation?
Behind the exhilaration caused by women’s reunification lurks another
scenario that still needs to be elaborated, with all the shadows of the pri-
mary relationships. The ambivalence running through mother/daughter re-
lationships, the question of the quality of the maternal power appears in a
pre-oedipal scenario, before the oedipal solutions. This primitive scenario
helps us understand why women’s common journey is charged not only with
happiness but also with violence. Fatigue, anger, and greediness surface.
Behind the trust awarded to other women surfaces anger for a ‘‘breast that
will never give enough nourishment,’’ a dependency and a desire to detach
oneself. Receiving, knowledge in this case, is accompanied by desire and
envy. Giving and teaching evoke being depredated. All the problems caused
by strong idealization processes occur, making it difficult for women to
appreciate and accept real, non-idealized, different women. Control, whose
purpose is to prevent both detachment and women’s rivalry, emerges.
Mother and child constantly switch camps and roles: women’s mutual
mothering causes fatigue. Fatigue is also caused by always trying to imper-
sonate a powerful being for the benefit of others. The limits set by this
powerful being are experienced with fear and rancor. Coaching other
women brings back childhood feelings of unmediated affection. Hopes, re-
quests, nourishment are then absolutely mutual and mirror-like, even if they
are not always distinguishable.
144 PAOLA MELCHIORI
It seems almost impossible, even in the most intellectual scenery, to get rid
of this primitive scenario organized around the impossible mother–daughter
relationship. This relationship demands to be examined and interpreted in
its duplicity, because it refers to a crucial point today. Which kind of
motherhood is active between old feminists and the new generation of fem-
inists, the young ones? Which ‘‘crossed difficult motherhood’’ are we ex-
periencing from both sides? Behind ‘‘teaching’’ or ‘‘passing on’’ feminism
there is a secret layer of crossed maternity, of reciprocal requests, of images
of childhood and motherhood that are secretly happening, occurring and
working throughout our meeting each other in an intergenerational setting.
Giving them words and reciprocal communication is the only way to
continue feminist transmission as a research project.
REFERENCES
Balandier, G. (1985). Anthropologiques. Paris: Librarie Generale Francaise.
Fox Keller, E. (1983). A feeling for the organism: The life and work of Barbara McClintock.
New York: W.H. Freeman.
Fox Keller, E. (1986). Il Genere e la Scienza. Milan: Garzanti.
Fraire, M. (1989). Una pratica per una politica. In: C. Cotti & F. Molfino (Eds), L’appren-
dimento dell’incertezza (pp. 126–136). Roma: Centro Cultrale Virginia Woolf.
Melchiori, P. (1986). (Available from Paola Melchiori, Via Lancieri Novara 22, 31100, Treviso,
Italy.)
Weil, S. (1982). Quaderni (Vol. 1). Milan: Adelphi.
SPY OR FEMINIST: ‘‘GRRRILA’’
RESEARCH ON THE MARGIN
Elizabeth L. Sweet
ABSTRACT
Even in the context of marginalization, agency as a feminist academic

exists and, in some cases, the marginalization enables us to continue our
feminist projects. This paper describes my experience as a marginalized
feminist academic. It is based on fieldwork practice, academic training,
and encounters as a professor at several universities in the United States,
Russia, and Latin America. Currently, in the milieu of the USA Patriot
Act, when academic freedom seems to be on the cutting block, we must,
more than ever, continue to be grrrila fighters in order to continue our
feminist projects and move feminist perspectives from the margins to the
center.
INTRODUCTION
The marginalization faced by many feminist scholars in terms of teaching

assignments, research opportunities, conference presentation times, repre-
sentation in faculty unions, and publication opportunities is still a factor
and a burden in many disciplines, even though we are more than 30 years
into the recognition and study of these discriminatory and sexist environ-
ments in which we try to grow and develop as scholars (Etzkowitz,

ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(06)10007-7
145
146 ELIZABETH L. SWEET
Kemelgor, Neuschatz, & Uzzi, 1994; Stout, Straiger, & Jennings, 2002;
Svarstad, Draugalis, Meyer, & Mount, 2004). By marginalization I mean
that gender research or feminist perspectives are physically, philosophically,
ideologically, and financially marginalized. For example, the University
Program of Gender Studies at the National Autonomous University of
Mexico is fighting to maintain its small office space on campus, while other
departments such as the University Program for City Studies have lavish
facilities and are not in any danger of losing their space. In several schools in
the Chicago area there are no advanced degree options in gender studies. At
most, one can have a Women’s Studies concentration noted on a transcript.
However, in some instances, the marginalization can present opportuni-
ties for agency or grrrila research without appearing to challenge more
mainstream approaches and the so-called gender-blind perspectives. When
I talk about ‘‘grrrila’’ resistance, I am referring to the ways in which fem-
inists have to operate in order to survive. The word combines girl and
guerilla to make it gender specific and was inspired by the Riot Grrrl
movement in the 1990s and the Guerilla Girl art movement of the 1980s.
Grrrila modes of operation include lots of volunteer work without recog-
nition or pay, slipping feminist perspectives into grant proposals, curricu-
lum, and faculty meeting agendas even when formats and forums are not
explicitly feminist, as well as ‘‘officially’’ refraining from feminist gender
work until tenure or academic security is achieved. For example, one col-
league in planning shared with me that she was told only a few years ago
that if she wanted to get tenure she should not do gender research. While
this warning was certainly valid in the 1970s, we should be appalled that it is
given now, in the new millennium!
This paper describes my experience as a feminist professor, ethnographer,
urban planner, and policy analyst in Russia, Latin America, and the United
States and the challenges I faced and continue to face in these roles, chal-
lenges that even led to accusations that I was a spy. Based on my experience
in these areas, I will describe how I have been able to (almost unintention-
ally) buck the academic system and continue to find ways to generate femi-
nist gender-focused research without the safety of being a ‘‘star’’ academic
or of being in a feminist-friendly environment.
My focus is on Urban Planning programs and its close cousin Architec-
ture, because this is where I have the most experience. This is not to say that
they are the worst programs, in fact they may represent a middle ground as
far as what many women experience in academia. I argue that even though
there is a great ‘‘intellectual’’ base of knowledge about the faulty, unequal,
and discriminatory state of academia as well as the policies informed by
Spy or Feminist 147
academic research, little has been done to really eradicate these negative
structures from policymaking or academia. However, we feminists have
been able to eek out a space for ourselves in non-traditional ways while not
seriously challenging the status quo in academic inquiry. I conclude by
suggesting that we need to think about how we can challenge the system and
not have to be grrrila researchers in the margin but feminist researchers
legitimately permeating throughout academic circles. Extrapolating from
academic research and knowledge, we need to develop structural remedies
that get us out of the margin and to recognize the importance of gender as a
real and unavoidable force in the academy and policymaking. In this paper
I will first describe my brush with fame as a feminist (or was that a spy?) in
Siberia. Next, I present examples of marginalization from Mexico and the
United States. Finally, I provide an overview of gender in academia as well
as recommendations for remedying the situation.
SPY OR FEMINIST
‘‘Spy or Feminist?’’ was the headline on the front of the Rossiskaya Gazeta,
a national Russian newspaper on June 14, 2001 (Vladimirov). The article
was about allegations that I was a spy for the United States, incorrectly
reporting that I was expelled from the country. The implication of the
headline at best expressed a disinterest in feminism and, at worst, a general
societal hostility toward feminism. Is she a spy (dangerous) or a feminist
(meaningless)? Alternatively, which is worse, to be a feminist or a spy? These
readings of the headline reflect the different responses to feminism and
gender research globally. I have encountered very hostile and direct reac-
tions by some students and faculty, including personal attacks that are, in
some ways, easier to address than more subtle or passive-aggressive re-
sponses. The process that led to the headline speaks of a lack of academic
freedom as well as an intense marginalization of feminist and gendered
ethnographic research in Russia. While my experience in Omsk, Russia as
an accused spy could be seen as an extraordinary episode, I have come to
realize that there are some parallels between Russia, the United States, and
Latin America in terms of the limitations that scholars face about particular
methods and areas of inquiry. Perhaps because ‘‘what women anthropolo-
gists write is so easily dismissed as subjective,’’ and ‘‘ethnographies written
by women are consigned to the margins of what is valorized’’ (Visweswaran,
1994, p. 17), being a woman may have worked to my advantage in this
case. Had my own feminist, economic-planning, ethnographic study been
valorized by the Federal Security Service (FSB) (the successor to the State
Security Committee (KGB)), I would have been prevented from writing it.
At that time, I was teaching economic development and qualitative
methods in the School of International Business at Omsk State University in
the heart of Siberia as a visiting professor for the Civic Education Project
(CEP). This organization sends faculty to Eastern European and Central
Asian countries in transition to ‘‘strengthen democracy through education’’
(CEP Annual Report, 2001, p. 8). It is a Peace Corps for academics. I ar-
rived in Omsk on a Friday in the September of 2000 and, by Monday, I was
teaching International Economic Development Theory and Practice to 22
sophomore college students. The course included discussions of a list of
readings on mainstream economic theories such as neo-classical economics,
structural adjustment, free trade, import substitution industrialization, ex-
port-oriented industrialization, and dependency theory. Later in the class,
when examining the interrelationships between gender, development, so-
cialism, and postmodernism, as well as other theories of gender and eco-
nomic development, discussions became heated and uncomfortable for the
students because these were completely new and unfamiliar areas of inquiry.
Although some students (both male and female) decided not to read the
material because of its gender content, I was able to coax most of them into
at least reviewing the ideas. Many of the students still had serious reser-
vations about the legitimacy of gender issues in a class dealing with inter-
national economic development.
When the time came to prepare for the second semester, I proposed a class
on qualitative methods in economic development analysis. The Dean sug-
gested that the students use these methods for their year-end projects and
that I supervise their work. Thus, I gave students the task of developing a
research plan, carrying out the plan, and then writing a report on their
findings. The only requirement was that they choose a business-related topic
and, if possible, include a global component. After all, this was a school of
international business. The methods I covered in class included case studies,
oral histories, participant observation, collaborative/action research, sur-
veys with open-ended questions, and focus groups. The students were free to
choose which method(s) they wanted to use and the direction of their re-
search. I asked the Dean about research procedures for the protection of
human subjects. He said there were none, so I discussed Institutional Review
Board procedures in the United States with the class.
During the fourth week in the semester we discussed the research plans.
The range of topics was impressive. One student interviewed immigrants
(including me) to see how they were affecting business in the region. A male
Spy or Feminist 149
student who was one of the most resistant to gendered theories of deve-
lopment decided to examine the role of women in business and the impact of
their business activities on their lives. This was encouraging; I had finally
helped broaden the perspective of at least one student. Another student
compared the energy system in Omsk, then in the process of privatization, to
the one in France. Yet another student was interested in interviewing
workers at a manufacturing plant near her home. Although the students
were timid about interviewing, they were amazed and proud after they be-
gan conducting their research; they were succeeding in recruiting people to
talk to them even though they were ‘‘mere students.’’
After the students presented their papers at a mini conference, the Dean
asked me to give him all the papers because he wanted to read them. When
he returned them to me a few days later, the title pages had been removed
and were in a separate package. He explained that the Rector/President of
the university wanted to see them and the Dean did not want the students’
names associated with the work. I thought that was a little odd but not
particularly alarming. Later I found out that, in fact, the FSB had made
copies of all the students’ papers. A week later, on May 29, the Dean
requested a meeting with me. When I went to his office, he informed me that
the FSB wanted to talk to me about my students’ work. The agency was
concerned that I was using my students to collect information for improper
use back in the United States. The Dean had already explained that it was
his idea that I supervise these projects and that the university fully backed
my work. FSB agents still wanted to talk to me.
For the next two hours in the international students’ service office, I was
interrogated by the FSB. Most questions were in Russian and were trans-
lated by a university employee who spoke some English. Thus, between my
Russian and the ‘‘translator’s’’ English we got through it. The young FSB
official questioned me repeatedly about my background and credentials as
an ‘‘economic specialist’’ and the possibility that I had broken my contract
with the university. He quoted the contract, which stated that I should abide
by university policy and Russian federation laws. At no point did he men-
tion which policy or law I might have broken. He claimed, however, that my
students’ work could have a negative effect on the ‘‘image and compet-
itiveness’’ of firms in Omsk as well as cause harm to United States–Russian
relations. When I asked the officer how my students’ work could do this, he
pulled out a letter from the director of a firm where one of my students had
interviewed three workers. The letter alleged that information collected by
my student about the firm was incorrect. They referred specifically to the
workers claims that, after the Russian economic crisis in 1998, they received
their pay late or not at all and were still due some back pay from that period.
The letter additionally claimed that the salary range reported by the workers
to the student was incorrect. The information in question, however, had
been widely printed in newspapers and is known to almost everyone in
Omsk. In the end, the FSB official could not explain exactly how this com-
mon knowledge, as described in the student’s paper, could hurt the image or
competitiveness of the Omsk Region.
He asked if I was carrying out any other ‘‘scientific’’ research. I mentioned
that I was doing ethnographic research that included my personal obser-
vations, oral histories, and focus groups with women in Omsk about how
they were experiencing the transition from a planned to an open market
economy. He, like some of my students, thought gender issues were unim-
portant, not to be taken seriously, and in no way a threat. The qualitative
methods that I used in my research outside the university were only threat-
ening or unsanctioned when used to examine non-gendered or male-centered
economic development in the region. In other words, feminism and gender
issues are non-threatening; they were met with indifference and not hostility
by the Russian authorities in Omsk.
I was asked to sign a statement indicating that I would not teach this class
again and/or have the students do this kind of research without the per-
mission of the FSB and the director of any company where its workers
might be interviewed in the Omsk region. It further stated that these qual-
itative methods were not approved by the FSB and that I could not quote
from my students’ work in any of my published work or take the students’
papers off university property. The document officially warned me that this
kind of research could hurt the image and competitiveness of the region.
While the second officer, who had been silently taking notes throughout
the interview, prepared the official statement, the interviewing officer started
asking me informal questions in English about my experience in Omsk.
Then he gave me a few hints about local customs such as how to collect the
birch branches used in Russian bathhouses. After the interview, I was wor-
ried, but several colleagues assured me that the FSB agents were just doing
their job, which included calling the Dean every week to find out what kinds
of international activities the school was involved in. FSB agents have to
prove to their agency at the end of each month that they have earned their
relatively high paychecks. Others said they just wanted to practice their
English. In a few days, I was granted an extension of my visa, which led me
to conclude that the incident was over. Then I left to give a couple of
lectures at a Summer School on Social Policy in the Southern Russian city of
Saratov.
Spy or Feminist 151
After a short visit to Helsinki, I traveled back to Omsk, arriving on June

13, 2001.The phone kept ringing and I ignored it, trying to sleep after the
long flight. When I finally answered a call in the afternoon, I was surprised
to hear the voice of a CEP program official. She said that according to
Moscow newspapers, I had been kicked out of Russia on suspicion of spy-
ing. The papers also reported that I was sending students to steal industrial
secrets and that they were in fact working for the CIA. When the students
learned this, they jokingly asked for their paychecks from the CIA. The CEP
official wanted to make sure that I had not been expelled from the country.
She assured me that if Russian officials had not expelled me by then, they
were not going to do it.
The incident was reported on local and national TV and radio, all over
the Internet, as well as in the international press, including CNN, BBC, and
the New York Times. I could not even go to the gym without acquaintances
asking me what was going on. I received many more phone calls and e-mails
from people I did not know, either asking for interviews or just sending
notes of support.
The reactions from various sectors were diverse. One phone call was from
the United States’ consulate in Yekaterinburg where the embassy official
told me in a paternalistic manner to ‘‘keep your nose clean.’’ Different
Russian newspapers ran stories including the one titled ‘‘Spy or Feminist?’’
(Vladimirov, 2001). In this article they questioned my credentials and sug-
gested that I was inexperienced and naı̈ve, therefore I could not be a spy but
was a feminist. The insinuation here, according to Russian friends, was that
I was not really a spy but an unskilled and inexperienced economic deve-
lopment professor, who should stick to women’s studies and not try to mix
economics and gender studies. About a week later another article compared
the Omsk spy hunt to witch-hunts, suggesting that the FSB was inventing
spy stories (Kondratovskaya, 2001). This article suggested that the Omsk
FSB was incapable of finding a good scandal and instead embarrassed the
region by bringing these false allegations to light. Finally, the story ended
and my 15 minutes of fame thankfully faded and I was able to resume my
work as a grrrila fighter.
EVIDENCE FROM EXPERIENCE

Originally, I was certain that my experience in Omsk was an anomaly in the
global context. Upon reflection, however, my experience can be used to
show how gender continues to be marginalized in academia and policy
research. I will provide several examples in different contexts to show how

marginalization happens. I hope that, by providing these examples, other
women will be able to recognize their own experiences.
In Omsk, my credentials were often challenged. This experience has
re-occurred in other contexts. For example, I participated in a planning,
architecture, and landscape architecture program in Costa Rica. Sixteen
students from four United States universities were putting their academic
training into practice. For the two weeks I was there, the educational format
included actual planning and architecture projects along with frequent lec-
tures. Throughout those two weeks of teaching, I endured looks of disdain
from students when I corrected sexist language; however, the real challenge
came during a lecture based on Leslie Kanes Weisman’s 1992 book, Dis-
crimination by Design: A Feminist Critique of the Man-Made Environment.
I was on the second slide of a PowerPoint presentation when the attack
started. A student asked for my credentials and wondered if I had ‘‘the
right’’ to discuss or criticize architecture and design. None of the male
presenters in the previous two weeks had been asked to display their cre-
dentials.
There were comments rejecting the importance or even the need to con-
sider gender in architecture, design, or planning. I was told that ‘‘my pres-
entation was too aggressive,’’ that ‘‘I was shoving feminism down their
throats,’’ and that ‘‘universal design took care of all discriminatory practices
in Architecture and Design, so my discussion was of no real importance.’’
At one point a Latina on the staff of the hosting institution asked the
offending students to show me respect.
The challenge of a feminist perspective was clearly dangerous to these
students. After I finished my presentation, a 23-year-old student told me
that he had dedicated his whole life to architecture and asked how I dared to
challenge his assumptions and understandings of the field. In an attempt to
address the many examples I used to show how gender affects architecture,
this student proposed that these examples were not really architecture.
A Latina urban planning student responded sarcastically saying, ‘‘Yeah,
that would be great. I would love to be able to discount any planning I
didn’t like as not really planning.’’ The male student was offended by her
response and demanded an apology in an obvious attempt to silence her and
reject her participation in the conversation. The next evening, I went to a
nightclub to say goodbye to the students and I found that my presentation
had a more positive effect than I had first thought. Three women students
yelled over the music that they enjoyed my presentation and were impressed
with my calm classroom demeanor. One student also said ‘‘woman power,
Spy or Feminist 153
I like that!’’ They were, in a way, grrrila fighters resisting by stating their
perspectives and support of feminism and gender issues under the cover of
loud music, so only sympathetic ears could hear.
In the Costa Rican classroom, both the feminist message and messenger
posed a challenge to students. I believe that by merely being women, others
discredit or marginalize our scholarship. When the time came to write and
defend my dissertation, the man who was then my chair went on sabbatical.
He decided to work with only one person during his sabbatical and chose
the white male candidate who interviewed Tony Blair rather than me, the
Native American woman who interviewed indigenous Mexican women. The
marginalization continued and so did I. I found another chair and success-
fully completed the dissertation. I always seem to find an alternative method
to continue researching with minimal or no funding.
Perhaps the most blatant case of being marginalized because of my gender
came from a source that one might least expect, a progressive academic
union at a Chicago university. The union held several general membership
meetings during heated contract negotiations, which eventually led to a
three-week strike. Although we won substantial concessions from the ad-
ministration, gender discrimination plagued the process. This discrimination
took several forms. For example, women were rarely called upon in the
general meetings. Although we were all being asked to voice our opinions
and raise concerns, when I raised my hand, I was not called on. Meanwhile,
the men sitting near me were almost always recognized. At some points
I actually stood up and waved both my arms to get attention. This usually
worked, as a friend on the executive committee brought my waving to the
attention of the meeting facilitator. Other women also were marginalized by
this repeated and shared experience of invisibility.
After the strike, a high-ranking union official forwarded an article to the
union listserv that argued that the union’s future depended on recruiting
women into the ranks. I responded to the article, encouraging this perspec-
tive and pointing out that, although our union has many women in lead-
ership roles, we could do more. I described my experiences in meetings and
suggested that we remedy this inequality and set up a women’s committee to
address issues of inequality in the union and the university as a whole.
A senior white male faculty member wrote in, saying that my comment was
a slap in the face to all the active women in the union and we should make a
list and thank them. There were a large number of responses to the white
male, naming the women who had participated in union activities as strike
captains, ‘‘strike divas,’’ etc. A few people called for a more thoughtful
response. However, my original concerns and those of the few others who
responded thoughtfully were ignored. It was painful to endure the ensuing

week and a half when the union e-mails were full of individual names but
almost no constructive discussion of structural inequality within the union.
Finally, a senior faculty member suggested that the marginalization I out-
lined in my first e-mail was confirmed by the lack of substantive responses to
my concerns and the flurry of responses to the white male.
Unfortunately, this is not the end of the story. The union listserv is con-
trolled. All participants send messages to the union president who admin-
isters the listserv and he, in turn, forwards them to everyone on the list.
Another professor was regularly attacked for her political beliefs via the
listserv, and she recommended that we need a social justice committee.
I agreed and suggested that, in the context of discrimination before, during,
and after the strike, we needed new leadership. Suddenly, our messages and
all other dissenting messages disappeared from the list. However, messages
by faculty members that suggested my concerns were trivial and threatened
the unity of the union were sent out to everyone. I was no longer margin-
alized; I became completely invisible.
Sometimes, the marginalized feminist messenger remains, but the message
disappears. After completing my dissertation and returning from Omsk,
I opted for an English as a second language teaching job in a community
organization in Chicago. Although it was not part of my job description,
I started a new research project. I convinced the director to let me use my
observations and interview the participants in a new bilingual manufactur-
ing training program. John Betancur, a founding member of the organiza-
tion and professor, and I produced a report that assessed the impact of
bilingual manufacturing technology bridge training on a group of almost
monolingual Spanish speaking immigrant women from Mexico. (Sweet &
Betancur, 2003) Our assessment documented how the training failed to help
them penetrate the male dominated manufacturing sector, although there
were some non-tangible positive outcomes like increases in self-esteem and
an enhanced ability to help children or grandchildren with homework. The
study was suppressed by the organization. Subsequent reports and propos-
als written by the organization stated that no evaluation of the program had
been done. After my research disappeared, I was moved to a satellite office,
away from the organizational center, which physically marginalized me. The
director said they needed my space for workforce development counselors.
The counselors never arrived after my removal.
While the disappearance of this research could be attributed to its neg-
ative evaluation of the program, I have found that research that focuses on
women or that uses a gender analysis is often minimized or trivialized. For
Spy or Feminist 155
example, in Mexico, when I casually talked to people about my dissertation

research, ‘‘The Gendered Affects of NAFTA and Neo-Liberal Economic
Policies’’ (Sweet, 2000), many responded with the question: what do women
have to do with NAFTA or with the economy? Even some of the subjects
and collaborators in the village where I carried out the research said that the
importance of gender and the economy was minimal.
Although their dismissal of gender as a relevant field of inquiry was per-
sonally difficult, it also allowed me some freedom to pursue my interests.
The village elite did not scrutinize me as they did other researchers, includ-
ing the famous Oscar Lewis. Many people were suspicious of researchers
because they felt they had been misrepresented. Village residents pointed out
that they were not stupid; they could read and obtain copies of researchers’
reports. However, I was never put into the category of researcher. I was
marginalized along with my research, but this gave me the opportunity to
conduct research without the inspection of village men. This, in turn, gave
the village women I interviewed and collaborated with more freedom to
structure the research according to their own interests. Together, we per-
formed grrrila research without being noticed or controlled by village men.
As an adjunct professor at the university where I did my doctoral work,
I have found that gender analyses continues to be marginalized. My disser-
tation is the only one to date that has focused on gender. Currently, there is
one course, ‘‘Race and Class in Planning,’’ that focuses secondarily on
gender and is used to meet gender requirements for accreditation purposes.
I offered to develop a new course that focused on gender and planning. De-
spite evidence that there was desire on the part of students for such a course,
officials rejected my offer pleading lack of money in the budget. However,
I have taught an international planning course there. When I suggested that
it have a gender focus, I was told that would not be acceptable. Regardless,
I chose to include gender issues. After the class, a student suggested to the
department director that I had perhaps given him a lower grade than he
expected because he was a white male; in other words, he claimed that
I discriminated against him because he was a white male. He later dropped
the charges after I presented him with evidence of his poor performance.
Most recently, I went to Mexico on a Rockefeller resident fellowship.
I met a faculty member of the National Autonomous University of Mexico
at a planning conference and, since my research took place near Mexico
City, I offered to teach a seminar on the gendered city, focusing on gender
sensitive planning. While the faculty member at first seemed enthusiastic, he
did not return repeated e-mails. However, I also contacted their University
Program of Gender Studies and they were happy to organize the seminar.
When I arrived in Mexico, I went to see the planning faculty member.

At first he did not remember who I was; after I reminded him of our con-
versation, he decided he was not even willing to promote the class to his
students. Even without the help of this key individual, the seminar generated
so much interest that we needed to expand the enrollment limit and find
a bigger classroom. So, I taught the class but not in the planning program.
I had to look for alternative ways to push the gender agenda in planning,
taking grrrila action and sneaking my way into a different department.
EXPERIENCE IN CONTEXT
There are many well-known cases of gender discrimination in the Academy.
These provide a context for my own personal experience. Several depart-
ments at MIT have documented that women receive less lab space, research
money, and lower salaries (Hopkins, 1999). In the planning department at
MIT only one woman has been tenured and that happened in 1978. At
University of Texas, Arlington, in 2003, the woman Dean of the School of
Architecture was removed; she claims it was sex discrimination. Recently
she reached an out of court settlement with the university (Buskey, 2005).
The advancement and tenure process for women is more difficult and pub-
lishing takes longer than it does for men. Departments that are traditionally
more male dominated, such as business, economics, and the ‘‘hard’’ sciences
are paid higher salaries and remain male dominated (Wilson, 2004). Women
remain underrepresented at the top research universities and overrepresent-
ed in part time position and community colleges (Wilson, 2004). In terms of
pay, women earn less than men in all ranks, but the greatest wage gap occurs
for the few women who become full professors (Curtis, 2004).
If we add the dimension of race and ethnic background, the situation gets
even worse. For example, a minority professor at a southern planning school
was slated for a tenure-track position upon the expected completion of her
PhD from a prestigious East coast school. However, she was scheduled to
defend her dissertation two weeks after the southern university’s deadline.
Because of this two-week delay, she lost her position and was not considered
for tenure. She has had two equally disturbing experiences at schools in the
west as an adjunct or visiting professor where her extraordinary scholarly
work, teaching, and community activism were used against her. At a recent
interview she was asked to change her job talk three times, the last request
made one hour before she was to give it. Needless to say, she did not get an
offer there. She has a book published by a respectable publishing house but
Spy or Feminist 157
she is without a teaching job and is considering leaving academia (personal

correspondence). I believe these situations and many more demonstrate the
structural systems in place to marginalize all women and especially women
of color. Nevertheless, we are surviving and even thriving.
GRRRILA RESISTANCE IN MARGINALIZATION
Recently, in a national listserv for women planning faculty, a woman faculty

member described how she was on her way to a committee meeting and was
told by a white male colleague that she was only picked to be on the com-
mittee because she was a woman. While the comment is offensive, it is an
accurate description of the state of affairs in academia and, at the same time,
an opportunity. Had she been a man, she might not have been picked to
serve on the committee. She was marginalized, but in that marginalization
had the opportunity to participate and contribute at some level.
I would also suggest that our marginalization and power on the edge gives
us the ability and sensitivity to see how women in less privileged positions
tease power from the margin. Patricia Hill Collins described this power from
the margin in her 1986 article ‘‘Learning from the Outsider Within: The
Sociological Significance of Black Feminist Thought.’’ She talks about the
marginalization of Black women academics and their ability to use it ‘‘to
enrich contemporary sociological discourse’’ (Collins, 1986, p. S15). For
example, in Morelos, Mexico, while maintaining the appearance of subor-
dination, women were invisible but active participants in meetings where the
men were discussing how to handle new changes in ejidal loan programs.
The women stayed in the kitchen and voiced their opinions, which the men
adopted as their own, through the window. I think this suggests that there is
grrrila activism at many different levels and, if we recognize this activism, we
can reinforce it and support one another. Maybe because of my own mar-
ginalization I was able to capture the meaning of the Morelos women’s
interaction. In Russia too, my marginalization sensitized me to the mar-
ginalization of others and enabled me to look for and in many cases find
grrrila activism, response and agency.
IN THE END
I thought the accusation of being a spy would not happen in the United
States, but now I am not so sure. While in the end it was not a serious
incident for me (no Russian jail time), it may represent the extreme mar-
ginalization of feminists on campuses and feminist research, thereby placing
it in a category that receives less scrutiny, enabling feminists to be more
experimental and take more research risks. While the damage of this mar-
ginalization is obvious, including lack of publishing opportunities, lower
tenure possibilities, and fewer grant opportunities, the ability to do grrrila
research, to engage in more subversive, less scrutinized collective and crea-
tive work could benefit the academy in a very real qualitative way.
But we have another obstacle now, the governmental attack on academic
freedom via the USA Patriot Act. While the issue of gender oppression in
academia is obvious to many (Etzkowitz et al., 1994; Stout et al., 2002;
Svarstad et al., 2004), the presence of government oppression in academia is
less obvious especially in the western system that purports to value ‘‘aca-
demic freedom.’’ In this arena we may share more with the former Soviet
Union than we believe. In Russia, the FSB believes it has the knowledge
base, right, and credibility to make decisions about methodology and re-
search processes. Despite the long roots of academic freedom in western
academic institutions, the federal government has determined that some
aspects of stem cell research are not appropriate and the National Endow-
ment for the Arts has made decisions about what art is.
In a 2001 report by the American Council of Trustees and Alumni
(Cheney 2001), academics were criticized for expressing their critical analysis
about the attacks in New York, Washington, DC, and Pennsylvania; other
professors have been reprimanded or suspended by university officials for
similar ‘‘crimes against patriotism,’’ that is, expressing their opinion. These
incidents have taken place in the context of the USA Patriot Act. The act
has several unsettling implications including:
y the ominous mingling of law enforcement and intelligence gathering activities, the
impairment of public access to vital information and the questionable efficacy of these
measures in combating terrorism. Specific concerns include the loosening of standards
under which the government authorities can compel disclosure of electronic commu-
nication. (American Association of University Professors, 2003, p. 2)
Generally, the USA Patriot Act is seen as a threat to academic freedom

(American Association of University Professors, 2003; Office of the President-
Harvard University, 2003; American Studies Association, 2003; Glod, 2005).
Additionally, there are even more restrictions for international students from
certain countries and the kind of research they can do (American Association
of University Professors, 2003, p. 2). Anyone who challenged the War in
Iraq is labeled unpatriotic by the Bush administration and their followers.
Spy or Feminist 159
Recently, while in Mexico, I met an old friend, who is a Dean at a

prestigious eastern college. She and I talked about the political situation and
she expressed relief that she could be critical with me, suggesting that in the
United States it was difficult to know to whom you could say certain things.
The war on terrorism is being used to curtail academic freedom. Some
would argue that the means justify the ends, but our fragile democracy is at
risk, and we need to avert a new incarnation of McCarthyism (American
Association of University Professors, 2003; Office of the President-Harvard
University, 2003; American Studies Association, 2003). We must recognize
the imperative value of rigorous debate about issues including politics,
gender, feminism, class, and race. Freedom is being curtailed in the name of
freedom: we are becoming less free because of an attempt to address ter-
rorism and that is a real threat to academic freedom. For those of us already
marginalized it makes matters worse. In my department two years ago all
faculty were sent an e-mail by a senior professor telling us how we should
talk about the war in Iraq with our students. Whether a patronizing act or
an attempt to prevent complaints from students who might not agree with
the way the war was being approached, the end result is the same; a pro-
fessor’s freedom to teach a class as she or he feels is appropriate is being
challenged.
In the United States, the FBI may not yet be calling the deans of schools
(or if they are, we are prevented from knowing about it by the USA Patriot
Act) on a weekly basis finding out what the faculty is doing and how they
are doing it, but there are restrictions placed on academics. Issues of gender
and qualitative methods are still areas that require extra explanation and
support as parts of legitimate academic labor in many fields, including eco-
nomics, urban planning, architecture, and policy analysis. However, given
that gender studies is not on the list of prohibitive areas of study for foreign
students, and not on the list of areas necessitating background checks, the
USA Patriot Act (American Association of University Professors, 2003) is
further evidence of our marginalization. It does mean, however, that we
have some breathing room to continue our grrrila research.
Some university administrations, both in the United States and the former
Soviet Union, are still very hostile to gender and qualitative methods as well
as other legitimate areas of inquiry. Chauvinist attitudes exist toward
gendered issues in the United States and academic institutions. While the
situation in Omsk may be particularly difficult because of its regions’ social,
historical, and political contexts, at some level, people pursuing these in-
terests in most academic institutions around the world have to justify their
work more and receive less funding than those doing positivistic regression
analyses of non-gendered policy issues. Some schools may force scholars to

choose between feminist research and women subjects and tenure oppor-
tunities. We should not be bound by exclusionary canons or politically
driven ideologies.
We need to develop ways of using all the knowledge and data we have
that demonstrates the marginalization of women and feminists in academia
to change academia. While marginalization has not completely hampered
feminist research and teaching, it has negatively impacted it. How can we
change the academy? What is it that will make gender research and feminist
frameworks a ‘‘natural’’ part of academia? We need to talk about our per-
sonal stories more; especially the stories that can help us identify the pat-
terns of marginalization and resistance. As I have sent out drafts of this
paper for comment and talked about it with women colleagues, the response
has been the same: ‘‘That has happened to me!’’ Others have said that I am
brave to write this, indicating that there is some inherent danger in sharing
these experiences. But I am not brave – I am just a feminist. While I am no
longer a ‘‘spy,’’ I headed back to Siberia last fall on a Fulbright Grant
scholarship to continue using grrrila resistance in the struggles for gender
equity in economic policy planning. Just don’t tell the Fulbright folks about
my grrrila agenda.
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2005, www.georgetown.edu/crossroads/AmericanStudiesAssn/newsletter/archive/
newsarchive/freedom.htm
Buskey, N. (2005). UT Arlington settles discrimination lawsuit: Former dean files after August
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AR-2001.pdf
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162
MARKETING SOCIAL CHANGE
AFTER COMMUNISM: THE CASE
OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
IN SLOVAKIA
Magdalena Vanya
ABSTRACT
Most studies of postcommunist Eastern Europe provide macro-economic

and political analyses of the democratic transition. This paper uses the
case of feminists publicizing efforts around domestic violence in Slovakia
to explore how people express and sustain collective action in transitional
democracies without established traditions of civic engagement. The
analysis is situated in the complex historical juncture of the 1990s, which
includes Slovakia’s impending admission to the European Union, while its
population remains politically apathetic and suspicious of mass move-
ments and organizations as a result of the country’s communist legacy.
Drawing on participant observation and in-depth interviews, it is argued
that feminists’ strategic issue networks in the particular historical cir-
cumstances facilitated the speedy criminalization of domestic violence,
but could not generate a cultural transformation of public and political
attitudes. Sudden progressive legislative changes and the simplistic mar-
keting campaign in a conservative political climate impeded the diffusion
of a feminist definition of violence against women in related policy areas.

ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(06)10008-9
163
164 MAGDALENA VANYA
I use the case of the fifth woman campaign1 publicizing domestic violence in
Slovakia to explore how people express and sustain collective discontent in
transitional democracies without established traditions of civic engagement.
I situate my analysis in the complex historical juncture of the 1990s. This
juncture includes Slovakia’s impending admission to the European Union,
while its population remains politically apathetic and suspicious of mass
movements and organizations as a result of communist legacy. Drawing on
participant observation in feminist organizations and interviews with fem-
inists, elected officials, and representatives of Western funding agencies,
I argue that feminists’ strategic networking, while avoiding publicization in
the particular historical circumstances, facilitated the speedy criminalization
of domestic violence, but could not generate a cultural transformation of
public and political attitudes. Moreover, sudden progressive legislative
changes, in addition to the simplistic marketing campaign, impeded the
diffusion of a feminist definition of violence against women in related policy
areas.
The fifth woman campaign reached approximately two million people
through media ads and billboards, made domestic violence into a topic of
political debate, and facilitated progressive legislative changes in the Penal
Code of Slovakia (Iniciatı́va piata žena, 2002). In order to comply with the
funding requirements of a Western non-governmental agency,2 Slovakian
feminists formed a coalition with a limited purpose and time frame, exclu-
sively employing the marketing techniques of a professional advertising
agency, as required by their Western funder. Feminists thus embarked on
disclosing the taboo of wife abuse by selling it via billboards and ads an-
nouncing that, ‘‘every fifth woman is abused’’ in Slovakia. In addition,
during and after the campaign, activists targeted key political actors pri-
vately with a well-developed draft of possible domestic violence legislation.
The draft passed relatively quickly, and the term ‘‘fifth woman’’ became a
widely known expression in Slovakian media. However, after criminalizing
domestic violence, the government rejected implementation of feminist
principles into the subsequent policy document outlining national strategies
for the elimination and prevention of domestic violence. Consequently, de-
spite the speedy criminalization of domestic violence, the marketing cam-
paign and the government’s subsequent antifeminist attitudes left many
feminists disillusioned about the possibility of grassroots social change in
postcommunist Slovakia.
Due to the communist legacy of weak civil society and the public’s dis-
trust of mass movements and organizations, Western conceptual models of
social movements provide inadequate explanation for Slovakian feminists’
Marketing Social Change 165
organizing around domestic violence. In order to account for the historical

and cultural specificity of Slovakian feminists’ collective efforts, I propose
the concept of strategic issue networks. Strategic issue networks are typically
utilized in settings where mass mobilization through collective strategies is
not a culturally and historically available option. They represent a limited
number of goal-oriented connections with influential political actors that are
coordinated and activated temporarily for a single issue-driven goal. After
single-issue networks achieve their pre-defined, often legislative or policy-
oriented objective, they tend to fade out. Strategic networks’ exclusive focus
on an issue-oriented objective undermines their potential for a broader
transformation across all sectors of society. Finally, strategic issue networks
emerge in settings without established cultural and historical traditions of
community-based, grassroots activism, and organizing.3
Slovakia as a former communist country is an ideal case to illustrate the
importance of strategic issue networks for collective efforts in non-Western
societies. Slovakia as part of the Czech and Slovak Socialist Republic
between 1918 and 1989 experienced forty years of authoritarian communist
history, where protests orchestrated by the central planning committee of
the Communist Party were a regular occurrence. After the fall of commu-
nism in November 1989, Czechoslovakia split into the Czech and Slovak
Republics in 1993, inheriting a paralyzed civil society and an apathetic
population suspicious of any collective efforts (Bútorová, Dianiška, &
Dobrovodský, 1996; Einhorn, 1993). Consequently, Slovakian feminists
were attempting to generate public and political concern for the issue of
domestic violence in a politically disillusioned and socially indifferent civic
context.
Drawing on participant observation in a feminist organization located in
Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, as well as transcripts from organizational
meetings, interviews with feminists, elected officials, and representatives of
Western funding agencies, I explore the strategies and outcomes of a col-
lective effort in a non-Western location. My research reveals that publicizing
domestic violence via marketing campaign, imposed from the West, suc-
ceeded in initiating a broad, but short-lived public discussion around the
issue. However, I argue that the media-oriented campaign’s temporary
and simplistic nature, in conjunction with the populations and political
establishment’s traditional attitudes, inhibited the broader diffusion of a
feminist understanding of violence against women. Next I will show how
Slovakian feminists achieved speedy legislative success by mobilizing their
pre-existing networks with key political actors without a public discussion
of these efforts. While feminists’ strategic issue networks facilitated the
166 MAGDALENA VANYA
criminalization of domestic violence in Slovakia’s recuperating civil society,

they proved to be inadequate for diffusing feminist principles into other
legislative and policy fields. I conclude with a discussion of strategic
issue networks’ utility and future implications for diffusing broader social
change in societies without established traditions of collective contention.
WESTERN ASSUMPTIONS OF SOCIAL

MOVEMENTS: CIVIL SOCIETY AND
MODULAR REPERTOIRES
The initial emphasis in Western literature on social movements has recently
expanded from collectively experienced grievances and political opportuni-
ties to include cultural and historical aspects of collective contention. Many
students of Western social movements became interested in how people
use and combine particular elements of culture and language to mobilize
others for a particular cause (e.g. Snow & Benford, 1992). Furthermore,
other scholars have explored how successful contention is diffused and sus-
tained over time (e.g. Tarrow, 1998). A host of new concepts, such as col-
lective action frames, repertoires of contention, and modular repertoires,
emerged from these new discussions. While the aforementioned concepts
represent empirically rich, useful analytical categories, they rest on Western
assumptions that complicate and limit their applicability for non-Western
settings.
The first assumption of Western social movements is the existence of an
autonomous civil society with ‘‘mobilizeable’’ constituencies, who are po-
tentially willing to engage collectively for a communal interest. However, in
many postcommunist countries, forty years of repression disrupted the de-
velopment of a consistent tradition of civic engagement. The reconstruction
of a vibrant civil society became more complex, ambiguous, and difficult
task than the transparent procedure of implementing democratic elections
through a pluralistic party system. The steadily increasing number of non-
profit organizations in the region, resulting in part from Western funders’
efforts to reconstitute civil society, has not necessarily increased the general
population’s willingness to engage on a community level (Fazekas, 2003).
For example, a study conducted in the mid-nineties found that both
Slovakian men and women considered their ‘citizen role’ one of least im-
portance, and rated their interest in public issues as an unimportant char-
acteristic in an ideal woman or man (Bútorová et al., 1996).
Consequently, theories of collective behavior in postcommunist societies

cannot assume the existence of the same kind of civil society and civic
engagement as in Western liberal democracies. In order to understand the
emergence, strategies, and outcomes of collective action in the region, social
movement theories need to consider the different trajectory and character-
istics of postcommunist civil societies. Scholars who study social movements
in Latin, America’s formerly authoritarian regimes have called for a similar
revision of Western theoretical concepts (Noonan, 1995; Hipsher, 1998;
Moodie, 2002). I extend their revisionist call to transitional democracies in
East-Central Europe, whose emergent civil societies are constituted of
different processes and publics.
The second assumption of Western theories on social movements relates
to the concept of modular repertoires of contention. Collective action rep-
ertoires are broader collections of the ‘‘ways that people act together in
pursuit of shared interest’’ (Tilly, 1995, p. 41). They include not only sym-
bolic resources, such as cultural frames, but also specific protest tactics, such
as strikes, petitions, or public meetings. Modern repertoires of contention
are typically modular as they are general enough to be replicated across
different settings, distinguishing them from the more provincial and spon-
taneous pre-modern rebellions (Tarrow, 1998). Modular repertoires are thus
cultural repositories of effective mobilizing strategies and frames, which
emerge gradually over time. However, Slovakia’s forty year repressive com-
munist past disrupted the accumulation of modular repertoires (Dudeková,
1998). This lack of emergence of modular repertoires has been further ex-
acerbated by the public’s general aversion to public protest and mobiliza-
tion, a historical legacy of the past regime that imposed public actions in
support of the dominant state ideology (Einhorn, 1993).
Consequently, feminists underwent a difficult process of deliberation be-
fore deciding to launch an awareness-raising campaign using Western mar-
keting strategies. Despite the short-lived public discussion facilitated by the
campaign, many of the organizers’ preliminary concerns about the appro-
priateness and effectiveness of the Western campaign format materialized.
Nevertheless, the campaign did create political leverage which feminists
were able to use to activate their pre-existing networks with key politicians
to criminalize domestic violence. Consequently, strategic issue networks fo-
cusing on specific legislative reform generated more visible and immediate
success than the awareness raising campaign designed by advertising pro-
fessionals. However, neither the campaign nor the progressive legislative
changes succeeded in diffusing a broader feminist understanding of gender
relations across all the sectors of society.
168 MAGDALENA VANYA
‘‘ISLANDS OF FEMINIST DEVIATION’’ – FEMINISM

IN SLOVAKIA BEFORE THE FIFTH
WOMAN CAMPAIGN
Before the fifth woman campaign in December 2001, an average Slovakian

would not have known the meaning of the concept of ‘‘domestic violence,’’
although research indicates 28 percent of men and 40 percent of women
know an abused woman in their close environment (Iniciatı́va piata žena,
2002). Even the justice professionals and police officers I interviewed in 1999
considered domestic violence to mean Slovakian national security politics.
Moreover, the vast majority of my interviewees considered marital ‘‘quar-
rels,’’ the family’s private trouble and vehemently opposed any state inter-
vention into a married couple’s privacy, referring to the past regime’s
intrusive state control (Vanya, 1999).
Domáce násilie, a direct translation of the English ‘‘domestic violence,’’
was first introduced in print in 1998 in Aspekt, the one and the only
Slovakian feminist magazine founded in 1993. Due to the magazine’s ac-
ademic language, Aspekt’s readership has remained limited to women in-
tellectuals and academics with university degrees. While the magazine’s
literary publishing strategy did not generate a public debate on domestic
violence, it facilitated loose networks among similarly minded feminist
women in and outside of Bratislava. Some of these intellectuals later es-
tablished their own feminist organizations, such as Aliancia žien Slovenska
[Alliance of Women in Slovakia] founded in 1994, Klub feministických fi-
lozofiek [Feminist Philosophers’ Club] officially registered in 2001, and Es-
fem, active since 1999. These feminist organizations met occasionally at
seminars organized by the magazine in Bratislava, but they did not organize
or participate in joint projects. The nascent feminist community thus re-
mained fragmented and invisible on the mainstream political landscape due
to a lack of coordination and collaboration.
While tensions and disagreements in voluntary, including feminist, or-
ganizations are not uncommon in other geographical contexts as well, spe-
cific historical conditions underlie Slovakian feminists’ difficulties of
organizational collaboration. As discussed earlier, revitalizing voluntary
organizing and civic engagement on a community level became an arduous,
complicated task in the postcommunist region due to the widespread of anti-
collectivist public attitudes. Feminists themselves shared the general public’s
discomfort with creating and joining organizations as well. Nad’a4 is a
feminist writer and translator who has been actively involved with Aspekt
since its inception. Her recount of discussing the founding of Aspekt with
Western funders illustrates feminists’ initial anti-collectivist attitudes.
I still remember how someone from a Western foundation sat around with us, a group of
women interested mainly in literature, philosophy, and arts y trying to convince us to
create an organization because otherwise we weren’t going to get money. We debated for
an incredibly long time about how it’s not that simple to establish an organization in a
country with a legacy of the socialist association of women, where anything that was
announced as an organization created a terrible fear in us.5
Despite feminists’ initial fears about formalizing their feminist interests, the
prospect of continuous Western funding compelled them to create locally
based non-profit organizations, but they avoided unifying their organiza-
tional resources in a larger collaborative project. Publishing feminist theory,
human rights documents, or providing counseling limited to a particular
region appeared to feminists as more feasible and appropriate for the po-
litically disillusioned context of Slovakia than organizing public rallies and
demonstrations. Nad’a reveals a sad nostalgia about the impossibility of
grassroots organizing in postcommunist Slovakia: ‘‘I have always felt a sad
nostalgia about never having experienced that real kind of action-oriented
activism. We have never really experienced anything similar to that, and I
feel sorry about that.’’
Aspekt’s and other Slovakian feminist organizations’ focus on publishing
rather than public action resembles feminist strategies in other countries of
the post-Soviet region. For example, Sperling (1999, p. 46) characterizes
Russian feminists’ collective efforts as a ‘‘nonmobilizational movement
holding a few rallies and focusing entirely on nondisruptive means of cre-
ating change.’’ In addition to the ‘‘nonmobilizational’’ character of
Slovakian feminist projects, they also remained isolated from other organ-
izations’ projects, and limited to a single topic and region of Slovakia.
For instance, in 1998 Fenestra, Pro Familia, and Aspekt organized a lo-
cally based campaign against domestic violence entitled ‘‘Sixteen Days of
Activism.’’ The campaign was timed for December to overlap with other
global feminist anti-violence campaigns. As part of the campaign, the or-
ganizations presented lectures on domestic violence. In addition, feminists
sent a petition to the Slovakian Prime Minister criticizing ‘‘the long-lasting
and permanent unwillingness of the government to actively deal with the
state of women’s human rights and the situation of the battered women’’
(Iniciatı́va piata žena, 2002, p. 2). Justifying official concern for domestic
violence as a human rights issue represents Slovakian feminists’ first attempt
to align themselves with the global feminist movement’s agenda. However,
170 MAGDALENA VANYA
the campaign’s limited regional focus, proved to be insufficient for eliciting

public and political concern for domestic violence.
Feminist organizations’ attempts to change the public and legislative dis-
course on domestic violence failed, in part, because of feminists’ reluctance
to combine and coordinate individual initiatives. Nevertheless, while these
feminist activities lacked a coordinated, unified agenda, according to Re-
nata, a feminist sociologist, they created ‘‘small islands of feminist devia-
tion,’’ each active in different fields and regions. Nikoleta, a battered
women’s counselor, discusses with some nostalgia in her voice how the less
coordinated and unified feminist community was functional and productive
in the particular postcommunist context of Slovakia.
Between 1996 and 1998 we started to get to know each other and provide strong support
to each other. It was so nice that we all had a different approach. Some of us were
interested in practical issues, others in methods and future visions and research, while
[some] were interested in publishing. We all felt really good about having it all covered so
well. It was a very nice period of time, it gave us a lot.
The nostalgic period of diverse and scattered feminist projects described by

Nikoleta ended in 2001, when Slovakian feminists formed their first larger,
joint organization. The first and largest fifth woman campaign, launched in
2001, represented Slovakian feminists’ real public breakthrough that created
a ‘‘shock,’’ as one feminist put it in Slovakian media and society. Given that
the subsequent awareness-raising campaigns organized in 2002 and 2003
were much smaller in terms of their effect and extent, this paper concen-
trates on the strategies and outcomes of the first fifth woman campaign.
SOLIDIFYING OF A SCATTERED COMMUNITY –

THE EMERGENCE OF THE FIFTH
WOMAN CAMPAIGN
The organizations, Altera, Aliancia žien Slovenska, Aspekt, Eset, Fenestra,

Možnost’ vol’by [Pro Choice Slovakia], and Pro Familia had never before
collaborated on a project, nor had they planned to join forces over the
specific issue of domestic violence.6 Anka, a feminist writer, has always felt
disgusted by public campaigns ‘‘because they’re so terribly simplify-
ing y and activism is so primitive in Slovakia,’’ implying the lack of ac-
tivist tradition and civic engagement in the country. In addition to historical
reasons, L’uba, who has worked with battered women, provides another
reason against massive, collaborative campaigns ‘‘Our long-term position
was that campaigns should be done only after services have been estab-
lished, because informing the public about [domestic violence] and then not
have services doesn’t make any sense y we didn’t think it was the right time
yet.’’ Most feminists thus rejected the idea of a unifying organization or
project because they found local organizations more effective and feasible in
the contemporary Slovakian context than a more general, all-encompassing
organization.
The primary impetus for the creation of a larger umbrella organization
came from a Western non-profit funder, who announced a call for proposals
in early 2001 to fund a campaign to raise awareness around domestic vio-
lence. Feminist organizations felt compelled to apply for the Western grant
for various reasons.7 First, they felt concerned about other, non-feminist o-
rganizations grabbing the funding opportunity to organize a campaign more
damaging than helpful to victims. Furthermore, Nora, the director of the
funding organization’s women’s program and a cheerful Slovak woman who
studied feminist philosophy, ‘‘pushed’’ key feminist organizations to apply
through personal phone calls and e-mails. Although she was aware of fem-
inists’ dilemmas concerning the lack of shelters, she felt convinced that the
campaign represented a unique ‘‘opportunity when all these organizations
that hadn’t collaborated in the most effective ways could now get a chance
to form a uniform view and goals within Slovak society.’’ When I asked
what she meant by not collaborating in ‘‘the most effective ways,’’ Nora
explained that feminist organizations’ effectiveness was hindered by their
scattered, uncoordinated, regionally focused activities. By personally en-
couraging specific feminist organizations to apply and connect with other
organizations, Nora activated the loose networks between scattered femi-
nists in and outside of Bratislava.
The prime incentive to apply specifically as an officially registered coa-
lition of five (later expanded to seven) organizations came from the appli-
cation requirements, which stated that, ‘‘the precondition of getting a grant
is the collaboration of two or more NGOs’’ (For Democracy Foundation,
2001a, p. 2).8 Consequently, grant requirements pushed feminist organiza-
tions to solidify their networks into the formal structure of a non-profit
coalition entitled Iniciatı´va piata žena [Fifth Woman Initiative]. By requiring
the formal unification of formerly loose and uncoordinated feminist net-
works, the Western funding agency not only activated informal connections
among feminists, but also imposed a particular organizational structure,
viewed as more effective in engendering social change.
While most Slovakian feminist organizations considered a mass organ-
ization and campaign format inappropriate for the given historical and
172 MAGDALENA VANYA
cultural context of Slovakia, the Western funders held a different opinion.

According to them, Slovakian feminists could not become influential players
in civil society unless they formally unified their goals and visions. Nora, the
Slovak director of the Western funding organization’s women’s program,
recalls how various ‘‘donors longed for an initiative that isn’t one organ-
ization trying to get money for itself, but an initiative that is finally coming
from multiple sides, and is able to unite around one topic or one goal.’’ In
fact, Nora explains, three other larger funding agencies agreed to fund the
fifth woman campaign after they learned that it united the interests and
resources of multiple organizations.
Nora’s organization thus required the formation of a coalition for two
reasons. First, the coalition format secured the endorsement of other im-
portant Western funders. The second reason Nora alludes to be a larger
concern about the long-term sustainability of the scattered, not coordinated
or unified, feminist community in Slovakia. Some of the biggest U.S. fund-
ing agencies, including Nora’s employer, are gradually removing their re-
sources from Eastern European countries as their ‘‘democracy-building’’
mission is nearing its end. Many of these U.S. funders assume that their
funding role will be replaced by the European Union, as most East Central
European countries, including Slovakia, became European Union members
in the Spring of 2003. Nora felt concerned that similar to U.S. funding
agencies, funders affiliated with the European Union will prefer to support
more solidified, formally unified non-profit organizations as the only guar-
antee for effective, wide-ranging social change.
The unifying element of the fifth woman coalition was particularly ap-
pealing to Katherine, the director of a subdivision of a supranational non-
profit organization. When discussing her perceptions of the campaign, she
underscores significance of the project’s collective format in the Slovakian
context.
And when I say that it brought several groups together, I think it was an issue and it
remains an issue, in terms of the way women’s organizations that are doing advocacy for
gender equality are able to come together to do some sort of collective action, because
for our organization, we feel whereas there is room for a lot of organizations to do a lot
of work, sometimes, in order to influence policy and to really create the institutional
changes that are needed in this country, groups need to come together, and here it has
been a very difficult process in order.
Katherine’s account sheds light on Western funders’ assumption about the

necessity of unified organizational and symbolic resources for effective so-
cial change, regardless of historical and cultural circumstances of the post-
communist region. Consequently, Katherine’s organization would not have
provided funding to any of the organizations in the fifth woman initiative

had they applied individually.
On the other hand, Slovakian feminist organizations considered their di-
verse activities less focused on collective organizing and more on education
through publishing to be the only historically and culturally viable option.
Western funders and Slovakian feminists thus had divergent definitions of
an effective feminist nonprofit community.
‘‘EVERY FIFTH WOMAN IS ABUSED. DO WE

CARE?’’:9 MARKETING DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
After the five feminist organizations jointly formed and officially registered
the fifth woman initiative, they had to comply with further requirements
imposed by the Western funder. The call of the For Democracy Foundation
(FDF) stipulated not only the organizational form, but also the language
and strategies of the campaign. The announcement’s introduction provided
the following theoretical conceptualization of violence against women:
The right to be free from violence is a fundamental human right. Violence against
women is gender-based violence that results in physical, sexual or psychological harm or
suffering to women. Gender motivated violence is an abuse of women’s human rights
and is a primary cause and symptom of women’s unequal status in society. (For De-
mocracy Foundation, 2001a, p. 1)
The call thus utilized the human rights language and interpretation of do-
mestic violence, which considers any form of violence against women more
than a manifestation of unequal gender relations. As a result of decade-long
feminist networking and lobbying in supranational organizations such as in
the United Nations (UN) the original feminist explanation of violence
against women as an expression of patriarchy was expanded to denote a
violation of human rights (Keck & Sikkink, 1998, pp. 165–198). The Dec-
laration on the Elimination of Violence against Women, ratified in 1993 by
the UN, officially codified this broadened definition of domestic abuse
(Declaration on the Elimination of Violation Against Women, 1994). After
a brief paragraph about the weakened political and social status of women
after the fall of communism, the call reiterates the human rights interpre-
tation of domestic violence by highlighting November 25, the International
Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, officially designated
by the UN General Assembly in 2000. Moreover, the call obliges successful
applicants to time their campaigns with other globally organized campaigns
174 MAGDALENA VANYA
entitled Sixteen Days of Activism Against Gender Violence that run from
November 25 to December 10 every year.10
Borrowing language from social movements literature, FDF identified
human rights as the master frame for making domestic violence into a social
problem. Master frames indicate more generic and flexible collective action
frames that are used successfully across cycles of protest in the same or
different geographical areas (Gamson, 1992; Benford & Snow, 2000; Tarrow,
1998). By emphasizing the human rights interpretation of domestic violence,
FDF encouraged the alignment of Slovakian feminists’ framing efforts with
other global campaigns against violence against women. In sum, by imposing
the organizational structure of a coalition and the human rights master
frame, FDF intended to increase Slovakian feminists’ effectiveness in gen-
erating public and political concern to domestic violence.
Furthermore, the Western funding agency’s call required participants to
rely primarily on media, described as an ‘‘ideal tool to raise public aware-
ness,’’ which ‘‘has the power to reach out to millions of people’’ (For De-
mocracy Foundation, 2001a, p. 1). FDF thus assumed the media’s
transformative capacity in Slovakia, where pluralistic society, democratic
media, and civil society represent relatively recent concepts and newly
learned and applied practices. For instance, while Slovakian nonprofit or-
ganizations have grown and diversified steadily since the end of communist
rule, they continue to encounter difficulty in using the media to mobilize the
public for various causes. In a study on the development of the ‘‘third
sector,’’11 activist comments on the state of Slovakian non-profit organi-
zations:
The [non-profit] sector has not been able to utilize sufficiently the potential it gained four
years ago to become more accepted by politicians and the public. Politicians use the
[non-profit] sector to advance their own goals y and it seems like the public cannot
connect non-profit activities with real people and real actions. The non-profit sectors
communication with the public is fairly complicated and clumsy. (Demeš, 2002, p. 328)
In addition to neglecting Slovakian nonprofits’ difficulties in reaching the

public, the Western funder failed to sufficiently credit Slovakia’s long-held
traditional attitudes toward domestic violence (Bodnárová & Filadelfiová,
2002). The combination of victim-blaming attitudes and a strong rejection
of state interference into the private are typical views not only among the
general public, but also among criminal justice professionals and elected
officials (Krchňáková, Farkašová, Gyarfášová, & Centrum praw kobiet,
2002; Vanya, 1999). Gabriela, one of the spokespersons of the fifth woman
campaign, told me a story about an MP that illustrates well the extent of
ignorance about domestic abuse among elected Slovakian officials. At a

conference organized by the European Commission in Cologne, Germany,
in 1999 a Slovakian MP announced that Slovakia does not have a domestic
violence problem, despite the statistical evidence about rising trends of vio-
lent crime in the private sphere of the home at the end of the nineties
(Ministerstvo práce, sociálnych vecı́ a rodiny, 2004a, pp. 3–5). Similarly, a
content analysis of mainstream Slovakian media revealed that newspapers
tend to avoid writing about domestic violence completely, despite the per-
sistent efforts of feminist organizations to publicize the widespread nature of
the problem. The few cases reported by newspapers tend to be written in
victimizing language that reinforces traditional myths about women and
their marital roles (Cviková & Juráňová, 2001, pp. 37–48).
Although the grant announcement alluded to the relative weakness of the
emergent Slovakian civil society, it did not discuss the widespread cultural
taboo and ignorance surrounding domestic abuse. Instead, the call contin-
ued arguing that the media, ‘‘if used in an appropriate manner,’’ could not
only change popular attitudes about domestic violence, but also strengthen
the negotiating position of feminist organizations in the political decision-
making process (For Democracy Foundation, 2001a, p. 1). Successful ap-
plicants were to learn the ‘‘appropriate manner’’ of using the media to
change public attitudes and increase their organization’s political influence
in specialized workshops led by U.S.-trained marketing experts. These
workshops would teach participants ‘‘the different approaches to the
planning, implementation, tools, and effectiveness of media campaigns,’’
which would also improve participants’ media relations and campaigning
skills in general. By teaching the nuts and bolts of media campaigning,
FDF also wanted participants to gain better access to the media to be able
to ‘‘promote their messages’’ in general (For Democracy Foundation,
2001a, p. 2).
Western marketing experts emphasized the importance of a single, clear,
concise, and simple message that is focused on a strictly defined target and
driven by concrete, measurable goals (For Democracy Foundation, 2001c).
Arrows on the fancy Powerpoint slides used by the marketing experts con-
nected the purpose of communicating easily and quickly understandable
messages while selling an issue, in this case domestic violence. One of the
slides revealed the connection between the media and social change by ex-
plaining that the media give voice to social problems, and by reading the
media, the public forms an opinion, which automatically motivates them
emotionally to engage in social action and public debate (For Democracy
Foundation, 2001b). Finally, all workshops emphasized the necessity for
176 MAGDALENA VANYA
funded projects to consult with a professional advertising agency about

specific campaign details on a regular basis.
By requiring feminists to reduce their cause to a single, precise message,
their multiple audiences to a distinguishable target, and their broader fem-
inist mission to measurable outcomes, FDF promoted a marketing ap-
proach to domestic violence. According to a workshop manual, a clearly
defined message, target, and set of goals will generate a ‘‘solid, determined,
credible, and committed campaign, [which] will help attract new adherents
to [the] cause’’ (For Democracy Foundation, 2001c, p. 10). FDF thus ex-
pected that a media campaign emulating marketing strategies would change
traditional public and political perceptions of domestic violence, and result
in broader policy changes. To ensure the consistency of this marketing ap-
proach, FDF recommended a particular advertising agency from Bratislava
to the fifth woman initiative, and required regular reports about meetings
with the agency.
In addition to suggesting one of the most renowned advertising agencies
in Bratislava, FDF also required the initiative to consult with FDF’s own
board of media experts. Hana, a board member, explains with the help of
flashy English terminology that the board’s role during the campaign was to
provide ‘‘know-how, guidance, and technical support y so that maximum
efficiency is achieved in the [Slovakian] environment.’’ According to Hana,
feminist organizations definitely needed professional guidance, as they had
no experience in the field of media. She found working with women’s or-
ganizations very frustrating.
I had a very strong feeling that the campaign organizers’ vision was so extreme and
strong, particularly regarding how things should be done, that I felt like they thought we
had no idea what it was about. As a result, these organizations were not open to
communication.
Hana’s frustration about feminist organizers’ ‘‘extreme’’ vision refers to

feminists’ staunch determination to retain control over how domestic vio-
lence is visually represented. Hana’s and the other consultants’ standard-
ized, simplistic marketing approach and feminists’ subjective, emotional
identification with the topic became a source of ongoing tension during the
two months of the campaign.
This tension resulted in the disillusionment of the feminist community
with both joint campaigns and using marketing strategies for changing
public attitudes. By following most of the funding conditions, feminists
embraced the role of social marketers selling the issue of domestic violence
as a serious issue to change the victim-blaming attitudes of the politically
indifferent Slovakian public. However, while the social marketing of do-

mestic violence generated a temporary public debate and the passage of
progressive domestic violence legislation, the reduction of feminist principles
to a single issue, target, and tactic complicated the political acceptance and
diffusion of feminist principles across diverse policy sectors.
Although the role of social marketers as a result of funding stipulations
constrained feminists’ creativity and agency in publicizing domestic vio-
lence, feminists applied a number of specific target-oriented strategies to
affect the discourse and legislation about the issue. Consequently, depending
on the intended target of change, I distinguish two broad categories of
strategies, discursive and legislative strategies. Discursive strategies aimed at
changing the discourse of domestic violence, what we know about domestic
violence and how we know it. These strategies concentrated primarily on
changing the individualistic victim blaming, pathologizing discourse of do-
mestic violence present in the media, helping professions, and political es-
tablishment. Legislative strategies, on the other hand, focused on changing
legislation related to domestic violence.
Legislative and discursive strategies are not mutually exclusive, but rather
represent intertwined analytical categories. Accordingly, institutions, such
as the law, family, or education, always operate and are maintained through
particular discourses, while discourses produce particular institutional prac-
tices (Foucault, 1991, p. 71; Profitt, 2000, pp. 3–4; Thayer, 2000, pp. 5–7).
While feminists’ discursive and legislative strategies appear intricately en-
twined, distinguishing between the two illuminates their different emergence
and levels of effectiveness. As a result of their clearly defined target as well as
particular historical conditions, feminists’ legislative strategies produced
more success than their discursive strategies. On the other hand, due to their
more diffused and imperceptible target, it is questionable whether discursive
strategies were able to transform the pathologizing discourse of ‘‘wife beat-
ing’’ into a more feminist interpretation of violence against women.
SELLING ‘‘THE FIFTH WOMAN’’ – DISCURSIVE

STRATEGIES
Discursive strategies targeted key sites of popular discourse formation, which
included the nation-wide distribution of billboards, radio and TV spots, as well
as regular press conferences, press releases, televised discussions, public sem-
inars, and lectures on various aspects of violence against women. In addition,
178 MAGDALENA VANYA
the initiative launched a temporary phone line during the campaign period
intended to provide general information about violence against women.
While the fifth woman initiative’s final report lists only the aforemen-
tioned activities, all directed at the popular discourse, two organizations in
the coalition attempted to affect the attitudes and approaches taken by
professionals working with domestic violence cases as well as by organizing
professional workshops. These two organizations used their own limited
funding to educate police officers and social workers about the social causes
of violence against women. However, since the coalition’s overall funding
was limited to using and working with the media, professional trainings
remained a marginal, sporadic tactic, organized only in a few selected cities.
The overall campaign was divided into two stages to maximize the effect
of advertising. The first stage of the campaign was organized between No-
vember 23 and December 10, 2001, and comprised primarily ‘‘explanatory
activities.’’ A few academic lectures and TV discussions, featuring the or-
ganizers of the fifth woman campaign, explained the causes and effects of
violence against women, highlighting the role of traditional gender stere-
otypes in public and private violence against women. Additionally, the fifth
woman initiative published numerous specialized articles and books on the
issue during the first half of the campaign. The second stage of the cam-
paign, which took place through most of January, incorporated a massive
media campaign consisting of billboards, TV and radio spots as well as print
ads. While the campaign’s first half focused on the theoretical foundations
of violence against women, the second stage served to publicize, or in the
initiative’s terminology to ‘‘medialize,’’ the gravity of the phenomenon.
The first stage of the campaign attempted to ‘‘advertise’’ a more sophis-
ticated, feminist, and human rights-based explanation of violence against
women. In a press release launching the campaign, the fifth woman initiative
legitimizes public concern for violence against women by employing a hu-
man rights framework with a feminist twist.
An individual’s human rights cannot be guaranteed unless everyone’s human rights are
respected, including the human rights of women. Women represent more than half of the
Earth’s population, yet they have a much less say in decisions about their own lives and
relationships, as well as the society in which they live. Women’s discrimination is a direct
consequence of the unequal and unjust distribution of power between men and women.
This injustice can be called many different ways – traditional values, cultural heritage,
the natural course of the world, but in reality it’s an injustice that threatens the rights
and lives of women. (piata žena, 2001a)
Similarly, other articles pre-written for the campaign by the feminists and
women journalist ‘‘allies’’ combined the general human rights frame with a
feminist critique of traditional gender roles as sources of domestic violence.

However, many feminists felt most articles and press releases during the
campaign did not succeed at combining feminist language with a human
rights frame. Nikoleta found it very hard and exhausting to maintain a
structural, feminist discourse of domestic violence in every public appear-
ance throughout the campaign.
The only way to maintain [a feminist discourse] is if one applies a gender-based definition
of domestic violence in a thorough and persistent way, in every sentence and every
activity that we do. That’s very hard.y. Single cases of violence are often impossible to
solve on the individual level, so we insist on contextualizing every case in the context of
violence, without focusing on our organization, and that is very boring for journalists.
y I think the first fifth woman campaign was only a beginning, but I think we managed
to maintain [a feminist discourse].
Nikoleta’s words indicate that, at least during the campaign’s first stage, the
discourse of the Slovakian media shifted from individualizing cases of ‘‘wife
beating’’ to situating violence against women in the context of unequal
gender relations. However, Nikoleta’s account needs to be contextualized
within the peculiar emergence of the fifth woman initiative’s discursive
strategies; most articles published about violence against women during the
campaign period were pre-written by feminists or selected journalist ‘‘allies,’’
who were ‘‘pre-trained’’ about the feminist causes of violence against
women. Additionally, the Slovak government reports high tolerance to vio-
lent acts, particularly physical violence against women among the general
population (Ministerstvo práce, sociálnych vecı́ a rodiny, 2004b, pp. 6).
Consequently, it is questionable to what extent the ‘‘explanatory’’ articles
published during the campaign’s brief first stage altered the deep-rooted
traditional, individualizing perceptions of the general public.
The campaign’s second stage consisted of a massive media campaign
marketing domestic violence as an issue of public concern. The campaign
was preceded by months of extensive preparation, monitored by the coa-
lition’s Western funders, who wanted to be informed regularly about each
stage of campaign development. Nora, the FDF’s program director, fully
admits that her organization became ‘‘the police officer in the particular
country where the grant was awarded.’’ FDF’s authoritative position as the
monitor of the campaign created many ongoing tensions among feminists.
One of feminists’ biggest frustrations was generated by the funders’ insist-
ence on collaborating with a professional marketing agency, whose experts
dismissed feminists’ knowledge about domestic violence. Nad’a reveals her
irritation with marketing experts’ ignorance and superficial approach.
180 MAGDALENA VANYA
What we know is simply not valued as expert knowledge; while a person who y works in
the advertising business, and has a flashy English label describing their work is con-
sidered an expert. That made me think that perhaps it would be a good idea to call
myself the ‘‘creative director’’ [uses English phrase] of Aspekt [audience laughs] y. That
just represents the clash of two worlds, which is in some ways interesting, but it also
brings a lot of tension.
Feminists found it extremely difficult to cooperate with an agency that ig-

nored feminist expertise about the issue. Advertising experts wanted to
market domestic violence as they would yoghurt or any other consumer
item, arguing ‘‘one doesn’t need to know a lot about yoghurt to create a
good advertisement’’ (Nora, FDF’s Program Director). Nad’a can still re-
call vividly her internal conflicts while adjusting to the rough rules of the
reductionist marketing world.
I still remember how hard it was to articulate our order to the agency, and how hard it
was to maintain our demands. We formulated a huge amount of really clear and im-
portant limitations or prohibitions regarding all the things the spot was not allowed to
contain y of course after we listed them all, the agency panicked. But it was very hard
for me y that the spot was going to be done by men, since my vision used to be that it
would be done by women activists who work in the media and are familiar with the
topic.
However, since Slovakia had no advertising or marketing agency with a

feminist leadership or an activist base, feminists had to challenge opposition
from predominantly men marketers about the necessity of their advertising
‘‘prohibitions.’’ Some of these prohibitions included avoiding the focus on
unprivileged social backgrounds, and on womens’ or childrens’ bodies with
or without injuries. The only common ground both parties could agree
became the quantitative information about every fifth woman being abused,
which was based on statistical data from Western European countries (Eu-
ropean Women’s Lobby, 1998).
After feminists and the agency agreed on centering the campaign around
this quantitative information, feminists’ central challenge became simplify-
ing the abstract, sophisticated feminist language to a clear, widely under-
standable, quickly selling, attractive message. The minutes of a meeting with
the agency detail how every instruction of the marketing experts emphasized
‘‘having a message as clear and transparent as possible, with as little facts as
possible,’’ while reminding feminists that most of their ideas were too so-
phisticated for the general population. Feminists soon realized that com-
plying with marketing requirements entailed reducing not only their
language, but also their broader mission into a single message. L’uba’s
recalls gradually adapting to the marketing approach through constant re-

duction and simplification.
The agency we worked with also told us that it could not be a lot in the first year of the
campaign, and that it had to be concentrated. At [their] suggestion we chose the slogan
‘‘every fifth woman is abused,’’ which provided a strong unifying element and prevented
the dispersion into many messages y. During the preparations of the campaign we kept
constantly reducing what we want to do and how we want to do it.
L’uba’s words reveal the process through which feminists gradually ac-
cepted the necessity of multiple message reductions in the interest of quick
and widespread publicity. The agency’s marketing experts used various ar-
guments to convince feminists that encapsulating a feminist message in one
piece of numerical information is the best solution for raising public aware-
ness. For instance, marketing experts argued, based on the results of their
focus group research, that the general population responded to numerical
information the most. In addition, an expert claimed that numbers are ideal
in advertisements because ‘‘they can be remembered, represented, and
played with easily.’’
The ad agency thus gradually convinced feminists to concentrate on the
single fact of the ‘‘every fifth woman,’’ which omitted the complex socio-
cultural causes and severe effects of violence against women, including its
interpretation as a violation of human rights. Since the agency was not able
to produce a visual ad acceptable by feminists’ standards, the final product
became a purely textual billboard, containing the campaign slogan ‘‘Every
fifth woman is abused. Do we care?’’ By privileging a statistical fact over
theoretical complexity in the public ‘‘promotion’’ of violence against
women, feminists embraced the role of social marketers of violence against
women as in Slovakia’s recuperating civil society.
The fifth woman initiative’s members realized the pitfalls of an awareness-
raising campaign using a professional marketing model. Their fears and
doubts about the appropriateness of a media campaign for creating an
alternative discourse around violence against women particularly intensified
after the completion of the campaign. Many feminists lamented the diffi-
culty of maintaining control over the introduction and diffusion of feminist
ideas through mainstream media. At a seminar evaluating the fifth woman
campaign, Nad’a discusses the controversial after-effects of marketing do-
mestic violence through mainstream media.
It was very important to us to publicize the things we were doing. But by publicizing they
simply slipped through our fingers, and now there are all kinds of things happening to
them, mostly things that we would have never imagined y. Because we, the fifth woman
initiative, or the larger media circle, succeeded in creating an issue of concern, and that
182 MAGDALENA VANYA
was a very, very important step. On the other hand, we need to look at what’s happening
with this issue now y what ways of not solving the issue did it create, because I don’t
really think we can talk about solving the issue.
Nad’a’s last sentence refers especially to the Slovak government’s subtle

resistance to incorporate feminist principles into the National Strategy for
the Elimination and Prevention of Violence against Women and in the
Family (National Strategy). The National Strategy is a governmental policy
document, developed by an interdisciplinary committee consisting of elected
officials and activist experts on violence against women, which contains
recommendations for various policy areas on how to eliminate and prevent
domestic violence.12 After the government passed progressive legislative
amendments, drafted largely by feminists, the Slovak government gradually
but effectively hindered the incorporation of explicitly feminist, gender-
based interpretation of violence against women. The Parliament rejected a
legislative proposal to implement and fund police trainings to increase pro-
fessionals’ awareness and sensitivity about domestic violence, particularly
after passing related amendments in the Criminal Procedural Code. Fur-
thermore, the government refused to allocate state funds for creating bat-
tered women’s shelters. Both professional trainings and state funded safe
houses were goals feminists strongly advocated for in governmental com-
mittees13 before and after passing domestic violence related amendments in
the Criminal Code. Consequently, while feminist activists considered the
passage of amendments an important success in their collective efforts, the
Slovak government’s subsequent withdrawal from supporting and imple-
menting a National Strategy informed by a feminist definition of domestic
violence. The following section details the emergence and complicated out-
comes of feminists’ legislative strategies.
QUICK FIX, SLOW CHANGE – LEGISLATIVE

STRATEGIES
The fifth woman initiative’s legislative strategies, which extended beyond the
campaign period, focused on reforming the legislative framework of do-
mestic violence. Specifically, feminists concentrated on amending specific
articles of the Slovak Criminal and Criminal Procedural Code to improve
the protection of domestic violence victims. The limited focus and goal of
legislative strategies, employed in a particularly favorable historical mo-
ment, facilitated speedy success. Within the course of a year, the Slovakian
Parliament criminalized domestic abuse, passed stricter sentences for bat-

terers, and introduced restraining orders. My findings indicate that while
Slovakia’s approaching admission to the European Union and parliamen-
tary elections sped up the amendments’ passage by the Parliament, the same
historical conditions delayed MPs’ acceptance of the issue’s feminist expla-
nation as gender inequality. Consequently, feminists’ legislative strategies
simultaneously facilitated progressive legislative changes, while also im-
peded the broader diffusion of feminist principles in subsequent policy de-
cisions.
In order to understand the successful outcome of the fifth woman ini-
tiative’s legislative strategies, I propose the concept of strategic issue net-
works. Strategic issue networks denote pre-existing personal connections
with strategically positioned elected officials, activated by social movement
entrepreneurs for a limited time, issue, and purpose. Since these networks
focus on a single issue and goal, they tend to weaken and lose their utility
after the goal has been achieved. Consequently, strategic issue networks can
be simultaneously effective in achieving immediately identifiable goals, such
as legislative or policy changes, but less effective in diffusing and sustaining
social change across broader levels of society.
In the case of the fifth woman campaign, feminists successfully activated a
set of strategic issue networks with MP’s and the Minister of Justice in
particular to achieve the criminalization of domestic violence. Feminists’
connections with particular elected officials in the Parliament and the Mini-
stry of Justice were essential to passing progressive legislation, as draft bills
can be submitted to the Slovakian Parliament by the governmental repre-
sentatives, that is, by various ministers, or by MP’s (Kováčechová &
Žilinčı́k, 1999, p. 3). The effectiveness of strategic issue networks was further
enhanced by the set of precisely defined legislative goals. As Tamara ex-
plains, feminists wanted ‘‘to achieve great impact with small changes,’’
therefore they focused on amending a few selected articles in the Criminal
Code. Through the enactment of these amendments, feminists achieved the
criminalization of domestic violence and the introduction of restraining or-
ders, representing unique legislative improvements in the entire postcom-
munist region.
Feminists’ strategic issue networks emerged from their previous personal
and working connections with elected officials. These connections date back
to ‘‘times before the revolution,14 when there were these positive islands of
civic opposition y or some kind of an underground,’’ explains Tamara,
who is both member of the fifth woman initiative and runs her own, small
feminist organization. The current Slovakian Minister of Justice, Daniel
184 MAGDALENA VANYA
Lipšic, and Tamara have known each other since the anti-communist op-
position of the late eighties in Slovakia. When Tamara wrote a personal
letter about the importance of criminalizing domestic violence to the Min-
ister in 2001, the year of the first fifth woman campaign, he immediately
agreed to cooperate on drafting necessary amendments. In turn, the influ-
ential, Christian-Democratic Minister’s endorsement facilitated the support
of the parliamentary majority as well.15
In addition to effective strategic issue networks, two historical factors
significantly contributed to the speedy criminalization of domestic violence
in Slovakia: approaching Parliamentary elections scheduled for September
20 and 21, 2002 and Slovakia’s pending admission to the European Union,
finalized by a national referendum in May 2003.16 Tamara describes with
some bitterness in her voice how the support of most MP’s for the amend-
ments was a strategic move to boost their personal popularity before the
approaching parliamentary elections.
When you think about it, we were really lucky that elections were scheduled for Sep-
tember, because all politicians wanted to look really good. Plus they couldn’t just ignore
the billboards we posted all over the country saying every fifth woman is abused. So all
politicians figured, ‘‘well, if I support that, I won’t lose anything.’’
Similarly, other feminists expressed their doubts about the sudden political
support for criminalizing domestic violence, associating it with the MPs’
moral difficulty in opposing an anti-violence bill introduced by the Ministry
of Justice. Consequently, while feminists considered criminalization crucial
in making domestic violence a public issue, they realized the limits of legis-
lative strategies in generating the cultural transformation of individual at-
titudes.
The second facilitating factor, Slovakia’s imminent entry to the European
Union, significantly contributed to the speedy enactment of legislative
changes as well. Part of the preparation process for being admitted to the
European Union includes legal and institutional harmonization, or the
standardization of domestic legislation with European standards. As part of
the harmonization process, the Ministry of Justice needed to standardize the
Slovak Penal Code with international law, which, in Kveta’s words, created
‘‘a fortunate coincidence of circumstances’’ for criminalizing domestic vi-
olence. Many of the necessary changes involved the ratification of better
legislative mechanisms for the protection of human rights (Kusý, 2002),
which for feminists represented an opportunity to raise concern for the issue
of domestic violence. For instance, in one of the coalition’s few press re-
leases alluding to the needed legislative changes, feminists legitimize the
human rights interpretation of domestic violence by appealing to more

‘‘developed,’’ Western countries as models to follow:
It is y legitimate to ask why the government, our Ministers, have been so persistent in
refusing to consider violence against women a violation of human rights. The situation in
Slovakia indicates that women’s abuse is not a governmental priority, even though many
developed countries are actively dealing with this issue (piata žena, 2001b).
Slovakian feminists thus framed domestic violence as a human rights violation,

whose criminalization was essential to becoming ‘‘European.’’ Europeaniza-
tion, or Slovakia’s process of adapting ‘‘European’’ values, often dominated
elected officials’ public statements toward the end of nineties. For instance,
Prime Minister Mikuláš Dzurinda, in a speech given at the Humboldt Uni-
versity in Berlin, equated being European with being part of a different,
‘‘higher’’ civilization ‘‘Europe, Europeanism mainly means for us a cultural
and civilisation model. To be a European means to commit oneself to certain
values – liberal democracy, civil society, individual rights.’’ (Dzurinda, 2002,
p. 2) Admission to the European Union thus provided a political opportunity
to put the criminalization of domestic violence ‘‘on the table’’ (McAdam,
1996). Appealing occasionally to the cultural narrative of Europeanization
helped feminists amplify the resonance of domestic violence as a human rights
issue among political circles. Consequently, in contrast to the difficulty fem-
inists faced in selling domestic violence as a human rights violation to the
general public, the human rights frame was an ideal ‘‘marketing’’ strategy to
activate feminists’ strategic issue networks with key political actors.
In addition to activating strategic issue networks in auspicious historical
circumstances, another particular feature of legislative strategies facilitated
the speedy criminalization of domestic violence, avoiding publicization.
While feminists’ discursive strategies focused on publicizing violence against
women as the every fifth (abused) woman on billboards and in public de-
bates, legislative strategies concentrated on the back stage of political meet-
ings. According to the feminists I interviewed, the success of legislative
strategies was rooted precisely in the avoidance of a wide-ranging public
discussion about the criminalization of domestic violence before, during,
and after the campaign period. Instead the fifth woman initiative concen-
trated on activating strategic issue networks in governmental and parlia-
mentary committee meetings. When I ask Nikoleta about the ‘‘secret’’ of
sudden criminalization, she underscores the significance of persistent back-
stage feminist networking.
Since 1999 Slovakian feminists’ tactic has been to do their own thing quietly, without
calling any attention to it, to avoid lobbying and publicizing in advance, and just prepare
186 MAGDALENA VANYA
those law proposals, and insert them quietly into a governmental proposal. I have
actually recommended this technique to other younger colleagues abroad as well -
y [Slovakian] MPs didn’t really know what they voted for, what [the bill] was really
about.
Consequently, both eschewing publicization and the conscious exploitation

of Slovakian politicians’ indifference regarding violence against women
contributed to the sudden legislative success. After gaining the support of a
few enthusiastic women MPs and the Ministry of Justice, the coalition in-
tentionally avoided educating other elected officials about domestic vio-
lence. In fact, many feminists I interviewed suspected that most MPs did not
fully realize they were voting for progressive domestic violence legislation
when they passed a larger crime bill, mentioned by Nikoleta above, as part
of the European harmonization process. Paradoxically then, feminists suc-
cessfully exploited the government’s ignorance to criminalize domestic vio-
lence.
However, the government’s involvement and interest increased signifi-
cantly during the process of drafting policy measures, which aimed at im-
plementing new legislation and preventing violence against women.
Specifically, the government failed to apply the feminist definition of vio-
lence against women consistently in the National Strategy for the prevention
and elimination of violence against women and in the family. Moreover, the
document conflates violence against women and family violence, including
child abuse, elderly abuse, and violence against disabled people (Minister-
stvo práce, sociálnych vecı́ a rodiny, 2004a, pp. 1–6). Finally, the govern-
ment failed to allot state funding for the establishment of battered women’s
shelters and police trainings.
Feminists considered the government’s sudden combination of family vio-
lence with violence against women a covert intention to suppress an exclu-
sively feminist interpretation rooted in gender inequality, and replace it with
a traditional family rhetoric assuming the sacrosanct unity of marriage.
Some feminists, I interviewed, also referred to the experiences of the bat-
tered women’s movement in Western Europe and the United States, whose
strategies and goals became gradually depoliticized over the past three dec-
ades as they became co-opted by federal agencies (Schechter, 1982; Tierney,
1982). As a result, individualizing psychological explanations came to con-
stitute the common knowledge about domestic violence in the United States,
directing public and scholarly attention to the interiority of women (and
men) experiencing domestic violence. In order to prevent the triumph of
individualizing explanations, Slovakian feminists were determined to main-
tain a feminist, gender-specific interpretation of violence against women in
every policy document. Gabriela, one of the spokespersons for the fifth
woman initiative angrily describes the Slovak government’s betrayal of
feminist principles in the National Strategy.
The Ministry [of Labor] drafted another version y whose goal is to suppress every
measure aimed specifically at violence against women y. Apparently the Ministry
doesn’t want to get into an argument with the Christian Democrats, so women will be
neglected.
Alica, a civil servant working for the Division for Equal Opportunities and
Antidiscrimination at the Ministry of Labor, also confirmed the stark op-
position of the family oriented Christian Democrats. The National Strategy
as a multi-tiered policy document demanded the collaborative effort of
multiple ministries, including the Ministry of Education dominated by a
Christian-Democratic leadership. Alica remembers the Ministry’s opposi-
tion particularly against educational workshops that aimed at eliminating
gender stereotypes at high schools, which were part of the original version of
the National Strategy. ‘‘[Feminists] would visit the Minister, who would tell
them how happy he was to see them, but as soon as the door closed the
Minister wouldn’t like [their proposals], so he would put them in another
drawer and just leave them there.’’ In a public statement critiquing the
government’s sudden change of ‘‘heart,’’ the coalition argued that conflating
multiple kinds of family violence ‘‘creates an obstacle to meaningful
help to victims of all kinds of abuses.’’ In addition, feminists accused the
Ministry for ignoring women’s diverse backgrounds and human rights
principles in general (Hromadná občianska pripomienka k Národnej
stratégii na elimináciu a prevenciu násilia páchaného na ženách a v
rodinách, 2004, p. 1).
However, feminists were concerned primarily about the suppression of
feminist, gender-specific interpretation of violence against women, and the
subsequent reinforcement of conservative, Christian values promoting tra-
ditional gender arrangements in and outside the family. As one of the
Christian-Democratic MP’s argues, the ideal family, based on heterosexual
marriage ‘‘contributes to a healthy, integrated development, and prevents
children from poverty, drug addiction, and committing crimes.’’ (Brocka,
2000) Consequently, feminists were concerned that subsuming the gender-
specific category of violence against women under the broad, depoliticized
terminology of family violence would further reinforce conservative, patri-
archal interpretations of women’s role in the Slovakian family and society.
Feminists’ frustration echoes their initial doubts about the effectiveness
of legislative strategies to change traditional public and political attitudes
188 MAGDALENA VANYA
toward domestic violence. While the criminalization of domestic violence

became the token, most frequently referred to achievement of the fifth
woman initiative, it also became a political alibi for neglecting other im-
portant, related policy measures. The Slovakian Parliament refused to create
and support police trainings and battered women’s shelters, which would
have ensured the effective implementation of new legislation.17 The govern-
ment’s lack of commitment to preventing and eliminating domestic
violence elicited much public criticism from the fifth woman coalition’s
members. In a presentation at an interdisciplinary conference on violence
against women organized by the Ministry of Labor, Nad’a from the fifth
woman coalition openly questioned the government’s intentions behind
criminalizing domestic violence.
We need to have a consensus if we want to implement any effective measures. This
cannot be just a bureaucratic machinery which will only pretend to be a part of the EU
[European Union]. But I haven’t really seen any other type of efforts so far, nor, excuse
me, any results.
Consequently, while legislative strategies, employed through strategic issue

networks at the dawn of entering the European Union facilitated the speedy
criminalization of domestic violence, they also complicated the political ac-
ceptance and diffusion of feminist principles in strategies of elimination and
prevention. Feminists’ strategic issue networks were effective in mobilizing
the support of key political actors for a single legislative goal, but the net-
works’ effectiveness faded after the Parliament passed the set of amendments.
Consequently, legislative strategies changed the legal discourse of domestic
violence without altering the phenomenon’s political and public discourse.
CONCLUSION
The concept of domestic violence did not exist in the Slovak language and
legislation until a small group of Slovakian feminists organized a nation-
wide, awareness-raising campaign aimed at changing the discourse and
legislation of domestic violence. Conforming to a Western funding agency’s
requirements, the previously fragmented feminist community formed an
official coalition, and hired professional advertising experts to design a
broadly appealing media campaign. While the campaign facilitated a tem-
porary upsurge of newspaper articles and TV debates on the issue, I argue
that its reduction in marketing strategies were less successful at diffusing the
more complex feminist and human rights explanations of violence against
women. Consequently, many feminists felt dispirited after the campaign,

and questioned the utility of imported Western marketing models to change
public perceptions in a postcommunist society.
In contrast to discursive strategies, the fifth woman initiative’s legislative
strategies produced more immediate, visible success; they achieved the
criminalization of domestic violence and the introduction of restraining or-
ders. In order to explain the greater effectiveness of the coalition’s legislative
strategies, I proposed the concept of strategic issue networks. In a politically
disenchanted postcommunist country without an established tradition of
civic engagement and available action repertoires, feminists could not rely
on mobilizing grassroots constituencies through conventional collective
strategies. I argue that by activating issue-oriented networks with important
political actors, feminists facilitated the speedy criminalization of domestic
violence. Furthermore, Slovakia’s impending admission to the European
Union increased the feminist coalition’s political leverage, thus significantly
contributing to the sudden political willingness to criminalize domestic vio-
lence. However, my findings indicate that while Europeanization expedited
the passage of progressive domestic violence legislation, it complicated, if
not stalled, the political acceptance of feminist principles, and thus their
implementation into other legislative and policy fields.
This research provides some initial answers to the overarching question;
how do individuals in postcommunist societies with recuperating civil so-
cieties, suspicious of massive organizations, and public demonstrations, en-
gage in collective action? Many feminists, I interviewed, discussed their own
and their country’s discomfort with any public expression of political ideals.
In the context of civic ‘‘paralysis’’ after the fall of communism, the abrupt
nationally appealing media campaign with its clear, simple slogan brought
immediate public attention to domestic abuse. However, as many of my
interviewees painfully explain, the campaign’s massive proportions and
simplistic marketing approach impeded the diffusion and acceptance of
broader, feminist understandings of violence against women.
Feminists were more strategic around changing domestic violence
legislation, but due to their negative campaign, they purposefully avoided
publicity. Instead they utilized their pre-existing connections with former
anti-communist organizers, now members of the parliament and legislators,
to gain their endorsement for the criminalization of domestic violence.
While some feminists I talked with felt positive about progressive legislative
changes, others expressed their general frustration over the lack of effective
collective strategies in facilitating grassroots social change in Slovakia. As
one feminist put it at a conference evaluating campaign outcomes, the
190 MAGDALENA VANYA
Slovakian feminist community will need to ‘‘reinvent creative grassroots

strategies’’ if they want to achieve a cultural transformation of attitudes.
Reinventing grassroots collective strategies in an anticollectivist society will
not be an easy task, but likely necessary for ‘‘the gender-sensitive approach
to become a part of everyday politics, of all things and all decisions,’’ as
Alica, the civil servant, reminds us. Perhaps the retreat of the fifth woman
initiative’s member organizations to individual organizational projects and
local activism after becoming disillusioned with massive media campaigns
and limited legislative strategies may be the answer. Future research is
needed to determine the effect of these local activities on civic revival and
grassroots engagement in Slovakia.
NOTES
1. The usage of small capitals in the campaign title was the organizers’ conscious
decision to indicate the widespread but random occurrence of domestic violence.
2. The terms non-profit and non-governmental organizations are used inter-
changeably. The abbreviation NGO is a term frequently used for non-governmental
organization.
3. The Slovak language does not contain an equivalent for the English term
‘‘grassroots.’’
4. All names are pseudonyms.
5. All quotations are the author’s translations from Slovak.
6. Fenestra and Pro Familia are feminist human rights organizations in north and
northeast Slovakia, focusing on direct service provision. They each run a counseling
center for battered women, but they are not shelters. The remaining four organ-
izations are all based in Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia. Aspekt is a feminist
publishing company run by two women writers and translators. Aliancia žien Sloven-
ska [Alliance of Women in Slovakia] is a feminist human rights organization. Eset
focuses on primary prevention of violence against women by organizing workshops
and seminars for teachers as well as students of elementary and high schools.
Možnost’ vol’by [Pro Choice Slovakia] advocates for women’s reproductive rights in
Slovakia. Altera represents an organization of lesbian and bisexual women. It is
important to note that Altera provided mostly symbolic suppport to the campaign as
their participation in actual campaign activities was minimal.
7. The grant amount was $5,000.
8. I changed the funding agency’s name to preserve anonymity.
9. The quotation is from the campaign ad.
10. Sixteen Days of Activism Against Gender Violence was first initiated in 1991
by the First Women’s Global Leadership Institute at Rutgers University (Cviková &
Juráňová, 2001, p. 8–9).
11. The term ‘‘third sector’’ is commonly used to denote the non-profit or non-
governmental sector on Slovakia.
12. The governmental committee’s full title is Expert Committee for the Preven-
tion of Violence Against Women and in the Family. The committee operates under
the auspices of the Slovak government’s Council for Crime Prevention.
13. Governmental committees, which operate under the auspices of various min-
istries, draft policy measures often aimed at preventing a social problem
(Kováčechová & Žilinčı́k, 1999, p. 6–7).
14. Revolution, often called the Velvet Revolution due to its peaceful course,
refers to the fall of communism in Czechoslovakia in November 1989.
15. The Slovak government is headed by a coalition of four center-right parties:
the Slovak Democratic and Christian Union (SDKÚ), the Hungarian Coalition
Party (SMK), the Christian Democratic Movement (KDH), and the Alliance for
New Citizens (ANO). The KDH is a conservative party with a strong, family ori-
ented politics (Brocka, 2000; Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights
(OSCE), 2002).
16. Over 92 percent voted in favor of joining the European Union, while 6.2
percent were against. Voter turn-out was much lower than predicted: approximately
52 percent (Výsledky referenda o vstupe do Európskej únie, 2003).
17. During my fieldwork at a feminist organization, I observed various difficulties
in implementing new legislation; authorities refuse to follow or are not aware of new
domestic violence laws. Intervening police frequently attempt to convince victims not
to file their case, even though after the legislative amendments it is the state’s re-
sponsibility to initiate prosecution.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author wishes to thank Marcia Segal and Vasilikie Demos for their
helpful comments and suggestions. The author also wishes to express her
gratitude to Jaime Becker, Zach Schiller, and Clare Stacey for their valuable
feedback on earlier versions of this article.
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LIFE HISTORY AS NARRATIVE
SUBVERSION: OLDER MEXICAN
WOMEN RESIST AUTHORITY,
ASSERT IDENTITY, AND
CLAIM POWER
Tracy B. Citeroni
ABSTRACT
Using the concepts of resistance, identity construction, and communica-

tive democracy, I explore the possibility that older women’s life histories
create and occupy a potentially transformative space within global re-
search on gender. First, such narratives challenge existing hierarchies of
age and gender that systematically disadvantage older women. Second,
older women use them to assert their own more complex identities (in
opposition to those limiting identities assigned to them by others). Third,
through their life stories, older women can contribute to democratic dia-
logue in society at large. I use life history interviews conducted with older
women in Cuernavaca, Mexico from 1995 to 1997 as a specific case that
supports my overall argument. I contend that the first two processes are
already taking place through the act of storytelling and life history nar-
ration itself. The more radical methodological claim of this paper is that

ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(06)10009-0
195
196 TRACY B. CITERONI
the act of constructing and communicating life stories is a legitimate and

valuable exercise of (political) power.
‘‘Those who read or listen to our stories see

everything as through a lens. This lens is the
secret of narration, and it is ground anew in
every story, ground between the temporal
and the timeless y . In our brief mortal lives,

we are grinders of these lenses.’’
John Berger (1984)
Storytelling is a potentially liberatory, empowering, transgressive act. Vic-

tims telling stories of torture, genocide, and mass rape reveal the horror of
such acts of violence and collectively challenge the power of the perpetra-
tors. Storytelling is also often an oppressive normative act. Nationalistic
stories of threats against ‘the motherland’ inspire an intense hatred and fear
of the other that seeks to justify those very same acts of violence. The former
seek to expose the cruelty and injustice of repressive social forces. The latter
attempt to reinforce the status quo and reinscribe dominating power rela-
tions. Such competing and differently valued stories are, in many ways, the
melancholy hallmark of our contemporary world.
Social inequalities that operate in a more subtle fashion are reflected in
the everyday stories of ordinary people. Pervasive systems of relative priv-
ilege and disadvantage, organized along axes of age, gender, ethnicity, and
sexuality, write themselves into the experiences and memories of individuals.
Here again, there exists a distinction between individual biographies and the
official tales of a society. Even as individual stories also tell of these injus-
tices, they do not routinely get written into the public record. In fact, such
claims are frequently neglected, dismissed, or outright objected to by those
in power. Many people, in that case, cannot have their observations and
experiences confirmed as mirrors of the social world within which they live.
In the realm of political power, some stories are legitimized and many
others dismissed. Legitimate political speech is granted almost exclusively to
formal public statements by career politicians, their advisors, lobbyists, and
some activists. This political speech is predominantly wealthy, male, hetero-
sexual, able-bodied, and middle-aged. Claims made by the rest of us in our
private everyday lives, if noticed at all, are treated as entirely inconsequen-
tial in the political power play. Our stories may be occasionally useful
Life History as Narrative Subversion 197
in formal political discourse, as colorful anecdotes to elicit an emotional

response from voters. Otherwise, we are relegated to the margins of political
discourse.
Women, older women in particular, are routinely excluded from political
discourse (Arber & Ginn, 1991; Rosaldo & Lamphere, 1974). Lingering
sexist assumptions about women’s work in the private sphere and a ten-
dency to undervalue women’s political claims, coupled with ageist beliefs
that people retreat from public life in old age, together serve to reinforce the
notion that older women are not significant players in the political life of a
nation. Even some feminist thinkers and activists are not fully conscious of
ageist conjecture that leads them to disregard older women’s self-defined
needs and concerns. This marginality is evident to varying degrees in so-
cieties throughout the world and is compounded dramatically by poverty
among older women.
All stories are cultural scripts, the analysis of which reveals a complex code
of symbols, values, and meanings. The stories people construct communicate
volumes about the larger social landscape within which they live in addition
to the specific circumstances under which the stories are told. Storytelling
may be particularly salient for women and for older people, given their
historic marginality in most societies. Older women’s stories reflect a dis-
tinctly gendered and aged discourse and are often delivered in a style of
speech that is informal, non-confrontational, and self-revelatory.
Storytelling provides a unique social moment in which people can speak
at length and in depth and others will listen to them far more carefully than
is usually the case. Interviews in general follow this mode of discourse, with
one person eliciting stories from the other. The life history interview is a
perfect instance of this kind of careful and attentive communication.
In this paper, I analyze life history interviews conducted with older Mexi-
can women from 1995 to 1997. My analysis develops specific interpretive
threads that reveal the political challenges posed by older women’s life sto-
ries. I argue that these politicized life histories should occupy a central
position in our global research on gender and age. In a broader methodo-
logical sense, I aim to contribute to an ongoing discussion of the place of
interviews/narratives in the production of knowledge.
Life histories are co-constructed stories. It is not true that an interviewer
simply pulls stories out of cooperative and submissive research subjects. The
interviewer and interviewee together create a narrative account centered on
particular themes. These themes may be introduced by the interviewer but
are to some extent negotiated in the interview setting as well. The person
being interviewed will always reject some themes in favor of others, often
substituting those of her or his own choice. The resulting representation of

the interviewee’s life is then a co-creation of those two people in that specific
setting. Each has a hand in shaping the overall narrative.
The communicative potential of the life history method is central to my
argument in this article that life history interviews provide an unusual but
promising forum for democratic practice. Using the concepts of resistance,
identity construction, and communicative democracy, I explore the possi-
bility that life histories occupy a potentially transformative space within
global research on gender. First, such narratives challenge existing hierar-
chies of age and gender that systematically disadvantage older women by
revealing oppressive situations and sharing strategies for resistance. Second,
older women use them to assert their own, more complex identities in op-
position to those limiting identities assigned to them by their culture. Third,
through their life stories, older women can assert democratic dialogue in
society at large.
I refer in my analysis to a specific case study of older women in Mexico.
I contend that the first two processes are already taking place through the
act of storytelling and life history narration itself. The more radical meth-
odological claim of this article is that the act of constructing and commu-
nicating life stories through non-positivist qualitative interviews is a
legitimate and valuable exercise of political power. I conclude with a call
for critical feminist gerontological research the world over to create, open,
and amplify democratic spaces for dialogue among older women and others.
CRITICAL VIEWS OF THE LIFE HISTORY

INTERVIEW
Qualitative researchers have long recognized that life histories are socially
constructed (Holstein & Gubrium, 1995; Rosaldo, 1993). Life histories are
not objective in the sense of neutral, uninterested, purely factual accounts of
a person’s life. Rather, they are rich and complicated tapestries of expe-
rience, woven with meaning and emotion. Documentary details of a life are
processed and interpreted by the teller. Reflections on the past coalesce into
a particular narrative structure. Emphases shift, timelines merge, characters
morph, and memories blur.
A positivist social science decries the uncertainty associated with such a
notion of life history (Huber, 1995). Qualitative researchers who employ life
history techniques are occasionally criticized for their inability to make, and
frank disinterest in, universal truth claims. The hegemony of instrumental

positivism in sociology and gerontology throughout the latter half of the
twentieth century has pressured researchers to treat the life history interview
as a simple documentation of the factual occurrences of a life (Birren,
Kenyon, Ruth, Schroots, & Svensson, 1995; Butler, 1963; Myerhoff, 1992).
Consequently, social gerontology has to some extent resisted critical soci-
ology and social constructionism (Katz, 1996).
Feminist researchers have conceived of a variety of methodological in-
novations that have resulted in a profound reformation of the disciplines of
sociology and gerontology (Calasanti, 1992; Minkler & Estes, 1991; Oakley,
1981; Reinharz, 1992; Reinharz & Rowles, 1988; Smith, 1987). They have
championed a non-positivist qualitative social science that recognizes the
politicized nature of our work and redefines the relationship of researcher
and research participant under a model of shared power. Feminist social
scientists are keen to develop research agendas that matter to people in their
everyday lives and that contribute to the pursuit of democratization and
social justice. New, critical life history techniques and applications effec-
tively advance these causes by harnessing the process of investigation to
relevant social change projects.
Individuals have many versions of their life stories to tell. The conden-
sation of many decades of living to a few hours of audio tape recordings
obviously requires a certain selectivity. Life stories are fluid and ever
changing, from one situation to another and over the life course as well.
What emerges from a life history interview depends heavily on the social
context within which it is elicited and the agency of the interviewee in
choosing a particular narrative construction (Behar, 1993; Behar & Gordon,
1995; Tierney, 2000). As in any conversation, intersubjectivity directs the
outcome. Differences in wealth, education, gender, age, sexuality, and na-
tionality between the two people involved all impact the content and flow of
the interview.
Individual life histories have important implications at a collective level.
As C. Wright Mills (1959) insisted in his classic discussion of the sociological
imagination, individual life experiences could and should be read through
their connections to the social. Individual lives are meaningfully linked to
society and the larger course of human history. The experience of one per-
son is shaped by the social context within which she or he lives. Social forces
certainly limit opportunities, but they also guide a person’s dreams and
desires. Therefore, the life history of one person speaks to the condition of
entire groups of people. The contemporary usage of testimonios rests on this
principle. Testimonio, a politicized first person account or witnessing,
presents an important instance of a single person telling the story of an

entire group of people (Beverly, 2000; Tierney, 2000). The analysis of several
life histories reveals interesting patterns of experience that adds to our un-
derstanding of people’s everyday actions as well as their strategies for coping
with adversity.
CASE STUDY AND METHODS
My empirical research for this article is based on analyses of data generated

through life history methods (Atkinson, 1998; Holstein & Gubrium, 1995).
The specific case study I refer to is a selection of 26 women aged 55–97 living
in Cuernavaca, México. I made initial contact with older women in the city
through two local community organizations operating there at the time, one
state-sponsored club and another non-governmental organization. I then
used a snowball-sampling technique to locate additional women to inter-
view. Throughout my 10 months of fieldwork over two years, I engaged in
participant observation, as well as informal and formal interviewing of
many women in the community.
I purposely sought out women from a variety of social backgrounds. My
research participants range, in the extreme, from an impoverished woman
who lives in a squatter’s settlement near the railroad tracks to a wealthy
woman who lives in a mansion overlooking the nearby countryside on the
outskirts of the city. They include women who clean other women’s homes,
women who make a living selling tamales and roasted corn just outside their
front doors, women who raise and sell chickens from their homes, women
who have never worked in the formal labor market, professional women,
women who are extensively educated and women with little or no formal
education.
In an effort to learn about their networks of social support, I conducted
formal life history interviews with each of the 26 women in the final sample
during the period 1995–1997. I tape recorded my conversations (in Spanish)
with each participant and later transcribed and translated the interviews into
English. I protect the anonymity of the women I interviewed by using
pseudonyms to refer to them or to quote them directly.
Mexico provides a particularly compelling context for aging research be-
cause its population remains relatively young and, even as the percentage of
older people has risen, age continues to rank rather low on the public policy
agenda (Contreras de Lehr, 1992; Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica, Geo-
grafı´a e Informática, 1993; Instituto Nacional de la Senectud, 1993; Nyer,
1994). Researchers from Mexico and the United States, mostly demogra-
phers, have taken an interest in the elderly over the past 10 years or so. Their
work, however, centers on the belief that aging is fundamentally a social
problem, and/or the root cause of several other problems (Ham-Chande,
1995). My research, in a far more critical and hermeneutic tradition, rejects
such core claims. My interest in old age in Mexico stems from a hope to
understand the aging experience of women, from their own perspectives, in a
society rife with inequalities and little or no formal welfare state provisions.
Research with older women in Mexico is relevant not only to the study of
older women elsewhere but to gender research around the world. Population
size does not in and of itself portend doom (Robertson, 1999). Growing
numbers of older people though, women especially, in societies replete with
ageism and social inequality require the attention of social scientists. Our
research with older women in both wealthy and impoverished societies is
imperative, not because we need to address aging as a social problem, but
because we need to challenge ageism and social injustice for the old.
Some social gerontologists in the humanistic tradition, mostly anthro-
pologists by training, have used ethnographic techniques to gain subjective
understanding of the lives of older people (Lamb, 2000; Sokolovsky, 1997).
They do not, however, always explicitly embrace an agenda of social justice.
We need to develop more research projects that do. Gender research should
not only heighten understanding of older people, it should also seek to
establish public dialogue with and about old age, encourage cooperation
between researchers, and forge ties between researchers and older people in
various societies. Critical life history practice, I argue, is an effective method
to advance these goals.
I adopted a feminist stance in designing the methodological framework
for my study and in conducting life history interviews with older women in
Mexico (Behar & Gordon, 1995; Gluck, 1984; Gluck & Patai, 1991). My
goal, first and foremost, was to assume the role of inquisitive learner and
relinquish as much as possible my control over the research process. I strove
for balance in power relations with the women I interviewed. Rather than
impose my expectations on them, I purposefully shelved my agenda in favor
of letting each respondent develop her story as she preferred. These prin-
ciples guided the questions I asked and the manner in which I listened to
responses. Consequently, my participants challenged my beliefs and left me
with far more questions than answers.
Reading through the various life histories, I analyzed them to find common
patterns and themes as well as important points of divergence (Josselson,
1996; Josselson & Lieblich, 1993, 1995, 1999; Riessman, 1993). As I was
interpreting each woman’s representation of her life in story, I noticed deep-

seated concerns about issues of inequality and social justice, the implications
of which reach far beyond their individual lives. I also became interested in
the way they constructed their stories. I discerned that these women were
communicating far more through their narratives than appeared on the sur-
face. This discovery led me to carefully examine the unobtrusive symbolic
messages beneath their principal tales. My argument unfolds into three pri-
mary and interrelated dimensions: resistance, identity, and democratic dis-
course.
TOOLS OF RESISTANCE
In telling me their life stories, the women I interviewed become the authors
of their own lives. This is possible because life narratives are not mere
factual accounts of the details of one’s life. This coincides with the discus-
sion of narrative as a subjective interpretation of the events of one’s life. In
Catherine Kohler Riessman’s words, ‘‘Informants stories do not mirror a
world ‘out there.’ They are constructed, creatively authored, rhetorical, re-
plete with assumptions, and interpretive’’ (Riessman, 1993, pp. 4–5). So it is
with the stories of the women I interviewed. They exercise author-ity in
writing and rewriting, constructing, and reconstructing the events of their
lives.
Their life narratives reveal patterns of oppression for women in Mexico
across the life course. Each story explicitly or implicitly positions a woman
within systems of domination based on a masculine order and class privilege
or disadvantage. These narratives are also structured to share strategies of
resistance against such systematic oppression (Fisher & Davis, 1993).
Women talk about how they have used formal education, work, divorce,
and woman-centered networks to confront the injustices they face.
As I sat across from each older woman I interviewed, encouraging her to
share her life stories with me, a curious pattern emerged. The memories they
invoked, the recollections they wanted me to document, often relegated men
to the margins of the narrative text. They were, by and large, stories of each
woman’s confrontation with and triumph (however partial) over male
domination, even as it was compounded by economic hardship.
The women I interviewed were socialized into and spent most of their
adult lives in a Mexico that was not merely patriarchal but explicitly and
vehemently so. Their generation grew up in a time when the casa chica, a
practice whereby married men set up separate households and families with
other women, was not only a common occurrence but was generally ex-
pected. Women did not often go to school. Marriage and motherhood were
the sole pillars of feminine identity for middle class women. Work outside
the home was out of the question. There was a clear distinction between
women ‘of the home’ and women ‘of the street.’ Poor women have always
been subjected to a different set of gender expectations. They, of course, had
to work outside their homes. Marriage, if available to them, was certainly
not a protection, economically or otherwise.
Here they were then, in the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth decades of
their lives, most having survived husbands or partners if they had them,
sometimes by as much as half a lifetime. Each reflected on her life and the
relationships she had had, the networks of support that had sustained her.
They were, undeniably, woman-centered stories.
The stories they told me were not necessarily stories of feminist con-
sciousness and resistance to patriarchal oppression. However, the develop-
ment of those female networks, and the very act of constructing their life
histories with those networks at the center, were indeed an assertion of
power, a wresting away of control from those who sought to dominate them
throughout the course of their lives the documentation of lifelong strategies
and patterns of resistance against oppression.
One notable case is the story of Analaura, now a middle class college
professor. Analaura had been married twice, once to a former priest, and had
four children. Both of her husbands consistently cheated on her (she called
them ‘‘playboys’’) and that was the cause of each separation and divorce. At
the time of our interview, she was single but involved in a relationship with a
male friend and colleague. She has no desire to marry again.
The central narrative theme of Analaura’s story is her repeated and in-
sistent claim that women must rely on other women in order to overcome
male domination. She begins by reminiscing about a childhood spent mostly
in the company of women. She describes her great-grandmother’s house as
always being full of women and recounts the pleasures of spending time with
her many aunts:
This was the most pleasant house because it was full of women y and you would love to
go there because one aunt would teach you one thing, another aunt would comb your
hair, another aunt would heal you if you were sick. So to arrive at this house y my
mother would arrive and abandon us, abandon me to the other women. My brothers
didn’t like it y but I did because they were all so much fun.
Analaura attributes her lifelong reliance on women to these early moments.

I asked her how growing up in the presence of all of these women affected
her life. She told me that these experiences had created in her a sense that
women must help other women:
This affected my life because I realized when I began to have problems because I was a
woman, for instance when I wanted to study a career and everything, I realized that
those people who helped me the most were always women. Then I understood, and so I
always say that women who want to accomplish something have to help women, that
they can’t support men because men only help other men, so women have to support
other women y.
As a young woman, Analaura was denied support for college from a father
who insisted that she marry instead. During her first marriage, however, she
decided to enroll at the university without telling anyone. She says that her
family was furious with her, but she continued her studies. Because she was
the primary caregiver for her children, she often had to bring them to classes
with her. Her stories at this time detail the support she received from many
women, friends, and acquaintances alike. For example, Analaura often
counted on female secretaries at the university to look after her children for
short periods of time. She recalls how enthusiastic and supportive they were.
It took her 10 years to complete her undergraduate degree. When she had
finished and gotten a job, she divorced for the first time. This first job was
offered by several of her more financially stable female friends and involved
teaching:
So, the day that I finished the degree and they gave me work, I divorced. I completed the
degree and they gave me work and I said goodbye. I divorced and one more time y the
support of women.
Analaura was adamant about the importance of women helping each other
to deal with and often escape gender oppression. She even claimed that her
two mothers-in-law, rather than being antagonistic or engaging in power
struggles with her, had been the most influential supports during the course
of her married life. Once again, she calls for women to work together:
If we women unite, we worry about and care for each other. We construct a feminine
culture, a special language. All of this is important.
In talking to me, Analaura weaves a tale of resistance that begins in child-

hood, highlights strategies to defy male power throughout her life, and
extends well into the future. Our final conversation centered on her plans for
her old age. How does she imagine this period? She has carefully designed
her current home with old age in mind. She asked me to notice that her
house was designed for older people with restricted mobility, all on one floor
and easy wheelchair access from the outside. Her ideal living arrangement in
old age would be sharing her house with close female friends, dividing
expenses, and caring for each other the best they can.
The experiences of working class and poor women of course differ dra-
matically. For these women, working outside the home was not often an
option. Rather, it was a necessity. Even so, I find similar emphases on the
resistance to male power in their stories.
Clarisa was a woman who was born to a single 14-year-old domestic
servant working in the home of a wealthy family at the time. Her narrative
reveals that Clarisa’s father was a young man from just such a family. She
never knew him until years later. When her mother later legally married a
man other than her father, they had a child of their own. Clarisa remembers
lots of conflict with her stepfather and attacks toward her during this period.
Her mother decided to send her to live with her grandmother, who was
the head cook for a very rich family in Mexico City. She lived with her
grandmother, in the house of her employers, until she was about six years
old. At that point, her grandmother took a job with a family that did not
accept servant’s children, and she was almost sent to an orphanage until her
first grade teacher decided to take her in:
But then my first grade teacher found out and said, ‘No, Clarisa is not going to an
orphanage. I want to have her in my house.’ She was single. She talked it over with her
family and they let her take me in. And it was the happiest year of my life, because I was
in the bosom of a family, of someone who worried about me, bathed me, combed my
hair, cut my hair, made me beautiful clothes y I was very content there.
After a year with her teacher, and rejecting the offer of formal adoption by
an older aunt of the teacher, Clarisa was sent by her grandmother to live
with another relative whom she refers to as a godmother. She reflects on the
inequality she faced in the households where her godmother worked:
I went to live with a single, older godmother, a relative of my grandmother. And there
I was again, going from house to house. In that situation, in that time, when you were the
granddaughter or goddaughter of the cook or the servant y well, it wasn’t like it is now,
now that people treat each other as equals. In that time there was very blatant racism. So in
the kitchen one had to speak softly. In the kitchen one ate differently than at the ‘big table.’
And you lived always with this kind of y well, of racism, of y discrimination is the word.
Later on, Clarisa took some business classes with the financial help of her
biological father’s family. She could not finish the three-year degree, how-
ever, when they withdrew their support. She found a job at a bank, working
as a secretary, and this was a major turning point for her:
And there, blessed be to God, it went well for me. It went very well for me. I went far
very quickly y without speaking English y to this day I do not speak English. But
what excites me is that despite such little formal education I could occupy important
posts in the bank and then better support my family.
The family she was supporting included her grandmother and godmother,
both of whom moved in with her after the death of her mother. They lived
with her until they each died. While she was working at the bank, she also
began her own small business on the side:
I wove bags and sold them to my colleagues to make extra money. My future mother-in-
law, the mother of my husband y we had begun dating then y I found out that she
went to the U.S. and brought clothes from there. And so, I bought things y stockings
for example y I bought them and resold them for a profit in the bank.
This entrepreneurial practice would serve her well later on. Clarisa then
married, had six children, and worked in the household. She credits an aunt
of her husband with helping her the most during those years:
She was the godmother of all of my children y. She taught me. I copied her system of
organization for the household y. She cooked delicious food. She gave me many of my
recipes y . I could not know her better if she was my right arm y. I went to the hospital
to have my babies and she stayed with the others, to take care of them. It was like that
always. Never a word about the impossible. Everything was possible with her.
The aunt’s support was crucial to Clarisa, because her relationship with her
husband was somewhat problematic. She saw him as a spoiled child who
never grew up and remarked that she had to act as his mother. She talked
about him as though he were just another child to take care of. In fact, she
seemed to be less bothered to take care of six children than she was to deal
with this one adult man:
One could overestimate him. I married him thinking he was very intelligent, very
capable, very y do I make myself clear? Little by little, the longer I was married
to him, I got to know him better. I don’t blame him. I blame myself in the sense that,
well, I should have paid better attention or, I don’t know, had more sense. So, what
happened is that I replaced his mother. What’s more, at the beginning of the marriage
I pampered him a lot y the best of everything was for him. If there were two steaks, the
biggest was for him and the smallest was for me. If there was something to do, for
example to paint the house, I painted it. Even if he was sitting down it didn’t bother
me. I gave myself a role that later it was very difficult to give back. He became ac-
customed to it.
After her children were grown, she opened her own small businesses, a deli
stand and jewelry counter in the market. The income from her businesses
granted her substantial autonomy and economic power in the household.
Her husband had been retired for years. She decided to open her own
business in the market because she felt she needed to work. ‘‘I know that if
I don’t work I will die. Work is my joy, is my life,’’ she told me. She opened
the deli first and found genuine pleasure in her autonomy there. The busi-
ness was so successful she was able to open a jewelry counter nearby. She
emphasized why her independence from her husband was really the best
thing:
Well, we have frictions. And I think that he has all the right to plan his life and I to plan
mine. We have really separated already. Yes, separated. My purse is forever closed to
him. There are no more loans. There were loans at one point, but he never repaid them.
I reacted in time and I said, ‘Enough, enough.’ Because it is like I have seven children
instead of six. He is like a big kid to me.
This independence extends beyond the financial realm. When I ask Clarisa
about any arrangements she has made for her old age, she explains to me
that she and her husband do not have plans to care for each other in the case
of chronic illness or disability. Each has already agreed to go to a nursing
home, rather than burden the other with their infirmity. She insists this is
the most fair and sensible route of action, and that she is very content with
the plan.
Clarisa constructs a narrative of lifelong struggle and conflict. The central
theme of her life is her constant effort to overcome inequalities due not only
to her gender but also to her social class. She eventually overcomes adver-
sity, with hard work and the economic support of others, and becomes a
successful small business owner. However, her gender conflict remains in the
form of her husband, whom she sees as irresponsible, infantile, and a nui-
sance. Ironically, the result has been an almost perfect inversion of house-
hold gender power relations.
Other women developed different strategies for facing their various ex-
periences of gender, class, and other oppression. For several of them, work
was integral to their ability to resist male and middle class power.
Diana, who was still a domestic worker at the age of 74, told me the story
of how she first entered this line of employment. She had been abducted
from her home by an older man in her village when she was a teenager. He
kept her in his house, demanding sexual and household labor, for six
months. She described her mother as helpless to intervene. It was her sister,
who knew of the opportunity for domestic workers in Mexico City, who
aided in her escape. Diana spoke fondly of the woman who first employed
her, after so many decades still lamenting her death. Paid domestic work, in
her eyes, had rescued her from male oppression.
Some women seized abandonment or widowhood, otherwise traumatic
moments, and wrote them as liberatory experiences. For these women, the
final phase of the life course served as a liberation from men and from other
decidedly female responsibilities. Men seemed to represent the most direct

embodiment of the patriarchal order. Women, even those who were aban-
doned or widowed relatively early in life, repeatedly insisted that they had
no space for men. One woman, when I asked her if she missed her husband,
told me, ‘‘I hated sleeping with him. I really hated it. Every time I slept with
him I became pregnant.’’ Several others, refusing the possibility of another
relationship with a man, said, ‘‘It is much better to be alone than to be badly
accompanied.’’ One woman balked at the thought, ‘‘Why would I want the
hassle?’’ Yet another told me, ‘‘Why would I do that? It was so much work
with the first one. It would be like starting all over again.’’ Rather, all of
these women reveled in the company of their children, grandchildren, and
surviving female friends.
I read across these stories with the same resistance to oppressive patri-
archal forces executed through different strategies of subversion, particu-
larized in terms of type and timing. Telling their stories in old age gives
women the opportunity to think about and share the strategies they have
used to survive structural inequalities, such as reliance on women-centered
networks of social support or escape (even through their deaths) from an-
tagonistic men in their lives.
Jean Franco’s metaphor of liberation from the patriarchal order is fitting
here:
But this is the other side of the macho myth, for the authoritarian personality produces a
concealed resentment and a desire for revenge that can only be satisfied when he is finally
dead and buried. At that moment, Catalina feels amused as she faces her future, ‘almost
happy.’ This is the antinational allegory, the moment when woman is liberated because
the old macho order is dead. (Franco, 1989, pp. 183–184)
In this sense, old age emerges as a time not only to reflect on past expe-
riences, but also a time to construct and communicate narratives that
confirm and assert one’s own power as a social agent to act in response to
the conditions of social inequality. One can read in these life histories re-
peated challenges to the status quo. Older women often write powerful,
dominating, oppressive figures out of their stories or diminish their impact
by relegating them to the margins of a tale. Being more or less cognizant
of social inequality along axes of age, gender, class, and sexuality in
Mexico (some axes are more salient than others of course), they use the
narrative space of the life history interview to declare their resistance. These
women use the act of storytelling to assert control over their own lives
and to announce their autonomy. They subvert social hierarchies through
narrative.
COMPLEX IDENTITIES
Older Mexican women questioned and sometimes rejected the narrow and
stereotypical identity assigned to them. Using a constructionist model of
identity formation, I read in their life histories the assertion of alternative
identities (Cornell & Hartmann, 1998; Lieblich & Josselson, 1994). This
process is, of course, similar to the systematic resistance described in the
previous section in that women are challenging predominant views of the
role of older women in Mexican society. The assertion of alternative iden-
tities, however, speaks to a process of negotiation that occurs between oth-
ers’ perceptions of who these women are and their own ideas about who
they are (and want to be).
I conceive of two basic archetypes, Sage and Servant as I have named
them, that represent socially acceptable roles for older women in Mexico.
Both of these feminine characters are imagined in the private sphere and, as
such, are largely invisible to and excluded from the public sphere. Each is, of
course, an ideal type. The Sage is a culturally revered figure. She invokes the
ideal of respect for elders and the wisdom of older people. The Sage conjures
up images of the oldest generation as the keepers of tradition charged with
socializing younger generations of Mexicans. She is embodied in the wise old
grandmother who counsels children and young adults in the right way to
live and the right decisions to make, in keeping with the traditional values
and beliefs of Mexican society.
The Servant, another paragon of elder womanhood, is a culturally ex-
ploited figure. This character represents the everyday responsibilities placed
on older women in particular: caring for grandchildren, cooking, cleaning,
and other daily tasks within the family household. The older woman as
Servant is the epitome of selfless service to others in the family. For older
women who must continue to work due to poverty, often as domestic
servants in other women’s households, this metaphor becomes quite
literal. These domestic workers, at the same time that they play the role
of the grandmotherly caregiver, often endure denials of their full adult self-
hood. Consider the story of an older woman working as a live-in domestic
worker whose employer does not permit her lover in the house. Think of
older servants called to in the diminutive, mi hijita, literally ‘my little
daughter.’
The women I interviewed find themselves navigating between these two
ideals, breaking down this cultural dichotomy, maneuvering through this
world of unrealistic and limiting expectations that are placed on them by
others. This is evident in the stories they tell about their lives.
Each woman makes a special effort to define her life and her self, if not
always in direct opposition to, at least in a more expansive light than the
cultural stereotypes of older women would allow. I contend that, in doing
so, they are able to challenge existing hierarchies and power relations (those
rooted in age, gender, class, sexuality) that have so strongly defined their
lives thus far, and that continue to define them as such in old age.
The older women who participated in my research are, through their
narratives, confronting social perceptions of themselves, resolving contra-
dictions between social perceptions and their own self-understanding, and
asserting their own identities. They are demanding recognition and narra-
tively resigning their position as a marginalized social group. They neither
see themselves exclusively as keepers of tradition (Sage) nor as household
helpers/caregivers (Servant). Rather, they explore a wide range of identities
that should be socially recognized.
Several non-archetypal dimensions of identity emerge from the life history
interviews to illustrate this point, however, two in particular stand out: work
in the paid labor force and singlehood or independence.
At some point in their lives almost all of the women I interviewed have
worked for pay outside of the home. Whether their work activity was a
professional career or service labor, it was central to each woman’s sense of
self. One could argue work had been as influential as, and in a few cases
more so than, marriage and motherhood in shaping their identities.
Work was obviously central to the identities of Analaura and Clarisa. For
Analaura, who is now a well-respected university professor, just going to
school and getting a job were crucial to her development into an auton-
omous person. For Clarisa, who worked for much of her youth out of sheer
necessity, her small businesses allowed her to secure financial independence
from her husband and resulted in her exercising control over her own life.
She goes so far as to describe herself as someone who ‘cannot live without
work.’ Another middle class woman, Queta, began to paint professionally
after her children were grown and has become a relatively famous artist.
Even those like Diana, who have done service work all their lives and need
to continue to do so in old age, express pride in their jobs and note the
satisfaction it gives them.
Independence, often in the context of singlehood, is another recurrent
theme throughout the life histories. Those women who never married (very
few), were divorced, or who became widows talked about this state of being
single as extremely important to their sense of self. Rather than reflecting on
loneliness, they dwelled on the comfort of solitude. They did not define
themselves in relation to a male partner. They identified as autonomous
subjects. This theme of independence is prevalent in the narratives of

Analaura and Clarisa (even though she is still married) described at length
earlier.
Other women (Julia, Katia, Ofelia) who expressed a keen desire to avoid
living with their children, even in the case of infirmity, also established their
sovereign selves in narrative. Reina, who spent many years of her married
life caring for her own ailing parents, refused to impose the same on her
children. Sandra expressed concern about ‘butting into’ her children’s lives,
but she also feared losing her ‘freedom’ to do what she wants. One woman
in her mid-80s, whom I met at a potluck luncheon, whispered to me with a
wink that she liked to turn up the stereo and dance in her living room at
night. ‘I couldn’t do that in my daughter’s house,’ she said.
Some women had conceded that they might accept one or more of their
children moving in, but rejected the idea of changing residences themselves.
When I did observe such arrangements, economic and other support was
just as likely to flow from mother to child as the reverse. Consequently,
women in this situation maintained their status as head of the household.
Because the home was hers, a woman reserved for herself a space of au-
tonomy that allowed her to live independently of her children, even though
they may have been sharing the same house.
Not only did older women seek to retain independence through their
living arrangements, but they also wanted to avoid too much responsibility
in the care of their grandchildren. Those women with grandchildren loved
them dearly, were proud of them, and enjoyed their visits. Still, many adult
children assumed that their mothers would eagerly take on full-time child
care duties. This was not the case for most of the women I interviewed. They
believed that their job was to enjoy the company of their grandchildren
rather than to assume direct responsibility for their upbringing, in either
their general education or their daily maintenance. Analaura summed up
this sentiment well in her comment on the writing of Rosario Castellanos:
She has several verses and they all say that the grandmother is the one who closes the
door, turns out the light, and goes to bed y because now she has no life, she doesn’t
exist. This is what we have to change.
Women’s stories in many ways answer to stereotypical portrayals and pop-

ular caricatures of them. They often told me how others view them, how
Mexican culture claims reverence for the old but that the reality is occa-
sional caricature and frequent dismissal. In response to these perceptions,
older women assert the complexity of their identities through in-depth ac-
counts of their life experiences and observations.
The open structure of the life history interview permits this in a way that
other forms of interviewing (and certainly surveys) do not. The intersub-
jective manner of doing life history hands over much of the control of the
agenda to the interviewee, so that she dictates/negotiates the actual content
and the narrative flow to a great extent. Women can make/take the oppor-
tunity then to introduce facets of their personal experience that would not
otherwise enter into the interviewing discourse. Collectively, these stories
rewrite the social script in such a way that insists that we recognize the
complexity of older women’s identities.
DIALOGUE AND SOCIAL JUSTICE
Here, I unfold my last and perhaps most radical claim about life history
interviews. Creating and disseminating such narratives is a crucial first step
for social scientists, as we acknowledge and share older women’s self-au-
thored stories beyond the so-called private realm. We should further legit-
imate these narratives by recognizing them as vital to public democratic
discourse.
Iris Marion Young considers storytelling an act of communicative de-
mocracy, which is an enhanced and more inclusive version of public delib-
eration. Deliberative democracy, as an alternative to interest-based politics,
y conceives of democracy as a process that creates a public, citizens coming together to
talk about collective problems, goals, ideals, and actions. Democratic processes are
oriented around discussing this common good rather than competing for the promotion
of the private good of each. Instead of reasoning from the point of view of the private
utility maximizer, through public deliberation citizens transform their preferences ac-
cording to public-minded ends, and reason together about the nature of those ends and
the best means to realize them. (Young, 1996, p. 121)
Young agrees that a deliberative model of public discourse is far more

legitimate than interest-based models (of the liberal or republican tradition)
because it advances the goals of democratic decision-making in a more
sound and transformative way. Her objections are not intended to under-
mine the deliberative project itself, but rather to improve it. She then pro-
poses an expanded notion of communication to overcome what she sees as
the unduly rationalistic bent of current notions of public deliberation.
Communicative democracy stems from Young’s critique of deliberative
democracy as being too exclusionary in its focus on rational discourse. In
other words, she makes the claim that other forms of communication, aside
from rational debate, are also acceptable forms of democratic dialogue and
that by disregarding them we are excluding whole groups of people whose

style of communication does not fit the dominant rational model.
Young points out that deliberative theorists’ attempts to neutralize eco-
nomic and political power through the process of argumentation with the
goal of consensus is fundamentally flawed. Putting a check on economic and
political power does not at the same time eradicate social and cultural dif-
ferences. The alternative she offers addresses this flaw directly:
A theory of communicative democracy that attends to social difference, to the way that
power sometimes enters speech itself, recognizes the cultural specificity of deliberative
practices, and proposes a more inclusive model of communication.’’ (Young, 1996,
p. 123)
If, as she further claims, deliberation is normatively competitive, formal,

general, and only recognizes speech that is dispassionate, disembodied, and
literal, this serves to silence groups such as older women. The violence of
this dismissal is magnified by other systems of inequality such as social class,
ethnicity, and sexuality.
Communicative democracy, then, is a more inclusive model of deliber-
ative democracy. At the same time, it openly challenges masculinist expec-
tations of public dialogue. Young claims that greeting, rhetoric, and
storytelling are communicative forms that supplement rational argumenta-
tion by providing ways of ‘speaking across difference’ in the absence of
significant shared understanding. Each admits into the deliberative process
elements of communication that have been ignored by deliberative theorists.
Bodies and care for bodies are legitimated through ‘greeting.’ Emotions,
figurative language, listening, and desire are legitimated through ‘rhetoric.’
Narrative is legitimated through ‘storytelling.’
Here I would like to emphasize the political import of narratives pro-
duced through life history interviews. Storytelling can be a useful and le-
gitimate mode of communication between groups where class or culture
separates parties, or where there is a misunderstanding or complete lack of
understanding of the other. People share particular experiences; reveal val-
ues, culture, and meaning; and explain their view of others through nar-
ratives:
I discussed earlier how deliberation can privilege the dispassionate, the educated, or
those who feel they have a right to assert. Because everyone has stories to tell, with
different styles and meanings, and because each can tell her story with equal authority,
the stories have equal value in the communicative situation. (Young, 1996, p. 132)
This model of democratic dialogue, with its implicit critique of privileged

and exclusive public spaces, illuminates the political possibilities inherent in
life histories of older women in Mexico. The Mexican government, in fash-

ioning public policies, often makes the assumption that older people are
excused from public life and are absorbed by the family. The most frequent
assumption, and this extends well beyond the government and formal pol-
icymakers, is that the family will take care of older people. Officials and
society at large assume that the family will provide older members all that is
needed in the way of food, clothing, shelter, support, and care. ‘‘How great
that we have family to care for our old people,’’ everyone says. Many of the
women I met marveled at this claim.
This is a classic example of misunderstanding or the complete lack of
understanding that Young targets in her explication of communicative de-
mocracy. We need to be able to understand the positions of other social
groups in order to have democratic dialogue or reach consensus on social
issues. We need to establish a meaningful exchange of ideas and experiences
to facilitate this understanding. How can the rights of older people be pro-
tected? How can the government or society better serve the needs of older
people, particularly women, without first knowing their unique social lo-
cation and experiences?
In making their voices heard, in telling their life stories, which do not on
the whole fit the cultural ideals for older women in Mexico, older women are
claiming power for themselves in society. They are communicating to others
in society the meaning of marriage, children, and work in their lives. They
are revealing their experiences of oppression on the basis of their gender and
social class. They are sharing strategies of resistance. They are constructing
sufficiently complex identities.
Older women are, in effect, demanding the recognition and respect, their
rights as human beings and full citizens of Mexico, that ordinarily get lost
between the ideological exaggeration of the Sage and the everyday oppres-
sion of the Servant. In listening to their stories, we cannot deny the diversity
of their experiences. We cannot limit them with our one-dimensional con-
ceptions of old age for women. We cannot legitimately exclude them from
public discourse.
Life histories, then, can be interpreted as a legitimate form of public
discourse. As such, they provide a kind of dialogical space within which
older women can share their experiences, garner recognition, express their
desires, and otherwise exercise power. Including older women’s voices,
through life history, in political discourse contributes to the ongoing strug-
gle to establish democracy and social justice in Mexico and elsewhere
around the world.
CONCLUSION
Life history interviews, when they are conducted following critical feminist
principles and are interpreted as social constructions, can indeed be sub-
versive. As a category, life histories have the potential to disrupt the or-
dinary, that is, unjust, mechanics of public discourse. Older women, as any
marginalized group, become the authors of their own stories. Others are
dared to listen to their experiential claims in comprehensive narrative form.
The stories women tell challenge hegemonic power relations and reveal nu-
merous strategies to overcome subordinate status.
From the perspective of dominating power, these stories are unruly
narratives not worthy of serious public consideration. They are deemed
subjective, rife with emotion, and lacking in reasoned argumentation. Such
assertions would have us condemn life histories to irrelevance by allowing
them to be defined as quaint personal stories for private consumption.
Our social gerontological study of life histories is just as misguided when
we deny their general applicability and seek to confine them to the illusory
realm of disinterested examination. If we read women’s narratives as in-
consequential data mines to be dug through for pertinent facts, we strip
them of their inherent political provocation. More social gerontologists
must explicitly acknowledge this, must cease denial of the political nature of
life histories, and must adopt a non-positivist critical feminist stance. The
fact is that older women, in constructing their life stories, can and do speak
effectively about far more than their health and a limited number of pre-
dictable interest-based issues. With our collaboration, such narrative ac-
counts will occupy privileged public spaces and may influence politics, both
formal and cultural. Our research can, through them, assist in the decon-
struction of unjust power relations. Narrative claims to justice and claims to
narrative justice will be more likely to prevail.
In this article, I have focused on the specific manifestations of this dis-
sident bent, which emerged from my own case study of older women in
Mexico. My interpretive analysis of the life histories generated in that re-
search revealed three patterns of narrative subversion. First, the structure of
women’s life stories disclosed a tendency to resist and actively undermine
hegemonic patriarchal and class-based power. Second, their richly descrip-
tive and meaningful scenarios communicated the lifelong development of
complex, multidimensional identities. Finally, these older women’s narrative
declarations unveiled an implicit political project that ought to be affirmed
as legitimate democratic speech.
We need to open more spaces for authentic democratic dialogue and

practice. The generation, analysis, and public dissemination of life history
interviews are mechanisms whereby feminist social gerontological research
can and shall contribute. I encourage our explicit recognition of the multiple
possibilities inherent in, and the broadscale adoption of, an overtly democ-
ratizing and justice-seeking life history methodology.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This paper is dedicated to the memory of my mother, Lois Elaine Hamilton
Citeroni (1928–2005), to whom I owe all manner of thanks. Chief among her
loving gifts to me was a passion for reading and intellectual pursuits. I am
also indebted to her for my keen sense of social justice and the importance of
democratic dialogue. Our lifelong efforts to care for one another in dem-
ocratic and empowering ways, despite repeated challenges, came to fruition
over the last six years as we both underwent significant life changes. Our
poignant relational journey culminated in the final weeks of her life. I am
deeply grateful for all the times we spent together, fighting a path through the
pain and sharing with each other the hard-earned joys of caring. The lessons
in democratic communication and transformation I received through my
relationship with you, Mom, live on in my life and my work. Thank you.
I thank Alejandro Cervantes-Carson for his insightful comments on ear-
lier drafts of the manuscript. I would also like to acknowledge the generous
financial support of the Social Science Research Council for the field re-
search upon which this analysis is based.
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Paul J. Bryan is currently employed with Bromley Communications, the

largest U.S. advertising agency with a focus on the Hispanic consumer. He
obtained his Bachelor’s degree in Sociology and Political Science from the
University of Texas at San Antonio in 1996, where he studied under Richard
J. Harris and Juanita M. Firestone.
As a group-planning director, he works to oversee and guide the process
of unearthing key consumer insights that serve as the basis for the creation of
powerful, culturally sensitive messaging. With more than 10 years of expe-
rience in marketing and market research, he has worked across industries,
including packaged goods (Procter & Gamble, Nestlé, Dial and Ross Prod-
ucts); social marketing (truthsm/American Legacy Foundation, CDC-HIV);
destination (Simon Properties and San Antonio Convention & Visitor Bu-
reau); apparel (Levi’s) communication (Sprint); and insurance (Nationwide).
Chilla Bulbeck holds the chair in women’s studies at Adelaide University’s

School of Social Sciences, where she teaches gender studies and social sci-
ence subjects. She has taught overseas at Beijing Foreign Studies University
and the University of Tokyo. She has published widely on issues of gender
and difference, including Facing the Wild: Ecotourism, Conservation and
Animal Encounters (2005), Earthscan; Re-Orienting Western Feminism:
Women’s Diversity in a Post-Colonial World (1998), Cambridge University
Press; Living Feminism: The Impact of the Women’s Movement on Three
Generations of Australian Women (1997), Cambridge University Press; Aus-
tralian Women in Papua New Guinea: Colonial Passages 1920–1960 (1992),
Cambridge University Press. Her research on young people and gender
issues has been published in Australian Feminist Studies, Gender, Work and
Organization (2005), Cultures of the Commonwealth: Essays and Studies
(2004) and JIGS: Journal of Interdisciplinary Gender Studies (2003). The
research discussed in this paper was conducted under the auspices of a large
Australian Research Council grant.
Tracy B. Citeroni is an associate professor of Sociology at the University of

Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, Virginia. Recipient of a fellowship
219
220 ABOUT THE AUTHORS
from the Social Science Research Council, she earned her Ph.D. in sociology
at the University of Texas, at Austin. She specializes in the Sociology of
aging, health, gender and the body. She has published in the area of gender
and sexuality and has presented numerous conference papers on such topics
as the social support networks of older women in Mexico, sexual rights, and
discursive practices related to bodies at work. She is currently engaged in
several research projects, which apply her core theoretical interests to spe-
cific cases and areas of study: (a) a long-term ethnography of a transnational
community of Mexicans in the United States; (b) a normative and political
proposal for international sexual rights; (c) an auto-ethnographic analysis of
gender and body in the experience of cancer; and (d) pro-anorexia websites
as a contested cultural discourse on women’s bodies.
Vasilikie Demos is professor emerita of sociology at the University of

Minnesota-Morris and senior research fellow at the Center for Conflict
Resolution at Salisbury University. She has studied ethnicity and gender in
the United States, Greece and Australia. She is co-editor of this series, and
has published in the areas of race/ethnicity and gender. Currently she is
teaching courses on conflict and conflict resolution at Salisbury University in
Maryland and is co-editor of ‘‘Race, Gender and Class For What?’’, a spe-
cial issue of Race, Gender & Class. She was the past president of the North
Central Sociological Association and Sociologists for Women in Society.
Juanita M. Firestone is professor of sociology at the University of Texas at

San Antonio. She obtained her Ph.D. in Sociology from the University of
Texas at Austin in 1984. She has over 20 years experience in evaluation and
survey research, quantitative analysis and computer applications (both
mainframe and microcomputer). She has published extensively in profes-
sional journals and chapters in edited books, and has been Principal Inves-
tigator or Co-Principal Investigator in 20 community research projects. She
has developed and managed all aspects of research projects including initial
grant proposal, designing research instruments, selecting analysis techniques
and use of a variety of computer applications to organize, analyze and report
data. During Spring 2002, she was a Fulbright distinguished chair in gender
studies and taught at the University of Klagenfurt in Austria.
Her substantive research specializations encompass issues related to gen-
der inequality, military sociology, health disparities, sexual harassment and
intimate partner abuse. Recent studies include (1) the impact of accultura-
tion and country of origin on reported spouse abuse; (2) the impact of
the ‘‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Don’t Pursue Policy’’ on the extent to which
About the Authors 221
individuals in the military experience or observe harassment based on sex-

uality; (3) occupational change and the gender-based wage gap; and (4)
minority health disparities.
Sharyn Graham Davies is senior lecturer in the School of Social Sciences at

Auckland University of Technology, New Zealand. Her Ph.D., entitled
Hunters, Wedding Mothers, and Androgynous Priests: Conceptualising gen-
der among Bugis in South Sulawesi, Indonesia, was undertaken at the Uni-
versity of Western Australia. Sharyn’s academic interests center on notions
of gender and sexuality in Indonesia and she has published several articles
on these topics and presented at international conferences hosted by King’s
College London, Leiden University, the Australian National University,
Auckland University, Indonesia’s Muhammadiyah University, the National
University of Singapore and Witwatersrand University in South Africa.
Sharyn is the recipient of a number of awards, including a Reginald Savory
award and an Asia:NZ grant to conduct research in Indonesia on devel-
oping ways to increase women’s political participation.
Richard J. Harris has over 25 years of experience in survey research, social

demography, demographic techniques and quantitative analysis and com-
puter applications (both mainframe and microcomputer). He has been
Principal Investigator or Co-Principal Investigator in 22 community re-
search projects. He has developed and managed all aspects of survey and
other research projects including initial grant proposal, designing research
instruments, selecting analysis techniques and use of a variety of computer
applications to organize, analyze and report data.
His publications have used a range of data sources including the Current
Population Surveys, the General Social Surveys and the Department of
Defense Sex Role Surveys conducted in 1988, 1995 and 2002, the World
Values data set and data from a large sample of Mexican-origin respondents
in California. In addition, original data were collected for research on occu-
pational attainments in San Antonio, research on undocumented migrants,
attitudes about organ donations and research on high school dropouts.
Paola Melchiori holds the doctor degree in Philosophy and Anthropology.

She has been active in the feminist movement since the mid-1970s, while
intensively working as a teacher/professor inside the pilot school for adult
grass root movements, the trade unions, and the University (1972–1987).
She left the university to found the Free University of Women, Milan,
serving as its president from 1986 to 1996, when she found the International
222 ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Branch of the Free University of Women, in Milan, Crinali, to be a research

and training-oriented feminist association of women from various intellec-
tual backgrounds, social classes and cultures.
From the mid–1980s her field of activity and interest has included the-
oretical and fieldwork in North-South Cooperation projects in the contexts
of cross-cultural women exchanges. Currently she is President of WWIFUN
(Wise Women International Feminist University Network), which aims at
collecting the best of international feminist culture in order to make it
transferable to young women. She is the author of several essays, co-author
and author of several books on theoretical gender issues, co-founder of the
review Lapis.
Denise Pahl Schaan is a Brazilian archaeologist, holding a Ph.D. in Social

Anthropology from University of Pittsburgh, USA. She is currently a visi-
ting researcher at the Museu Paraense Emı́lio Goeldi teaching at the
Graduate Program in Social Sciences of the University of Pará, Brazil. Her
research focuses on precolumbian complex societies on Marajó Island and
Western Amazonia. Schaan0 s work on Amazonian iconography and gender
has been widely published in Brazil and abroad.
Edwin S. Segal holds his major appointment in the Department of Anthro-

pology at the University of Louisville, Louisville, Kentucky. He also holds
an Associate Faculty appointment in the Department of Women’s and
Gender Studies and is associated with the Department of Pan African
Studies. Professor Segal has conducted research in Nigeria, Tanzania, Ma-
lawi, Kenya, South Africa and Kyrgyzstan. He is currently involved in a
collaborative research project with colleagues at the American University-
Central Asia, Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, exploring the relationships among Is-
lam, ethnicity and gender in Kyrgyzstan. His major research interests are
focused on gender, ethnicity and national development.
Marcia Texler Segal is professor of sociology and dean for research emerita,
having recently retired from Indiana University Southeast in New Albany,
Indiana. She is co-editor of this series and of Race, Gender, and Class in
Sociology: Toward an Inclusive Curriculum, 5th edition, published by the
American Sociological Association (2003). She is currently developing an
anthology of readings from an integrated race, gender and class perspective.
Her research, teaching and administrative consulting have taken her to
sub-Saharan Africa and Central Asia. She was the past president of the
North Central Sociological Association and has held elected and appointed
About the Authors 223
positions in the American Sociological Association, Sociologists for Women

in Society and Research Committee 32 (Women in Society) of the Inter-
national Sociological Association.
Elizabeth L. Sweet was raised in New York City. After receiving her un-
dergraduate degree from Boston University in Soviet and East European
Studies, she worked for several state and federal agencies including child
support and social security, as well as volunteered in various community
development organizations. She went back to school and obtained a Mas-
ters of Urban Planning and Policy and then a Ph.D. in Public Policy Ana-
lysis from the University of Illinois at Chicago. Throughout her organizing
and educational endeavors, economic development and its gender compo-
nents have dominated her passions and goals. While in Mexico, for 3 years,
she studied how the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) was
affecting women. From 2000 to 2001 in Siberia, while teaching at Omsk
State University, she collected data about how women were faring under
transition. Following that, at Instituto del Progreso Latino as Action Re-
search Director she worked on research projects and program development
that addressed the needs and desires of low-income Latinas. Most recently
in the spring semester of 2005, she was a Rockefeller Resident Fellow in
Mexico where she looked at changing labor strategies of women in the south
central region, including cooperative work, land and business ownership, as
well as national and international migration.
She holds the position of Assistant Professor at the University of Illinois
Urban-Champaign in the Department of Urban and Regional Planning.
Magdalena Vanya is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Sociology at

the University of California – Davis. Her dissertation explores collective
action and strategies after the fall of communism in two East-Central Eu-
ropean countries, Hungary and Slovakia, by examining their newly emer-
ging discourses on domestic violence.
224
SUBJECT INDEX
Academia 129, 146, 147, 151, 157, 158, Costa Rica 152
160 Critical gerontology 198
Activism 156, 157, 165, 169, 170, 174, Cuernavaca 200
190 Culture 5, 26–31, 33, 38–40, 47, 56, 88,
Age 3, 31, 37, 48, 54–56, 102, 104, 105, 92, 98, 126–131, 133–136, 138, 140,
108, 112–120, 136, 196–201, 204, 205, 142, 166, 198, 211, 213
207, 208, 210, 214
Agency 15, 47, 48, 55, 146, 149, 150, Dahomey 27, 32, 33
157, 164, 171, 176, 177, 179–181, 199 Democratic
Ageism 201 Dialogue 195, 198, 212, 213, 216
Amazons 33 Practice 198, 216
Archaeology Democracy
Feminist 46, 49, 53, 54, 56 Communicative 148, 195, 198,
Gender 46, 49, 50, 57 212–214
Architecture 146, 152, 156, 159 Deliberative 212, 213
Attitudes
Discourses 4, 14, 19, 20, 69, 92, 177
Cross-cultural 47, 48
Discrimination 49, 104, 152–154, 156
Gender 62, 64, 81, 89, 101–103, 106,
Division of labor 46, 49–53, 102
112, 115, 118, 120
Divorce 61, 202, 203
Australia 20, 62, 77, 88
Domestic violence 164–171, 173–186,
188, 189
Berdache 7, 27, 37, 41
Berlin 134, 185
Economic development 148, 150, 151
Brazil 8, 16, 18, 35
Emic 3, 19, 20, 26, 34, 38, 39
Burgis
Ethiopia 31
Canada 89, 98, 102–104, 108, 111–114, Etic 26, 34
118–120
Chicago 146, 153, 154 Femininity 4, 12, 14, 19, 33, 137, 138
Civil society 164–167, 172, 174, 175, Feminism
181, 185 Critical 198, 215
Congo, Democratic Republic of 31, 32 Feminist
Conscious(ness) raising 131–133, 138 Archaeology 46, 49, 53–54, 56
Construction(ism) 6, 16, 26, 27, 35, 37, Cultural practices 125, 130
38, 45, 46, 54, 66, 77, 195, 198, 199 Knowledge 125, 126, 134
225
226 SUBJECT INDEX
Pedagogy 125, 127, 134, 136, 139, 140, Kenya 29, 31

143–145, 156, 160 Kinship 48, 55
Research methods 134, 146, 147, 158, Korea, Republic of 63
160, 198, 199, 201, 216
Theory 46, 54, 58, 169 Life history
Freie Universitat 134 Interview 195, 197–201, 208, 210, 212,
213, 215, 216
Gabra 31, 32
Gender Machismo 98, 104, 118
Archaeology 46 Mandan 27
-based differences 34, 47, 48, 52, 68, Manly hearted woman 27
89, 92 Marianismo 98
dimorphism 9, 39, 42 Marginality 197
hierarchies 47–50, 55–57, 195, 198 Marginalization 145–147, 152–154,
inequality 183, 186 157–160
poles 26, 30 Marriage 32, 56, 62, 66, 67, 76, 79, 186,
role(s) 47–49, 57, 65, 79, 97–99, 187, 203, 204, 210, 214
101, 102, 112, 115, 116, Masculinity 4, 7, 10, 12, 14, 18, 19, 32,
118, 179 79, 98
relations 40, 45, 47, 48, 51, 61, 62, Mbuti 31, 32
64, 65, 68, 167, 173, 179 Men 2, 4–6, 8, 9, 12, 14, 16–18, 27, 30,
in the household 53, 61, 92, 102, 31, 33, 35, 39, 47, 48, 50, 52, 53, 56,
207 57, 66–69, 76–81, 98, 99, 101–103,
Ghana 33 119, 120, 132, 139, 141, 153, 155–157,
Globalization 66, 120 166, 168, 180, 186, 202, 207, 208
Grrrila 146, 147, 151, 153, 155–160 Mexico 53, 98, 99, 102, 104, 105, 108,
111–114, 116, 118–120, 146, 147,
Homosexual(ity) 6, 30, 31, 37, 40, 41, 57, 154–157, 159, 198, 200–202, 205,
78–81, 88, 89 207–209, 214, 215
Housework 62, 64, 66–69, 76, 77 Milan 126
Hungary Modernization 35, 39, 79
Mohave 30, 41
Identity
Construction 195, 198, 209 Nadle 30, 42
Igbo 30 Navajo 29, 30, 42
India 10, 56, 67, 76, 78, 80, 81, Narrative 132, 185, 197–199, 202, 203,
88, 89 205, 207, 208, 211–213, 215
Indonesia 2, 6, 32, 67, 68, 76, 77, Nigeria 30, 33
81, 88, 89 North America 7, 29
Intersexed 29, 30 North American Plains 27
Italy 126, 131
Older women 136, 197, 198, 200, 201,
Japan 67, 81 208–211, 213–215
Subject Index 227
Omani 36 Society 2–7, 10, 13, 16, 18, 19, 29, 32, 33,
Oppression 55, 56, 129, 132, 158, 35, 47, 52, 55, 56, 62, 79, 80, 88, 89,
202–204, 207, 214 131, 132, 136, 137, 164–167, 170–172,
174, 175, 181, 183, 185, 187, 189, 190,
Pokot 29, 30 196, 198, 199, 201, 209, 214
Policy 76, 103, 146, 149–151, 159, 160, Society Islands 32, 38, 39, 42
164, 166, 176, 177, 182, 183, 186–189, South Africa 34, 42
191, 200 Spy 146, 147, 151, 157, 160
Political Status 3–5, 19, 30–32, 36, 38, 42, 48,
Discourse 197, 214 50–52, 56, 89, 100, 104, 105, 113–118,
Power 196, 198, 213 147, 173, 196, 208, 211, 215
Pornography 62, 64, 66, 79–81, 88, 89, 92 Stories 16, 78–80, 129, 151, 160,
Power 196–199, 202–205, 208, 209, 211,
Political 196, 198, 213 212, 214, 215
Relations 76, 196, 201, 207, 210, 215 Story telling 196–198, 208, 212, 213
Priest 203 Sulawesi 2–10, 13–15, 18, 20, 32, 40, 80
Prostitution 79, 80, 88
Tahiti 16, 38
Race 48, 56, 99, 105, 155, 156, 159 Testimonio 199
Research Thailand 35–37, 67, 69, 76, 78–80, 93
Qualitative 148, 150, 158, 159, 198, 199 Third gender 32, 37, 38, 47, 55, 79
Resistance 66, 126, 127, 138, 146, 157, Tradition 69, 88, 98, 127, 128, 141, 142,
160, 182, 198, 202–205, 208, 209, 214 166, 170, 189, 201, 209, 210, 212
Role reversal 62, 64, 66, 69, 76, 77 Transgender 79
Russia 146, 147, 151, 157, 158 Transsexual 29, 35
Transvestite 78
Sex
Two-spirit 7
Biological 6, 7, 10, 27, 28, 30, 46, 55
Cultural 27, 28 United States 29–31, 38, 66, 98, 99,
Sex-gender-sexuality 26, 27, 33, 34, 36, 101–105, 108, 111–113, 117–120, 131,
37, 39–41 146–149, 151, 152, 157, 159, 186, 201
Sexual differences 47 Urban planning 146, 152, 159
Sexuality 6, 15–20, 26, 33, 34, 39, 40, 47, USA Patriot Act 158, 159
66, 78, 135, 136, 138, 196, 199, 208,
210, 213 Vietnam 66–69, 76, 77, 81, 92
Slovakia 164, 165, 168–170, 172, 174, Vocabularies 64, 81
175, 180, 184, 189, 190
Western
Social
Culture 25, 37, 40, 41
Construction(ism) 35, 199, 215
Europe 29, 180, 186
Gerontology 199
Society/societies 39, 56, 62, 79
Hierarchy 49
Women in the workforce 67
Inequality 201, 202, 208, 213
World Values Survey
Justice 154, 199, 201, 202, 212, 214, 216
Location 3, 4, 19, 29, 32, 214 Zulu 31, 34, 42
228

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GENDER AND THE

LOCAL-GLOBAL NEXUS: THEORY,

GENDER AND THE

MARCIA TEXLER SEGAL

Amsterdam – Boston – Heidelberg – London – New York – Oxford

First edition 2006

Copyright r 2006 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

For information on all JAI Press publications

Printed and bound in The Netherlands

INTRODUCTION: GENDER AND THE

THINKING OF GENDER IN A HOLISTIC SENSE:

VARIATIONS IN MASCULINITY FROM A

IS THERE A NEED TO (UN)GENDER THE PAST?

YOUNG PEOPLE’S ATTITUDES TO GENDER ISSUES:

A COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS OF SEX ROLE

THE ‘‘FREE UNIVERSITY OF WOMEN.’’

SPY OR FEMINIST: ‘‘GRRRILA’’ RESEARCH

MARKETING SOCIAL CHANGE AFTER

LIFE HISTORY AS NARRATIVE SUBVERSION:

ABOUT THE AUTHORS 219

SUBJECT INDEX 225

globalization. Saskia Sassen (2004, p. 274) addresses the relationship bet-

The papers in Volume 10 have as background a world in which the local/

article, ‘‘Life History as Narrative Subversion: Older Mexican Women

the emergence of domestic violence as an issue on the discursive and the

Sharyn Graham Davies

Based on eighteen-months of fieldwork in Sulawesi, Indonesia, this paper

Gender and the Local-Global Nexus: Theory, Research, and Action

THE IMPORTANCE OF GENDER IN SULAWESI

In order to appreciate the holist nature of gender, it is necessary to under-

These factors do not serve, however, as evidence of what Geertz (1973),

While not wanting to underestimate the importance of social location in

As Turner (1984, p. 1) notes, there is an obvious and prominent fact about

More in line with conceptions of gender in Sulawesi, Don Kulick (1998),

complementary elements, all individual compositions differ. So whereas

Notions of subjectivity and spirituality combine with perceptions of the

What is emphasized in the above narratives is a force beyond the indivi-

Some informants express their assumption of a gender identity in terms of

Faktor x is used here as a way of articulating an anomalous internal dy-

Writing of Gerai in Kalimantan, Christine Helliwell (2001) argues, ‘‘men

For Bugis, too, roles and occupations contribute to gender identity. To be

Some narratives also include reference to individuals mixing stereotypical

Waria is an amalgam of two Indonesian words, wanita (woman) and pria

Dress and accessories also contribute to gender identity. For Ance’, an

As such, Butler’s work on gender performativity is helpful only to a point

Another important factor in the formation of Bugis gender identity is sex-

observed female same-sex relations, 40 years after his fieldwork (Blackwood

The roles an individual plays in sexual acts is an important contributor to

undertaken. Evidence was given of how exhibiting certain behaviors can

Gender and the Local-Global Nexus: Theory, Research, and Action

In the absence of such a definitive count, the impression produced by the

Something more needs to be said about cultural sex. Much of traditional

as the essentialist–constructionist debate, ask impossible and sterile ques-

Their argument focuses on considering those we call intersexed as a third

bring these opposites together in a symbolic unification. This creates a certain

It is important to note that much of township sexuality in South Africa was

Anthropology ordinarily utilizes a distinction between the cultural insider’s

process as a variety of ‘‘modernization’’ matching the ‘‘modernization’’ of the

This cultural fuzziness, this lack of sharply delineated sex–gender–sexuality

heterosexual—‘means I have sex with women’

bisexual—‘means I have sex with women and men’