Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries

ADVANCES IN GENDER RESEARCH Series Editors: Marcia Texler Segal and Vasilikie Demos Recent Volumes: Volume 1:

Theory, Methods and Praxis – Edited by Vasilikie Demos and Marcia Texler Segal, 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 Challenge to Theory – Edited by Vasilikie Demos and Marcia Texler Segal, 2001

Volume 6:

Gendered Sexualities – Edited by Patricia Gagne´ and Richard Tewksbury, 2002

Volume 7:

Gender Perspectives on Health and Medicine: Key Themes – Edited by Marcia Texler Segal and Vasilikie Demos with Jennie Jacobs Kronenfeld, 2004

Volume 8:

Gender Perspectives on Reproduction and Sexuality – Edited by Marcia Texler Segal and Vasilikie Demos with Jennie Jacobs Kronenfeld, 2005

Volume 9:

Gender Realities: Local and Global – Edited by Marcia Texler Segal and Vasilikie Demos, 2005

Volume 10:

Gender and the Local – Global Nexus: Theory, Research, and Action – Edited by Marcia Texler Segal and Vasilikie Demos, 2006

Volume 11:

Sustainable Feminisms – Edited by Sonita Sarker, 2007

ADVANCES IN GENDER RESEARCH

VOLUME 12

ADVANCING GENDER RESEARCH FROM THE NINETEENTH TO THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURIES EDITED BY

MARCIA TEXLER SEGAL Indiana University Southeast, USA

VASILIKIE DEMOS University of Minnesota-Morris, USA & Center for Conflict Resolution, Salisbury University, USA

United Kingdom – North America – Japan India – Malaysia – China

JAI Press is an imprint of Emerald Group Publishing Limited Howard House, Wagon Lane, Bingley BD16 1WA, UK First edition 2008 Copyright r 2008 Emerald Group Publishing Limited Reprints and permission service Contact: [email protected] No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without either the prior written permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying issued in the UK by The Copyright Licensing Agency and in the USA by The Copyright Clearance Center. No responsibility is accepted for the accuracy of information contained in the text, illustrations or advertisements. The opinions expressed in these chapters are not necessarily those of the Editor or the publisher. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-84855-026-1 ISSN: 1529-2126 (Series)

Awarded in recognition of Emerald’s production department’s adherence to quality systems and processes when preparing scholarly journals for print

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Miriam Adelman

Federal University of Parana, Curitiba, Parana, Brazil

Fernanda Azeredo Moraes

Federal University of Parana, Curitiba, Parana, Brazil

Sarah Jane Brubaker

Virginia Commonwealth University, Richmond, VA, USA

Laura Corradi

Universita` della Calabria, Rende, Cosenza, Italy

Mary Jo Deegan

University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Lincoln, NE, USA

Vasilikie Demos

University of Minnesota-Morris, Morris, MN and Salisbury University, Salisbury, MD, USA

Heather E. Dillaway

Wayne State University, Detroit, MI, USA

Anna Dryjanska

Collegium Civitas, Warsaw, Poland

Sally K. Gallagher

Oregan State University, Corvallis, OR, USA

Alexandra Gerber

University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA A˚bo Akademi University, A˚bo, Finland

Thomas Heikell Susan Hoecker-Drysdale

American University, Washington, DC, USA

Deborah A. Logan

Western Kentucky University, Bowling Green, KY, USA

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Tariqah A. Nurridin

Howard University, West Lafayette, IN, USA

Carolyn C. Perrucci

Purdue University, West Lafayette, IN, USA

Elianne Riska

Swedish School of Social Science, University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland

Marcia Texler Segal

Indiana University Southeast, New Albany, IN, USA

Kathryn A. Sweeney

Emory University, Atlanta, GA, USA

Susan Weiss

Center for Women’s Justice, Jerusalem, Israel

ACKNOWLEDGMENT With this, the 12th volume in our series, we begin our relationship with Emerald Group. We wish to thank Elsevier for its past stewardship of the series and the editorial team at Emerald for assisting us in making the transition.

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INFORMATION FOR AUTHORS SERIES CO-EDITORS: MARCIA TEXLER SEGAL AND VASILIKIE DEMOS We seek original manuscripts dealing with new developments in the study of gender informed by a variety of feminist frameworks. Articles that are theoretical, empirical, or applied, dealing with any nation or region, or taking a comparative perspective, are welcome. Advances in Gender Research is an ideal venue for papers on gender, including those that are of a traditional journal-article length, as well as extended essays that explore topics in greater depth. Authors from all parts of the world are encouraged to submit manuscripts. However, all manuscripts must be in English and submitted electronically in MSWord or WordPerfect, and all contributors must be able to communicate with the editors and the publisher via e-mail. Inquiries, one page abstracts, or drafts of papers are welcome. These should be sent to [email protected] and [email protected].

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INTRODUCTION: ADVANCING GENDER RESEARCH FROM THE NINETEENTH TO THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURIES Marcia Texler Segal and Vasilikie Demos The 13 chapters in this volume concern research and theories on 18th to 21st century gender-related issues by 19th and 21st century writers. Our volume looks backward and forward, advancing both research on gender and research on the history of sociology. Gender research is, like many of the subjects discussed in these chapters, post-discipline and post-modern. Our authors include students, mid-career, senior, and emeriti faculty members. While most identify their fields as sociology or sociology and anthropology, one is also a practicing attorney and another is a professor of English. In addition to the United States, authors come from Brazil, Finland, Israel, Italy, and Poland and their subject matter brings additional countries to the mix. They cover a broad spectrum of subjects and events from the Salem Witch Trials and the Crimean War to contemporary national and international politics and policies in such diverse settings as the European Union, Brazilian race tracks, and Israeli Rabbinical Courts. Yet they overlap and expand on each other in many, often surprising, ways. Four of the chapters, ‘‘Harriet Martineau and the Sociology of Health: England and Her Soldiers (1859) and Health, Husbandry and Handicraft (1861)’’ by Mary Jo Deegan, ‘‘Harriet Martineau: The Forerunner of Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 1–5 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12001-X

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Cultural Studies’’ by Anna Dryjanska, ‘‘Witch Hunts and Enlightenment: Harriet Martineau’s Critical Reflections on Salem’’ by Susan HoeckerDrysdale, and ‘‘Harriet Martineau’s Irish Romance: The Lady Oracle and the Young Repealer’’ by Deborah A. Logan are drawn from work presented at the 2007 Martineau Society Working Seminar at the National University of Ireland at Maynooth. Martineau (1802–1876) is considered by many to be the first woman sociologist. In addition to making August Comte’s Positive Philosophy (1851) available to the English-speaking world, she wrote about and demonstrated ways to observe society and focused her attention on a wide range of social issues in many countries including the United Kingdom and the United States. In the present volume authors discuss a number of her interests, including, but hardly limited to the very contemporary areas of medicine and public health. Medicine and health feature prominently in several of the other chapters. Elianne Riska and Thomas Heikell examine how psychotropic drugs are advertised to physicians in four Scandinavian countries in ‘‘How Advertising for Psychotropics Construct an Enhanced Gendered Self.’’ The title of Tariqah A. Nuriddin and Carolyn Perrucci’s chapter, ‘‘Surviving Widowhood: Gender and Race Effects on Health-Related Coping Strategies,’’ is self-explanatory. In ‘‘Re-Examining the Meanings of Childbirth: Beyond Gender and the ‘Natural’ versus ‘Medical’ Dichotomy,’’ Sarah Jane Brubaker and Heather Dillaway study the meanings birthing women from different racial and class positions ascribe to ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘medicalized’’ childbirth, while Laura Corradi critiques the ways in which infertility is treated from an ecofeminist perspective in her chapter ‘‘Redefining ‘Reproductive Rights’: An Ecofeminist Perspective on In-Vitro Fertilization, Egg Markets and Surrogate Motherhood.’’ In ‘‘Breaking Their Way in: Women Jockeys at the Racetrack in Brazil,’’ Miriam Adelman and Fernanda Azeredo Moraes approach the construction of gendered bodies and selves, nature and nurture as well, but in the context of sport. Several authors investigate marriage, marital relations, and the end of marriages. Both Sally Gallagher (‘‘Evangelicals, Invested Individualism and Gender’’) and Kathryn A. Sweeney (‘‘Exercising Social Power: The Case of Marriage’’) study decision-making within heterosexual marriages, focusing in the former case on the impact of the evangelical religious beliefs of couples and in the latter on whether the couples are racially hetero- or homogeneous. Susan Weiss writes about women who wish to end their marriages through the process of religious divorce and the pleaders who assist them as they work their way through the courts in ‘‘Fundamentalist Feminists Spar

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with the Patriarchy: Interpretative Strategies of Israeli Rabbinic Court Pleaders.’’ Finally, Nuriddin and Perrucci show the impact of death on surviving marital partners. Religion is a major or minor theme in several chapters. It is a central focus for Gallagher and Weiss of course, but Alexandra Gerber shows the importance of Polish Catholicism in ‘‘Some Things Are Not Negotiable: Gender, Sovereignty, and Poland’s Integration into the European Union,’’ and Corradi raises religious issues in her discussion of in vitro fertilization (IVF). Religion is a key element in Hoecker-Drysdale’s comments on Martineau’s analysis of the Salem Witch Trials, and Deegan sees Martineau’s positions on science and religion as central to her analyses of contemporary social issues. The state is, also, a major or minor theme running through these chapters. With Poland as a specific example, Gerber discusses the tension between a supranational organization such as the European Union and its member states in which each state attempts to maintain its unique identity while accepting the obligation to conform to a uniform set of laws and policies. Gender is at the very center of the process. Weiss examines the result of primacy given to religious law in a modern state. Her focus is on family law in Israel, but the implications are far broader. Corradi shows how the policies of different states affect the national and international availability of IVF and surrogacy. The Martineau chapters all focus attention on the state. Dryjanska examines her writings on political economy in an attempt to illustrate how many of the concerns of contemporary cultural studies are prefigured in Martineau’s work. Her understanding of the relationship between religion and government is a key element in Hoecker-Drysdale’s chapter about Salem. Logan uses the letters between Martineau and a young supporter of Repeal to discuss Martineau’s writings on Empire, and Deegan shows the ways Martineau and Nightingale attempted to influence public health policies during both wartime and peacetime. Another theme running through these chapters is agency. In Dryjanska’s chapter the notion of agency is subsumed in a discussion of Antonio Gramsci’s concept of the organic intellectual, the intellectual who provides the relevant background needed for political action and subsequent social change, and its applicability to Martineau and cultural studies scholars. Riska and Heikell show how psychotropic drugs are advertised as a means to create technoscientific identities, better, though clearly gendered, enhanced selves. In other chapters actors confront alternatives and, through their actions and rhetoric, exert some measure of control over their situations. Often the ways in which control is achieved problematizes or

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disrupts accepted patterns or assumptions. Scientific terms are used to assert that a process is natural (Brubaker and Dillaway, Corradi, Riska and Heikell), laws are interpreted to support altering or side-stepping them (Weiss, Corradi), information is conveyed surreptitiously in order that it can be made public (Deegan), women entering a hitherto all-male sport empower themselves and revitalize the sport (Adelman and Moraes), men who believe being head of household is a religious duty strive to balance work and family life (Gallagher), and spouses use differential power to opt out of rather than control decision-making (Sweeney). Finally, while widely ranging in subject and events, the chapters speak to advances in gender research that reflect advances in the sociological production of gender knowledge. In addition to the substantive advances discussed above, the four chapters on Harriet Martineau merit additional discussion. As recently as 2003, Richard Hamilton wrote in Sociological Theory, ‘‘The depiction of Martineau as a sociologist is, putting it politely, an artful construction’’ (Hamilton, 2003, p. 287). Hamilton claimed that American sociology had ‘‘rewritten its history’’ to put forth Martineau as a founder of the discipline. Mary Jo Deegan (2003) who helped establish the history of sociology section in the American Sociological Association in part to uncover women sociologists and sociologists of color who had been marginalized by the white male sociological establishment deftly responded to Hamilton’s article. Deegan noted that soon after American Sociological Association past President Alice Rossi’s identification of Martineau as the ‘‘First Woman Sociologist’’ in 1973, a number of sociologists including Robert Nisbet and Shulamit Reinharz spoke to the importance of Martineau and her work. Scholarship on Martineau validating her importance includes the work of Beth Hess, Elizabeth Markson, and Peter Stein who in 1988 first named Martineau as a female founder of sociology in their introductory textbook and Michael R. Hill who in his introduction to the 150th anniversary edition of Martineau’s, How to Observe Morals and Manners, established the basis for Martineau’s recognition as a major sociologist. By 2003, Martineau’s name as a founder of sociology appeared in many introductory sociology textbooks, including that of John Macionis, the top-selling textbook in the field (Deegan, 2003). In this volume in addition to Deegan, Susan Hoecker-Drysdale and Deborah Logan have each spent years researching the work of and writing about Martineau. The most recent efforts of the three scholars appearing in this volume provide sociology its most advanced insights into Harriet Martineau’s work. Anna Dryjanska the author of the fourth Harriet Martineau chapter in this volume is a sociology graduate student in Poland.

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Once Dryjanska discovered Harriet Martineau, she became a Martineau scholar. Her first project was to translate some of Martineau’s work into Polish and to make it accessible to sociologists and students interested in gender at her university.

REFERENCES Deegan, M. J. (2003). Textbooks, the history of sociology, and the sociological stock of knowledge. Sociological Theory, 30(3), 298–305. Hamilton, R. F. (2003). American sociology rewrites its history. Sociological Theory, 30(3), 281–297.

WITCH HUNTS AND ENLIGHTENMENT: HARRIET MARTINEAU’S CRITICAL REFLECTIONS ON SALEM Susan Hoecker-Drysdale ABSTRACT Harriet Martineau’s first and last articles on American society concerned the Salem Massachusetts witch hunts, trials and executions of 1692. She shared the Victorian fascination with psychological phenomena, especially perception and the power of suggestion, and the sociological aspects of community reactions to ‘fitful’ and erratic behavior. Martineau insisted that accusations of witchcraft and the responses to them required objective scientific study. Her accounts of events in Salem are used to examine the role of the clergy and organized religion in the community, citizens’ vulnerability to accusation, anxiety about colonial life in early America, and panic and mob action. Martineau explores the universal implications of the case.

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 7–21 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12002-1

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SUSAN HOECKER-DRYSDALE O Christian Martyr Who for truth could die When all about Thee Owned the hideous lie The world redeemed From superstition’s sway Is breathing freer For thy sake today – Monument for Rebecca Nurse, Danvers, MA The pursuit of truth is the safest of all quests y (Martineau, Salem Witchcraft proofs, unpublished, 1868, p. 30)

INTRODUCTION: THE PRESENT EXAMINATION OF MARTINEAU’S INTEREST IN SALEM ‘‘WITCHCRAFT’’ It is a curiosity that the first and last periodical articles of Harriet Martineau, British sociologist, historian, political economist, and journalist, on American society deal with the subject of the Salem Massachusetts witch hunts and trials of 1692. Her fascination with American society was lifelong, and there are a number of reasons for her interest in the Salem witch hunts. Martineau spent considerable time in Salem during her travels in America (1834–36), made a number of friends in Salem, and had her portrait painted there in 1835 by Charles Osgood. Furthermore, she shared the Victorian fascination with psychological, physiological, and spiritual phenomena and the accompanying discussions and writings in the face of various ‘‘psychic’’ occurrences such as hysteria and mesmerism. In fact, she uses the Salem witch hunts and trials as a device to analyze the implicated social relationships and institutions in colonial America. Finally, her formal and informal writings on this particular chapter in American history carry the subtexts of her critique of religion and her insights into gender relations, the impact of economic and political problems on social behavior, the consequences of unlimited authority, and the power of fear, suspicion, and surveillance. In several respects, then, a number of Martineau’s sociological concerns are embedded in her articles on Salem witchcraft. The present discussion addresses the frame for Martineau’s analyses, that is, her two periodical articles on Salem witchcraft, written in 1831 and 1868, respectively, that take up the writings on that subject by Charles Wentworth

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Upham, a Canadian-born Salem, Massachusetts, minister, politician, and writer. Martineau, who had met Upham on her Salem visits, described him as ‘‘a pleasant and rather scholarly clergyman of Salem.’’ She had followed his writings since 1831 when she published an article entitled ‘‘On Witchcraft,’’ a review of Upham’s Lectures on Witchcraft, comprising a History of the Delusion in Salem, published in the same year. Her final and major article on Upham’s writings on the subject appeared in the Edinburgh Review in 1868, this time a review of Upham’s important two-volume work entitled Salem Witchcraft published in 1867 (Upham, 1867, 2000). His writings on Salem witchcraft and the witch hunts were the most extensive and authoritative of that period. We will consider first the context for Martineau’s 1831 article (1831b) to explore how it grew out of her early writings and concerns. Later, in the course of discussion we take up her 1868 article that is a more detailed sociological analysis of the Salem ‘‘witchcraft’’ event, including an account of the context and events of 1692. There her interests center on the infusion of religious anxieties into community relations, how these play out in terms of gender and authority (sexual politics), and the psycho-social dimensions of religion, magic, and interpersonal relations. The discussion will consider the ‘‘deviant behavior’’ of the young girls and the community response to their accusations that certain of the town’s women and men were witches causing harm to others in the community, including themselves. Finally, we look at the significance of that chapter of American history to Martineau in terms of the meaning of the Salem tragedy for other times and places.

THE CONTEXT: MARTINEAU’S EARLY INTEREST IN DEMONOLOGY AND THE BACKGROUND FOR HER ARTICLES ON THE SALEM WITCH HUNTS Martineau’s earliest intellectual interests and her writings in The Monthly Repository (1822–1831), a Unitarian publication, centered particularly, if not exclusively, on religion. Her personal sensitivities as a child and the early onset of deafness drew her to the church, to discussions of God, and to Biblical literature as a solace from her difficult emotional life. In spite of her religious proclivities as a youth, however, she became an agnostic by the late 1840s. Nevertheless, she retained a lifelong sociological interest in religion as a social institution and as a powerful, if sometimes negative, force in society.1

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Martineau’s interest in and knowledge of demonology and witchcraft had developed prior to her focus on the phenomena in America, as seen in her earlier 1831 article ‘‘Demonology and Witchcraft’’ published in The Monthly Repository (Martineau, 1836). In this article (1831c), a review of Sir Walter Scott’s 1830 Lectures on Demonology and Witchcraft, Martineau examines various cases and contexts for appearances, apparitions, and the functioning of mind and imagination. She explores religious and philosophical explanations and finally seeks to understand these phenomena scientifically in terms of the psychology of perception, sensation, and the power of suggestion, reflecting the influence on Martineau of Hartley’s associationism. The greater number of our ideas is compounded from, and all are originated by, sensations. Impressions are actually produced upon the nerves by the reaction of the ideas which are communicated through those nerves y the most abstract meditations exert some degree of nervous influences as well as the simplest ideas of sensation, though in the first case it may be too faint to be easily recognizable y The simple ideas which are deposited by sensation, or the compound ideas which are formed by association from the simple ones, are awakened, recalled, or revived, by the action of certain laws of suggestion. The degree of intensity in which they present themselves depends on a multitude of varying circumstances, connected with the state of the body and mind y . (Miscellanies, pp. 106–107)

She goes on to discuss the functioning of the brain in relation to the body, emotions, optic and audio nerves, and ultimately ‘‘impressions’’ or perhaps apparitions, their appearances and revivals, brought on especially by ‘‘morbid’’ states. Ultimately Martineau is convinced that Scott misses the opportunity to provide explanations that go beyond poetics, philosophy, or even medicine. She observes that: The intellects of thousands have been cramped by irrational fears, their energies perverted by degrading conceptions of the nature of the Deity, their peace broken, and their tempers soured by wrong notions of the purposes and modes of religious obedience. (Ibid., p. 113)

Martineau ends her discussion by counting on the progress of society to provide ‘‘higher and better’’ understandings to replace superstitions, toward greater truths and the development of the mind (ibid., p. 114). She sees progress away from superstition, arbitrariness, and superhuman powers toward rational enlightenment, alluding to the three stages in the progress of society and knowledge (religious, philosophical, and scientific).2 She acknowledges that personal spiritualism as related to memory and meaning (for example, in the instance of reflecting upon the departed) is human and natural. Indeed, life memories console and soothe one. Organized

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(institutionalized) spiritualism, however, conjuring up apparitions and superhuman forces beyond our control has little credibility with her. Relevant to Martineau’s concerns later with the consequences of witch hunts is another 1831 article, this one on Godwin’s Thoughts on Man (1831a), in which she emphasizes the primacy of human rights and the need to overcome the great impediment of ignorance and error in our knowledge of ‘‘the primary laws of sensation and thought’’: y though some must attain a higher dignity and enjoyment than others, every one has a right to his share of those lofty intellectual and spiritual privileges which has hitherto been possessed by a very few whom circumstances have peculiarly favored. (Ibid., p. 122)

MARTINEAU’S ARTICLE ON UPHAM’S LECTURES ON WITCHCRAFT And so she begins her subsequent article, ‘‘On Witchcraft,’’ (1831b) appearing later in 1831, on Charles Upham’s first Lectures on Witchcraft, with the assurance that ‘‘the time will come when every man y will apply his religion for himself; when no one will be needed to stand between God and himself y All God’s children have an equal right, not only to the means of bodily, but those of spiritual life y’’ But that does not now exist, she asserts. More pointedly, ‘‘If our faith were what it ought to be, the livelong summer of the spirit, there would be no occasion to garner up its privileges in a priesthood’’ (ibid., p. 388). She goes on to use the historical incidents of ‘‘witchcraft’’ in Salem as a trope for analyzing the following: organized religion and the role of the clergy, the anxieties of colonial life, particularly the impact of economics on social relations, the implications of ‘‘official’’ political opinion and power for ordinary citizens, the epidemics of fear, panic, and mob action, and the psychological and sociological complexities of accusation and persecution. After asking ‘‘And how have the priesthoods of the earth discharged their functions?’’ she replies that the priesthood has not lived up to its so-called divinity: Professing to stand between heaven and earth, have they brought down truth from the hand of the God of truth? Have they been the dispensers of peace from the God of Love? Have they watched from their elevated position for the approach of freedom, and y prepared for its triumph? Have they directed the tendencies of man to high objects and employed his energies aright, as y if y they were indeed the privileged agents of Providence? O, no! y it will be found that priests have flattered the vices, and

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It goes on. She attacks Protestant as well as Roman clergy. It is, then, the continuing ‘‘priestly manoevering’’ and ‘‘spiritual subservience’’ that causes the tale of Salem to remain ‘‘a tale of the times.’’

MARTINEAU’S ARTICLE ON UPHAM’S MAJOR WORK ON THE SALEM WITCH HUNTS In December 1867 Harriet Martineau wrote to Henry Reeve, a cousin and long-time friend and editor of the respected Edinburgh Review, with a proposal to write an article for the Review on Salem ‘witchcraft.’ It could be scarcely possible to exaggerate the value of a sound, calm, liberal – in short, philosophical article in the ‘‘Edinburgh’’ [on a book] which puts us in full possession of the most complete, unconscious, grave & appalling illustration of the mischief of a wrong & obstinate interpretation of facts that cannot be got rid of by denial y It will not be a light task, – however done. The Salem story is, for that final year, almost unendurably affecting. (HM to Henry Reeve, 12/3/1867)

And a few months later she wrote: You see, – I know Salem so well, – & its traditions; – I know the dreary ‘Witches Hill’ so well, – the craggy bit of common where they were hanged in rows; – I know Mr Upham so well, & his mind on the Witch question! And I have studied the physiological aspect of the ‘‘spiritual’’ & mesmeric phenomena so long & so much that I am not afraid of making a fool of myself in the review. (HM to Reeve, 2/23/1868)

In these letters to Henry Reeve, for whose Review she had written many articles, Martineau proposes to write a review of Upham’s major twovolume work, entitled Salem Witchcraft, published in that very year. She had retired, winding down her publishing career and monitoring her heart problems, but she assured Reeve that her head was fine. I see better, hear somewhat better, read better, & of course write more easily than I did so lately as last autumn, – while suffering more, & being really worse. Jenny & I believe that if I cd set about this particular article immediately, & do it out of hand, while my mind is full of the subject & while we are still in our winter quiet y we might achieve a success. (HM to Henry Reeve, 2/23/1868)

A friend had written to her about having read an article on Upham’s masterpiece on Salem Witchcraft, stating it was praiseworthy but was written ‘‘without any attempt at a scientific apprehension’’ (ibid.).

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Martineau became determined to show ‘‘the evidence of y such phenomena in all ages & conditions of society, & then show how & why the case is altered in our own time.’’ Although the assumption of supernatural agency and of spiritual intercourse may have been necessary historically, ‘‘the world of spirits’’ must give way today to the introduction of scientific inquiry into the brain and nervous system. The work to be done in investigating is obvious enough: – to collect & verify facts; to reject imaginations, & detect imposture, on the one hand, & put every possible check on the prejudices & passions of ignorance on the other; &, for all time to come, to promote, in all possible ways, the study of the whole frame of Man, & of his Brain & its manifestations above all y & to show how they disclose mental powers & functions only dimly apprehended at present, but probably existing in the Salem victims, as in many persons living round about us now. (Ibid.)

PRECONDITIONS: THE CONTEXT OF THE SALEM TRAGEDY Martineau’s interest in Charles Upham’s work was linked to her acquaintance with him and with the town of Salem, the gem of America of which she was very fond. More importantly, she saw in this case many aspects of society and elements of human behavior that had fascinated her throughout her life. ‘‘The tone of manners, the social organization, and the prevalence of the military spirit’’ (Martineau, 1868a, p. 7) were critical to understand. Reflecting on Upham’s work and her own experience, she identifies the preconditions for the 1692 witch hunt. Established in 1626 by the Massachusetts Bay Company, Salem was settled by families of good fortune, good education, and aristocratic lifestyles. Originally it was a sophisticated cultured community whose trade contacts had nourished an appreciation for the arts and cultures of the world, apparent in the homes of its citizens and in the extraordinary collection of the Salem museum built by them. The early prosperity of all citizens – farmers, artisans, and aristocrats – eventually was eclipsed by the limits of land and wealth and the slowing of Salem’s world commerce. The psyche of the community became more pessimistic and conflictual (Martineau, 1868a, p. 8). And while every citizen felt a stake in the rule and order of the society, local stratification was clear. The farmers (the yeomanry) living in the outskirts that became Salem Village were separated from the town of Salem residents by church and parish distinctions, occupation, and class, but all cooperated in resisting the Indians when

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necessary. Farms became smaller through the generations and farm implements and practices were primitive (Boyer & Nissenbaum, 1974, p. 94). When the land had been distributed and settled, those having none left for Maine to settle there. But ‘‘the weaker, more envious, more illconditioned remained behind, to cavil at their prosperous neighbours, and spite them if they could’’ (Martineau, 1868a, p. 8). Emigration had become a sorter of character in the weaker economic groups, according to some. The earlier flow of international commerce had slowed considerably. The sociological factors contributing to an environment in Salem of fear, suspicion, and general anxiety included: fear in the community of dangerous Indians and pirates, the hardships of debt, intolerable taxation, the loss of original leaders through death or migration, the lack of financial institutions, the absence of commerce and of economic leadership, political jealousies, religious dissensions – often conflict between the congregation and the minister, beliefs about the presence of the Evil One, and, in the immediate, the appearance of ‘‘afflictions’’ in Pastor Parris’s family (Salem Village). Talk about the ‘‘dangers’’ from the ‘‘special enemy,’’ the Indians, defined as agents of the Satan by the clergymen, created an atmosphere of fear. The Sabbath patrol set up for watching out for Indians also observed who attended church and who did not, noting the activities of the absentees, and reporting these to the authorities, thereby creating ill will, jealousy, and anger in the community. Regarding authority, a gerontocracy had prevailed and the recent loss of some older male leaders had created some anxiety in the community. A heavy emphasis on family life included the frequent practice of adoption when necessary. Emotions ranged from community cooperation (‘‘bees’’), romance, recreations, and festive times to envy, jealousy, rash judgments, and slander. Civic squabbles and lawsuits over land were common. The Village and the Town clashed over the Village farmers’ wish to have their own church. This was finally granted but the Old Town Church retained authority over the hiring of ministers. Within a brief period, conflicts over the Salem Village clergy resulted in a succession of four ministers, one of whom, Mr Burroughs, ultimately was among the executed. In spite of differences, they were unified by a common fear of Satan, a Puritan obsession.

‘‘DEVIANT’’ BEHAVIOR AND SOCIAL RELATIONS In the state of temper existing among the inhabitants of the village when the mischievous club of girls was formed at the pastor’s house, it was inevitable that, if magic was entered upon at all, it would be malignant magic. (Martineau, 1868a, p. 43)

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Within the context of the conditions just discussed, the Salem witch affair began with the strange behavior of two teenage girls (the daughter and the niece of the Reverend Samuel Parris in Salem Village) pursuing their daydreams and immature projections about their futures, love, marriage, and so forth with the patronizing help of Tituba Indian, a West Indian slave, who had participated in an act of ‘‘witchcraft’’ (she had been ordered to by one of the girls’ aunts). The two girls, aged 9 and 11, soon were joined by 11 other ‘‘afflicted’’ teenage girls. In their increasingly odd behavior – incoherent babbling, screaming, fainting spells – typical signs of hysteria, the teenagers ultimately accused Tituba and two older women in the community of bewitching them (Frances Hill).3 The behavior and the accusations that specific adults meant harm to them continued into spring and summer of 1692. In a matter of weeks the two older women were sent to prison. Tituba, a property of Reverend Parris, was not punished and in fact became one of the accusers. The young accusers were not called to account, but rather, believed.

THE COMMUNITY RESPONSE The momentum of the accusations carried events forward and, no one, neither the girls, the community, the judges, nor the clergy, easily resisted the excitement of the moment. ‘‘Courts’’ (so-called) were set up to hear the cases but the judges manipulated procedures to suit their purposes. Often no hearing or trial occurred, and victims were simply taken to the hill for hanging. The community view was that the Devil was embodied in a witch, generally but not always female, who then afflicted, distressed, and rendered whomever she would, making them ‘‘bewitched’’ (Martineau, 1831b, pp. 390–393). Women, including the Caribbean slave woman, were the majority of accused; class lines were crossed; several respected men including a minister were among those accused and hanged, and an 80-yearold man was crushed to death. Several died in prison before execution; a 4year-old girl was imprisoned in shackles; she lost her sanity for life. The accusations, imprisonments, ‘‘trials,’’ and executions were administered with ruthless disregard for human rights and due process. The roles of Cotton Mather and his father, Increase Mather, in the whole affair have been debated, but Upham was convinced that Cotton Mather was a promoter of accusations and punishment and reveled in the increased authority of the church in the circumstances. Martineau reported Cotton

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Mather’s estimate of the situation: ‘‘In the whole, the devil got nothing, but God got praises, Christ got subjects, the holy spirit got temples, the church got additions, and the souls of men got everlasting benefits’’ (Martineau, 1831b, p. 397). Community leaders were corrupted: judges and lawyers exploited the law and dispensed with proper and fair court procedures; the clergy provided the momentum for the whole affair and tried to revive it later; a Salem physician first used the word ‘‘witchcraft’’; and a culture of fear and violence was sustained. Cotton Mather, Martineau claims, was severely discredited after the fact. He was ‘‘a man of great learning and talents, but prone, in a remarkable degree, to all the vices which beset the priestly vocation. He was fanatical and deeply cunning; vain and credulous, with a great outward show of humility; inordinately ambitious of temporal power, while ostentatious of his disinterested piety’’ (ibid., p. 399). Clergymen refused to pray with or give last rites to victims, chided the victims as they were hanged on the hill, and had no sympathy or aid for the victims’ families. In the end, Martineau made it clear that, though the incident was over, the costs were great. In more general terms it should be recognized that witch-burnings and persecutions within communities were neither new nor limited to Salem. Other instances occurred in Massachusetts and other colonial regions. These were preceded by similar occurrences in Europe over recent centuries. Most witch hunts involved conflicts along class, race, age, and gender lines. The community response within the context discussed above was in large part a rush to believe in the presence of Satan and in the bewitchment of the girls. An atmosphere of fear and anxiety, fed by unrelated concerns in daily life and in the colonial experience, developed quickly and did not abate for months. Figures in the community power structure became involved and sanctioned the quick dispense of accusation and punishment. Gender and ageism were elements: 13 of the 19 adults hanged were women; the first accused and hanged were older women of ‘cantankerous’ character. Historically, older women, particularly those who were single or widowed, were regarded with suspicion. But soon other younger women, highly thought of in the community, some of substantial means and status, were accused and imprisoned. The clergy and the magistrates who manipulated the court procedures and punishments were men. Court proceedings were irregular and often eclipsed by the urge to get on with the ultimate punishment. But as the months went on, with continuing hangings, some in the community began to have doubts about the girls’ accusations, about the

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guilt of the accused, the extreme response to the accusations, and the fact that those who confessed were excused while those who would not plead guilty were hanged. Doubts were raised about the judges and the court procedures. Ironically, it was Increase Mather, the father of Cotton Mather, who upon the request of the Governor produced an impressive document about the seriousness of proof, that the judges must demand firm evidence of guilt. The events that transpired from February to October 1692 concluded on October 29 when the new Colonial Governor Phipps disbanded the mock courts that had functioned for the community establishment. Accusations, false evidence, suspiciousness of others, presumption of guilt, arrogant assumptions of the powerful, and an atmosphere of fear that had reigned in Salem for most of a year dissipated. The costs had been high, the community broken, the religious and civic principles of the culture trampled. The end of it all was equally disconcerting: ‘‘In early 1693, 12 of the so-called jurymen publicly apologized for the errors in their judgments – too late to do much good’’ (Rapley, p. 97). What are Martineau’s observations on the Salem case and what general principles of social science emanate from her analysis?

MARTINEAU’S INTERPRETATION OF THE WITCH HUNTS By the end of her 1831 article, however, Martineau is not convinced that this is simply a story from the past, a closed chapter in American history: The days of witchcraft are past; but not the day of the devil, or of his pretended adversaries. We still hear of nocturnal prayer-meetings, of wrestlings with the evil Spirit, of miraculous gifts, of instantaneous conversions, of death-bed conflicts, of social revivals. In all these afterpieces of the Salem tragedy, we find the same performers as there enacted such fearful parts. We still find the devil the bugbear, and the clergy the managers. We still find that the ignorant are cajoled, and that orthodoxy is propped up by the false supports of superstition. We still see those who claim the privileges of the priesthood exhibiting the anti-Christian attributes of a priesthood. It is true that all these features are modified; it is true that the times are so far ameliorated that the plague of superstition cannot ravage society as formerly. But society is not yet safe. It will not be safe till every man ascertains and applies his Christianity for himself, and no longer needs to flee to his pastor for defence against the devil and all his works. What we have to do is to expose indefatigably the machinery of spiritual delusion; to frown upon all spiritual monopoly; to reveal to the ignorant their own rights, and to protect their claim; and to make the meanest of them as capable as the fisherman of Galilee of testifying to the grace, and glorying in the freedom of the gospel. (Martineau, 1831b, pp. 401–402)

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Commenting that instances of ‘‘intercourse with spirits’’ or bewitching have occurred for hundreds of years, as well as in 1692 and today, Martineau asserts that all cases are essentially the same. In all, some peculiar and inexplicable appearances occur, and are, as a matter of course, when their reality cannot be denied, ascribed to some spiritual agency. We may believe that we could never act as the citizens of Salem acted in their superstition and their fear; and this may be true, though there are signs of willingness to be as cruel to those who perplex us as our witch-hunting forefathers ever were; but our course of speculation is, in our ‘spiritual circles,’ very much the same as in Mr. Parris’ parlour. (Martineau, 1868a, p. 42)

THE MEANING OF THE SALEM TRAGEDY FOR LATER CENTURIES The ‘‘rising hopefulness in y the study of Man, and the mysteries of his nature’’ face the resistance of the multitude who cling to inspiration by spirits, those who fear ‘‘Materialism’’ in understanding the interaction of mind and the nerves, those who shrink from any new ideas in matters so interesting, those who fear that religion may be implicated in any slight shown to angel or devil (Martineau, 1868a, p. 44). Even the ‘‘indolence of the medical class’’ in every age of scientific activity results in a ‘‘conservative reluctance to change of view or of procedure’’ (ibid., 1868, p. 46). Martineau pins her hopes on the truthseekers, a rare class, ‘‘these are the few who unite the two great virtues of earnestly studying the facts, and keeping their temper, composure, and cheerfulness, through whatever complexity their inquiry may involve’’ (ibid.). Her heroes in that regard include particularly the Prince Consort who admonished the medical profession for not inquiring into mesmerism, and the late Professor Henry Hallam, who believed that various phenomena related to mesmerism are fragments of some general law of nature (ibid. p. 45). Later, in a section that was in fact edited out of the final printed version of the article, Martineau points to the hospitals in many European cities where diseases are treated by mesmerism and cites Sir Henry Holland’s chapters on mental physiology pointing to the use of mesmeric-like powers in every age. Such openness in the pursuit of knowledge, she continues, stands in great contrast to the dogmatism of Mr Parris, the Salem Village minister, and the wrath of judges who presided over that tragedy (Martineau, 1868c, p. 32, proofs, omitted from published text).4

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Martineau explains that we remain unable to explain the well-known and indisputable facts that occur from time to time, such as the phenomena of natural somnambulism, of double consciousness, of suspended sensation while consciousness is awake (Martineau, 1868a, p. 42). We are still very far from explaining these mysteries y being able to refer the facts to the natural cause to which they belong; but we have an incalculable advantage y in knowing that for all proved facts there is a cause; that every cause to which proved facts within our cognizance are related is destined to become known to us. (ibid.)

Even though we still do not understand the law of the mind/body relationship, ‘‘we have learned in what direction to search out and have set out on the quest.’’ But, she continues, instead of assuming, as Salem citizens did, that they were witnessing the impact of the spiritual (especially the Devil) upon humans, we have our field of observation and study of the brain and the nervous system as organized parts of the human frame. The contrast between today’s calm reasoned approach of science and the horror of dismay by clergy and religious followers three centuries ago is remarkable, even though, she points out, psychology cannot be called a science yet at all and physiology is in a rudimentary state (ibid., p. 47). Furthermore, the excitement of delusion generates moral vagaries seen in Salem, according to Upham, but he was far from understanding current science and physiological research that we have at our disposal. Martineau asserts that physicians and physiologists can now identify and understand the mental illnesses that afflicted the children and other morbid persons in Salem Village. In another generation science will be able to explain the strange maladies that have afflicted people all over the world. As opposed to the deluded Spiritualists who wish to make an objective world of their own subjective experiences and the conservative reluctance to change of view or procedure by the medical class, the scientific physiologists are proceeding by observation and experiment to penetrate more and more the secrets of our intellectual and moral life (ibid.). Martineau had remained steadfast in her commitment to the objective pursuit of truth through science that she had expressed as early as 1831. ‘‘It is not Satan that makes the havoc, but our own ignorance, which has seduced us into a blasphemous superstition, instead of inciting us to the study of ourselves’’ (ibid.). The truth y cannot now, after the recent advance of science, be long delayed or repressed; but every attempt to treat it with prejudice or passion and to inflict y persecution on the persons who produce y or are the subjects of ill-understood brain or

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Science carries the intellectual obligation to be objective and reasonable; the community, depending on science for knowledge of human behavior, has the obligation to be moral in human affairs. After investigating the witch hunts in Salem in all their various facets, she concludes that they provide a moral as well as scientific lesson that may still remain unlearned. It is not possible now for the opponents of calm inquiry to hang their victims; but it is always possible to oppress, suspect, and defame; and the disposition, though doomed by the advance of science y is not yet so nearly extinct as to permit us to regard the spirit of the Salem tragedy as characteristic of a former stage of the human mind y (ibid.)

Clearly she anticipates the struggles ahead, as we see in our own time, to sustain scientific knowledge against the onslaughts of tradition, passion, slander, and bigotry. And so she ends her original version of the 1868 article with a warning about the dangers of human ignorance, prejudices, and conceits that remain ever present in modern society. This piece of English-American social history has not been revived, we may hope, to be dismissed as a literary curiosity. It will be long before either English or Americans will have outgrown its uses as a remonstrance in regard to some faults in the past and present, and a warning as to recurring liabilities in the future. (ibid.)

These critical conclusions, appropriate even in our times, were omitted from the published text.

NOTES 1. Her numerous early articles and books included three prize-winning essays intended to present Unitarianism to Catholics, Jews, and Muslims, Traditions of Palestine, Five Years of Youth, and many others. Although she was quite religious as an adolescent, she acknowledges in her Autobiography that by 1831 she ‘‘had ceased to be a Unitarian in the technical sense’’(Auto., p. 158). Her ‘‘final severance from her faith’’ (Auto., p. 159) was complete by 1848 when she published Eastern Life, her account and interpretation of Middle East history and its religions. 2. Ibid. (pp. 114–115). Martineau was introduced to the work of Saint Simon by Gustav D’Eichtal in 1831 and was intrigued with theories of societal evolution as connected to the progression of science. The theory of the three stages of social evolution, religious, metaphysical or philosophical, and scientific was elaborated by Auguste Comte, student and secretary of Saint Simon, whose major work Cours de Philosophie Positive Martineau edited and translated in 1853. She became committed

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to positive philosophy or sociology as the only remedy for the ‘‘uncertainties of the age’’ (Hoecker-Drysdale, 1992, pp. 28,47,101,110–111). 3. The events in Salem are discussed by Martineau. Other accounts which have provided some additional detail here and which analyze the Salem situation can be found in Frances Hill (2002), Robert Rapley (2007), Richard Trask (1992, 1997), Paul Boyer and Stephen Nissenbaum (1974), and Richard Weisman (1984). 4. Mesmerism or animal-magnetism assumed that humans have a magnetic fluid that, under principles of electricity and magnetism, allows certain persons to magnetize others, relieve pain and induce sleep, or somnambulism. This practice of treating or healing physical and mental problems was called ‘‘hypnosis’’ by 1843. See Pichanick (1980, p. 130) and Hoecker-Drysdale (1992, pp. 81–82) and passim.

REFERENCES Boyer, P., & Nissenbaum, S. (1974). Salem possessed: The social origins of witchcraft. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hill, F. (2002). A delusion of satan: The full story of the Salem witch trials. New York: Da Capo Press. Hoecker-Drysdale, S. (1992). Harriet Martineau: First woman sociologist. Oxford: Berg Publishers. Martineau, H. (1831a). Godwin’s thoughts on man. The Monthly Repository, in Miscellanies, Vol. II, pp. 118–132. Martineau, H. (1831b). On witchcraft. The Monthly Repository, in Miscellanies, Vol. II, pp. 387–402. Martineau, H. (1831c). Demonology and witchcraft. The Monthly Repository, in Miscellanies, Vol. II, pp. 86–118. Martineau, H. (1836). Miscellanies (2 Vols.). Boston: Hilliard Grey. Martineau, H. (1868a). Salem witchcraft. Edinburgh Review, 128(July), 1–47. Martineau, H. (1868b). Letters to Henry Reeve, 12/3/1868; 2/23/1868; Martineau Family Archives, now at The Women’s Library, London. Martineau, H. (1868c). Proofs of Salem Witchcraft for the Edinburgh Review (April 27, pp. 1–32). Birmingham, England: Archives of the University of Birmingham Library. (Contains material omitted by publisher). Pichanick, V. K. (1980). Harriet Martineau: The woman and her work, 1802–1876. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Rapley, R. (2007). Witch hunts from Salem to Quantanamo Bay. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s Press. Trask, R. B. (1992, 1997). The Devil hath been raised: A documentary history of the Salem village witchcraft outbreak of 1692 (Revised edition). Davers, MA: Yeoman Press. Upham, C. W. (1867, 2000). Salem witchcraft, with an account of Salem village and a history of opinions on witchcraft and kindred subjects. Forward by Brian F. Le Beau. Boston. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications. Weisman, R. (1984). Witchcraft, magic, and religion in 17th century Massachusetts. Amherst: The University of Massachusetts Press.

HARRIET MARTINEAU’S IRISH ROMANCE: THE LADY ORACLE AND THE YOUNG REPEALER Deborah A. Logan ABSTRACT Harriet Martineau’s writing about Ireland spanned over 35 years of her career and, as a topic of socio-cultural, political, and economic interest, was second only to her prolific writing on the United States. Through the contexts of her writing (fiction and nonfiction) and of 19th-century Anglo-Irish history, this discussion examines a singular episode in Martineau’s life and work, one that highlights her complex views on Ireland and challenges her assumptions about the relentless conundrum popularly termed ‘‘the Irish Question.’’ Martineau’s brief epistolary relationship with the young repeal advocate, Mr. Langtrey, helped shape and clarify her thinking about Anglo-Irish relations; subsequently, she produced some of the best writing of her career as a traveling correspondent for the Daily News, reporting on post-famine Ireland. Although on a par with her better-known sociological analyses of America, Martineau’s writing about 19th-century Ireland remains comparatively unexamined by scholars of the British Empire, of Victorian intellectual and social history, and of the enduringly contentious AngloIrish relations.

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 23–41 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12003-3

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The last year of Harriet Martineau’s five-year illness in Tynemouth (1839–1844) was remarkable for several reasons. Her health took a dramatic turn for the better, a circumstance that coincided with her mesmerism experiments, a popular pseudo-science of the period. Her recovery was indeed remarkable, but – in terms of Martineau’s medical history – a temporal coincidence is all that can be attributed to her mesmeric ‘‘cure.’’ This year was also notable for her correspondence with Mr. Langtrey, a young Irish nationalist with literary ambitions who was committed to Repeal of the Union between Ireland and England. Although the two never met, three extant texts recording their epistolary relationship have survived: Martineau’s letters written on Langtrey’s behalf (1844); her retrospective Atlantic Monthly article, ‘‘The Young Repealer’’ (1861); and an unpublished manuscript entitled ‘‘As much as I can remember of the story of young Mr. Langtree’’ (1873). Martineau would have assumed that her letters had been destroyed, as she required of her correspondents, and with them any record of this episode; the Atlantic Monthly article she justifies first, because she ‘‘forgot’’ to include the story in her 1855 Autobiography, and second, because she wished to clarify relations between the United States, the Irish – particularly the Fenians – and England. Finally, the manuscript text was written in response to the publication of H. F. Chorley’s memoirs, which featured a brief account of Langtrey’s London life. What was the basis for her recurring fascination with this person – or her idea of him – over a 30-year period? An examination of Martineau’s writing about Ireland reveals that the ‘‘romance’’ of the Langtrey episode illuminates her lifelong involvement with the Irish Question, a conundrum that for her was personified in the Young Repealer. Martineau first visited Ireland in 1829, using the prize money earned from a writing contest to visit her brother James in Dublin. Her Autobiography reveals little about this journey, other than its associations with the Illustrations of Political Economy: ‘‘I stayed there till September – writing all the time, and pondering the scheme of my Political Economy Series’’ (Martineau, 1983, Vol. 1, p. 160); it is probable that her 1832 tale, ‘‘Ireland,’’ was planned during that visit. Soon after returning from this journey, Martineau became virtually a household name as a result of the popular sensation caused by the Illustrations of Political Economy. Similarly, her second visit to Ireland, an extended tour in 1852, initiated another prolific period of her career: this time as correspondent to London’s Daily News. Although the 1852 tour marked the end of her major travels, her assignment to report on the socio-economic conditions of post-famine Ireland launched ‘‘the greatest literary engagement of my life,’’ which she

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enjoyed from her Ambleside cottage for the next 20 years (Martineau, 1983, Vol. 2, p. 389). In 1839, between her two visits to Ireland, Martineau was invited to meet Daniel O’Connell (1775–1847), the radical Irish nationalist MP and Repeal advocate, to discuss employing her literary and political influence on behalf of Ireland. ‘‘Mr. O’Connell was looking round anxiously for every means of making the Irish question popular in England, – even requesting an English author’’ – that is, Martineau herself – ‘‘whom he thought likely to be listened to, to travel in Ireland, under facilities provided by himself, in order to report upon the condition of the country’’ (Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, p. 107). O’Connell saw in her work on American culture (Martineau, 1837, 1838, 1839) a ‘‘capacity to understand and represent the political and social condition of another country’’ and thus, by extension, her suitability to write about Ireland ‘‘in a way which the English were willing to listen to’’ (Martineau, 1983, Vol. 2, p. 312). But their meeting was postponed by her European tour and Tynemouth invalidism (1839–1844), her move to Ambleside (1845), and the middle-eastern tour in 1847, the year O’Connell died. Martineau’s subsequent periodicals writing on Ireland effectually responded to O’Connell’s request to write sympathetically about the country for an English audience – not from the flamboyant political platform he espoused but from her own utilitarian focus on social, economic, and education reforms, to which, in her view, preservation of the Union was integral. The ‘‘Hungry ‘40s’’ – a term in common use even before the 1846–1852 potato famine – marked the political shift from Old Ireland (the waning political career and subsequent death of Daniel O’Connell) to Young Ireland (the comparatively militant Fenians or Irish Republican Brotherhood). Distinct from nationalist political platforms urging Union Repeal and Irish independence, Martineau argued that Ireland’s problems were less political than social: ‘‘The whole dreary story afforded proof to the world y that the sufferings of Ireland had long been due to social and economical, and not to political causes’’ (Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, p. 262). A reviewer of her tale, ‘‘Ireland,’’ objected to this distinction: ‘‘No surgeon’s knife has so fine an edge as to be capable of separating these two elements y they act and react upon each other in such a perpetual chain of cause and effect, that there is no analysis so subtle as to make the distinction’’ (Anon., 1833, p. 254). Martineau’s point is curious in that she advocated social empowerment through self-help, yet she knew that the political framework was sometimes essential to that process; as a laissez fairist, she aimed to minimize government involvement, but she could never fully eliminate politics from the equation. Also striking is her insistence on

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preservation of the Union, which she asserts even as she acknowledges and critiques England’s mishandling of Ireland. Simply to term her an imperialist avoids confronting the sincere compassion and rigorous critical analyses she brings to her writing on Ireland. While it is difficult to reconcile these apparently mutually exclusive points with post-colonial perspectives, Martineau’s advocacy of the other side of the imperialist coin – the ‘‘civilizing mission’’ to which education reforms, agricultural improvements, and industrialization are central – are thoroughly consistent with the dissenting Unitarian framework from which she approached cultural issues. And this, she would argue, is a social, not a political, issue. The term ‘‘civilizing mission’’ – admittedly, one fraught with ambiguities – implies an inherent native ‘‘barbarity’’ that must be corrected by the colonizer; without doubt, some imperialists promoted that attitude. But Martineau was among those who operated out of a genuine concern with facilitating social reform and progress; according to this ideology, the ‘‘haves’’ are by definition under a social and spiritual obligation to extend economic equity, social reforms, industrialization, and modernization to the ‘‘have nots,’’ an obligation as binding in terms of India and Ireland as to black slaves in the West Indies and Africa and white slaves in England’s industrial North. England had serious issues with social oppression at home, no less than in its colonies, as Martineau’s writing repeatedly attests. On the one hand, her position regarding Ireland condemned injustices suffered under the Union; on the other hand, she maintained that the solution to injustice was to strengthen, not break, that Union. It is this insistence on social justice through preservation of empire that informs Martineau’s writing about Ireland. The primary elements of Martineau’s periodicals writing on Ireland are present in the tale ‘‘Ireland’’ (1832), which dramatized the economic problems engendered by absentee-landlords, unscrupulous overseers, and the excessive subdivisions of depleted land among poor farmers struggling to maintain the barest subsistence for their families. Incorporating the themes of illiteracy and education, ignorance and superstition, and Catholicism and Protestantism, the narrative details the rise and fall of Dora Sullivan – the pride of her family and priest – and of Dan Mahoney – the pride of the ‘‘Glen of the Echoes.’’ Through a complex web of circumstances, Dora ends up a transported convict, while Dan joins the criminal ‘‘White-boys’’ and turns outlaw. ‘‘Ireland’’ dramatizes the inequitable relationship between colonizer and colonized, a relationship characterized by an economically dominant culture exercising political control over a chronically impoverished indigenous society. The

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transformation of both Dora Sullivan and Dan Mahoney from the ‘‘pride’’ to the ‘‘scourge’’ of the Glen of the Echoes presents criminality not as some vaguely inherent flaw in the Irish race but as a logical result of unrelieved economic hopelessness and socio-political injustice. Martineau’s tale emphasizes that the absence of legal recourse results in the underground activities of those determined to seek justice outside the system, since they cannot find it within. In her epilogue, Martineau’s suggested remedies for Ireland’s protracted troubles are education – essential, of course, but a long-term solution at best – and emigration, which compelled the Irish to choose between starvation, eviction, and political disenfranchisement in their homeland or, in effect, transportation for the ‘‘crime’’ of chronic poverty. As a convict forever separated from home and family, Dora Sullivan’s fate weighs strikingly against those who stayed behind – to die alone, like her mother; to become a mad alcoholic, like her father; to become a criminal, like her husband; or to be orphaned, like her infant. In terms of her perspectives on Ireland’s troubles, Martineau’s Preface is particularly revealing: it is my business to treat of the permanent rather than of the transient causes of the distress of Ireland, – of her economy rather than her politics, y [T]he silent miseries of the cottier, the unpitied grievances of the spirit-broken labourer y protracted from generation to generation, are the origin of the more lively horrors of which everybody hears y Ireland has been and is misgoverned, y the readiest method of winning back the discontented to their allegiance is to allow those things to be grievances which are felt to be so, and to show a disposition to afford redress y I speak y as a well-wisher to Ireland, and an indignant witness of her wrongs. (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, pp. 5–6)

Martineau’s evocation of imperial culpability confronts sensationalists who readily seize on the ‘‘lively horrors’’ committed by the White-Boys as evidence of Irish racial degradation rather than the logical result of poverty and oppression. In ‘‘Ireland and her Queen,’’ she notes: A well-fed people, encouraged in industry, could have certainly obtained political equality in a short time; whereas no amount of political liberty could have released the soil from the burden of a crowded population which it could not feed. Under such circumstances, Ireland might well be the nightmare of successive cabinets, the dread of every parliament, and the cause of heartache to every kindly-hearted man. (Martineau, 1861a, p. 344)

Her statement clarifies her claim that Ireland’s problems are social – land tenure customs, for example – rather than political. That she is critical of England and sympathetic toward Ireland are points that will be tested throughout her career, particularly in terms of what many regarded the single most crucial component of the Irish Question: repeal of the Union.

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The 1798 Rebellion was a pivotal moment in early modern Irish history, involving the United Irish movement and the Catholic Defenders, with the promise of French assistance; an estimated 30,000 Irish and British were killed. The event proved that Irish resistance posed as viable a threat to England’s political stability as had the American and French revolutions. Occurring as it did during the Napoleonic War era, the potential alliance between France and the disaffected Irish posed a more obvious threat, prompting the swift passage of a bill joining Ireland to England and dissolving the Irish Parliament (1800–1801). The resulting United Kingdom established a pattern for British domestic and imperial policy during the turbulent 19th century of empire-building, a period punctuated throughout by Ireland’s demands for home-rule. Daniel O’Connell’s career as the first Catholic MP was marked by his popularity, his repeal platform, and his support of the controversial Chartist movement; but in his bid to satisfy both the British parliamentary system and increasingly restive Irish nationalists, he ultimately failed to accomplish his political aims – preferring, like the Chartists, to do so ‘‘peaceably, if we may’’ rather than ‘‘forcibly, if we must.’’ During 1843, O’Connell staged a series of ‘‘Monster Meetings’’ throughout Ireland to dramatize national support for Repeal; for his predilection for stirring up political agitation among the masses by making unsubstantiated promises, Martineau termed him ‘‘King Dan, the Agitator’’: his challenge to ‘‘the young men to say whether they would be slaves, or shed their blood in the field’’ (Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, p. 110) whipped up a frenzy of enthusiasm that attracted Ireland’s disaffected youth. But the Young Irelanders, dissatisfied with the Liberator’s flamboyant displays, organized the more militant Irish Confederation, which staged an uprising in the turbulent summer of 1848. Several activists were convicted of treason and transported to penal colonies; from there, they went to the United States, where they raised money in support of the next phase of the Irish independence movement, the Fenians or Irish Republican Brotherhood (1858). As was true during the Napoleonic War era, political agitation in the United Kingdom during the Hungry 40s – a period marked by famine, fever, emigration, and Chartist agitating, as well as by political revolutions throughout Europe – fueled English fears of a mass popular uprising and was dealt with swiftly – perhaps, as Martineau observed, more harshly than was necessary. Martineau was outspoken about her animosity toward Daniel O’Connell: ‘‘Those were the days when the Catholic peasantry believed that ‘Repale’ would make every man the owner of the land he lived on, or of that which he wished to live on; and the great Dan did not disabuse them. Those were the

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days when poor men believed that ‘Repale’ would release every one from the debts he owed; and Dan did not contradict it’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 340; see also Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, pp. 107–130). During the height of the public frenzy generated by his Monster Meetings, O’Connell’s fiery rhetoric told the impoverished crowds what they wanted to hear, promising each ‘‘a long or perpetual holding of the land he lives on’’; promising that, in the event of repeal and independence, supplies could easily be obtained from America; and promising that ‘‘he had arranged to introduce hand-loom weaving into Ireland’’ to eliminate economic dependence on England’s power-loom industry (Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, p. 109). To Martineau, the duplicity of unsubstantiated promises was the cruelest deception perpetrated on the Irish poor by the man they hailed as ‘‘The Liberator’’: Unwilling as every one must be to suppose that a man so able and powerful was in fact hoaxing an anxious and suffering people for a course of years; diverting them from the benefits of the imperial connection to follow false lights; seducing them from peaceful industry to rove the country in a bitter holiday fashion, – it is impossible for the careful inquirer to avoid the conviction, that O’Connell knew that there would be no repeal of the Union. (Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, p. 112; emphasis added)

Highlighting a related and troubling form of exploitation, Dublin scientist Robert Kane observed: ‘‘In no part of the United Kingdom is such neglected wretchedness – such filth, such squalor, such misery y to be seen, as y on Mr. O’Connell’s estate’’ (Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, p. 123). Given O’Connell’s immense promise and popularity, the threats posed by his subsequent political flamboyance, and the more palpable evidence presented by his impoverished tenants, his example demonstrates Martineau’s argument that social issues cannot find resolution through political theatrics. It was in the midst of these historical events that Martineau received her first letter from Mr. Langtrey; physically, she was in the last stages of a long illness and soon to enjoy unprecedented physical vitality that was to last a decade. Professionally, she was warmly praised for her newly published Life in the Sickroom, while months later, she would be ridiculed for Letters on Mesmerism. Psychologically, the combined influences of illness and health, social and political crises (nationally and internationally), and the unaccustomed exuberance of physical well-being resonated with the pathetic example of Mr. Langtrey. As an examination of the extant texts illustrates, Martineau’s relationship with Langtrey, which does not appear in the published biographical and autobiographical accounts of her life, is unique for the insight it reveals into her role as ‘‘a well-wisher to Ireland, and an indignant witness of her wrongs’’ (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, p. 6).

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‘‘The Young Repealer’’ is presented as a true story, although out of delicacy Martineau assigns Langtrey a ‘‘thoroughly Irish’’ pseudonym, Patrick Monahan. While an invalid at Tynemouth, she received an eccentric letter from ‘‘Patrick’’ – a stranger she did not know and was never to meet – who wrote that ‘‘he was extremely unhappy, and that he had reason to believe that I, and I alone, could do him good’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 337). Ill herself, and accustomed to receiving such letters from strangers – fan letters, letters seeking her literary influence, her advice, her money, her autograph, even her hand in marriage – she considered delaying her response: ‘‘There was a moment’s doubt in my mind about doing so, in consequence of my experience, probably common in literary life, of small plots & devices to obtain letters from well known persons as a joke, or for show’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 337). But, unaccountably, she decided to reply at once, noting ‘‘as he had given me no idea of the nature of his trouble, I could only add what occurred to me about endurance of the troubles of life & my desire to afford sympathy’’ (Martineau, 1873). Whereas in 1861, she wrote ‘‘It was well that I wrote that day y if the post had brought him nothing, he would have drowned himself in the [River] Liffey’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 337), in 1873 she was more unsparing: ‘‘He had, in fact, intended suicide if I should not reply, or should send a hard answer’’ (Martineau, 1873). Thus, from their very first exchange, Martineau and Langtrey were bound in a kind of mystical destiny – he contacting her based on a dream; she responding instinctually rather than rationally; and he saved from a melodramatic end as a result. This sort of serendipity resonated with the mesmeric mindset in which Martineau was involved as both patient and practitioner during this period, as does Langtrey’s assertion that, in the extreme depths of his despair, he fell asleep ‘‘and dreamed that I looked kindly upon him. This happened three times; and on this ground, and this alone, he applied to me for comfort’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 338). For Langtrey, she was less a literary mentor or economic support than a spiritual guide, a friend and adviser, a psychic nurse and healer, qualities resonating with Life in the Sickroom and with her new-found predilection for mesmerism. The epistolary relationship between Langtrey and Martineau is irresistible in its singular illustration of her role as the Lady Oracle whose ostensible purpose was to guide the politically wayward Young Repealer into an acceptance of Ireland’s absorption into the Empire, and, more to the point, into an acceptance of his own mortality. Martineau assumed responsibility for Langtrey’s well-being through appeals to her network of friends and correspondents, finding her openness to this stranger vindicated by what she subsequently learned of his character.

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Langtrey proved to be a gentleman of good education, though orphaned and poor; ‘‘he aspired to a literary life’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 338) but was compelled to earn his living tutoring a young Dublin woman, whose father was a local dignitary. When the two fell in love, he was dismissed and, worse, taken to court by the girl’s outraged father on false charges; although the charges were dismissed, Langtrey was disgraced, impoverished, ill, and threatened with eviction. He wrote in desperation to Martineau – as a result of those three dreams – whom he knew by reputation only, and whose reply saved his life, for a time, at least; she enlisted the aid of a ‘‘benevolent & opulent friend in Dublin, Mr. Thomas Hutton of Elm Park,’’ who provided Langtrey with food and clothing, medical care, and a train ticket to London, although Martineau had reservations about the latter, due to the potential ‘‘horrors of a haphazard life in London’’ awaiting an as-yet unproven writer. Langtrey also had political ambitions: ‘‘He was a hot repealer – the Repeal agitation being then at its height. He knew the O’Connells, & y [was engaged] as London Correspondent of the Dublin ‘Nation’ newspaper,’’ the Repeal organ published by Young Irelander, Gavan Duffy (Martineau, 1873). Langtrey was surprised to learn that, although Martineau opposed Repeal and was critical of Daniel O’Connell, she nevertheless employed her influence, in Dublin and London, to assist him in his aims. Her willingness to help one whose politics she is at odds with proves to be transformative for them both. What was irregular, however, as Martineau herself admitted, was the manner in which Langtrey had thus far managed his life: nursing literary ambitions without proven ability, romantically smitten with his first pupil, publicly disgraced by an outraged father, seduced by the fiery rhetoric and radicalism generated by the Repealers – all indicating a passionate idealism of poignant innocence, if not youthful naivete´. Perhaps it was this quality of unjaded, passionate idealism that endeared the idea of Langtrey to Martineau, whose youthful determination to ‘‘be doing something with the pen’’ prompted her move to London 12 years earlier, to shape and be shaped by its literary, political, and social circles. Through her efforts, Langtrey acquired a pass to the British Museum and assignments writing for the Athenaeum (through H. F. Chorley) and Charles Knight’s Penny Magazine; he also had introductions to several London social circles: ‘‘My dear friend Mrs. Reid invited him repeatedly to her house, where he met good society, & saw friendly faces’’ (Martineau, 1873). But a letter to Henry Crabb Robinson in 1844 indicates a flaw in her memory: ‘‘All has been done that could be done by some kind friends of mine [but] y He declines meeting parties at [Mrs Reid’s] house, partly from his excessive poverty, I believe, & partly from his extreme dread of

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intrusion, & of appearing to court assistance’’ (Logan, 2007, Vol. 2, p. 299). To Martineau, such delicacy of temperament, like Langtrey’s declining to use her letter of introduction to Erasmus Darwin, signified a refined character; alternatively, given his reluctance to socialize and his eagerness to attend O’Connell rallies, the possibility that Langtrey used Martineau in order to leave Dublin and establish himself in London – to become not her literary prote´ge´ but O’Connell’s political prote´ge´ – suggests that the naivete´, perhaps, was all hers. Interestingly, Martineau’s primary reservation about Langtrey concerned his political views. ‘‘This poor fellow – Langtrey,’’ she wrote to Elizabeth Reid: what a kindness it wd be if you could moderate his absurd & painful nationality. He will always be wretched if he does not learn that we are not wholly employed in hating the Irish y No one can wonder that O’Connell’s devilish language about the Saxons makes young Irishmen take for granted the hatred, on this side the Channel, that they have been taught on that: but this poor youth will be fancying himself insulted every day of his life if his Irishism is ever uppermost, so that he can’t bear to meet in books with mention of a real Irish rogue here & there. I never in my life had one transient feeling of dislike or mistrust of the Irish; & I have no distinctive national feelings at all y [and] am without any belief in the distinctive nationality which quite fills up this poor youth’s mind y [I]t has never occurred to me to consider the Irish separate or different from the English. (Bancroft Library, Berkeley, Mss 90/60 Z)

While critiques of false promises and inflammatory political rhetoric are consistent throughout her writing, Martineau’s failure to perceive national differences is striking; it is unclear why she would (quite characteristically) promote ‘‘Ireland for the Irish’’ and ‘‘India for the Indians,’’ yet (uncharacteristically) insist that nationalism plays no role in imperial endeavors. Her denial of nationalism is either a misguided claim – since England, in the name of the Empire, most certainly had a nationalist perception of itself that it presumed was universal – or indicative of a gross misunderstanding of culture and society – an alternative difficult to reconcile with her status as ‘‘first woman sociologist’’ and ‘‘intellectual woman.’’ Perhaps her resistance to notions of nationalism aims to counteract the claim, by some imperialists, that difference or otherness equates with racial inferiority and therefore justifies colonial oppression – the perversion of the civilizing mission. Either way, while it seems that Martineau’s denial of nationalistic difference is without rancor, her perspective is notable for its failure to appreciate either the benefits of multiculturalism or the drawbacks of cultural homogenization. To Henry Crabb Robinson, she wrote that Langtrey ‘‘must be finding already that politics are something very different from what O’Connell says

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they are y I am miserably anxious about him y he is so unmoveably convinced that the great business of our lives is to hate the Irish’’ (Logan, 2007, Vol. 2, p. 299). Indeed, not all contacts in London were welcoming, as Langtrey discovered at an O’Connell rally: ‘‘Rushing up to the Liberator with patriotic fervour, he found himself repelled with a cold stare. As he wrote to me with astonishment, O’C actually seemed not to know him!’’ (Martineau, 1873). Disillusioned, Langtrey insisted: ‘‘It was certain that Dan remembered him; and he could not have forgotten the encouragement he gave him to write on behalf of his country; yet now he was cold, even repellent in his manner y What could this mean?’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 341). Possible explanations include O’Connell’s wariness after his arrest, incarceration, trial, and acquittal for treasonous activities (the Monster Meetings), as well as the decline in his health and the ultimate disappointment of his political ambitions for Ireland. In his youthful patriotic fervor, Langtrey left his native country to work for Irish independence in London; but the O’Connell episode suggested ‘‘that he knew nothing whatever of political matters; y he presently found that he must give up his engagement with the Nation for want of the requisite knowledge and conviction’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 341). Martineau advised Langtrey to ascertain for himself what proportion of Irish people sought Repeal, rather than unquestioningly accepting political rhetoric at facevalue; she urged him to study the history of the Irish Parliament, what had been accomplished prior to and since the Union that abolished it, and the status of Irish representation in the Imperial Parliament. Far from proselytizing, this empirical measuring of principle against practice was central to all of Martineau’s own sociological analyses. Martineau’s commentary on the disjunction between passionate idealists and savvy politicians, between rhetoric and action, between blind patriotism and independent thought, between manipulation of the ignorant and coercion of the educated, aptly records Langtrey’s coming of age through a harsh dose of political realism. But, tragically, Langtrey was soon confronted with realism of another kind, since it was at this point that he was diagnosed with consumption, and the efforts of Martineau and her circle shifted from social and literary opportunities to economic and medical assistance. Letters from this period, the second half of 1844, demonstrate her aggressive networking to generate funding for Langtrey’s medical treatment. To Richard Monckton Milnes she wrote: there is nothing else before him but a work-house! y He seems to be wholly on my hands y I hope to give him some help & comfort y at wh you may smile, – but he

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As this letter indicates, Martineau’s role as Langtrey’s spiritual mentor defines their primary association, which was true from its somewhat mystical beginning. But the question of his practical maintenance, whether in the Consumptive Hospital or the Sanatorium, was the immediate issue, and this aroused some of his most basic insecurities: ‘‘he wrote to me in an agony of wounded feeling y persuaded y that it would be fatal to his future career, if he lived, & to his memory, if he died, that he should have been an inmate of a public charitable institution’’ (Martineau, 1873). As a result of Martineau’s networking, contributors to Langtrey’s support and medical care during the last seven months of his life included Richard Monckton Milnes, Elizabeth Barrett, John Kenyon, Elizabeth Jesser Reid and her sister Miss Sturch, Henry Chorley, Erasmus Darwin, Jane Carlyle, [W. E.?] Forster, and Martineau. ‘‘His story is a most moving one,’’ she wrote to Milnes in September, 1844; ‘‘& if he dies, I shall take care that a certain proud personage’’ – the outraged Dublin dignitary – ‘‘shall know that he departed in honour, & amidst the sympathy of some worthy friends’’ (Cambridge University, TCL Houghton 16/70). One of her last appeals for funding was to Elizabeth Barrett in December, 1844: ‘‘I promised to let you know if the two Sovereigns for poor Mr. Langtree were wanted y He lies at the Sanatorium, confined to his bed, sinking slowly, & entirely dependent on our remembrance & good offices’’ (Beinecke Library, Yale University MS Vault MF10). In early January 1845, Martineau left Tynemouth permanently for Ambleside; several weeks later, she wrote to Lord Murray: ‘‘Mr. Langtree died last Saturday week, – much beloved, & well cared for’’ (Beinecke Library, Yale University Gen MSS Misc 334 f-1). Only one other extant letter, dated 1861 to American publishers Ticknor & Fields of Atlantic Monthly, mentions Langtrey: ‘‘I quite forgot, in writing my Autobiography, an interesting incident, – the pathetic story of a young Irish Repealer, who died soon after I knew him’’ (Huntington Library, San Marino, FI 3291–3292). During this period of incipient Fenianism, her motivation for writing his story on this occasion was to correct American misperceptions about Irish nationalism: ‘‘There is so much delusion in your neighbourhood y about that Irish claim, that the story may be useful: & I think it will be interesting. I shall change his name, & alter nothing else.’’ ‘‘That Irish claim’’ is clarified by an earlier (1854) letter to William Cullen Bryant, editor of New York Evening Post: ‘‘For

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many years now, the Young Ireland party have had their way & their say in the United States, unrebuked & uncorrected. Young Ireland says that Old Ireland is oppressed. Oppression, & by the English, is the one thing we always hear of’’ (Bancroft MSS 92/754z 1:33). This aspect of the Irish ‘‘question,’’ for better or worse, is far more complex than either Young or Old Ireland, or New or Old England, can fully apprehend. Henry Fothergill Chorley (1808–1872) wrote of the Langtrey episode in his memoirs, which prompted Martineau to write ‘‘All I can remember’’: ‘‘In the ‘Memoir of Henry F. Chorley’ a sketch is given of the London life of Mr. Langtree, opening with the remark that it was on my introduction that they became acquainted. As this much of Mr. Langtree’s history is before the public, it seems to me that I ought to supply as much as I know of the young man’s story’’ (Martineau, 1873). Chorley recalls: One of my most pathetic recollections has to do with the life and death of a young man who came up to London to busy himself in literature as I had done, fuller of dreams, however, than of powers for their fulfillment y [He was] making his way quietly [when he was] stricken down by y the symptoms of consumption in its worst form y it was clearly a bad case – frightful and costly illness of a man without friends and without resource y The generosity of every one, great or small, about this poor, dying y man, is a thing never to be forgotten. (Chorley, 1873, pp. 72–75)

Langtrey was buried in the Marylebone cemetery, ‘‘not in a pauper grave, but with a stone over his remains y I walked behind the body to the grave y the only mourner. Anything more strange and more sad I cannot recall’’ (Chorley, 1873, p. 76). Interestingly, given the context, Chorley cannot resist commenting on one of the more flamboyant and controversial episodes of Martineau’s life: ‘‘[she] must be always commemorated with esteem and regard, howsoever capricious her prejudices have proved, as one eager to promote what seemed right to herself and what was helpful to others’’ (Chorley, 1873, p. 73). He refers to her enthusiasm for mesmerism, his criticism of which was published in the Athenaeum at the time of the Langtrey episode. Characteristically, she ignored the implied criticism while presenting her own ‘‘definitive’’ version of the Langtrey story – as usual, getting the last word. At the conclusion of ‘‘The Young Repealer,’’ Martineau asserts her intention ‘‘that the young [Dublin] lady y should know that he died in honor, having fairly entered upon the literary career which had always been his aspiration, and surrounded by friends whose friendship was a distinction’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 344). Melodramatically, she notes that at his death, ‘‘my letters were taken warm from his breast. Every line that I had ever written to him was there y bound round with the green ribbon

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which he had himself tied.’’ In contrast, her concluding words are not sentimental but unsparingly critical of youthful, passionate idealism exploited by the politically astute and self-serving; she regrets that young Irishmen have been misdirected y [to] a life of turbulence, or impotent discontent y it is a painful thought what [Langtrey’s] short life might have been, if he had remained under the O’Connell influence; and what the lives of hundreds more have been, – rendered wild by delusion, and wretched by strife and lawlessness, for want of a gleam of that clear daylight which made a sound citizen of a passionate Young Repealer. (Martineau, 1861, p. 345)

Presumably, Langtrey’s illumination led to thoughtful citizenship rather than unexamined radicalism. Martineau’s commentary, published in 1861 during the American Civil War, offers a striking comparison with slavery politics: for her, the dissolution of the American Union was a small price to pay for abolition, emancipation, and a nationalism that privileged individual freedom over political despotism. Given the intimate connections between Ireland, America, and England, it is difficult to reconcile her position on the one – Ireland – with her diametrically opposed position on the other – America. Martineau argued that England’s carelessness towards its ‘‘first empire’’ – the American colonies – resulted in its loss, which should have been an instructive lesson for managing the ‘‘second’’ empire. Martineau’s conclusion to ‘‘All I can remember’’ illustrates her continuing fascination with Langtrey as well as her perplexity about his impact on her political thought: ‘‘Here I have related all that I can remember of one of the most pathetic incidents which have come before me in the course of my long life. Probably every literary life has had such experiences; but few of these humble romances could involve a subject more innocent or more interesting than the Irish youth who found in literary London such happiness as he knew, & cheerfully resigned his short life when its prospects were brightening every day’’ (Martineau, 1873). By calling this episode ‘‘An Irish Romance,’’ my purpose is to draw an analogy between Harriet Martineau and a man who had little to recommend him beyond his youthful idealism and his literary ambitions. ‘‘Ireland’’ offers another analogy, through young lovers Dora Sullivan and Dan Mahoney, who were married only long enough to produce a child; both were deserving individuals who were otherwise thwarted in love and life. A real-life analogy is Irish nationalist Robert Emmett (1778–1803), executed at 25 because his ‘‘Irishism’’ – agitation for Union repeal – was ‘‘uppermost.’’ During her 1852 visit to the area of Cork associated with Emmett, Martineau found the subject of repeal ‘‘not a little touching,’’ of his

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thwarted romance with Sarah Curran, she remarked: ‘‘If it is touching to us to connect these young people and their fate with that gay scene of activity and beauty, what must it have been to them – to him before his violent death, and to her in her slow decline?’’ (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, p. 167). Here, she returns to a set of themes first rehearsed in ‘‘Ireland’’ and revisited through Mr. Langtrey: politics and nationalism, literacy and literature, and romantic aspirations – an equation made particularly potent, apparently, by the addition of ‘‘Irishism.’’ Martineau’s role as the Lady Oracle to Langtrey’s Young Repealer confronts each with having ‘‘much to unlearn as well as learn’’ (Martineau, 1861b, p. 342). At the time of their first correspondence, Langtrey was in dire economic straits, yet he had his life ahead of him in which to make his mark as a writer; he had youth, ambition, and hope. In contrast, Martineau was a ‘‘hopeless’’ invalid whose literary influence remained strong despite her retreat from society. Throughout the year of their epistolary relationship, circumstances compelled both to relinquish certain roles, to assume new ones, and even to exchange roles. Just when his literary career seemed promising, Langtrey received the death-sentence of consumption; at the same time, Martineau’s health took a miraculous turn for the better. Faced with the workhouse, Langtrey was compelled to accept the charity of Martineau and her friends, despite his anguish over economic dependency; in contrast, Martineau embarked on a 10-year period of unprecedented health, vigor, and physical well-being. She embraced youth, health, and life as Langtrey succumbed to premature age, illness, and death: ‘‘My life y began with winter. Then followed a season of storm and sunshine, merging in a long gloom y But the spring, summer, and autumn of life were yet to come y At past forty years of age, I began to relish life, without drawback’’ (Martineau, 1983, Vol. 2, p. 205). Martineau wrote and published approximately 85 periodical articles on the Irish Question between 1852 and 1866. She has been hailed as the first woman sociologist for her assessments of American culture; but her extensive writing on Ireland remains virtually unexplored. Of her 1852 trip to Ireland, she wrote: ‘‘My journey to Ireland will be one of deep and painful interest y to explore ‘the famine and Exodus districts,’ – I have such introductions, and such a vehicle [Daily News] for conveying what I shall have to say, that I mean to do the thing thoroughly’’ (Logan, 2007, Vol. 3, p. 236). Letters from Ireland offers a sociological analysis of post-famine Ireland, from geographical and agricultural to social and economic themes: agricultural schools and model farms, flax cultivation and linen manufacture, public works (railroads and bridges) and reforestation, women’s work

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and workhouses. One primary concern in these letters was the tendency of the rising generation to emigrate rather than to invest in the revitalization of Ireland; another is the disjunction between industrial technology and standards of living, seen in the increase in public works while many Irish still live in cabins ‘‘with windows that will not open, and doors that apparently will not shut’’ (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, p. 88). Martineau confronts racist stereotypes condemning the ‘‘shiftless’’ Irish by re-asserting the claim she advanced in 1832s ‘‘Ireland’’: that the spirit of ennui generated by chronic poverty stems from unrelieved futility and hopelessness rather than inherent racial depravity, a perspective she extends to plantation slaves, the industrial working-poor, and other economically oppressed groups. Her conclusion to Letters from Ireland asserts: ‘‘There was a time when Ireland gave light – intellectual and moral – to the nations of northern Europe y She had a reputation for scholarship and sanctity before England and Scotland were distinctly heard of. Few nations then stood so high as the Irish; and few have ever sunk so low as she has since sunk’’ (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, pp. 171–172). Although the implication that Ireland’s ‘‘sinking’’ corresponds with British imperialism is not examined by Martineau, she predicts ‘‘a new life which is full of hope,’’ despite mass emigration and the empty cottages standing in mute testimony to the decimation of the economy, the population, and the culture. Ireland’s greatest natural resource is its people: ‘‘there is no need to speak of the fine qualities of the Irish character; for they are acknowledged all over the world’’ (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, pp. 171–172). Give them work, she urges, give them wages, and give them time to sort out the new circumstances facing post-famine, earlyindustrial Ireland. Most importantly, give them access to educations suitable for and relevant to modern society. Throughout all her writing on Ireland, it is education to which Martineau consistently points as the permanent remedy for the various ills comprising the Irish Question: ‘‘we must look for hope and help to that power which will never disappoint us – to education. Of all the new features of Irish life, this is the most important y its name tells everything: explains its nature, and asserts its value. It is a leading out of. Education will lead the Irish people out of their woes; and it will lead them up to the threshold of a better destiny’’ (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, p. 171). Six years later, in the midst of Parliamentary debates on Irish education reform, Martineau wrote an indepth study on the status of Irish education, Endowed Schools of Ireland. Written during the year when the Indian Rebellion shattered the Empire’s complacency in the east and the American Civil War threatened in the west, Endowed Schools evokes Martineau’s 1832 claim that the remedy for

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colonial disaffection is, first, to govern a colony according to its own needs and, second, to introduce those benefits promised by the imperial connection that would enable its competitive participation in the modern world (Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, p. 127–128). ‘‘Next to Ireland, our colonies continue to be the opprobrium of our empire,’’ she wrote in History of the Peace (Logan, 2005, Vol. 5, p. 216) – the Irish Question, particularly Ireland’s unofficial status as a colony rather than as a viable partner in the United Kingdom, being a persistently unresolvable conundrum. But her shrewd insight was lost in the commotion generated by the Great Game in India and the Scramble for Africa – events signifying both the greatest expansion and the inevitable demise of the British Empire. Within a generation after Martineau’s death, the union was dissolved and Ireland had regained its independence, aptly evidencing her prediction that permanent social progress will be achieved ‘‘by educating the people till they shall have become qualified for the guardianship of their own interests’’ (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, p. 71). Martineau wrote an additional 35 articles on Ireland for London’s Daily News and another 12 for Household Words, Atlantic Monthly, Once a Week, Westminster Review, and New York Evening Post. This writing was shaped by her unshakable optimism about the economic and social recovery at work in post-famine Ireland, by her steady refusal to consider repeal of the Union a viable option for remedying Ireland’s troubles, and by her insistence that the country’s problems were social, not political. The latter point is clarified by her assertion that social problems – like religious conflicts and economic practices – are long term and difficult (though not impossible) to remedy. Alternatively, politics, she argued, function within shorter time-frames and depend on shifts in power balances, and thus cannot be held fully accountable for chronic problems of hundreds of years’ standing: social problems are the root cause, while politics is merely a symptom. Martineau’s writing on these topics provides important insights on Ireland’s transition into a modern, independent nation. From the romanticized martyrdom of Robert Emmett to the crushed hopes of the humble cottiers in ‘‘Ireland’’ and the thwarted ambitions of ‘‘The Young Repealer,’’ her writing about Ireland distinguished the unsung tragedies of young Ireland from the more spectacular, theatrical exploits of the Young Irelanders. The appeal of romance is irresistible; ‘‘thrilling’’ scenes of ‘‘conspiracy, rebellion, and slaughter by weapon and by gibbet’’ are found easily enough, sensationalized in the daily newspapers (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, p. 5). But it is her sociological, historical, and economic assessments of Ireland that expose the silent suffering of entrenched miseries, ‘‘protracted

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from generation to generation,’’ as the source of ‘‘the more lively horrors of which everybody hears. Let them be superseded, and there will be an end of the rebellion and slaughter which spring from them’’ (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, p. 6). Martineau’s emphases on post-famine social reconstruction, on a thorough retrenchment of Ireland’s education systems, on agricultural reforms, on supporting cottage industries and indigenous arts and crafts, and on promoting modernization through public works and industry provides a more enduring, if less sensational, legacy of social commentary, aimed at a practical ‘‘disposition to afford redress.’’ It is indeed ironic that post-colonial perspectives deem Martineau’s motivations as imperial arrogance thinly disguised as a ‘‘civilizing mission’’: particularly ironic, given that, from her first writing about Ireland, she was aware that ‘‘the fashion with a certain portion of society to denounce every exposition of state impolicy as inflammatory’’ – for example, her defense of Ireland – cast her loyalty to England in doubt (Logan, 2004, Vol. 4, p. 6). Her defiance of such thinking is palpable: ‘‘I cannot but hold the part of true loyalty to be to expose abuses fearlessly and temperately, and to stimulate the government to the reparation of past errors and the improvement of its principles of policy.’’ However Martineau’s motivations are perceived, according to the fashion of the time, the Langtrey episode marked a decisive shift in her approach to the Irish Question, from romance to her popularization of Ireland’s post-famine socio-economic challenges in the periodical press. Monster Meetings, sensational uprisings, and violent explosions were most assuredly not the way to make ‘‘the Irish question popular in England’’; the issues were, in her view, far too serious to be treated with levity and flamboyance. Throughout her career, Harriet Martineau aimed to counteract the radicals’ theatricality and to dignify Ireland’s ‘‘silent miseries’’ through articulating what was, to her, so poignantly symbolized by the young repealer, Mr. Langtrey.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My warmest thanks are due to the participants of the Harriet Martineau Sociological Society Working Seminar at National University of Ireland, Maynooth, in May 2007, for their enlightening commentary on my work. Special thanks are due to Brian Conway and, as always, to Michael Hill and Mary Jo Deegan.

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REFERENCES Anon. (1833). Review of ‘‘Ireland’’. Illustrations of Political Economy: Eclectic Review (April). 254. Chorley, H. F. (1873). In: H. G. Hewlett (Ed.), Autobiography, memoir, and letters (2 Vols). London: Richard Bentley. Logan, D. (2004). Harriet Martineau’s writing on the British Empire (5 Vols). London: Pickering & Chatto. Logan, D. (2005). Harriet Martineau’s writing on British history and military reform (6 Vols). London: Pickering & Chatto. Logan, D. (Ed.) (2007). Collected letters of Harriet Martineau (5 Vols). London: Pickering & Chatto. Martineau, H. (1837). Society in America. London: Saunders & Otley. Martineau, H. (1838). Retrospect of Western travel. London: Saunders & Otley. Martineau, H. (1839). Martyr age of the United States. Boston: Weeks, Jordan. Martineau, H. (1861a). Ireland and her Queen. Once a Week, 21(September), 343–348. Martineau, H. (1861b). The Young Repealer. Atlantic Monthly, XIII(September), 337–345. Martineau, H. (1873). As much as I can remember of the story of young Mr. Langtree. University of Birmingham, Manuscripts and Special Collections, #HM1393. Martineau, H. (1983). In: G. Weiner (Ed.), Autobiography (2 Vols). London: Virago. Martineau, H. (2004a). Endowed schools of Ireland. In: Harriet Martineau’s writing on the British Empire (4, pp. 181–224). London: Pickering & Chatto. Martineau, H. (2004b). Ireland. In: Harriet Martineau’s writing on the British Empire (4, pp. 5–71). London: Pickering & Chatto. Martineau, H. (2004c). Letters from Ireland. In: Harriet Martineau’s writing on the British Empire (4, pp. 77–175). London: Pickering & Chatto.

HARRIET MARTINEAU AND THE SOCIOLOGY OF HEALTH: ENGLAND AND HER SOLDIERS (1859) AND HEALTH, HUSBANDRY, AND HANDICRAFT (1861)$ Mary Jo Deegan ABSTRACT Harriet Martineau analyzed the structural characteristics associated with health, sickness, medicine, occupations, and the bureaucratic administration of health care in her later writings. I concentrate here on two major examples of this type of work: England and Her Soldiers (1859a) and Health, Husbandry, and Handicraft (London: Bradbury and Evans, 1861). In this type of study, in contrast to her early non-fiction, her own illnesses and bodily difficulties are invisible. Her sympathy with the sick and ill, nonetheless, helped her maintain her interest in the topic and her sense of mission to document and discuss it. Martineau was aided in this work through a close alliance with Florence Nightingale and together they created a public sociology with $

An earlier draft of the chapter was presented at the Third Harriet Martineau Society Working Conference, 24 May 2005, Mammoth Cave, Kentucky.

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 43–61 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12004-5

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a major social impact on health, war, and occupations delivering health care. Their intellectual and personal alliance is one of the first examples of female sociologists successfully co-ordinating their work for the common good, a model also applicable to their female successors at HullHouse and the University of Chicago.

Harriet Martineau (e.g., Martineau, 1832–1834, 1834) is famous for her statements on political economy, and she is often classified as primarily a specialist on this topic. This scholarship often portrays her as a somewhat conservative scholar of ‘‘the dismal science’’ that is, almost by definition, quite boring. The breadth of Martineau’s thought and actions are not represented accurately by this designation, however, and here I turn to a different aspect of her non-fiction: her writings on the sociology of health and medicine. Within this distinct specialization, Martineau often drew on her own experiences and focused on everyday life, two defining characteristics of phenomenology (Schutz, 1962, 1967). Her everyday reality was limited by her deafness and other health problems associated with her life as an invalid from 1840 to 1844 (Martineau, 1844, 1878). Her phenomenological analysis of the process of becoming deaf, integrating this hearing loss into her profession as a sociologist, and her self-reflective description of facing illness and death in the sickroom became the basis for two previous papers by me (Deegan, 2001, 2005; see also McDonald, 2001). These were among her early writings on health, disability, and its social construction. Here I concentrate on her later, macro-analyses of the structural characteristics associated with health, sickness, medicine, occupations, and bureaucratic administration of health care. In this type of study her own illnesses and bodily difficulties are not discussed, although her sympathy with the sick and ill helped her maintain her interests in the topic and her sense of mission to document and discuss it. Martha Frawley (2002) argues that Martineau identified herself as an invalid from 1840 until her death and always wrote from this perspective after that time. I disagree with this interpretation and do not find her writings examined here as experientially based invalid-identified. Martineau, along with her friend and colleague Florence Nightingale (Nightingale, 1858a, 1858b), also specialized in studying the dangers of being a soldier. This collegial alliance is crucial to the writings analyzed here. I begin my examination of Martineau’s sociology of health with an examination of this relationship and then analyze Martineau’s book on English soldiers and the disastrous Crimean War. I continue with her

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investigations of occupational health and administration of services during wartime, followed by a review of her work on other public health issues throughout the life cycle and in other occupations during peacetime. Martineau dedicated a significant portion of her life to the latter broad area and I outline this sociological literature here.

THE INTELLECTUAL ALLIANCE OF HARRIET MARTINEAU (1802–1876) AND FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE (1820–1910) Two of the most illustrious founders and leaders in the sociology of health were women and friends: Martineau and Nightingale. Martineau was considerably older and more established than Nightingale, but they focused on their many vital, joint interests. In the small world of England’s intellectual and political leaders, Martineau was familiar with the Nightingale family before she met Florence (see im passim, Martineau, 1983a, 1983b, pp. 17, 42, 45, 141; Martineau, 2007, Vol. 3, p. 188), particularly Nightingale’s Aunt Julia Smith and cousin Hilary Carter. In addition, Martineau was interested in the topic of nursing as early as 1848 (Logan, n. 1, p. 137, Martineau, 2007, Vol. 3). Martineau was aware of Nightingale’s extraordinary skills as a hospital administrator by 1854 (Martineau to Frederick Knight Hunt, Monday [1854]/2007, Vol. 3, pp. 395–396). Nightingale was gaining fame at this time as a nurse in the Crimean War who created a legitimate position for women in this occupation. She and her nurses arrived in November 1854 to begin their work which was immediately supported by a fund in England to which Martineau contributed and wrote an article (e.g., Martineau to Fanny Wedgewood, 29 August 1855/1983, pp. 132–133). At this time, Martineau believed that she was dying and this was among her most important tasks to be done immediately (Martineau to Frederick Knight Hunt, 7 December 1855/2007, Vol. 3, p. 379). By February 1856 Martineau had received a message from Nightingale and their alliance was underway (Martineau to Fanny Wedgewood, 15 February 1856/1983, pp. 143–144). Nightingale sent Martineau a confidential report on the commission’s work on the Crimean War (discussed more below) in 1859. Martineau gleefully reported to her friend Fanny Wedgewood (2 January 1859/1983, p. 178) that Nightingale was ‘‘delighted at my offer to use the materials as far as some 1/2 dozen ‘leaders’ [newspaper articles] will serve.’’1 Nightingale’s reports, wrote

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Martineau, showed ‘‘sagacity, strength, closeness and clearness’’ which were combined with ‘‘heart and earnestness of purpose.’’ They were unsentimental and ‘‘one of the most remarkable political or social productions ever seen:’’ high praise, indeed. Nightingale and Martineau conspired to have Nightingale’s damning information on grossly mismanaged health care popularized and published under Martineau’s name. This scheme protected Nightingale from a political backlash as an insider leaking controversial information. Martineau was thrilled to play this role. Nightingale, in other words, was playing a role similar to ‘‘Deep Throat’’ in the Watergate scandal in the 1970s, protecting her access to controversial information but ensuring its publication by Martineau in the popular press. Writing to George Smith from what she thinks is her deathbed, Martineau portrays their desperate struggle: We two dying women are resolved to save the British Army, – now & henceforth. No serious obstacles are in the way (thanks for F. Nightingale!) – only apathy & red tape: & if we live a few months, we have the strongest expectation of doing it. (Martineau to George Smith, 15 January 1859/2007, Vol. 4, p. 149)

Nightingale read and reread major parts of the manuscript and updated Martineau as new information emerged (Martineau to Henry Reeve, 6 February 1859/2007, Vol. 4, p. 153). Martineau thought this would be her last major book. Their perception of their impending deaths clearly pushed the women to work quickly and on a project of national and international significance. On 29 June 1859, Martineau sadly reports to Henry Reeve (Martineau, 2007, Vol. 4, p. 178) that Nightingale is even closer to death than she is. Martineau (1860a, 1860b) favorably reviewed Nightingale’s (Nightingale, 1858b, 1859) Notes on Nursing twice. In her extensive (Martineau, 1860a) review Martineau implicitly draws on her own experiences of being deaf, an invalid, and ill to highlight the brilliance of Nightingale’s style of nursing. In doing so, Martineau promoted work by a professional colleague, for women in a new occupation, and for a friend suffering from the pangs of a failing body (Martineau to Fanny Wedgewood, 2 February 1860/1983, pp. 185–189). Martineau thought it a work of genius and particularly important for women (Martineau to Sarah Martineau, 8 February 1860/2007, Vol. 4, p. 216). Nightingale’s popular tract was quickly reprinted and translated into several languages. By June a new edition was being published, and Martineau helped with corrections. The two friends, who had probably2 never met face-to-face, exchanged photographs (Martineau to Sarah Martineau, 21 June 1860/2007, Vol. 4, p. 228), correspondence, pictures of their homes, and mutual friends. In 1863 when an expanded edition

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appeared, Nightingale sent Martineau a copy. The latter enthused: ‘‘I like it better than ever’’ and ordered extra copies for her friends (Martineau to Nightingale, May 1861/2007, Vol. 4, p. 275). Martineau (1859a) relied heavily on Nightingale’s reports and mapping of information for the former’s England and Her Soldiers, as I note below. In addition to this central collaboration, Martineau took the very organization of the book and its topics from Nightingale. Martineau proposed before beginning to write that she ‘‘wd [would] exemplify your doctrine, point by point, in order’’ (underlining in letter, Martineau to Nightingale, 9 January 1859/ 2005, Vol. 6, p. 298). If Nightingale thought this order incorrect or insufficient, she was to inform Martineau immediately: once Martineau began to write she did not want to revise or reorder or significantly change anything. Of course, putting the two names on the book would ‘‘ensure complete success y [and] carry the volume into every house in the known world where people can read’’ (Martineau, loc. cit.). But clearly this was neither Nightingale’s interest nor intent. The two friends relied on the skills and discretions of the other, a remarkable alliance with few parallels in the history of sociology. In 1961 Martineau understandably referred to England and Her Soldiers as ‘‘our book,’’ and reported on its enthusiastic reception in America (Martineau to Nightingale, 20 September 1861/2007, Vol. 4, p. 288). The book’s general acceptance, especially in the United States, prompted Nightingale to send further information and statistics on the topic of health and military performance (Martineau to Fanny Wedgewood, 21 October 1861/1983, p. 211). Martineau subsequently wrote more updates on the British Army and Hygiene as a result (Martineau to Mssrs, Ticknor & Fields Publishers, 5 September 1861/2007, Vol. 4, p. 287). Martineau passed on Nightingale’s detailed information to Simon Cameron, United States Secretary of War during our Civil War (30 September 1861/2007, Vol. 4, pp. 290–291). The two friends also informed Charles Sumner, the U.S. Senator from Massachusetts and abolitionist, of this life-saving information (Martineau to Charles Sumner, November 1861/2007, Vol. 4, pp. 307–309). This work on behalf of the Union Army and Martineau’s earlier, related criticisms of American slavery, provoked some criticism of Martineau in America, but by this time this was not an unusual situation (Martineau to Hilary Smith, 12 February 1862/2007, Vol. 4, pp. 326–327). Martineau, moreover, wanted all soldiers to be saved from death whenever possible even though she firmly supported the North and their fight to eliminate slavery (Logan, n. 106, Martineau, 2007, Vol. 5, p. 329). Nightingale and Martineau collaborated on this and many other projects (e.g., Martineau to Henry Reeve, 10 July 1863/2007, Vol. 5, p. 18) and the

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nature of their professional interactions and friendship needs considerably more work than I do here. For example, Martineau wrote Nightingale about Dorothea Dix, the American nurse and reformer of welfare institutions, indicating an international circle of women working on the sociology of health (October 1861/2007, Vol. 4, p. 291). Dix, of course, later inspired the work of Edith Abbott (1937), the Hull-House and Chicago sociologist. In 1862 Martineau was reading Nightingale’s ‘‘Indian Sanitary paper’’ which she promptly burned to maintain their secrecy (Martineau to Nightingale, 20 December 1862/2007, Vol. 4, p. 368). It is also interesting to speculate about their continual, protracted dying, documented from 1857 through at least 1867, and their failure to do so for many more years (see Martineau to Nightingale, 6 September 1867/2007, Vol. 5, pp. 192–194; Martineau to Julia Smith, 8 October 1867/2007, Vol. 5, pp. 195–197). I found only one brief comment on this when Martineau wrote Nightingale in 1865 that ‘‘how long our life seems in getting done & ended!’’ (Martineau to Nightingale, 24 August 1865/2007, Vol. 5, p. 118). Nightingale successfully encouraged Martineau to use all this information to publicize the findings and reach a broader audience than a government report would generate. Their alliance is important not only in documenting the bureaucracy of wartime, but also pointing out ways to improve it and literally save lives. They collaborated as ‘‘public sociologists’’ who brought this vital but complicated information to the public. Although ‘‘popularizing’’ data is often denigrated by scholars (Frawley, 2002), especially sociologists between 1920 to the present (Burawoy, 2005; Feagin & Vera, 2001), it is a professional skill that experts ignore at the cost of having their findings ignored as well. Nightingale also enlisted C.P. Villiers, then president of the Poor Law Board, a Cabinet position, to promote widespread health reforms by using her more anonymous data. But Villiers, unlike Martineau, was unsuccessful in his efforts and lost his government seat in the process (McDonald, 2004, p. 326). Walking the frontline for Nightingale could have its dangerous moments. Deborah Anna Logan (whose essay also appears in this volume) has collected and edited Martineau’s writings on Nightingale’s work, including her obituary of Nightingale which was published in 1910 long after Martineau’s death in 1876, into one volume (Martineau, 2005, Vol. 6). These formerly obscure essays and newspaper articles can now be read easily as a set of writings on this intellectual alliance. Logan includes selected correspondence exchanged between the friends documenting this nineteenth century scholarly female world of love and ritual (Martineau, 2005, pp. 295–331). This precedes the similar friendship and working

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professional pattern found around the sociologists and community activists found at the social settlement Hull-House in Chicago between 1889 and 1935 (Deegan, 1996, 2002). The remarkable work of Martineau and Nightingale as colleagues, public sociologists, and theorists of the sociology of health can now be fully explored and contextualized within a history of women’s work in the discipline. Martineau was both fearless and loyal in her commitment to Nightingale. She captured the essence of their relationship when she wrote in a dramatic yet heart-rending sentence: ‘‘Command me whenever you think I can be of any use whatever’’ (Martineau to Nightingale, 24 December 1862/2007, Vol. 4, p. 370).

ENGLAND AND HER SOLDIERS (1859A) A soldier’s life was indeed a hard one during the nineteenth century. Subject to dangers from poor housing, food, air, clothing, and transport, the everyday life of a soldier was shorter than his counterpart in farming, office labor, or work in towns. Martineau’s writing plummets to a depth of misery in her popularization of the official report of the Royal Commission on the Sanitary Condition of the Army (1859a) and her confidential access to Florence Nightingale’s Appendix 72 of this report and the latter’s privately published version called Mortality of the British Army (1858); and her ‘‘Notes on Matters Affecting the Health of the British Army’’ (1858). These governmental experts had investigated the health and medical care of soldiers at Wachern and the Crimea. The Crimean War, if it can be called a war and not just a monstrous experiment in murder, comprised one health disaster after another with very little time or military strength to actually confront the enemy in battle. Descriptions of cholera, dysentery, chills, fevers, unattended wounds, and a lack of hospitals, sanitation, transportation, or medical supplies makes reading England and Her Soldiers difficult and documents that enlistment became a fast ticket to disease and death. Martineau details dates, lists of diseases, patterns of a lack of supplies, evidence of incoherent military hierarchies, and mentions the occasional moments of glory during one eight hour battle when the ill, hungry, and weary soldiers performed admirably. Only 432 soldiers died that day, however, whereas 15,000 soldiers died in November 1853 alone. Nightingale’s complex and detailed data came alive in Martineau’s hands.

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THE SOCIOLOGY OF PUBLIC HEALTH This book is about the need for sanitation; food; material supplies such as beds, clothing, and linens; housing built on clean sites without disease and vermin; drainage; waste removal; care-taking; and most importantly, clean air.3 I note that clean air is of great significance because it is so plentiful and invisible in everyday life. Martineau repeatedly demonstrates that air must be renewed, cleansed, circulated, and supplied when thousands of people are crowded into small spaces. These problems geometrically escalate in the case of the sick, wounded, dying, and diseased. This latter situation predominated at Sebastopol, the location of the English camp. No one investigated this particular location and land, one of the most inauspicious spots that could have been selected for the military camp. It had poor drainage, attracted vermin, lacked a clean water supply, and was situated on a hilltop. Such a high location provides good visual control of the surrounding landscape, a good military point; but it is also the coldest, wettest, and most physically exposed location. If one is ill, chilled, and starving, it is hard to image a worse place to live and die. Martineau enumerates the cost of poor sanitation, food, transport, location, heating, cooling, and housing. These issues became the major domains of public health and the need for governmental inspections and control. As dense populations became increasingly common, the need for urban governments and trained staff became clearer and more recognized. The army in the Crimea, however, was mobile, overcrowded, and expected to be only a temporary condition. What happened, then, was a city of approximately 50,000 men was dropped into the middle of a hostile landscape without any supplies, housing, or administrative governance. Disaster and chaos quickly ensued.

Hospital Administration The organization of labor with roles, responsibilities, hierarchies, and rules is a central concern in this book. The lack of a clear specialization in the division of labor, the over-reliance on and exhaustion of medical staff, and the lack of training for physicians in military settings are delineated. Martineau clearly documents the need for a well-defined bureaucracy, especially in Chapter 6, and this approach sets a precedent for Max Weber’s (1947) much later analysis of the social phenomenon. Although Martineau does not abstract the ideal type of a bureaucracy, as Weber did, she does

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present step-by-step analyses of what happens when a war is waged and no one is in charge of supplies, requisitions, distribution, and material goods, and lacks the personnel to house and feed 50,000 soldiers. The need for nutritious food, its preparation and delivery, is crucial for an army. Repeatedly armies under siege without adequate daily supplies succumb to the problems of disease, death, and filth. Martineau’s book, however, is outstanding in its documentation that the demands of daily life can kill soldiers as much as – or in this case more than – artillery and battlefields. War in the trenches is foreseen as a major problem by Martineau by 1859, a lesson that was not heeded until it was re-learned painfully during World War I. Although the Royal Commission and Nightingale examined the mountainous problems that arose during the Crimean War, their findings were unattractive reading, sometimes boring, sometimes gruesome, and all in all a depressing tale of woe. Martineau wrote a more popular account, but even this suffers from the problems of sometimes being boring and sometimes overwhelmingly disgusting. Martineau brought the recommendations of the commission and Nightingale to the public in her last chapter on ‘‘Practical Aims and Recommendations’’ (pp. 273–282), and these were logical, bureaucratic applications of how to organize and deliver services to thousands of people.

MAPPING Martineau’s ghastly information is neatly and powerfully displayed through her use of interconnected, comparative graphs (Fig. 1). Thus the almost 300 page text documenting the places, times, and types of deaths and mistakes are summarized in the stark statistics. Her prose is almost mind-numbing in its lists of horrors, mistakes, thoughtlessness, neglect, and incompetence. The map displays cleanly and clearly this horrible tale of misery. This methodological technique relied on the work and ideas of Florence Nightingale (Maindonald & Richardson, 2004). Martineau also analyzed secondary data found in the commission’s and Nightingale’s findings. She co-ordinates this data and reports with a new style of writing and interpretation making the information available to a general public. These methodological techniques need to be compared to Martineau’s other extensive contributions to data collection (Martineau, 1838). Thus in 1838 Martineau honed and organized her methodological study How to Observe Morals and Manners, which as Michael R. Hill (1989) documents preceded the more widely recognized work of Emile Durkheim in Suicide

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Fig. 1.

Diagram of the Causes of Mortality in the Army in the East.

(Durkheim, 1899/1951) and The Rules of Sociological Method (Durkheim, 1915/1938/1964). In 1844, when she experienced great physical pain, Martineau employed her considerable observational skills to define and describe the impact of her mid-life, debilitating illness and her observations and descriptions of the life of an invalid. I have analyzed this as a phenomenological bracketing of a dramatic experience. She used both phenomenology and the skills of a participant observer to study being deaf, its epidemiology, and institutionalization. These methodological techniques are part of the context for understanding how to observe, record, organize, interpret, and display information that comprise Martineau’s methodological innovations and skills.

GENDER AND THE ENGLISH SOLDIER The gendered nature of the male soldiers’ inattention to and underestimation of the significance of sanitary conditions, food, and taking care of one’s body is obvious today, but Martineau does not discuss these as gendered issues. This is a glaring hole in her analysis and one can only wonder why she did not address it directly. This omission is not found in

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many of her other writings where she often understands the role of gender, as I discuss briefly below in her analysis of health and occupations in Health, Husbandry, and Handicraft (1861).

HEALTH, HUSBANDRY, AND HANDICRAFT (1861) Martineau begins her book of essays, originally a series of articles for Once a Week, by noting that these topics were suggested by her publisher. She starts appropriately with infancy during a time when the English child suffered from a 40% mortality rate during the first five years of life. Again, horrible bodily ailments, lack of sanitation, poor food, especially dirty milk, and inhumane care are abundantly documented. School years are not much better with overcrowded boarding schools filled with dirty and neglected children; and in the case of girls, their struggles with physical modesty. In an important and sometimes amusing analysis Martineau tackles the need to teach girls to swim, especially when one lives on an island. With head-to-toe clothing, India-rubber-waist-belts, Paris baths, and European female instructors near at hand on the banks of the bathing spot, Martineau tackles and ‘‘solves’’ the problem (pp. 24–28). One wonders if she engaged in such delightful exercises herself. Martineau continues her concerns with the built environment and sanitation that emerged in England and Her Soldiers. She discusses these local conditions in a short chapter, ‘‘Home or Hospital.’’ She condemns imperfect dwellings that cause ‘‘chronic murder’’ because they ignore ‘‘universal conditions’’ which must be met to stay healthy: SOIL, AIR, LIGHT, AND WATER (Capitals in the original, Martineau, 1859a, p. 420). The sovereign and the ploughman have an equal interest in these particulars of their dwellings and if all is right under these four heads, the terms of human life lie pretty fairly and equally divided before the one and the other. They will be more equal in the possession of health and domestic comfort than they can be superior and inferior in other circumstances of outward fortune. (p. 420)

Thus good housing, environment, sanitary removal of waste, no vermin, and no damp create an area of social equality that is fundamental to health and happiness. Although this does not eliminate social class, it does provide the conditions for individual survival, health, and social fulfillment. In many ways, these are arguments for humanist socialist standards for the welfare state. Martineau accurately and unflinchingly described thatched roofs as the source of vermin, dirt, and damp and did not recommend their use, an ironic

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view given their present romanticization and considerable expense to create and maintain. Workers’ cottages might be sound investments financially, but more importantly they prevented early deaths and the spread of diseases (Martineau, 1859a, p. 423). She was suspicious of the honesty of ‘‘Building Societies,’’ with the one organized by her, of course, being scrupulously honest. The more general problem of corrupt capitalists, however, is reflected in today’s insurance companies which validate such caution. Much of the book is devoted to the interaction between occupation and health, and these topics are often gendered as she notes in her discussion. Her female standpoint is, therefore, my next topic.

GENDER, HEALTH, AND LABOR Many deaths of school children (up to 20%) result from unsanitary conditions and poor diet (p. 30). Both boys and girls, but especially the latter, need to be taught how to prepare and store food. As we see in this discussion and the one on swimming, Martineau wrote from a female standpoint, thereby creating a view compatible with a feminist phenomenological perspective but extended into an in-depth understanding of women’s work, its social construction, and its rational and emotional consequences. For example, women’s dress, she writes, is often the source of severe health restrictions. Martineau supports the wearing of Bloomer-type clothing, although she herself did not wear it. She notes in both books, moreover, that woolen military dress and elaborate headgear often restrict the performance and health of male soldiers, and she stresses the importance of clothing that protects but does not harm the wearer (see also Martineau, 1859b). The major thrust of her arguments on gender and labor are oriented to the jobs dominated by female workers. She unequivocally supports the training and emergence of nurses on the model championed by Nightingale. The ‘‘old nurse’’ blends caring, ignorance, modest skills, and availability, but the new nurse turns to science, cleanliness, and authority. The new nurse makes a major social contribution, especially in hospital care, and opens a new form of legitimate paid labor for women. Martineau also publicizes Nightingale’s Fund, money that helps pay for training this new social type. Martineau’s essays on ‘‘Maid of All Work,’’ ‘‘The Governess,’’ and ‘‘Needle Work’’ reveal this same attention and understanding. When needle work could be done on the new American invention, the sewing machine,

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Martineau unstintingly praises such a labor-saving device. Martineau personally enjoyed performing needle work with artistic and creative dimensions, foreseeing contemporary arguments defining this as a form of women’s art. In many ways Martineau’s female standpoint on women’s paid labor parallels that of Dorothy E. Smith (e.g., Smith, 1987). This segment of Martineau’s writing is also related to a phenomenological perspective which is sorely lacking in England and Its Soldiers and her essays on health and men’s work which comprise the bulk of the book. Martineau systematically demonstrates how men’s labor is stressful and these laborers often ignore the needs of their bodies. These serious problems of poor health can be prevented but are often invisible to the worker. Police officers, for example, are recruited as young, healthy men. Their stressful lives, irregular schedules, and ‘‘manly’’ tolerance of discomfort create a typically short career, ended in a few years by either resignation or death. Martineau ends her study of health and occupations with soldiers and sailors, repeating many points from her first book discussed here. She concludes these essays with an analysis of the aged, and notes that this stage of physical decline begins at 45 years of age. Obviously her ideas reflected the shorter life expectancy of her era, but her image of growing older is grim and eased by a determination to practice optimistic endurance. This chapter is not her strongest essay and our notions of health and aging have changed considerably since 1861.

MARTINEAU’S FURTHER CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE SOCIOLOGY OF HEALTH, MEDICINE, AND OCCUPATIONS Martineau’s essential contributions to the sociology of health, medicine, and occupations are only briefly examined here through her work in only two books. Martineau wrote extensively on these topics elsewhere. For example, her study of housing, especially domestic architecture, is a large and vital area. In June 1845 she bought the land for her future home, ‘‘The Knolls,’’ and by April 1846 she had built her home in the Lake District. This structure and the workers’ cottages she helped to build followed her ideal mental, spiritual, aesthetic, and physical expectations and standards.4 Other writings, for example, Deerbrook or her many volumes illustrating political economy or taxation could reveal other contributions to the study of health,

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the body, and social policy. These could and should be mined to extend my analysis here. I turn now in a different direction, however, to connect Martineau’s work on health to that of later female sociologists who raised analogous questions and engaged in similar practices.

MARTINEAU AND FEMALE SOCIOLOGISTS AT HULL-HOUSE AND THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, 1889–1935 Women in sociology at Hull-House and the University of Chicago between 1889 and 1935 continued and elaborated on Martineau’s work and practices discussed above. Thus the sociology of housing, food, public health, social policies, and sanitation were important topics in Chicago several decades later. Marion Talbot and her assistant Sophonisba Breckinridge, in particular, institutionalized this labor in Talbot’s Department of Household Administration organized through the Department of Sociology at the university (Talbot & Breckinridge, 1912, rev. 1919). Their book on The Modern Household continued many of Martineau’s themes in England and Her Soliders. Talbot’s years of work on household sanitation and food echo the work of Martineau, 1849 (see Deegan, 1991, 1996). Edith Abbott (1910), in turn, was trained by them and specialized in the study of Women in Industry, again following many of Martineau’s interests. Charlotte Perkins Gilman (e.g., Gilman, 1898, 1915/2001, 1916/1997, 1916/2004) also examined the connections between women, labor, dress, the home, and health. The similarities and differences between Martineau and Gilman have never been examined in-depth. The parallels between Martineau and HullHouse sociologists are multidimensional. Alice Hamilton (1943), for example, became the leading figure in the United States in the sociology of industrial medicine and occupations. Jane Addams (1907, 1922; Addams, Balch, & Hamilton, 1915/2003; Deegan, 2003) led in the study of food, the management of waste, and, of course, the sociology of war and peace. Her work in nonviolence, the connection between war and food supplies, and the barbarity of war could be compared to Martineau’s discussion of these topics. The Hull-House women also used maps, popularized technical information, lobbied for legislation, and helped establish the feminist pragmatist welfare state (Deegan, 2005, 2007). Unitarian female ministers in sociology also owe a considerable debt to Martineau, and their lives remain under-examined (Deegan & Rynbrandt, 2000).

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CONCLUSION Martineau and her colleague Florence Nightingale established the foundations for a sociology of health, medicine, and occupations. They led in the study of public health issues and women’s labor. Their powerful colleagial relationship was partially hidden to aid Nightingale play a public role as investigator while Martineau used Nightingale’s astonishing data and knowledge to popularize and interpret this massive, often dry, accumulation of facts about public health and the bureaucratic governance of the state for the general public. Their powerful alliance as public sociologists has never been analyzed by sociologists and is an important new area to document. The two books I focus on here, England and Her Soliders and Health, Husbandry, and Handicraft, are crucial to Martineau’s claim to being a founding figure in this area, and these books emerged partially from Nightingale’s influence and collaboration with Martineau. Their joint and highly successful work should be seen as an effective form of public sociology that needs to be better understood and celebrated. In addition, Martineau often brought a female standpoint to her writings on health when she discussed girls’ socialization and women’s work. This perspective is significantly less visible in England and Her Soliders in comparison to Health, Husbandry, and Handicraft, especially when the latter essays focus on boys’ and men’s lives and occupations. With the exception of the relatively small segment of these books devoted to women, I interpret England and Her Soliders and Health, Husbandry, and Handicraft as qualitatively different from Martineau’s writings on physical disability (Deegan, 2002) and Life in the Sickroom (1844). Part of this difference may arise from Martineau’s dependence on commission findings and the reports of Nightingale which did not reflect Martineau’s experience. As a woman, deaf, and sometimes seriously ill, the life of a soldier during wartime was far outside her experiences and so she relied on objective data to analyze this situation. Another part of this difference may arise from a need to think through a phenomenological analysis by Martineau of being a soldier, the nature of war, the life cycle, medicine in the nineteenth century, and the social construction of bureaucracies, the state, and sociology. Such an analysis would require an extensive reworking of phenomenological sociology that is beyond my intentions here which are more modest. Another reason for my reading, and one I find persuasive, is that Martineau dramatically changed after she recovered from what her doctor diagnosed as a terminal illness. Martineau’s Life in the Sickroom (1944) marks an important and transformative experience. When she recovered from this five-year ordeal, she changed her everyday life by

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moving to Ambleside and her home on the hill, the Knoll. She also developed religious ideas that were more inclusive and a notion of science that was more rigorous. She engaged in fewer social interactions and withdrew from her daily activities with the rich and famous. She matured into a greater love of nature, farm life, and quiet village life. She needed a smaller circle of friends and less public adulation. Nightingale’s friendship also changed her and the historical location of these two women were affected by the new nurse, the disastrous Crimean War, statistical innovations, and their shared understanding of life in the sickroom. Thus Martineau’s invalidism resulted in new wisdom, sense of self, and meaningful work that left a rich legacy that we still celebrate today. Thus I see a fundamental difference between Martineau’s writings on physical disability and the relationship between health and society. Martineau rarely employs an experiential theoretical framework in these studies of health and medicine, sanitation, and the built environment in her books focusing on health. There is, moreover, almost a breathless quality to the writing. She wants to save lives and institute changes immediately, especially when she lived under a sentence of her own, impending death. The loss of lives and the cost of damaged bodies were an immediate crisis, but her understanding of physical disability and being an invalid were human problems that emerged slowly and reflectively after years of her living in a flawed body. Further research on Martineau’s sociology of health, medicine, and occupations calls for a new understanding of this massive area of her sociological writing, methodology, and its relation to the emergence of sociology as a profession. Martineau’s work needs to be connected to our present crisis in health care, too. We also need to reconnect our understanding of criminology, health, and housing which are now specializations that we rarely study today as interrelated. Finally, we need to understand the impact of early female sociologists on our contemporary profession which continues to be dominated by patriarchal, racist, capitalist, heterosexist, ageist, and able-bodied inequalities.

NOTES 1. Martineau’s writings on Nightingale’s work are collected by Deborah Anna Logan in Volume 6 of Harriet Martineau’s Writing on British History and Military Reform, Vols. 6, England and Her Soldiers (2005), an impressive aid for any research on Martineau and Nightingale. 2. Martineau fuzzily wrote to Nightingale that they had ‘‘somehow met on the road, somewhere, one day’’ in an obviously unclear memory (Martineau to Nightingale, 17 May 1863, 5, 2007, pp. 13–14).

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3. Martineau’s writing on the sociology of public health complements that of Nightingale on this topic. The latter’s writings on this subject have been collected, edited, and introduced by Lynn McDonald. See Nightingale (2004, p. 6). 4. Frawley (2002) argues inaccurately that Martineau built the Knolls to fit her needs as an invalid withdrawing from public hustle and bustle.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I have benefited greatly from the work and ideas of other scholars in the Harriet Martineau Sociological Society. Michael R. Hill was a particularly strong ally in this endeavor.

REFERENCES Abbott, E. (1910). Women in industry. New York: D. Appleton. Abbott, E. (1937). Some American pioneers in social welfare: Select documents with editorial notes. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Addams, J. (1907). Newer ideals of peace. New York: Macmillan. Addams, J. (1922/1960). Peace and bread in time of war, introduction by John Dewey. Boston: Hall. Addams, J., Balch, E. G., & Hamilton, A. (1915/2003). Women at the Hague: The International Congress of Women and Its Results, introduction by Mary Jo Deegan. Amherst, NY: Humanity Books. Burawoy, M. (2005). For public sociology. American Sociological Review, 70(February), 4–28. Deegan, M. J. (Ed.) (1991). Women in sociology, introduced by Mary Jo Deegan. New York: Greenwood Press. Deegan, M. J. (1996). ‘Dear Love, Dear Love’: Feminist pragmatism and the Chicago female world of love and ritual. Gender & Society, 10(October), 590–607. Deegan, M. J. (2001). Making lemonade: Harriet Martineau on being deaf. In: M. R. Hill & S. Hoecker-Drysdale (Eds), Harriet Martineau: Theoretical and methodological perspectives (pp. 41–58). New York: Routledge. Deegan, M. J. (2002). The sociology of race relations at Hull-House and the University of Chicago. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Deegan, M. J. (2003). Introduction. In: J. Addams, E. G. Balch, & A. Hamilton (Eds), Women at the Hague: the International Congress of Women and Its Results (pp. 11–34). [Classics in Women’s Studies]. Amherst, NY: Humanity Books, an imprint of Prometheus Press. Deegan, M. J. (2005). Harriet Martineau and the phenomenology of life in the sickroom (1844). Sociological Origins, 3(Spring), 86–92. Deegan, M. J. (2007). Jane Addams. In: J. Scott (Ed.), Fifty key sociologists: The formative theorists (pp. 3–8). London: Routledge.

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Deegan, M. J., & Rynbrandt, L. (2000). For God and Community. In: V. Demos & M.T. Texler Segal (Eds), Social change for women and children (Vol. 4, pp. 1–25). Advances in Gender Research series, Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. Durkheim, E. (1899/1915/1951). In: J. A. Spaulding (Trans.) and G. Simpson (Ed.), Suicide, introduction by George Simpson. Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Durkheim, E. (1915/1938/1964). In: S. A. Solovay & J. H. Mueller (Trans.) and G. E. G. Catlin (Ed.), The rules of sociological method (8th ed.). New York: Free Press. Feagin, J. R., & Vera, H. (2001). Liberation sociology. Boulder, CO: Westview. Frawley, M. (2002). Harriet Martineau, health, and journalism. Women’s Writing, 9(33), 433–444. Gilman, C. P. (1898). Women and economics. Boston: Small, Maynard and Co. Gilman, C. P. (1915/2001). In: M. R. Hill & J. D. Mary (Eds), The dress of women, introductory essay by Mary Jo Deegan. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Gilman, C. P. (1916/1997). In: J. D. Mary, & M. R. Hill (Eds), With her in Ourland: Sequel to Herland, introduction by Mary Jo Deegan. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Gilman, C. P. (1916/2004). In: C. P. Gilman (Ed.), Social ethics: Sociology and the future of society, introductory essay by Michael R. Hill and Mary Jo Deegan. Westport, CT: Praeger. Hamilton, A. (1943). Exploring the dangerous trades. Boston: Little, Brown. Hill, M. R. (1989). Empiricism and reason in Harriet Martineau’s sociology. In: H. Martineau (Ed.), How to observe morals and manners (Sesquicentennial edition., pp. xv–lx). New Brunswick: Transaction Books. Maindonald, J., & Richardson, A. M. (2004). This passionate study: A dialogue with Florence Nightingale. Journal of Statistics Education, 12(1), www.amstat.org/publications/jse/ v12.1/maindonald.html Martineau, H. (1832–1834). Illustrations of political economy (25 nos. in 6 Vols). London: Charles Fox. Martineau, H. (1834). Illustrations of taxation. 5 parts. London: Charles Fox. Martineau, H. (1838). How to observe morals and manners. Philadelphia, PA: Lea and Blanchard. (Sesquicentennial edition, with introduction, appendix, and analytical index by Michael R. Hill, Transaction Books, 1989). Martineau, H. (1844). Life in the sickroom. Essays by Harriet Martineau, introduction to the American edition by Eliza L. Follen. Boston: Leonard C. Bowles and William Crosby. Martineau, H. (1849). Household education. Philadelphia, PA: Lea and Blanchard. Martineau, H. (1859a). England and her soldiers. London: Smith, Elder. Martineau, H. (1859b). Home or hospital. Once a Week, 21(10 November), 419–423. Martineau, H. (1860a). Miss Nightingale’s Notes on Nursing. Quarterly Review, 107 (April): 392–422. Martineau, H. (1860b). Reverie after reading Miss Nightingale’s Notes on Nursing. Fraser’s Magazine, 111 (June): 753–757. Martineau, H. (1878). In: W. C. Maria (Ed.), Harriet Martineau’s autobiography (2 Vols). Boston, MA: James B. Osgood. Martineau, H. (1983a). In: S. A. Elisabeth (Ed.), Harriet Martineau’s letters to Fanny Wedgwood. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Martineau, H. (1983b). In: S. A. Elisabeth (Ed.), Harriet Martineau’s letters to Fanny Wedgwood. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

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Martineau, H. (2005). Harriet Martineau’s writing on British history and military reform. In: D. A. Logan (Ed.), England and her soldiers (Vol. 6). London: Pickering & Chatto. Martineau, H. (2007). In: D. A. Logan (Ed.), Collected letters of Harriet Martineau (Vols. 1–5). London: Pickering & Chatto. McDonald, L. (2001). The Florence Nightingale–Harriet Martineau Collaboration. In: M. R. Hill & S. Hoecker-Drysdale (Eds), Harriet Martineau: Theoretical and methodological perspectives (pp. 153–167). New York: Routledge. McDonald, L. (2004). The extension of workhouse nursing to Metropolitan London. In: L. McDonald (Ed.), Florence Nightingale on public health care (Vol. 6, pp. 326–329). Collected Works of Florence Nightingale. Waterloo, ON: Wilfred Laurier University Press. Nightingale, F. (1858a). Mortality of the British Army. London: Privately printed. Nightingale, F. (1858b). Notes on matters affecting the health of the British Army. London: Privately printed. Nightingale, F. (1859). Notes on nursing. London: Privately Printed. Nightingale, F. (2004). In: L. McDonald (Ed.), Florence Nightingale on public health care (Vol. 6). Collected Works of Florence Nightingale. Waterloo, ON: Wilfred Laurier University Press. Schutz, A. (1962). In: M. Natanson (Ed.), Collected Papers, 1: The problem of social reality, introduced by M. Natanson. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Schutz, A. (1967). In: G. Walsh & F. Lehnert (Trans.) The Phenomenology of the social world, introduced by George Walsh. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Smith, D. E. (1987). The everyday world as problematic: A feminist sociology. Boston: Northeastern University Press. Talbot, M., & S. Breckinridge. (1912). The modern household (Revised edition 1919). Boston: Whitcomb and Barrows. Weber, M. (1947). The theory of social and economic organization. In: A.M. Henderson & T. Parsons (Ed. & Tran.). New York: Free Press.

HARRIET MARTINEAU: THE FORERUNNER OF CULTURAL STUDIES Anna Dryjanska ABSTRACT Although Harriet Martineau’s death predates the establishment of cultural studies by nearly a century, the writing of this first woman sociologist and founder of the field, evidences several key ways in which her work anticipates the emergence of the new field. Martineau’s social and political philosophy, concern with the emancipation of subordinate groups, and ethnographic method parallels major cultural studies tenets. In line with the quality of life concerns now associated with cultural studies, she identified personal happiness as a major concern for society. She was an advocate of democracy and capitalism as the way forward, as well as of education for all. Martineau argued that work was critical to individual lives and the health of society, and she was adamant about the right for people to freely choose the work they wanted to do. Martineau wrote extensively on the social issues of her time, identifying gender, racial and class tensions, and was particularly concerned with the woman question and the emancipation of women.

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 63–77 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12005-7

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Cultural Studies, first associated with Richard Hoggart, the individual who coined the term in 1964 and the founder of the Birmingham Centre for Contemporary Cultural studies (CCCS), rose to importance as a social scientific field under Stuart Hall who succeeded Hoggart as director of the center (During, 2003). Cultural studies examines the links between culture, politics, and economics using one or more of the following approaches: culturalism, structuralism, poststructuralism, the politics of difference, psychoanalysis, and Marxism (Barker, 2005). Although nearly a hundred years had passed after the death of Harriet Martineau, the first woman sociologist and a founder of the field of sociology, and before the birth of cultural studies, Martineau’s work evidences many of the qualities identified by Hall and Bennett (Barker, 2005) as distinguishing cultural studies from other fields of social study. In this chapter I show how Martineau’s work fits the cultural studies paradigm, and I argue that Martineau is a forerunner of this young field of study. I link Martineau’s work with cultural studies through a discussion of Martineau’s economic and political thought, her scholarly and personal concern with the emancipation of subordinated groups, and her method for examining society. Assumptions of Marxism critically interpreted are an important aspect of cultural studies (Barker, 2005). For Karl Marx (1818–1883) an understanding of political economy, that is, the theory about laws pertaining to production and financial exchange, was critical to understanding the dynamics of capitalist society (Engels, 1876). In our times, in the context of cultural studies, the focus of Marx’s conception of political economy is on the exercise of authority over economic and social resources and their location (Barker, 2005). Marx’s theory establishes the link between existence and consciousness (historical materialism), describes the mechanisms of capitalist action including the rise of new class divisions, and provides an explanation of the meaning of work and property as well as their relationship to the means of production. A major weakness of Marxism is, however, its teleology. Twentieth century history revealed that communism is not an inevitable result of the evolution of societies. Many formerly communist countries, including Poland, experienced anti-revolutionary privatization of the economy as well as democratization. Harriet Martineau, a contemporary of Marx, also, identified political economy as a source of social problems. She observed the rapid development of capitalism and its consequences for the social structure in the homeland of the industrial revolution – Great Britain. For her an interest in economic issues developed under the influence of the thriving environment of Unitarian co-religionists which in 19th-century England

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were regarded as the most gifted capitalists (her father was an entrepreneur as well). From her youngest years Martineau observed mechanisms of capitalist enterprise from her position as an insider, a vantage point not available to intellectuals of aristocratic origin. Martineau was a pioneer in analyzing society through the prism of its work system. According to Susan Hoecker-Drysdale (2003), Martineau viewed work relationships as reflective of not only the economic system of a given society, but also its culture as well as its politics. Martineau’s publications, in which the issues of the transformations connected with the Industrial Revolution are a main theme consist of ‘‘On the Duty of Studying Political Economy’’ (1831), ‘‘Illustrations of Political Economy’’ (1832–1834), ‘‘The Tendency of Strikes and Sticks is to Produce Low Wages and of Union between Masters and Men it is Ensure Good Wages’’ (1834), ‘‘Illustrations of Taxation’’ (1834), ‘‘The Factory Controversy: A Warning Against Meddling Legislation’’ (1855), ‘‘Female Industry’’ (1859), and ‘‘Modern Domestic Service’’ (1862). Martineau addressed some of her texts on work to the working class. These gained immediate popularity, particularly, ‘‘Illustrations of Political Economy,’’ a series of stories about economic matters and the reality of workers’ lives. Martineau, just as did Marx, discussed the significance of work for the individual and society, the phenomenon of alienation, and the division of labor. Contrary to Marx, in whose writings, class was a critical category of analysis; Martineau analyzed the system of production in the context of such categories as sex and race. In addition, Martineau devoted quite a bit of attention to an issue neglected by other thinkers of her time: work carried out in household service. For Martineau, work was a crucial aspect of the organization of society and the life of human beings. Work provides the means for human existence. Through work, a human being can shape the universe with her/his values, and consequently experience the meaning of life and the satisfaction that accompanies that experience. Work provides the opportunity for human development and character improvement. It enables the self-realization that is the duty of every member of society, the individual’s contribution to social progress. For Martineau the term ‘‘vocation’’ can be used to refer to an individual’s fulfillment from work that is of such a magnitude that she/he identifies with the work. Yet, for Martineau, work was also a cause of alienation. Lower social classes and slaves experience alienation because they are deprived of the feeling of subjectivity. In their work which is mechanical and imitative work (more and more often, also, mechanized), they merely fulfill the vision of

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others and cannot actively influence the social universe. Alienation also afflicts women. Compared to men, women’s job choice is very limited, thus leading to fewer opportunities to derive satisfaction from the work. Another source of alienation noted by Martineau is long-term inactivity or lack of work. In this connection she provides the example of the upper class, described by Thorstein Veblen as the leisure class, whose time is spent on ‘‘ostentatious consumption.’’ While Martineau recognized the importance of work to human life, she, also, argued that a time for rest is essential. Under the best conditions work should have both an intellectual and a physical character. If, however, that is not possible, laborers should take up mental effort in their free time, and intellectual workers should take up physical effort. Martineau was critical of a system of production, universal in the 19th century, which forced individuals to work hard throughout the day. According to her, depriving workers of rest, subjecting them to unhealthy conditions, and paying them low wages, that is, the exploitation of workers by their employers not only negatively affects workers but also destroys social bonds. Martineau noticed that the significance of work is not defined through objective factors, such as competence and the effort needed to carry it out, but through arbitrary criteria assumed by a socially stratified society. Work carried out mainly, or exclusively, by women or slaves is an example. In time, work of subordinated groups is devalued by society. Work performed by people of secondary status is regarded as unimportant, dirty, degrading, and disgraceful because of its association with the people performing it. Thus, low pay is associated with professions dominated by women such as sewing and teaching, and women receive lower pay than men for performing the same work. That female labor yields ‘scant reward y lies in the subordination of the sex.’ (Martineau, 1837, Vol. III, p.150 in Hoecker-Drysdale, 2003)

Martineau observed a women’s work was exploited not only by employers, who at the time were almost exclusively male, but also by male employees. She cited the case of female workers from Staffordshire who were not allowed to use rests for their hands because of male jealousy (HoeckerDrysdale, 2003). While for Martineau, the exploitation of workers is not only dependent on their class but also on their sex, she, nevertheless, identified the paid work of women as the road to their emancipation. For her, a growing division of labor and mechanization of the production process fostered the emancipation of women. She viewed machines as tools which have a twofold potential: they can alienate workers and make their work a routine, but they

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can also cause the increase of positions and eliminate the need for physical strength in performing work. According to Martineau societal development follows the laws of political economy. Hence, an expansion of capitalism and the spread of democracy are inevitable. Martineau described the 19th century as the time of transformation from feudalism to modernity. For her, economic and political problems result from the conflict between feudal and modern values. Martineau’s diagnosis coincides with Auguste Comte’s. The two, however, saw a way out of the conflict differently. Comte thought the solution was to step back, that is, strengthen traditional values deprecated by the French Revolution, while Martineau wanted to step forward, and enhance modern values affirmed by the French Revolution – freedom, equality, and solidarity. For Martineau work enables people to realize their liberty only when all members of society have unlimited access to and can freely choose to practice a profession. For her, discrimination of women and blacks contradicts the idea of both work and liberty. Hence the right to work should be accompanied by equality of the sexes and races. Public statesupported education that adequately prepares people to enter the economy is essential, and it should embrace all children. Government should ensure equal opportunity for individuals, so they can fairly compete in the free market. Because competition strengthens the individual and ensures her/his best performance, it leads to social progress. Competition joined to democracy will lead to the end of feudalism and a leisure class, characterized by high social status and inactivity. In its place, work will become the shared cause of the employer and the worker and the integral part of community. Through work individuals become mutually responsible to one another, and thus socially bonded (Hoecker-Drysdale, 2003). For Martineau, freedom, equality, and solidarity are fulfilled through work.

THE POLITICS OF LIFE According to cultural studies scholars, social change involves political conflict. Early in the development of the discipline, political power was conceived primarily in class terms and was thought to be associated with economic inequality. In time, cultural studies scholars considered power expressed in terms of race and gender to be more relevant to the study of political conflict than power expressed in terms of class. More than class, race and gender have come to be seen as determinants of economic status. In

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addition, as Western societies have become increasingly wealthy, issues associated with material irregularities have become less salient than those associated with the postmodern search for meaning. The source of political conflict in Western democracies is now located within the cultural sphere and specifically involves concerns about identity and self-realization. According to Barker (2005) a significant societal transition has occurred from that of quantity to quality, resulting in a new postmodern politics, the politics of life. The politics of life includes the modern demand for emancipation, but it, also, involves a contest over such issues as lifestyle, health and self-realization, and the creation of conditions which will allow individuals to achieve psychophysical welfare. In essence, the politics of life involve the struggle for happiness. For Barker (2005), cultural studies scholars should better take into account the transition from modernity to postmodernity, and should make various forms of the politics of life the object of their research. A challenge for those studying the politics of life is finding a solution to cultural conflicts without advocating a top–down imposition of a given value system. Cultural globalization was the consequence of economic globalization. It has resulted in individuals making everyday decisions in the context of a global culture devoid of local meaning, and, consequently, experiencing anomie. Symptomatic of this macro development is an increase in the percentage of the population suffering from depression (Barker, 2005). According to the American psychologist, Abraham Maslow, human happiness, a peak experience, is achieved through the satisfaction of five types of needs. Maslow’s model of a hierarchy of needs, created as a part of humanist psychology, for analyzing the motivation of individuals, is a useful theoretical tool in many disciplines of the social sciences. Physiological needs followed by the need for safety and then the need for love and belonging form the three foundation levels of the pyramid of needs identified by Maslow. These three types of needs are the focus of modern politics. The need for esteem is higher up in the pyramid, and the need for self-actualization crowns it. According to Harriet Martineau (1838), the attainment of happiness is a typical aspiration of human beings and a cause of societal formation. The satisfaction of individuals in a society is associated with the amount of happiness enjoyed by the society as a whole. The external conveniences of men, their internal emotions and affections, their social arrangements, graduate in importance precisely in proportion as they affect the general happiness of the section of the race among whom they exist. (Martineau, 1838)

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Therefore, the only valid way of evaluating societal ‘‘morals and manners’’ is by referring them to the happiness of its members. To Martineau there is one notion, though not always directly expressed, shared by all societies: that which makes human beings happy is good and right and that which makes them unhappy is bad and unfair. This conviction is at the bottom of practices which seem the most inconsistent with it. (Martineau, 1838)

As Patricia Madoo Lengermann and Jill Niebrugge-Brantley (2004) observe, according to Martineau, the social system supports happiness to the degree that it enables individuals to act autonomously, morally, and practically. All limitations, both legal (formal) and social (informal), placed arbitrarily on the members of a given social category (that is, women, blacks) are a cause of social dysfunctions, afflicting also the members of dominating categories. Achieving happiness on a general-social scale means the societal valuing of freedom, equality, and solidarity. Democracy, the end towards which all nation-states evolve, but which is yet not fully incorporated in any, best guarantees the realization of societal happiness. Privatization of the economy, a consequence of democracy, constitutes the strongest incentive for self-improvement as satisfied by education. Real moral autonomy, a condition of happiness, is a consequence of knowledge, and, therefore, education is critical. According to Martineau, humans can be happy in life only when they pursue and achieve long-range goals above satisfying their everyday biological needs.

ETHNOGRAPHICAL ASPECTS Ethnography is a basic empirical and theoretical approach in the field of cultural studies. A universally accepted definition of ethnography does not exist nor is there agreement about the place of ethnography in the social sciences and methodology. Ethnography has been associated with ethnology or anthropology, but it is also regarded as a distinct discipline. It has been criticized because its method – field work based on participant observation – is capricious and non-specific. Barker (2005) has defined the ethnographic method as an approach which uses intensive field work to make detailed and holistic descriptions and analyses of cultures, and presents subjective meanings and feelings of different cultures and a variety of people. Ethnographic description is clearly present in Harriet Martineau’s works. Her three-volume Society in America serves as an example. The book is

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a product of her two-year trip to the United States in which she recorded her observations. It is regarded as an ethnographic description of the United States of America (Hill, 2003). Martineau’s most important methodological work, How to Observe Morals and Manners, is a textbook for field work combining both the emphasis on a holistic description of culture, characteristic of ethnography and the emphasis on scientific objectivity, characteristic of sociological research. For Martineau, both emphases are needed in adequately describing a social structure. She regarded culture, that is, morals and manners, together with their material products as indicators of the relationship between dominance and subordination that is determinate of the social structure. According to her a critical skill of the researcher (in Martineau’s words: the traveler) is knowledge of the language used by the society that is the focus of study. The researcher who has that skill can understand the discourse of the people. It provides an indispensable commentary upon the national facts the traveler observes (Martineau, 1838). The primary source of knowledge about a society is, however, objectively verifiable social facts, collected as a result of the process of observation. Discourse makes it possible to gain knowledge about the subjective meanings and feelings of different people, but it is secondary to social facts in explaining social reality.1 Martineau warns the researcher against observing society through the prism of national and philosophical prejudice. National prejudice manifests itself when comparing a given society to the society of the researcher. Philosophical prejudice is evidenced by comparing the society under examination to the ideal type society, and judging the social conditions of that society by referring it to the philosophical construct. Observations made by the prejudiced researcher are distorted and, therefore, worthless. The mind of the observer – the instrument by which the work is done, is as essential as the material to be wrought. If the instrument be in bad order, it will furnish a bad product, be the material what it may. (Martineau, 1838)

Using the language of contemporary ethnography, Martineau’s warning against national prejudice is indeed a warning against ethnocentrism, a practice of judging all cultures from the point of view of the values of one’s own culture, based on the conviction of the superiority of one’s own culture (Olszewska-Dyoniziak, 2003). The competent researcher avoids, as Martineau calls it, the low comparative practice. Comparing and judging a society is permitted only when it takes as a reference all remaining societies.

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The enlightened traveler, if he explore only one country, carries in his mind the image of all; for, only in its relation to the whole race can any one people be judged. (Martineau, 1838)

Only the researcher who is not prejudiced can come to sympathize with the observed. Sympathy is essential to a full understanding of social facts and their meaning to members of the observed society. The observer must have sympathy; and his sympathy must be untrammelled and unreserved y Unless a traveler interprets by his sympathies what he sees, he cannot but misunderstand the greater part of that which comes under his observation y If he be full of sympathy, every thing he sees will be instructive, and the most important matters will be the most clearly revealed. If he be unsympathizing, the most important things will be hidden from him, and symbols (in which every society abounds) will be only absurd or trivial forms. (Martineau, 1838)

Moreover, the researcher should avoid hasty generalizing of the observed facts. The safe generalization can be only made on the basis of sufficient numbers of confirming observations because: If a traveler gives any quality which he may have observed in a few individuals as a characteristic of a nation y it becomes the work of a century to reverse a hasty generalization. (Martineau, 1838)

Therefore the essential help for the researcher should be a diary in which s/he should record observations as well as impressions. In the diary the researcher should also record conversations with members of the observed society. Contemporary sociology would call those whose conversation was recorded respondents, and contemporary ethnography would call them informants. Martineau noted that the selection of respondents/informers should reflect the diversity of the observed society. This rule continues to be relevant to research in sociology, ethnography, and anthropology. The major similarities between Martineau’s sociology and ethnography are as follows: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Holistic description of the society. Field research. A non-prejudice stance of the researcher. Understanding by taking the point of view of societal members. Selection of respondents to reflect social diversity. The careful recording of facts and impressions.

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SOCIO-CULTURAL CHANGE AS THE TOOL FOR EMANCIPATION Change involves a transformation of an object from one form to another. Change may be constant or rapid (Olechnicki & Za"˛ecki, 2002). Because the definitions of social change and cultural change are not always distinguishable in the sociological literature, and the difference between the two concepts is not critical to this chapter, the term socio-cultural change will be used here. Socio-cultural change is a form of a social process relying on appearing, disappearing or the restructuring of so far existing components of social reality and the appearance of new cultural patterns elements. The social structure, social institutions, the social order and the culture are most often analyzed changing forms of social reality. The basic factors of appearing socio-cultural change are the changes of the natural environment (both geographical and biological), the size of the population, technological changes, the appearance of new ideas, socio-cultural conflict. (Olechnicki & Za"˛ecki, 2002)

One of the tenents of cultural studies is the view that socio-cultural change is necessary to raise the status of subordinated groups. That is, it is necessary for human emancipation. For Robert Bennet this tenent is about giving widely defined knowledge to subordinated groups, empowering their members to conduct the change, as well as creating a network with nonacademic social movements (Barker, 2005). It involves what Antonio Gramsci calls the organic intellectual, that is, the intellectual who provides both intellectual and organizational backup for subordinated groups or in Gramsci’s terms, counter-hegemonic classes. The antithesis of the organic intellectual is the traditional intellectual, the one who conceives her/his scientific or didactic activity in isolation from class or ideological concerns, and, consequently, supports existing power relations. The model of the organic intellectual was popular among academics in the seventh and eighth decades of the twentieth century. For Hall, however, academics at that time accepted the concept simply because it was fashionable to do so. Cultural studies scholars behaved ‘‘as if’’ they were organic intellectuals, but in fact they did not succeed in developing contacts with grass roots movements. While criticism surrounds the idea of the organic intellectual, cultural studies scholars do not question the interconnections between social theory and political action. Barker (2005) argues that political action results from the positioning of knowledge, that is, the specific and subjective meaning of knowledge, in the context of the social system. Harriet Martineau’s scientific and press writings show without a doubt that the author was fully aware of

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the political character of social knowledge. According to Susan HoeckerDrysdale, over time, Harriet Martineau’s writings combined the production of social scientific knowledge with a political call for reform. Science was to be useful, and her scientific work was intended for advocacy and reform, as well as for intellectual understanding. (Hoecker-Drysdale, 2003)

The power of the relationship between writing/publishing and politics is best described by Martineau herself: I want to be doing something with the pen, since no other means of action in a politics are in a woman’s power. (Watts & Weiner, 2004)

Martineau called for socio-cultural changes, which would result in the emancipation of women, black and lower social classes.

THE EMANCIPATION OF WOMEN Martineau focused most of her attention on the problem of women’s emancipation or as it was called in her time, the woman question. She was aware, however, of the similarities and interactions between different kinds of oppression. She was the first Englishwoman who compared the situation of women to the situation of slaves (Martineau, 1837). One of the examples of Martineau’s commitment to the emancipation process is her work, Society in America, in which she included a chapter ‘‘Political Non-existence of Women.’’ In the chapter, she criticized the withholding of political rights from women, invoking democratic principles. Martineau argued that the exclusion of women is not consistent with the rules of democracy for two reasons – firstly, because it is not derived from the consent of women, and secondly, because the very core of democracy involves the representation of all people. In the chapter, too, Martineau quoted Thomas Jefferson’s basis for depriving women and blacks of political access. With respect to women, she observed that Jefferson was concerned with the potential immorality that might arise from the mixing of women and men in public places. With respect to the exclusion of blacks, she observed that for Jefferson blacks were slaves, a critical part of the economy, and as such could not express their will or hold property. Martineau states that the actual reason for depriving women of political rights was similar to that for blacks. By excluding women from politics, men (white men) could maintain control of economic benefits for themselves. In

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dominant discourse this explanation did not exist; the exclusion of women was explained with the arguments making reference to culture. The most common arguments were the following: the relationship between women and men resembles the relationship between the neck and head because women influence men’s behavior. Women should devote themselves to activities in the women’s sphere where political activity has no place. Martineau opposed these arguments for women’s proper place. For her they had no validity; moreover, the arguments only served to strengthen the privileged position of men over women. The truth is that while there is much said about ‘‘the sphere of woman’’, two widely different notions are entertained of what is meant by the phrase. The narrow, and, to the ruling party, the more convenient notion is that sphere appointed by men, and bounded by their idea of propriety y (Martineau, 1837)

The publisher of ‘‘Society in America’’ did not want Martineau to raise the problem of American women’s political status, and, thereby, feed the controversy already created by the woman question (Hutcheon, 1996). Martineau refused to be censored. She compared Thomas Jefferson and James Mill, who were advocates of both democracy and depriving women of political rights, and arguing that democracy without women is despotism, she observed that both men were advocates of despotism. Martineau’s concern for women’s emancipation was not limited to political rights. In the 1860s on the pages of ‘‘Daily News,’’ Martineau repeatedly remonstrated against the Contagious Diseases Act and the power of policemen to subject women, thought to be prostitutes, to a medical examination for the presence of sexually transmitted diseases and to arrest them. Martineau pointed out that the law discriminated against women because it was taking away their right to personal safety and was making them fully responsible for the practice of prostitution, one which existed because of a demand generated by men. Martineau played a crucial role in the movement opposing this law, a movement in which other famous women of the e´poque, such as Florence Nightingale and Josephine Butler were also committed.2

THE EMANCIPATION OF BLACKS In 1835 in Boston Martineau was asked by abolitionists to give her opinion publicly on the issue of slavery. Fully aware of the consequences of so doing, Martineau spoke out in accord with her credo against slavery and in favor of abolition.

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I foresaw that almost every house in Boston, except those of the abolitionists, would be shut against me; that my relation to the country would be completely changed, as I should suddenly be transformed from being a guest and an observer to being considered a missionary or a spy. (Cleary & Hughes)

Martineau devoted one of the chapters in Society in America to the status of black people. Martineau emphasized the systematic character of discrimination naming it the system of injury, which persists in American society as a result of the reproduction of social patterns: Circumstances, for which no living man is answerable, have generated an erroneous conviction in the feeble mind of man, which sees not beyond the actual and immediate. (Martineau, 1837)

Since the time she spoke out against slavery in 1835 Martineau became an advocate of the emancipation of blacks. She supported the abolitionist movement mainly by her texts in which she demanded freedom and social equality for blacks. During the American Civil War (1861–1865) Martineau was a correspondent for the magazine ‘‘American Anti-Slavery Standard.’’ Apart from that Martineau supported the cause giving abolitionists the money she earned selling her embroideries. As Riva Berleant (2004) points out, Martineau saw analogies between the situation of slaves and the working class, which she expressed inter alia in her ‘‘Autobiography.’’

THE EMANCIPATION OF LOW SOCIAL CLASS Harriet Martineau regarded the system of production as the crucial factor defining society. In addition to sex and race, Martineau included the concept of class in her discussion of social stratification. Her writings include a call for the political emancipation of the lower class, and an enumeration of several demands including the right to appropriate pay, leisure time, unlimited access to all occupations, equal pay for equal work, and education. To Martineau the emancipation of the lower social class was a necessary condition of social progress. Martineau addressed her texts on economy and the so-called workers’ question not only to intellectuals, but also to the workers, among whom her writings were very popular.

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SUMMARY Harriet Martineau’s texts identify the same issues, themes, and concerns which are the focus of contemporary cultural studies publications. As with cultural studies, Martineau’s work reveals the interconnections between culture, politics, and economy. In addition, her work focuses on the basic categories of sociological description – gender, race, and social class – considered important by cultural studies. Important to her was the meaning which each of the categories separately and together have for the individual’s position in the social structure. Contemporary cultural studies scholars identify self-realization and the pursuit of happiness as essential aspects of the policy of life. For Martineau, society is based upon the pursuit of happiness, and social progress, with its emphasis on such values as freedom, equality and solidarity, is critical to the self-realization and, consequently, the happiness of individual members. The best societies are those characterized by a democratic state and an associated free market economy, a state open to social reforms and equal life chances for individuals. For cultural studies scholars as well as Martineau, sociocultural change and what Martineau referred to as emancipation should be achieved by evolution, not revolution. The research method Martineau developed to observe social life converges in critical ways with ethnography, the most popular methodological approach of cultural studies. Martineau believed that social knowledge has political implications, and in her writing she combined social scientific analysis with a logically derived political agenda. She developed a fruitful network of grass roots movements as opposed to academic ones, in which she frequently had great input. According to Gramsci’s typology, Martineau was an organic intellectual. As such, she was a pioneer of the discipline established nearly a century after her death: cultural studies. Cultural studies can greatly benefit from the texts of its non-acknowledged precursor. Special attention should be paid to the fact that Martineau succeeded in reaching subordinated groups with her writings, a feat which seems to be out of the grasp of contemporary cultural studies advocates.

NOTES 1. The famous Polish anthropologist, Bronislaw Malinowski (J. Szacki, Historia mys´ li socjologicznej, Warszawa, 2003, p. 661) well known for his use of field research, agreed with this position.

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2. Butler took up the post of the leader of the movement, which action finally brought the success – abolishing the Contagious Diseases Act.

REFERENCES Barker, C. (2005). Studia kulturowe. Krakow, Poland: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellon´skiego. Berleant, R. (2004). Harriet Martineau (1802–1876), http://www.brycchancarey.com/abolition/ martineau.htm Cleary, M., & Hughes, P. Harriet Martineau. In: Dictionary of Unitarian and Universalist Biography, http://www25.uua.org/uuhs/duub/articles/harrietmartineau.html During, S. (2003). The cultural studies reader (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge. Engels, F. (1876). Anty Du¨hring, http://www.marxists.org/polski/marks-engels/1876/anty_dur/ index.htm Hill, M. R. (2003). A methodological comparison of Harriet Martineau’s ‘‘society in America’’ (1837) and alexis de tocqueville’s ‘‘democracy in America’’ (1835–1840). In: M. R. Hill & S. Hoecker-Drysdale (Eds), Harriet Martineau, theoretical and methodological perspectives (pp. 59–74). New York: Routledge. Hoecker-Drysdale, S. (2003). Words on work: Harriet Martineu’s sociology of work and occupations – part I: Her theory of work. In: M. R. Hill & S. Hoecker-Drysdale (Eds), Harriet Martineau. Theoretical and methodological perspectives (pp. 99–114). New York: Routledge. Hutcheon, P. D. (1996). The woman who thought like a man. Excerpt from: P. D. Hutcheon, Leaving the Cave: Evolutionary naturalism in social scientific thought. Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, http://humanists.net/pdhutcheon/Books/martneu.htm Lengermann, P. M., & Niebrugge-Brantley, J. (2004). Pierwsze kobiety w socjologii I klasyczna teoria socjologiczna: 1830–1930. In: G. Ritzer (Ed.), Klasyczna teoria socjologiczna (pp. 199–221). Poznan´: Zysk i S-ka. Martineau, H. (1837). Society in America. London: Saunders and Otley. Martineau, H. (1838). How to observe morals and manners. London: Charles Knights and Co. Olechnicki, K., & Za"˛ecki, P. (2002). S!ownik socjologiczny. Torun´: Graffiti, BC. Olszewska-Dyoniziak, B. (2003). Cz!owiek – kultura-osobowos´c´. Wroc"aw: Atla 2. Watts, R., & Weiner, G. (2004). WOMEN, WEALTH and POWER: Women and knowledge production producers and consumers: Women enter the knowledge market, Paper presented at the annual conference of the Women’s History Network, Hull, England.

SOME THINGS ARE NOT NEGOTIABLE: GENDER, SOVEREIGNTY, AND POLAND’S INTEGRATION INTO THE EUROPEAN UNION Alexandra Gerber ABSTRACT Looking at gender within Polish public discourse during the European Union (EU) pre-accession, and ongoing integration, process highlights the importance of symbolic politics to integration, and illuminates ways in which national identity and sovereignty are being renegotiated in response to European unification. This work explores how gendering the analysis improves our understanding of European integration, and points to the emergence of a logic of resistance that is generalizable to both other issues areas and to other contexts, beyond the Polish case. There is an extensive literature that explores resistance to gender equality policy within the nation-states, yet, the specific tensions provoked by the confrontation between supranationalism and nationalism require additional investigation.

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 79–98 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12006-9

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INTRODUCTION This chapter is concerned with two questions, one general and one more specific. The former is ‘‘how has the nation-state changed as a result of intensifying supranational integration?’’ The latter then seeks to address the question of ‘‘what role does gender play in this process?’’ These types of questions are particularly salient in the European context, where ‘‘an ever closer union’’ continues to redraw conceptual (if not cartographical) maps to reflect a supranational logic that, while not displacing the nation-state as the primary political unit, challenges some of the assumptions upon which the primacy of the nation-state rest. Many post-colonial and post-socialist states have only recently regained the autonomy and territorial integrity they either lost after WWII (such as Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia) or had never been able to achieve in the first place (Ukraine, Georgia, Kazakhstan). These recently autonomous nation-states, many of whom have already acceded to the EU, are not prepared to be ‘‘post-national,’’ as they rely on the state system, or the Westphalian order as I call it below, to consolidate authority and to reinforce internal legitimacy. As a case in point, Poland has both only relatively recently regained its autonomy as a nation-state and acceded to the EU. The geopolitical climate into which this newly autonomous nation-state emerged is one of increasing regional integration and international inter-dependency. Caught between the twin impulses of independence and cooperation, nervousness surrounding encroachments upon national autonomy – symbolic or otherwise – manifests itself in a resistance to social policy implementation. How this resistance is expressed, and towards which institutions and/or populations it is directed, is ultimately my object of study. By exploring Poland’s process of accession to the EU, I hope to show that it is necessary to address issues of gender in order to thoroughly understand how these competing impulses are managed, and how the relationship between the supranational and the national is formed. This argument reflects more than just an epistemological commitment to recognizing gender’s constitutive role in the formation of social, political, and economic life. The integration of Europe under the rubric of the EU has provided scholars from many disciplines – most notably political science, international relations, economics, and public policy – a rich subject for investigation. As is the case in many other areas of study (Elman, 1996; Shaw, 2000; Stacey & Thorne, 1985, 1996; Youngs, 2004), however, gender is often marginalized or under-theorized in scholarship pertaining to the EU. Issues of monetary policy, trade tariffs, and farm subsidies, the ‘‘mainstream’’ issues in

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the study of EU expansion, are degendered and treated as ‘‘neutral.’’ All the while, issues which are more obviously gendered, such as equal pay directives, family planning policy, and social security insurances, are often treated as non-essential or less important to the EU agenda. That the issues of gender are de-prioritized or overlooked in both public discourse about, and scholarship on, the EU reflects a limited understanding of what it is, both in its intentions and its realities. The EU, in addition to being a powerful engine of economic development and rationalization, is also a social and cultural union. Along with free trade, it exports a social agenda that reflects a commitment to an Enlightenment understanding of individual liberty, self-sufficiency, and private property. Yet this agenda is itself often highly problematic in terms of how it differently empowers men and women (Fraser, 1997; Watson, 2000). The debates about gender and women’s role in society that emerged during Poland’s accession process highlight both the centrality of gender to the construction of Polish national identity and the ways in which control over gender is a means through which national identity and sovereignty are defended against the perceived encroachment of supranationalism.

THE CHANGING NATURE OF NATION-STATES For at least the past two centuries international politics has relied on the existence of independent states (Mattli, 2000). Frequently referred to as the Westphalian Order, the system is premised on the sovereignty of the nationstate, which is itself based on two principles: territoriality and the exclusion of external actors from domestic authority (Keohane, 1993; Morgenthau, 1948). The use of the term ‘‘nation-state’’ as opposed to ‘‘state’’ is deliberate, and seeks to highlight that what is at issue is more than merely legal frameworks and institutional arrangements. Traditional notions of sovereignty incorporate the presumption that the political community also reflects a symbolic community of people who are bound to one another through either ethnicity, language, or some other cultural criteria (Anderson, 1991; Mayall, 1999). At issue, then, are complex normative/affective sets of relationships between individuals as either members of the nation, or as excluded nonmembers. This geographically bounded network of laws, institutions, and affective ties forms the fundamental building block of not only the international political and economic order, but what is also central to modern personal and group identity (Brubaker & Cooper, 2000;

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Smith, 1986). Nation-states have in fact become the essential unit of political, economic, and cultural life around the world. However, with the ongoing consolidation of global capitalism, some have begun to question whether or not the nation-state is being supplanted as a fundamental unit, and whether or not we have entered into an age of ‘‘post-nationalism’’ where resources, decision-making authority, and culture exist on levels simultaneously more specific and more universal than that of the nation-state (Balibar, 2004; Benhabib, 2004; Sassen, 2006; Soysal, 2002). The EU lies at the heart of such debates, because it operates as both an international treaty organization of the typically Westphalian type, while assuming state-like qualities of its own through its involvement in member states’ domestic politics to new and unprecedented degrees. The EU still relies on international treaty and resources contributed by individual nation-states. Conversely, via the accession criteria, acquis communautaire,1 and the advent of ‘‘direct effect’’ and ‘‘supremacy,’’ which allow the EU to place its law above the law of member states, the EU now has considerable influence within nation-states. And while it might seem as though any curtailment of state autonomy by definition results in a net loss of sovereignty, the suggestion is that this may not be the case. Whether or not the loss of autonomy is considered to diminish sovereignty depends upon how sovereignty is conceptualized. There are many competing definitions of state sovereignty, but one element common to them is the idea of supreme authority within a territory (Jackson, 1999). The EU at once supports and challenges this foundational principle: It supports states by continuing to recognize national boundaries and through the mechanism of subsidiarity2; and it challenges states via direct effect and supremacy. Even in those areas where it seems as though the EU has effectively superseded the state, it is still only the sovereign state that has sufficient authority, resources, and control to implement and enforce EU law, given that the EU has no enforcement mechanism other than the coordinated will of its members. Yet, it is the idea of sovereignty that makes it possible for international actors to interact with each other, and to participate in international politics. This is a puzzle then: Why do sovereign nation-states willingly abrogate their sovereignty, by accepting constraints on autonomy and external influence within their territory, to join the EU? Some have suggested that, one, they do so because entering into such unions brings unprecedented (and otherwise unattainable) levels of prosperity, which in turn leads to increased efficacy; and two, because it may actually work to increase a state’s ability to achieve its policy objectives more directly (Mattli, 2000).

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If autonomy can be traded for efficacy, for example, this would suggest that sovereignty can be disaggregated into constituent parts – autonomy, internal control, and legitimacy (Litfin, 1997). By looking at sovereignty as a set of practices, rather than as a unitary status, we can better understand how, for example, autonomy might be exchanged for internal control, or legitimacy sacrificed for greater autonomy. Rather than being eroded, sovereignty is instead at the core of the bargaining process which characterizes international politics, and leads to what Litfin (1997) has called ‘‘sovereignty bargaining.’’ Sovereignty bargains merely reconfigure sovereignty, they do not diminish it, and reflect the varied interests and aims of domestic policymakers who value both autonomy and material resources, and seek ways to maximize both. These values are often contradictory, and must be balanced against one another; they constitute the trade-off between autonomy and prosperity that is behind the decision to seek out membership in supranational organizations (Mattli, 2000). The great irony is that the former socialist states, almost immediately after regaining their sovereignty, began bargaining for EU membership, which was to a large degree supported by domestic constituencies. National actors were able to pursue international agendas like this so soon after transition thanks in part to the vaguely-defined nature of the EU, or what some call its ‘‘postmodern’’ nature (Wallace, 1999). This openness allows the idea of Europe and the Union itself to remain open to interpretation by the various members, who in turn are able to reinterpret such discourses from their respective national perspectives for presentation to national constituencies. This lack of clarity also allows governments to obfuscate the extent to which they have bargained away national autonomy in exchange for prosperity (Wallace, 1999, p. 96).

GENDER, SOVEREIGNTY, AND EUROPEAN PRACTICE Theorists of sovereignty have not typically had much to say about gender in the first instance. This may be because of the philosophical traditions from which the concept is derived, namely the same ones at the foundation of liberalism, which theorize individuals as natural, pre-social, and essentially without gender. Many feminist critics, however, have pointed out that in reality this seemingly gender neutral, natural individual is in fact gendered male, and assumed to have a female companion subsidizing his existence in

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the ‘‘apolitical’’ private sphere (Fraser, 1997; O’Connor, Orloff, & Shaver, 1999; Okin, 1989). Within theories of nationalism, however, gender has been considered more thoroughly (McClintock, 1991; Nagel, 2005; Yuval-Davis, 1997). As the major theorists in this field have consistently pointed out, control over women’s work, sexuality, and reproduction, is often central in nationalist discourses. Yet, while women are often symbols of the nation, they are typically cast as its objects rather than its agentic subjects. Men are the national actors, and they are empowered to act on women’s behalf. I would suggest, therefore, that it is a short leap to draw parallels between gender’s position in the nation, and its position in sovereignty. Nationalism and sovereignty can be thought of as complementary expressions of the same impulse: the former are the discourses used within a political community to legitimate itself to itself; the latter are a set of discourses amongst a community of nations that legitimate the right of each to participate in the community of states. That gender should be of greater concern in internally focused discourses rather than external ones reflects the different order of priorities within the two fields of operation. What is new then, about what is going on with the EU, is that these distinctions between fields are disappearing. Legitimacy and the disposition of symbolic power is no longer solely the purview of internal authorities. As the EU expands, as its power becomes more consolidated, issues which were previously considered to be only of symbolic importance (which were never purely symbolic to begin with) are increasingly rearticulated as issues of equity and fair competition, rather than issues of religious and national concerns, and are therefore appropriately adjudicated on the supranational level. The rhetoric coming out of the EU concerning gender is at once vague and radical. The EUs social agenda is still primarily rooted in employment policy, having emerged from Article 119 of the Treaty of Rome (which has since been amended and renumbered as Article 141),3 and calls for equal pay without discrimination based on sex. In public materials, the EU claims that ‘‘equal opportunities are the watchwords of European employment and social policy’’ (Europa, 2007b). Over subsequent years, and as a result of international political activism and pressures internal to the EU itself (most notable from France and Sweden), the social agenda of the EU – specifically as it pertains to gender – has steadily expanded. Gender equality within the EU is now governed by not only Article 141, but also Articles 2 and 3 (which address gender mainstreaming) and Article 13 (which governs sex discrimination and

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harassment in the workplace). Article 2 in particular puts forth ‘‘the promotion of equality between men and women’’ as a task of the European Community (Europa, 2007a). And in a draft of the EU constitution, in the section where the ‘‘Definition and Objectives of the Union’’ are outlined, the text reads as follows: The union is founded on the values of respect for human dignity, freedom, democracy, equality, the rule of law and respect for human rights y These values are common to the Member States in a society where pluralism, non-discrimination, tolerance, justice, solidarity, and equality between women and men prevail. (Europa, 2007a)

I am not able to provide a complete history of the development of EU gender equality and mainstreaming legislation in this chapter. Fortunately, there are scholars who have already undertaken this task (Bretherton, 2001; Caporaso & Jupille, 2001; Hoskyns, 1996; Mazey, 1998). Rather, my brief overview is intended to present the EUs intentions in this regard, and to demonstrate the intensification of activity in this area over time. This is the policy context into which Poland stepped when it began its formal accession negotiations with the EU in 1997. As a non-member, Poland would not have had the opportunity or the authority to influence the content of legislative amendments that were ultimately codified in the 1999 Treaty of Amsterdam. To accede it would have had to accept the directives as given, the values as mutually held, and agree to harmonize Articles 2, 3, 13, and 141. Implementation of these directives has been uneven across European space, not just in comparison between new and old, Western and Eastern, wealthy and poor states. There has been significant variation in implementation even between states that ostensibly share much in common, specifically Poland and the Czech Republic (Anderson, 2006; Weiner, 2005). Such comparisons are an important step towards identifying significant differences in context that would help to explain variations in the implementation phase of European integration. In the Czech Republic, gender equality laws were passed earlier than in Poland, despite the existence of a more organized and active feminist movement in Poland. Anderson (2006) has suggested that the explanation for this is that in Poland there was organized opposition to EU gender equality laws, and due to the close ties between this opposition and right-wing political parties, legislation was held up in debate (p. 101). The argument that differences in domestic political context and levels of mobilization is a convincing one, although it stops short of offering an explanation of why there would be such organized opposition in Poland and

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not the Czech Republic. Anderson (2006) looks to the position of the Church and the role of political parties in Polish society, pointing to the Polish Catholic Church’s ‘‘active role in politics’’ in the early 1990s and its role as a mobilizing agent for organizations seeking to purge Polish society of the communist legally of equality (p. 114). There is no doubt that the Church is a significant force in Polish politics, and even more, that Poles’ Catholicism infuses political life. However, in 1997 (when EU negotiations began), public support for the Church playing an active role in political life had significantly declined (CBOS, 1999). Additionally, Pope John Paul II publicly endorsed Polish accession (Telegraph, 2003) and urged Poles to vote yes on the referendum, indicating that the Church’s position on change and Europeanization was complex and not necessarily regressive. It also highlights the emergence of other movements and institutions claiming to be the voice of the Catholic faithful in Poland. Since its founding in 1991, Radio Maryja has become just such a movement, with a peak audience of 2 million listeners (The Economist, 2006). The views espoused via Radio Maryja are often in opposition to official Church positions, and has led the Church to reprimand Radio Maryja and its founder, Father Rydzyk on more than one occasion (The Economist, 2007; Puhl, 2006). Given this movement’s strength, and its conflicted relationship with the Church, it becomes difficult to attribute the opposition discussed by Anderson directly to the Church, rather than to this politicized group of co-religionists whose opposition to gender equality and the EU more generally is but one element of a larger agenda. Also, as Anderson and others argue, the drive to reject the equality rhetoric of communism was very strong in 1990s Poland (Einhorn, 1993; Watson, 1993a). This was particularly true in the early years of the post-socialist transition (Funk & Mueller, 1993). However, with the commencement of accession negotiations, discourses of Europeanness were also entering into public discourse (Paasi, 2001; To¨rnquist-Plewa, 2002). Polish identification with Europe has historically been strong, and public support for accession strong. Public support for accession fluctuated between 75 percent (1997) and 55 percent (2001), and there was far more concern that less than the required 50 percent of voters would participate in the 2003 accession referendum, though ultimately 58 percent participated (CBOS, 1994–2007; Szczerbiak, 2003). So while there was some fluctuation in support for accession, the ‘‘Euroskeptic’’ faction was never particularly well organized in Poland, nor did it pose a serious challenge to Poland’s likelihood of joining the EU. In addition to accounting for the role of the Church, and the public rejection of communist-era equality discourses, I would suggest that there is

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more to the story. It would seem that Poland’s resistance to implementing gender equality policy is the product of the specific relationship of gender to Polish national identity and sovereignty, and in particular, the elements that form the very kernel of this identity and sovereignty. For Poland, unlike in the Czech Republic, these elements are identified as inviolable, nonnegotiable, and must be defended from outside incursion.

GENDER AND POLISH IDENTITY Polish citizenship is understood to be – by Poles – an expression of Polish national membership and identity (Zubrzycki, 2001). This national identity is strongly gendered and encoded with normative expectations concerning the proper role and function of women and men (as opposed to an ostensibly gender-neutral citizen) in Poland (Fuszara, 1993; Graff, 2005; Titkow, 1993; Watson, 1993b). Additionally, as several scholars of gender and nationalism have argued, nationalists seek to control reproduction and the structure of the family to naturalize hierarchy both within, and beyond, the family (Gal & Kligman, 2000a, 2000b; Yuval-Davis, 1997). Women become important as metaphors of the nation, and are consequently seen as enemies of the nation when they seek to challenge either hierarchy or their position within it. As is common to many nationalist mythologies, in Poland, gender has the dubious privilege of serving as the sacred terrain of the national within public discourse (Graff, 2001; McClintock, 1991; Yuval-Davis, 1997). Conflict between Poland and the EU over the transposition and implementation of gender equality and equal opportunity policy highlights the importance of symbolic politics in Poland’s accession process. There are specific tensions provoked by the confrontation between supranational and national authority, and this particular dynamic has only just begun to be considered by EU specialists and gender scholars, and warrants additional investigation and theorization. The Polish state since 1989 has been notorious for its resistance to pursuing gender-progressive policy (Regulska & Grabowska, 2007). Feminist scholars would predict as much and have written about state resistance to gender equality (Brown, 1992). If resisting gender equality is inherent to the state itself, or is a privilege reserved to the state, it transforms the issue into something subject to negotiation. Is it a privilege to be preserved for the state, or is it one to be bargained away; is it a privilege that is crucial to the success of the EU?

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The issues that often polarize domestic politics are also potentially highly contentious in international politics as well. Specifically, conflict over sovereignty claims often occurs in the three general areas of economics, national values, and monitoring mechanisms. In a study of sovereignty bargaining at UN conferences on human rights, environment, and women’s rights, Hochstetler, Clark, and Friedman (2000) noted: In the bargaining process, state elites clung as tightly to social and cultural practices as to economic models or even models of military security y social and cultural values were used in conference rhetoric as masks or vessels of state power in ways that military and economic self-sufficiency once were. The prominence of sovereignty rhetoric applied to values suggests that states attribute more to [value] sovereignty than coercive power or economic independence. (p. 612)

At both the Vienna (human rights) and Beijing (women) conferences, one of the main claims being made by states was for autonomy in preserving national values in the face of universal rights campaigns and discourses. Having only recently regained its autonomy as a nation-state after centuries of partition, foreign rule, and clientelism, Poland has been caught between the twin impulses of independence and cooperation, which results in insecurity in response to perceived encroachments upon national autonomy – symbolic or otherwise. The nervousness that results from the tension between independence and interdependence, and how it maps onto gender issues, has been remarked upon by one of Poland’s best known feminists: The consoling narrative about an orderly past, a present crisis and an imminent restoration of order in the realm of gender relations is a displaced narrative about collective identity: an effort to dispel, or contain, collective ambivalence and anxiety concerning European integration and globalization, and the resulting diminution of Poland’s autonomy as a nation-state a mere decade and a half after this autonomy was restored. (Graff, 2005, p. 3)

Nervousness about EU accession, and the process of integration itself, has conceivably provoked a struggle for control over symbolically charged elements of national identity. The debates about gender and women’s role in society that emerged during this process imply gender’s centrality to the construction of Polish national identity, and frame struggles over the transposition and implementation of gender equality policy as a means by which national identity and sovereignty are symbolically defended against the perceived encroachment of supranationalism. Gender is not just a central issue because the EU makes it so. While EU requirements and directives might invigorate public discussion of the subject, gender is centrally implicated in domestic constructions of national identity

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and social order. Control over both the material gender division of labor, and the symbolic content of national identity and gender roles lies at the core, I would argue, of state sovereignty – particularly within the confines of an increasingly constrained supranational system. If, as some scholars have suggested (Hochstetler et al., 2000; Litfin, 1997; Mattli, 2000), the bargaining behavior that underlies much of European politics belies a fundamental shift in our understanding of national sovereignty, then considering how issues of gender are – or are not – bargained over is illustrative. During Poland’s accession process, adoption and implementation of gender equality and equal opportunity policies were topics of active public contestation. Contentious debate was not exclusive to the gender policy arena, as there was also active opposition surrounding proposed changes in almost every policy arena – from educational standards, environmental regulations, and deficit spending to immigration law and occupational safety regulations – addressed by the acquis communautaire. Despite the fatigue and increasing skepticism that resulted from the protracted preaccession process (1997–2004), Poland successfully managed to transpose and implement, to varying degrees, EU law in all of the required areas by the time of accession. Some of these areas were arguably far more complex, invasive, disruptive, or challenging to national autonomy and internal control than gender equality policy. And yet it was this group of policies, and the national-level government office that was established to oversee their implementation, that was consistently targeted for criticism and ultimately dismantled (Polityka, 2004; Jaruga-Nowacka, 2004). This begs the question: why gender? Gender is but one element in a larger construction of Polish national identity, one which is tightly bound up with not only ethnic identification, but the religious identification of the majority ethnic group as well. Poland’s experience, first under partition,4 and next under communist rule, has resulted in schism between ‘‘nation’’ and ‘‘state,’’ to a degree that is atypical in Europe since Westphalia. Zubrzycki (2001) has argued: Because Poland was deprived of a state (or of a sovereign state) for most of her modern history, ‘‘nation’’ and ‘‘state’’ have historically been understood as distinct if not antagonistic y the first has a clear ethnic and cultural connotation, referring to someone’s tie with a historical and cultural community, a community of descent y whereas the second strictly reflects the legal-political relationship between the individual and the state. (pp. 638)

As a result, the dominant discourse of Polish national identity has centered around Polish-Catholicism rather than around a ‘‘civic nationalism’’ that

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emphasizes the legal-political community. One of the many tasks of the Polish government, with the foundation of the Third Polish Republic, was to both accommodate Polish-Catholicism, and to build its own legitimacy as the true representative of the Polish people. In essence, to forge a relationship between the nation and the state, all while actively pursuing integration into the EU.

IMPLICATIONS FOR EUROPEAN INTEGRATION According to public opinion polls, when Poles were asked what their contribution to the EU would be, 33 percent of them responded ‘‘tradition, moral values, religion.’’ This answer was second only to ‘‘cheap labor,’’ at 55 percent (CBOS, 2004). This self-conception as the moral center of Europe dates back to the Battle of Vienna, when Polish King Jan Sobieski repelled the Ottoman invasion, thus preserving a Christian Europe. There is significant public and political rhetoric surrounding the idea that Poland’s role is to ‘‘re-Christianize’’ Europe, or to bring morality back into European politics. Pope John Paul II said as much when he publicly endorsed Poland’s accession to the EU and encouraged the Polish people to support joining. Poles’ belief that one of their primary contributions to the EU would be as a moral compass, particularly one guided by tradition and moral values, lends credence to the idea that the mainstays of tradition and morality would be vigorously defended against supranational redefinition. Additionally, moral learning should only move in one direction – from Poland to the EU – and any indication that it might happen in the opposite direction (e.g., from the EU to Poland) would abnegate Poland’s sense of efficacy and worth in the European context. Conceptualizing the relationship this way sheds light on other conflicts that have emerged between Poland and the EU, particularly surrounding gay rights and environmentalism. With regard to the former, Polish officials have consistently banned public equality marches (Gazeta Wyborcza, 2005), suggested creating a national registry of homosexuals (Graham, 2007), and have (until very recently, as I discuss below) refused to ratify the Fundamental Charter of Rights (Gazeta Wyborcza, 2007) – citing its public morality provisions as the reason. However, in the Summer of 2007, in response to EU pressure and the threat of legal action, Poland agreed to desist in building a new superhighway through environmentally protected wetlands (Easton, 2007). Why would Polish officials be willing to compromise in areas of environmentalism, economic development, and the disposition of its territory, in ways

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that it is not willing to when it comes to tradition, moral values, and religion? Part of the explanation lays with the different roles that the EU plays, as enforcer; these differences, themselves, requires explanation. But such comparisons once again point to the possibility that, at least in the Polish case, issues of culture have been privileged as the immutable core of Polish sovereignty, whereas issues of economics and resources are ‘‘in play’’ in international negotiation. An extensive literature has emerged that attempts to explain how the Center and Eastern European (CEE) states will ‘‘become European’’ through the accession process, primarily through their adoption of the acquis communautaire. The process of institutionalizing the acquis happens on two levels: first on the level of emulating the EU as a set of rules; the second, as assuming the identity of a member of a purposive community (Jacoby, 2004; Stone Sweet, Sandholtz, & Fligstein, 2001). Policy transfer in the enlargement context is basically defined as ‘‘a process by which ideas, policy, administrative arrangements or institutions in one political setting influence policy development in another political setting, mediated by the institution system of the EU.’’ (Dolowitz & Marsh, 1996). That the policy transfer process would have an homogenizing effect perhaps comes as no surprise. The concept of ‘‘isomorphism,’’ popularized by DiMaggio and Powell (1983), is defined as ‘‘a constraining process that forces one unit in a population to resemble other units that face the same set of environmental conditions’’ (p. 149). Policy transfer, therefore, can be understood as an isomorphic mechanism that gradually brings the CEE states into harmony with the established members of the EU. Much of the work on Europeanization seeks to determine whether or not the development of European level governance and structures can actually effect domestic change, either through isomorphism or through social learning (Bo¨rzel & Risse, 2000; Risse, 2005; Risse, Cowles, & Caporaso, 2001). This is a crucial question, both from the perspective of EU policymakers and from the perspective of domestic social actors both within and outside the government. Poland’s integration process points to the fact that Europeanization is not necessarily a foregone by-product of joining the EU. If anything, Poland provides a negative example of Europeanization, at least as it pertains to gender and other social policies, in that it resists both institutionalization and social learning. The refusal to ratify the Fundamental Charter of Rights, as I discussed above, and the dismantling of the national-level governmental office charged with overseeing the implementation and enforcement of gender equality policy speaks to the former, whereas persistent discourses that cast Poland as the soul of Europe speak to the latter.

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Recent political events in Poland underscore the largely unacknowledged centrality of social issues to the success of the European project. On October 21, 2007, two-years ahead of schedule, the ruling parliamentary coalition collapsed and early parliamentary elections were held. As a result, Prawo i Sprawiedliwos´ c´ (PiS, Law and Justice) was swept from office and replaced by Platforma Obywatelska (PO, Civic Platform). PiS had been head of a nationalistic/populist coalition that disintegrated in scandal in the summer of 2007, resulting in the early elections. PO is a center-Right, economically liberal, EU-friendly party whose primary aims are to hasten Poland’s adoption of the Euro, improve Poland’s standing in the European community, and stimulate economic growth through privatization and the introduction of a flat-tax scheme. PiS occupies the anti-communist Left in Poland, and represents a constituency which has been deeply suspicious of the EU, particularly Germany. The majority of their support comes from farmers and ruraldwellers, and from Radio Maryja listeners and other conservative Catholics who oppose the Europeanization (or as they see it, ‘‘liberalization’’) of social life. President Kaczyn´ski, a member of PiS, during his tenure as President of Warsaw, banned gay pride parades (BBC News, 2005) and since becoming President has publicly come out in support of reintroducing the death penalty (International Herald Tribune, 2006). PiS has also favored a close relationship with the United States, and has distanced itself from both the EU and Russia, going so far that some accuse them of being overly confrontational with Germany in order to gain support domestically amongst nationalists and Euro-skeptics (International Herald Tribune, 2007). In several public moves, PiS has chosen not to cooperate with the EU, most notably in refusing to ratify the Fundamental Rights Charter (only Poland and the UK did not endorse the charter) and in vetoing Polish participation in the European Day Against the Death Penalty (de Queiroz, 2007). This ‘‘value gap’’ between Poland in recent years and the rest of Europe (as reflected by EU policy) has been widely commented upon. Despite the fact that the only national-level office either seeking to promote gender equality or implement existing EU legislation on equality opportunity and non-discrimination was abolished by PiS in 2005; that the EU Human Rights Court recently upheld a decision against Poland for violating a Polish woman’s right to receive a therapeutic abortion (Jalsevac, 2007); and that unemployment and poverty are persistently and increasingly gender-stratified in Poland (Zielin´ska, 2005), there has been no outcry from the EU or from international civil society actors seeking to bring Poland into line with ‘‘European values.’’

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In one of PO’s first public statements immediately following the election, Jacek Saryusz-Wolski, president of the European parliament’s foreign policy committee and POs main spokesman on EU issues, stated ‘‘It will be a modernising [sic] government, and very actively involved in the EU. So it will change Poland’s stance on the treaty5 and thus will adhere to the charter of fundamental rights’’ (The Australian, 2007). At an EU summit in Lisbon only a week prior to the election, the Polish delegation led by Lech Kaczynski, the current Polish president, rejected the charter, citing its liberal stand on gay rights. Despite POs apparent willingness to adopt the EUs social agenda by endorsing the rights charter and publicly supporting gay rights, there is no mention of gender equality. Gender is, once again, completely absent from the conversation. In addition to which, it was recently announced that PO will be allowing the Polish Peasant Party (PSL) to select the new Minister of Labor and Social Policy as part of their coalition agreement (Łukasiewicz, 2007). The Ministry of Labor and Social Policy has been the home of the Department for Women, Family, and Anti-Discrimination since the dissolution of the national-level Office of the Plenipotentiary for the equal status of women and men in 2005. What this decision indicates is that PO does not consider the issues governed by this ministry to be integral to its broader mission of facilitating the Europeanization of Poland. Additionally, PSL is thought to be more socially conservative than PO and therefore less likely to actively pursue a gender equality agenda. In an open letter to then Prime Minister-elect, Donald Tusk, a group of women’s organizations and feminist activists and scholars have requested that Tusk consider reestablishing a government office dedicated to implementing and monitoring equal opportunity policy at the national level (Bez Jaj, 2007). The letter writers note that there is currently no commission on equal opportunity in the Sejm (Polish parliament), and counter-discrimination activities are parceled out across several other committees, such as work, social policy, and family affairs. Given this lack of centralization and clarity, and without an equipped office at the national level to coordinate these efforts, things in Poland will not change.

CONCLUSION Just as Europeanization outcomes are not homogenous across domestic contexts, neither is Europeanization a homogenous process within a single state. There are areas of social, political, and economic life where adopting European institutions or methods has been unproblematic, if not actually

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eagerly embraced, and others in which resistance is significant. As I have discussed elsewhere (Gerber, 2007), considering the content of the policy or the nature of the institution at issue has important explanatory power over whether Europeanization will be accepted or resisted. Whereas gender might prove to be an intractable issue in Poland, in Estonia it might be granting citizenship to ethnic Russians, or in Germany it might be preventing the imposition of speed limits on the Autobahn (Landler, 2007). Taking a gendered perspective in the Polish case is one means by which we can shed light on variations in the integration process. First, gender has explanatory power over whether or not there will be policy mis-fit in the first place. Second, the epistemic and value communities that coalesce around issues of gender are often well articulated and publicly visible. Taking a gendered perspective also reflects light back onto ‘‘Europe’’ itself. If there is a lack of consensus over, or commitment to, a certain type of outcome at the heart of this Europeanization process, then it seems disingenuous to explore change only at the domestic level. While there have been recent effort to explore the bi-directional nature of policy formation and change within the EU, there have been few attempts to understand the role of political apathy or lack of will on outcomes. Unlike European monetary union (EMU) policy, which is often accepted as necessary but bitter medicine, equal opportunity and gender equality policy is seen as an unjustified intrusion upon culture, a violation of national sovereignty, and ultimately judged unnecessary. The Polish case demonstrates that states are engaged in dynamic decisionmaking about when and how certain elements of sovereignty become more salient than others, and how bargains are struck that, while appearing to limit state autonomy or internal control, in fact produce the net effect of greater national sovereignty. Including a cultural/normative dimension that recognizes that not all policies are acted upon in the same way, will also greatly enrich our understanding of how and when states engage in sovereignty bargains, and which elements come into play under which circumstances. It will be interesting to see whether or not the new political leadership, known for its support of the EU, will continue to make the same ‘‘sovereignty bargains’’ worked out by its more nationalistic, Euroskeptic predecessors.

NOTES 1. The acquis communautaire is the entire body of laws, policies, and practices which at any given time govern the EU. It is the primary legal organ of the EU, which member states are required to accept, including the provision that they will

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accept all previous and future centralizing measures and refrain from repatriating powers specified in the code. 2. Subsidiarity is designed to ensure that decisions are made as closely as possible to the citizen and that action is taken at the European Community level only when necessary. The EU does not take action unless it is more effective than action taken at the local level (except in the areas which are under its purview according to treaty). 3. As ratified in the Treaty of Amsterdam, effective May 1, 1999. 4. Poland experienced three partitions: 1772, 1793, and 1795. Typically references to ‘‘the partition’’ of Poland indicates the final partition in 1795, where Poland was parceled out to the Russian, Prussian, and the Austro-Hungarian Empires. The second Polish Republic was formed on November 11, 1918 at the end of WWI, and stood until the Nazi and Soviet invasions in 1939. 5. The EU Reform Treaty which is due to be ratified on December 13, 2007.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The author would like to thank Marta Faber, Joanna Regulska, Katherine Luke, Khrystene Dalecki, Dariusz Ko"aczkowski, Eric Eide, and the editors of Advances in Gender Research.

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BREAKING THEIR WAY IN: WOMEN JOCKEYS AT THE RACETRACK IN BRAZIL Miriam Adelman and Fernanda Azeredo Moraes ABSTRACT Equestrian sports offer a rare opportunity to bring male and female athletes together as competitors and team members, and women’s historic participation in this field has been on the rise worldwide. Nonetheless, as our own previous research on the elite world of show jumping has shown, there are a series of cultural and institutional factors that have operated – within the Brazilian context – to restrict horsewomen’s access to the highest international levels and thereby acquire the visibility, success and celebrity status that have been awarded to its most prominent male equestrians. Women’s entrance into the still very masculine world of horse racing has proven even more difficult. The work presented here, part of a broader ethnographic study of gender, space and sport at the racetrack, looks at the paths taken by young Brazilian women jockeys – in this case, of predominantly poor and working class origin – in their pioneering incursion into the male preserve of the turf. We focus on questions of subjectivity, construction of identities and negotiation of space, insofar as these processes both reflect and contribute to changing gender relations in contemporary Brazilian society.

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 99–123 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12007-0

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INTRODUCTION Several decades of social scientists’ study of sport and the body have demonstrated that the latter provides fertile soil for testing hypotheses on contemporary society’s changing gender practices and representations. It is a terrain that is particularly sensitive to shifting positions in a culture in transition – a transition that takes its impulse from a wide range of social movements that over the last four decades have attempted to usher in new constructions of gender and sexual identities. The paths taken, inevitably riven with contradictions and sometimes blocked by moments of impasse, have included struggles for both equality and (the right to) difference. Sport, as we have written elsewhere (Adelman, 2004, 2006) has along with other fields of social struggle, been constituted by more than a century of intensifying disputes over what a ‘‘woman’s body’’ – or a man’s body – can/ should do. This may be attributed, among other things, to the central place that sport occupied in ‘‘pacified’’ modern forms of constructing masculinity (Oliveira, 2004) as well as what an institution that was so central to defining ideals and practices of masculinity could come to mean for women whom, since the latter half of the 19th century, had become engaged in struggling against norms and standards of femininity endowing them with a very narrow and impoverished script (Kehl, 1998). In this chapter, our first section will present an initial discussion of some of the key historical and theoretical issues involved in women’s sporting participation. This will be followed by a second section looking at the gendering space and social relations at the racetrack in Brazil, where we present our thesis on how the latter has been historically constructed as an important site of homosociality, inspired in Sedgwick’s (1985) argument on the latter as modernity’s common format for public sphere relations, intrinsically linked to women’s exclusion from them. In our third section, we present data from our own ethnographic research, attempting to provide a picture of how, through daily struggles for space and participation, Brazilian women who are jockeys, trainers and veterinarians begin to challenge masculine hegemony at the racetrack today.

WOMEN IN SPORT: BODIES AND SUBJECTIVITIES The script that imposed female domesticity as a norm (albeit one evoking race and class privileges) was one which implied strict control over women’s bodies – their sexuality, their freedom of movement and their use of the

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urban space in which sport and physical activities were becoming an increasingly visible form of leisure. It is within this context that Silvana Goellner, recognized Brazilian historian of sport and physical education, speaks of the sporting world as a territory ‘‘permeated by ambiguities [which] simultaneously fascinated and disturbed men and women, both because [within it] it became possible to contest legitimated discourse on the limits and conducts considered appropriate to each sex and because through its rituals, the tension between freedom and control of emotions, and of representations of the masculine and the feminine, came to life’’ (Goellner, 2004, p. 367). Goellner, in efforts shared with a numerous circle of contemporary scholars of sport, has helped to make available to us the history of the struggle of women who, in many parts of the globe, pioneered the opening up of the world of sport for female participation. It is largely their legacy that has brought us to the current moment in which women participate in almost all sport modalities. Yet in spite of this history, sports today are still structured and organized by ‘‘sex’’ (gender) at amateur and professional levels1 and continue to brew controversies whose sub-texts are the profound gender anxieties of our times (Segal, 1999). On the other hand, our current ‘‘culture of transition’’ brings with it a number of particular theoretical difficulties for those who work in the area of gender studies and wish to study sport as a site of transgression – and/or normatization – of gendered bodies, identities and subjectivities. Study and discussion of questions of ‘‘identities’’ and subjectivities in their relationship to gender are tasks that have become increasingly complexified, and the dangers of reproducing age-old dichotomies that homogenize categories of ‘‘woman’’ and ‘‘man’’ are daunting, particularly at a time in which social and cultural movements have given greater visibility to transgendered peoples and theory (queer theory in particular) has emphasized the diverse ways in which ‘‘subversive interruptions’’ in the chain of significations that constitute the ‘‘heterosexual matrix’’ (Butler, 1990) emerge.2 Complex problematizations of the relationship between ‘‘biology’’ and ‘‘culture’’ become necessary, and of persons’ – and bodies’ – wide range of abilities, possibilities, skills and expressive forms; of the multiple possibilities for ‘‘resignifying’’ bodies, identities and subjectivities that current post-modern culture affords, within the context of persistent conflict, struggle and negotiation. Yet at the same time, as feminist philosopher Susan Bordo (1994) alerts us, we are still far from a ‘‘post-gender’’ society. Subversive practices are still far from majoritarian, and ‘‘post-modern culture’’ still sustains hegemonic currents, amply disseminated through mass media, that are constantly (re)producing new (and sometimes old) forms for disciplining

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bodies and subjects, according to dichotomous and unequal criteria regarding what a woman – or a man – can or should do, be or become. The well-known US feminist writer Susan Brownmiller once defined femininity in terms of an, ‘‘aesthetics of limitation’’. If her definition can be considered to summarize a dominant tendency behind several centuries of (en)gendering modern culture, it becomes easy to understand why sport – a practice that at least in its more competitive moments calls for challenging the limits of bodily abilities – becomes the scene of intense conflicts and struggles regarding what women can and should do. For women, sport has been an arena for disputing access to space, legitimacy and material and symbolic resources, a sensitive site for struggles to acquire greater control of body, self and life. These struggles have involved a series of social actors: women and men as individuals and as members of families and groups, the state (which has historically made significant investments in the definition of the ‘‘duties’’, ‘‘rights’’ and ‘‘social functions’’ of each sex),3 health and education professionals, and the press and sporting institutions, among others. The headway women have made in the world of sport is widely recognized, progressing from the very limited space available during the period in which notions and norms of feminine fragility prevailed to the current situation in which participation is wide and diversified at amateur and professional levels. Nonetheless, sporting practices and institutions continue to reproduce conventional gender norms and hierarchies; and – as we have already suggested – as bodily practices, they provide a unique opportunity to examine cultural attitudes toward gender. Today, of course, questions regarding the impact and modes of contemporary women’s sporting practices are in some ways significantly different from those we would ask about women and sport during the early or even mid-20th century; we live, after all, in the ‘‘post-feminist’’4 world of fitness culture in which enormous media investment has been made in the representation of (highly sexualized) female athletes’ bodies. Yet it is this very context that reminds us that women’s sporting practices remain intricately woven into the contradictory complex of hegemonic social constructions that continue to demand that ‘‘women be women and men be men’’ according to clear binary schemes. Thus, specific sports and body languages are gender-typed and people, media and sports institutions are encouraged to play a role in policing the boundaries of what is ‘‘safe and acceptable’’. In this light, the question of how particular sports participate in these forms of social control – or enable women to escape from or subvert them – continues to be extremely pertinent, as does the equally significant and related issue of how particular athletes live and interpret their experiences in the sporting world.

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In fact, in order to attempt to answer the first, broad and theoretical question, research that looks at women’s specific experiences in professional and amateur sport, and how the latter are linked to their subjectivity and construction of identity is absolutely essential. Questions such as these, which today fuel a wide field of research in Brazil and the world over, led us to carry out comparative research on two groups of Brazilian women athletes during the late 1990s. One of these groups, professional volley ball players who belonged at that time to the national team,5 stood out as members of a sporting category that was attracting considerable national and international attention, and was clearly incorporated into what the renown British sports sociologist Joseph Maguire has so aptly referred to as the ‘‘global sport media complex’’ (1999). As participants within the spectacularized media context – sustained by powerful local and global sport organizations – these athletes have gained access to social mobility, prestige and a wealth of material and social resources through their devotion to professional sport.6 Nonetheless, as our research itself testifies, the sporting field to which they belong also adheres to conventional forms of disciplining and spectacularizing women’s bodies (through media images as well as other discursive practices), perhaps even to an extent that overshadows whatever challenge to normative definitions of femininity it simultaneously permits.7 The other group we studied, professional and semi-professional women equestrians, consisted of members of an elite group that sustained much more tenuous connections to major mainstream sporting complexes and their media counterparts. However, these women show jumpers belonged to a sporting world that most certainly merits inclusion in the category of social practices that Bourdieu identifies for their importance in the performance of distinction (Bourdieu, 1984) of a class or caste nature. Yet, from a gender perspective, there are also interesting specificities; equestrian sports, as we have argued elsewhere (Adelman, 2003, 2004), constitute a unique arena for the study of bodily and sporting practices as sites of transgression and – we add today – the development of women’s sporting cultures.8 Our initial interest in researching women’s participation in equestrian sports was stimulated by a series of articles that appeared in the sports section of Brazil’s major daily newspaper, Folha de Sa˜o Paulo (1995), with headlines suggesting that show jumping as a competitive sport promoted ‘‘equality of the sexes’’. Recognized as the only Olympic sport that allows women and men to compete in the same events, it is also linked to a wide field of equestrian sports and activities that have served as the site where

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women have enjoyed unique opportunities to assert their freedom and autonomy. Since the end of the 19th century, there is a historical record of women who, in the United States and Europe, participated in the world of the circus and the rodeo, demonstrating their abilities in activities whose risks and challenges were not conventionally associated with ‘‘the feminine’’. We have fortunate access to the stories of legendary women who rose to the challenge, figures who were really quite exceptional in their times.9 They include women such as the German circus artist Katie Sandwina (Davis, 2002, pp. 82–83) who was a member of the famous Barnum & Bailey and the rodeo star Lucille Mulhall – lauded by the press as ‘‘America’s first cowgirl’’ – who in the early 1900s (when she was still a teenager) participated in spectacles meant to recreate a bit of the ‘‘frontier spirit’’ for big city dwellers (LeCompte, 1993). Over the course of the 20th century, the US rodeo underwent a process of professionalization similar to that of many other sports. As part of this process, an alternative circuit for women was established. Results were contradictory: on the one hand, women of the rodeo were benefitted by increased opportunity to make their living through their sporting activities, as many of their male counterparts had been able to do. On the other hand, the establishment of separate rodeo circuits for men and women could also represent a setback for women who were now more easily devaluated as ‘‘not real competition’’ for their male counterparts. In other equestrian sports as well, stories of pioneering women who struggled for a place and position can also be found. Show jumping is another interesting case. While elite English women were known for their historic participation in the traditional sport of foxhunting – and demonstrating their hardly unequal abilities by riding sidesaddle over the fences that men took from a straddled position! – it was not until the postwar period that an English woman, Pat Smythe, became the first woman in history to compete in Olympic show jumping. In horse racing, with its long history as a spectator sport with wide popular appeal that is linked not only to the thrill and physical excitement of racing but to the gambling opportunity it provides, it was only in the latter decades of the 20th century that women jockeys were able to garner a place at the racetrack. In her fascinating autobiography, world-famous US jockey Julie Krone discusses her struggle over the decade of the 1980s to carve out a niche for herself within the field, and how this often meant confronting open and even violent resistance on the part of male peers. As she put it, ‘‘I was the first female jockey to really threaten the positions of male jockeys, and some of those men didn’t want to be beaten by a little girl.

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I was also struggling to find a place in a sport that had few openings for women’’ (Krone, 1995, pp. 112–113). A significant and recurrent association that has been made in modern Western cultures between riding horses and women’s freedom is documented in popular traditions and contemporary literature.10 It reappears in the interviews we made with Brazilian horsewomen (Adelman, op. cit., 2004). For the latter, participation in the equestrian world was the basis for an identity that posed a challenge to conventional social notions and norms of femininity. In comparing their speech to that of women athletes engaged in the other field of sport we studied, some suggestive contrasts emerged. They demonstrated little concern with body shaping and modeling, nor did they demonstrate susceptibility toward or interest in forms of policing of bodies and attitudes for attitudes that could be seen as overly transgressive and capable of tarnishing a ‘‘feminine image’’.11 Nonetheless, in comparing women show jumpers to other groups of athletes it is important to recognize that as members of privileged social classes, they have been favored in their access to the sporting world, benefited by both material resources and cultural capital that make it easier to break through historically imposed barriers to women’s sporting participation.12 Thus, a fuller picture of the meaning of women’s participation in equestrian sports would be facilitated by looking beyond middle and upper class women’s participation, toward other segments of the population, that is, by attempting to identify women from poor and working class (rural and/or urban) backgrounds who engage in them either as amateur or professional athletes. In Brazil – a country known for its extreme concentration of wealth and social inequality – sporting options open only or primarily to upper class women offer little to the female population on the whole. Furthermore, looking at non-elite women’s sporting experiences would have greater potential to shed light on the more ambiguous and ambivalent aspects of changing gender relations, since poor and working class women, in their social and family lives, tend to be linked to men – fathers, brothers, boyfriends and husbands – from segments of the population that have been identified as more resistant to egalitarian social trends and the dismantling of male dominance (Oliveira, 2003; Ribeiro & Ferraz, 2007). Horse racing, in this regard, emerges as an interesting option for further research. In Brazil, jockeys have historically come from popular sectors13 and particularly from segments linked to the rural milieu (or recent rural to urban migration), where horses continue to play an important role, whether as ‘‘beasts of burden’’, valuable mounts for the daily routines of ranch and farm life, or much appreciated companions for moments of leisure and

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sport. These considerations were important in our decision to continue earlier work on women’s participation in equestrian sports by researching life at the racetrack, all the more enticing because horse racing is recognized for the important role it has played in the ‘‘modernization of customs’’ in Brazil (see Melo, 2005).

PLACES, SPACES AND GENDERED PRACTICES AT THE RACETRACK: PAST AND PRESENT As we shall argue in the pages that follow, the racetrack in Brazil – in this case, the Jockey Clube do Parana´ (JCP) – is a unique place, a small world of its own where on a day-to-day basis numerous activities that are uncharacteristic of the larger urban environment are carried out. In physical terms, it is a space that is separated from the surrounding residential/ commercial neighborhood by high walls, which until recently when several billboards were attached to it, lacked any specific markers that could reveal its peculiar identity and activities to passers-by. It is a place of urban leisure for some, yet for others, their workplace; it can also be seen as a haven of sociabilities characteristic of another moment in Brazilian history, on the decline since the latter part of the 20th century. Those who are interested in the turf have attempted to explain this decline, felt by those who belong to the milieu as a crisis that threatens their activities and livelihood. Discussions of the turf have appeared in some of the general literature on sport in Brazil, but little in academic studies. Although Melo (op. cit.) examines racetrack participation using a class, race and gender lens, and Bueno (2006) provides an account of the turf as a gathering place for powerful men, the idea that turf life is a site of homosociality14 is suggested rather than explored. Our perspective thus draws more attention to this fact and to its crucial importance: the racetrack as a place where characteristic activities – from the daily routines of caring for horses that goes on in the barns, to the track where they are galloped for exercise, to the ‘‘special events’’ such as auctions where Thoroughbred colts and fillys are admired and sold off to the highest bidders and of course, the bi-weekly races – are protagonized almost exclusively by men, who in so doing are also establishing a web of relationships – of business, friendship, work, leisure, reciprocity, solidarity and hierarchy.15 All of this has occurred in an environment where until very recently, women were almost completely absent, and in which they continue to be a very small minority today.

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Thus, the social space of the JCP that can be seen in the light of Simmelian sociology as not only ‘‘a spatial entity with sociological consequences, but a sociological entity that is formed spatially’’16 (Jarvie & Maguire, 1994) is also gendered space. In The Anthropology of Space and Place, Low and Lawrence-Zun˜iga (2003) offer us the following definition of gendered spaces – ‘‘particular locales that cultures invest with gendered meanings, sites in which sex-differentiated practices occur, or settings that are used strategically to inform identity and produce and reproduce asymmetrical gender relations of power and authority’’ (p. 7). The authors also make note of the tendency in feminist and gender studies to prioritize the study of the home and domestic space. There is of course a clear logic behind this, if we consider the enormous effort that was required to make these spaces emerge from the invisibility and neglect that they had suffered for decades, through the more conventional treatment of classical social science. Yet as Lowe and Zun˜iga point out, this tendency has also maintained or even created a lacuna, to the extent that other spaces which can also be characterized by deeply gendered inequalities have often been neglected. And, if as Rita Felski (1995) has so eloquently argued, modern literature and social theory have tended to absolutize women’s exclusion from public space, with the changes in gender relations that have been so intensely underway since the latter half of the 20th century, it becomes all the more necessary to study the shifting gendered uses and constructions of social space. What exactly do we mean when we refer to the turf as a space that has been historically constructed as masculine, as a site of homosociality?17 The Brazilian turf, during its ‘‘golden age’’, was a highly valued social phenomenon that appealed to spectators of both sexes (and of different social classes and generations; see Melo, op. cit.). As in the film scenes that make up a part of our collective imaginary, with their famous images of well-dressed men and women glued to binoculars as distant race horses stretch out to cross the finish line, the racetrack in Brazil was part of the world of high society, constituted not only as a site of leisure activities but also as a place where the wealthy and the powerful gathered to negotiate social, economic and political interests. Status issues were of course also at stake. As Brazilian historian Eduardo Bueno puts it, ‘‘In Brazil as in Europe, the Jockey Club was hardly an institution geared solely to horse racing or a place to make a fortune through betting: ‘People did not get together there just for their love of the turf or the beauty of the animals, but because these were expensive, aristocratic institutions to which it was desirable to belong’’’ (pp. 31–32). Yet perhaps even more significantly, this bringing together of social elites

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consolidated the Jockey Club as a place where many major decisions regarding the political and economic future of the country were made (ibid, p. 39) – decisions made by powerful men including the long line of presidents Bueno mentions whom over the course of the 20th century, frequented its bleachers, its ‘‘backside’’ and its clubrooms. Melo (op. cit.) has noted a growing presence of female spectators at the racetrack as of the middle of the 19th century, as was also the case for other leisure and sporting activities. At that time, middle and upper class women became both protagonists and beneficiaries of processes that provided them with growing access to public space. He explains that ‘‘sporting facilities were popular places for women. Sport acted as a valve for the freeing up of women’s social participation. For women, sport became a permitted form of taking part in public activity, since it was considered to be aristocratic, family-based and healthy’’ (p. 4). Furthermore, Melo notes that during this period, there were even some special races held for women jockeys, although it does not seem that there were any women enjoying positions in Club directorships, ‘‘nor among those who organized the competitions. This could mean that [women] were relegated to a secondary role, as mere assistants who were meant to ‘beautify’ the spectacle’’ (idem). An initial shrinking of women’s presence at the racetrack as part of relative decline of the turf as a space of urban sport and sociability18 is also linked to the fact that by the latter decades of the 20th century it had lost its role as a prime place for family-based leisure or entertainment19 (a factor that had previously promoted female presence). Today, for example, a walk through the ‘‘backside’’ – the area contemplating the stables and grounds where the daily work of caring for race horses unfolds – on a typical weekday reveals few female faces. Among the grooms and stable hands, jockeys, trainers and exercise riders, and an occasional horse owner unencumbered by business or professional commitments of another nature who has come to oversee training activities, there may be a woman or two – an apprentice or jockey, veterinarian, or perhaps a stable hand’s wife with baby in tow. Yet as we shall soon see, the presence of female riders and professionals, however minoritarian, does mark a new moment in the history of this so traditionally masculine field. Study of the sporting field of the turf in Brazil brings several other relevant issues of current theoretical interest to the forefront. As a sport that has shifted positions, from its initial proeminence as ‘‘the first sport organized along modern guidelines in Brazil’’ (Melo, ibid ) to a sporting terrain that is threatened by a major loss of popularity and participation, it reflects historic changes in cultural patterns that have attracted great

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attention within contemporary social science – the relationship between culture and elite leisure, for example, or the relationship between popular culture and the genesis of mass culture, the latter usually seen as consolidating its dominion in the post-war period. As we have already indicated, the turf was implanted in Brazilian society – and most particularly, in Rio de Janeiro, the political and cultural center of that time – in the 19th century, as part of the Brazilian elites’ mission to make Brazil ‘‘part of the civilized world’’. Nonetheless, this process also involved the appropriation of popular enthusiasm and interest, linked as it was to equestrian and horse racing traditions that were part of rural and ‘‘peasant’’ life. As Melo (idem) has argued, attempts to subordinate more traditional and popular forms of horse racing to a centralized, bureacratized and market-mediated organizational form were very evident. In this regard, it can be seen as a ‘‘classic’’ case of modernizing elites acting as a group with interests that encourage and permit them to re-draw the boundaries around popular customs and traditions. The creation of a sporting structure ‘‘with strong social presence, as demonstrated by its frequent appearance in the press of that period, by the large audiences that gathered at the hippodromes (including everyone from the common people to the Royal family and later, the president) and by the impact it had on the structures of daily city life’’ (idem, p. 3) is testimony of their success. Traditional popular equestrian sports, such as the well-known corridas de cancha reta, did not disappear – in fact, people have kept them alive until today – but were now practiced in a world relatively removed from sport organized on commercial, capitalist and bureaucratic bases. Perhaps they can be thought of as ‘‘spaces of popular (cultural) resistance’’ and thus allow for a distinction, however relative and permeable, between ‘‘mass culture’’ and ‘‘popular culture’’.20 On the other hand, as Melo argues, the turf was met with considerable popular acceptance from its very start, and in our own field work, we have seen noteworthy transit between the ‘‘two worlds’’ of organized and popular sport, particularly by people who have come to the big city from rural and semi-rural environments and seek, through the turf, a place in the urban labor market and life world.21 And, as we should not be tempted to forget, that which is ‘‘leisure’’ for some is work for others.22 From a gender perspective that has found its place within contemporary cultural analysis by raising issues that have generally been neglected or poorly understood from more hegemonic or ‘‘canonic’’ standpoints (Hall, 2003; Adelman, op. cit., 2004), transitions from popular games, festivities and competitions to ‘‘modern sport’’ acquire a new dimension enabling us

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to complexify discussions of culture and power. Through the ‘‘gender lens’’, we are able to perceive the power relations underlying popular practices as well as elite (and ‘‘mass culture’’) ones. While popular traditions that are linked to activities later transformed into modern ‘‘sport’’ that often include more or less rigid gender hierarchies or exclusions, their greater level of informality may also allow space for transgression – for example, individual female participation in equestrian games that are constructed as areas of male interest and competence.23 Yet in this regard, there may also be something to be said on behalf of modern sport organization, which as part of a wider field of (organized, formal) social interaction, power and reflexivity, can under particular circumstances propitiate the development of critique and struggle over access to space, resources, etc. – or even to begin to change ‘‘the rules of the game’’. The latter is exemplified by several strong movements for inclusion that have developed over the latter decades of the 20th century and among which women and people with disabilities have been key figures. Returning once more to the notion that homosociality constitutes a key element of the sociability that has historically been constructed around the turf in Brazil, our own research at the Jockey Club do Parana´ – the largest Parana´ state racetrack, located in the capital city of Curitiba, has provided ample evidence of a majoritarian male presence in which social ties among men have been established on the basis of common interests and involvement in horse racing, whether linked primarily to work or leisure. The fact that it involves bonds established between men of very different social classes and positions24 has drawn our attention, leading us to consider how this relates to several much debated elements of Brazilian culture and history, not often examined through a gender lens. We refer particularly to the Sergio Buarque de Hollanda’s concept of the homem cordial (Hollanda, 1936/2006). Cordiality between men can be understood as a form of sociability that displaces conflict and hierarchy through particular forms of personal exchange and interaction. ‘‘Cordial’’ patterns more linked to familial and informal spheres also carry over into institutionalized spheres and spaces, such as those of work and politics, where they can easily continue to mask hierarchies and social inequalities, and even the violence (physical and symbolic) that the latter imply. Yet at the same time, these behavior patterns stimulate contact and dialog between groups and people who in other cultures and societies might not relate to one another at all. Thus, they may also represent a unique possibility to bridge social distances.

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‘‘Cordiality’’ as it develops within the specific context of the JCP bringing men of very distinct social positions together within a scenario that mixes work, leisure and sport in a unique way, also has a basis in the exclusion of women and the construction of male bonds of solidarity linked to the latter. Inspired in Connell’s (1995a, 1995b) work on masculinities, we have been able to identify forms of identification that seem to sustain a ‘‘transcendence’’ – however fragile and temporary – of other real social differences separating the worlds of ‘‘hegemonic masculinity’’ of club/turf administrators, breeders, owners, veterinarians, and ‘‘subaltern masculinities’’ of trainers, jockeys, grooms and others involved at the different levels of daily care and maintenance of horses.25 Members of these groups seem to have constructed a strong, shared symbolic identification around the race horse and the world of the racetrack. It is now time to turn to the question of whether, or how a still minoritarian but growing female presence may (or may not) come to represent an interruption of this male culture, its codes and relations.

WOMEN AS JOCKEYS AND GENDER IN AN INTERACTIONAL CONTEXT AT THE JCP The JCP was founded in December 1873. Its current site, in Taruma˜, a semiresidential neighborhood of the city of Curitiba, was inaugurated in December 1955. Today, 53 years later, it is only the older generations who still have some memory of its ‘‘days of glory’’ – that is, when it constituted an important site of social and family activities for a still very provincial city’s elite. At the time we began our field research at the JCP, during the second semester of 2006, the new administration was determined to develop strategies for pulling the club up from its visible decadence: the semiabandoned facade, races held only once every two weeks and still hardly able to attract a reasonable groups of fans and on-track bettors, poorly paid staff and jockeys and a decreasing number of owners willing to keep their horses in the backside barns. Thus, it was no coincidence that most of those we interviewed formally at this initial stage of research – including several horse trainers and owners, a club administrator, the daughter of a wellknown trainer who was raised on JCP grounds, a retired male jockey, two women veterinarians and three women jockeys (one of whom rides in

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Sa˜o Paulo) – and/or whom we spoke with in more informal circumstances expressed concern over the current situation at the JCP and its prospects for the future.26 Furthermore, women’s presence – in the case of the jockeys, a very recent phenomenon, going back less than a decade27 – was most often identified by club administrators, horse trainers, male jockeys and stable hands with positive change, and even with suggestions of renovation or as an argument regarding the social evolution of the world of the turf.28 It is interesting that in addition to frequent mention of the turf’s loss of popularity to the great contemporary ‘‘Brazilian passion’’ – soccer – our informants also made recurrent reference to a ‘‘lost pattern’’ of cultural transmission: fathers passing down their interest in the turf to their sons. Certainly, the erosion of longstanding patriarchal traditions is an important element in the ‘‘modernization’’ and urbanization of Brazilian society during the latter part of the 20th century and part of a scenario of changing gender relations; yet, as Thompson (1995) suggests in relation to contemporary cultural movements in general, new and surprising ‘‘remoorings of tradition’’ are also possible. Perhaps this is one way to understand the fact that for the women jockeys we interviewed, as well as the only female horse trainer at the Curitiba racetrack, engagement with horses – ‘‘a passion’’ – was cited as having been handed down from father to daughter. There are a number of significant common elements in the background of the three women jockeys that we interviewed, Luciana, Barbara and Joseane, as well as the horse trainer Gisele.29 All are originally from rural or semi-rural areas of southern Brazil, and all of them spoke of an interest in horses and riding that was connected not only to their fathers but to a rural world where horses are important in work, popular culture and games and sporting or leisure practices. Joseane’s father, from the southern state of Rio Grande do Sul that is well known for a regional culture in which men (‘‘gau´chos’’) riding horses is a central symbolic construction, is a former jockey who has worked for many years as a race horse trainer. Her older brother, who started his career as his father’s assistant in the daily care and exercise of horses and riding an occasional ‘‘cancha reta’’ race, currently rides as a jockey at one of the two major racetracks in Brazil (Rio de Janeiro). In Joseane’s narrative, her father’s difficult temperament made it hard for him to find jockeys to ride the horses he was training: It’s hard to work with him because he is very demanding and temperamental y When my brother went to Rio that’s where I came in, because there weren’t any jockeys in our

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city who could work with him. But I did, because I was very green. I didn’t know much, but we were doing well together.. So that was when he decided that he would have me ride for him, more to teach me than anything else. ‘I’m going to have to teach you because you are the only one I can work with.

Having a family involved in the world of the turf provided numerous advantages both in terms of learning the skills she needed for the sport and for her socialization within the turf milieu. When she began her formal training at the Rio de Janeiro apprentices school at age 16, she was the only female. Although jockey training schools in Brazil, located in situ at the racetrack, offer room and board for their apprentices, as the only girl there was not yet anywhere for her to stay. Under the circumstances, her mother – initially very apprehensive about her daughter’s involvement in a sport she perceived as extremely dangerous – moved to Rio in order to accompany her in her daily routines at the racetrack. Luciana and Barbara also reported coming into the world of the turf through paternal influence. Barbara, who at 14 was a single mother and junior high school dropout in a semi-rural community, found in her entrance to the Jockey Club’s apprentice school a way to build a different life. Although she had had some experience with horses that she attributed to her father and her family’s rural life style, coming into the program at the Jockey Club was clearly a way of developing a new skill. In the process, she was able to win over the support of her initially apprehensive mother and even the mother of her child’s father, both of whom can, on some race days, be found sitting in the special section of the bleachers – frequented by people who work at the JCP and their friends and family members – rooting for her. Luciana, on the contrary, reports having gained considerable experience as a child and teenager, riding and working as a ranch hand with her father, a cattle ranch employee. When part of the family moved from the rural northern part of the state of Parana´ to the capital city, Curitiba, she initially sought employment as a salesperson – a sector that absorbs many young women like her, with a high school education, at long hours, poor wages and generally low levels of job stability and benefits. As she put it, ‘‘When I got here in Curitiba, I was looking for employment, not here at the JCP but in sales y but I couldn’t find any. So that was right before the big race [Grande Preˆmio Parana´] and they were announcing it, so I came to see. And that was it! I fell in love with it!’’ However, she was already a few years past 20, the cut-off age for admittance to the apprentice school, and had to spend three years as a groom in order to later be promoted to the role of exercise rider and later win a place as a jockey – initially in a smaller city in the state and finally returning to the larger racetrack in Curitiba.

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Riding Thoroughbred race horses is for them, above and beyond its evident risks – and probably to some extent, through the latter – a passion; just as their male counterparts, they claim a love for the excitement and the challenge of the turf. Similarly to the show jumpers of our previous research (Adelman, op. cit., 2004), they portrayed themselves as women who were different from most members of their sex, possessing a devotion to a type of activity that ‘‘most women’’ would be uninterested in and fearful of. Luciana, who for several years was the only woman exercise rider at the JCP, starting there before the apprentices school began to take girls in, spoke not only of the personal difficulties of having to hold out in an all-male environment, but also saw herself in terms of a contrast to the others in her family: riding since age three, she was sort of a ‘‘black sheep’’, the only one among herself and her siblings interested in horses and the rural life that the others were apparently anxious to abandon. Speaking of the turf, she says, ‘‘It’s a sport that demands a lot of strength and courage, so not many women would be interested. Most women are afraid of horses, especially such big ones, and of course you have to be really strong; most women would be afraid of the profession. You have to be brave and determined’’, she emphasized. Similarly, Joseane represented herself as someone who defies sexual stereotypes. She refuted the notion that female riders are weaker or might prefer easier mounts, asserting her own preference for spirited, difficult ‘‘angry’’ horses, the ones that pose the greatest challenge to their riders. In discussing their daily life at the racetrack and their pioneering incursions into a masculine world and environment, our informants painted a complex picture in which there seemed to be relatively little open resistance to their presence. In fact, they spoke much more of developing friendships and coming to feel accepted as part of the milieu, much as the women veterinarians to whom we spoke had asserted. Yet unlike the veterinarians, who saw themselves as protected by their consolidated professional status, a scenario of vulnerability seems to surround the women jockeys, who are young, initially inexperienced, and in need of support from the more powerful and often much older men in getting their careers started. Joseane, the most experienced and successful of our interviewees, articulated the difficulties the young jockeys must face as they juggle their need for ‘‘chances’’ and the pressures – not infrequently of a sexual nature – that they are confronted with: The girls are very young, and so they really have to have a good head on their shoulders in order to make it in the profession. If you slip up, and let people talk about you too much, you won’t get anywhere. I always tell the girls, when they get here, ‘Look, a lot of men will try to put the moves on you. That is pretty normal. None of them have good

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intentions, they are all out there with ulterior motives. So you better know how to deal with them, how to get a trainer off your back, how to get out of it without offending anyone, so you don’t lose your mount. Sometimes if you have to tell the guy you’re not interested in him, you lose your mount. You don’t want to get involved in him, but you want his rides.

This perception of vulnerability and of susceptibility to unwanted sexual advances or harassment was corroborated by a ‘‘veteran’’ female veterinarian – one of the first two women veterinarians to begin working at the JCP, both in 1995. She and the younger female colleague we also interviewed agreed that as veterinarians, and therefore as women who were referred to by a professional title (‘‘doutora’’, in Portuguese) and respected for valued expertise, who had come from or through their studies obtained professional middle class status, their situation was quite distinct from that of the girls and young women who became jockeys: There’s that problem, they are really young, and they usually come from poor families. So you see there is a big risk of someone from that background being dazzled by an environment where as I always say, a horse owner spends 100 or 150 thousand reais on a horse the way we buy a pair of jeans. So you see it is not only prejudice but also, I think, it must really get to these girls who are so young, finding themselves in a world where money is counted so differently y And then it is kind of scary, I think, for them. I imagine such a young person, just starting out, a woman, young, pretty, in good shape

Our informants made continuous mention of the numerous informal mechanisms that work coercively or promote gender-based policing of the young women’s behavior. The relatively closed-off nature of the racetrack environment seems to stimulate fofoca (gossip). In the microcosmic world of the JCP, a girl that is ‘‘spoken of’’ (in Portuguese, ficar falada) or acquires a ‘‘reputation, whether as ‘not as competent as a boy’’’ (as Luciana Vito´ria complained) or in more sexual terms (of being ‘‘easy’’ or ‘‘fast’’) pays a heavy price. Joseane claimed that in the early days when she was launching her career, she relied on her mother’s protective presence to ‘‘impose respect’’. Sexual advances by male peers or superiors were frequently reported – in fact, one of our informants was made quite uncomfortable by the presence of an elder man whose horse she was racing during a more formal moment of our conversations– and can make it very difficult for women to take part in daily life at the racetrack, ‘‘as equals’’, as Luciana Vito´ria consistently pointed out. Barbara worried particularly about getting horses to ride at what was still a very initial phase of her career (she had only recently moved up from apprentice to jockey) told us that ‘‘There is a lot of machismo at play here [in our profession]. So you have to let a lot of things

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slip by’’. In this context, their desire ‘‘to be treated as equals’’ – to be free from sexual harassment, to be treated professionally and respected for their courage and daily effort and hard work, to have equal chances to get good mounts to ride – involve a day-to-day struggle which is sometimes solitary, yet also seems to generate relationships of gender-based solidarity and support.30 ‘‘Survival skills’’, or knowing how to deal with the men in their milieu – to have, as Brazilians say, jogo de cintura – involves the necessary development of efficient strategies to get around difficulties while avoiding direct confrontation, in order to get mounts to ride, contracts with particular trainers and be treated with respect. Within the hierarchies that exist at the ‘‘backside’’, a trainer occupies higher rank than a jockey. According to Gisele, a petite 27-year old who looks much younger and is at present the only female trainer at the JCP, higher rank and autonomy act to diminish the amount of prejudice she and other female race horse trainers (according to her, there are none in Sa˜o Paulo but several in Rio de Janeiro) must face. She put it this way, ‘‘The [female] jockeys face more prejudice than a trainer does; we have the horses we train, the ones the [male] owner places with us. If you don’t like the way the owner treats you, you get him out [of your barn]. But the jockeys can’t do that. They have to obey, keep their heads down, do what the trainer tells them’’. Gisele’s story is also very telling. Raised around horses, daughter of a horse trainer, she has two older brothers who are jockeys. As a girl, she dreamt of becoming a jockey. Her mother, already apprehensive about her brothers’ careers, would not let her start in the apprentice program at age 14, and both parents felt that it was ‘‘too dangerous a profession for a girl’’. Intent on remaining at the racetrack, she spent several years helping her father out, riding his horses and finally becoming a registered trainer on her own account. The latter was facilitated by the fact that her brother – at that time, in charge of her father’s stable at the track – had a better opportunity in Sa˜o Paulo, leaving the Curitiba business to her. Thus at age 20 she struck out on a career of her own, en route to fulfilling her childhood dream of a life with Thoroughbred horses. Nonetheless, as all of our informants pointed out, times are hard at the Curitiba racetrack. Clearly subordinate to Sa˜o Paulo and Rio and struggling to renew its social appeal, the JCP offers much lower earning opportunities to jockeys and trainers, who constantly expressed anxiety over a threatened livelihood. All the young jockeys we spoke to – male and female – harbored hopes of being successful enough to make it to Sa˜o Paulo. Gisele expressed concerns over her future at the JCP but also

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affirmed her desire to continue struggling for her space there, ‘‘It’s hard. Even if financially you’re having a hard time, it’s such a passion. I can’t imagine myself without at least one horse running. It’s a thrill that’s really hard to explain, getting a horse ready to race, especially the longer races that I really enjoy watching. I love it, I really do, I can’t imagine myself doing anything else’’. Throughout our interview, Gisele’s five-month old infant slept at a stroller by her side. Mother of two daughters (the baby and an adopted girl of about 5), Gisele relies on her own mother’s help for child care, and on her husband, an officer in the military police force who initially disapproved of her work, to lend a hand around the stable when he is off duty. She expresses both concern and support for other women’s pioneering efforts at the racetrack: It’s not easy for women jockeys. It’s really much harder for them [than for the guys]. I lend all my support, if I get the chance I help. I helped one jockey who came from Sa˜o Paulo, she stayed here with me but ended up leaving after a while. I give all the support I can. But it’s not easy to hold out, the person has to have a really good head on her shoulders because there is more prejudice, more criticism. People will say, ‘Oh, she’s weak, let’s give that horse to a guy with stronger arms,’ and so forth. But we have had great revelations at the turf, Joseane, Aderlaˆndia, who are racing in Sa˜o Paulo now, who are absolutely fantastic. So it is rare and like I said you have to have talent and to really want the life because it isn’t easy!

CONCLUSION When young women who are jockeys and apprentices appear in the Brazilian press, it is almost invariably through reporting that attempts to capitalize on their youthful good looks, fit bodies, use of make-up and feminine vanity (cf. Branda˜o, 2001). Our informants, although they donn pink riding helmets and put their own pink saddle blankets on the horses they exercise during the work week, showed little interest in reproducing the discourse of difference and feminine artifice that the contemporary Brazilian media has used in its perceived need to reconcile ‘‘femininity’’ and women’s professional athletic performance. Nor did the veterinarians and the trainer we interviewed seemed to share social anxieties regarding proper gender performances and boundaries. Rather, they were much more concerned with overcoming obstacles and consolidating their participation in a masculine milieu, in gaining opportunities to work, earn a living and be respected. Notwithstanding all the difficulties they have encountered along

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the way – including the demands of a dangerous and underpaid sport and the uncertainty of their own status in the field – they have persisted in their love for the racetrack and their passion for Thoroughbred horses. A passion for the sport they cite as inherited from their fathers, the jockeys and apprentices we interviewed were nonetheless understanding of their mothers’ concerns for their safety and well-being – as Gisele pointed out, her mother always said that it was ‘‘the only sport where there is always an ambulance running behind you’’. Family reluctance has been transformed into pride and support for daughters’ courage and skill, marking perhaps a new cultural moment and the widening of possibilities for future generations. Standing out in their particularities from a world – and perhaps a specifically Brazilian cultural attitude as well – in which female athletes may be very complicit with visible media attempts to sexualize them, but also from more elite equestrian sports in which women have a longer tradition of official participation and much greater material support and resources at their disposal, these young women, through their daily courage and persistence, and in their ability to confront overt and subtle strategies of de-legitimation and exclusion, provide us with hope and an example to be followed.

NOTES 1. ‘‘Sex’’ as category could perhaps be used, in sport, to refer to some ‘‘minimum difference’’(Kehl, 1996) in the anatomical features of bodies. Yet as Judith Butler (1990) has argued, the sex (biology)/gender (culture/social role) dichotomy poses numerous problems, beginning with the fact that the distinction itself implies our access to some ‘‘pre-discursive moment’’ – that is, prior to ‘‘culture’’ and to our own cognitive and linguistic appropriation of the world. 2. The normatively imposed correspondence of male/man/masculine/female object of desire, and female/woman/feminine/male object of desire. 3. In Brazil, the state did not hesitate in promoting legislation that prohibited women’s participation in particular sporting activities (see Goellner, op. cit.). 4. A questionable term that we do not support, it is nonetheless symptomatic of many current readings that are made of contemporary society and their (deceptive) reading of the impact of feminism on culture and gender relations. 5. Which at that time happened to be training in Curitiba, the capital city of the southern Brazilian state of Parana´. 6. It is a well-known fact that sport constitutes a major channel of social mobility for boys and men of poor and working class origin (as is clearly the case in Brazilian soccer, where talented players consistently ride athletes seems to be a much more limited route,

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promising much lesser fortune and a celebrity status that is quite frequently linked to willingness to pose nude in Playboy or other similar ‘‘men’s magazines’’. 7. See Adelman (2003) for more on this research. 8. Not only are women highly visible in equestrian sports worldwide, but they are also visibly very active in the production of discourses on their field and on female presence within it. Some of these discourses are highly reflexive and attempt to promote convictions about the empowering role of horse sports for women. See Midkiff (2001) as an example. 9. ‘‘As forc- udas’’ – strong women – as Silvana Goellner has called them: ‘‘women who gave demonstrations of physical strength in spectacles, circuses and music halls throughout the United States and Europe. Women who acquired a certain projection and gained recognition for what they did, whose physical force demystified many of the common ways of representing the female body that prevailed at that time, such as fragility and modesty and the fear that women could develop a male physique if they engaged in heavy physical activity, particularly in sports seen as violent. These women, whom I call forc- udas, for the most part married and became mothers, countering much of what had been said about them’’ (Goellner, 2004, p. 364, our translation). 10. From ancient legends to modern novels, and appearing as well as common sense representations – even those that appear in the sexualized terms of the male imaginary. A particularly interesting example can be found in the US ‘‘tomboy literature’’, a cultural construction that at least since the latter part of the 19th century placed considerable symbolic value on ‘‘girls that always wanted to be boys, y girls who wanted not to be girls as ‘girl’ was then understood, to the girls who despised all such distinctions and wanted simply to be free and genderless’’ (Mc Ewen, 1997, p. XI). 11. It is not hard to perceive how, in the contemporary world of spectacularized sport, the reproduction of an aesthetic and behavioral pattern is reinforced in many arenas of daily life and disseminated through the media: notions of what it means ‘‘to be a woman’’ in terms of bodily forms, (male-defined) desirability, and so forth. It may very well be – as Maria Rita Kehl (1998) notes, speaking of another moment in history – that many, or even most, women find pleasure in this engagement with femininity; there seems to be little room for doubt regarding the enormous subjective and material investment that many contemporary women make in a hegemonic and prioritized ‘‘body project’’ (see Brumberg, 1997). 12. We have discussed this important issue elsewhere (see Adelman, 2007). 13. Melo (1995) speaks of the humble origins of the first Brazilian jockeys and the fact that their sporting participation became a ladder for social mobility. Our fieldwork has tended to confirm that poor and working class origin continues to prevail, though opportunities for social mobility may be on the decline, and all the more so when jockeys are restricted to the poor earnings and chances that characterize smaller racetracks such as Curitiba’s. 14. In turning her gaze – forged in 1970s and 1980s feminist theory – to patterns of sociability and interaction among men within public spaces (and based on their representation in 19th century English literature) Kosofsky Sedgwick (op. cit.) uncovers a dimension that had not been sufficiently studied and explored until then – the construction of spaces and discourses in which the exclusion of women is a central aspect behind the type and content of social relations that develop

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between men (ties that while not primarily sexual and erotic, may become so). Class differences are also at stake here, representing a principle of heterogeneity and asymmetry that are also constitutive of homosocial relations. 15. The important fact that these are men of different social classes will be taken up again further on. 16. Jarvie and Maguire speak of the Simmelian contribution to the study of urban space, sport and leisure. In this vein, they continue, ‘‘Sociation involves sharing space. In this way social relations can be said to assume a spatial form. This space/place forms as a context for action. Several basic qualities of sociation involving a spatial dimension are identified by Simmel. These include: the exclusivity or uniqueness of space, the partitioning of space; the degree of fixity that space offers to social forms; spatial proximity and distance and finally movement through space’’ (1994, p. 39). 17. In our study of a place that has been historically constructed as ‘‘masculine’’, questions such as how diverse/different groups of men acted in this construction; in which context women began their transit through these spaces, how and why, and what kind of experiences they had in doing so, can be the basis for uncovering a previously neglected gender dynamic. 18. A frequently cited concern emerging in our conversations with trainers, race horse owners and Jockey Club administrators. CPG, well-established horse trainer, son of a famous jockey who is today in his late eighties, was one person who emphasized the slipping away of a tradition as fathers were no longer able to pass their involvement in the turf on to their sons (Interview JCP; Curitiba, 2006). 19. In Brazil, the turf lost space in relation to the new 20th century ‘‘Brazilian passion’’ for soccer. Brazilian soccer is not only a sport that is completely gendersegregated, but until the late 1960s women were legally banned from the soccer field by ‘‘protective’’ legislation (see Goellner, op. cit.). 20. See Canclini (1997, 2006) on the elite, mass and popular culture in Latin American societies. 21. Among those who practiced equestrian sport and activities in rural and semirural communities, some (relatively few) have been able to become jockeys; others have earned a living around horses in highly subordinate functions such as groom and stable hand. 22. This point has been correctly emphasized in Jarvie and Maguire’s (1994) excellent introductory text on the sociology of sport and leisure. 23. For example, several of our female informants mentioned having participated in the traditional ‘‘corrida de cancha reta’’ long before beginning their careers at the racetrack. 24. As emerging in the testimony provided by ex-jockey JR, interviewed in Curitiba (2006). 25. As we have suggested, both jockeys and stable hands come to a large extent from groups within the population that have been dislocated by fairly recent processes that have destabilized rural life and its work and employment structures. 26. Although the turf has lost popularity throughout the country, it is also true that the hippodromes in Rio de Janeiro and Sa˜o Paulo are still quite dynamic, attracting crowds, bettors and media attention y and of course, generating considerable profit for certain select groups. 27. In the case of the women veterinarians, only slightly earlier.

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28. For example, over the last few years the Sa˜o Paulo Jockey Club has hosted an all women’s race as a tribute to International Women’s Day and has used celebratory terms in speaking of women jockeys on its website. Yet recognition of women’s presence exists in tension with the continued construction of the racetrack as a space of homosociality. A recent local (Curitiba) television broadcast on the JCP, for example, focused exclusively on its men – that is, the male majority of horse owners and trainers, jockeys and fans with whom it has historically been associated. 29. Luciana and Ba´rbara described their fathers as men from the rural milieu whose work depended on the use and training of horses, while Joseane and Gisele had fathers who were specifically involved in the turf. 30. Although it is primarily informal – as the solidarity between the young women themselves, and that expressed by the women veterinarians we spoke to, it is also important to note that there have been some institutional sources of support, such as officially sponsored all – women’s races and the homage paid to women jockeys (to which we had access, through the official site of the Sa˜o Paulo Jockey Club) on International Women’s Day. Nonetheless, official efforts tend to be celebratory and do not promote serious consideration of discrimination, prejudice and sexual harassment issues.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors would like to express their gratitude to Louise Tezza, for her help in interviewing and transcribing; to Dr. Bila Sorj, UFRJ, who is responsible for initially drawing our attention to the importance of Hollanda’s ‘‘cordial man’’ for interpretations of Brazilian culture and to Marcia Segal and Vasilikie Demos, for their interest in our research. And of course, our deepest thanks to all of our informants at the Jockey Club do Parana´, for their generosity in sharing with us their time, experiences and insights.

REFERENCES Adelman, M. (2003). Mulheres atletas: Re-significac- o˜es da corporalidade feminina? [Women athletes: Re-signifying the female body?] Revista Estudos Feministas. Floriano´polis: CFH/CCE/UFSC, 11(2), 445–465. Adelman, M. (2004). O desafio das amazonas: A construc- a˜o da identidade de mulheres como atletas e amazonas do hipismo cla´ssico (salto) brasileiro. [The challenge of ‘‘amazons’’: Women constructing identities as athletes and horsewomen in Brazilian show jumping]. In: A. C. Simo˜es & J. D. Knijik (Eds), O Mundo Psicossocial da Mulher no Esporte: Comportamento, Geˆnero, Desempenho (pp. 277–304). Sa˜o Paulo: Editora Aleph. Adelman, M. (2006). Mulheres no esporte: Corporalidades e subjetividades. [Women in sport: Corporality and subjectivity.] Revista Movimento (pp. 11–29) Porto Alegre.

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Adelman, M. (2007). Geˆnero e espac- o: Pesquisando masculinidades e feminilidades no Jockey Club do Parana´. [Gender and space: Researching masculinities and femininities at the Jockey Club of Parana´.] In: ANPOCS, 2007, Caxambu. Papers presented at the 31st Annual Meeting of the ANPOCS, da ANPOCS. Caxambu: ANPOCS, 2007. v. 0. pp. 1–22. Available at http://201.48.149.89/anpocs/arquivos/15_10_2007_12_6_36.pdf Bordo, S. (1994). Feminism, postmodernism, and gender skepticism. In: L. J. Nicholson (Ed.), Feminism/postmodernism: Thinking gender (pp. 133–156). New York: Routledge. Bourdieu, P. (1984). Distinction: A social critique of the judgement of taste. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Branda˜o, T. (2001). A professorinha do turfe carioca: Maquiagem e perfume completam J. Goulart, u´nica joquete em atividade no Rio. [The little teacher of the turf in Rio: Make-up and perfume provide the finishing touches to J. Goulart, only active female jockey in Rio.] Jornal do Brasil Online. Available at http://paginadois/2001/10/ 17jorpg220011017001.html Brumberg, J. J. (1997). The body project: An intimate history of American girls. New York: Random House. Bueno, E. (2006). Sobre cavalos e homens. [On horses and men]. In: E. Bueno, M. Ribas & C. Rondon (Eds), O Turfe no Brasil: Histo´rias e Vito´rias (pp. 9–52). RJ: Itajara Editores. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. New York/London: Routledge. Canclini, N. G. (1997). Culturas hı´bridas: Estrate´gias para entrar e sair da modernidade. Sa˜o Paulo: EDUSP. Canclini, N. G. (2006). Consumidores e Cidada˜os: Conflitos Multiculturais da Globalizac- a˜o. Rio de Janeiro: Editora UFRJ. Connell, R. W. (1995a). Masculinities. Berkeley: University of California Press. Connell, R. W. (1995b). Polı´ ticas da Masculinidade. [The politics of masculinity.] Revista Educac- a˜o e Realidade, 20(2), 185–206. Especial: Geˆnero e Educac- a˜o. Davis, J. M. (2002). The circus age: Culture & society under the American big top. Chapel Hill/ London: University of North Carolina Press. Felski, R. (1995). The gender of modernity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Goellner, S. (2004). Mulher e esporte no Brasil: Fragmento de uma histo´ria generificada. [Women and sport in Brazil: Fragment of a gendered history.]. In: A. C. Simo˜es & J. D. Knijik (Eds), O Mundo Psicossocial da Mulher no Esporte: Comportamento, Geˆnero, Desempenho (pp. 359–374). Sa˜o Paulo: Editora Aleph. Hall, S. (SOVIK, Liv, organizadora). (2003). Da Dia´spora: Identidades e Mediac- o˜es Culturais. Belo Horizonte:UFMG. Hollanda, S. B. de. (1936/2006). Raizes do Brasil. Edic- a˜o comemorativa 70 anos. Sa˜o Paulo: Companhia das Letras. Jarvie, G., & Maguire, J. (1994). Sport and leisure in social thought. London/New York: Routledge. Kehl, M. R. (1996). A Mı´nima diferenc- a: Masculino e feminino na cultura. Rio de Janeiro: Imago. Kehl, M. R. (1998). Deslocamentos do feminino: A mulher freudiana na passagem para a modernidade. Rio de Janeiro: Imago. Krone, J., & Richardson, N. A. (1995). Riding for my life. Boston/New York/Toronto/London: Little, Brown and Company. LeCompte, M. L. (1993). Cowgirls of the rodeo: Pioneer professional athletes. Urbana/Chicago: Illinois University Press.

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Low, S., & Lawrence-Zuniga, D. (2003). The anthropology of space andplace: Locating culture. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Maguire, J. (1999). Global sport: Identities, societies, civilization. Cambridge: Polity Press. Melo, V. A. de. (2005). Possı´ veis representac- o˜es sobre o turfe na sociedade carioca do se´culo XIX. Available at http://www.efdeportes.com/efd9/turf91p.htm Midkiff, M. D. (2001). She flies without wings: How horses touch a woman’s soul. New York: Dell Publishing. Oliveira, P. P. (2004). A construc- a˜o social da masculinidade. Belo Horizonte: Editora UFMG. Ribeiro, C. R., & Ferraz, V. H. (2007). O novo homem na mı´ dia: Ressignificac- o˜es por homens docentes. [The new man in the media: Male teachers and re-significations]. Revista Estudos Feministas, 15(1). Sedgwick, E. K. (1985). Between men: English literature and male homosocial desire. (Gender and Culture Series). New York: Columbia University Press. Segal, L. (1999). Why feminism? Gender, psychology and politics. New York: Columbia University Press. Thompson, J. (1995). The media and modernity: A social theory of the media. Stanford: Stanford University Press.

EXERCISING SOCIAL POWER: THE CASE OF MARRIAGE Kathryn A. Sweeney ABSTRACT This chapter explores how power obtained from societal hierarchies of gender, race, and economic status is covertly used by individuals within relationships, further maintaining systems of stratification. The case of marriage is used to examine how social stratification translates into and is reinforced within even the most intimate relationships in terms of control over decision making. Analysis of in-depth interviews with black and white wives in same-race and interracial marriages illustrates how economic inequality affects who makes what decisions within marriage and how race affects what decisions are made. In the midst of income and racial inequality, socialized gender roles dictate which spouse controls certain arenas versus others. Gender norms operate covertly to affect decision making dynamics through mechanisms of availability, areas of knowledge, and preference.

INTRODUCTION Structural inequalities of race, class, and gender permeate relationship dynamics and are perpetuated at the micro-level. This research explores how

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 125–148 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12008-2

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power obtained from societal hierarchies of gender, race, and economic status is covertly used by individuals within intimate relationships, further maintaining systems of stratification. It builds on past research by combining measures of relative resources with qualitative analysis to understand the more subtle covert effects of gender and race that are often missed in quantitative analysis.

Social Inequality Certain groups in the United States have more power in the social system than others, providing members of that group with privileges and advantages compared to people who are not at the top of the structural hierarchy. In the United States this includes males who are privileged over females and whites who are privileged over people of color. The overlapping systems of gender and racial oppression mean, for example, that men of color and white women are in the position of both oppressor and oppressed where they hold some privileges and are also oppressed in some arenas (Hooks, 1984). This means that some people have multiple, while varied, oppressions such as women of color (Hooks, 1984; King, 1989). These two overlapping systems are briefly outlined before reviewing the literature that speaks specifically to dynamics within marriage. A history of gender oppression has created a system of patriarchy where gender inequality persists even while laws have changed to allow for legal equality. ‘‘Without patriarchal laws and legally permitted gender discrimination, it becomes clearer that a powerful drawback to gender equality springs from norms about gender identity, concepts of masculinity and femininity, and tacit rules of interaction between men and women’’ (Komter, 1989, p. 187). Dominant gender roles are often used to legitimate and justify power situations, whether from the person with greater power or the person in the subordinate role (Komter, 1989). Using theories of gender norms to examine how institutions are gendered (Acker, 1992; Martin, 2004), this chapter explores how covert norms that stem from structural systems of power dictate behavior within marriage, identifying more hidden ways that dominant norms affect marriages. Along with a gender hierarchy, there is also a racial hierarchy with whites holding privilege from group control of institutions and political power in the United States. Whites continue to have greater opportunities in education, advantages in the workplace, and in obtaining and maintaining greater wealth (Massey & Denton, 1993; Tomaskovic-Devey, 1993; Oliver &

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Shapiro, 1997; Conley, 1999). The notion of meritocracy persists, where people believe that accomplishments and monetary success are earned and due to individual hard work, ignoring the structural and institutional systems that perpetuate inequality. Meritocracy combined with a colorblind racial ideology, where people do not ‘‘see’’ race (Frankenberg, 1993; Gallagher, 1997; Bonilla-Silva, 2001; Perry, 2001), leads whites to believe that they have earned their position and success whether in the workplace, owning a home, or their overall position in society.

The Case of Marriage Micro processes of power within intimate relationships are explored in the context of marriage to further understand the affect of macro structures of power from gender, race, and resources. When extending power to relationships within marriage, past literature has measured power or inequality with various concepts including relative resources, the division of labor in the home, emotional support, and decision making (Osmond, 1978; Kamo, 1988; Orbuch & Eyster, 1997; Davies & Carrier, 1999; Tichenor, 1999). Overt marital power is observed through family activities where the balance of power is based on resources within marriage and decision making. Covert marital power operates through highly institutionalized ideas of normal roles that shape thoughts, actions, and desires (Komter, 1989; Xu & Lai, 2002). To understand how societal power translates into relationships, power is defined as the ability or potential to influence decisions. Position in the racial hierarchy, gender socialization, and resources can assist in having greater power and both individual resources as well as the rights and privileges that constitute resources granted by the social system (Osmond, 1978). Decision Making Marital decision making has been used in past research as a measure of power (Kandel & Lesser, 1972; Komter, 1989; Zvonkovic, Greaves, Schmiege, & Hall, 1996), with much of this research relying on economic resources – finding that availability of financial resources increases wife’s power and control over choices (Sorensen & McLanahan, 1987; Bianchi, Casper, & Peltola, 1999; Greenstein, 2000). The connection between economic resources and decision making is based on the underlying assumption that the person with greater actual and potential resources in the marriage is able to leverage those resources in the relationship. Whoever

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brings the more valued resources has greater negotiating power (Mahony, 1995; Davies & Carrier, 1999). Extensions of resource exchange theories find that wives have increased power when they work in the paid labor market outside of the home (Kandel & Lesser, 1972). However, women in ‘‘status-reversal’’ couples, where the wife earns more than her husband, do not see an increase in power (Tichenor, 1999; see Brines, 1994 in relation to the division of labor). Tichenor (1999) finds that in status-reversal couples, decision making is based on whose occupation is viewed as more important and meaningful to society. Yet, regardless of how much a woman contributes financially, men tend to maintain the final veto (Tichenor, 1999). Additional research finds that decisions within the home are influenced by the framework of gender status and norms (Davies & Carrier, 1999). Men and women both ‘‘do gender’’ (West & Zimmerman, 1987) by behaving within the boundaries of dominant socialized norms, whether that position evokes power (male) or not (female). It may not be income or status differentials that determine power within marriage, but the meanings attached to decisions and contributions in the household (Tichenor, 1999).1 This chapter builds on past research to explore the combination of resource inequality or resource exchange, along with the covert role of gender and race. Similar to how societal gender as an institution translates into and shapes personal relationships, societal racial roles also have an impact – even though there may be a different process than gender – on interpersonal relationships. While there are multiple, changing, and overlapping sets of gender and race roles, there are roles that emerge as the dominant norms in society. Similar to ‘‘doing gender,’’ doing race leads people to interact, whether consciously or not, based on their racial position in society and the norms attached to that position. This allows those with greater racial power (whites) to use their structural position to assume and garner power in cross-racial relationships (Roll, McClelland, & Abel, 1996). The existing literature on decision making often focuses on control over specific variables, such as financial decisions or job choices (Vogler & Pahl, 1994). Past research does not look at how both race and gender shape dynamics while including measures of relative resources (Komter, 1989; Zvonkovic et al., 1996). Zvonkovic et al. (1996) find that expected gender roles and power affect the decisions couples make about work and family and how those decisions are made. While couples tend to say they make decisions in consensus, women often concede to their husbands, supporting traditional gender roles (that is where the husband is the head of the

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household) (Zvonkovic et al., 1996). Past research finds that white (Zvonkovic et al., 1996) and black couples (Gray-Little, 1982) tend to follow traditional patriarchal roles where husbands maintain control of the majority of decisions with wives more often conceding. This chapter builds on past research to focus on decision making within marriage as a mechanism to examine how macro-level inequality of race, gender, and resources affect micro-level relationships. It combines structural (relative income) and cultural (ideas of gender and race) models to provide additional empirical groundwork to investigate the hidden covert power within heterosexual marriage that stems from societal gender, racial, and resource hierarchies. Examining both interracial and same-race marriages highlights the complexity of the societal gender/race/power nexus within relationships.

RESEARCH DESIGN Data Collection Advertisements were placed in local newspapers and church bulletins asking for black and white married women in same-race and interracial marriages to talk with a researcher for about 1 h regarding how they balance all of their roles, career, family, and decision making. When contact was made, potential respondents were told that the researcher was interested in understanding how race and gender shape intimate relationships, particularly marriage. Multiple snowball sampling was used to minimize the probability that respondents were in the same social networks and increase variation in the sample (Eriksen, Yancey, & Eriksen, 1979; Hallinan & Williams, 1989; Sigelman, Bledsoe, Welch, & Combs, 1996). Interviews lasted between 45 min and over 2 h and took place in the women’s homes or in a public setting outside of their home. The women were not paid, but many received coffee or lunch during the interview. A semi-structured interview schedule was used to ask questions regarding: typical day; preferred gender roles; the division of labor in the home; childcare arrangements; the role of race in their relationship with their husband and relationships with co-workers and friends; and how they balanced career and family as well as how this has changed over time. In each interview, women were asked several questions about how decisions were made in their household regarding: getting married, major purchases,

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spending holidays, managing finances, childcare, disciplining children, the spiritual orientation of children, and the division of labor in the home. In addition to the interviews, short surveys were used to gather demographic information from both the husband and the wife. All of the wives filled out the questionnaire and 13 were returned by their husbands. Any missing information was obtained from the interview or additional contact. The short questionnaire allowed exploration of both overt and covert measures of power (e.g., relative resources, and the division of household labor), while interviews allowed for in-depth investigation of covert measures of power (e.g., decision making, ideas about race, and ideas about gender). Sample Twenty-five black and white wives in same-race and interracial heterosexual marriages were sampled (see Table 1). This project focuses on black/white marriages because black and white people have been viewed as being at opposite ends of the racial hierarchy in the United States (Bonilla-Silva, 2002). Investigating relationships for both same-race and interracial black/ white marriages provides the opportunity to not only compare across racial groups, but also explore how societal racial power differentials translate into and are reinforced within personal relationships. Focusing on heterosexual marriages allowed for examination of gender privilege and power in crossgender relationships. Women interviewed were currently married and lived in the Atlanta, GA area. Fifteen were in same-race marriages and 10 were in interracial marriages. Nine were white and married to white men. One of those women had previously been married to a white man and discussed that relationship as well. Eight women were white and were married to black men, one of whom was previously married to a white man. Six of the women in the sample were black women married to black men. Two of these women had been married before – one to a black man and one to a white man. Two of the women were black women married to white men, with the additional experiences of another black woman who had previously been married to a white man. The women in the sample ranged from age 26 to 60, had been married for 6 months to over 30 years, and all but four had children. Six of the women had children who were grown and no longer living in the house, seven had children under the age of five, and two were pregnant at the time of the interview. The majority of the women worked in the paid labor market, with only five having no formal involvement in the workforce. Six of the women

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Table 1. Economic Dependency. Marriage Age Typea Differenceb

Wife Education

Husband Education

Wife completely dependent Mary BWBH 2 Lynn WWWH 4 Megan WWBH 7 Bonnie WWWH Natalia WWBH 2 Andrea WWWH 1 Helen WWBH 8

College College College College College College High school

High School MBA College MBA College College High school

1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 0.82 0.33

1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00 1.00

Wife highly dependent Lisa WWWH

0

College

0.94

0.90

WWWH WWWH

1 3

MA-Ed Masters

PhD Elec. Engineering MD College

0.90 0.50

0.80 0.60

Wife Dependent Rebbeca WWBH Wendy BWWH

14 5

PhD, MBA 2 yr AssocBusiness College College

MBA High School

0.40 0.40

0.40 0.25

Masters Masters

0.50 0.25

0.14 0.11

PhD High School College College College

PhD High School MD College Prof degree

0.00 0.00 0.00 0.14 0.14

0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00

MFATheater HS PhD College

College

0.14

0.13

College College

0.00 0.33 0.25

0.20 0.30 0.33

College Masters

Some college

0.43 0.50

0.50 0.60

Connie Erin

Amanda Jennifer

WWWH WWWH

7 0

Equal incomes Tonya BWWH Kasinda BWBH Leah BWBH Linda WWBH Sharon BWBH

2 10 2 5 13

Husband dependent Elizabeth WWWH Jamila Amy Tracy

BWBH WWBH WWBH

Husband highly dependent Donna BWBH Leah WWBH a

7 0

Low-End High-End Economic Economic Dependencyc Dependency

Marriage type: BWBH, Black Wife Black Husband; BWWH, Black Wife White Husband; WWWH, White Wife White Husband; WWBH, White Wife Black Husband. b Positive means husband is older. Negative means wife is older. c Respondent’s provided their range of income, therefore economic dependency is figured both for the low end of the range and the high end. Economic dependency ¼ (husband’s income/household income)(wife’s income/household income). Economic dependency is a continuous variable ranging from 1 to þ1. 1 means husband is completely dependent on wife’s income; 0 means husband and wife are equally dependent; þ1 means wife is completely dependent on husband’s income.

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were in the workforce part-time and one was retired. Sixteen of the women were Christian; four of whom identified as Catholic. Four of the women in the sample were Muslim, one was Jewish, and four did not identify with any religion. Analysis The general approach to analysis was a modified grounded theory (Strauss & Corbin, 1990) allowing categories to emerge from the data. The iterative process began immediately during interviews and continued throughout data collection. As an initial step to analysis, interview memos were written immediately following each interview and provided an opportunity for initial reflection on the responses. The memos served as a tool to develop broad initial themes and codes. Notes were stored as hard copies and electronic copies. The steps of writing memos, iterative coding to categorize the data, identifying emerging themes, and comparing codes captures the mechanics of this analytic process (Lofland & Lofland, 1995; Maxwell, 1996; Snow, Morrill, & Anderson, 2003). Transcribed interviews were stored as electronic copies and coded in a software program, Atlas.ti, designed for qualitative storage and visual data management. Codes were both deductive and inductive. Initial deductive codes used in this analysis included demographic identifiers of respondents (e.g., race and race of spouse) and overarching codes for individual comments such as ‘‘share decisions’’ (Denzin & Lincoln, 1998). Developing sub-categories emerged from the examined quotation within each overarching code. Sub-categories were then examined for similarities and difference across groups (e.g., same-race and interracial, black and white). Responses used in the text represent examples of the various patterns identified through the process of analysis. Measuring Relative Resources Relative income is included in this analysis because past research has heavily relied on this measure when examining marital power (Sorensen & McLanahan, 1987; Brines, 1994; Bianchi et al., 1999; Greenstein, 2000). Relative income is one measure to explore how larger systems of inequality linked to the job market affect relationships. The premise is that the person with greater resources is able to use them to further negotiations and gain more power in terms of control over decision making. Economic dependency provides a continuous variable that ranges between 1 and þ1 (Sorensen & McLanahan, 1987).2 It is not a measure to determine ability

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for a wife to sustain herself on her income alone, rather it is useful to investigate theories of resource exchange and marital control. Throughout the findings, the level of economic dependency is referred to as: wife completely dependent (a score of þ1 where the wife is not earning an income), wife highly dependent (þ0.5 to 1), wife dependent (greater than 0 and less than 0.5), equal earnings (zero), husband dependent (less than zero, but greater than 0.5), husband highly dependent (between 0.5 and 1), and husband completely dependent (1, where the husband is not earning an income) (see Table 1).3 While qualitative analysis is used to explore covert power, income is by definition quantitative and is included in the findings as a measure of resources. Comparing qualitative findings across this measure provides a more nuanced picture of how relative resources shape marital dynamics along with gendered and raced power.

FINDINGS: STRUCTURAL INEQUALITY & CONTROLLING DECISIONS Dominance of Societal Gender Norms: Male Power Overwhelmingly, marital power dynamics follow dominant gender roles in society, further perpetuating traditional gender norms and the gendered nature of the institution. This is surprising given the varied racial and economic make-up of the couples. Women in the sample focused on two issues that their husbands made decisions about, (1) work and (2) money. This included where the couple lives based on their husband’s job, the work they both did, and how money was spent. That they focused on work and money is not surprising given gender norms, but the dominant focus on these two areas across all interviews regardless of other characteristics, stressors, and pressures from racial inequality and resource inequality was unexpected. Analysis reveals that decisions of where to live were overwhelmingly based on the husband’s occupation. Women typically moved around the country to follow their husbands’ educational pursuits and job opportunities, regardless of the security of the decision or the wife’s personal goals. This follows both traditional gender roles where the husband’s occupation is valued more than their wives occupation, and corresponds to typical earnings. Because of structural inequality, men tend to be in occupations where they earn more than women in the labor market (Tomaskovic-Devey,

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1993), which is one reason their occupations were often given higher priority than women’s jobs. Women of both races and relative resource levels moved for their husband’s interests, educational pursuits, and jobs. Married couples typically rely on the man’s income for major financial family support, however the magnitude or prevalence of the finding was interesting given variation in the sample, including variation in preferred gender roles explored in another paper from this project. Findings also demonstrate how regardless of race or marriage type, the education and careers of men are viewed as more important than women’s jobs. This is linked to traditional gender norms that place the husband’s main role in the paid labor market. Husbands also made decisions about how money was spent in the household. Many women checked with their husband before spending money because their husband was in charge of the finances. Megan, a white woman who did not work in the paid labor market and was completely dependent on her black husband’s income, said: And I don’t just go spend money, I usually tell [my husband], ‘Listen, you know, our refrigerator broke’ and you know, I’d say, ‘Do we have the money right now,’ you know. And we, we have the money but he keeps all our money invested in his business so I have to, he’ll say, ‘OK, this isn’t really a good week’ or next, ‘wait until next week and then we’ll do it.’ I don’t just go and do something because you know, he’s the one that takes care of the financial because if I did, we wouldn’t have any money. And we know that, you know, we’ve discussed it, we figured it out, we see the pattern. So I definitely talk with him before I spend a big chunk of money.

Following dominant gender roles, husbands controlled finances in most households. The control of finances and work choices by husbands occurred for women at every level of the relative resources spectrum and for black and white women in both same-race and interracial marriages. A husband’s control over money meant that wives had to more than check in with their husband, they had obtain permission from their spouse before buying something – even if it meant waiting a week to replace a broken refrigerator. Most women said that their husbands control over finances was a choice they made – that they wanted their husband to take care of the money because it relieved them of the job or because they were not good at keeping track of finances. From this data, it is hard to decipher when a choice to not do something is an exercise of power and when the women were going along with dominant social roles or the will of their husband. Socialization into roles and the internalization of position in hierarchies of gender and race further perpetuates inequality (Pheterson, 1986; Guillermina, 2001).

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Internalized Oppression versus Exercising Agency While data from the wives in this sample indicates overwhelmingly that there were certain decisions that husbands or wives tended to make, almost all of the women also stressed at one point or another that most decisions were made jointly in their household. Donna, a black woman married to a black man, expressed this sentiment well when she said, ‘‘I don’t make any major purchases without talking to him [and] he doesn’t make any without talking to me. We don’t settle on any one thing without talking to the other person about it.’’ According to Donna, all decisions were made in consensus. The importance of joint collaborative mutual decision making was highlighted as women specifically said that the choices in their homes were based on discussion and dual efforts. However, while many of the women discussed how decisions were made in conjunction with their spouse, several indicated at other points in the interview that either husband or wife had the final say. Reflecting the nuanced nature of power within marriage, it is difficult to determine if there may be consensus that having the final say alternates from one decision to the next or if there is indeed an imbalance of power. Findings from this data are interpreted as the latter given previous research (Vogler & Pahl, 1994) and the statements and patterns that emerged from this data. Families where husbands made the ultimate decisions were those where husbands earned significantly more than their spouse (that is where wives were completely and highly economically dependent on their husband’s income). Systems of inequality translate into unequal relative resources and often husbands with greater incomes than their wives maintain final control over decisions. For example, Helen, a white woman who was completely economically dependent on her black husband said: Well, I think more than who prefers it’s kind of like shared. And who has the time or who’s more tired or who’s more occupied or stuff like that. I don’t think, I think it’s just kind of a shared responsibility that we’ve negotiated over the years, not necessarily based upon gender so much I don’t think. Just, I handle the money, I always do because I’m good at it, you know (laughs), if other types of things, if we’re going to do something or buy something I would never do it or buy it without his ok. He’s pretty much, if he says no then no goes.

Helen’s response provides evidence of how couples may discuss the choices they make, but one spouse holds power by having the final say and maintaining control over the actual decision. Helen illustrates a case of the husband having the final say. Even though she and her husband discuss large decisions – ‘‘if he says no, then no goes.’’

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Leah, a black woman married to a black man who had equal earnings as her husband, talked about her decision to go back to work. While the decision to go back to work was hers, the type of work she was able to do was regulated by her husband. He wanted her to be home when their kids came home from school. Leah said: The only way my husband would agree [for me to go back to work] was that I had to be there to see the child[ren] off to school and I had to be there when [they] came back from school.

Leah was a trained, experienced nurse. To fulfill the criteria set by her husband she became a school nurse, the only job opportunity in her field with hours that allowed her to be home when her children left for school and returned from school in the afternoon. Leah was clear in the interview that going back to work was her choice, but that becoming a school nurse was not her decision. While some decisions were seemingly joint in nature, data indicates that they ultimately came down to the choice of one spouse. In this case, and for the majority of couples in this sample, when the husband earned more he tended to finalize decisions. This is one of few areas where patterns related to relative resources emerged, indicating the overlapping systems that shape marriage dynamics. There were not any patterns in the findings related to race of the wife or her spouse, however inequality in spousal earnings is tied to both traditional gender roles, inequities and earnings in the job market, and the types of jobs that men and women are led into. In some households, wives were the final decision makers. These women earned the same amount or more than their husband, which in these cases mediated expected gender roles. When asked how the decision to get a car fixed or purchase a new one would be made in her home, Amy, a white woman with a black husband who was economically dependent on her income, said: Um, well certainly go home and think on it together. It wouldn’t be a decision that I would make by myself, although I tend to be the financial decision maker in the family. He came to the relationship with a lot of bad financial decisions so I’m the final arbiter. Auditor, you know. But, I think probably what we would do is look at our finances and figure out the best way to deal with the situation.

The example from Amy demonstrates how women discussed decisions as joint, yet also indicated that one person had the final say. Even though she and her husband would discuss choices together, she has control over finances and makes the ultimate decision. In this sample, women who had the final say in their marriages had equal or greater earnings than their

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husband. Women with husbands who made the ultimate decision were highly economically dependent on their spouse’s income. This corresponds to past research on relative resources which shows that women with higher earnings have greater power within their marriages when compared to women who are economically dependent on their spouse (Brines, 1994). House and Home The decisions women made were also connected to gender roles and revolved around the home, children (e.g., religion, and when to have kids), and when to get married. Just as gender norms put men in the work and money sphere, it is expected that women are placed in the home sphere. Yet, the prevalence of these findings and the lack of other patterns emerging from the data are unexpected given racial and resource inequities along with additional findings from the larger project demonstrating variation in the wives preferred gender roles and ability to achieve these roles. Several women talked about their decision to marry and stressed that the timing of their marriage was their own decision. Husbands in these relationships wanted to get married, but the wives often delayed marriage because they thought they were too young, wanted to date longer, or they had been married before and were hesitant to enter a second marriage. Wendy, a black woman who was economically dependent on her white husband, said: Oh, we dated, then he moved in with me, I said, ‘you need to move back home with your mom because I’m not ready to get married.’ But then I ended up getting pregnant with my youngest son. But I still would not marry him.

When the women were proposed to by their current husband, many exercised their power to decide when they would get engaged and when they would get married. Control over marriage timing may be one way that women exercise their own power and control. The only other clear trend that emerged was that wives tend to make decisions surrounding the home and family. The next section discusses how other influences related to social stratification, including gender and race, affected decision making within these marriages.

Structural Forces at Play: Perpetuating Social Stratification Findings demonstrate that decisions are often made because (1) something needs to get done and someone needs to do it, (2) one person has more

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knowledge about the subject, or (3) they are influenced by religious beliefs, ideas about gender, and racial position in the social hierarchy. The discussion below illustrates how themes of someone needs to do it, knowledge, and preference are tied to traditional dominant gender norms and are another way for traditional norms to manifest themselves within marriage. Opting Out The idea that someone has to do something, was either based on work schedules or one spouse ‘‘opting out’’, thus leaving the other to make the decision. ‘‘Opting out’’ is the ability for people to utilize their privilege (whether power from position in the gender and/or racial hierarchy) to choose not to take part in interactions, activities, or decisions. Women who pointed to this theme had varied levels of educational attainment. Several did not bring income into the family and therefore were economically dependent on their spouse. However, women of all levels of relative income expressed these ideas. Andrea, a white woman who was completely dependent on her white husband, talked about how her husband’s work schedule dictated what they each did in terms of the division of household labor. She said: He leaves [for work] at 6:45[pm] after dinner, while the dishes are being done, which is why he usually doesn’t get to do dishes. And then he comes in at about 5:15[am]. So by the time I’m out of, I’m through exercising, taken a shower, I’m dressed, he’s there. And then he helps if he needs to or he goes to bed.

Social class, race, and gender inequities were evident as women discussed the influence of work schedules. Many women said that decisions regarding disciplining children were made based on who was with the child the most. Whoever was around was the one in charge of deciding how to discipline children. The same applies for other decisions. It’s important to make the connection that work schedules are determined by type of job and relationship to the workplace, which are heavily influenced by structural opportunities and disadvantages. Husbands often use their power to choose not to do something. When asked who was in charge of their children’s spiritual orientation, Linda, a white woman who had equal earnings as her black husband, both retired teachers said: I did let the kids get baptized in the Catholic church to satisfy him. But there were some other things if I can remember that the kids should be this, the kids should be that, but

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it’s not my religious training if it’s gonna to happen he was going to have to do it, not me- so it didn’t happen. That didn’t happen his way.

Linda went along with her husband’s wish to have her children baptized Catholic, however when her husband chose not to participate in their religious upbringing, she choose to raise their children in another religion. Her husband chose not to participate in this part of raising the children – leaving the choice, the responsibility, and the work to Linda. When husbands choose not to participate it gives the wife control by default. Husbands tended to utilize their male power to opt out of activities and choices that were tied to traditional female gender roles. Amy said that the division of labor both emerged and was based on who preferred to do what. He doesn’t like to do bathrooms so definitely I’ve kind of taken over that. It was interesting when he kind of first moved in he kind of took over all the things I didn’t like to do- oh he takes out the trash, that’s one I hate to do. I think he just sort of noticed that I’d procrastinate, he just kind of took it over because he knew that’s something I didn’t like to do. You know when we do the dishes he does the dishes that can be rinsed off and go in the dishwasher and will leave the ones that have to be washed by hand and I’ll take care of those. SO there’s a preference thing going on there. But, there’s not usually, there hasn’t been anything explicit where I don’t like to do this so will you do it for me. It’s interest[ing] how it just sort of emerged. So I think preference plays a little bit of a role in it.

Amy conveys how gender socialization affected women’s preferences as well as male preferences. She says that her husband ‘‘takes out the trash, that’s one I hate to do,’’ which is an example of a traditionally male chore because it involves the outside of the home. This response illustrates a pattern where men use their power to avoid traditional roles. Amy’s husband helps with dishes that can be put into the dishwasher while she washes the remaining more difficult pots and pans by hand. Who prefers to do what is connected to dominant socialization where women are expected to take care of the inside of the home and men are taught to take care of the outside of the home (Hochschild & Maychung, 1989). Another example is from Natalia, who was introduced earlier. She said: I have a real um, personal need for cleanliness, order, keeping things tidy, that’s just, I’m compulsive by nature that way. (Laughing) My husband is not, he’s a much more um, relaxed, you know, if we don’t dust every week, you know, the vacuum doesn’t, doesn’t phase him, doesn’t bother him. I have a personal need for having my environment be clean and tidy.

Natalia points out that she has higher standards for cleanliness than her husband. Regardless of race, dominant norms teach women that they

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should care and be in charge of keeping their homes clean (West & Zimmerman, 1987). If decisions of who does what in the home are based on this threshold of cleanliness, then women are more likely to be in charge of the home.4 The idea that ‘‘someone has to do it’’ was based both on availability because of work schedules as well as preference, which are influenced by position in the social structure. If one person uses their privilege and power to opt out and decides they do not want to be involved in the decision, it leaves both the control and the burden on the other spouse. This was typically tied to traditional gender socialization where men opted out of traditional female roles and wives took on these roles. Decision making may also be a burden, particularly when one spouse is using power to defer control to their spouse. Black and white women in same-race and interracial relationships at all levels of economic dependency demonstrated these themes. Knowledge Attained through Social Roles Not only were decisions based on preference, but they were also influenced by who had more knowledge. Decisions regarding purchases differed according to the object being purchased. For instance, women tended to make decisions about the appearance of the home and appliances in home, while men made decisions regarding cars and large financial purchases. Husbands often made decisions because they had expertise in that area, but expertise tends to be connected to gender roles because men and women are socialized to be interested in different things (e.g., decoration versus operation) and typically go into different fields of study and occupations (Tomaskovic-Devey, 1993). Socialization into gender roles affects what arenas men and women control within marriage. Wives often used their husband’s occupation (particularly those in engineering and men who worked with cars) to explain why their husband took more responsibility for decisions that involved vehicles and home maintenance. Erin – a white woman married to a white man who was a mechanical engineer – was highly dependent on her husband’s income. Because her husband understood engineering he was the one to make these decisions. I guess as a mechanical thing, [my husband’s] better at knowing if it really could be fixed or not fixed than I am. So he’d be the one who’d agree with the mechanic or whoever that it probably needed to be replaced. And then we would both look at money together and make sure it was a purchase that we could make.

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While the women in this sample express how their husbands had greater knowledge of cars and appliances, women said they had greater knowledge of how the home should be decorated and how to care for children. Donna, a black woman married to a black man who was dependent on her income, was just one of the women who talked about gendered decision making. She said: If it’s the car we talk about it, but it’s not like I’m going to overrule anything with the car. The car is his issue. Yeah we talk about it, how we gonna get the money for it, you gotta get that thing fixed, but that’s not my thing. If it’s in the house, if it’s you know I want to paint one of the rooms and he was the one that [would] end up doing the painting, but I [would] pick the color.

Donna’s response provides evidence of how gender socialization often determines who made decisions in what arenas, with men in charge of automobiles and appliances and women in the domain of the home. There was no evident trend based on relative income, which illustrates the strength of societal dominant gender roles and socialization into these roles. Pressures from Racial Position External social forces related to race and race of spouse did not affect control over choices, but did affect what choices had to be considered and how they were ultimately made. When looking for a place to live, friends to socialize with, and communities to be part of, many women in interracial relationships stressed the need for a diverse and accepting community. Having racial recognition and knowledge that being in an interracial family may not be accepted in all communities, affects decisions. Thus, inequality related to position in the racial hierarchy has a bearing on available options as well as choices. This became evident as Wendy, a black woman married to a white man, made decisions about where to worship. Wendy said: When we decided to get married, he [my husband] had asked me about us getting married at [his predominantly white church], then I said, ‘Well I don’t know.’ I said, ‘I don’t know how people at [that white church] are going to take it.’ So we ended up getting married at [a church nearby]. And um, then I said, ‘Well, you know I grew up Baptist,’ so we visited a couple Baptist churches, we visited a couple Presbyterian churches and I said, ‘Well, you know, I don’t know what’s going to work for us, we might have to both leave that and check out a Methodist church.’ So we went to look at a Methodist church and then there was a church [y], also was Presbyterian. We went there and it seemed to be a pretty good church and it was, because of the demographics changes, it seemed to be a pretty mixed church. And um, it wasn’t just black and white, there were, there were Jamaicans, Trinidadians, Africans there, sort of like I said, it was pretty culturally mixed.

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Knowing that their interracial family may not be welcomed in any church community, in their early years of marriage Wendy made a conscious effort to find a congregation that was racially and ethnically diverse. Women with racial recognition, especially those in interracial marriages, had to consciously find a community that supported them, where they felt comfortable. Racial position and racism were also issues for some white women in interracial marriages who had recognition of their own societal racial position.5 For instance, Amy, a white woman, made it clear that her and her husband’s decision to get married was heavily affected by being in an interracial relationship. When Amy’s mother-in-law was in the hospital, their being interracial became an issue with access in the hospital. She said: Well, we sort of decided to partner. So we moved in together and combined finances and all that sort of stuff and actually had made a decision NOT to get married. For sort of social and political reasons. And so we actually, in terms of like dating before we kind of merged was not very long, like 5 or 6 months. But, we didn’t get married until, we’ve been together almost 4 years and we didn’t get married until last summer. So, almost 3 years we were together before getting married. The sort of changing thing was that his mom started to get ill and we were in the hospital situations where I was trying to help make decisions about medical care things and because I didn’t match her race I didn’t belong there and I didn’t have the legal right to be there as well. That was part of the impetus, so it sort of made me realize, you know if anything were to happen to one of us then we wouldn’t have legal rights with each other. It sort of scared us. And so although we had made this you know political decision not to marry we decided to go ahead and do it last summer.

Although this couple had made a choice not to marry, they were confronted with limitations they thought were related to race that ultimately affected their decision to marry. Interestingly, the wives who stressed how interracial marriage affected their decisions tended to have near equal incomes as their spouse, meaning they were not on either extreme of the economic dependency spectrum.

CONCLUSION Macro-level systems of patriarchy, position in the racial hierarchy, and the value of money shape how people relate to one another. This chapter expands on previous research to include relative resources along with qualitative analysis of how race and gender covertly affect decision making in the context of marriage. Socialized gender roles heavily influence who makes what decision regardless of race and if someone is in a same-race or

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interracial marriage, demonstrating the gendered nature of the institution of marriage. Along with gender, systemic inequities of race and resources shape who makes decisions and how they are made. Because systems of inequality interact and overlap in lived experience, it is often difficult to separate them in analysis. This becomes particularly evident when focusing on interracial relationships. Findings reveal the tension between one spouse having control over a decision and that spouse being given control (along with responsibility and burden) from their partner. The choice to give up power by someone who has power and privilege (whether from race or gender position) is labeled opting out. Someone who opts out uses their privilege to avoid taking part in a discussion, decision, or action. Control over decision making was based on the type of choice being made and tied to traditional gender roles. It was unexpected that there would be so few themes and that they would align so closely with traditional gender norms regardless of race and race of spouse. It was surprising to find that the patriarchal gender roles that men and women are socialized into so strongly dominate how decisions are made within marriage. Control over decision making was based on the type of choice being made and differed by gender with husbands controlling decisions surrounding work, including where to live and money, and wives making decisions about home, marriage timing, and children. The types of choices that spouses have jurisdiction over were closely tied to dominant gender norms, and mediated through mechanisms of time availability, preference, and knowledge. When men preferred not to do something, they would use their power to opt out, both giving women greater control, while leaving their wives with the responsibility. Yet, preference and knowledge operated in a gendered manner for husbands and wives. For instance, women often preferred to clean the house because they liked things to be done in a particular way, and men preferred to take care of tasks such as lawn maintenance. Many of the husbands were engineers or mechanics and because of their knowledge regarding how things worked, they would make decisions about cars, home repairs, and so forth. Both preferences and knowledge were based on socialization into gender roles. Inequalities connected to race and gender transfer into relationships in terms of who maintains certain knowledge, work schedules, earned income, and decisions that couples who face racial discrimination are forced to make. In terms of income, relative income did not have a relationship with most types of decisions. However, there were some areas where relative resources shaped decision making. For example, wives who discussed

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religious influence either earned the same or less income as their spouse. None of the women who earned more than their spouse demonstrated how religion affected decisions in their home, even though many of these women professed religious affiliation and faith. Relative earnings were also linked to perceived joint decision making in which one spouse had power over the final decision. Even though women said choices were made with their spouses, in many of these marriages either the husband or wife still maintained power by having the final say. When husbands had the final say, the wives tended to have a much lower income than their spouse. When women made the final choice they had equal incomes or made more than the husband did, without differences by race and race of spouse. Here, relative earnings may work as a means to mitigate traditional norms.6 Social stratification connected to racial position also shapes relationship dynamics, particularly when couples are faced with decisions related to racial discrimination (e.g., decisions which may intensify or lessen the racial discrimination their family faces). Racial inequality and racism were most evident in discussions with women in interracial marriages, affecting how decisions were made and what types of decisions were made. How couples made decisions did not vary greatly for black or white women in same-race or interracial marriages, but the outside influences that affect what choices are made did vary. Wives in interracial marriages discussed how being in an interracial relationship shaped their decisions. Women, whether black or white, who had a black spouse talked about schedules dictating choices and the idea that when something needs to be done someone has to do it, so whoever is available is the one in charge. This may be because black men and women face blocked opportunities in education and the labor market that limit job choices (Browne & Kennelly, 1999) and may ultimately dictate who does what in the home because of odd work schedules. Racism and potential racism affected how people made decisions about where to live, work, worship, and socialize. However, it was surprising that even with these influences, socialized gender norms most heavily shaped decision making dynamics. While religion was not the focus of this study it became evident through analysis that religious beliefs were an integral part of many women’s lives and in some cases dictated day-to-day choices regarding lifestyle, raising children, and finances (Ammerman, 1987; Davidman, 1991). Findings reveal one of the few connections to relative income; women who demonstrated religious influence either earned the same income as their husband or earned less. None of the women who earned more than their spouse discussed how religion affects decisions in their home even though many of these women

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identified and practiced a particular faith. While the focus of this chapter is not on religion, it is important to note that religious influence is indeed a factor contributing, and possibly mediating, how social inequality shapes relationship dynamics. The affects of macro-level social inequality very much influence who makes decisions and how decisions are made at a micro-level within relationships. Future research should continue to examine how societal power works covertly and is maintained covertly within relationships. Understanding how race, gender, and resources shape interaction dynamics provides insight into the strength of socialization and stratification and may be useful in combating the perpetuation of such inequities.

NOTES 1. Women often ‘‘do gender’’ by deferring decision making to their husbands (Davies & Carrier, 1999; Tichenor, 1999; Martin, 2001). Husband’s often have more power because their work in the paid labor market is more highly valued than a wife’s work in the home or in the paid labor market (Pyke, 1994). Research that illustrates that gender is itself an institution (Acker, 1992; Martin, 2004) highlights the need to investigate how gender as one institution (race, and social class are examples of others) shapes all actions, behaviors, and organizations –allowing for connections to other institutions and a greater understanding of the role of gender. 2. A score of zero means the husband and wife earn the same amount of money, þ1 the husband earns all of the income, and 1 the wife earns all of the household income. Low- and high-end level of economic dependency are used based on the two ends of the range of income reported. Comparisons throughout the chapter are based on high-end economic dependency (see Table 1). 3. Six of the women, both black and white, had a greater income than their husband. As expected, given black male job opportunities and earnings in the labor market (Aldridge, 1989), all but one of these women had a black husband. The women in this sample with equal earnings as their husband’s were mainly black. Of these five women, the one with a white husband was a black woman who had the same occupation and earnings as her spouse. One was a white woman with a black spouse. Women who were economically dependent on their spouse to the fullest degree were mainly white with both white and black husbands. Those who were dependent, but less so (greater than 0 but less than 0.5) typically had white husbands, with the exception of one white woman with a black husband where they were both high earners (Table 1). 4. This is not to say that desiring traditional roles is negative. There is a tension between socialization into patriarchal roles and preferred roles where a traditional division is a problem if women do not want to have their main role in the home sphere or if they want their husbands to take on more of the home sphere. 5. Additional findings from the larger research project further illustrate how race interferes with relationships and adds a layer of complication.

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6. Additional research from this project illustrates how some women are unable to fulfill their desired gender roles due to economic difficulties, it is possible that others are able to fulfill non-traditional roles in terms of decision making when they have greater financial resources compared to their spouse.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The author thanks her dissertation writing group at Emory, Anne Borden, Cindy Hinton, and Franziska Bieri for their comments. Thanks is also due to Delores P. Aldridge, Regine O. Jackson, Irene Browne, Karyn Lacy, and Belisa Gonza´lez for their suggestions and comments on earlier drafts of this chapter.

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EVANGELICALS, INVESTED INDIVIDUALISM AND GENDER Sally K. Gallagher ABSTRACT Based on 178 in-depth interviews with evangelical Protestants in 23 states and data from the Evangelical Identity and Influence Survey (n ¼ 2,087), this chapter assesses the articulation of evangelical subcultural ideals with gendered family life, democratic individualism, and a two-earner, middle class lifestyle. Compared to other Protestants, evangelicals put more emphasis on husbands’ spiritual leadership, authority, and engaged fatherhood, and interpret wives’ employment as a pragmatic necessity and the outcome of expressive individualism. These ideals, in tension, produce a sense of ‘‘invested individualism’’ that embodies evangelical subcultural identity and facilitates the management and negotiation of gender, work, and family life.

INTRODUCTION This analysis explores how religiously grounded gender projects allow conservative Protestant men and women to manage commitments to the idea of family as a ‘‘private’’ sphere characterized by wives’ domesticity and husbands’ authority, while also allowing for an ideology of egalitarianism

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and opportunity with regard to women’s employment outside the household (Bartkowski, 2001; Gallagher, 2003). As numerous scholars of religion have pointed out, American evangelicalism is both strongly individualistic and socially engaged (Noll, 1994; Smith, with Emerson, Gallagher, Kennedy, & Sikkink, 1998). What this analysis seeks to add to that observation is an assessment of gender ideals across various strains of Protestantism and the ways these shape patterns of work and family. More specifically, I will argue that evangelical subculture synthesizes the threads of biblical, utilitarian, and expressive individualisms that Bellah, Marsden, Sullivan, Swidler, and Tipton (1996) argues have characterized American culture. These individualisms are refracted within a gendered evangelical subcultural lens of gifts, stewardship, and responsibility – producing what I call an ‘‘invested individualism’’ that blends Puritan norms of responsible citizen householders and contemporary ideals of expressive and utilitarian individualism, allowing evangelicals to negotiate new configurations of gender, work, and family responsibilities. Bellah argues that modern individualists draw on utilitarian and expressive ideals that emerged as distinct expressions of personal identity during the 19th century. Prior to that two models of personal and corporate identity linked individuals to the broader community and supported notions of civic responsibility and good. The first, what Bellah calls Republican individualism, encompassed the notion of equality within a framework of political responsibility. This model of the good life incorporated ideas of economic independence and social responsibility, free from inordinate interference from the state. The second, biblical individualism, centered on the notion of freedom not to do whatever one wants, but to do what is good within the context of a relationship with God. For biblical individualists such as John Winthrop, Pilgrim and governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, Bellah argues a good life reflected an ethic of moderation, charity, and freedom to do good within one’s community. Puritan notions of responsible citizen households, represented by husbands whose wives were subordinate partners in running its affairs (Demos, 1999) epitomized efforts to live out this ideal. With industrialization, Republican and biblical individualism were largely subsumed by alternative visions of self and community. Utilitarian individualism – the individualism of the market with its emphasis on personal success and the pursuit of material gain – was one of these ideals. Exemplified in the life of Benjamin Franklin, utilitarian individualism embodied notions of the good life in which individuals are free to pursue their own prosperity and self-improvement. Less bound by obligations to

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kin and land, utilitarian individualism resonated with the ‘‘myth of the selfmade man’’ whose hard work, pragmatism, and frugality would launch him (and his family) into the emerging middle class. A second modern form of individualism, what Bellah calls expressive individualism – is more a reflection of the experience of men and women inside the increasingly ‘‘private’’ sphere of family life. This expressive self – relational, sensory, and emotive – emerged as a distinctive form of individualism as industrialization transformed patterns of family and employment. Nineteenth century evangelical revivalism itself took on some of the characteristics of expressive individualism – with its personal conversion and emphasis on experience as the basis of religious knowledge and authority. As religion generally came to be viewed as soft, nurturing, and feminine, evangelicalism urged both women and men to embrace a religious experience that was heartfelt, rational, and rooted in individual commitment (Noll, 2002). In this analysis, I make the case that each of these iterations of American individualism are simultaneously present as elements of evangelical subculture and are significant in explaining the articulation of evangelical gender ideology to practices around family and work. While not explicitly addressing the synthesis of these elements, examples of each can be found in recent research on American evangelicals. Utilitarian individualism, for example, finds itself expressed in the support of most evangelicals for liberal feminist ideas regarding equal opportunity in employment for both women and men (Gallagher, 2003, 2004b). Expressive individualism – emphasizing relational and experiential elements in the cultivation of the self – finds expression in ‘‘the heart’’ as a primary source of knowing how God wants you to live (Smith et al., 1998), the role of prayer in women’s personal growth (Griffith, 1997), and in the emphasis on men being connected to other men and involved at home (Bartkowski, 2004; Wilcox, 2004). Given the therapeutic aspects of so much of evangelical subculture it would be relatively straightforward to characterize evangelicals as thoroughgoing expressive individualists. That expressiveness, however, is held in tension with a sense of responsibility to something larger than oneself. Thus a thread of biblical individualism – in which freedom is structured by responsibility to a religiously defined community led by men who are servant-leaders – finds expression in evangelicalism’s emphasis on social engagement and ostensible commitment to assessing both personal and collective good through a lens of biblical authority (Bartkowski, 2001, 2004; Smith et al., 1998). In this analysis I make the case that evangelical subculture and identity are constructed within a community of memory (Bellah, Marsden, Sullivan,

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Swidler, & Tipton, 1996) in which these strands of republican, biblical, utilitarian, and expressive individualism are synthesized and held in tension – providing the cultural and moral leverage within which evangelicals make sense of gender, work, and family.

EVANGELICAL IDEALS IN A DUAL-EARNER ECONOMY Much of the rhetoric of evangelical leaders suggests this particular segment of the population maintains a strong commitment to essential gender differences expressed in men’s leadership and women’s nurturing (see for example the popular writings of Dobson (1998, 2000); Eldredge (2001); Eldredge and Eldredge (2005); LaHaye (1998), and recent reviews (for example, see Bartkowski, 2001, 2004; Gallagher, 2003; Gallagher & Wood, 2005). In the 1970s and 1980s numerous evangelical authors described employment as representing a subtle threat to women’s relationships with husbands and children. In the extreme, evangelical couples were encouraged to reject paid labor in favor of full-time domesticity as a radical alternative to acquiescing to a consumer culture (Pride, 1985). Although Biblical feminists and other gender egalitarian evangelicals have argued for gender equity since the mid1960s (Gallagher, 2004a, 2003; Hardesty, 1971; Scanzoni, 1966, 1968; Scanzoni & Hardesty, 1974), only in the past decade has a more pragmatically egalitarian perspective on gender, work, and family begun to appear in the popular evangelical family advice literature. These perspectives, however, remain marginalized by lingering concerns about the appropriateness of women’s employment and its potentially negative consequences for both marriage and child development (Gallagher, 2004a). Among evangelical men, gender ideals have also been changing. While the majority of evangelical men hold fairly traditional norms regarding husbands’ leadership in family and employment (Bartkowski, 2001, 2004; Gallagher, 2003; Gallagher & Wood, 2005; Wilcox, 2004), evangelical men are also faced with increasing calls to balance employment with being involved fathers and loving, responsible husbands at home (Dobson, 2000; Novell, 1995; Weber, 1993, 1997). The conservative Christian men’s movement, Promise Keepers, has been instrumental in challenging men to take greater responsibility in family life, as well as invest in accountability relationships with one another (Beltz, 1994; McCartney, 1992; Weber, 1998). Other popular evangelical writers are also calling on men to be more

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involved in both relationships with their wives (Dobson, 1998; Oliver, 1997; Wagner, 1994), balancing work and family (Cote, 1998; Novell, 1995), as well as parenting (Clark & Clark, 1998; Smalley & Trent, 1992). The lengthening rows of books about men and families in Christian bookstores physically demonstrate the increasing seriousness with which evangelicals consider men’s commitments to family life. Drawing on images both managerial and domestic, titles like, ‘‘A Life of Integrity: Thirteen Outstanding Leaders Raise the Standard for Today’s Christian Men’’ (Hendricks, 1997); or ‘‘Man’s Work is Never Done: The Art of Balancing Priorities between Work and Home’’ (Novell, 1995); or ‘‘The Hidden Value of a Man: The Incredible Impact of a Man on His Family’’ (Smalley & Trent, 1992) demonstrate how in popular Christian literature the standard has been raised for evangelical men’s performance in family life, as well as in careers.

RESEARCH QUESTIONS For evangelicals, as for many middle class white Americans, the ideological and economic ground has dramatically shifted over the past three decades producing what Connell (1995) calls ‘‘crisis tendencies in the gendered order.’’ This analysis makes the case that a strategy of ‘‘invested individualism’’ allows evangelicals to negotiate that ‘‘crisis.’’ I focus on two domains of the emerging gender order: masculinity that encompasses both wage earning and involved fatherhood, and ideals around femininity that encompass both domesticity and wage earning. Examining attitudes toward women’s employment allows us to explore how evangelical utilitarian and democratic ideals of equal participation in public life are reconciled with ideals regarding women’s expressiveness and domesticity. Examining attitudes toward fatherhood allows us to explore how biblical individualism and expressive ideals regarding men’s domestic responsibilities are reconciled with utilitarian ideals around wage earning and careers. I examine both the rhetoric and reported behavior of lay evangelicals focusing on three specific questions. First, to what extent are evangelicals distinctive among Protestants in their work-family strategies and ideals? Second, how do evangelical women and men describe the balance of responsibilities within the household and the meanings attached to these? And, third, to what extent does the notion of invested individualism help to specify the subcultural distinctives of evangelical strategies for balancing family and work.

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METHODOLOGY Sampling The data for this chapter come from a three-year study of American evangelicals funded by The Pew Charitable Trusts (Smith et al., 1998). Methodologically, this research had two goals. First, the research team wanted to allow evangelical Christians ‘‘in the pew’’ to speak for themselves about their religious identity, as well as their ideals and practices regarding work, family, politics, and culture. Second, recognizing that great regional and denominational differences may exist, the research team wanted to obtain a nationally representative sample of evangelicals across Protestant denominations, capturing both the geographic diversity and transdenominational characteristics of this religious subculture. These objectives led to the development of a three part research strategy that produced in-depth personal interviews with self-identified evangelicals in twenty three states across the country (n ¼ 178), and a telephone survey with a national random sample of religiously committed Christians (n ¼ 2,087) among whom 429 respondents identified themselves as evangelical, 387 as fundamentalist, 576 as mainline, and 431 as liberal Protestants. This multi-method approach allows both more grounded generalization as well as greater specificity with regard to family responsibilities and authority (see Smith et al., 1998 for a detailed discussion of sampling and methodology). The sample responding to the telephone survey (the Religious Identity and Influence Survey) was 65 percent female. Eighty-seven percent of survey respondents were white, and 78 percent were married. The average age for the sample was 48 years old, with a range of 17–96 years. The response rate for the telephone survey was 69 percent. Approximately half of the in-depth personal interviews were conducted with a subset of self-identified evangelicals who had participated in the national telephone survey (n ¼ 93). With the exception of being slightly more urban, the sample contacted as follow-up to the national telephone survey did not significantly differ in denominational distribution or sociodemographic characteristics from the national random survey sample. The remainder were interviews obtained through a process of local knowledge sampling (n ¼ 85). For the ‘‘local knowledge’’ sample, pastors in thirteen different regions of the country were asked to identify local ‘‘core’’ evangelical churches in their area. The pastors of those churches were then contacted and respondents were randomly selected from lists of regular attenders. The response rate for the local knowledge sample was 99 percent.

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Fifty-one percent of the local knowledge sample were women, 96 percent were white. The average age of respondents was 48. Semi-structured interviews with ‘‘follow-up’’ and ‘‘local knowledge’’ respondents lasted approximately two hours. Tapes from the open-ended personal interviews were transcribed in full, and systematic content analysis was used to develop coding categories for themes that emerged from multiple reading of these transcripts.

Measures This methodology yielded a rich, extensive, and unique set of data on religious identity, ideals, and reported behavior regarding gender, work, and family. Personal interview respondents were asked specifically about the appropriateness of women’s employment, their own employment status, and the responsibilities of men and women in domestic work and child rearing. Respondents were also asked to describe concrete examples of the circumstances under which women should be employed, the kinds of jobs that were appropriate for women, and the ways in which fathers were involved at home. The telephone survey included a wide range of items assessing religious identity, attitudes, and involvement in influencing public life, education, racism, employment, and gender/family. Measures of particular relevance for this analysis included items in three domains: ideals about marriage, selfreported behavior in decision-making, and attitudes toward women’s employment. Dichotomously coded items on marriage assessed attitudes toward divorce, egalitarianism, and men’s authority or ‘‘headship’’ inside the household. Items on decision-making assessed responsibility for finances, parenting, leisure, and spiritual leadership. Respondents were asked, ‘‘who has more say-so regarding y You or your spouse?’’. Response categories were ‘‘self primarily responsible,’’ ‘‘spouse is primarily responsible,’’ or ‘‘both’’ (response volunteered by respondents). Respondents were also asked about who usually gives in goes along with what the other thinks when you and your spouse disagree about an important decision. Here, as well, response categories were ‘‘myself, or ‘‘my spouse,’’ with ‘‘both’’ having to be volunteered as a response category. Additional items assessed employment status, responsibility for making decisions regarding employment, and the socio-demographic characteristics of the respondents. Although many analyses combine evangelical and fundamentalist Protestants into a larger category of ‘‘conservative Protestants,’’ they are

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distinct religious subcultures with their own history and beliefs about how faith should relate to public life, politics, and culture. Fundamentalism traces its roots to a series of pamphlets outlining the ‘‘fundamentals’’ of historic Protestant theology that were being challenged by scientific modernism and theological liberalism in the early 20th century and fundamentalists remain more skeptical of modernity overall than do other Protestants (Marsden, 1991). In contrast, evangelicalism emerged as a transdemonimanational religious movement in the mid-20th century as a more culturally engaged, but similarly theologically conservative religious subculture. Because the evangelical ethos has been to transform rather than avoid broader trends in American culture, we might expect them to adopt more flexible ideas towards women’s employment and family life than those who identify themselves as fundamentalist Protestants. For these reasons, I separate these two strands of conservative Protestantism, as well as mainline and liberal Protestantism in the analysis.

ANALYSIS How do evangelical ideals about work and family life compare to those of other religiously committed Protestants? (Table 1) First, it appears that the rhetoric of conservative evangelical leaders around women’s essential domesticity has negligible effects on employment rates among evangelical women. In fact, approximately two-thirds of evangelical women are employed – about the same rate as other religiously committed Protestants. Where evangelicals distinguish themselves is not Table 1. Employment among Married Women by Religious Tradition (Percentages)a.

Employed Full time Part time Keeping house a

Evangelical

Fundamentalist

Mainline

Liberal

56.5 39.2 17.1 29.5

60.5 45.9 14.3 27.0

59.7 45.5 14.0 20.1

53.8 47.4 6.4 30.1

The significance of differences between self-identified evangelicals and other religious self ids (for example, fundamentalist, mainline, and theological liberal Protestants. r.05; r.01; r.001. Source: Religious Identity and Influence Survey (1996).

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with regard to women’s employment but in the meanings of that employment and the sense of gendered responsibility within the household. Table 2 compares evangelicals to other religiously committed Protestants on ideas about husbands’ headship and sense of who has primary responsibility in different domains of family decision-making (shown are results from ANOVA with controls for education and the age of respondents and weighted for household size to account for individuals in smaller households being more likely to be included in the sample). Relative to other religiously committed Protestants, evangelical men are more likely to believe that the husband should be the head of the household and to claim primary responsibility for family spiritual life. Evangelical men are even more likely than fundamentalist men to claim that the husband should be the head of the household (91 percent versus 83 percent, p r.05); and are more likely to say that they have primary responsibility for the family’s spiritual life compared to mainline and theologically liberal Protestant men (63 percent, versus 24 percent and 39 percent, respectively). Evangelicals also take more credit for parenting decisions. They are less likely to think of parenting as primarily a wife’s responsibility, and more likely to see it as a responsibility in which they themselves share than are other Protestant men (60.6 percent versus 45 percent, 47 percent and 50 percent for fundamentalist, mainline, and liberal Protestants respectively). While on other domains of decision-making (leisure, employment, and finances) evangelicals do not significantly differ from other religiously committed Protestant men, they are significantly more likely to claim greater authority overall when it comes to making difficult decisions. Evangelical husbands are less likely to say they generally give in, and more likely to say their wives give in on difficult decisions than are either fundamentalist or mainline Protestants. At this very basic level, it appears that evangelical men’s gender projects express the notion of husbands’ headship as men having more authority in final decision-making, spiritual responsibility, and parenting decisions. Wives similarly were more likely to agree with the notion of husbands’ headship than were other Protestants (88 percent) and more likely to say that husbands had more responsibility for the family’s spiritual life than either mainline and theologically liberal Protestants (34, versus 29 and 18 percent respectively). Evangelical wives were also more likely to say husbands had more responsibility for parenting decisions than religiously committed mainline Protestants. Overall, a lingering sense of the family as a little commonwealth of which the husband is the head is reflected here in the agreement of evangelical husbands and wives that the

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Table 2.

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Men’s and Women’s Self-Reported Involvement in DecisionMaking by Religious Self-Identification (Percentages)a.

Panel A: Men’s Self-Reported Involvement in Decision-Making by Religious Self-Identification (Percentages)a Evangelical (n ¼ 143)

Fundamentalist (n ¼ 160)

Mainline (n ¼ 176)

Liberal (n ¼ 132)

82.5

68.8

61.4

60.7 18.8 20.5

34.3 26.4 39.3

28.8 28.8 42.5

50.8 12.7 36.4

47.5 13.5 39.0

48.6 12.5 38.9

14.4 22.9 62.7

14.7 20.6 64.7

24.7 24.7 50.7

11.8 43.1 45.1

8.0 44.8 47.2

10.4 38.8 50.7

31.5 5.6 62.9

30.0 8.9 61.1

21.8 7.3 70.9

38.7 32.4 28.8

30.0 23.8 46.2

21.7 40.6 37.7

Husband Should be the ‘‘Head’’ 91.6 (% yes) Who Takes Responsibility for Spiritual Life Husband has more responsibility 63.1 Wife has more responsibility 14.4 Equal responsibility 22.5 Financial Decisions Husband has more responsibility 50.5 Wife has more responsibility 5.5 Equal responsibility 44.0 Leisure Decisions Husband has more responsibility 18.2 Wife has more responsibility 20.0 Equal responsibility 61.8 Parenting Decisions Husband has more responsibility 11.5 Wife has more responsibility 27.9 Equal responsibility 60.6 Employment Decisions Husband has more responsibility 34.9 Wife has more responsibility 7.0 Equally responsible 58.1 Who is More Likely to ‘‘Give in’’ on Contested Decisions? Husband is more likely 21.6 Wife is more likely 42.2 Both are equally likely to 36.3 ‘‘give in’’

Panel B: Women’s Self-Reported Involvement in Decision-Making by Religious Self-Identification (Percentages)a

Husband Should be the ‘‘Head’’ (% Yes) Who Takes Responsibility for Spiritual Life Husband has more responsibility Wife has more responsibility Equal responsibility Financial Decisions Husband has more responsibility Wife has more responsibility Equal responsibility

Evangelical (n ¼ 286)

Fundamentalist (n ¼ 227)

Mainline (n ¼ 369)

Liberal (n ¼ 278)

88.7

82.2

71.8

58.3

34.4 45.2 20.4

37.8 41.7 20.45

18.97 53.9 27.2

17.7 53.7 28.7

47.3 21.0 31.7

50.0 12.9 37.1

44.2 15.0 40.8

42.1 17.4 40.7

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Table 2. (Continued ) Panel B: Women’s Self-Reported Involvement in Decision-Making by Religious Self-Identification (Percentages)a Evangelical (n ¼ 286)

Fundamentalist (n ¼ 227)

Leisure Decisions Husband has more responsibility 10.6 Wife has more responsibility 35.0 Equal responsibility 54.4 Parenting Decisions Husband has more responsibility 20.8 Wife has more responsibility 14.0 Equal responsibility 65.2 Employment Decisions Husband has more responsibility 26.6 Wife has more responsibility 5.8 Equally responsible 67.5 Who is More Likely to ‘‘Give in’’ on Contested Decisions? Husband is more likely 20.8 Wife is more likely 45.5 Both are equally likely to 33.7 ‘‘give in’’

Mainline (n ¼ 369)

Liberal (n ¼ 278)

15.8 44.7 39.5

8.8 47.1 44.1

11.2 43.2 45.6

20.8 21.5 57.7

17.8 16.9 65.2

16.6 20.9 62.6

29.1 11.8 59.1

21.1 10.9 68.0

27.3 8.2 64.6

21.6 54.4 24.0

17.90 50.5 31.7

23.7 39.7 36.6

a

Symbols indicate the significance of differences between self-identified evangelicals and other religious ids (for example, fundamentalist, mainline, theological liberal Protestant): r.05; r.01; r.001. Source: Religious Identity and Influence Survey (1996). All statistics are weighted for household size and control for education and age of respondents.

man is ultimately accountable for family decisions, spiritual well-being, and shared parenting. This sense of accountability was a central theme in men’s own narratives of family life. Again and again in the personal interviews, men said things like, ‘‘the ultimate responsibility lies with me; we talk about decisions and come to a compromise y But in the end, I’m still responsible’’ and ‘‘someone has to make a final decision y whether we do what she wants or what I want, the buck stops here y I’m accountable.’’ Although only a handful of men could point to a time when they had made a decision for the family in spite of strong opposition from their wives, nearly all evangelical husbands expressed a deep sense of their holding some greater burden of responsibility for family. As one man put it, ‘‘when we stand before God, we’re both responsible, but maybe I’m a little more at the head of the line.’’ Like a ‘‘heavier hand on my shoulder’’ evangelical men express their sense

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that they are ‘‘spiritually accountable’’ for what happens at home. This accountability translates most clearly into sense of responsibility for being involved fathers. Evangelical men talked about the need for them to exercise ‘‘spiritual leadership’’ by leading by example. Numerous men were quick to point out that this kind of leadership is hard work, saying things like ‘‘hey, being a Christian is hard. I can’t just say, ‘you should read your Bible’ I have to show them by doing it. I can’t just say being part of a local fellowship is important’ I have to get my own butt up and out on Sunday morning, or Wednesday night. You can’t be a couch potato and a good father.’’ Like a ‘‘wise scout’’ men expressed the need for them to be ‘‘out front’’ ‘‘taking the pressure,’’ ‘‘leading the way’’ for their families. They talked specifically about their need to be good models for both daughters and sons, demonstrating respect for women by treating their wives with respect and by making special time to spend with their daughters. Along with the language of responsibility and rights, these comments reflect an expressive and relational self who is deeply embedded in the minutia of ordinary family life. My job involves teaching my son how to obey his mom and how to treat women. It involves a lot about loving my wife and letting my kids know that I love her y It is my job to teach my children the right and wrong. [I may have less time with them than my wife], but my role as a teacher is no less important. To expect they should learn everything they need to know from her is wrong. Just because I am a man I have a different perspective. I need to be vitally involved with every aspect of their lives. I need to change diapers, take them for walks. (Presbyterian father of three, North Carolina)

For evangelical men with children, the expectations of involved fatherhood are both spiritual and practical. Few, however, mentioned either religious institutions or the community as important resources for parenting and relations at home. The one exception was the Promise Keepers. There, as has been found in other research (Bartkowski, 2004; Lockhart, 2000), men described how Promise Keepers conferences and literature encouraged them to assess and improve their relations with both wives and children [After Promise Keepers] I came back and I think I treat my wife better y People touched on issues [with your wife and kids] that might have gone over my head before. That won’t happen again! y You think you’re doing a good job? You could do a better one! Not that you’re a bad parent, but when somebody’s got your attention it causes you to think ‘‘yeah, I could be a better husband, I could be a better father!’’ (Pentecostal father of two, Ohio)

Although not all fathers connected their intent to ‘‘do better’’ with Promise Keepers, those who had attended Promise Keepers’ events and many who

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had only heard of the movement talked about the influence it had on their awareness of family and how they could ‘‘ratchet up’’ their involvement at home. This appears to be more than wishful thinking on the part of inspired men, as women whose husbands had gone to Promise Keepers events credited the movement with increasing men’s practical involvement as well as their intent to be more relationally involved at home. He’s really changed and become stronger since going to Promise Keepers. I think it’s incredible! y What a great thing to build guys up and bring ‘em together and get ‘em on focus. I think the relationship with [the kids] is stronger whether it be bathing them or getting ‘em ready for bed or taking care of them once in a while without the wife. I think it just builds the relationship and makes the family stronger. (Conservative Baptist mother of three, Minnesota)

Wives talked about the importance of men as fathers, describing both the significance of the ‘‘something different’’ men bring to parenting, as well as the importance of men’s involvement in everyday child care. For employed mothers this often focused on fathers doing some of the cooking, organizing dinner cleanup, monitoring homework, and managing the bedtime routine. As one woman put it, ‘‘when he come’s home, I’m done! I do dinner usually, because I’m home first, but he does most of the homework routine and puts the kids to bed.’’ Wives also talked about their husband’s responsibility for the spiritual life of the household, describing how this translates into practice by saying things like, ‘‘he gets the kids up and out the door for church,’’ ‘‘makes sure someone always prays before meals,’’ and ‘‘kind of leads the way and sets the pace for the rest of us.’’ Many of these comments informally also echo the sentiments of biblical individualism – an ethos in which husbands are publicly responsible for the household and wives junior partners in its administration. Still, as with the Puritans, ‘‘setting the pace’’ and ‘‘leading the way’’ does not absolve evangelical women of their own sense of spiritual responsibility. One woman echoed the comments of many, saying I’m really responsible for my own spiritual life, although he should be a leader and example for me, too, y and I’m responsible to be a good example to the kids to teach them. But I guess in the end God’s gonna hold him accountable to a higher standard or something. It should be his job.

While one cannot assume that responsibility for making parenting decisions or spiritual accountability directly translate into more diaper changing and transportation to Little League, there is a consistency across the quantitative and qualitative data that suggests that evangelical men are invested in family life both in their sense of felt responsibility and empathy for what goes on at

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home, as well as greater participation in the ordinary tasks of parenting compared to other men. Clearly, evangelicalism provides both a broad and flexible discourse that encourages men to be involved parents and employs a host of institutional resources to communicate and encourage the fulfillment of that ideal. Evangelical fathers both ‘‘should be’’ and do indeed appear to be more invested in the idea and practice of family life than other men.

Husbands’ Headship, Parenting, and Women’s Employment In this section, I turn to multivariate analysis in an effort to explore the connections between evangelical gender subculture, iterations of invested individualism, and decision-making. Embeddedness in evangelical subculture is operationalized as a high level of church attendance (more than once a week) for self and for spouse, and hours of religious radio and television watched per week. Dichotomous variables are included for identifying as either Pentecostal or charismatic compared to non-Pentecostal or charismatic, or for living in the South compared to other geographic regions (since a number of well received case studies of evangelicals have focused on evangelicals in these sub-communities and locations). The response categories for each decision-making variable were ‘‘respondent has the most say-so,’’ ‘‘spouse has the most say-so,’’ or ‘‘decisionmaking is equally shared.’’ Models were run separately for husbands and wives, with the dependent variables recoded for wives so that the omitted comparison category is always: ‘‘husband has the most say-so.’’ Thus, the coefficients presented for the models for men reflect the odds of responding ‘‘my wife has more say-so’’ relative to ‘‘I have more say so’’ and the odds of responding ‘‘we equally share say-so’’ relative to ‘‘I have more say-so.’’ Similarly, the coefficients in the models for wives represent the odds of responding ‘‘I (wife) have more say so’’ relative to ‘‘my husband has more say-so’’ and the odds of responding ‘‘we equally share say-so’’ relative to ‘‘my husband has more say-so.’’ Since the dependent variables are based on categorical data, I use multinomial regression for this analyses. Each model is weighted for household size, and includes socio-demographic measures for age, income, education, number of children, employment status, and race. Since the majority of married men were employed, respondent’s employment status (full time, part time, or not employed – the omitted category) is included in the models for wives; spouse’s employment status (yes/no) is included in models for both husbands and wives. Findings for decision-making and parenting authority are presented in Table 3.

Responsibility for Parenting Decisions & Giving in on Important Decisions among Evangelical Husbands and Wives (Multinomial Regressions). Parenting Decisions Men

Household & Personal Characteristics Age (years) Income category (10k increments) Education (years) Employed full time Employed part time Spouse is employed (y/n) Number of children Gender Ideology Husband should be the ‘‘head’’ Husband & wife should be equal partners in everything Religious Embeddedness Spouse also attends church Charismatic (yes/no) Christian Media: Television Christian Media: Radio

Women

Wife has more say-so

Equally share say-so

1.04 1.08 1.02 – – 1.31 .64

1.06 1.07 1.06 – – 1.58 .72

.00 2.46

.00 1.67

1.84 9.42 .94 .97

Who Usually Gives in on Important Decisions

1.03 17.90 1.18 .98

Respondent (wife) has more say-so 1.11 1.02 1.26 .25 .13 .44 1.17 .00 .81

.38 .63 .82 .98

Men

Equally share say-so

Women

Wife gives in

Equally give in

Respondent (wife) gives in

Equally give in

1.11 1.06 1.17 .37 .25 .44 1.34

.99 1.04 1.48 – – .98 1.36

1.00 1.03 1.04 – – .66 1.25

1.01 1.01 1.23 .36 .67 2.01 1.14

1.03 1.02 1.39 .54 1.02 .92 .93

.00 1.01

9.28 3.65

.76 1.28

1.57 1.20

1.20 3.59

20.80 3.71 1.28 1.04

1.64 1.11 1.32 1.01

1.16 1.10 .97 .99

2.24 1.40 .98 .94

.29 .99 .84 .98

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Notes: All equations also control for geographic region (southern/other) and race (Black, Asian, ‘‘Other’’ with ‘‘White’’ the omitted category) and are weighted for household size. Multinomial regression allows comparisons using categorical data. Significant coefficients in the models for married men may be interpreted as the likelihood of men responding ‘‘my wife has more responsibility’’ relative to ‘‘I have more say-so,’’ and ‘‘we equally share responsibility’’ relative to ‘‘I have more say-so.’’ Significant coefficients for married women may be interpreted as the likelihood of women responding that ‘‘I have more say-so’’ relative to ‘‘my husband has more say-so,’’ and ‘‘we equally share responsibility’’ relative to ‘‘my husband has more say-so.’’ Symbols for level of significance: r.05; r.01; r.001. Estimated coefficients are reported as relative risk ratios (e.g., exp (b) rather than b).

Evangelicals, Invested Individualism and Gender

Table 3.

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Two highlights appear in this section of the analysis. First, we find no clear pattern of effects for components of religious identity and experience (being charismatic or having a spouse who attends church as frequently as oneself), access to resources (like education or employment), household characteristic (such as income or number of children), or embeddedness in particular aspects of evangelical subculture. None of these are consistent predictors of husbands’ and wives’ sense of who has more responsibility for in decisionmaking. Second, we find the most consistently robust predictor of decisionmaking is a commitment to the idea of husbands’ headship. Evangelical men who believe that husbands should be the head of the household are significantly less likely to say that authority in making parenting decisions is shared or that it rests primarily with their wives, than they are to claim primary responsibility themselves. This is true across specific types of decision-making for men as well – whether leisure, financial, or employment. For wives, affirming the idea of husbands’ headship decreases the likelihood of saying that they themselves have more authority in parenting or that parenting decisions are shared than they are to assign greater parenting authority to their husbands. Affirming husbands’ headship, on the other hand, has no significant effect on either women’s or men’s sense of who is more likely to give in overall, or on wives’ sense of who has greater authority in the areas of family finances and employment (data not shown). From this section of the analysis it appears that evangelical husbands and wives think of men as being integrated into the household through their status as spiritual head and arbiter of greater decision-making authority particularly around child rearing. These attitudes intersect with employment in ways that reveal a cluster of beliefs around balancing individual gifts and responsibilities that reflect a synthesis of biblical, expressive, and utilitarian individualism. For some evangelicals, support for women’s employment is in the abstract; as though ideals of democratic individualism apply in principle, but not in particular – outside the home, but not necessarily within it. For these evangelicals, women’s employment, and women’s participation in decisions regarding employment, is part of a cluster of basic, democratic rights; a principle, like pluralism, that is worthy in the abstract, but which does not necessarily translate into more decision-making authority at home. This thread can be seen from the responses of some evangelicals to being asked if rearing children is more important than paid work for women. A divorced woman in Ohio replied, ‘‘absolutely,’’ and then went on to say But at the same time I would absolutely say that there are too many women in this world today that have valuable education that we need in society. And that I believe that if they

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find the right balance in bringing those children up together they could co-parent and they could work together at having a good home and raising those children and fear and the admonition of the Lord. And I believe that just because a woman is a woman doesn’t mean that she can’t use that education that God’s given her and that intelligence. I believe it could be worked together. And I believe that’s not contrary to the Word of God.

While supportive of traditional mothering roles for women, this woman’s comments also reveal strong support for ideals of equal opportunities for women, including joint or ‘‘co-parenting.’’ Here, the language of stewardship tempers utilitarian individualism by framing it within a set of wider responsibilities to contribute to the public good. More frequently, however, evangelicals’ support for women’s employment reflected a pragmatic acceptance of the need for a second income – income that is seen as necessary for maintaining a middle class lifestyle, yet which also competes with women’s domestic responsibilities. For this latter, more traditional group of evangelicals, women’s employment is a specific, personal exception to the more general ideal that married women, with children, at least, should be at home. From this perspective, gendered notions of women’s essential domesticity override broader notions of individual rights. Women’s employment, in this evangelical gender strategy, is understood as a ‘‘necessary evil.’’ Consider the reflections of one older woman living in the South. I think that women working and the neglect of children have really caused some problems in this country. And I don’t put it all on the woman, but I think she plays a big role. And, of course, it’s so difficult now for men to support their families in this day and age. I know in my own family, I’ve had to work, even raising my children. And I have four y I worked for pay full-time. And I started out when I was very young. My father died when I was 15. I started to work when I was 16 and I was working ever since y Now, I think that women cannot afford not to work. I think the country has gotten to a place now where women have to work. They have to in order to survive. It’s not a matter of (buying) a home anymore. It’s a matter of survival. That’s how I see things. I mean, when I was young, growing up and having a family, it wasn’t just a survival situation. It was, ‘‘do I want a good life or a good home for my family?’’ I could have probably made it (without working). It would have been very difficult. I could not have given my children the things that I would have liked to have given them. That I may not have had. Now it’s not a matter of, ‘‘do I want to?’’; it’s a matter of ‘‘I have to in order to live.’’

This perspective is essentially one of balancing traditional gender ideals with the American dream of upward mobility and material success. Ideally, women should be home, but ideally also, the family should be able to maintain itself at a middle class or higher standard of living. Employed

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mothers may ‘‘rob’’ children of their more ‘‘natural’’ parent, but they also provide material advantages considered necessary for children’s well-being. This drive for material good and a better life is central to utilitarian individualism. Among most evangelicals it overrides the abstract ideal of women’s domesticity for most evangelicals in favor of women’s employment being accepted as a pragmatic necessity. A minority of evangelicals, however, argue that women’s employment reflects a self -serving, self-indulgent ‘‘lifestyle’’ that is unacceptable. From this perspective, tipping the balance toward utilitarian individualism leads not to a better life, but to gross materialism and a general collapse of male authority. As one New England man argued: It’s unfortunate nowadays that women have to be in the workforce, and there has to be a double paycheck. But what is your double paycheck bringing? Are you taking away from being home with your child because you want three cars, a boat, a plane, sending somebody to Harvard, or is it putting bread or food on the table? Get your priorities straight y I think the husbands do not take a stand; the Lord says the husband is supposed to be the head of the family, but the Lord should have given the men a little bit more moxie to do it because they’re tongue-lashed and tongue-whipped and they won’t stand up.

This kind of exaggerated rationale for women’s employment (in order to buy a third car, a boat or an airplane) allowed this man, and others like him, to argue for a return to a traditional gender hierarchy within the family. Other, more overtly anti-feminist men phrased their opposition to women’s employment more sharply – as a kind of expressive individualism that bordered on self-indulgence. As one man argued: I think the family structure in this nation has dwindled; and I think it’s basically, nothing against women, but I think it was basically because of the women’s movement in the 60s when Gloria Steinem got up and said y ‘‘you can have it all.’’ That’s a crock; basically, you can’t. If you want to have a job and you want to have kids, there’s got to be some kind of compromise there. I know of people who are working just to pay daycare and that doesn’t make sense to me.

Yet this same man finished by saying I’m not saying that women can’t go out and have a job. Like right now, my wife is working and I’m here doing an interview y Right now, my wife is supporting our family y (but) biblically, it’s the man that’s supposed to be taking care of the family, so I think that’s right. She’s the nurturer. It’s more natural for her to nurture the children and take care of the children because that’s the way the Lord has planned it y We’re trying not to have children until my wife has experienced work for a number of years, because we do want somebody home with the kids.

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Q: Would it be appropriate for you to be home most of the time with them while your wife was out working? R: I think my decisions stem on the way my family was when I was growing up. My father was a salesman and a musician, so I barely saw my father. That kind of hurts y You definitely need both figures, you can’t make it by with just one.

In his own experience this man’s private ideals – that his wife be home with their yet unborn children – conflict with his more democratic ideals regarding equal opportunity for employment for his wife and the seemingly egalitarian argument that children need the care of both parents. In the abstract, he argues for traditional gender division of labor; yet in practice, he applies (at least until there are children) a fairly democratic ideal of individual rights and opportunities in which wives should be able to experience employment and fathers be involved with their children. It is worth pointing out, though, that while this man believes that he suffered from the absence of his father, this couple are postponing having children until his wife leaves her job in order to do childcare.

SUMMARY & DISCUSSION Evangelicals’ synthesis of strands of Republican, utilitarian, expressive, and biblical individualism provide a framework for understanding priorities and decisions around gender, employment, and family life. Taken together, findings from both the national survey and personal interviews suggest that evangelicals draw on a broad range of ideological tools in negotiating gender strategies for work and family life. Among these are both traditionally gendered ideals for family, as well as the ideals of individual rights, responsibilities, and gifts that are reflected in opportunities for women’s employment and a better life for oneself and one’s children. Ideally, women should be nurturing children (and children, like marriage, are generally assumed) in a home in which the father is the head. Yet, also ideally, one should use one’s gifts for God’s glory and the well-being of one’s family. Most clearly, the latter involves employment for men. However, both the responsibility of women to use their gifts and the need for additional income provide a reasonable justification for women’s paid work outside the home. The divergent gender projects of contemporary evangelicals draw on abstract ideals that are both theologically and culturally based. Ideals of opportunity for both family and self-independent from the interference of the state are fundamental to American identity, as are increasingly popular

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ideals of egalitarianism in both domestic work and parenting. From this perspective, evangelicals exemplify the utilitarian and expressive individualism Bellah, et al. (1996) argue is characteristic of American culture as a whole. A better (or at least consistent) standard of living for one’s family and the opportunity to know and express one’s unique gifts and talents are clearly part of the cultural tool kit that evangelicals draw on in making sense of work and family life. Evangelicals are invested in both self-expression and in the American dream. Yet these strands of expressive and utilitarian individualism are tempered and filtered through a particular set of subcultural gender lenses. There is, on the one hand, the lens whose focal point is a notion of Godgiven order maintained through gender hierarchy within the household. On the other hand, there is the theological lens that frames one’s labor as service or stewardship, whose end is a greater collective good (whether narrowly understood as the well-being of one’s family or broadly understood as the well-being of the larger community). Both of these are employed in evangelical strategies to be both ‘‘in’’ but ‘‘not of’’ the world. Rather than mustering a theologically based gender hierarchy in order to withdraw from or resist employment, the majority of evangelicals draw on pragmatic and personal arguments in support of women’s paid work outside the home. Most frequently, the argument is utilitarian: women are employed in order to meet a specific need or to reach a specific financial goal. Women were especially quick to present this argument in explaining their own employment – usually providing as evidence the need to provide better opportunities for their children – but husbands used it as well. For these evangelicals, the pragmatic pursuit of a ‘‘better life’’ is more salient than the abstract ideal of women’s domesticity. At the same time evangelicals also appealed to notions of equal opportunity – the ideals of democratic liberalism, even of liberal feminism (though it was rare, indeed, that any of our respondents identified themselves as liberal feminists, or feminists of any sort). For these evangelicals, the abstract ideal of democratic egalitarianism provided an effective ideological foundation for women’s non-domestic paid labor. This is not simply a case of evangelical pragmatism triumphing over evangelical traditionalism or of utilitarian individualism triumphing over biblical individualism, rather it reflects a synthesis of two seemingly contradictory sets of ideals in the effort to maintain one’s subcultural identity. By framing women’s employment as the acceptable stewardship of one’s gifts, evangelicals reject a more explicit strand of utilitarian individualism in favor of an ‘‘invested individualism’’ in which opportunity

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and responsibility are inseparable. This invested individualism emerges from the rhetoric of gifts that locates personal ability, not in personality, but in something external to the individual. Locating one’s abilities as originating outside oneself introduces a notion of connectedness that is foreign to more atomistic notions of individual rights. In this way, the language of gifts carries with it echoes of the Protestant idea of stewardship – that which appears to be one’s own, at a deeper level originates with another and is for others both present and future. This rhetoric of stewardship and gifts enables the majority of evangelicals to justify women’s employment while avoiding a sense of participating in utilitarian and expressive individualism that are seen as the cause of gross materialism and self-absorption epidemic in the broader culture. Finally, while not the primary focus of this research, the findings presented here suggest something of a disconnect between what ordinary evangelicals say they do and the perspectives of popular evangelical leaders, writers, and activists. Rather than evangelicals following the practices suggested to them through a host of organizations (like Focus on the Family) or broadcasting (like Pat Robertson’s CBN) or Evangelical publishing houses (such as Fleming Revell, Multnomah, NavPress, Thomas Nelson, or Tyndale) evangelicals actually describe themselves as listening to very little Christian programming, rarely voting with the Christian Coalition (or other groups), and instead describe a remarkably ecumenical range of Christian leaders as influencing their choices regarding family and work. Clearly, additional research is needed with regard to the nuances of evangelical experiences and the broader subculture of which ordinary evangelicals are a part. In the meantime, I would suggest that these findings demonstrate that the link between ordinary evangelicals and evangelicalism as it is popularly presented is tenuous at best. The gender projects of evangelical men and women ‘‘in the pew’’ are only slightly, not remarkably, more traditional than those of other religious identities. Moreover, the issues with which evangelicals struggle in negotiating and maintaining gender strategies for family and work are remarkably similar to those of other Middle Americans. Why then do evangelicals place so much emphasis on men’s headship when their descriptions of how this works out in practice is not particularly distinctive from other religiously committed Protestants? I would argue that it is precisely because evangelical practice is so unremarkably different. In spite of being quite like their non-evangelical neighbors, evangelicals are able to maintain sense of distinctive subculture through their ideological commitment to men’s headship. In a culture where egalitarianism is the

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norm (in rhetoric, if not practice), adherence to men’s headship – even if only symbolic (Gallagher, 2003; Gallagher & Smith, 1999) – is a powerful tool for maintaining subgroup religious identity. In a post-modern, postfeminist world, staking a claim to the idea of husbands’ headship is a bold anachronism that reinforces evangelicals’ sense of being ‘‘not of this world’’ and epitomizes the core of evangelical identity as invested in the experience of both family and in the American dream.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT Funding for this research was provided by the Pew Charitable Trusts. The opinions expressed in this chapter are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Pew Charitable Trusts.

REFERENCES Bartkowski, J. P. (2001). Remaking the godly marriage. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Bartkowski, J. P. (2004). The Promise Keepers. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Bellah, R., Marsden, R., Sullivan, W., Swidler, A., & Tipton, S. (1996). Habits of the heart. (updated edition). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Beltz, B. (1994). Accountability among men (men of integrity). Chicago, IL: Moody Press. Clark, C., & Clark, D. (1998). Daughters and Dads. Colorado Springs, CO: Navpress. Connell, R. W. (1995). Masculinities. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Cote, J. (1998). On the road again. Grand Rapids, MI: Fleming Revell. Demos, J. (1999). A little commonwealth. New York: Oxford University Press. Dobson, J. (1998). Coming home. Wheaton, IL: Tyndale. Dobson, J. (2000). Straight talk to men. Nashville, TN: Word. Eldredge, J. (2001). Wild at heart. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson. Eldredge, J., & Eldredge, S. (2005). Captivating. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson. Gallagher, S. K. (2003). Evangelical identity and gendered family life. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Gallagher, S. K. (2004a). The marginalization of evangelical feminism. Sociology of Religion, 65, 215–237. Gallagher, S. K. (2004b). Where are the anti-feminist evangelicals?. Gender & Society, 18, 451–472. Gallagher, S. K., & Wood, S. L. (2005). Godly manhood going wild?: Changing ideals of masculinity among conservative Protestants. Sociology of Religion, 66, 135–160. Griffith, R. M. (1997). God’s daughters. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hardesty, N. (1971). Women: Second class citizens. Eternity (January), 14–16. Hendricks, H. (Ed.) (1997). A life of integrity. Sisters, OR: Multnomah Press. LaHaye, T. (1998). Opposites attract. Eugene, OR: Harvest House.

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Lockhart, W. H. (2000). We are one life, but not of one gender ideology: Unity, ambiguity, and the Promise Keepers. Sociology of Religion, 61, 73–92. Marsden, G. M. (1991). Understanding fundamentalism and evangelicalism. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. McCartney, B. (1992). What makes a man? Sisters, OR: Multnomah Press. Noll, M. A. (1994). The scandal of the evangelical mind. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Noll, M. A. (2002). America’s God. New York: Oxford University Press. Novell, D. Z. (1995). A man’s work is never done. Nashville, TN: Nelson. Oliver, G. (1997). Real men have feelings, too. Chicago, IL: Moody Press. Pride, M. (1985). The way home. Westchester, NY: Crossway. Scanzoni, L. D. (1966). Women’s place: Silence or service?. Eternity, 17(February), 14–16. Scanzoni, L. D. (1968). Elevate marriage to partnership. Eternity, 19(July), 11–16. Scanzoni, L. D., & Hardesty, N. A. (1974). All we’re meant to be. Waco, TX: Word. Smalley, G., & Trent, J. (1992). The hidden value of a man. Wheaton, IL: Tyndale. Smith, C., with Emerson, M., Gallagher, S. K., Kennedy, P., & Sikkink, D. (1998). American evangelicals. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Wagner, G. (1994). Strategies for a successful marriage. Colorado Springs, CO: Nav Press. Weber, S. (1993). Tender warrior. Sisters, OR: Multnomah. Weber, S. (1997). The four pillars of a man’s heart. Sisters, OR: Multnomah. Weber, S. (1998). All the king’s men. Sisters, OR: Multnomah. Wilcox, W. B. (2004). Soft patriarchs, new men. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

FUNDAMENTALIST FEMINISTS SPAR WITH THE PATRIARCHY: INTERPRETIVE STRATEGIES OF ISRAELI RABBINIC COURT PLEADERS Susan Weiss ABSTRACT This chapter describes how women who work as pleaders in the Israeli rabbinic courts try to decipher the dissonance between their canonical texts and their modern sensibilities, dividing the interpretive strategies that the pleaders employ to that end into three different categories. The chapter then explores the implications of these findings with respect to theories of agency, feminist consciousness, how law is read, and identity politics (multiculturalism), as well as with respect to issues of value, power, and divorce reform.

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 173–196 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12010-0

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INTRODUCTION This chapter is about the conceptual tools that Israeli female court pleaders use to try to reconcile the differences between their Orthodox Jewish beliefs and the issues of gender inequality facing their clients. I use Goodrich’s (1986) taxonomy as a basis to identify three interpretive strategies of the pleaders; and I consider those strategies – exegesis, hermeneutics, and rhetoric – with respect to four dimensions: (a) agunot and mamzerim, (b) morality and the halakha, (c) divine revelation, and (d) change. The chapter then examines the implications of the pleaders’ strategies for reform of divorce proceedings in the Israeli rabbinical court. Mine is a practical, reformist agenda. The issues and questions raised by this agenda have haunted me for many years. I am a divorce attorney and have practiced in the rabbinic courts since 1986. I am also a cause lawyer in pursuit of my vision of the right, the good, and the just (Sarat & Scheingold, 2004). It is almost an understatement to claim that I am engaged and invested in what happens to Jewish women in the rabbinic courts. I am unequivocally interested in reforming what I see as the unreasonable and unjust activities of those courts. This involvement has required me to be constantly reflexive when researching and writing this chapter. I so much want at least one of these interpretive strategies to work, to be a blueprint for change. For the chapter I conducted open and in-depth interviews with Orthodox women who are rabbinic court pleaders. The interviews were conducted in Hebrew and translated by me. Each interview lasted between one and a half to four hours. Very little time was taken up with my questions, all of which were formulated in an open fashion that allowed the pleaders to take control of the discussion. The pleaders spoke candidly and at length. Many times they challenged what they thought might be my opinion on the matters discussed. There are only about 60 licensed female pleaders registered with the rabbinic courts. I interviewed seven active pleaders for this qualitative analysis. Where relevant, I draw on religious and legal texts. The next section provides background information on the Israeli rabbinical courts and the pleaders. That is followed by the examination of the three strategies.

THE RABBINIC COURTS AND PLEADERS Courts In 1953, the Israeli legislature, the Knesset, incorporated the millet system (millet means ‘‘religious community’’) of the Ottoman Empire into its laws of

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personal status. This act of the legislature gave the Orthodox and their rabbinic courts the exclusive jurisdiction to decide all matters regarding the marriage and divorce of Israeli Jews in accordance with Jewish law (halakha).1 Jewish law is the doxa – the taken for granted truth – of the rabbinic courts. The halakha is thousands of years old.2 According to the halakha, a divorce occurs only when a man delivers a bill of divorce (a get) to his wife (Deuteronomy 24:1) of his own free will (Talmud Bavli Yevamot 112b). A bill of divorce delivered by a man against his will is invalid (a get meuseh, or ‘‘a forced divorce’’) (Talmud Bavli Gitten 88b). If a man is missing, incapacitated, or simply refuses to give his wife a get, she remains married to him forever (an agunah). The halakha penalizes women who conduct relationships with men who are not their husbands, ostracizing children born of such relationships as mamzerim. A mamzer, and all the progeny of the mamzer for generations, are banned from marrying other Jews (Shulhan Arukh, Even Ha’Ezer 4:1, 13, 22). Marriage and divorce is the only area of law in which Israel defers exclusively to religious laws and the religious courts. In all other matters, civil laws and civil courts, inspired by Western notions of liberalism and democracy, determine the outcome of disputes between Israeli citizens.3 While the rabbinic courts might have risen to the challenge of interpreting the long and venerable tradition of Jewish law so that it responded to the needs of a modern state and democracy, they have fallen far short of such expectations. The Israeli rabbinic court judges are men who belong, for the most part, to the ultra-Orthodox sects of Judaism. They do not run a divorce court in any way similar to what a reader living outside of Israel may imagine. In determining whether a husband should divorce his wife, the rabbis are not informed by notions of fault or no-fault. Instead, the rule against the ‘‘forced divorce’’ (the get meuseh) holds the day, with the rabbis favoring tactics of delay and extortion. If the rabbis refrain from making any decisions at all based on the substantive facts of the case, they do not compromise the divine rule that husbands must deliver divorces to their wives of their own free will. Similarly, if a wife pays her husband in exchange for the get, the rabbis do not need to apply any pressure on him to give the bill of divorce. The tactics of delay and extortion assure that no invalid pressure is brought to bear upon husbands. Only when delay and extortion do not achieve their ends do the rabbis begin to apply the leverage that Jewish law, theoretically, gives them to pressure husbands in particular cases to give their wives a divorce (Weiss, 2002). This sad reality of delay and extortion is exacerbated by the courts’ procedural violations. The rabbinic judges adhere only loosely to rules of evidence and procedure. Tribunals are

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often incomplete, being held without the requisite three judges necessary to make decisions. Files are rarely read. Protocols of the hearings do not accurately represent what happened. Eve, one of the pleaders I interviewed, described one of her most difficult cases, a case in which a husband ‘‘infected with a sexual disease’’ refused to give his wife a get. Eve’s story provides a good picture of the difficulties of practicing divorce law in the rabbinic courts of Israel: The case that comes to my mind is one about a woman from Rosh Ha’Ayin whose husband committed adultery and was infected with a sexual disease as a result of one of his sexual betrayals y under some unsanitary conditions. I had tapes of erotic conversations that [the husband] had with all sorts of women. It was just awful. He left the horrible tapes in his house. [In the tapes] he described how he [had relations] with this one, and with that one, and that one y And I brought the tapes to the rabbinic court y I asked them to order him [to give his wife a get]. But for two full years, the court refused to let me introduce the tapes into evidence. More negotiations and more negotiationsy

The rabbinic court refused to allow Eve to submit proof of the husband’s sexual misconduct. Perhaps the court did not think the husband’s adultery was adequate grounds for divorce.4 Or perhaps, the rabbis procrastinated because of the law prohibiting the ‘‘forced divorce.’’ They preferred to cajole the wife into agreeing to the husband’s terms for divorce – what they call negotiating. After years of delaying and haggling, arguing, and cajoling, and after many futile attempts at professionalism, Eve finally asked to set down a date to hear the incriminating tapes. The rabbinic court informed her that she had to file a separate motion before they would hear the evidence. [T]hey told me to open up a separate file regarding my motion to introduce evidence into the case. I don’t think that I ever screamed in the courtroom the way I screamed that day. I said: ‘‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves. For two full years I have been coming here with this giant tape player, and you have not been willing to hear me. Now you tell me to file a separate motion so that I can introduce evidence! y I am not leaving here until there is a get y I screamed at them y I screamed at them like I never screamed before y and there was a get. There was. Because I screamed y In exchange [my client] had to waive some child support. It’s true. But she had already agreed to thaty

Eve screamed and the rabbis pressured the husband to give a get – but only after Eve’s client had agreed to reduce the amount owed to her for child support. This is a maddening scenario. Adultery on the part of the husband is not grounds for divorce. Women can be held in limbo indefinitely. Haggling replaces legal argument. Children of illicit relationships are branded. Cases are decided by clout and not by reason.

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The Female Rabbinic Court Pleaders The Israeli rabbinic courts are run by Orthodox Jewish men. Only Orthodox Jewish men preside as judges (dayanim). Conservative, reform, or secular men have never held positions on the bench. Nor have Jewish women of any religious affiliation. In addition to serving as judges, Orthodox Jewish men staff the Israeli rabbinic courts’ administrative offices. However, the attorneys who appear before the rabbinic courts are not necessarily Orthodox Jews; nor are they necessarily men. All licensed attorneys are authorized by the state to appear in the rabbinic courts. Women who work as divorce attorneys appear regularly in the rabbinic courts. Theoretically, a Muslim woman attorney could represent clients in the rabbinic courts. Since 1967, the state has also allowed persons licensed as ‘‘rabbinic court pleaders’’ (toanim rabbaniyim) to represent clients. The Rabbinic Courts Pleaders Regulations of 1967 enabled students who studied halakha in institutions known as yeshivot to practice in the rabbinic courts provided they passed state-certified tests in Jewish family law. Since women did not study in yeshivot, they could not get such accreditation. The persons who were able to obtain such accreditation were, like the other players in the rabbinic court, Orthodox men. But by the 1980s more and more women had begun studying Jewish law. In 1990, Midreshet Lindenbaum, one of the first yeshivot for women, opened a program specifically to teach women to become rabbinic pleaders. The rabbis in the Ministry of Religion did not look favorably on this program and they raised substantive and technical barriers to women seeking accreditation. However, in 1993, Nurit Freed, the initiator of the Lindenbaum program, petitioned the Supreme Court of the State of Israel sitting as the High Court of Justice to intervene. Since then, the state has licensed women to practice as rabbinic pleaders and they argue regularly before the courts where they are key players. They are a formidable female presence in what has been, and to a large extent continues to be, an all-boys club. It is these pleaders who I have interviewed for this chapter. To enable the reader to better understand these pleaders and how they operate, I have labeled them ‘‘fundamentalist feminists.’’

The Pleaders and Fundamentalism In some ways the female pleaders are very much like their male counterparts. Like the male pleaders, the women are exclusively Orthodox. Charles

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Liebman (1988) described Orthodox Judaism as a ‘‘fundamentalist movement,’’ defining ‘‘fundamentalism’’ as: [A] movement or group for whom religion, religious beliefs and values are both ultimate and exclusive. For the fundamentalist, God’s revelation, whether directly, through scriptures, or though authoritative traditions of scriptural interpretation expresses in clear and simple terms how the individual and society ought to behave and what one ought to believe y [N]ot all Orthodox Jews are fundamentalist, even in this popular meaning of the term, but Orthodoxy, taken as a whole, fits the definition. (p. 45)

In accordance with their authoritative and Orthodox traditions, the women interviewed for this chapter mark themselves off by distinctive dress, customs, and conduct. They keep the Sabbath, eat in accordance with the dietary laws, and observe the rules of modesty regarding their dress. They wear only skirts, not pants; and are ‘‘veiled’’ in accordance with various interpretations of the halakha. If married, they cover their hair with a hat, scarf, or wig. Like other fundamentalists, the pleaders cited in this chapter noted the importance of their work to preserve their distinct identity as a people or group with a sacred past.5 They all remarked how their work in the courts is more than the attempt to help particular women who are abused by their husbands and rabbis. Their work is the distinct effort to make their sacred texts and practices relevant, benevolent, and significant so that the pleaders can preserve their identities as Orthodox Jews. Eve described those efforts as answering ‘‘a great need’’ of the ‘‘people of Israel.’’ Hila, another interviewee, felt she is ‘‘protecting the Torah’’ and is a key soldier in the ‘‘war of Jewish survival y a culture war.’’ Ruth, the third pleader who I quote in this chapter, maintained that her work is the way she deals with her ‘‘personal existential pain,’’ not the pain of her clients. The Pleaders and Feminism The pleaders are women who represent women in courts run by men and presided over by men. They attempt to reinterpret texts written solely by men, and their goal is to protect women against acts of oppression perpetrated by men who hide behind God and His texts to legitimate those abuses. The pleaders directly confront men who misuse their power to subordinate women, and they work unrelentingly to free women from intolerable situations in which they are chained to dead marriages by recalcitrant husbands and ineffectual rabbinic courts. They work to improve the status of women. All the pleaders quoted in this chapter bewail the plight

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of their clients. Eve laments: ‘‘The situation of women is awful, just awful.’’ Hila proclaims that: ‘‘I feel that great harm was done to my clients, and that we must remedy that harm.’’ Ruth maintains that: ‘‘This is a topic that is essential to the status of women.’’ Patricia Misciagno (1997) would describe these activities and observations as de facto feminist praxis. Therefore, despite the fact that the majority of pleaders interviewed for this chapter rejected the feminist label, I take the liberty of calling them ‘‘feminists.’’

THREE STRATEGIES Modernity confronts tradition in the rabbinic courts, often at the expense of women. In response, the pleaders develop interpretive strategies to grapple with the divine texts introduced in justification of what transpires. In this section I divide these strategies into three archetypes or ‘‘ideal types’’: exegesis, hermeneutics, and rhetoric, which I base on the taxonomy introduced by Peter Goodrich in Reading the Law (1986). There he describes the different ways he sees law being read – as privileging the literal language and internal coherence of the legal text (exegesis); community values and traditions (hermeneutics); or political criticism (rhetoric). Each of these strategies gives priority to different values; and each allows the pleaders to come to terms with modernity in different ways. The pleader who privileges the literal language of the text and the word of God (exegesis) compartmentalizes her traditional world and relegates it to a separate sphere. The pleader who privileges tradition (hermeneutics) rationalizes her traditional world so that it conforms to her secular one. The pleader who privileges a critical reading of the law, and hence a reformist agenda (rhetoric), tries to transform her traditional world so that it will fall in line with modern values.6

Exegesis According to Goodrich, exegesis derives from the canonical tradition. This tradition for reading the law assumes that words and rules take on their literal meaning; and that those words and rules are the complete source of the law, irrespective of their value, utility, or effects. In the hands of the pleaders, exegesis is a strategy that defers to God’s Will, His Authority, His Truth, and His Laws, without evaluating their logic or appropriateness.

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I choose Eve to represent the ‘‘ideal’’ exegete. For her, revelation is authoritative. God dictates the way she runs her life. He wrote the laws. And there is not a lot of room for maneuvering – some problems may not have solutions. For her the meaning of the canonical text is singular, authoritative, reflective of God’s will. The possibilities of change are limited, reluctant, and reserved for the rabbinic elite – those with authority, men. Eve puts aside those parts of her tradition that she does not understand – those parts that clash with her modern notions regarding the status of women, those parts that may even seem to her to be irrational, absurd, confusing, unjust, even immoral – into compartments that she does not examine. She accepts the ‘‘full range of values that she calls the Torah’’ even if she is not ‘‘happy with everything.’’ For Eve, the fate of the mamzer or the agunah is a tragic one that must be reluctantly accepted – like the fate of someone born to a ‘‘father who is a drug addict or a mother who is a whore.’’

Hermeneutics Hermeneutics, according to Goodrich, takes its inspiration from the tradition of European legal humanism, in particular English common law and its deference to precedent – that which goes before. Hermeneutics is a technique of reading the law that requires it to be read historically, in terms of its continuity and its tradition, and in terms of the ‘‘common sense’’ – the ethos of the community and its sense of justice. Its authority resides on its ethical insight, not on a literal or strict concept of the logic of legal rules, as in the exegetical tradition. For Goodrich, hermeneutics is a more creative strategy for interpreting the law than exegesis, opening up the law to multiple meanings, values, developments, and supplementation. For religious and legal hermeneutics in particular, the classical texts were not simply there to be imitated but were also to be adapted to their contemporary situation, the context in which the text was being proclaimed, announced or read. (p. 137)

I chose Hila to represent the ideal hermeneutist. For Hila, halakhic meaning is multiple (polysemic). There can be more than one valid halakhic opinion on a topic. She thinks that the rabbis can, and should, decide issues in accordance with what may be considered to be a minority opinion; and she is conscious of how modern values, outside of the halakhic sphere, supplement the halakha and enable it to mend itself, if necessary. Hila is more open to the notion of change than is Eve, the exegete, though she prefers the term tikkun implying a slight emendation, rather than the more

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revolutionary term, change. And like Eve, she too defers to Orthodox rabbis, men, as the arbiters of when that change is appropriate. Hila rationalizes or ‘‘re-conceptualizes’’ her traditional beliefs so that they appear consistent with modernity, attempting, for example, ‘‘to demonstrate the equality of women in Jewish law.’’ Hila proclaims that the feminist revolution is augured in the Torah (Genesis: Chapter 2) and in the prophets (Jeremiah: 31; 21). As a conservative, however, Hila finds no need to respond to the plight of the mamzer. The canonical attitude to mamzerim does not offend her modern sensibilities because she condemns adultery (on the part of the wife). Truth, Nature, and the Torah are rationalized as one, consistent, and, moreover, ethical. Though she is more open to legal interpretation than Eve, Hila, like Eve, more often than not defers to the past. Thus, like Eve, she tends to reassert historical trends, rather than to critique them. While Eve privileges the literal meaning of the text as the unchallenged word of God, Hila privileges what she feels is an upright and ethical tradition.

Rhetoric Rhetoric derives from the classical Greek disciplines of persuasion. Goodrich favors an account of the rhetorical tradition that come closest to political criticism. For him, a rhetorical reading of the law refuses to privilege or adhere to one set of values or any one conception of truth. It reexamines the legal institution in terms of the language that it uses; and, in general, is as a critical endeavor which attempts to discover the semantic choices, as well as the political and historical motives, that underlie the development of the law and the imposition of meaning. He explains: [H]ermeneutics preserves tradition and constantly endeavors to emulate or repeat the logic of a past culture, whereas rhetoric is broader than tradition and traditional boundaries, and exists to describe and to question the received values. At its best it is a form of social and political criticism which constantly threatens the orthodox textual meaning and doctrines with the account of the administrative and political practices in which they are tied. Rhetorical analysis confronts the speaker not only with an account of what has been said but also with an account of what has been done. (pp. 165–166)

For me, Ruth is the ‘‘ideal’’ rhetorician. She operates within the spirit of Goodrich’s rhetoric because she is a critical thinker aware of the historical and political contingency of morality. She acknowledges the possibilities of multiple meanings and the mutability of Jewish law. Unlike Hila who insists on the inherent morality of the Torah and finds justification for modern ideas within the canonical texts, Ruth is keenly aware of the canonical texts’

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inconsistencies, failings, and historical relativity. Like Eve, Ruth knows that women ‘‘have no status’’ under Jewish law, but she does not see that as a ‘‘tragedy’’ that she must accept. Ruth is ‘‘embarrassed’’ by a religion that is unjust to women and that condemns an innocent mamzer for her mother’s sins. To rectify those embarrassments, Ruth is not only willing to reinterpret Jewish law, she will rewrite it. Ruth’s strategy is to transform her religious world so that it is modern, just, feminist – more true to her modernist sensibilities. She reads the law to question received values, discover its dialogical possibilities, and to privilege new visions. Three Strategies and Four Dimensions To better illustrate the differences between the pleaders’ strategies, I have, somewhat mechanically, further divided their interviews into four sections: (a) their reactions to biblical principles that challenge modern sensibilities of justice, for example, agunot and mamzerim; (b) their ideas about morality and halakha, that is whether the halakha can be immoral or if there can be morality that is separate from the halakha; (c) their regard for divine revelation; and (d) their attitude towards the possibility of change within the halakha. Agunot and Mamzerim The pleaders notions of justice are challenged by the biblical rules regarding mamzerim and agunot. Biblical law ostracizes the child born to an adulterous mother even though the child has done no wrong and labels the child mamzer. It relegates the personal status of a wife – whether she is married or divorced – to the discretion of her husband, a rule that can result in agunot, women anchored indefinitely to failed marriages. These notions challenge modern liberal values of justice that include equality, correlative justice, autonomy, and sexual freedom. For Eve, the exegete, these rules must be adhered to in a manner that is consistent with the letter of the law. Though she acknowledges that the results of the application of these rules are tragic and, in modern sensibilities, unjust, she is resigned to live with these tragedies and injustices. To do so, she compartmentalizes and puts the problematic rules in a box of unexplainable decrees. Eve accepts the halakhic fate of the mamzer and the agunah: You are aware that a mamzer is a human being, like any other human being. But he is a mamzer! He is not a leper. He is not banished. But he is a mamzer! I would be very

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happy if this mamzer had never been born. And I will do everything that I can to annul the marriage (to solve the problem of the person being considered a mamzer- s.w.) y But if I know for sure that [the alleged mamzer is not the child of] the husband, I will not cooperate. If there is no halakhic possibility for a solution, than there is no halakhic possibility y I am not here to judge whether the halakha is just or is unjust y [If my daughter were an agunah], I would cry. I would be sad. But I would not tell her- go, live your life [and live with another man]. It is a tragedy. But there are also other tragedies in the world y A person whose life has dealt him a hard deal. Isn’t this also a question of justice? You tell me. A child whose mother is a whore, or whose father is a drug addicty

For Hila, the hermeneutist, God’s will has decreed the fate of the mamzer. But, unlike Eve or Ruth, she does not view that fate as tragic or unjust. God’s decree is rationalized and justified. The concept of the mamzer insures the paternity of the child. The Torah is the moral ethos of the community, and thus true, just, value-laden, and correct: This is not folklore. It is religion. It is a true religion. For me it is a living religion and the source of its authority is the Torah y There are some basic things that just cannot change. You cannot have mamzerim. Women only have one womb, right. And it necessary to be sure who the father is. A child must know if who his father is, if he is Moishe, Nachman, or Shieke.

Ruth, the rhetorician, is mortified by the concept of the mamzer, even more so than by the problem of the agunah. Like Eve, she views these precepts as unjust and injurious. But, unlike Eve, she is not resigned to them as tragedies decreed by fate. She rails against these precepts and insists that her God adhere to higher standards. There is nothing good she can say about them: I think that the problem of mamzerut is the most difficult value issue in Judaism. It is more difficult than the problem of agunot. And if there are women who tell me that they cannot remain religious because of the plight of the agunah, than I ask them where they are with respect to mamzerut y I think that I am embarrassed; I am embarrassed that I continue to be religious and to be part of a world that can do such things to other people. I do not have one good word to say about what the Torah writes or what our sages do to the mamzer. There is simply nothing [good to say] and I have no justification for the fact that I do not sacrifice my life for this struggle. And if I were in this situation I would think that all the other Jews are slime and that is in fact what we are. I have no other words.

Morality and the Halakha When faced with the question as to whether the halakha is moral, the pleaders react in the same way that they do to the more concrete questions regarding the injustices of the mamzer and the agunah. Eve, the exegete,

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defers to the letter of the law, and hence God’s will. There are things that she may not ‘‘see eye-to eye-with’’ but she accepts the Torah as a whole, a complete set of values, and compartmentalizes those parts that she does not ‘‘fall exactly in line with’’: Morality. Justice. All sorts of values like that are not derived from my idle thoughts, ruminations y they do not derive from what I think y I accept a higher authority. I accept a complete set of values. So maybe there are particular things, certain ones that I do not fall exactly in line with. But there are other things that I agree with 100% y I accept the Torah as a whole. I am not happy with everything, I do not see eye to eye with everything. There are things, most things, that I am comfortable with, that fit me like a glove, that are good for me, that are easy for me to live with. But there are other things that are less easy for me to live with. But this does not mean that I do not accept them y

Hila, the hermeneutist, rationalizes that the value system referred to as the Torah is the true morality. Hila doesn’t need to compartmentalize, to separate out in her mind those parts of the religion that she does not ‘‘see eye to eye with.’’ For her the source of morality ‘‘is not human’’ – it’s Divine and therefore true and just in its entirety. Her vision is clear: I am more religious than [other women] who can go with 20 kerchiefs on [their] heads, and 50 stockings [on their feet]. I am much more Orthodox than [they are] because I think that the source of authority [regarding morality, values] is not human, and whereas [their] perspective on things is somehow not as clear y

Ruth, the rhetorician, states simply that both morality and the Torah change. Ruth is not disturbed by theoretical assertions that certain parts of the Torah seem ‘‘immoral’’; or that sources for morality may come from outside the Torah. For her morality, as well as the Torah, are contextually and historically dependent notions. For her, both the Torah and morality change. Each can yield to the other: They brainwashed us that the Torah does not change and that morality changes, but this is not correct. Both the Torah and morality change, and we cannot escape this facty

Divine Revelation According to Maimonides (b.1135 - d.1204), one of the 13 Articles of Faith of the Jew is the belief in the divine origin of the Torah (Maimonides’ Commentary to Mishna: Sanhedrin X).7 If indeed the pleaders see the Torah as divinely revealed – hence infallible – this may limit their interpretive range. Here too, the pleaders show a wide variety of responses, consistent with their interpretive strategies.

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For Eve, divine revelation occurred, ‘‘of course,’’ and limits her interpretive range: Of course there was a revelation, otherwise I would not obey the commandmentsy If it is from God, it is prohibited.

Hila has more room to maneuver: Revelation is the starting point, y [the] proof that Judaism is the true religion y The development [of the law] of course happened afterward y in accordance with the needs of the particular time.

For Ruth, divine revelation poses no obstacle to her strategic scope. She thinks that revelation is an important educational tool – nothing more: It’s a great idea to raise kids with, to educate them y The question of revelation is not really relevant to our lives.

Change I asked all the pleaders if they thought there was room for change in the halakha. This question begs a positive answer from the pleaders since they are examples of change incarnate. And certainly, if they believed in change, the pleaders would have a greater chance of facilitating it. All the pleaders acknowledged the possibility for change, but, predictably, each had different limits. Eve felt change was limited by God’s word, the halakha as it is decided by the rabbis. There are things that cannot be changed and I accept them, I accept them lovingly as a part of life.

Hila, again rationalizing and reconceptualizing, thought change was ‘‘built in’’ and anticipated in the Torah. Change is not outside and separate from the TorahyI see that all the feminist changes were anticipated in the Torahy Our challenge today is to keep ourselves within the framework, within those changes that exist within the Torah.

Ruth had no boundaries. Change for her is a ‘‘blessing’’ limited only by the community’s imagination. For her, change is a ‘‘salvation.’’ Change is the word that most threatens religion y [Change] does not threaten me. Because my religiosity is so problematic because of the problem of the gaps between the values that I hold by and the values and world views that I get from the sources y My life is a type of problematic. Let’s say, I am aware of my ambivalence and my torment and the way that I resolve this is by change.

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SO WHAT? In the foregoing sections I described the interpretive strategies of the fundamentalist and feminist rabbinic court pleaders – exegesis, hermeneutics, and rhetoric. What can we learn from these strategies, in particular, and from the interviews, in general? In this section I will show how this chapter impacts questions of: (a) agency, particularly with respect to fundamentalist women; (b) feminist consciousness, and whether or not it is necessary for change; (c) how the law is read, and whether or not the law can possibly be a tool of change; (d) multiculturalism and the politics of identity; and (e) values and power. In so doing I will begin to address where we are with respect to religious law and divorce in the State of Israel, and where we want to go.

Agency The question of agency – the extent to which an individual can act independently of the social systems that may interpolate her – is a recurrent one in sociological/anthropological literature. Is a person a free agent or a victim of determinism? Is she a rational subject or the product of objective institutions? It is a question often posed with respect to fundamentalist women. To what extent do women react to the restrictions of fundamentalism (Brink & Menchen, 1997)? Why do women join fundamentalist movements (Hardcare, 1993)? This study supports Pierre Bourdieu’s (1977) compromise position with respect to ‘‘agency,’’ his theory of ‘‘practice.’’ The different, and almost contradictory, interpretive strategies of the pleaders are examples of how multiple practices may be generated from within a particular field. The pleaders show great range, flexibility, and invention as actors. What’s more, they are all what Bourdieu (1990) would refer to as ‘‘good players’’ – actors who deploy ‘‘double game strategies which consist of y acting in accordance with [their] interests while all the time seeming to obey the rules’’ (p. 63). Ruth’s interpretive strategy goes tentatively beyond Bourdieu’s theory of ‘‘practice’’ to suggest the possibility of ‘‘recovering the feminist subject,’’ in accordance with Sherry Ortner’s (1986) ‘‘subaltern practice theory.’’ Ruth’s strategy of rhetoric – even more so than the strategies of exegesis and hermeneutics – is an example of a ‘‘slippage in reproduction,’’ and an ‘‘erosion of long-standing patterns’’ (p. 17). Ruth is ‘‘embarrassed’’ by parts of her religion that she thinks are unjust, and insists on trying to transform

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them. She goes beyond the long-standing practices of exegesis and hermeneutics, of deference to the divine word and tradition. Ruth’s strategy of rhetoric is a ‘‘moment of disorder and of outright resistance’’ (p. 17). She does more than ‘‘spar’’ with the patriarchy. She is willing to challenge it publicly and directly – though not necessarily inside the rabbinic courtroom. Deniz Kandiyoti (1988) would claim that the fact that the pleaders are willing to ‘‘spar’’ with the patriarchy, and even, in Ruth’s case, challenge it directly, reflects on the nature of the patriarchal bargain that exists in Israel. Kandiyoti argues that the type of strategy that women employ with respect to the ‘‘patriarchy’’ depends upon the type of constraint – the type of patriarchal bargain – that they are up against. If the patriarchal bargain is not working and women are socially, economically, or physically hurt by it, they resist. In contrast, if the bargain is working for them, women may cooperate with ‘‘the patriarchy,’’ colluding in their own subordination. The stridency of women’s strategies against the ‘‘patriarchy’’ is inversely proportional to the strength of the bargain. In the spirit of Kandiyoti’s thesis, it can be argued that the Jewish patriarchal bargain in Israel has all but crumbled, facilitating the stridency of the pleaders’ practices and strategies and enabling them to engage in the interpretation of canonical texts. Similarly, the stridency of the pleaders’ practices and strategies corroborates the demise of the patriarchal bargain. Like women in most modern countries, Israeli Jewish women no longer rely on their husbands for protection and support. Israeli Jewish marriages, even among the more religious, have become more like partnerships than patriarchal bargains. Jewish marriage laws have become like fossils of an ancient patriarchal bargain, and thus more vulnerable to attack than the marriage laws of other cultures where women are more tightly held under the sway of the patriarchal deal.

Feminist Consciousness Because Eve and Hila reject association with feminism, I have called the pleaders ‘‘de facto’’ feminists. This position is in line with Misciagno’s thesis (1977) that women can contribute to feminist goals without openly identifying with them, or with the feminist movement. However Ruth, in contrast with Eve and Hila, embraces the feminist label with full consciousness and enthusiasm. This distinction raises an interesting question regarding the importance of feminist consciousness for change: Are conscious feminists more effective agents of change than de facto feminists?

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Ronen Shamir (Shamir, Shitrai, & Elias, 1996) suggests that subconscious feminism may actually facilitate change by engendering the subversive double agent. By acting in the name of the tradition, believing she is a faithful adherent to the tradition and sublimating any feminist affiliation, the subconscious feminist pleader can maneuver undetected, even to herself, as a feminist agent for change within a bastion of male domination. Nonetheless, my feeling is that Ruth is a more effective agent of change than Hila or Eve. I agree that Hila and Eve are good players whose transformative practices are essential to change. I agree with Shamir about the importance of transformative practices and the benefits of subconscious feminism. However, I cannot help but feel that so long as Ruth does not abandon the field or her religion, she can fight for change with more clarity and conviction than Eve or Hila can. With feminist goals clear to her, she maneuvers with agility and direction. Ruth’s feminist beliefs are not constrained by her religious ones. Divine revelation does not hinder her. Divine words and traditions do not stop her. There are, for Ruth, no limits to change beyond the imagination of the community. So she is free, in her mind at least, to demand whatever transformation she may want in the hope that someone, some community, somewhere, may eventually listen.

Reading the Law Goodrich’s taxonomy works. Listening to the pleader’s words and applying Goodrich’s categories to their interpretive strategies helps to understand how they negotiate meaning; what values compel them; what story they tell regarding the law – whether they privilege the letter of the law, God’s word (exegesis); tradition (hermeneutics); or the ongoing quest for justice, and the exposure of power (rhetoric). Yet my findings go beyond the relevant application of Goodrich’s taxonomy to the pleaders’ interpretive strategies or to the description of legal practices. It raises questions regarding both the ‘‘appropriateness’’ of the strategies within particular interpretive communities, as well as their effectiveness as tools of change. What story is the rabbinic court willing to hear? I think it is fair to say that judges, whether they are secular or religious, feel committed to, and constrained by, the interpretive strategies of exegesis and hermeneutics. Judges appropriate meaning by privileging the story of authority, textual coherence, tradition, and continuity (exegesis and hermeneutic); rather than the story of power, rupture, revolution, critique, and change (rhetoric). The rule of law, the internal textual coherence of

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legislative rulings, and the tradition of precedent inform most legal decisions. In Bourdieu’s terms, it is how judges ‘‘practice’’ law within the limited internalized ‘‘habitus’’ of the juridical field. What is true of the legal enterprise in general, is all the more true regarding religious law. Despites Ruth’s powerful rhetorical claims, the liminality of her boundaries and her imaginative reformist impulses, she must hide them from the rabbinic decision makers who do not acknowledge the possibility of such a free-flowing interpretive strategy. She must couch her claims for sweeping reform demurely within the limited language of God and tradition. The interpretive community of the rabbis is much more docile and obedient than Ruth’s. The interpretive strategies of exegesis and hermeneutics not only inform the rabbinic courts. They also constrain meaning and inhibit the possibility of change. Exegesis, by our definition, is the search for the consistent and coherent word of God. Once the rabbis find that word, and such finding is accepted by their interpretive community as His will, a contrary or qualifying finding is difficult to make. For example, if it is God’s will that a woman can only be divorced by her husband’s delivery of a get to her – a determination made by the interpretive community of Jewish lawmakers for about the last two thousand years – it will be hard to contradict such determination (Eve’s position, as well as Hila’s). Hermeneutics, as our definition would have it, appears more conducive to change since it opens up the possibility of multiple meanings from the text. And indeed it is this strategy that is adopted by liberal interpretive halakhic communities intent on bringing Jewish law down to earth (e.g., Halbertal, 1997; Berkovits, 1983). However, despite the multiple or hidden meanings with which hermeneutics may be credited, it too is constrained by the weight of history and tradition. So it is with regret that I must reach the conclusion that the Israeli rabbinic courts will probably not listen to Ruth’s rhetoric. They are informed and constrained by the interpretive strategies that defer to the word of God (exegesis) and to the precedents set by the venerated rabbis (hermeneutics), giving priority to divine authority and tradition over, in Ruth’s words, the ‘‘truth and justice’’ of feminism. These strategies severely restrict the ability of those courts to engage in any dialogue whatsoever with modernity, let alone embrace alternative values, feminist impulses, attempts at canonical reinterpretation, or change, assuming that they might even want to.8 If Ruth does not succeed in subversively infiltrating her ideas into the rabbinic courts by framing those ideas as consonant with the canonical text and traditional values, she may have to take her critical impulses to other interpretive

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communities. In the rabbinic courts, she is largely confined to the limiting practices of exegesis and hermeneutics. This sobering realization supports Moghadam’s (2002) conclusion that feminist attempts at reinterpretation of canonical texts is salutary, necessary, but limited (p. 1160). Identity Politics One of the most important issues raised by this chapter is what is referred to as the ‘‘politics of identity’’ or ‘‘multiculturalism.’’ Is a group’s interest in preserving its identity a matter of justice? What should happen when a group’s interests in preserving its identity infringe on the interests of individual women in protecting their liberty? The pleaders are Orthodox Jewish women engaged in a type of ‘‘identity politics’’ that haunts women of many cultures and religions. As members of a particular group, they identify with the cultural markers that separate their group from others (Appadurai, 1996). These markers (or ‘‘practices’’) bind, define, and distinguish these Jews. Yet, paradoxically, the same markers that distinguish them as Jews oppress them as individual women – exploit, marginalize, disempower, and even render them invisible.9 For example, as Jews, they marry and divorce in accordance with religious precepts. As women, they cannot divorce except with their husbands’ agreement, a rule that severely infringes on their individual autonomy. The interpretive strategies of the pleaders are the attempt of each to grapple with this ‘‘multicultural paradox’’ of distinction and oppression; of identity vs. justice. All the pleaders understand this. Hila describes her work as a ‘‘war of Jewish survival.’’ Eve ‘‘identifies’’ closely and maintains that the Jewish people have a ‘‘great need’’ for what she does. However, it is Ruth who most poignantly illustrates the multicultural paradox. She explains that she did not become a pleader to fight injustice. She became a pleader to try and come to grips with her identity as a member of a group despite the injustices that her group perpetrates. She fights those injustices not for the sake of justice, but in order to reconcile her identity demands: ‘‘[S]uffering is not what motivates me, not at all y I am not here [working as a pleader] because of women’s pain. I am here because of my personal existential pain with my religion.’’ And she is not willing to forsake her religion for the sake of justice. She says this very clearly: ‘‘I feel that there is injustice in religion y [but] I do not want to choose [secularism] as a solution. Because it is my religion and I live it in a very strong way, in a manner that very much burns within me. It is a very important part of my identity that I am not willing to give up.’’

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Thus, in my opinion, my findings support the proposition that the paradox of multiculturalism is a struggle of justice v. identity (or ‘‘authenticity’’) (Taylor, 1994). It is not a struggle of justice v. culture (see Appiah, 1997b). Nor is it a struggle of justice v. justice (compare and contrast, Young, 1990; Fraser, 1997). Nor is the resolution of the multicultural paradox a simple one. As we see, the pleaders cannot simply reject their religion, or discard their religious identities, because their religion is unjust to them or to their daughters. Moreover, the pull of the pleaders’ identity demands at the expense of their feminist and moral sensibility suggests that, in some cases of the battle of justice vs. identity, identity may trump justice. The multicultural paradox and its concomitant identity v. justice dilemma is further confounded in Israel at the level of the nation-state. Founded in 1948, Israel ‘‘imagined’’ itself as both Jewish and democratic. Having inherited the millet system from the Turkish Ottoman Empire, Israel ‘‘naturally’’ relegated all matters of personal status to the respective religious tribunals of the ethnic groups living in Israel. Marriage and divorce become one of the ways by which Israel expressed its Jewishness. But what happens when the same markers that render Israel its Jewish identity impinge on the individual freedom of its women citizens? Supposing Israel were to separate synagogue from state, how are Jews to be distinguished from gentiles? Israel from all the other nations of the world? I would like to suggest that this chapter offers a solution to the identity/ justice paradox if we look at it ‘‘in relief,’’ in its silhouetted form. The identity of the pleaders may be threatened by claims of feminist justice, but their identities are not monolithic,10 nor are they representative of the identities of the majority of Jewish Israelis. If Israel could break the monopoly on identity given to the Orthodox by the state (not an easy political feat at all), a just – though perhaps fragmented – solution11 to the multicultural paradox would fall into place for most of Israel’s Jewish citizens. Admittedly, such fragmented solutions are not acceptable to the ultraOrthodox. But this is no reason to deny them to other Jews. If we wait for the multiplicity of Jewish identity ‘‘groups’’ to transform themselves as a monolithic whole to universalistic ideals of justice, this may never happen. Fragmented solutions initiated by fragmented identity groups of Jews would appear to be justice’s salvation with respect to Jewish marriage and divorce laws. Ruth may have to break with Hila and Eve in order to achieve the reconciliation of the identity/justice paradox that she is looking for. Hila and Eve will have to recognize Ruth’s right to her separate identity claims.

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So will the State of Israel. In the words of Prof. Michael Walzer (1997, p. 65): ‘‘Traditionalists will have to learn a toleration of their own – for different versions of their own culture or religion.’’

Values and Power In this final section, I address the value and power questions raised by this chapter. What values are being protected by the pleaders’ interpretive strategies? What story of justice do they tell? What power implications are there to the pleaders’ interpretive strategies? The interpretive strategies of the pleaders suggest that, to a large extent, ‘‘justice’’ is not an issue for them. Assuming that I am correct when I claim that the interpretive strategies of Eve and Hila (exegesis and hermeneutics) reflect those that guide the rabbinic court judges, this would explain why those courts seem so devoid of justice to our modern eyes. Like Eve, even if the rabbinic judges hesitate regarding the parameters of justice, they decline judgment and defer to God. Or like Hila, the rabbis may not hesitate at all, figuring that the blueprint for justice is available to them in the form of the rules of the Torah, together with the decision of its sages. One might, instead, refer to the story of justice that is told in the rabbinic courts as ‘‘patriarchal justice.’’ As Hila explains: ‘‘Women only have one womb, right. And it necessary to be sure who the father is. A child must know who his father is, if he is Moishe, Nachman, or Shieke.’’ As Hila puts it, the rabbis are concerned with the protection of the interests of Jewish men over the wombs of their wives, as well as the purity of their progeny, castigating women who beget mamzerim. The rabbis need to know clearly who the father is of each child. And who is married to whom. They need to have clear rules and boundaries regarding eshet ish (a man’s wife), so that those boundaries are not infringed upon. Putting justice aside – if that is possible – other values are implied by the pleaders’ strategies of exegesis and hermeneutic. And it is those values that guide the rabbinic courts, such as – God’s word (exegesis), tradition (hermeneutics), and identity. Put in terms of ‘‘power,’’ these ‘‘values’’ allow for the appropriation of meaning (and ‘‘truth’’) to maintain the power differentials between Jewish husband and wife, man and woman. It is these values that seem objective and neutral that mask the power relations protected by them, legitimating relations of domination as just and worthy, and reifying those relations as permanent, natural, and outside of time.12 One may argue that the power differentials inherent in Jewish divorce laws are largely vestigial. Or, one may claim that these power differentials are

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being fragmented and dislodged. Or perhaps the assertion can be made that the plural meanings supported by hermeneutics allows for the introduction of justice claims that might undermine the power relationships. Nonetheless, the patriarchal bargain remains, however diluted, however fragmented, and however challenged. This bargain leaves the personal status of Jewish women in Israel dependent on the free will of their husbands. It is a bargain supported by the rabbinic courts, by the state, as well as by the interpretive strategies of exegesis and hermeneutics employed by the pleaders. This patriarchal bargain has real impact on the lives of Jewish women. When the state relinquished jurisdiction to the rabbinic courts to decide matters of personal status, it made a value choice to sustain this bargain. That choice was, and continues to be, a political compromise with the religious parties; a relic of the millet system; and an issue of identity politics. It is also a choice that compromises democratic values of justice, freedom, and autonomy in favor of the identity interests of a fundamentalist group. Some of the pleaders understand this, reading the law rhetorically as they do, attempting to dialogue with modernity, but they are eclipsed by the other pleaders, as well as by the rabbinic judges, who have no room for such heretical rhetoric in their courts.

CONCLUSION In this chapter I describe the strategies by which female rabbinic pleaders interpret their canonical texts. Borrowing freely from Peter Goodrich, I divide the strategies into three ‘‘ideal’’ types – exegesis, hermeneutics, and rhetoric – and show how each strategy privileges different values – God’s word (textual coherence), tradition, or critique. I argue that all the strategies are attempts by the pleaders to reconcile their interests in preserving their distinct identity as Orthodox Jews with the justice claims of individual women. However, these interests are not always reconcilable. The pleader who employs the strategy of exegesis ultimately defers to God’s word when confronted with injustice. The pleader who employs the strategy of hermeneutics rationalizes that no problems of justice exist. The pleader who employs the strategy of rhetoric outlined here demands the transformation of her tradition to enable a dialogue with her feminist claims regarding truth and justice, but her strategy is largely ignored by the rabbinic courts. As Ruth, who typifies the strategy of rhetoric, says: ‘‘Perhaps it is not preferable to preserve the existing system [and it would be preferable] to cry

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out against it and to demand that that the rabbinic courts be closed and to search for an altogether different alternative. I think that we want to attempt for some time to see if indeed we can find a way to function within the existing framework.’’ Unless the Israeli rabbinic courts are willing to confront the difficult issues of value, power, and justice raised by the way that they apply Jewish law to the personal status of women, I question how much longer pleaders like Ruth will continue to try and find a way to ‘‘function within the existing framework.’’ Sooner or later, she will bring her critical strategies elsewhere in ‘‘search of an altogether different alternative.’’

NOTES 1. Israeli Rabbinic Courts Jurisdiction (Marriage and Divorce) Law of 1953. 2. See generally, Breitowitz (1993), particularly, Appendixes D and F, pp. 303–320). Breitowitz sets forth a thorough overview of the structure of halakha, including a glossary of technical terms (Appendix D), a description of the sources of Jewish law (Appendix E), and identification of major authorities of Jewish law in the post-Talmudic era (Appendix F). According to Breitowitz, the Talmud is the definitive source of Jewish law (308). It records the question and debates of Jewish sages over the interpretation of Jewish law during a period of 400 years subsequent to the 2nd century CE. Breitowitz describes the Mishna Torah (or ‘‘Commentary to the Mishna’’) written by Maimonides (b. 1135–d. 1204) as a ‘‘monumental redaction of the entire corpus of Jewish law in a unique organizational scheme’’ (310). The Shulhan Arukh, according to Breitowitz, is the definitive code of Jewish law (311). Authored by R. Yosef Karo (b. 1488–d. 1575), the Shulhan Arukh abstracts guidelines and principles of Jewish law from the Talmud. 3. Under certain circumstances, and with respect to certain matters that are ancillary to the divorce process like child support, custody, and marital property, the family courts of Israel have parallel jurisdiction with the rabbinic courts. However, only the rabbinic courts can decide if an Israeli Jew is married or divorced. 4. See Halperin (1989) (regarding adultery as grounds for divorce in Jewish law). 5. See Marty and Appleby (1993) (regarding other religious fundamentalist who want to protect their sacred past). 6. See also Liebman (1988) (regarding Orthodox Jews and how they face the modern world). 7. Supra, note 2 (regarding the halakha and Maimonides’ commentary to the Mishna). 8. Aside from the interpretive strategies of exegesis and hermeneutics, other factors also encumber the ability of the law to embrace change. For example, the social, cultural, and symbolic capital interests of the judges (Weiss, 2002); as well as the sheer force of ‘‘institutional relations’’ that have ‘‘so much flexibility that the system [would probably] adjust to reach a point of stasis’’ (Kahn, 1999, p. 132). 9. See, Young (1990, chap. 2) (describing the ‘‘Five Faces of Oppression’’).

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10. See Appiah (1994) and Appiah and Gutman (1997a) (regarding a nonessentialist and complex understanding of identities). 11. See generally Halley (2004, appendix, pp. 50–53) (explaining how ‘‘queer theory’’ values ‘‘paradox, contradiction, catachresis, crisis’’). 12. See J. B. Thompson (1990, pp. 60–67) (describing the ‘‘modes of operation of ideology,’’ or how meaning sustains relations of domination).

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My thanks to Professor Ronen Shamir who supervised the MA thesis (Weiss, 2005) upon which this paper is based, and who facilitated the ease of my transition from practice to theory. To Dr. Yehudah Goodman who guided my initial conceptualizations of this paper. To my friends Professors Gershon Bacon, and Sam Lehman-Wilzig for reading, (rereading), and commentating on previous versions of this paper. And a special thanks to Marcia Segal and Vasilikie Demos, the editors of this journal, for their cogent comments, as well as their responsive and professional editing. All errors and inaccuracies are mine.

REFERENCES Appadurai, A. (1996). Modernity at large, cultural dimensions of globalization. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Appiah, K. A., & Gutman, A. (1997). Color conscious, the political morality of race. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Appiah, K. A. (1997). The multiculturalist misunderstanding. The New York Review of Books, 44(15), 30–36. Appiah, K. A. (1994). Identity, authenticity, survival: Multicultural societies and social reproduction. In: C. Taylor & A. Gutman (Eds), Multiculturalism (pp. 149–164). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Berkovits, E. (1983). Not in heaven: The nature and function of Halakha. New York: Ktav Publishing House. Bourdieu, P. (1977). An outline of the theory of practice (R. Nice, Trans.). Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1990). In other words: Essays towards a reflexive sociology (M. Adamson, Trans.). Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Breitowitz, I. A. (1993). Between civil and religious law: The plight of the Agunah in American society. Westport, CT: Greenwood Publishing Group. Brink, J., & Menchen, J. (Eds). (1997). Mixed blessings: Gender and religions fundamentalism, cross culturally. New York: Routledge Press. Fraser, N. (1997). Justice interruptus: Critical reflections on the ‘‘Postsocialist’’ condition. New York: Routledge.

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Goodrich, P. (1986). Reading the law, a critical introduction to legal method and techniques. Oxford, England: Basil Blackwell. Halbertal, M. (1997). Interpretative revolutions in the making: Values as interpretative considerations in Midrashei Halakahah (in Hebrew). Jerusalem: The Magnus Press, Hebrew University. Halley, I. (2004). Queer theory by men. Duke Journal of Gender Law & Policy, 2, 7–53. Halperin, R. (1989). A husband’s infidelities as a cause of action for a Jewish divorce (in Hebrew). Mehkarai Mishpat, 7, 297–329. Hardcare, H. (1993). The impact of fundamentalisms on women, the family, and interpersonal relations. In: M. E. Marty & R. S. Appleby (Eds), Fundamentalisms and Society (pp. 129–150). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Kahn, P. W. (1999). The cultural study of law. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Kandiyoti, D. (1988). Bargaining with patriarchy. Gender & Society, 2(3), 274–290. Liebman, C. (1988). Deceptive images: Towards a redefinition of American Judaism (Chapter 4). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Marty, M. E., & Appleby, R. S. (1993). Introduction. In: M. E. Marty & R. S. Appleby (Eds), Fundamentalisms and Society (pp. 1–19). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Misciagno, P. S. (1997). Rethinking feminist identification: The case for defacto feminism. Westport, CT: Praeger. Moghadam, V. M. (2002). Islamic feminism and its discontents: Toward a resolution of the debate. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 27(4), 1135–1171. Ortner, S. B. (1996). Making gender: Toward a feminist, minority, subaltern, etc. Theory of practice. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Sarat, A., & Scheingold, S. A. (2004). Something to believe in: Politics, professionalism, and cause lawyering. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Shamir, R., Shitrai, M., & Elias, N. (1996). Religion, feminism, and professionalism: The case of rabbinic advocates. The Jewish Journal of Sociology, 38(2), 73–88. Taylor, C. (1994). The politics of recognition. In: C. Taylor & A. Gutman (Eds), Multiculturalism (pp. 25–74). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Thompson, J. B. (1990). Ideology and modern culture: Critical social theory in the era of mass communication. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Walzer, M. (1997). On toleration. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Weiss, S. (2002). The 3 methods of Jewish divorce resolution: Fundamentalism, extortion and violence (in Hebrew). Eretz Aheret, 13, 42–47. Weiss, S. (2005). Fundamentalist feminists spar with the patriarchy: Interpretive strategies of Israeli rabbinic court pleaders. Unpublished masters thesis. Tel Aviv University (Sociology and Anthropology). Tel Aviv, Israel. Young, I. M. (1990). Justice and the politics of difference. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

SURVIVING WIDOWHOOD: GENDER AND RACE EFFECTS ON HEALTH-RELATED COPING STRATEGIES Tariqah A. Nuriddin and Carolyn C. Perrucci ABSTRACT This study examines variation in health-related coping strategies among the widowed by variation in bereavement, as modified by self-efficacy, religiosity, social support, and self-rated health. Coping strategies are documented by gender, race, age, and income level, and the interaction of gender and race. Data are from the Changing Lives of Older Couples Study (CLOC), a longitudinal dataset from a random sample of older adults from the Detroit Metropolitan area. Bereavement is related to overall negative coping behavior, specifically to daily cigarette consumption and physical inactivity. However, the effect varies based on the gender, race, and age of the widowed, as well as type of moderator.

Late life widowhood is a life event generally characterized as among the most stressful (Holmes & Rahe, 1967; Lazarus & Folkman, 1984), and common in older age, especially for women (Brown, House, & Smith, 2006). This chapter examines little-studied negative health behavior effects of Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 197–215 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12011-2

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widowhood, called health-related coping strategies (H-RCS), within the stress-coping model. This model has been applied to role transitions in later life, including widowhood (George, 1980) and used largely to examine psychological effects of widowhood (Langlie, 1977; Wolff & Workman, 2006). Negative health-related coping behaviors involving smoking, drinking alcohol, diet, and exercise have been related both to chronic illness (Topp, Fahlmon, & Boardly, 2004) and to late life disability (Vita, Terry, Hubert, & Fries, 1998). One potentially key pathway linking widowhood and health may be the health-related health behaviors or coping strategies (Strobe, Strobe, & Schut, 2001). The literature regarding such strategies is relatively sparse and not consistent in its findings. Additionally, remarkably little attention has been focused on racial/ethnic effects (Carr, 2004; Elwert & Christakis, 2006; Lopata, 1973). Our study aims to document variation in health-related coping strategies among the widowed (Nesse, 2006), and to explain this variation by level of bereavement, as modified by self-efficacy (Lund, Caserta, & Dimond, 1993; Grembowski et al., 1993); religiosity (Brown et al., 2006; Gass, 1987; Michael, Crowther, Schmid, & Allen, 2003); and social support (Lopata, 1979, 1993, 1996; Strobe & Shute, 2001), while controlling for self-rated health (Carr, 2004). Patterns of coping strategies are examined especially by gender (Carr, 2001) and race (Carr, 2004), as well as by age and income level. In addition, the interaction effect of gender and race is also examined. Extrapolating from findings of average differences between widowed versus married individuals, we posit the following ten hypotheses: 1) Widowed persons who experience more bereavement will be more likely than those who experience less bereavement to engage in negative H-RCS and this relationship will be reduced when moderating variables of self-efficacy, religiosity, social support, and self-rated health are added to the equations (Neese, 2006). 2) Widows will engage in fewer negative H-RCS than widowers, and this relationship will be reduced when the moderating variables are added to the equations (Lee, Demaris, Bavin, & Sullivan, 2001). 3) African American widowed persons will be less likely than whites to engage in negative H-RCS and this relationship will be reduced when the moderating variables are added to the equations (Carr, 2004). 4) Younger widowed persons will be more likely than older respondents to engage in negative H-RCS and this relationship will be reduced when

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5)

6)

7) 8) 9)

10)

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the moderating variables are added to the equations (Hansson & Strobe, 2007). Widowed persons with less income will be more likely than those with more income to engage in negative H-RCS and this relationship will be reduced when the moderating variables are added to the equations (van Grootheest, Beckman, van Groenou, & Deeg, 1999). Additionally, we expect that personal and social resources will moderate the effect of bereavement, specifically we hypothesize that the widowed who have greater self-efficacy less likely than those who less self-efficacy to engage in negative H-RCS (Lund et al., 1993). Widowed with higher religiosity will be less likely than those with lower religiosity to engage in negative H-RCS (Gass, 1987). Widowed persons with better self-rated health will be less likely than those with poorer self-rated health to engage in negative H-RCS (Carr, 2004). Widowed persons with greater social support will be less likely than those with less social support to engage in negative H-RCS (Lopata, 1993, 1996). Finally, we expect an interaction effect between gender and race in the engagement in negative H-RCS.

DATA AND METHODS Data for this study are from the CLOC, conducted at the University of Michigan and funded by the National Institute on Aging. CLOC is a longitudinal dataset that measures spousal bereavement prospectively through the years 1987–1993 (Carr, Nesse, & Wortman, 2006). It is based on data from a random sample of older adults from the Detroit Metropolitan area collected by a two-stage area probability sample. Baseline data (June 1987/April 1988) are from face-to-face interviews and subsequent interviews were conducted six months (Wave 1, N ¼ 250), 12 months (Wave 2, N ¼ 210), and 48 months after the death of a spouse (Wave 3, N ¼ 106). Information on spousal loss was obtained from daily obituaries in three local Detroit newspapers as well as through the use of Michigan state death record tapes (by month). The National Death Index was also used to further confirm deaths. In order to be eligible for participation in the CLOC study, participants had to be noninstitutionalized, married, English speaking, and able to

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participate in a 2-hour face-to-face interview. Women had to have husbands aged 65 years or older to increase the likelihood of spousal loss during the study period (Carr et al., 2006). Of the 1,532 married men and women in the baseline sample, 335 lost a spouse during the study period. Response rates were relatively high but varied, with a 68% response rate for the baseline interview and an 83% response rate for respondents participating in at least one of the three follow-up interviews.

Measures of Dependent Variables Health-related coping strategies was coined for the current study and refers to behavior individuals engage in as a form of management of life stress that is consequential to overall well-being. There are few studies that examine health-related coping strategies as a significant outcome variable (Pienta & Franks, 2006). The measures include drinking, smoking, exercise, overeating, drug use, and excessive sleep. Drinking Widowed persons respond to the following questions to assess lifetime drinking behavior: ‘‘Do you ever drink beer, wine, or liquor?’’ Response categories are binary coded as (0) No and (1) Yes. The second question asks the drinking prevalence of persons who do drink. Subjects who answer in the affirmative to the lifetime drinking question respond to: ‘‘On days that you drink, how many cans of beer, glasses of wine, or drinks of liquor do you usually have?’’ The actual number of drinks is coded. Smoking Participants indicate the extent to which they currently smoke via the question, ‘‘Do you smoke cigarettes now?’’ Response categories are coded (0) No and (1) Yes. Similar to the drinking consumption question, subjects respond to a corresponding smoking consumption question if they are current smokers. Specifically, ‘‘On the average, how many cigarettes or packs do you usually smoke in a day?’’ The actual number of cigarettes is coded. Overall Coping The following question captures information regarding general or overall negative health-related coping with spousal loss: ‘‘How much have you tried to dull the pain you are feeling by turning to alcohol, food or drugs, or

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sleeping more?’’ Response categories are coded as follows: (1) Not at All; (2) A Little; and (3) A Lot. Physical Inactivity This is measured by the Likert item ‘‘How often do you take walks or get any kind of exercise with a pet or with someone you know?’’ Possible responses to this item are: (1) Often; (2) Sometimes; (3) Rarely; and (4) Never.

Measures of Independent Variables Bereavement Bereavement is measured at Wave 1 and Wave 2 with a 19-item index (Cronbach’s a reliability coefficient of 0.88 and 0.85). The measure consists of six components: anxiety, despair, shock, anger, yearning, and intrathoughts. All items are coded (1) No, never; (2) Yes, but rarely; (3) Yes, sometimes; (4) Yes, often. Gender The gender variable is coded as: (0) Male and (1) Female. Race Race is self-reported, with (0) White and (1) African American. Age Age is self-reported years of age. Income Respondent’s income is determined in Wave 1 by responses to the following question: ‘‘Do you think your income (next year) will be more, about the same, or less than when your (husband/wife) was alive?’’ Response categories are coded from (1) A lot less to (5) A lot more. In subsequent waves, actual income categories are used. Self-Efficacy Self-efficacy or personal control is measured by four Likert items (a coefficient at Baseline is 0.71). These are ‘‘My life is determined by my own actions’’; ‘‘When I make plans, I am almost certain to make them work’’; ‘‘When I get what I want, it’s because I worked hard for it’’; and lastly ‘‘I am

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usually able to protect my own interests.’’ For the first two questions, response categories were coded the same where (1) Not true at all; (2) A little true; (3) Somewhat true; and (4) Very true. The remaining two items about self-efficacy were coded as follows: (1) Not much; (2) Somewhat completely; (3) Fairly completely; (4) Almost completely; and (5) Completely. Both Fairly completely and Almost completely were recoded to (3); and Completely was recoded as (4) to form parallel items of 1–4. Religiosity The measure of religiosity is an index of three Likert items concerning beliefs, religious seeking, and calling on God (a values between Baseline and Wave 3 range from 0.78 to 0.80. Social Support Two Likert questions comprise an index to measure social support from friends and relations (a ranges from 0.69 to 0.72). Self-Rated Health Self-assessed health is measured with the following Likert item: ‘‘How would you rate your health at the present time?’’ Response categories are as follows: (1) Poor; (2) Fair; (3) Good; (4) Very good; and (5) Excellent.1

Data Analyses First, gender and race profiles are presented. Then, data are analyzed using multivariate Ordinary Least Squares (OLS) Regression for linear dependent variables and Negative Binomial Regression for count dependent variables (Long, 1997; Kennedy, 1998). A risk ratio greater than one indicates a relative risk for engaging in the health-related coping strategy whereas a risk ratio less than one indicates a non-risk. A sample weight was added to all CLOC data analyses to be more reflective of the adult population and the larger percentage of females in the sample. A gender/race interaction term is created to determine whether there is a unique effect of being African American and female. The lagged effect model is used in order to control for sample characteristics at previous waves for all OLS and negative binomial regression analyses.2

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FINDINGS Health Behavior Profiles by Gender and Race Gender Health Behavior Profile The last two columns in Table 1 provide comparisons of widows and widowers. Men are roughly five years older than women, on average (74.4 years of age). Widowers have both higher incomes and levels of self-efficacy than widows. In terms of health-related coping strategies, men averaged about one drink per day. Although widows are not as avid drinkers as widowers, they are more likely to smoke greater daily amounts of cigarettes. Men and women do not differ in their level of bereavement, or in their overall coping with bereavement. Men are more likely to never exercise (3.6 out of 4.0). Widows have greater levels of religiosity than widowers (9.29 out of 12 versus 7.34); more social support at Wave 1 (8.14 out of 10); and lower incomes, lower levels of self-efficacy, and lower levels of self-rated health.

Racial Health Behavior Profile Descriptive statistics in Table 1 (means, standard deviations) by race show African American persons are less likely to experience bereavement, and are more likely to be religious than their white counterparts. Surprisingly, their incomes at Wave 1 are slightly higher than whites in the study. It is likely that there was a selection effect in which the African American widowed selected for inclusion (e.g., married in late life) in CLOC were more financially stable than other African Americans who did not meet the selection criteria. Despite the lower self-rated health on the part of African Americans, it is apparent that African American widowed drink and smoke less and are more likely to exercise than whites. White widows and widowers in our study tend to rate their health as better than African Americans.

Health Behavior Profile Summary A general health coping strategy profile of widowed persons indicates that men drink more alcohol, and women smoke more cigarettes. Women also are more religious than men. Race comparisons indicate that African Americans are more religious than whites, and smoke less. There are some differences in level of exercise by gender and race of the widowed.

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Table 1.

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Means and Standard Deviations of Variables by Race and Gender.

Variables

Bereavement Index Wave 1 (W1) African American Female Age Income W1 (5=A Lot More) Self-Efficacy Religiosity W1 Self-Rated Health W1 (5=Excellent) Social Support W1 Number of Daily Drinks W1 Number of Daily Cigarettes W1 Never Exercise W1 Overall Coping W1 (3=A Lot)

Total Widowed African American (N=224) (N=39)

White (N=200)

Women (N=194)

Men (N=30)

Model 1A

Model 1B

Model 1C

Model 1D

Model 1E

39.88 (11.49) 0.16 – 0.86 – 70.11 (6.86) 2.00 (0.91) 13.45 (2.10) 9.02 (2.64) 3.20 (1.02)

37.97 (10.91) 0.16 – 0.85 – 70.03 (8.02) 2.26 (0.97) 13.85 (1.93) 10.31 (1.72) 2.92 (0.96)

40.25 (11.72) 0.84 – 0.86 – 70.22 (6.68) 1.95 (0.89) 13.42 (2.11) 8.78 (2.74) 3.27 (1.04)

39.84 (11.46) 0.16 – 0.86 – 69.41 (6.76) 1.91 (0.90) 13.34 (2.08) 9.29 (2.50) 3.20 (0.99)

40.17 (11.91) 0.18 – 0.14 – 74.4 (5.94) 2.51 (0.82) 14.15 (2.12) 7.34 (2.90) 3.23 (1.24)

8.07 (1.89) 0.46 (0.83) 1.99 (6.45) 3.22 (1.12) 1.17 (0.48)

8.15 (1.77) 0.08 (0.27) 0.36 (1.71) 2.97 (1.18) 1.16 (0.55)

8.11 (1.91) 0.53 (0.88) 2.22 (6.98) 3.28 (1.10) 1.18 (0.47)

8.14 (1.87) 0.39 (0.68) 2.00 (6.05) 3.15 (1.15) 1.18 (0.49)

7.68 (2.00) 0.91 (1.38) 1.91 (8.61) 3.6 (0.85) 1.14 (0.36)

Ordinary Least Squares (OLS) Regression Analyses Table 2 reports regressions of two health coping strategies, exercise and overall coping, on predictors (bereavement, race, gender, age, and income) and moderating variables (self-efficacy, social support, religiosity, and selfrated health). Models 2A and 2C provide a basic model of association between predictor variables and ‘‘never exercise,’’ and overall negative coping, respectively. Models 2B and 2D introduce moderators of selfefficacy, religiosity, self-rated health, and social support. Whenever possible,

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Table 2. Adjusted Regression Coefficients and Standard Errors from OLS Models of Exercise and Overall Coping by Bereavement from CLOC Wave 1a.

Bereavement W1 African American Female Age Income B Self-Efficacy B Self-Rated Health B Social Support B Never Exercise B Gap Variable B-W1 R2 df

Never Exercise W1(N=214)

Never Exercise W1(N=201)

Overall Coping W1(N=206)

Overall Coping W1(N=195)

Model 2A

Model 2B

Model 2E

Model 2F

0.01* (0.01) 0.49+ (0.29) 0.13 (0.24) 0.03+ (0.01) 0.02 (0.04) – – – – – – – – – –

0.01+ (0.01) 0.45+ (0.24) 0.01 (0.21) 0.02 (0.01) 0.05 (0.04) 0.02 (0.03) –0.21** (0.07) –0.01 (0.04) 0.22** (0.08) 0.01* (0.00)

0.01** (0.00) 0.08 (0.07) 0.12 (0.10) 0.01* (0.00) 0.00 (0.02) – – – – – – – – – –

0.01** (0.00) 0.06 (0.07) 0.08 (0.10) 0.01 (0.00) 0.00 (0.02) 0.03 (0.02) .03 (0.04) –0.01 (0.02) – – –0.00 (0.00)

0.09 5

0.23 11

0.11 5

0.16 10

+

pr.10; *pr.05; **pr.01; ***pr.001. OLS Regression coefficients and standard errors of 0.00 are the result of rounding to nearest tenth and are not absolute zeros. Key: B, Baseline; W1, Wave 1; W2, Wave 2; and W3, Wave 3.

a

measures from the previous wave of study are included to test lagged effects of the proposed relationship. A predictor variable of special interest, bereavement, is positively significant across ‘‘never exercise’’ and ‘‘overall coping.’’ This suggests that bereavement leads to lack of physical activity and greater use of drinking, eating, excess sleep, and medications to deal with spousal loss (Wave 1). More specifically, older, white widowed persons are more likely to never exercise in Model 2A.

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With moderators in the analyses, the effect of bereavement on exercise declines, but is still significant. The relationship does not change for white persons, age loses significance, and poorer self-rated health ratings, lack of exercise at baseline, and time lapse until Wave 1 interview all predict never exercising by Wave 1. Twenty-three percent of the variance is explained by never exercise Model 2B, a 14% increase from Model 2A. The regression Model 2C suggests that bereaved adults of younger ages are more likely to engage in overall negative coping behavior. After the introduction of moderating variables, only bereavement is significant in Model 2D. The analyses reported in Table 2 were repeated with data from Waves 2 and 3 (data not shown). Unlike the Wave 1 analyses, bereavement is not significant in any of the regression equations except for ‘‘never exercise’’ by Wave 3. Here, a negative significant coefficient is found for bereavement, indicating that bereavement is nonlinear and that lower levels of grieving may also produce physical inactivity. Several moderating variables, including self-efficacy, social support, and physical inactivity at Wave 2 are also associated with physical inactivity by Wave 3. Older age is positively significant in predicting ‘‘never exercise’’ by Wave 2 but loses significance by Wave 3. Significant associations are found for lower income and Wave 1 overall coping, and for religiosity and overall coping at Wave 2. Also, there are significant positive associations between religiosity and overall negative coping (Wave 2), which is contrary to our hypotheses. Finally, as hypothesized, older widowed persons are less likely to engage in overall negative coping some 48 months after spousal loss (Wave 3). A negative time-lapse coefficient indicates that a shorter month interval between interviews is significantly related to overall negative coping (Wave 3).

OLS Regression Summary OLS findings suggest that the relationships between bereavement and the health-related coping strategies of never exercising and overall negative coping are stronger at Wave 1 and wane over time. Higher degrees of bereavement are significantly related to never exercising at both Waves 1 and 3. No main effect of bereavement is found in any of the Wave 2 analyses. Self-efficacy and social support moderate the significant effect of bereavement on never exercising by Wave 3. Contrary to our hypotheses, religiosity actually intensifies overall negative coping at Wave 2. Prior wave

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exercise and overall coping history are strong predictors of physical activity and overall coping in subsequent waves.

Negative Binomial Regressions Next, a series of negative binomial regressions are conducted to examine daily cigarette and alcohol consumption by bereavement and other predictor and moderating variables. Table 3 illustrates reduced and full models of variables in the study.3 Table 3. Adjusted Regression Coefficients and Standard Errors from Negative Binomial Regression Models of Daily Alcohol and Cigarette Consumption by Bereavement from CLOC Wave 1a.

Bereavement W1 African American Female Age Income B Self-Efficacy B

Daily Drinks W1(N=214)

Daily Drinks W1(N=203)

Model 3A

Model 3B

Model 3C

Model 3D

0.00 (0.01) 2.04*** (0.61) 0.78* (0.35) 0.05** (0.02) 0.08 (0.06) –

0.00 (0.01) 1.83** (0.59) 0.47 (0.42) 0.03 (0.02) 0.11+ (0.06) 0.05 (0.08) 0.06 (0.06) 0.04 (0.14) 0.03 (0.09) 0.00 (0.01)

0.02 (0.02) 1.69 (1.33) 0.16 (0.66) 0.19*** (0.06) 0.03 (0.11) –

0.01 (0.02) 0.07 (1.00) 2.44** (0.89) 0.29*** (0.05) 0.57** (0.18) 0.62*** (0.16) 0.99*** (0.17) 0.97*** (0.28) 0.38* (0.17) 0.00 (0.02)

38.69 10

13.34 5

Religiosity B

–

Self-Rated Health B

–

Social Support B

–

Gap Variable B-W1

–

Wald w2 df +

30.16 5

Daily Cigarettes Daily Cigarettes W1(N=213) W1(N=202)

– – – –

96.55 10

pr.10; *pr.05; **pr.01; ***pr.001. Negative Binomial Regression coefficient and standard errors of 0.00 are the result of rounding to nearest tenth and are not absolute zeros. Key: B, Baseline; W1, Wave 1.

a

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Although bereavement is non-significant in the prediction of daily drinks and cigarette consumption, both race and age are central to this relationship. African American widowed persons are much less likely to consume drinks on a daily basis in both the reduced and full models. Men and the younger widowed are interpreted as significant in the reduced model. Yet, the addition of study moderators produces a significant effect only for whites and those with higher incomes. The younger age effect continues to hold for Models 3C and 3D of daily cigarettes, as hypothesized. The model that examines daily cigarette usage (Model D) has marked effects unlike any previous model. Here, the only strong positively significant female effect thus far is observed at Wave 1, and a negative income effect, suggesting higher daily cigarette consumption patterns among younger lower-income widows. All of the moderating variables are significant and two are in the expected negative direction, self-efficacy and religiosity. In contrast, higher health self-ratings and greater perceived social support are related to higher daily cigarette consumption. Possibly, relatives and especially friends who are providing support to the widowed also engage in cigarette use.4 In an examination of cigarette and alcohol consumption by Waves 2 and 3 (data not shown) none of the variables in the model significantly predicts daily drinks at Wave 2. However, by Wave 3, white widowed persons, men, persons with higher incomes, and those who rated their health as better have more daily drinks. In Wave 3, African Americans and females smoke more cigarettes daily. Self-efficacy, religiosity, and social support all serve to moderate the predicted relationship between bereavement and daily cigarettes. Interestingly, significant coefficients from Wave 2 daily cigarettes smoked analyses (female, self-efficacy, and religiosity) mostly grow in intensity and significance by Wave 3. It is clear that model predictors are strongly associated with daily cigarette consumption at Waves 1 and 3, respectively. Negative Binomial Regression Summary In sum, the findings from negative binomial regression models do not provide strong support of a relationship between bereavement and daily cigarette and alcohol consumption. On the contrary, the models do suggest that daily drinking prevalence is more common among younger white widowers with higher incomes. Findings of daily cigarette consumption suggest African Americans, women, younger aged widowed, persons with lower incomes, declining self-efficacy, reduced religiosity, higher self-rated

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health, and greater social support are more likely to have higher numbers of cigarettes consumed per day. Interaction Term Analysis: African American x female An interaction term, African American x female, was created and all full model analyses were repeated with the exclusion of African American and female and the inclusion of the race by gender interaction term (data not shown). The interaction term is significant in only two regression models: daily drinks by Wave 1 and daily cigarettes by Wave 3. Most of the interaction terms suggest that African American women are less likely to have daily drinks (Wave 1). In contrast, African American widowed women are a little bit more than five times more likely to smoke a higher daily allotment of cigarettes than their widowed counterparts at Wave 3.5

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS Overall, we find that bereavement among the widowed is related to greater use of overall negative coping, and specifically in daily cigarette consumption and physical inactivity. However, the effect varies based on the gender, race, and age of the respondent, as well as type of moderator. Ten hypotheses are tested using multivariate statistical analyses. Hypotheses and findings are reported below. Hypothesis 1. Bereavement and Health-Related Coping Strategies (H-RCS): Widowed persons who experience more bereavement will be more likely to engage in H-RCS than widowed persons who experience less bereavement, and this relationship will lessen with the moderating variables in the equation. In the regression equations in which bereavement is significant, higher levels of bereavement predict the use of negative H-RCS at subsequent waves. More specifically, bereavement influences physical inactivity and overall negative health behavior at Wave 1 and generates higher daily cigarette consumption by Wave 3. Although younger African American bereaved widows have greater daily cigarette intake at Wave 3, this effect is modified through religiosity, self-efficacy, and social support. The only exception is in the Wave 3 regression equation, where lower levels of bereavement predict physical inactivity. This finding suggests that low bereavement may actually be deleterious to health, depending on the type of health-related coping

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strategy examined. Interestingly, bereavement is significant and positive in the never exercise Wave 1 model, and significant and negative in the corresponding Wave 3 model. These findings suggest that substantial fluctuations in grief may cause complete physical inactivity. Less active older adults may be more prone to obesity, depression, loneliness, and the exacerbation of existing health conditions. Self-efficacy and social support reduce the aforementioned relationship for widowed adults. No significance is found between bereavement and any health-related coping strategy by Wave 2 and across all significant bereavement models there is no significant alcohol effect. The most pronounced effect for bereavement outcomes is for never exercise models at Waves 1 and 2. The results of this study do not provide support that bereaved adults engage in excessive alcohol consumption as a result of spousal loss. However, findings do reveal that the widowed may be particularly susceptible to engaging in overall negative H-RCS (physical inactivity, overall negative coping, and cigarette smoking) at six and forth-eight months after spousal loss. Hypothesis 2. Gender and H-RCS: Widows will engage in fewer negative H-RCS than widowers, and this relationship will be reduced when the moderating variables are added to the equations. On the whole, widows and widowers are relatively on par in taking part in H-RCS. Widows engage in greater daily cigarette consumption consistent across all waves and this is not modified by self-efficacy, self-rated health, religiosity and social support. Widowers have more drinks on a daily basis in Wave 1 (six months), and this becomes insignificant with moderators. Widowers also have more drinks on a daily basis in Wave 3 (48 months). There appears to be a slight reprieve from drinking for men at Wave 2 but it returns by Wave 3. Hypothesis 3. Race and H-RCS: African American widowed persons will be less likely to engage in negative health- related coping strategies compared with White widowed persons, and this relationship will be reduced when moderating variables are added to the equation. We find that African American widowed persons have a relative H-RCS advantage when compared to white widowed persons. Specifically, African Americans are less likely to engage in drinking and be physically inactive. The drinking advantage is reduced when moderating variables are added to the equation. African American widowed are more likely to smoke cigarettes by Wave 3, and this disadvantage is reduced when moderating variables are added to the equation. Regression and interaction analyses

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show that the effect by Wave 3 is particularly strong for African American widows. These findings are consistent with previous studies that suggest that white persons are more likely to engage in drinking behavior. Few studies have examined racial differences in H-RCS, especially among the widowed (Carr, 2004). Unfortunately, nevertheless, many studies assert that African American health is poorer in most regards compared with other racial groups (Robert & Lee, 2002). Hypothesis 4. Age and H-RCS: Older widowed persons will engage in fewer negative health-related coping strategies behaviors than younger widowed persons, and this relationship will lessen when the moderating variables are added to the equation. Consistent with this hypothesis, there is a negative significant relationship in full models (i.e., with moderators) of age and overall negative coping behavior in Wave 3 and daily cigarettes smoked in Wave 1 through Wave 3. Data show statistical significance in two regression equations, never exercise in Wave 1 (reduced model) and never exercise in Wave 2. In both cases, age becomes non-significant with moderators added to the equations. In sum, older widowed persons engage in fewer negative health strategies than the younger widowed. Hypothesis 5. Income and H-RCS: Widowed persons with lower incomes will be more likely to engage in negative health-related coping strategies than widowed persons with higher incomes, and this effect will be reduced when moderating variables are added to the equation. Evidence is mixed. The lower income widowed are more likely to turn to overall negative coping one year post-widowhood (Wave 2) and have higher daily consumption of cigarettes (Wave 1). Wealthier widowed persons engage in only one type of negative health behavior, alcohol consumption. They consume more daily drinks at Wave 1 than their counterparts. Granted, poorer widowed engage in more negative health behaviors, at the same time more affluent widowed turned to alcohol. Both groups have unique health implications associated with their health behaviors, cancer from cigarette usage and cirrhosis of the liver for substance use. Hypothesis 6. Self-efficacy and H-RCS: Widowed persons who have higher levels of self-efficacy will be less likely to engage in negative health coping strategies than widowed persons who have lower levels of selfefficacy. It is clear that self-efficacy is a strong buffer against negative health behaviors. When significant, self-efficacy reduces daily cigarette smoking in

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Waves 1 through 3. Self-efficacy is the only moderating variable in the regression analyses to have a consistent buffering effect across varied healthrelated coping strategies and waves of the study. Hypothesis 7. Religiosity and H-RCS: Widowed persons who are more religious will engage in fewer negative health coping strategies than widowed persons who are less religious. Generally, greater degrees of religiosity are found to reduce negative healthrelated coping strategies. This effect however, does not hold for physical inactivity. Specifically, widowed persons with higher religiosity are actually more likely to be physically inactive. Possible reasons could be the type of religious denomination one is a part of and the religious activities one engages in. Since our religiosity measure does not measure collective religious activity per se, it may be that older widowed persons who are more active in actual religious activities lead less sedentary lifestyles. Hypothesis 8. Self-Rated Health and H-RCS: Widowed persons who rate their health as excellent will be less likely to engage in H-RCS than widowed persons who rate their health as poor. The findings do not support Hypothesis 8. Self-health ratings have a mixed, mainly positive effect on H-RCS. Widowed persons who have higher healthself ratings engage in higher levels of daily cigarette smoking. In addition, widowed persons with better health ratings are more likely to have a higher amount of daily drinks by Wave 3. Lower self-rated health reduces physical inactivity only at Wave 1. Hypothesis 9. Social Support and H-RCS: Widowed persons who have greater social support will be less likely to engage in negative healthrelated coping strategies than widowed persons who have less social support. Social support reduces two H-RCS, namely, physical inactivity (W3) and daily cigarettes (W3). Hypothesis 10. Finally, we expect an interaction effect between gender and race in the engagement in negative H-RCS. Findings are that African American widows are less likely to engage in the H-RCS of daily drinking by Wave 1. By Wave 3, however, African American females have higher daily consumption rates of cigarettes.

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IMPLICATIONS Spousal loss in later life represents a concern for most if not all Americans, either directly or indirectly. Despite this prevalence of widowhood in later life, few studies have attempted to examine the health consequences of widowhood through the examination of health coping behaviors. This study sheds light on some of the health behavior problems of older adults and implies some countervailing mechanisms that may serve to potentially eliminate or reduce these problems. We do not live in a society with free health care, and disadvantaged groups currently have to rely heavily on themselves and their own support systems to help deal with health problems, in most cases in lieu of institutional support. However, there remains a societal responsibility to prevent health problems of older adults. In general, the widowed experiencing bereavement in this study do not abuse alcohol. Smoking, on the other hand, is related to bereavement, especially among African American widowed women. The societal toll of negative health-related coping behaviors is large. For example, while the tobacco industry accrues 83 billion dollars a year in the U.S., 440,000 American men and women die each year directly as a result of cigarette smoking (more than combined death totals from AIDS, alcohol, heroin and cocaine abuse, homicide, suicide, and automobile accidents) (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2000, 2002). Programs such as Alcoholics Anonymous already help persons receive the support that they need to ‘‘beat’’ their addition. Why not target some such programs regarding smoking for older adults who may not have access to employer-provided assistance? Some other suggestions for preventing use of the negative health-related coping strategy regarding physical fitness include the implementation of exercise fitness programs geared to older adults (particularly in poorer neighborhoods where no such facilities exist), the development of a national exercise agenda, and dissemination of free health prevention information to hospitals, clinics, and doctors for distribution and discussion.

NOTES 1. Because there is a time lag between each interview (i.e., the widowed were interviewed at different points in time based on timing of spousal loss), a variable entitled ‘‘Gap Variable’’ is included in the analysis. This eliminates any inconsistency and controls for the varied interview times.

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2. A block approach is used to assess the independent effects of the independent variables on health-related coping strategies at Wave 1. Specifically, block 1 includes bereavement and socio-demographic characteristics (gender, race, age, and income); block 2 adds self-efficacy, religiosity, self-rated health, social support, and time between baseline and widowhood (gap variable). 3. Due to the high correlation of daily drinks and daily cigarettes across waves of the study, one was omitted from all smoking and drinking models to reduce colinearity and foster robust parameter estimates. 4. The model fit for daily cigarettes Wave 1 increases dramatically with the introduction of the moderators in Model 3D (from 13.34 to 96.55), suggestive of a strong relationship between covariates in the model and daily cigarette consumption six months after spousal loss (Wave 1). 5. In all of the regression equations, the w2 decreases as compared to regression models without interaction terms. The race by gender interaction term has a high standard error associated with it (20.6) which could bias parameter estimates and inflate or reduce coefficients of other variables in the model. One possible reason for this inflation is the small number of African American widowed women in the sample by Wave 3 (N ¼ 13).

REFERENCES Brown, S. L., House, J. S., & Smith, D. M. (2006). Interpersonal and spiritual connections among bereaved older adults. In: D. Carr, R. M. Nesse & C. B. Wortman (Eds), Spousal bereavement in late life (pp. 143–166). New York: Springer Publishing Company. Carr, D. (2004). Black/white differences in psychological adjustment to spousal loss among older adults. Research on Aging, 26, 591–622. Carr, D., Nesse, R. M., & Wortman, C. (2006). Spousal bereavement in late life. New York: Springer Publishing Company. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2002). Cigarette smoking among adults – United States, 2002. Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report, 52, 842–844. Elwert, F., & Christakis, N. A. (2006). Widowhood and race. American Sociological Review, 71, 16–41. Gass, K. A. (1987). The health of conjugally bereaved older widows: The role of appraisal, coping and resources. Research on Nursing and Health, 10, 39–47. George, L. K. (1980). Role transitions in later life. Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole Publishing Company. Grembowski, D., Patrick, D., Diehr, P., Durham, M., Beresford, S., Kay, E., & Hecht, J. (1993). Self-efficacy and health behavior among older adults. Journal of Health and Social Behavior, 34, 89–104. Holmes, T. H., & Rahe, R. H. (1967). The social readjustment rating scale. Journal of Psychosomatic Research, 11, 213–218. Kennedy, P. (1998). A guide to econometrics. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Langlie, J. K. (1977). Social networks, health beliefs, and preventive health behavior. Journal of Health and Social Behavior, 18, 244–260. Lazarus, R. S., & Folkman, S. (1984). Stress, appraisal, and coping. New York: Springer Publishing Co.

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Long, J. S. (1997). Regression models for categorical and limited dependent variables. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications. Lopata, H. (1996). Current widowhood myths and realities. Thousand Oaks, California: Sage Publications Inc. Lopata, H. Z. (1973). Social relations of black and white widowed women in a Northern metropolis. American Journal of Sociology, 78, 1003–1010. Lopata, H. Z. (1979). Women as widows: Support systems. New York, NY: Elsevier North Holland Inc. Lopata, H. Z. (1993). The support systems of American urban widows. In: M. S. Strobe, W. Stroebe & R. O. Hansson (Eds), Handbook of bereavement: Theory, research and intervention. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. Lund, D., Caserta, M., & Dimond, M. (1993). Grief and adjustment. In: A. J. Moore & D. C. Stratton (Eds), Resilient widowers: Older men adjusting to a new life. Amherst, New York: Prometheus Books. Michael, S. T., Crowther, M. R., Schmid, B., & Allen, R. S. (2003). Widowhood and spirituality: Coping responses to bereavement. Journal of Women and Aging, 15, 145–165. Nesse, R. M. (2006). An evolutionary framework for understanding grief. In: D. Carr, R. M. Neese & C. B. Wortman (Eds), Spousal bereavement in late life. New York: Springer Publishing Company. Pienta, A. M., & Franks, M. M. (2006). A closer look at health and widowhood: Do health behaviors change after the loss of a spouse? In: D. Carr, R. M. Nesse & C. B. Wortman (Eds), Spousal bereavement in late life. New York: Springer Publishing Company. Robert, S. A., & Lee, K. Y. (2002). Explaining race differences in health among older adults. Research on Aging, 24, 654–683. Strobe, M., Strobe, W., & Schut, H. (2001). Gender differences in adjustment to bereavement: An empirical and theoretical review. Review of General Psychology, 5(1), 62–83. Vita, A. J., Terry, R. B., Hubert, H. B., & Fries, J. F. (1998). Aging, health risks, and cumulative disability. New England Journal of Medicine, 338, 1035–1041.

RE-EXAMINING THE MEANINGS OF CHILDBIRTH: BEYOND GENDER AND THE ‘‘NATURAL’’ VERSUS ‘‘MEDICAL’’ DICHOTOMY Sarah Jane Brubaker and Heather E. Dillaway ABSTRACT Historically, a major focus of women’s health research has been on the increasing medicalization of ‘‘natural’’ reproductive processes, with early feminist scholarship in this area largely critical of this trend. Recently, feminist scholars have begun to explore the various ways that women actually experience medicalization. We suggest that current feminist scholarship on medicalization and childbirth remains limited in two ways: (1) much of this research still focuses on privileged women and neglects the experiences of women at various social locations, as well as how oppression and privilege shape those experiences and (2) existing literature does not operationalize what medicalization or ‘‘natural’’ reproductive processes mean for individual women. More specifically, feminist scholars have not investigated systematically how diverse women define and experience their births within the context of a taken-forgranted definitional dichotomy of ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ birth that characterizes much of the classic and contemporary feminist literature. In this chapter, we explore women’s different discussions of ‘‘natural’’ birth Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 217–244 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12012-4

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and, by default, learn about their definitions of medicalization as well. Drawing from a critical, comparative analysis of qualitative, empirical data gathered from three different groups of childbearing women in two studies – that is, middle-class Caucasian adult women birthing in a hospital setting, middle-class Caucasian adult women birthing in a birthing center setting, and poor African American teen mothers birthing in a hospital setting – we propose a new methodological and conceptual framework for re-examining the meanings of ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ birth experiences and pushing beyond a strictly gender-based analysis.

INTRODUCTION AND STATEMENT OF THE PROBLEM Although feminist critiques of the medicalization of women’s health and qualitative studies of women’s childbirth experiences have contributed enormously to our understanding of the patriarchal construction of childbirth as a gendered process, we suggest that feminist research on childbirth can be advanced both conceptually and methodologically. Contemporary research on the medicalization of childbirth, for example, remains focused mostly on the experiences of privileged women and, therefore, neglects the various meanings that differently located women give to their reproductive experiences, and in particular, to expectations for and impact of medicalization. Existing research typically holds up a ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ dichotomy in its analyses and conclusions as well, when perhaps women’s own definitions and experiences of childbirth are much less rigid. We argue that scholars’ assumption of the existence of this dichotomy masks important variation among women and important discrepancies between existing characterizations of birth and women’s actual perspectives and experiences. Thus, we advocate the development of a new conceptual framework for thinking about ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘medical’’ birth, and how particular groups of women think about and experience instances of medicalization. We further propose an expanded, more comparative methodological framework for analyzing how reproductive experiences are both similar and different for women at different social locations. A comparative methodology allows us to contrast the experiences of privileged and marginalized women, identify the varying yet sometimes common meanings they give to their experiences, and give different women’s experiences equal weight within one analysis and avoid the privileging of one viewpoint or experience over another – allowing us to move beyond

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gender and prioritize the intersections of gender with social locations like race, class, and age.

LITERATURE REVIEW Much of feminist scholarship has focused on the medicalization of women’s bodies and their biological processes, and critiqued how medical technology and authority have gained control over women’s ‘‘natural’’ reproductive experiences (Zita, 1997; Martin, 1992; Riessman, 1983; Woods, 1999; Leavitt, 1986; Davis-Floyd, 1992; Kahn, 1995; Wertz & Wertz, 1977; Eakins, 1986; Arney, 1982; Romalis, 1981; Oakley, 1984; Jordan, 1980; Probyn, 1993; Block, 2007; Kitzinger, 2006). Riessman (1983, p. 4) defines medicalization as the process by which ‘‘natural’’ behaviors or conditions take on medical meanings – ‘‘that is, defined in terms of health and illness’’ (see also Martin, 1992). It is a process in which ‘‘medical practice becomes a vehicle for eliminating or controlling problematic experiences that are defined as deviant, for the purpose of securing adherence to social norms’’ (Riessman, 1983, p. 4). Medicalization can be (1) conceptual, in that medical vocabulary is used to define a problem; (2) institutional, when providers legitimate a program or problem, and (3) interactional, at the level of doctor–patient encounters, when actual diagnosis and treatment of a problem occurs (Riessman, 1983). A consequence of medicalization is the ‘‘deskilling of the populace’’ as experts begin to ‘‘manage’’ and ‘‘mystify’’ human experiences (Riessman, 1983, p. 4). After medicalization occurs, then, pregnant and birthing women must consult ‘‘experts’’ to understand experiences that historically women themselves understood better (Leavitt, 1986; Wertz & Wertz, 1977; Davis-Floyd, 1992; Oakley, 1984; Martin, 1992; Rothman, 1989; Kitzinger, 2006). Also after medicalization, ‘‘natural’’ birth is defined as deviant and problematic, and the opposite of medical birth. The dichotomy between ‘‘natural’’ (bad) and ‘‘medical’’ (good) birth is secured within medicine and popular culture, if not women’s own minds as well. For second-wave feminist scholars and activists, the dichotomy between natural and medical childbirth hinges on notions of control, choice, and authority during labor and delivery (e.g., Kitzinger, 2006). Under this perspective, women are viewed as the natural, normal experts in childbirth, and their control over the labor process and their choices for how it progresses are deemed preferable to the usurpation of control by medical experts. A related distinction in feminist literature is made between childbirth with and without the use of medical technology and intervention. Davis-Floyd (1992, p. 162)

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suggests that ‘‘natural’’ birth also includes the ‘‘conscious participation of the mother in her own birthing process.’’ For traditional feminists, the use of medical technology (and even the potential for the use of technology) destroys the chance for truly ‘‘natural’’ birth because it does not allow women to maintain this control over and participation in their own bodily processes (Simonds, Rothman, & Norman, 2007; Kitzinger, 2006; Davis-Floyd, 1992). ‘‘Even those medical attendants who lean more toward the wholistic [natural] model of birth often have as much difficulty as pregnant women when they attempt within the hospital to redefine an individual birth experience as natural’’ (Davis-Floyd, 1992, p. 159). Thus, in most cases, the very use of a hospital setting for birth is also characterized as destroying the chance for ‘‘natural’’ birth in feminists’ writings, as this setting prompts the use of a range of medical technologies and outside control of women’s reproductive processes (Simonds et al., 2007; Kitzinger, 2006; Davis-Floyd, 1992). The hospital, while providing a ‘‘cozy, comfortable,’’ and even respectful atmosphere for some women in recent years, is still the ‘‘institution that produces that 70 percent epidural rate and that 29 percent cesarean section rate’’ (Simonds et al., 2007, p. 285). The overall conclusion is that medical births occur in hospitals, and natural births occur outside this setting. Given that the vast majority of women in the U.S. continue to birth in hospitals and experience medical interventions and, therefore, acquiesce to ‘‘medical’’ childbirth according to feminists’ perspectives, some scholars have begun to examine more closely women’s experiences of medical birth. This often means studying the individual moments within which labor and birth are medicalized. Some recent feminist research suggests that women experience medicalized birth in ways that challenge the traditional, negative, feminist stance and a strict medical versus natural dichotomy (Davis-Floyd, 1992; Fox & Worts, 1999; Martin, 2003), yet the conclusions of this research do not always go this far. From this research we can infer that most women adhere closely to a medical model for birth and do not question the use of particular procedures in the hospital setting, perhaps not knowing or thinking that technological interventions might not be ‘‘natural.’’ In fact, medical birth is so commonplace to women in contemporary times that it may seem ‘‘natural’’ to individual women. Yet, from our reading of existing literature, there is little systematic analysis of how the ‘‘medical’’ becomes ‘‘natural’’ in individual women’s lives, or how the ‘‘natural’’ becomes foreign and ‘‘abnormal’’ for most. Individual women may operationalize ‘‘medical’’ and ‘‘natural’’ birth in very particular ways – ways that feminist scholars, activists, midwives, or doctors might not. We know that, rather than focus on the concepts of control or authority or the actual effects of

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various medical interventions (as feminist writers have), many women seem to differentiate between natural and medicalized birth based on the absence or presence of analgesia or anesthesia (Davis-Floyd, 1992; Fox & Worts, 1999; Dillaway & Brubaker, 2006). Women often regard this decision of whether to avoid pain or pain-relief medications as the only choice they have in the hospital birth setting (ibid.). As we have argued elsewhere (Dillaway & Brubaker, 2006), findings about how individual women operationalize medicalization or ‘‘natural’’ birth can illustrate the embeddedness of medicalized or ‘‘medical’’ childbirth in U.S. culture, since women do not typically question the use of other technologies during birth. We need to explore more fully whether there are other ways in which individual women define and experience ‘‘medical’’ or ‘‘natural’’ birth and what women’s thoughts and experiences mean for an existing ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ dichotomy. Additionally, because feminist scholars have been critical of medical birth, many studies concentrate more on this type of birth and its effects rather than on women’s ideas and experiences of what is ‘‘natural’’ during labor and delivery. We may learn just as much from studies of what women deem ‘‘natural’’ as from such existing studies. Davis-Floyd (1992) examines the dichotomy between ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘medical’’ birth through qualitative research with women, focusing broadly on how they themselves define birth vis-a`-vis medical options. She identifies three distinct groups of birthing women. First, there are those who fully accept the technocratic [‘‘medical’’] model y [where] birth is done not by mothers, but by physicians y [and characterized by] complete and unquestioning acceptance of physicians’ authority and hospital routine, with little or no sense of themselves as active agents in the process (DavisFloyd, 1992, p. 189). Davis-Floyd describes these women as passive, and as either afraid of the birth and expecting the doctor to take responsibility for the entire process, or approaching the event intellectually, determined to manage and control the birth rather than experience it with joy. Davis-Floyd’s second group’s approach reflects ‘‘full acceptance of the holistic model of birth,’’ where women usually give birth at home (1992, p. 199). These women typically viewed birth from a politically liberal or New Age ideological approach, where birth is a ‘‘natural’’ or spiritual process. The last group Davis-Floyd identifies as ‘‘women as between,’’ those who make their own choices but give birth in the hospital. Some of these women chose ‘‘natural’’ birth (i.e., birth without drugs) and others accepted this medical intervention as a personal choice or right. While Davis-Floyd’s work takes us towards an understanding of the variation in women’s experiences, there is little discussion of how each group experiences ‘‘natural’’ or ‘‘medical’’ birth

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and/or the true meanings of ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘medical’’ in each empirical case. And while Davis-Floyd cites data from interviews with women that suggests a wide array of definitions of natural and medical (especially in her third group of women), she does not complete a full analysis of these variations. In addition, Davis-Floyd does not discuss how women’s social locations may affect how they define natural or medical because her sample is reportedly ‘‘middle class’’ (1992, p. 3) and also presumably White women of similar ages and life stages. Davis-Floyd’s work, almost 20 years old, hints at the importance of looking at the value of a ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ dichotomy and the diversity in women’s experiences but never fully completes this job. Simonds et al. (2007) and Cohen (2006) also begin to cite the variation in women’s birth experiences, but do not go so far as to analyze exactly what the reality of women’s experiences does for a ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ dichotomy. In Davis-Floyd’s (1992) and Simonds et al.’s (2007) work, it is clear that the authors still uphold feminist ideals of ‘‘natural’’ being intervention-free, non-hospital birth that somewhat color their analysis of how individual women may define their own experience. This is partially because these authors aim to critique an entire system of maternity care, rather than describe individual experiences (even if they use individual women’s experiences as examples). Cohen (2006), a journalist, alternatively argues that women should be able to choose medical interventions if they so desire, subtly prioritizing medical and medicated birth over feminist models of intervention-free, natural birth; Cohen, then, comes from an individual-level perspective and ignores the system-level contexts for women’s decisions and experiences, perhaps representing popular culture representations of childbirth more than anything else. All of these works set the stage for analyzing women’s different definitions, choices, and experiences and developing a new conceptual and methodological framework for how to analyze diverse women’s experiences. In this chapter, then, we argue for a re-examination of women’s meanings and experiences of childbirth, and an advancement in feminist scholarship on reproduction. We aim to provide an example of how to explore the commonalities and differences among differently located women as they define ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘medical’’ childbirth and the notions of choice and control in childbirth. As mentioned earlier, we suggest that a ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ dichotomy – held up by existing literature – does not really fit with women’s experiences. Especially when exploring their definitions of ‘‘natural’’ birth, we find that childbirth can mean very different things to different groups of women. Likewise, medicalization can manifest in different ways for different groups. While it is important to understand

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the impact of medicalization on women’s experiences overall and traditional ideas of medical versus natural, we suggest that it is also necessary to see how diverse women play with these terms to make them their own as they reflect on personal experiences.

METHODS Methodological Framework We developed this chapter from a comparative analysis of qualitative data gathered through two separate research projects on childbirth experiences; that is, we each completed our own study before these particular data were compared for commonalities and differences. Most of the data presented here are explored here for the first time, yet some findings have been discussed in our other written work as well (e.g., Dillaway & Brubaker, 2006; Brubaker, 2005, 2007; Brubaker & Wright, 2006). We suggest that engaging in this type of comparative exercise can provide more insight into meanings and experiences than that of a traditional, empirical study where one studies one set of data only. As we describe later, a critical examination and comparison of different studies on the same gendered topic, in this case, childbirth, can help to reveal and open up the spaces of difference and commonality that emerge around the same experience for women at different social locations. That is, an analysis of more than one set of data on more than one group of women can reveal how our analyses can move beyond gender. Additionally, a comparative analysis of findings from two separate qualitative studies can highlight how we can move past existing literature and a dichotomy of ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ birth, and really look into how different groups of women may define their births differently. While scholars such as DavisFloyd (1992) may have begun this research, we really need to pay more attention to exactly how individual women operationalize and define their own births based on their subjective experiences, rather than trying to categorize birth experiences for women. Thus, in comparing diverse women and diverse definitions and experiences of childbirth, we attempt to move both beyond gender and beyond traditional ways of studying childbirth. The Samples The two studies that we compare are comprised of three samples of women who are located at different social locations. From now on we will refer to

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our samples as the ‘‘Southern’’ and ‘‘Mid-Atlantic’’ samples, because of the regions from which they were drawn. The Southern data are taken from a study of 51, lower-income, African American teens’ experiences coming to terms with unintended pregnancy, receiving prenatal and childbirth care, and preparing for motherhood. The Southern teens were interviewed by the first author in 1997. The Mid-Atlantic data are taken from a study of 37, primarily White, middle-class adult women’s choices for and experiences with hospital and birthing center births. Specifically, within the MidAtlantic sample, 19 women chose a hospital setting and 18 women chose a birthing center setting for their births. Mid-Atlantic women were interviewed by the second author in 1996. Overall, then, within this chapter, we are comparing and contrasting interview conversations from three, separate groups of women from two separate studies: middle-class Caucasian adult women birthing in a hospital setting, middle-class Caucasian adult women birthing in a birthing center setting, and poor African American teen mothers birthing in a hospital setting. Selected demographic characteristics for each sample are presented in Table 1. Not only do the two samples differ by participants’ age and race locations, but also women in each sample come from very different social class locations. Because of the economic situations of participants in each study, we designate the Southern teens as lower-class and the Mid-Atlantic adults as primarily middle-class. Of the teens, all but one were either enrolled in the state health care program (formally Medicaid), received WIC, or received free lunch at the time of the interview, suggesting that their families were at a lowincome level. Twenty-three (44 percent) teens’ family incomes were based at least partially on AFDC, also suggesting that teens and their families can be categorized as lower-class based on their reliance on public support. Alternatively, across the two groups of women in the Mid-Atlantic sample, 23 women (62 percent) had family incomes of $50,000 or more. The vast majority of Mid-Atlantic women (n ¼ 33 or 89 percent) also had completed at least some college (see Table 1). Twenty-one women (57 percent) in the MidAtlantic samples could afford to be stay-at-home mothers at the time of the interview. Thus we consider the Mid-Atlantic women are middle-class based on a combined measure of their education and income (Eitzen & Baca Zinn, 2000). This means that, while both samples include childbearing women, our two samples are different because of their age, race, and class locations. Finally, almost all Mid-Atlantic women (n ¼ 35) were married at the time of the interview; all Southern teens were unmarried. In the Southern study, teens represented a convenience sample of students enrolled in a teen parenting program at a public city school. In the

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Table 1.

225

Selected Sample Characteristics.

Southern Sample Age (in years) 15–19 Race African American Marital status Never married Education Some high school Mid-Atlantic Hospital Sample Age (in years) 20–24 25–29 30–34 35–39 Race African American Asian American European American Marital Status Never married Married Education Some high school Graduate high school Some college Graduated college Post-graduate work Mid-Atlantic Birthing Center Sample Age (in years) 25–29 30–34 35–39 Race Latino/Hispanic American European American Foreign born (2 from England, 1 from the Czech Republic) Marital Status Married Divorced

N ¼ 51 Teens

51 (100%) 51 (100%) 51 (100%) 51 (100%) N ¼ 19 Adults

1 (5%) 7 (37%) 8 (42%) 3 (16%) 1 (5%) 1 (5%) 17 (90%) 1 (5%) 18 (95%) 1 (5%) 1 (5%) 6 (31.5%) 6 (31.5%) 5 (26%) N ¼ 18 Adults

10 (56%) 6 (33%) 2 (11%) 2 (11%) 13 (72%) 3 (17%) 17 (94%) 1 (6%)

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Table 1. (Continued ) Mid-Atlantic Birthing Center Sample Education Graduated high school Some college Graduated college Post-graduate work

N ¼ 18 Adults

2 6 5 5

(11%) (33%) (28%) (28%)

Mid-Atlantic study, a snowball sampling procedure was used to recruit participants. Contacts with Mid-Atlantic respondents were made through mothering/parenting organizations, breastfeeding support organizations, childcare centers, registered nurses, pediatricians, a local birthing center, as well as the use of well-placed flyers and word of mouth. Both sets of interviews were limited to those women who volunteered to participate. All of the Southern teens were interviewed at the public city school in a small, private room adjacent to the main office. Most Mid-Atlantic respondents were interviewed in their homes, yet three women were interviewed in more neutral locations (e.g., a coffee shop). With women’s permission, all interviews in both studies were audiotaped (with handheld tape recorders) and transcribed, in order to insure greater accuracy of the interview data. Per Institutional Review Board (IRB) regulations, women in both studies signed consent forms and were assured that their interviews would remain confidential.

Data Collection and Analysis Both studies utilized semi-structured interview guides in face-to-face interviews. The interview questions in both studies were posed in the form of a conversation, in order to make the respondents feel more at ease and offer a more interactive, less mechanical relationship between the researcher and the researched (Denzin, 1989; Oakley, 1981; Rubin & Rubin, 1995). Oakley (1981, p. 41) suggests that ‘‘the goal of finding out about people through interviewing is best achieved when the relationship of the interviewer and interviewee is non-hierarchical.’’ Rubin and Rubin (1995) also state that interviews are most successful when the interviewee and interviewer are ‘‘conversational partners.’’ Both researchers attempted to

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follow these non-hierarchical, conversational styles of interviewing. Additionally, a semi-structured or focused interview format utilized in each study permitted the collection of details on personal reactions, specific emotions, expectations, as well as other information about the issues and concepts under study. This interview style also allowed for probing into areas in which data appears to be lacking, and afforded the interviewers great leeway in the order and kinds of questions asked. While the studies were completed separately, information about women’s views and experiences was gathered from basic open-ended questions in each study. These questions, though developed separately, were extremely similar. Both authors initiated conversations about childbirth experiences and technological procedures by saying, ‘‘Tell me about your birth experience.’’ When probing during women’s discussions of their births, both authors asked similar follow-up questions about specific procedures (e.g., Tell me about the experience of getting an epidural. Why did you decide for or against an epidural? How did you decide for or against an epidural?) and about their relationships and interactions with specific providers (e.g., What did your doctor/midwife tell you about birth during pregnancy? Did you get to tell your doctor/midwife what you wanted during the birth experience? Do you feel your doctor/midwife listened to your concerns?). The Mid-Atlantic sample was also asked about their choices for specific providers and birth settings (e.g., Who was present at your birth? How did you choose your doctor/midwife? Where did you deliver your baby? Did you plan on delivering in this setting (why/why not)? How did you feel about your birth? What would you change about the experience, if anything?). The Southern sample was asked to either reflect back to their birth experiences, if they had already given birth, or to talk about their expectations, if they were still pregnant (e.g., for those who had given birth: Tell me what it was like when you gave birth to the baby. Was it different from what you thought? If so, how? What had other people told you to expect? Who told you what to expect? For pregnant adolescents: Has anyone talked to you about what it is going to be like when you go into labor? If so, who, and what have they told you? If not, what do you think it is going to be like?). Women’s definitions of ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ birth were drawn from answers to all of these questions. We consider this a pilot study, as we did not ask women outright about their definitions of natural versus medical birth, or about the definitions of medicalization. The analyses that comprise this chapter are based on unprompted data arising from questions on other topics.

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In both studies, interview transcripts were analyzed for themes (both themes predicted by previous literature and those that would emerge from the data). The findings we present in this chapter are based on major themes that emerged directly from our data on women’s feelings and experiences with childbirth. In both studies, the researchers view women’s narratives about their birth experiences as subjective. That is, in neither case did the researcher observe these women’s births; analysis presented in this chapter, then, is limited to women’s retrospective accounts of their experiences. Despite this significant limitation to our data and analysis, we suggest that a comparison of the themes that emerged out of the women’s perceptions of their childbirth experiences is compelling enough to support an argument that women from multiple social locations interpret and experience natural versus medical childbirth in not only distinctly different but also very similar ways at times. At base, while the primary purposes of and the samples recruited for each study were distinct, parallels exist between the themes found in the interview transcripts in the two studies in relation to natural versus medical birth, and how they felt about instances of medicalization. Because the interview questions each author utilized were so similar, we believe that the differences in findings across studies are substantially valid to report here. We hope that our comparison of data from the two studies will initiate more efforts both to study multiple groups of women within single studies about birth and to combine disparate qualitative data like we have in the future, as we think both are important knowledge-producing exercises.

FINDINGS AND INTERPRETATION We present the findings of our analysis by addressing the commonalities and differences among the three groups of women in terms of, first, how they defined and evaluated natural and medical birth, and, secondly, their notions of control over the birth process.

Definitions of ‘‘Natural’’ and ‘‘Medical’’ Births Consistent with some existing research findings (Davis-Floyd, 1992; Dillaway & Brubaker, 2006), women’s decisions for or against the epidural seemed to be the major way that women in all three samples differentiated

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between their births and others’ (less or more ‘‘natural’’) births. Thus the ‘‘choice’’ for or against the epidural took on great importance in all three groups’ experiences, for their decision about this procedure potentially defined (for them and others) what type of birth they really had. Interestingly, other pain-relief medications (e.g., Demerol or Stadol) were not constructed as making the birth ‘‘unnatural’’ or more ‘‘medical,’’ but the epidural was; thus, the key seemed to be the introduction (or not) of spinal anesthesia to relieve pain. Yet, more broadly, ‘‘natural’’ birth was defined as birth with pain. ‘‘Medical’’ birth was described as birth without pain. Later we provide excerpts from interviews with women in all three groups to illustrate these points. In the Southern sample, Keisha commented, ‘‘I had natural childbirth. And they gave me some kind of anesthesia – it’s not anesthesia/Oh, like an IV?/Yeah, an IV. I don’t know what kind of medicine it was. I would sleep.’’ Although she clearly received some type of pain medication intravenously, it was the absence of the epidural itself that led Keisha to define her birth as ‘‘natural.’’ Other Southern teens similarly defined natural birth in terms of the absence of the epidural, defining it as a welcome alternative to the pain of natural birth. For example, Denise, who was still pregnant, commented that some people had told her birth was painful even after the epidural ‘‘it still hurts after the shot, I ought to just take it natural, but I can’t stand pain.’’ Similarly, when characterizing her birth and her decision for an epidural, Gloria replied, ‘‘I wanted it, I didn’t want no natural birth!’’ Carla recalled her doctor’s advice to have an epidural. She said, ‘‘I believe you’re gonna’ want it, ‘cause you don’t like pain.’’ Finally, Shewana insisted, ‘‘but you know, I was like, I just didn’t, I COULDN’T have my baby naturally, ‘cause you know when I had went and the pain – the only thing that just hurt ‘bout going in labor, just the pains y’’ [her emphasis]. Similarly defining natural birth as the absence of an epidural, one MidAtlantic woman, Susan, had a quick hospital birth and was unable to get her epidural, and was very upset because she was ‘‘forced to birth naturally.’’ Valerie, on the other hand, wanted to birth naturally and did, in her opinion, but with some misgivings: I think they [the doctors] could have tried to take more of a stand in terms of whether or not I was going to get an epidural or not, but they really handed it over to me. They gave that to me, and they made suggestions. That was really what I wanted. At one point, I was ready to lean towards the encouragement of [her doctor], where she was like y it’s perfectly okay if you end up getting an epidural. You won’t be any less worthy of being a mother, and things like that. I have one sister who’s had two kids natural, both of them,

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I’m amazed, she was [in labor for] 56 hours or something like that but she stayed natural all the way through, and I was really trying to go natural just overall.

Valerie did not receive an epidural during her labor of 27 hours, but did receive Demerol eventually. While she reported later that she was glad to have ‘‘gone natural,’’ she made it clear during her interview that she wished she had experienced less pain and more medical intervention. Her definition of ‘‘natural’’ birth as birth without the epidural and, more broadly, birth with pain was cemented in these comments. Donna talked about how she ‘‘could not make herself have [her] baby naturally,’’ nor did she want that. ‘‘He [the doctor] had medical knowledge, and so he could decide what to do from his experience y To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t my decision [to have any of the interventions], I had nothing to do with that. [But] the epidural was my decision. They brought up the epidural but I said yes.’’ In this case, Donna is defining ‘‘natural’’ birth more broadly as birth without interventions and birth without a doctor’s expertise (both of which she describes negatively). As she talked, she made it clear that she trusted the doctor to make the ‘‘right’’ interventions, as he was the expert. However, she also defines natural birth as birth without an epidural, and signifies that the only ‘‘choice’’ she could make for ‘‘natural’’ birth was in regards to the epidural. Thus, when talking about whether she could or could not birth ‘‘naturally’’ in her interview, she was referring to whether or not she could birth with pain. Otherwise, interventions almost seemed ‘‘normal’’ (even natural?) because she expected to acquiesce to her doctor’s authority and control. Laura made this definition even clearer: What I found even in the birthing process [was that] the real issue was, not like a C-section vs. vaginal, it was really epidural or no epidural, like that is the decision y That seems to be like a common factor that I think pregnant women talk about, you know, ‘Are you going to do it naturally or not?’

Thus, even if women realized that other interventions made their births ‘‘medical’’ versus ‘‘natural,’’ they constructed their choice of ‘‘natural’’ or ‘‘medical’’ as a choice solely based on the epidural decision. In practice, then, the decision for or against ‘‘natural’’ birth is the decision for or against the epidural and for or against pain. Kathleen described even further why she chose an epidural: I’m not in this for the pain. I honestly cannot, although more power to every woman who wants to do it, I do not see any benefit of seeing how much pain you can endure, and there is no way you can do this without pain because you are opening your body to a very unusual size in a very short time and producing something that is very

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large y and I honestly cannot comprehend anyone wanting to do this natural and ‘experiencing’ it. To me, it’s not the pain, the idea is to have a healthy baby.

Many Mid-Atlantic women who gave birth in the hospital, and some of the Southern teens, felt similarly to Kathleen – why experience pain at all if there is a way to avoid it? Their feelings were that the whole point of going through childbirth is to have a child; how one deals with birth is their own choice, but that it made more sense to these women to have pain-free childbirth. Mary explained that ‘‘it would be nice to do it, you know, natural and all that, but you just don’t know how long it’s gonna last or if there are gonna be any complications, and I just think you might as well enjoy it. You know, it’s the birth of a child so why not? If it’s available, I’m gonna get it.’’ The idea that pain is perhaps ‘‘unnatural’’ is inferred here, as is the idea that complications in birth might be ‘‘natural’’; especially the latter idea should be explored further in future studies, as we do not have systematic data to bring out this idea but believe this feeling was widespread among women in our samples. Interestingly, women in the Mid-Atlantic sample who birthed in a birthing center setting also defined natural birth in terms of the absence of epidural and the presence of pain, and therefore paralleled women in both of our other two samples in part. Nonetheless, the value judgments placed on the epidural were different for those who birthed in the birthing center. Olivia suggested: ‘‘Women who have natural labors are more in control of labor and birth [because they] have less interventions y Even if it’s more painful, they still are more alert, and they know more what’s going on, so they can participate in the birth more.’’ In this case, Olivia paints natural birth as painful, but suggests that women who have natural birth can participate more in the birth process because they have not had pain medication and other interventions. (In this case, presumably Olivia is referring to an epidural when she talks about pain medication because she goes on to talk about how women with pain medication often cannot even feel labor progressing.) Therefore, Olivia almost perfectly mirrors feminist definitions of natural birth as she talks. Maureen, another birthing center participant, reported Well, once I was in labor for 16 1/2 hours, I wanted an epidural real bad, but [it was not an option]. I was in labor really bad, and for a really long time really exhausted and [labor was] not going anywhere and [I was] just whining when I said I wanted to go to the hospital and get an epidural y [But] I needed to pop out a baby. It’s a natural thing. Women who don’t have a clue, who’ve never learned anything about birth, have had babies, it’s just something that happens. I think there’s a lot of things that you can do to help, not so much alleviate the pain, but at least make it more bearable, but as far as labor and delivery, it’s gonna happen no matter what you do.

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Maureen makes it clear that, despite her choice of natural birth, there were times during labor that she wished for pain alleviation and therefore an epidural. But, at the same time, she reiterates the fact that birth is a natural process that includes pain and that women have always gotten through it. Annette agreed: All my family’s from England, and all my family’s familiar with [birth]. And his mother’s very, let’s say, liberal, very open, she reads a lot and knew about the birthing center. And also you have to think back when my husband was born, and his grandparents, they didn’t have drugs back then, so they did it all natural anyway. So there wasn’t really a big fear [of pain].

At base, Maureen and Annette are defining natural birth as including the presence of pain and the absence of an epidural and, by default, hospital birth and medical birth as that which includes an epidural and no pain. While the general definition of ‘‘natural’’ birth – that is, birth without the epidural and birth with pain – seemed to be similar for all three samples of women, birthing center women talked about the epidural with more negativity overall. At times they might have wanted a bit of pain relief (and sometimes did receive pain medication by pill or IV in the birthing center, even if they did not receive an epidural), they characterized the epidural as either unsafe for their baby, making women unable to participate in and be alert during their own births and, at base, denying/stopping the ‘‘natural’’ progression of childbirth. Ginny explained, ‘‘I did a good thing for my baby not to have any medication [here, responding to a question about epidurals]. He was alert and awake, and there were no side effects.’’ In Ginny’s case, we learn that the baby’s safety was forefront in her mind as she chose what she felt was ‘‘natural’’ birth. Women who birthed in the birthing center also sometimes suggested that natural birth included vaginal birth, rather than Cesarean birth, though. Jaime, a birthing center participant, talked about her experience of looking back on her ‘‘natural’’ birth: ‘‘The biggest thing I got out of giving birth besides having the baby was the feeling of ‘Wow, I did it, I feel so strong.’ I’m not saying women who have epidurals or have Cesareans are any less [when] having childbirth, but when I think [that] I did it naturally, to me it was just totally different.’’ Jaime is clear, then, that not only does natural birth mean the absence of an epidural but also it must include vaginal birth. As mentioned earlier, the shared definition of ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ birth across the three groups extended to the point of women in all groups characterizing a birth as natural even if medical interventions besides the epidural were used. Unprompted by the second author, all but one of the

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birthing center participants in the Mid-Atlantic sample reported that they had experienced a ‘‘natural’’ birth (although some made caveats like, ‘‘at least it was ‘natural’ compared to the births other women [they] knew’’). Four women had episiotomies while in the birthing center and three of these participants did acknowledge that this was a medical intervention (but two followed quickly in saying that it was necessary). Jennifer also explained that ‘‘they [the midwives] tried very hard to keep [the episiotomy] small instead of large.’’ Six women also discussed having some sort of pain medication (by pill or IV), but did not feel that this medication represented a disruption of the medical process. For instance, Lynn said, ‘‘they gave me pain medication [i.e., Stadol], and I don’t know what it’s called but you don’t feel contractions so much for 45 minutes y but it’s not that’s strong y It just helped me with labor, and that’s all I had.’’ Other women acknowledged getting an IV (n ¼ 1) and/or having an amniotomy (i.e., having their water broken, n ¼ 8) during labor at the birthing center. One woman, Sara, who had an IV, amniotomy, and pain medication (in pill form) but still felt she had ‘‘natural’’ birth, admitted ‘‘I’ll tell you, it was really hard to do it naturally because y to get your baby out is a lot of work.’’ Because she had vaginal birth and did feel pain over the course of her labor and delivery, she designated her birth as ‘‘natural’’ despite interventions. Like the two groups of hospital women, then, if birthing center women received pain medication in pill or IV form (e.g., Demerol or Stadol), if their water was broken for them, if external fetal monitors were utilized, if they were induced, or if they had to have an episiotomy, they did not always think that they then had a ‘‘medical’’ birth. Birthing center women allowed for a few interventions and still considered themselves to have a ‘‘natural’’ birth. As we discuss later, the key factor seemed to be whether or not they could justify the intervention as ‘‘necessary’’ and also whether they could define it as ‘‘minor’’ in its effects. Overall, birthing center women were more aligned with feminist definitions of natural birth, but not exactly in most cases (in that sometimes they did allow interventions to occur in ‘‘natural’’ birth and sometimes they did want their health care provider, usually a midwife, to take control of the labor and birth). Therefore, we cannot really say that women in any of our samples align with definitions or the versions of ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ birth in the literature. If anything, all three of our samples might align with the ‘‘women as betweens’’ in DavisFloyd’s study, as all of our participants fell somewhere between the ideological poles of ‘‘medical’’ and ‘‘natural’’ birth. Since all women talked about epidural/no epidural as a key difference between the natural and

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medical, we can say that is a major commonality among all three groups that needs more study. Even if women of different ages, races, classes, and birth settings are valuing the epidural differently, they still seem to be focusing on it as the crucial difference between ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘medical’’ birth. While this has already been documented by existing literature, we have less information about why this has become such a common distinction, and what women’s expectations for this intervention or what the effects of this narrow characterization of ‘‘medical’’ versus ‘‘natural’’ birth really are.

Evaluations of ‘‘Natural’’ and ‘‘Medical’’ Birth Despite potential commonalities across our samples, one area of difference that emerged among our participants was in how they evaluated natural and medical birth. Most of our participants who birthed in the hospital defined ‘‘natural’’ childbirth negatively because it was birth with pain, or birth without an epidural. These feelings are indicative of women defining childbirth as a means to end. If childbirth is seen only as a process which women must go through in order to have a child, then they are more likely to make this process as convenient and easy as possible; ‘‘natural’’ birth, then becomes defined as more work, more pain, tedious, and even longer. Throughout the interviews with Mid-Atlantic women who birthed in the hospital, pain control was desirable because it made childbirth easier and more bearable (even ‘‘enjoyable’’ according to some Mid-Atlantic women). ‘‘Natural’’ birth here is constructed as the lesser, worse option, in the face of an option like the epidural. To the women in this sample and some of the teens in the Southern sample, medical birth was constructed as better because it could be pain-free. In contrast, Mid-Atlantic women who gave birth in a birthing center defined natural birth more positively, and more consistent with feminist critiques of medicalized birth. The emphases were on control over and participation in the experience, facilitating the ‘‘natural progress’’ or ‘‘process’’ of birth, and the safety and well-being of the baby. For instance, Maureen and Annette, quoted earlier, both suggest that there is a ‘‘natural,’’ biological process of childbirth (that has existed for all time) that only gets interrupted by medical interventions. Olivia also suggested that natural birth does not include a lot of interventions. These women often intimated that these interventions were part and parcel of a hospital birth, and that they chose a birthing center setting (with midwives) in order to secure fewer

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interventions during birth and keep birth ‘‘natural.’’ For example, Joan proposed, ‘‘I think the technology goes overboard with the doctors, like they have it, so they use it. And I think the midwives just say you have a baby in you y so, again, it goes back to the whole natural process, natural method, vs. technology and very medical methods.’’ A few women also talked about the issue of control, in that ‘‘natural birth’’ was not controlled by health care providers. Rather, during ‘‘natural’’ birth, a woman’s body was ‘‘in control.’’ Finally, women who used the birthing center also referred to natural birth as having a ‘‘personal’’ or ‘‘homey’’ and ‘‘comfortable’’ setting. Women who chose the birthing center were specifically trying to steer clear of what they saw as the impersonality and the cold, strange atmosphere of hospital (medical) birth. This sentiment of control and comfort echoes much feminist literature (e.g., Kitzinger, 2006; Simonds et al., 2007). Almost one-half of the Southern teens emphasized negative aspects of medical birth, but for very different reasons than the birthing center women. The primary reason teens gave for not having the epidural (and a medical birth) was fear of the risks and potential side effects. Some teens had seen a birth video about the epidural that raised their concerns and, for others, the disclosure of risk in the informed consent process was a new and frightening notion; thus they actively chose to avoid the procedure. For example, Clarissa recalled how she made the decision to have ‘‘natural’’ birth – that is, birth without an epidural – during her labor: No, not ahead of time but when I was in labor and having contractions and stuff, then they asked me. It was hurting so bad, they asked me did I want one and I told them yeah. I thought about all the, you know, problems they said, what could happen and stuff. So the lady came down there and she was saying, explaining to me, she was saying ‘It could paralyze you and then you can die.’ That’s what she said – ‘die and paralyze.’ I said ‘Forget it.’

Similarly, Evelyn describes her interpretation of the anesthesiologists’ warning: Yeah, [the doctor] told me, y you know, you’ve got to sign some papers before they give it to you. And he had said, ‘You know, you can get paralyzed if you move and jerk out [the needle]. Because the medicine, it’s supposed to go directly to the bottom, but I’d get it all over and it would paralyze you.’ Because you know once it’s in you, once you lay back, you can’t move, can’t do this, can’t do that, because you’re gonna’ move that medicine around. You’ve got to stay in the same spot.

Overall, there was a great deal of variation among women in terms of how they evaluated natural and medical birth, despite the fact that their

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distinction between the two types of birth was largely the same. While some teens and most of the Mid-Atlantic hospital women defined natural birth negatively (i.e., as birth with pain), birthing center women defined natural birth more positively, as facilitating women’s participation and control during birth as well as the baby’s well-being. Some of the teens also defined medical intervention through the epidural as risky to their own well-being and, therefore, defined ‘‘natural’’ birth as more positive than the alternative.

Differences in Women’s Notions of ‘‘Control’’ in Childbirth As we discussed earlier, the traditional feminist critique of medicalized birth has defined ‘‘natural’’ birth as positive, and preferable to ‘‘medicalized’’ birth. A primary factor in this evaluation is the issue of control over the birth experience, and whether women get to manage or direct their own births. Our comparative analysis of women at different social locations suggests that women themselves sometimes define and value aspects of control over the birth experience differently. Many of the Mid-Atlantic women who gave birth in a birthing center seemed to support parts of this feminist stance on medicalization, specifically in their discussion of choosing to forego the epidural and hospital setting in order to maximize their (or their body’s) control over the birth experience. In contrast, women in the Mid-Atlantic hospital sample overwhelmingly chose to accept the use of the epidural in an effort to control the birth experience through the avoidance of pain, thus positively valuing and embracing ‘‘medical’’ birth. Within the Mid-Atlantic hospital sample, a wish to appear ‘‘in control’’ or disciplined during the birth experience paralleled their fear of pain. Martin (2003) and Zadoroznyj (1999) have also discussed this theme in their studies of similarly located women. Some Mid-Atlantic women wanted to be able to experience labor and delivery while at the same time maintaining their composure, and this meant needing to be free of pain/distress during birth. While we learn that women lose control over their bodies within a medical setting if we follow feminist scholarship on this topic, women who birthed in a hospital setting in the Mid-Atlantic sample who opted for an epidural discussed a need to continue disciplining their bodies during labor and delivery so that they could act ‘‘normally’’ – that is, nice, kind, and composed (see also Martin, 2003). Carol’s comment about wanting to be able to ‘‘smile’’ during her birth experience illustrates this desire. Likewise, Karen reported not wanting to be ‘‘hysterical’’ or ‘‘screaming’’ during birth and therefore opted for an

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epidural. Martin (2003) and Zadoroznyj (1999) both suggest that these desires may be caused by gender norms that pressure women to manage their emotions and maintain a particular demeanor in public (especially within a medicalized setting where they do not hold power). While we do not have data to explore further the impact of gender norms on women’s desires or behaviors during childbirth experiences, Mid-Atlantic women’s discussions of pain allowed a concern about outward appearances and control over one’s physical body to surface. Interestingly, this theme did not appear in teens’ discussions of pain. It also did not surface in conversations with birthing center women; rather, women who chose birthing center births were more likely to discuss how they wanted their bodies to remain ‘‘in control,’’ and often reported accepting how ‘‘out of control’’ they might appear in the process. Again here, we see birthing center women in the Mid-Atlantic sample and Southern teens looking more similar than the two groups of hospital women, even if they have different knowledge bases and expectations for birth. On the other hand, the Southern teens did not discuss the issue of ‘‘control’’ explicitly at all, regarding their use of the epidural or their ‘‘choice’’ for ‘‘natural’’ or ‘‘medical’’ birth. In fact, the idea of control was absent from their conversations, even though some of them made very adamant decisions for/against the epidural (and therefore, in a sense, enacted control at points). One of the major implications of our findings is that there may be real structural constraints on women’s perceptions of medical authority, and their own choices or control as birthing women. Many of the teens had not been given any information at all about childbirth decisions, including the epidural, nor any experience with decision-making power in any aspect of their lives, and therefore were forced to rely on medical providers and parents to make those decisions. We do not view them as choosing to fully accept the technocratic or medical model, even when they opted for an epidural. For example, when Lenora was asked whether or not she had chosen the epidural, she replied, ‘‘Well, they didn’t ask did they want me to have an epidural or nothing – they just did it.’’ The issue of informed consent to administer the epidural emerged from the teens’ interviews as significant for them in a number of ways that makes this sample of participants differ from the Mid-Atlantic women. First, most teens were under the age of 18 when they gave birth and thus were required to obtain parental consent for medical procedures. Lenora explained that her mother would not sign the papers for the epidural with her first childbirth, and Rochelle described having to ‘‘argue her mother down’’ in order to convince her to sign for the epidural when she gave birth to her

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twins. Although only two teens mentioned this as problematic, it raises an important question about how we determine women’s capacity to give consent and exercise choice or control, based on age, biological and physiological benchmarks, birth setting, etc. In what contexts do mothers have the right to choose or resist birth interventions? An additional finding related to control that challenges the feminist critique of medicalization is how different women responded to the use of medical interventions that they had initially opposed. Although many of the teens ended up having different birth experiences than they had planned (as evidenced by their discussions of getting an epidural), few of them were disappointed or angry about the outcome. Rather, teens who did not end up having the birth experience they had expected/wanted in terms of the epidural overwhelmingly accepted the outcome. Perhaps their acceptance reflects a general acceptance of authority and common experience of not having their own expectations met. Specifically, 20 (38 percent) teens felt that although they did not make the decision regarding the epidural, their physical condition determined the type of delivery. Five of these had cesarean sections, and 11 had ‘‘natural’’ births (i.e., labor progressed too quickly to administer the epidural.) Four of these teens wanted to have the epidural, but they believed that the labor had progressed beyond the point at which it could be administered. The five teens who had cesareans interpreted the procedure as medically justified. As we discussed earlier, even women who gave birth in birthing centers accepted the use of various medical procedures during the birth process as long as they deemed them ‘‘necessary.’’ One birthing center woman, Ellen, was also transferred to the hospital setting in the midst of a difficult labor and was met with multiple interventions when she arrived yet she, too, allowed for these ‘‘necessary’’ procedures because she was still able to birth vaginally and without an epidural and her baby was healthy. This acceptance of intervention is in stark contrast to those who embraced the holistic model of birth in DavisFloyd’s (1992) study and it challenges the classic feminist argument that all medical intervention may be experienced negatively by birthing women. Granted, none of the women in our three samples birthed in the home setting as one group in Davis-Floyd’s study did, and even the birthing center setting gave women the option of receiving interventions as a matter of course. Thus, perhaps none of the women in our samples can match up with traditional feminist ideology because their birth settings (hospital or birthing center) allowed only for the possibility of ‘‘medical’’ birth under feminist ideology. Nonetheless, the commonalities and differences across our three samples in terms of how they define ‘‘medical’’ and ‘‘natural’’ births allows

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us to show that a strict dichotomy does not fit with women’s experiences. Thus, we take Davis-Floyd’s discussion of ‘‘women as between’’ further and explore less straightforward nature of ‘‘medical’’ and ‘‘natural,’’ and how three, very different groups of women may define birth both similarly and differently at times. Based on our interviews with three groups of women and our readings of recent literature on individual women’s experiences, we also believe that most contemporary birthing women do not expect to have a strictly ‘‘medical’’ or ‘‘natural’’ birth, rather something somewhere in the middle. This idea that most women might be ‘‘women as betweens’’ needs further exploration.

DISCUSSION AND DIRECTIONS FOR FUTURE RESEARCH Based on our analysis of select findings from our two studies, we suggest that feminist studies of medicalization and, specifically, childbirth can be advanced both methodologically and conceptually. Critical, comparative analyses of studies that examine diverse women’s birthing and other reproductive experiences can help to reveal important similarities and differences in meanings and experiences. We also argue that based on our comparison of three different samples of women, the meanings and evaluations of ‘‘natural’’ childbirth are more fluid and contested in reality than traditional feminist scholarship denotes. We suggest a need to reconceptualize ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘medical’’ birth as existing on a continuum rather than within a dichotomy. The meanings that women give to particular aspects of birth vary across social location and sometimes contradictorily to the ways feminists continue to suggest. Similarly, the concepts of choice and control continue to be important to many birthing women but are often conceptualized and valued differently from how feminists have addressed them. Teens, for example, had not thought about control but sometimes enacted it, whereas birthing center women voiced their desires for control but did not always maintain it. Adult hospital women mostly seemed content to give up control and usually concentrated on maintaining composure. Much more exploration of the notions of ‘‘natural,’’ ‘‘medical,’’ ‘‘choice,’’ and ‘‘control’’ in childbirth is needed. In today’s consumer-based and technologically driven society, the number of ‘‘choices’’ or ‘‘rights’’ women have (i.e., to opt for or against attendants and providers, settings and technological interventions) that provide various levels of control over different aspects of their experiences is unprecedented,

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and these ‘‘choices’’ challenge the narrow definitions of medicalization and ‘‘natural’’ birth that dominate feminist literature. Simonds et al. (2007) suggest that birth in the United States today is more varied and ‘‘disorganized’’ than it used to be, thus intimating that a dichotomy might not fit with the options and experiences of contemporary birthing women. Davis-Floyd (1992) suggests that one group of participants in her study did not fit the dichotomy either. Martin (2003) suggests that evaluations of medical procedures like the epidural might vary more than classic feminist literature proposed; we propose the same. We have also suggested (here and elsewhere) that birth may vary much more by social location than most feminist scholars have documented so far. Much of feminist rhetoric and the concepts that derive from it are part of predominantly privileged women’s vocabularies and experiences of childbirth while other, more marginalized women cannot fathom a ‘‘natural’’ versus ‘‘medical’’ dichotomy or whether they have control as they approach birth. The latter may think in other terms that characterize the information and knowledge and limited choices they are able to access, such as fears or risk of harm to self. Conceptually, we need to adjust our academic language of childbirth, and how we both conceptualize and operationalize the ideas and concepts we put forth in our research, for the similarities and differences among women as they think about and experience medical and natural birth are not always predictable or straightforward. One procedure, one decision, one moment in labor or delivery could mean similar or different things – and could be designated as ‘‘natural’’ or ‘‘medical’’ by different women – depending on who women are and other contexts of their birth. Women have different opinions and understandings of medical and natural birth, depending on their social locations and the extent of their awareness about childbirth options. Although the notion of choice continues to be important in women’s definitions of childbirth, there are differences in how women interpret and make their choices for natural and medical birth. All women giving birth in the hospital supposedly have a ‘‘choice’’ regarding epidurals, but that choice (and the right to have that choice) is presented and evaluated differently by women at different social locations based on how they define childbirth and their own role as mother, as well as their prior experience with and understanding of medical procedures. Although feminist critiques of medicalization and advocacy of natural childbirth have done much to illuminate how medicine structures women’s choices, we are far from understanding how individual women experience these choices. Solinger (1998, 2001) and Roberts (1997) argue that medical technology has often been marketed to and enjoyed by privileged women as

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a way to enhance reproductive choice (e.g., legalized abortion, fertility treatment, and perhaps also the birth experience they desire) provided they could afford to purchase such technology. Roberts (1997) also points out how medical technology such as Norplant is used to further control and regulate African American women’s reproduction (thus denying choice). In light of this, some teens in the Southern sample could view birth technology (as well as the adults providing consent for this technology) as restricting their reproductive rights and choices too and, therefore, their resistance of an epidural and adoption of ‘‘natural’’ birth may occur within a very specific age, race, and choice context. Thanks to feminist research, we know that all women’s health processes have been medicalized and that all women who birth in a hospital setting will potentially be exposed to multiple technological interventions. We do yet not know enough about how women’s social locations produce unique meanings, rights, choices, senses of control, and, ultimately, birth experiences. We suggest that medicalization and the possibility of birth interventions provides and denies reproductive rights and choices differentially to women based on their social locations, and this needs to be explored further. Women’s ‘‘choices’’ for or against medical and natural birth, then, must be seen within the context of different extents of reproductive rights and choices. The language of ‘‘choice’’ is often at odds with the structural realities of women’s subjective experiences. At the very least, we believe that our research highlights the intersections of age and reproductive rights and choices and hope that future researchers focus in on age and other social locations more fully as they explore the continuum of medical and natural birth experiences. Changing our conceptual framework for birth also requires changing our methodologies in part. Not only are we arguing for more critical, comparative conceptualizations and analyses of multiple women’s experiences, then, but also we suggest that researchers take care not to assume that all women use the same vocabularies of birth, have access to feminist critiques, have the same rights or choices as mothers/patients, or define natural, medical, or control in the same ways. That is, we suggest that researchers must be careful with their operationalizations of key terms in their research projects and be particularly attentive to women’s ability to come up with new meanings for birth with certain sociocultural contexts. It is not as simple as asking women whether they felt they had control or choice in their birth experiences anymore, and we cannot characterize women’s births for them. We need to ask women themselves what natural versus medical birth means, how they experience certain procedures and why, more about their positions vis-a`-vis others who were present at their

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births, and their relationships to technology, medical doctors and other attendants, and more about their expectations versus their satisfaction with their births. In all of these explorations, we must be careful not to define women as having either ‘‘medical’’ or ‘‘natural’’ birth or as falling on one side of a dichotomy or another. As noted earlier, we argue for more of a continuum. We need to take up the pursuits that perhaps Davis-Floyd (1992) or Martin (2003) initiated and complete them. In sum, we call for a return to the topic of childbirth from a feminist perspective and the need to further (re)examine how developments in medical technology and reproductive care impact women at various social locations differently, and how both the structure and culture of medicalization, consumerism, and women’s lived experiences, shape the meanings of childbirth in particular ways. Maternity care is also more complicated these days, as Simonds et al. (2007) note, thus, simple divisions between settings, providers, and types of birth no longer make sense. Considering the number of women who give birth per year, and considering how much variation we can document in a comparison of our small pilot studies, we need more studies on this topic. Ultimately, feminist scholarship should help inform policy and practice to provide optimal education and care for women at all social locations across race, class and age. We argue that feminist literature has fallen behind in this task and has much work to do. Here, we start to pick up the slack but urge other feminist scholars to join us in our efforts.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT An earlier version of this chapter was presented at the Society for the Study of Social Problems meetings in Montreal, Canada, August 2006. The authors thank Marcia Texler Segal, Vasilikie Demos, and anonymous reviewers for suggestions and comments on drafts of this chapter. We also thank all the women who agreed to be interviewed for these studies as, without their participation, this work would not be possible. All correspondence should be directed to the first author.

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Block, J. (2007). Pushed: The painful truth about childbirth and modern maternity care. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press. Brubaker, S. J. (2005). African American teen mothers and reproductive health care services: Gender and the context of intention. In: J. Kronenfeld (Ed.), Health care services, racial and ethnic minorities and underserved populations: Research in the sociology of health care (Vol. 23, pp. 17–34). London: Elsevier Publishers. Brubaker, S. J. (2007). Denied, embracing and resisting medicalization: African American teen mothers’ perceptions of formal pregnancy and childbirth care. Gender & Society, 21(4), 528–552. Brubaker, S. J., & Wright, C. A. (2006). Identity transformation and family caregiving: Narratives of African American teen mothers. Journal of Marriage and Family, 68, 1214–1228. Cohen, M. (2006). Deliver this! Make the childbirth choice that’s right for you no matter what everyone else thinks. Emeryville, CA: Seal Press. Davis-Floyd, R. (1992). Birth as an American rite of passage. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Denzin, N. (1989). The research act: A theoretical introduction to sociological methods (3rd ed.). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Dillaway, H., & Brubaker, S. J. (2006). Intersectionality and childbirth: How women from different social locations discuss epidural use. Race, Gender, and Class, 13(3/4), 16–41. Eitzen, D. S., & Baca Zinn, M. (2000). Inconflict and order: Understanding society (9th ed.). Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Eakins, P. (Ed.) (1986). The American way of birth. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Fox, B., & Worts, D. (1999). Revisiting the critique of medicalized childbirth: A contribution to the sociology of birth. Gender & Society, 13(3), 326–346. Jordan, B. (1980). Birth in four cultures. Montreal: Eden Press. Kahn, R. P. (1995). Bearing meaning: The language of birth. Chicago, IL: University of Illinois. Kitzinger, S. (2006). Birth crisis. London: Routledge. Leavitt, J. W. (1986). Brought to bed. New York: Oxford University Press. Martin, E. (1992). The woman in the body: A cultural analysis of reproduction (2nd ed.). Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Martin, K. (2003). Giving birth like a girl. Gender & Society, 17(1), 54–72. Oakley, A. (1984). The captured womb: A history of the medical care of pregnant women. New York, NY: Basil Blackwell. Oakley, A. (1981). Interviewing women: A contradiction in terms. In: H. Roberts (Ed.), Doing feminist research (pp. 30–61). London, England: Routledge & Kegal Paul. Probyn, E. (1993). Choosing choice: Images of sexuality and ‘choiceoisie’ in popular culture. In: S. Fisher & K. Davis (Eds), Negotiating at the margins: The gendered discourses of power and resistance (pp. 278–294). New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Riessman, C. K. (1983). Women and medicalization: A new perspective. Social Policy, 14(Summer), 3–18. Roberts, D. (1997). Killing the black body: Race, reproduction, and the meaning of liberty. New York: Pantheon Books. Romalis, S. (Ed.) (1981). Childbirth: Alternatives to medical control. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Rothman, B. K. (1989). Recreating motherhood: Ideology and technology in a patriarchal society. New York: W.W. Norton & Co.

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Rubin, H., & Rubin, I. (1995). Qualitative interviewing: The art of hearing data. London, England: Sage Publications. Simonds, W., Rothman, B. K., & Norman, B. M. (2007). Laboring on: Birth in transition in the United States. New York: Routledge. Solinger, R. (1998). Poisonous choice. In: M. Ladd-Taylor & L. Umansky (Eds), ‘‘Bad’’ mothers: The politics of blame in twentieth-century America (pp. 381–402). New York: New York University Press. Solinger, R. (2001). Beggars and choosers: How the politics of choice shapes adoption, abortion, and welfare in the United States. New York: Hill and Wang. Wertz, R. W., & Wertz, D. C. (1977). Lying-in: A history of childbirth in America. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Woods, N. F. (1999). Midlife women’s health: Conflicting perspectives of healthcare providers and midlife women and consequences for health. In: A. Clarke & V. Olesen (Eds), Revisioning women, health and healing: Feminist, cultural, and technological perspectives (pp. 343–354). New York: Routledge. Zadoroznyj, M. (1999). Social class, social selves and social control in childbirth. Sociology of Health and Illness, 21(3), 267–289. Zita, J. (1997). The premenstrual syndrome: ‘‘Dis-easing’’ the female cycle. In: N. Tuana (Ed.), Feminism and science (pp. 188–210). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.

REDEFINING ‘‘REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS’’: AN ECOFEMINIST PERSPECTIVE ON IN VITRO FERTILIZATION, EGG MARKETS AND SURROGATE MOTHERHOOD Laura Corradi ABSTRACT Is medically assisted fertilization (with the use of in vitro technology) about ‘‘reproductive rights’’ or about white women’s privileges? What is ‘‘choice’’ for white and rich women seems to become a further commodification of the body for women of color and economically disadvantaged women. Several feminists define reproductive rights by demanding social justice and a type of support for the mothers that does not include expensive technologies, which have a problematic outcome, that of generating a divide between women in the north and women in the south of the world. Some authors also talk about a ‘‘division of labor’’ in reproduction.

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The first part of my chapter offers an outline of the historical feminist debate over gender and technology, looking at different positions regarding biotechnologies, and reproductive technologies in a specific way. The second part presents an investigation around the (often racialized) international market of eggs and surrogate mothers in the United States, India and Eastern Europe. The third part consists of an analysis of few recent studies about the health of women who undergo ovarian hyper-stimulation in order to give eggs as ‘‘donation’’ (under payment); women who offer themselves as surrogate mothers and the children who have been conceived with in vitro fertilization, specifically with heterologue forms (egg donation or surrogate motherhood).

INTRODUCTION New frontiers in biotechnology are achieved under the flag of scientific freedom. These range from animal cloning, hybridization and the manufacturing of humanized animals for xeno-transplant of organs, to human cloning trials, genetically modified embryos and ectogenesis – the possibility of constructing an artificial womb. Scientific advancements in assisted reproduction and neonatal medicine may one day lead to the development of a fetus outside the woman’s body. This is rejected as uneconomical and unreasonable by several feminists. Elaine Denny was one of the pioneers of such a position, stating that the possibility of ectogenesis itself relies on a faulty postulate: it assumes that men actually want to rid the world of women, women who carry out most of the world’s farming, childbearing and rearing, who service men so that they can function in the public sphere. All this is done at little or no cost, so why replace it with expensive technology? (Denny, 1994, p. 62)

Other feminists are not reassured by this argument fearing the intention of capitalism is to manufacture the perfect child – the perfect worker, the perfect soldier. What is undisputable is the fact that science is systematically violating the biological limits of nature, which gave women the power to reproduce the human species (Mies & Shiva, 1993). Another contested arena among feminists relates to costs and benefits of these technologies: Is medically assisted fertilization (with the use of in vitro technology) about ‘‘reproductive rights’’ or about white women’s privileges?

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What appears to be freedom of ‘‘choice’’ for white and rich women seems to translate into further commodification of the body for women of color and economically disadvantaged women. Several transnational networks on women’s health are questioning the use of invasive technologies, which threaten women’s well-being. The SouthAfrican women’s network Africa Loves Babies defines reproductive rights by demanding social justice and a type of support for the mothers that does not include expensive technologies. These technologies are doubly problematic as they generate a divide between women in the north and women in the south of the world. Some authors talk about a ‘‘division of labor’’ also in reproduction – between poor women who sell eggs or ‘‘rent’’ their uteruses and affluent women who pay for them – because of health problems, infertility, or the unwillingness to carry a baby. The first part of my essay offers an outline of the historical feminist debate over gender and technology; the second part looks at different positions regarding biotechnologies and reproductive technologies in a specific way. The third part presents an exploratory investigation of the (often racialized) international market of eggs and surrogate mothers in the United States, India and Eastern Europe. It also offers an analysis of a few recent studies concerning the health of women who undergo ovarian hyperstimulation in order to give eggs as ‘‘donation’’ (under payment); women who offer themselves as surrogate mothers and the children who have been conceived with in vitro fertilization (IVF), specifically with heterologue forms through egg donation or surrogate motherhood.

GENDER AND TECHNOLOGY In the year 1526 a new lecturer – 33 years old, small and feminine-looking, who was to be remembered as the father of modern chemistry and the founder of modern medicine – was hired at the University of Basel. This person, whose very sex has been questioned, was Theophrastus von Hohenheim, better known as Paracelsus (1493–1541) and was reported to have peculiar ideas about how knowledge is constructed: The universities do not teach all things so a doctor must seek out old wives, gypsies, sorcerers, wandering tribes, old robbers, and such outlaws and take lessons from them. A doctor must be a traveler because he must enquire of the world. Experiment is not sufficient. Experience must verify what can be accepted or not accepted. (as cited in Noble, 1992, p. 181)

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Paracelsus also did not consider the existing form of masculinity as a perfect model for humanity, instead looked at masculinity as an incompleteness: Man having become separated from the woman in him, lost his true light. He now seeks for the woman outside of his true self, and wanders about among shadows, being misled by the will of the wisps of external illusions. (p. 177)

At that time women were not allowed to pursue college education and were regarded as inferior beings. They were specifically forbidden to practice healing and to manufacture herbal remedies: such activities were considered witchcraft. Last decade, DNA testing on the remains in Paracelsus’ grave in Switzerland gave as results that they belonged to a female, reopening the polemics about this controversial figure, and indicating it was probably Paracelsa the mother of medicine. Whatever it may be, the biological sex is not the most important point. What really count are his/her words, which may be considered as the starting point of the critique of patriarchal science and knowledge still dominant in contemporary times. A critical analysis of science fully bloomed four centuries later, during the feminist movement in the 1970s and it is still developing today; science and technology became subjects of feminist research at the academic level. The under-representation of women in scientific professions, the prejudice around women and technology underwent analytical scrutiny and women gained access to knowledge and invention, often making those changes in the social organization that enable women to participate better in scientific and technological progress. But how much have women been able to change the very culture which excluded them until yesterday? In Evelyn Fox Keller’s words: How is it that the scientific mind can be seen at one and the same time as both male and disembodied? How is it that thinking ‘‘objectively,’’ that is thinking that is defined as self-detached, impersonal, and transcendent, is also understood as ‘‘thinking like a man’’? (Keller, 1992, p. 19)

Several books written by feminists questioned the use of this science and technology. Is an alternative use of what has been constructed as the dominant form of knowledge by men possible? Let us say: is a more human use of the production line or a responsible use of nuclear power realistic? In his prison writings during the fascist period, Antonio Gramsci, Italian intellectual (1891–1937), raised considerations of this type: Can the oppressed classes use the knowledge that has been produced in an apparently neutral way? The answer was ‘‘no,’’ since the science of capital embodies its dominance – and reproduces it; knowledge has been constructed in a way that is functional to the division of labor, that is, to

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support the status quo in terms of economy, gender and race relations. The means chosen to achieve a goal, suggests Gramsci, do always affect the goal itself. So the oppressed have the historical task to reinvent the world of knowledge – not just to question standards, priorities and applications with respect to science. The master’s tools cannot dismantle the master’s house – and this is true in the political discursive practices around class and race hierarchies, as well for gender domination. In his manuscripts, Karl Marx (1844) maintained that the level of human development was reflected in the relations between men and women. Later on, in his un-translated ethnographic manuscripts, he tried to understand domestic modes of production and their non-exploitative social relations and anti-accumulation devices. He wrote that in order to find different forms of science we have to go into pre-capitalistic societies where knowledge is not alienated from the subjects and the community as a whole. Science and technologies are social relations that embody class inequalities as well as a gendered power structures – they are never neutral. As Bruno Latour used to say (paraphrasing Von Clausewitz), science is the continuation of politics with other means. In books that can be considered milestones on the subject matter, The Science Question in Feminism (1986) and Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? Thinking from Women’s Lives (1991), philosopher of science and radical feminist Sandra Harding had the merit of shifting the focus of the debate from a feminist critique asking the ‘‘woman question in science’’ to the more fundamental issue of ‘‘science question’’ in feminism. In the last two decades feminists around the world have been discussing the nature of science – and its attributes as a social construction. Science has been criticized at times as patriarchal, capitalist, colonial, Eurocentric and racist. It has been defined as having a dichotomous, hierarchical, anti-intuitive and destructive character. Rosemary Pringle (1988) wrote that new technology usually enhanced men’s power and women’s dependence. Cynthia Cockburn (1981, 1985), pointed out in her writings how capitalists as capitalists and men as men, both take initiatives over technology. We should add that technology also has a color, since it embodies race and ethnic relations as well: Western science, until now, contributed to guaranteeing white supremacy all over the world. Among many contributions and authors, I will mostly rely on Maria Mies, Marxist sociologist from Germany and Vandana Shiva, physicist and ecologist in India. They co-authored the first book on eco-feminism, which contains a sharp critique of new technologies. Mies and Shiva challenged the self-proclaimed universality of western science: ‘‘Emerging from a

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dominating and colonizing culture, modern knowledge systems are themselves colonizing’’ (Shiva, 1993, p. 9). She offers us the possibility of a new alliance between women and men of different ethnicities and cultures in building an alternative, self-sustained, community-based economy in opposition to global capitalism. This gives us a vision of an alternative technology, conceptualized from a perspective of subsistence economy, which implies commodified relationships being replaced with reciprocity, solidarity and respect for nature. A sustainable economy is incompatible with market economy (Mies & Shiva, 1993, p. 319). This may become a strong terrain for alliances all over the world, and for global forms of social change. The ecofeminist critique is also crucial to understanding new coalitions and conflicts among women and the growth of environmental movements dealing with health. For our purposes, Mies and Shiva are helpful for actively decoding the present tendency in the life sciences to work in isolation from society, and in keen contact with multinational corporations. As a scientist from Malaysia, Mae-Wan Ho (1998, 2003) pointed out, laboratories have never been so intertwined with the business world, as in the present era of globalization.

THE DEBATE OVER REPRODUCTIVE TECHNOLOGIES How can we define reproductive technologies? They are: the medical capability to remove human eggs and sperm from one set of bodies, perform operations on them, and return them to the same female body, place them in another female body, or cryo-preserve them. In addition to removing fertilization from the interior of women’s bodies and transferring it to the laboratory, reproductive technologies also remove male ejaculation from it’s endpoint in the female body, reducing it to masturbation in clinic bathrooms. (Farquhar, 1995)

Laws about reproductive technologies display a wide range of possibilities – from total liberalism to complete prohibition – and allow for mixed forms and ambivalent interpretation. In 2004, the European Commission – which allowed ‘‘egg donation’’ – had to face a scandal around cases of economic abuse of eastern women as egg producers. A clinic in Bucarest, Romania, named Global Arts and some laboratories in the United Kingdom were proven to be involved in traffic of eggs. Poor and uneducated women were paid $250 for every ‘‘donation’’ (a worker’s salary in Romania is around $100 per month) and were not informed about health risk. They

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were asked to sign an illegal contract in order to protect the clinic from consequences. The whole issue was known because of journalists’ enquires about women who had severe health problems after ‘‘donating’’ to Global Arts. A resolution was taken by the European Parliament against the traffic of human ova. Eggs were re-defined as body parts, and the ban on commercialization of organs was approved (Doc.: B6-0199/2005) voted by 307 deputees; 199 contrary; 25 abstained. Yet, heterologue forms of fertilization are still possible by using forms of compensation masked as expense reimbursements. The European Commission was also divided on a provision relating to the recognition of surrogate motherhood. The deputees considered that no regulations could provide adequate protection in our societies from the undesirable eventuality of both embryos and surrogate mothers being commercialized. Yet, this still happens in Eastern countries that joined the European Union. Surrogate mothers are advertised for with little control about this phenomenon. An extra-legal market seems to be operating along side the legal one, and women who produce eggs or rent their uteruses may become victims of criminal networks that work at the transnational level. Moreover, the legislative divide between countries in the world gave birth to forms of ‘‘reproductive tourism’’ from the less permissive countries to the more accommodating ones. In some countries sex selection, as well as the selection of other characteristics, are not permitted – but affluent couples fly overseas where they can shop for these services. A recent referendum about assisted reproduction in Italy (June 12, 2005) deeply divided the feminist arena: On one side a pro-technology majority front, on the other side a critical position. The referendum was misleadingly presented by the media as a struggle between progressive, pro-science women who wanted more freedom and ‘‘reproductive rights’’ on one hand – and Catholic bigots, anti-science and backward women on the other hand. The referendum was a total failure for the pro-technology feminist majority: only 25 percent of the population went to vote. The majority of women and men in Italy decided to abstain and keep a restrictive law, which allows IVF with limits such as the heterologue forms of fertilization (without making distinctions between the donation of sperm and eggs) and the number of embryos to be fertilized each time. The old and hypocritical law was seen as the ‘‘less-evil’’ of the possibilities, having to choose in a context where the fundamental choices have already been made by scientists and politicians. In fact, the contested law had been approved by the parliament without asking the women whether they agreed with IVF to start with. No debate was made in the women’s community about the alienation of reproductive capacity that

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new technologies imply. No question was raised about the appropriation of such reproductive capacities – governed by women since the beginning of time – by a science heavily sponsored by pharmaceutical companies and research giants who long for a complete liberalization of the embryo market. The referendum was a too little/too late event, and the large majority of people voted without a clear grasp of what the real issues were. The reason for an almost complete silence about these important issues in the Italian feminist arena has to do with at least three phenomena. First is the desire to fight an unbearable Vatican intrusion in women’s lives and reproductive issues gave birth to an almost unreflecting contraposition to any argument questioning assisted reproduction. The second has to do with a misunderstood idea of freedom, which is spread among western women, and does not take into account the position of feminists of color and their critique to white feminism and privileges. The third relates to the context of enthusiasm around the progress of medical discoveries and new technologies. Since women have been allowed to enter the realm of science, their fervent critique – built up during the feminist movement – has become more and more feeble. A systematic critique of reproductive technologies has been around since the 1970s. In the 1980s feminist meetings were held in Germany with participation of women from all over the world and international groups of women became active on these issues, exchanging information and elaborating ideas in a collective way. Their critique moved from what happens in the labs to social effects in societies. Both Vandana Shiva and Maria Mies highlighted racist and sexist implication of assisted reproduction: These technologies have been developed and produced on a mass scale, not to promote human happiness, but to overcome the difficulties faced by the present world system y The female body’s generative capacity has now been discovered as a new ‘‘arena of investment’’ and profit making for scientists, medical engineers and entrepreneurs. (Mies & Shiva, 1993, pp. 174–175)

Even though reproductive technologies are presented as a solution to ‘‘natural’’ problems and in a context of solidarity among women (for example, donors and recipients of eggs) such ‘‘advancements’’ in science seem to strengthen disparity and subordination: It is an historical fact that technological innovations within exploitative and unequal relationships lead to an intensification, not attenuation, of inequality, and to further exploitation of the groups concerned y dominant social relations are also part and parcel of technology itself. (p. 175)

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In fact, these technologies are based on the exploitation and subordination of nature, women and people of color. In her critique of science, Caroyln Merchand wrote about the similarity of aspects characterizing modern technology, especially the violent subjugation of nature (and women as considered to be part of nature), to aspects of the witch hunts of earlier times. Both aspects are quite clear in the words of Francis Bacon, father of the contemporary scientific method: For like as a man’s disposition is never well known or proved till he be crossed, not Proteus never changed shapes till he was straitened and held fast, so nature exhibits herself more clearly under the trials and vexations of art (mechanical devices) than when left to herself. (Bacon, as quoted in Merchand, 1983, p. 169)

Also, with the intellectual support of scientists and philosophers, people of color were assimilated to nature by the white colonizers. Hegel wrote that: the Negro represents natural man in all his savagery and unruliness; if one wants to understand him correctly, one has to abstract form him all human respect and morality. In this character there is nothing that reminds one of the human. This is perfectly corroborated by the extensive reports of the missionaries y This character is not capable of development and education. As we see them today, so they have always been, The only connection the Negroes have ever had with Europeans and which they still have today is that of slavery. (Hegel as translated by Mies, pp. 178–179).

The developing social sciences supported the ‘‘survival of the fittest’’ and the concept of ‘‘superior societies.’’ Darwinism permeated the nineteenth and twentieth century and, with the followers of Malthus, applauded the eugenic movement and selective breeding, in order to prevent ‘‘the deterioration of the race.’’ The results of a racist culture also diffused among women’s advocates and social democrats in Europe. Even in England, the compulsory sterilization of drunkards, gypsies and the handicapped in Germany was seen as a form of progress. The genocide of the Holocaust happened in a context of shared values about the genetic superiority of one race compared to others. Many of the experiments and technologies invented at that time are the very bases of today’s advancements; yet no critique of the ethical foundations of this science has been made by modern biological research. As Mies posits there is: an historical continuity from the eugenetics movement, via Nazi Germany, to the new reproductive technologies: prenatal diagnosis, genetic engineering, in vitro fertilization and suchlike. The promoters and practitioners of these technologies turn a blind eye to his historical heritage y Ethics committees are set up only after the scientists have had ample time and money to experiment and publicize their results. Such reactive ethics, however, which can only try to prevent the most dangerous abuses of these inventions, is

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not only impotent, but is no ethics at all, since the main task of these committees is to promote the acceptability of these technologies. (pp. 183–184)

In such a context, science is socially represented as neutral and above the natural universe, and biotechnologies as the way to improve humans by recombining and manipulating pieces of the DNA, and discovering ‘‘defective’’ individuals in advance. Women become the main source of ‘‘organic matter’’ and thanks to their capacity of bringing forth children, they become the instrument of socio-economic control over reproduction. Under patriarchy she has always been an object for male subjects, but in the new reproductive technologies she is no longer one whole object but a series of objects which can be isolated, examined, recombined, sold, hired or simply thrown away, like ova which are not used for experimentation or fertilization. This means that the integrity of the woman as a human person, an individual, as an integral indivisible being, is destroyed, It is the ideology of man’s dominance over nature and woman, combined with the scientific method of analysis and synthesis that has led to the destruction of the woman as a human person and to her vivisection into a mass of reproductive matter. (Mies & Shiva, 1993, p. 186)

Many feminists have joined the opposition to IVF, hyper-stimulation of ovaries, surrogate motherhood and other devices offered in the market, often without informed consent from the women. As Gena Corea and Jalna Hanmer have written in the prologue to Spallone and Steinberg’s (1987) Made to Order: The Myth of Reproductive and Genetic Progress: the desire of some individual women to ‘‘choose’’ this technology place women as a group at risk. With the new reproductive technologies, women are being used as living laboratories and are slowly but surely being divorced from control over procreation.

This exposes women to different types of mistreatment and mutilation. Corea (1987) believes that women accept and support these technologies because the information they are given is ‘‘one-sided and male-centered and the conviction creeps into our minds that men and their technology must be better than our own body and our experience of it’’ (p. 69). As Hanmer (1982) warned, these techniques are thus an attempt to appropriate the reproductive capacities which have been, in the past, women’s unique source of power. The technologies, in her words aim to ‘‘remove the last womancentered process from us.’’ Feminist writer Judy Wajcman’s (1991) critique of technological determinism is also very important around the issue of how reproductive technologies are socially constructed and may be ‘‘delivered into men’s hands.’’

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The emphasis over women’s rights to use these technologies tends to obscure the way in which historical and social relations are built into the very fabric of technologies y technologies are not neutral but themselves have political qualities.

Women are selecting from a very restricted range; such a restriction in options is shaped by particular political and economical interests: even decisions about whether a device works are social. As such, the technical outcomes depend primarily on the distribution of power and resources within society.

Acceptability of risk and threshold of tolerance are assessed with the same criteria. Another issue related to reproductive biotechnologies is experimentation on women who are considered to be more expendible. It happened in the past for IUD programs and for a mass testing of Depoprovera (long-term injectable contraceptives): Third World women were used as guinea-pigs by multinational drug industries. It is cheaper, faster and politically more convenient to use a crash program against fertility to discover long term effects of a contraceptive than it is to run clinical tests on samples of women in the West. In this sense, a number of Third World countries have been turned into human laboratories for transnational drug industries. (Mies & Shiva, 1993, p.192)

There are multiple adverse effect of these technologies. In many countries the use of sex determination tests has already turned into the selection and elimination of females. The women’s movement political reaction led several governments to ban this practice and today the possibility of a preconception selection based on chromosome separation of the sperm is proposed by scientists as a possible ‘‘ethical’’ alternative. The supermarket of reproductive alternatives – especially in the case of eggs and surrogate motherhood, once socially affirmed to ‘‘help the infertile woman,’’ has become a right, for anyone who can pay for it, to have a child without the burden of pregnancy (Mies & Shiva, 1993, p. 198). The possibilities of selling body parts like eggs, or renting organs like wombs, define new types of social relations, created by the technologies of assisted reproduction, in a classist and often racialized way. The feminist front is divided on this issue. Among the pro-technology of reproduction feminists we can mention Sheila Rowbotham, who argues that gender is not distinct and unchanging and is itself shaped by circumstances of class, race and ethnicity. With Swasti Mitter (Mitter & Rowbotham, 1995) she also asks for caution with respect to an undifferentiated concept of ‘‘patriarchy’’ as an unchanging

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structure: The view that men shape works to protect their gender interests assumes that gender is monolithic, rather than multidimensional and internally inconsistent. It also assumes that men are omnipotent, that they know what their gender interests are and have power to construct the world the way they want. Feminist research needs both to question male power rather than assume its existence, and to examine what its limitations are.

These authors believe that: neither the postmodernist nor the eco-feminist rejection of modern science have much to offer women seeking to maneuver within gender boundaries or attempting to shift them to establish better terms. Studies of women’s complex relation with science and technology in earlier times suggest that a more nuanced approach could indicate how certain groups of women made gains or contrived to turn technology to their advantage.

I agree that gender alone is an insufficient category to understand such complex phenomena, and that other forms of social exclusions and subordinated experiences have to be considered. Maybe, as Mitter and Rowbotham posit, those who use it can create a new relationship between technology and gender. But this type of change seems to be quite impracticable today at the level of assisted reproduction – and infeasible in a social climate of increased neoliberalism about technologies. The contemporary social context is dominated by a captious ideal type – manufactured by the media – of the woman who wants ‘‘a child at any cost,’’ and characterized by the corporations’ and the medical lobbies’ ability to manipulate expectations about positive outputs, also with the omission of negative aspects for health and high percentage of failure. An interesting position is displayed by Elaine Denny (1994), who is critical of pronatalism and other forms of glorification of motherhood. She sees these as the motives pushing women to accept the risks of superovulation, ovarian cysts, miscarriage and to use every means available to get pregnant, despite the potential of much harm for themselves and possible problems for the health of the child. This especially true in the case of heterologue reproduction performed by the implantation of a fertilized egg ‘‘donated’’ by another woman; incompatibility may arise since the donor and the recipient have different mitochondrial DNA. Elaine Denny is – on the other side – critical of radical feminists who take a stand against technologies of reproduction and genetic engineering – the main weakness of the anti-technology position would be ‘‘to treat women as universally oppressed and passive.’’ She seems to suggest the possibility of developing a feminist agency for the use of this science – which cannot be done without analyzing its foundations and consequences.

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Dion Farquhar (1995, 1996) criticized the contradictions in the antitechnology feminist discourse – since it would invoke ‘‘false consciousness’’ to explain (mostly) middle-class white women’s escalating demands for high-technology infertility services, regardless of the fact that they are dangerous, destructive, debilitating and demeaning. While these technologies are considered as a form of medical violence against women by some feminists – as Janice Raymond (1993) argues in her famous work, Women as Wombs. Farquhar (1995) believes this is an erroneous generalization: For anti-technologists, the female ‘‘experience’’ is universal; there are no exceptions, no individuals for whom they do not speak.

She does not disregard some of the points made by the anti-technology feminists: their critique of our culture’s compulsory natalism and the endemic sexism and racism of the western medical model; their analysis of the problem of class (the high cost of using these technologies severely restricts access and encourages the exploitation of desperate donors); and their exposure of the fertility clinic’s false claims and misleading statistics on success rates.

Her vision relates to a more democratic and inclusive type of society – which these new technologies would facilitate: All reproductive technologies separate reproduction from heterosexual sex and marriage. Potentially, that separation makes reproduction possible for those outside of the traditional heterosexual couple, offering new democratic family and parenting options. Not only are new individuals conceived as a result of technology, but so are new family, kinship, and parenting practices. Assisting reproductive technologies are expanding and challenging traditional views of just who may mother (or parent) a child today. Single heterosexual women, lesbians, single men, gay couples, and older women have fought for, and won, access to medical treatment. As more and more nontraditional would-be parents use the technologies, the ironclad identification of ‘‘mothering’’ with biology, heterosexuality, or even women, no longer hold.

She believes a third way is practicable between ‘‘fundamental feminism’’ – since most of the movement is against technologies-and ‘‘market liberalism,’’ which is pushing for the diffusion of all forms of assisted reproduction. Her argument is that both of these perspectives are faulty because neither can allow for the complex benefits and dangers that attend these technologies in different contexts. Farquhar (1996) points to the diverse consequences of these technologies. While they undermine traditional conceptions of the family, at the same time they reinforce class privileges. After tracing the main lines of the current debate, we will enter into specific issues regarding assisted reproduction technologies, taking into

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account that a selection has been necessary. Among many scientific studies, those using the criteria of the cautionary principle have been highlighted, and research displaying a concern about the health of women and offspring – instead of reassuring studies – have been given more attention in this work. A critical stand is offered by making connection with sociological and feminist theory produced on the subject matter.

HEALTH AND ECONOMIC ISSUES IN REPRODUCTIVE TECHNOLOGIES We are going to look more closely at three types of technology routinely used today in order to solve reproductive problems. The first technology examined will be IVF, since it allows the implementation of the following two: the implantation in a woman’s womb of a donated egg (in vitro fertilized), and surrogate motherhood. Health issues are related to all parties involved: the woman who is giving her eggs, the one receiving and the child. Keeping all actors in consideration will be more difficult when looking at surrogate mothers, because studies do not take into account important aspects, as we are going to discuss. Finally, we will look at some qualitative data from exploratory research on the egg market and the surrogate mother market – which often overlap – in several countries, through clinics’ advertisements on the web. In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) As Barbara Duden (1993) wrote in her work about ‘‘The Woman’s Body as a Public Place’’ IVF allows, for the first time in human history, the externalization of the initial process of reproduction from female internal organs to the scientist’s test-tube. The realization of such a possibility may be the first step for an expropriation of the capacity of generating life. In Duden’s theory, this is an old scientific obsession: reproducing life without women. The terminal point of IVF would be the creation of an artificial womb, a glass column of amniotic liquid that would allow the scientist’s eye to examine the most hidden process – the making of life – and eventually intervene in fetal development. In fact, IVF that has made possible embryo cloning, a ‘‘gateway’’ technology to other non-therapeutic goals (Newman, 2003), is enthusiastically supported by many scientists involved in the Human Genome Project, among them, Nobel laureate James Watson – who recently fully disclosed his racism and had to resign as Chancellor of the

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Cold Spring Harbor laboratory (New York Times, October 25, 2007). Mainstream genetists’ goals include the modification of offspring to influence traits such as intelligence, height and other characteristics, in ways that remind of Nazi eugenics (Duster, 1990). Besides medium-longterm consequences, such technologies already have reality effects on young women, who procrastinate, delaying their opportunity to have a child – mostly due to uncertainties of the labor market – trusting in the possibility of obtaining ‘‘scientific help’’ later in life, without knowing all the issues related to real chances and health hazards implicit in these technologies. Mies recalls that already in the 1980s, reproduction engineers’ propaganda aimed to devalue children born naturally as inferior. They boasted that IVF babies were superior to les enfants banales conceived and born ‘‘wildly,’’ that is, not produced scientifically under constant medical control – stating the advantage of having artificial insemination as a more rational and safe process. This, of course, contradicts the women’s experience of an invasive, painful and traumatic method – at times also humiliating (Mies & Shiva, 1993, p. 187) – which involves hormonal treatments, a surgery in the abdomen to extract the ripe eggs (with total anesthesia) and the implantation of the fertilized eggs into the uterus after more hormonal therapy and continuous monitoring. Much of IVF found its early legitimacy in the production of human embryonic stem cells with the promise of a cure for several degenerative illnesses. Later on, because of ethical and religious issues, limitations were approved in many countries. Some economical concern was raised. A stem cell line of production requires thousand of eggs: just for a clone 200–250 eggs are needed-sometimes with no success. Diane Beeson and Abby Lippman (2006) warned about the risk of harvesting eggs for the production of stem cells: Increasingly, researchers are seeking eggs from young women to be used for embryo cloning procedures. The harvesting of multiple eggs often involves the administration of drugs that have not been approved for this purpose. Also these drugs have not been adequately studied for their long-term effects on women despite research providing some evidence of significant harm to women in both the short and long term. Current practices follow a historical pattern of exposing women to risks that ultimately prove unacceptable. In addition, egg harvesting is taking place in a research climate marked by conficts of interest, the misleading use of language to describe research goals, and a commercial push that may lead to the exploitation of young women.

An international campaign for a moratorium on egg harvesting for cloning purposes was started to make women aware of such a practice (www.handsoffourovaries.org).

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In the last few years errors and frauds surrounding research processes and results by some prestigious international teams shed a disturbing light on the whole enterprise of producing stem cells from human embryos. In 2005 Hwang Woo Suk, a prominent South Korean scientist was involved in a scandal involving coercing, paying and lying to donors who were initially reported to be volunteers. The full extent of the damage to the health of the Korean women who provided the eggs used by Hwang remains unknown. A coalition of 35 women’s groups decided to sue the South Korean government on behalf of women who appear to have been harmed in the process of egg harvesting, and there are reports that about 20% of the donors have experienced side effects (Hwa-young, 2006). Finally, the possibility of fabricating stem cells through the umbilical cord of already born babies emerged as the most feasible one. This method of production of stem cell does not imply the creation of new human embryos and does not depend upon the egg market. (Findikli, Candan, & Kahraman, 2006)

Egg Donation Nevertheless, for the purpose of human reproduction, egg ‘‘donation’’ is still commonly requested to perform IVF, regardless of a multitude of problems related to this technology. Adverse effects are found among women donors from the high exposition to hormones and drugs. Besides, it is commonly recognized that most processes fail, for a variety of reasons among which are the bad quality of eggs obtained through hormonal stimulation of the donor, and the conditions of living the in vitro environment. Findikli and co-authors (2006) summarize the findings of several studies: In nearly all cases the donated materials are of poor quality, destined to be discarded after a routine IVF treatment. As it is generally known, not all embryos generated through assisted reproductive techniques have the same developmental potential. In fact, during extended in vitro culture only a few fertilized oocytes can actually develop into good quality human embryos or blastocysts, whereas the rest show retarded or arrested development as well as abnormal morphology due to unequal cell division or cellular fragmentation (Gardner et al., 2000). On average, approximately 70% of the fertilized oocytes fail to develop into good quality blastocysts, possibly due to inappropriate stimulation regimens and oocyte maturation, suboptimal culture conditions, maternal age and paternal factors, lack of growth factors and the presence of chromosomal and/or nuclear abnormalities (Harper, 1995; Munne´ et al., 1995; Janny & Menezo, 1996; Kaye, 1997; Jones et al., 1998; Moor et al., 1998; Schoolcraft et al., 1999; Bielanska et al., 2002). There can also be some embryo-specific factors that may trigger the elimination of embryos with low developmental potential. (pp. 582–583)

There are still unresolved, technical issues involved in the separation of embryo and mother at the beginning of life. As we are going to see in the

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next paragraph, such problems grow in the case in which the oocyte is ‘‘donated’’ by another woman. Here we analyze only those risks related to ovarian hyper-stimulation and eggs harvesting and whether the in vitro fertilized egg is going to be implanted in the same woman who underwent the hormonal treatment or to a recipient one. Beeson and Lippman (2006) note that reliable, systematic, long-term research on the health effects of egg harvesting is limited. What evidence there is suggests that there are problems and risks. This has led to calls for caution, for example, in an editorial in Lancet (August 9, 2003). There are short-term effects of ovarian stimulation and long-terms effects as well. The two-stage egg-harvesting procedure involves suppression and stimulation of ovulation with hormones and drugs. The artificially maturated eggs are then collected surgically during general anesthesia. The most serious risk for the woman related to the ‘‘hormonal bombing’’ is ovarian hyper-stimulation syndrome (OHSS). According to the American Society of Reproductive Medicine (ASRM) (2005) mild forms of OHSS occur in 10–20 percent of cycles with symptoms such as nausea, vomiting, diarrhea and abdominal distension. More severe OHSS leading to hospitalization or even death have occurred. Long-term effects of ovarian stimulation have not been studied adequately. In a review of scientific studies covering the last 20 years, Mark Sauer and Suzanne Kavic state that ‘‘to date no meaningful longitudinal studies detailing the long-terms effects on donors, recipients, children born or families have been published’’ (Sauer & Kavic, 2006) despite the huge number of treatment cycles – most of which have been performed in the United States. Moreover, quoting Suzanne Parisian, former chief Medical Officer of the United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA), Beeson and Lippman note pharmaceutical companies: have not been required by either the government or physicians to collect safety data for IVF drugs regarding risk of cancer or other serious health conditions despite the drugs having been available in the United States for several decades.

They go on to mention clinical reports and studies that link infertility treatments with ovarian, uterine and breast cancers, the off-label use of fertility drugs and complaints about specific drugs that have not been investigated. Finally, risks for the children seem to be implied in ovarian stimulation treatment. It has been reported that ovarian stimulation in mice led to growth retardation, delayed bone development, and an increase in a specific rib deformity in offspring (Steigenga et al., 2006). The reasons why Finland

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prohibited surrogacy – and is very cautious about heterologue forms of assisted reproduction – have to do with social and health issues. That country allows sperm donation even though some exploratory research pointed out among couples who used this technology a disproportionate number of separations ostensibly prompted by a growing discomfort among fathers having had children, thanks to another man’s donation. The law in Finland also took into account the right of the child to know about the sperm or gamete donor. Ethical issues were considered as having strong links with the surrounding social and cultural environment. That country is changing now its position about egg donation owing to the high rate of birth defects and neonatal problems. Beeson and Lippman believe we are facing an historical pattern of hormonal abuse of women. They offer, as an example, DES. Five to ten million women were exposed to a drug that physicians began to use widely to prevent miscarriages and premature births in 1947. As early as 1953 it was known that the treatment was ineffective, but use continued until 1971 when a study showed that the daughters of women who took the drug were at risk for an often fatal form of vaginal cancer. ‘‘The full extent of the damage,’’ they note, ‘‘ironically includes infertility in female offspring and problems for many DES sons as well, and may be continuing into a third generation.’’ Today most risks are related to young women who consider becoming egg donors under payment, part of what Harvard Business School Professor Debora Spar (2006) calls the growing and lucrative ‘‘Baby Business.’’ There is now an international market for eggs. Advertisements in college newspapers seek ‘‘donors’’ to ‘‘help’’ infertile couples. Compensation is also euphemistically referred to as ‘‘reimbursement’’ but can be as high as $3,000 in the United States where such advertising and payment is legal. This can be attractive to young women with outstanding education loans. Canada prohibits payment for eggs and there are strong pressures to do the same in the United States and the United Kingdom. This increases the possibility that buyers will turn to subterfuge, seek potential donors in less affluent countries or find sources where the ethical standards may be less exacting. Beeson and Lippman cite a (2005) paper by B. C. Heng noting that airline tickets and hotel bills are sometimes offered instead of outright payment. They also cite reports of young Romanian factory workers repeatedly selling their eggs for $250. They note that: Finding themselves suffering from new and mysterious health problems, some of them have taken legal action complaining of inadequate informed consent, poor medical follow-up, and other violations of established medical standards. (Magureanu, 2005; Sexton, 2005)

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The harvesting of eggs has altered the doctor/patient relationship creating the potential for psychological impact and emotional damage, a potential that has received minimal attention by researchers. Beeson and Lippman report one small study. They say: The authors report that many of the women described their care as cold and impersonal: They used metaphors such as ‘‘farm animals,’’ ‘‘produce,’’ ‘‘meat,’’ and ‘‘prostitution’’ to describe how the experience made them feel. (Kalfoglou & Gittelsohn, 2000)

Surrogate Motherhood This option is offered to women who suffer with recurrent miscarriages, untreatable problems of the womb such as recurrent fibroids, uterine or endometrial scarring (Asherman’s syndrome), prior hysterectomy or conditions where carrying the pregnancy would be a threat to the health of the mother to be. However, also women who do not want to carry a baby because of their profession (models, actresses, top managers) may consider such an opportunity. The phenomenon is on the rise: 221 scientific publications on surrogate motherhood are available on the U.S. National Institute of Health website (http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov) and on sites of international journals. For ecofeminist critics, the commercialization of reproduction to this extent jeopardizes human dignity, and particularly women’s dignity. The first court sentence on the subject in 1987, decided that contract law counts more than a woman’s claim to a child borne by her. The surrogate mother industry was legitimated and allowed to grow by transforming the surrogate mother – as in the judge’s words – to a mere ‘‘factor of conception and for gestation’’ (Mies & Shiva, 1993, p. 202). The political economy of commercial surrogate motherhood (CSM) also became a topic of debate in the past 15 years in the medical milieu. Several scientists pointed out issues of commodification of children and women who become child-bearers. Some argue that CSM contracts and agencies should be illegal (Anderson, 1993; Brazier, 1998). Others scientists believe CSM is not inconsistent with the proper respect for, and treatment of children and women (McLachlan & Swales, 2000). Their position is predicated upon the idea that commodification is a subjective process, involving a personal willingness to treat somebody like an object. Unfortunately, commodification is an objective process, taking place often regardless the individual motivations: paying for organs, blood and intimate services involves commodification of the other person. Every part of the human body, from

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DNA to gametes to organs, is in danger of being transformed into a commodity – and found by ‘‘consumers’’ on the biomarket (Berlinguer, 1999). Bodies are for sale today, whole or in parts; they are both commodified and commodifying (Scheper-Hughes & Loı¨ c, 2001). The concept of commodification comes from Marxian theory: by selling labor to the factory owner, the worker becomes a commodity. S/he turns into a part of the production process and his/her energies are absorbed (embodied) in the created object. The same happens for the surrogate mother: she sells her capacity for reproduction, and the final product – the created subject – is alienated from her, in the exchange of money. In the contended scientific arena of human reproduction the topic of CSM has become increasingly political. In the journal Health Care Analysis, an article by Campbell (2000) pointed out how CSM may become a form of servitude and the appropriation of the baby seen as immoral. A reply was then published defending pro-CSM positions from the accusation of subscribing to unethical philosophies and child purchase: Campbell misrepresents our specific arguments about commercial surrogate motherhood and our general philosophical and political views by saying or suggesting that we are ‘‘Millsian’’ liberals and consequentialists. He gives too the false impression that we do not oppose, in principle, slavery and child purchase. (McLachlan & Swales, 2001)

While the bio-ethical debate entered the scientific arena, the practice of assisted reproduction further spread in the societies, as well as the business, in organized and informal ways. The perception that a new market is emerging can easily find a confirmation by exploring offers on the web. At times eggs are sold in auction, even on e-Bay, by private donors. Many ‘‘fertility centers’’ freely advertise their services via Internet; they are located in the United States, Spain, Eastern Europe and India – and offer standard types of contracts. We are going to look at specific cases, in order to illustrate prices and services. The Fertility Insitute in Los Angeles, Las Vegas and Mexico is a clear example of a wide range services offered: fertility tests, egg ‘‘donation,’’ egg freezing, IVF, surrogate mothers, gender selection. Success rates in surrogate motherhood are said to be high: at the Fertility Institute 45 % of our surrogate cycles result in pregnancy on the first attempt. Following the completion of 2 attempts, 72 % of surrogates have become pregnant.

Also, success rates in sex selection are publicized as being high: 100% in the 1200 record cases and the institute encourages clients coming from countries such as Canada where sex selection is prohibited. (www.fertility-docs.com)

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This Institute displays very competitive fees: We urge you to compare our complete Surrogacy prices (less than $38,000.00) with other programs costing over $65,000.00. Our program prices include ALL charges. Do not be misled by programs offering surrogates with no such surrogates available. Our patients requiring the assistance of a gestational surrogate can be matched with well qualified, highly screened and selected surrogates within a week or two of joining our program. TOTAL program costs, including all medical and legal fees and arrangements by a surrogate attorney specialist average 1/2 the cost of similar programs.

The objection of surrogate mothers to a parting of ways with the commissioning persons after the child is delivered is a common concern clearly addressed: We do not accept surrogates who demand a post-delivery relationship with the couple, and contractually require that the surrogate not attempt to contact the couple after delivery unless the couple so desires y The contract signed by the surrogate mother gives all the assurance that no problems will follow the delivery of the child: on the birth certificate the surrogate mother will not be mentioned and she will not have any chance to see the child after partition.

Health concerns are addressed in a specific section titled Medical Eligibility to Become a Surrogate: Potential surrogates in our program are screened to assure they are medically, physically, sociologically and psychologically fit for surrogacy. A successful surrogate candidate will be over the age of 18, and will have delivered at least one infant, at term (9 months), and without major complication. Surrogates must be non-smokers, and must live in smoke free households. The surrogate must have no history of serious or ongoing medical conditions. The ability to attend medical office appointments during the treatment cycle and pregnancy must be assured. Surrogates must be financially secure. Surrogacy should not be looked at as a primary source of income or support. Partners of surrogates must be similarly suited for the proposed procedure.

The ‘‘Fertility Institute’’ claims to provide totally non-discriminatory services to all patients with ‘‘no consideration of race, gender, national origin or sexual orientation. The institute leaves a high degree of choice to the clients. They can choose their own surrogate and/or egg donors, which are well selected; only college students between age 18 and 27 with a grade point average of Bþ or higher are eligible. A list of donors’ profiles includes race, parents’ ethnicity, skin tone, height, weight, eyes and hair colour and texture, college major and hobbies (www.fertility-docs.com). In the website there is no mention of adverse physical effects or psychological implications for the involved actors. The emphasis is on three main aspects: the healthy, and possibly gifted, surrogate mother, which evokes her role as a mere incubator of a life that belongs to paying commissioners; the easiness and

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absence of complications during the whole process; and assurances about the result: going home with ‘‘your child.’’ Another Institute ‘‘Surrogate Alternative’’ does business in Texas, Idaho, Northern California, San Diego and Los Angeles, It offers surrogacy and egg donors at different fees, without offering the ‘‘all inclusive’’ solution. The surrogate mother will be paid at least $25,000, up to $35,000, and all other related services (such as legal assistance, health insurance, criminal record check) are to be paid separately. Age limits look higher then in other websites; there are also donors in their 30s. The surrogate mothers were often portrayed in colour pictures1 with partner and children – probably to assure the clients about their ‘‘emotional stability.’’ The compensation amount for egg donors varies: $4,000 for first time donors, $5,000 for second time donors who did not guarantee a pregnancy, to $6,000 and up for second time donors who facilitated a pregnancy (http://www.surrogatealternative.com). Looking at the donors’ profiles – their weight, height, ethnic background, religion and previous experiences – it is evident how many women have been ‘‘proven donors’’ for 3–4 times, and up to 8 times. Even though the rhetoric of this website is about ‘‘compassionate individuals and experts helping people to have children,’’ being a ‘‘donor’’ is clearly a job. The business of egg ‘‘donation’’ under payment and surrogate mothers is also established in Russia. An agency called Rosjurconsulting – Russian and International Family Law Firm offers three solutions for different pockets. The ‘‘economy package’’ starts with h20,000; a ‘‘special package’’ for h30,000 covers more services, including hotel, auto with driver and a ‘‘tutor’’ who will control the pregnant woman, her behaviors, nutrition, check ups, keeping in touch with the commissioning couple. The ‘‘all inclusive’’ package costs h40,000 – and also includes legal assistance, health insurance, translator, vitamins for the surrogate mother, proper clothes after week 8 from conception, a private clinic for the delivery, a birth certificate from the Ukrainian Consulate with the names of the commissioning couple as parents. A 10% discount on the total price is offered for those who will decide to deposit the whole amount in one payment to the agency’s bank account. Surprisingly, later on it is mentioned that the egg donor needs to be paid separately, h5,000 after achieving pregnancy and h10,000 in case of twins. The emphasis is on the business and legal aspect of the relationship and around the commitment to fully reimburse the unsatisfied client – even though such a promise looks quite improbable and naı¨ ve. Couples are asked to travel to Russia and reassured about professional attitudes and confidentiality (www.jurconsult.ru).

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In India several fertility centers can be found in big cities; they have been started in recent years for a growing market of married couples with problems in conceiving. In New Delhi I visited the Kjivf Laparoscopy and Test Tube Baby Center and interviewed the director, Dr. Kuldeep Jain, who discussed with me the mission of his clinic and the characteristics of patients – most of them Asian women from different countries. He reported that only a 5–7 percent of clients are white women, even though the center’s website displays a pregnant western woman. Two different rates are applied – for Indian and overseas couples. The cost per cycle of IVF for foreign patients is $1,200, which includes consultation charges, ultrasound scanning, blood tests, anesthetic fees, the egg pick up, sperm preparation, embryo culture and embryo transfer and day care hospitalization (http:// www.kjivf.com/overseas.asp). Services and costs related to surrogate motherhoods do not appear. During the interview the center director pointed out that the clinic does not recruit egg donors and surrogate mothers; this is up to the couple, and it usually happens inside the extended family. Malpani Clinic in Mumbai (http://www.drmalpani.com) offers a wide range of services, including egg donation, with prices slightly lower, and surrogacy – warning the possible client about the legal problems still unresolved in India, and offering information about adoption. The Christian Science Monitor (April 3, 2006) estimates the cost for surrogacy in India as one-third less than in the United Kingdom – this is why, increasingly, childless couples look to India to find surrogate mothers – creating a volume of business around $449 million. The outsourcing of babies came after the outsourcing of services in the third sector. A first estimation in 1992 assessed the number of children born from surrogate mothers as 4,000. Today – 15 years later– it seems to be impossible to have a quantitative clue about this phenomenon (www.csmonitor.com).

CONCLUSIONS In this essay, some of the many issues related to IVF, egg donation and surrogate motherhood are addressed with an ecofeminist perspective and the intent to further stimulate the debate in gender studies, sociology of science and health and in the feminist milieu. Serious ethical and political concerns emerge from considerations having to do with concepts such as freedom, rights and responsibility.

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The equivalent of the scientific freedom paradigm, reproductive freedom, is represented as the ‘‘right to choose’’ assisted forms of reproduction, and it is considered to be an important terrain of mobilization for white feminists in western countries. In a recent interview I conduced with Loretta Ross – African American leader of the Women of Color Reproductive Rights Movement in the United States – she deconstructed the idea of ‘‘individual freedom.’’ Individualism should not be considered the correct answer to contradictions produced by a globalization that deepens the gap between women in rich countries, who may now enjoy reproductive privileges, and poor women who consider selling eggs or renting their uteruses. The individual option of taking advantage of the economic divide should not be encouraged by feminists; it does not take into account severe consequences to other women, which is ethically unacceptable to women’s advocates. We should reach a shared recognition that – as Judy Wajcman, phrased it – new technologies may have different implications for Third World and First World Women, within and between countries. Feminists – regardless of their positions about the directions of science and technologies – should commit to recognize and reveal those lies women are told in the assisted reproduction market, when they find themselves in the process of becoming ‘‘clients,’’ and work consistently in the direction of demanding informed consent about risks and adverse effects. ‘‘Reproductive rights’’ should be reconceptualized in light of new technologies that allow the externalization of the work of gestation from one woman to another. Feminists have the moral duty to unveil the hypocrisy of a public discourse on egg ‘‘donation,’’ which hides the reality of an illegal market where poor women become the producers of ovocites for IVF and the sellers of their reproductive capacities. We are facing a global phenomenon that cannot be studied separately, avoiding looking at the price paid by other women elsewhere in the world or in the class system. Most of feminist research is limited to women who undergo IVF and does not consider the long-term issues of women donors and the problems for the offspring. We need to intensify efforts to produce investigations in this area of knowledge, at the global level. Women have never acted from a unity of interests or aims worldwide; today this may become possible. It seems quite urgent to start with issues of women’s health, with special attention to the international traffic of reproductive services in terms of egg selling and surrogate motherhood. This is a good reason for looking beyond white middle-class women’s agenda, which does not take into account the interconnectedness of reproduction issues. I believe that the debate about reproduction should not be considered a monopoly of

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scientists and specialists. It is crucial to open a critical debate in social science about the risks for women’s psycho-physical health related to surrogate motherhood, hormonal hyper-stimulation, egg explantation, egg implantation and related intrusive practices. We should start questioning genetic engineering and assisted reproduction technologies, their methods and goals, from embryo selection and manipulation to cloning and experiments in ectogenesis. Alessandra Dipietro and Paola Tavella in their book ‘‘Wild Mothers’’ (1996) un-translated into English, produced important documentation about the free market of eggs and took a stand against what they called ‘‘techno-robbery of women’s body and generative capacities,’’ against the commodification of eggs as body parts and against surrogate motherhood. Their reasons are different from those produced by the Catholic Church; they are related to women’s health and to political coherence as radical feminists. The ethical issues of IVF are going to be fundamental in the future debate in feminism and eco-feminism, questioning around what choice means in a highly manipulated setting, and the relationship between freedom and responsibility in a globalized economy where affluent women can commission their genetic children through the pregnancy of other women. A serene confrontation is needed, toward a collective theorizing of what reproductive rights are. One of the sensitive themes, unavoidable in the feminist debate, is the relationship between the ‘‘two mothers’’ – which is mostly symbolic in the case of egg ‘‘donation’’ and quite real when it comes to renting a womb. From an anthropological point of view, Teman (2003) started addressing feminist issues around surrogate motherhood. She explored links between the medicalization of childbirth in Israel and the personal agency of surrogate mothers after the Israeli surrogacy law of 1996. She focussed on the definition of the surrogate body as ‘‘artificial’’ and the location of ‘‘nature’’ in the commissioning mother’s body through interviews with surrogate mothers. This may be a starting point: to look at the representations of the subjects involved and the problems they raise, producing empirical data to nourish our analysis, which may become too ideological and polarized. Marianne Hirsch and Evelyn Fox Keller (1990) in their anthology Conflicts in Feminism propose new strategies for negotiating and practicing divergence among women, instead of hiding disagreements or launching anathemas. They examine the most divisive issues within feminism today with sensitivity to all sides of the debates – and considering IVF and other techniques of ‘‘assisted reproduction’’ manufactured by western science among the problematic areas that should be deepened in feminist

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theory. By analyzing how the debates have worked for and against feminism, and by promoting dialogue across a variety of contexts, they explore the roots of divisiveness while articulating new models for a productive discourse of difference. I believe this is really what we should be doing around the themes discussed in this essay – without expecting any magic solution to our problems as feminists and scholars – while working in a deeper way toward the examination of health issues; social and ethical problems; and the business/economical aspects in assisted reproduction.

NOTE 1. Pictures have been recently removed. The website displays a note ‘‘We apologize for removing the photos of our donors. New Federal patient privacy guidelines have limited our ability to provide such photos online, even though the donors have provided their consent for such display. As we await further clarification of these laws and regulations, we ask that you contact us for any additional donor information you may require. We appreciate your understanding.

REFERENCES American Society of Reproductive Medicine (ASRM). (2005). Patient’s fact sheet: Side effects of gonadotropins (http://www.asrm.org/Patients/FactSheets/Gonadotropins-Fact.pdf). Beeson, D., & Lippman, A. (2006). Egg harvesting for stem cell research. Reproductive BioMedicine, 13(4), 573–579 (available at www.rbmonline.com/Article/2503, 14 August, pp. 1–11). Berlinguer, G. (1999). The human body, from slavery to the biomarket: An ethical analysis. London: Eahmh Publications. Campbell, A. V. (2000). Surrogacy, rights and duties: A partial commentary. Health Care Analysis, 8(1). Cockburn, C. (1981). The material of male power. Feminist Review, 9, 41–58. Cockburn, C. (1985). Machinery of dominance: Women, men and technical know-how. London: Pluto Press. Corea, G. (1987). Man-made Women. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Denny, E. (1994). Liberation or oppression? Radical feminism and in-vitro fertilization. Sociology of Health and Illness, 16(1), 62. Duden, B. (1993). Disembodying women: Perspective on pregnancy and the unborn. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Duster, T. (1990). Backdoor to eugenics. New York: Routledge. Farquhar, D. (1995). Reproductive technologies are here to stay. Sojourner, 20(5), 6–7.

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Farquhar, D. (1996). The other machine: Discourse and reproductive technologies. New York: Routledge. Findikli, N., Candan, N. Z., & Kahraman, S. (2006). Human embryonic stem cell culture: Current limitations and novel strategies. Reproductive BioMedicine Online, 13(4), 581–590 (available at www.rbmonline.com/Article/2397, 17 August). Hirsch, M., & Keller, E. F. (1990). Conflicts in feminism. New York: Routledge. Ho, M.-W. (1998). Genetic engineering: Dream or nightmare? Dublin: Third World Network. Ho, M.-W. (2003). Living with the fluid genome. London: Institute of Science in Society. Hwa-young T.K. (2006). Ova donors demand compensation from government. Asia News, pp. 2–7 (available at http://www.asianews.it, accessed on 10 August). Keller, E. F. (1992). Secrets of life/secrets of death: Essays on language, gender and science. New York: Routledge. Lancet. (2003). Editorial: Eggs shared, given and sold. Lancet, 362, 413. Marx, K. (1844). Economic and philosophical manuscripts of 1844 (available at www.marxists. org/archive/marx/works.1844.) McLachlan, H. V., & Swales, J. K. (2000). Babies, child bearers and commodification: Anderson Brazier et al., and the political economy of commercial surrogate motherhood. Health Care Analysis, 8, 1–18. McLachlan, H. V., & Swales, J. K. (2001). Surrogate motherhood, rights and duties: A reply to Campbell. Health Care Analysis, 9(1), 101–107. Mies, M., & Shiva, V. (1993). Ecofeminism. London: Zed Books. Mitter, S., & Rowbotham, S. (Eds). (1995). Women encounter technology. London: Routledge. Newman, S. A. (2003). Averting the clone age: Prospects and perils of human developmental manipulation. Journal of Contemporary Health Law & Policy, 431–463 (available at http:// thehumanfuture.org/commentaries/newman_averting.pdf, accessed on 10 August). Noble, D. F. (1992). A world without women, The Christian clerical culture of western science. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Pringle, R. (1988). Secretaries talk: Sexuality, power, and work. London: Verso. Raymond, J. (1993). Women as wombs. New York: HarperCollins. Sauer, M. V., & Kavic, S. M. (2006). Oocyte and embryo donation 2006: Reviewing two decades of innovation and controversy. (available at http://www.rbmonline.com/Article/ 1901 on web 21 December). Scheper-Hughes, N., & Loı¨ c, J. D. (2001). Commodifying bodies. Body & Society, 7(2–3), 1–8. Shiva, V. (1993). Monocultures of the mind: Perspectives on biodiversity and biotechnology. London: Zed Books & Penang. Spallone, P., & Steinberg, D. L. (1987). Made to order: The myth of reproductive and genetic progress. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Spar, D. (2006). The baby business: How money, success, and politics drive the commerce of conception. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Business School. Steigenga, M. J., Helmerhorst, F. M., De Koning, J., Tijssen, A. M. I., Ruinard, S. A. T., & Gails, F. (2006). Evolutionary conserved structures as indicators of medical risk: Increased incidence of cervical ribs after ovarian hyperstimulation in mice. Animal Biology, 56, 63–68. Teman, E. (2003). The medicalization of ‘nature’ in the ‘artificial body’: Surrogate motherhood in Israel. Medical Anthropology Quarterly, 17, 78–98. Wajcman, J. (1991). Feminism confronts technology. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press.

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Additional Reading on Related Topics Ahuja, K. K. (1999). Money, morals and medical risks: Conflicting notions underlying the recruitment of egg donors. Human Reproduction, 14, 279–284. Ahuja, K. K., Simons, E. G., Nair, S., et al. (2003). Minimizing risk in anonymous egg donation. Reproductive BioMedicine Online, 7, 504–505. Andrews, L. (1989). Between strangers: Surrogate mothers, expecting fathers and brave new babies. New York: Harper & Row. Andrews, L. (2000). The Clone age: Adventures in the world of new technologies. New York: Holt Paperbacks. Arditti, R. (Ed.) (1984). Test-tube women: What a future for motherhood? London: Pandora. Balsamo, A. (1999). Technologies of the gendered body. Chapel Hill: Duke University Press. Biehl, J. (1991). Rethinking eco-feminist politics. Boston: South End Press. Brinton, L. A., Kamran, S., & Moghissi, M. D. (2005). Ovulation induction and cancer risk. Fertility and Sterility, 83, 261–274. Corea, G. (1985). The mother machine: Reproductive technologies from artificial insemination to artificial wombs. New York: Harper and Row. Di Pietro, A., Tavella, P., & Selvagge, M. (1996). Contro la tecno-rapina del corpo femminile. Einaudi. Hanmer, J., & Allen, P. (1982). Reproductive engineering: The final solution? Feminist Issues, 2(1), 53–74. Reproduced from Alice Through the Microscope, Brighton Women and Science Group (Eds) (1980). London: Virago. Harding, S. (1986). The science question in feminism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Harding, S. (1991). Whose science? Whose knowledge? Thinking from women’s lives. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Harding, S. (1993). The ‘Racial’ economy of science. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Harding, S. (1998). Is science multicultural? Postcolonialisms, feminisms and epistemologies. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Harding, S. (2006). Science and social inequality: Feminist and post-colonial issues. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Hartouni, V. (1997). Cultural conceptions: On reproductive technologies and the remaking of life. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Katz Rothman, B. (2008). Review of the book Surrogate motherhood and the politics of reproduction by Susan Markens. Gender & Society, 22(2), 264–266. Keller, E. F. (1985). Reflections on gender and science. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Keller, E. F. (2000). The century of the gene. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Mellor, M. (1992). Breaking the boundaries: Towards a feminist green socialism. London: Virago Press. Merchant, C. (1980). The death of nature: Women, ecology and the scientific revolution. San Francisco: Harper Row. Norsigian, J. (2005). Stem cell research and embryo cloning: Involving laypersons in the public debates. New England Law Review, 39, 527–534. Purdy, L. (1996). Reproducing persons: Issues in feminist bioethics. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Rothblatt, M. (1997). Unzipped genes: Taking charge of babymaking in the new millennium. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press.

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Rothschild, J. (Ed.) (1983). Machina Ex Dea: Feminist perspectives in technology. New York: Pergamon Press. Schiebinger, L. (1992). Why science is sexist. Women’s Review of Books, X(3 December). Spivak, G. C. (1993). Outside in the teaching machine. New York: Routledge. Tong, R. (1997). Feminist approaches to bioethics: Theoretical reflections and practical applications. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Wolf, S. (Ed.) (1996). Feminism and bioethics: Beyond reproduction. New York: Oxford Press.

HOW ADVERTISING FOR PSYCHOTROPICS CONSTRUCTS AN ENHANCED GENDERED SELF Elianne Riska and Thomas Heikell ABSTRACT This chapter looks at the discourse in advertising for psychotropic drugs (N ¼ 200) in Scandinavian medical journals in 2005. The discourse in the ads displaying users (n ¼ 89) conveys a gendered image of mental health. The ads promote these drugs as life-enhancement drugs – for handling the lifestyle of a postmodern self – but draw on gendered scripts for promotion of a ‘‘healthy’’ self. This finding suggests that although the neurobiological paradigm prevails, the pictures of users in psycho-pharmaceutical advertising continues to depend on culturally fixed gendered scripts.

INTRODUCTION Psychotropic drugs influence the central nervous system and are prescribed for mood disorders. There are four groups of psychotropics: antipsychotics, antidepressants, tranquilizers, and hypnotics. During the past 30 years, each decade has been characterized by a belief that of one of the drugs is a panacea. The 1960s witnessed the increasing sales of antipsychotics

Advancing Gender Research from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-First Centuries Advances in Gender Research, Volume 12, 275–289 Copyright r 2008 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 1529-2126/doi:10.1016/S1529-2126(08)12014-8

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and debated the correct dosage and side effects of these drugs. The 1970s and 1980s – the age of Valium and Halcion – were characterized by a concern over the widespread use and the dependency produced by a longterm use of tranquilizers and hypnotics, especially those based on benzodiazepines (Smith, 1991; Speaker, 1997). The 1990s and up to recently – the Prozac era – have been characterized by the rising sales of the new generation of antidepressants, called SSRIs (selective serotoninreuptake inhibitors) (Healy, 1997, 2004; Medawar & Hardon, 2004). In 2000, four drugs for mental disorders (Prozac, Paxil, Zoloft, and Zypreza) were among the ten drugs that led pharmaceutical sales in the world and each had a global sales revenue of over US$2 billion (Busfield, 2003, pp. 598–600). This study looks at the new function of psychotropics as an enhancement technology in the twenty-first century. It first reviews the theoretical frameworks for understanding this shift in medical discourse that promotes psychotropics not only as a restorative of, but also as an enhancement of the self. It then examines psychotropic drug ads in Scandinavian medical journals of 2005 that portray drug users. We show that the ads promote these drugs as life enhancers – for handling the lifestyle of a postmodern self – but draw on gendered scripts for the promotion of a ‘‘healthy’’ self.

THEORETICAL FRAMEWORKS FOR UNDERSTANDING PSYCHOTROPICS The widespread use of the new generation of antidepressants (SSRIs) has been interpreted by means of two frameworks. The first framework is the biomedical discourse that represents a neurobiological view of the underlying grounds for mental symptoms (Healy, 1997, 2004; Horwitz, 2002; Fraser, 2001). This discourse identifies a certain biochemical imbalance as the primary reason for mental symptoms. Brain-imaging techniques have confirmed the biological and neurochemical view of mental disorders and have therefore given further impetus for the ‘‘right dosage-right brand’’ thinking about drugs. This biochemical theory of mental disorders reflects a biomaterialist explanation of the phenomenon: symptoms are viewed as real and rooted in the functioning of neurochemical transmitters. This view has led to a ‘‘molecularization of psychiatric diagnosis’’ and to the emergence of a new neurochemical conception of the self (Rose, 2007, p. 199; Horwitz & Wakefield, 2007).

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The second theoretical framework is the social constructionist view, which has explained mental disorders as a matter of social reaction, social definition, and construction of categories of illness. The early social constructionist view derives from the antipsychiatry movement of the 1960s, which developed within sociology into labeling theory on deviance (Horwitz, 2002; Fee, 2000a). Later this view has been represented by those who have described the growing impact of medical culture as the ‘‘medicalization of society.’’ This is a thesis presented 35 years ago by Irving Zola (1972). From a broad scenario of a new culture, the medicalization thesis came to have more specific meanings over the next decades. Medicalization – turning a social phenomenon into a medical problem and giving it a medical solution – was in the 1970s and early 1980s seen as an imperialistic act of the medical profession. In the late 1980s, the medicalization process was conceptualized as a way of turning certain consumers into actors involved in their own medicalization, thus allowing them to gain control over the definition and treatment of their illness and providing physicians a new strategy for the empowerment of certain clients (Conrad, 2005, 2007). In the late 1990s, both physicians and consumers came to be portrayed as powerless, because the pharmaceutical industry was viewed as the major actor in defining disease categories and treatments (Horwitz, 2002; Conrad, 2005). In the construction of the medical category of depression, new disorders, such as social anxiety (SAD), general anxiety (GAD), and bulimia were listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-IV) as clinical indicators (Conrad, 2005, p. 6, 2007; Horwitz, 2002, pp. 2–3; Healy, 1997, 2004) for which the pharmaceutical industry had developed antidepressants as a remedy. The pharmaceutical industry has therefore been seen as the chief actor in the current medicalization of symptoms of depression (Horwitz & Wakefield, 2007). More recently a new interpretation of the character of the medicalization processes has been introduced. A new thesis, called biomedicalization, has been presented as more aptly explaining the current relationship between biomedicine, medical technology, and clients (Clarke, Shim, Mamo, Fosket, & Fishman, 2003). This view points to the multiple agents and the new discourse of medicalization. Drugs are no longer merely providing therapeutic repair but are increasingly being marketed for therapeutic enhancement. The status of antidepressants as an enhancement technology has been interpreted as rooted in the current biochemical discourse of mental health and illness. Some who have seen Prozac as a democratizer and a tool in shaping a techno-assisted self and the mentality of ‘‘cosmetic psychopharmacology’’ (Kramer, 1993, p. 15) have raised the

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issue of biological heterogeneity as an obstacle to be overcome (Fraser, 2001, pp. 64–65). The biological infrastructure is viewed – like the economic infrastructure of radical thinking 40 years ago – as a structure that can be altered in order to provide equality of opportunity for all individuals, who then can exert full agency, be it in physical capacity, beauty, or mood (PittsTaylor, 2007). Psychotropics have therefore been interpreted as part of the regime of producing ‘‘technoscientific identities’’ and an enhancement technology that represents the ‘‘customizable benefits of biomedicine’’ (Clarke et al., 2003, p. 184). This age of a technologically assisted choice has also been called the age of ‘‘prosthetic culture’’ (Lury, 1998), because the success of biotechnology, be it Prozac or Viagra, enables not only the restoration but also the enhancement of personal performance so that the individual’s endeavors are felt not only as natural but as even more ‘‘natural’’ than natural (Elliott, 2003, p. 25; Hewitt, Fraser, & Berger, 2000, p. 179; Mamo & Fishman, 2001, p. 22; Loe, 2001). Scholars have pondered what is ‘‘natural’’ when technological enhancement ‘‘knocks ‘nature’ from its ‘natural place’’’ (Fraser, 2001, p. 60; Elliott, 2003; Mamo & Fishman, 2001, p. 22). Yet, in this debate the gendered character of the essentialist self has been neglected. The enhanced self is a medicalized self that fits the gendered script of a society and is therefore felt as ‘‘natural.’’ Some have interpreted such a prosthetic culture as part of the production of ‘‘flexible bodies’’ – bodies that fit the social scripts of the current economic and gender order (Martin, 1994; Loe, 2001). The early social constructionist framework mainly aimed at identifying the agent who defines the social categories and hence exerts moral authority on the criteria of normality and pathology. Recent poststructuralist theorizing, based on Michel Foucault’s (1988) work, locates the definition in certain regimes of controlling the population, called biopolitics. Nikolas Rose (2001, 2007) has developed this Foucauldian scheme further and suggested that after the era of risk politics followed molecular politics which is a reorganization of the medical gaze at the molecular level. Molecular politics is represented by biological psychiatry, a discipline that looks at the neurotransmitters of the brain to identify chemical imbalances that are seen as the causes of mental pathologies. According to Rose (2001, p. 17), current biopolitics has taken the character of ethopolitics: it demands an optimization of one’s corporeality to embrace an enlarged will to health and concerns itself with ‘‘the self-techniques by which human beings should judge themselves and act upon themselves to make themselves better than they are’’ (Rose, 2001, p. 18, 2007, p. 27). Rose (2001, p. 17) sees this politics

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to be constituted by new kinds of advertising and by the marketing of new technologies of the self in a consumer market for health. Inherent in ethopolitics is a notion of biological citizenship, a conviction that individuals have a right to a good life and that biology is no longer a ‘‘natural’’ constraint but a matter of choice and enhancement. According to Rose (2001, p. 22), individuals can turn to ‘‘professionals of vitality’’ – physicians, genetic counselors, drug companies – to achieve the revered goals. The purpose is the optimization of human performance and the concomitant ‘‘biologization of the human soul’’ has created a new ‘‘neurochemical selfhood’’ (Rose, 2007, p. 223). Ethopolitics is a new regime of social control in the Foucauldian sense. Still other theorists work within a Goffman-type allegory of the asylum but extend the concept to postmodern conditions. For Rubin (2006) postmodern society is characterized by a new psychotropic drug culture – psychotropia – where the boundary between mental health and mental illness is blurred. This has created a potential community of deviance – a ‘‘global asylum’’ (Rubin, 2006, p. 262). For Rubin, postmodern society lacks direction. In this cultural vacuum and absence of clear collective goals, advertising and media industries provide images of mental health and mental illness and thereby have re-created a virtual form of the asylum: ‘‘We have empowered the pharmaceutical, medical, and media industries to create and interpret those images for us’’ (Rubin, 2006, p. 269). The gendered character of these images have, however, not been explored. The argument of this study is that the self-enhancement technologies like psychotropics contain a hidden gendered cultural script. Although mental health is increasingly interpreted within the framework of a seemingly gender-neutral neurochemical paradigm for mental disorders, psychopharmaceutical advertising continues to display gendered scripts.

IMAGES OF MENTAL HEALTH Ads contain gender displays (Goffman, 1979) that are used to construct a gender identification of products. The construction of gendered patienthood and the gendering of drugs have been viewed as ways for the pharmaceutical industry to introduce new drugs and to influence physicians’ drug prescribing (for example, Lupton, 1993; Ettorre & Riska, 1995; Curry & O’Brien, 2006; Kempner, 2006). Research on trends in gender positions in advertising suggests a slight decrease in gender stereotyping of women (Wolin, 2003; Lindner, 2004) but shows also that the 1980s and 1990s

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introduced a gender-biased image of men in advertising – the objectification of the ‘‘erotic man’’ (Rohlinger, 2002). The female portrayals in ads for psychotropics have changed over the past 30 years. In the 1970s, ads for tranquilizers and hypnotics showed women in passive and domestic situations (Prather & Fidell, 1975; Mant & Darroch, 1975; Hawkins & Aber, 1993), while media coverage of Prozac (an antidepressant) in the 1990s depicted women as active, working professionals who were able to manage conflicting expectations by means of the drug (Blum & Stracuzzi, 2004; Heikell & Riska, 2004). The conclusion has been that psychotropics constitute a pharmacological technology that assists in the enactment of gender scripts. The shifts in the categories of psychotropic drugs that are being sold and in the explanatory frameworks in theorizing about mental health and medicine pose a challenge for research on gender and psychotropics. The selection of the Scandinavian setting for a study on images in psychotropic advertising was based on two considerations. First, do the pharmaceutical companies, most of which today are multinational, adjust their gender portrayals to the national context? The official ideology of gender equality prevailing in the Scandinavian countries could be expected to influence medical advertising so that overtly gender-biased portrayals would not appear. Instead gender-neutral images or dual-gender positioning of products – directing the product to both men and women (Bellizzi & Milner, 1991) – would prevail. Previous research has shown that Scandinavian ads for psychotropics are gendered, but the pattern was not homogeneous, because the gendering of drugs differed among the Scandinavian countries in 1975, 1985, 1995, and 2000 (Lo¨vdahl & Riska, 2000; Heikell & Riska, 2004). Second, recent biochemical perspectives on mental disorders raised the issue of whether this approach is also evident in the portrayals of users’ mental health in drug advertising and to what extent the theme of technological enhancement is prevalent. Psychotropics are prescribed drugs, and advertisements for prescribed drugs are so far not allowed in public media in Scandinavia. Hence, advertisers have to consider two demographic markets in drug advertising in medical journals: physicians and the proposed users of the drug. The ads have to attract the physician’s attention and to use the language and signs of medical discourse as an already existing structural system. The discourse of drug advertising has to resonate with the reader-physician, who has to find the media representation persuasive (Cook, 2001, pp. 3–4; Williamson, 1988, p. 40). The ads therefore use visual signs that relate to the referent

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system of medicine as a body of knowledge and as a profession. Drug ads contain visual and textual information that the reader – the prescribing physician – interprets and gives meaning by constructing mental health categories and gendered patienthood (Lupton, 1993, p. 808). Furthermore, ads are seldom simply reflections of reality but also producers of reality. The ads provide images for consumption, and, as Lury (1998, p. 3) suggests, ‘‘the photograph, more than merely representing, has taught us a way of seeing.’’

METHODS AND MATERIAL All ads for psychotropics (N ¼ 200) that appeared in the four national medical journals in Scandinavia in 2005 were collected, that is, from the Danish Ugeskrift for læger, from the Finnish Suomen la¨a¨ka¨rilehti, from the Norwegian Tidsskrift for Den norske lægeforening, and from the Swedish La¨kartidningen (supplements were not included in the analysis). The drugs were classified according to the Anatomical Therapeutic Chemical classification (that is, ATC-codes); and the major psychotropic drug categories, listed by generic names in Scandinavian annual statistics on medicines, were used (Finnish Statistics of Medicine 2004, 2005). The drugs were coded into four groups: antipsychotics, tranquilizers, hypnotics, and antidepressants. In 2005, only ads for antipsychotics and antidepressants appeared in Scandinavian medical advertising. A majority of the Finnish and Norwegian ads are for antipsychotics, while a majority of the Swedish and Danish ads are for antidepressants (Table 1). Previous research has shown that the Table 1. Distribution (%) of Advertisements for Psychotropics by Drug Group and the Proportion (%) of User Ads in the National Medical Journals in Scandinavia in 2005. Drug Group Antipsychotics Anti-Depressants Tranquilizers Hypnotics Total % N Proportion (%) of ads portraying a person

Denmark Finland Norway Sweden 16 84 – –

65 35 – –

100 – – –

100 32 16 (n ¼ 5)

100 94 48 (n ¼ 45)

100 7 –

37 63 – –

Total 49% 51% – –

100 100 67 200 58 45 (n ¼ 39) (n ¼ 89)

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1980s was the age of tranquilizers and hypnotics in advertising in Scandinavian medical journals, while the advertising in the late 1990s onwards has been part of the antidepressant era (Lo¨vdahl & Riska, 2000). A quantitative approach was used in the examination of the leading theme in the picture of the ads (Neuendorf, 2002; Saukko, 2003). The pictures were divided into two categories: a person and other. In the category person are portrayals of a user who experiences either the symptoms that the medication alleviates or the effects of the drug. The category other is represented by two major subcategories: (a) photographs or drawings portraying something other than the specific medication or the user of it, for example, birds, a landscape, a flower; or (b) ads that show a drug bottle, a diagram of the effects of the drug, or only textual information. This report examines only the ads that portray persons (n ¼ 89). In 2005, 45 percent of the Scandinavian ads for psychotropics display a user. There were differences between the journals. Almost half of the Finnish and the Swedish ads portray a user, while only 16 percent of the ads in the Danish journal and no ads in the Norwegian journal contain a user (Table 1). Sixty percent of the Scandinavian ads portraying a user advertise for an antipsychotic drug. The social characteristics of the persons depicted were classified according to gender, age, working status, and social context (that is, work, leisure, other). The gender of the person(s) was classified as: (1) men, if only men were depicted in the picture, (2) women, if only women were shown, (3) men and women, if both men and women were portrayed in the same picture. If a man or a woman was depicted with a small child, the picture has been classified according to the gender of the adult. In all these cases, it was evident that the adult was the potential user of the drug. Only the gender of the user was coded in ads showing a user and a physician: one ad, appearing twelve times in 2005 in the Finnish journal, depicted a female user and a male physician. The ads were coded by two coders; in cases of disagreement a third coder was consulted. The analysis of the material has been done by a combination of a quantitative and a qualitative approach to ensure analytical enrichment of the findings (Deacon, Pickering, Golding, & Murdock, 1999). The aim of the semiotic analysis was to capture the cultural message of the ads. In the analysis, the picture and the supporting textual information were the focus. Each ad contains a signifier that suggests the signified – a mental concept or reference (Williamson, 1988; Kress & Leeuwen, 1996; Saukko, 2003; Dyer, 1982, p. 118). The signs, in combination with the textual information, were analyzed both denotatively and connotatively to

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decode the message contained in the ad (for example, Desai, 2002; Deacon et al., 1999). The denotative approach focused on visual images in the ads and the supporting textual information: Who is portrayed (gender, age), what are the physical surroundings, what is the textual message? The connotative approach looked beyond the obvious visual signals and textual information and analyzed the ads through a cultural and theoretical framework, to get a thick description of the material (Geertz, 1973). The leading questions were: How are users portrayed (active–passive); how will the describing physician understand the situation, considering the historical and present view of mental disorders (Cooperstock, 1971; Cook, 2001); is the ad a representation of gendered patienthood (Goffman, 1979; Lupton, 1993)?

RESULTS Gender Displays in Advertising for Psychotropics Three decades ago, American research on psychotropic advertising showed that the ads mainly contained women and that the pictures confirmed a stereotypic image of women as housewives (for example, Prather & Fidell, 1975). Scandinavian advertising for psychotropic drugs provides a more complex representation of gender than the dominant female representation of patienthood found in psychotropic drug ads in American medical journals. In 2005, an almost gender balanced representation prevails in Scandinavian advertising for psychotropics. Slightly over a half of the Scandinavian ads for psychotropics (55 percent) display a female user (Table 2). Examined by country, only the Finnish ads show a female Table 2. Distribution (% and n) of Advertisements for Psychotropic Drugs by Gender of Person Portrayed in the National Medical Journals in Scandinavia in 2005. Gender of the Person

Women Men Men and women Total

Denmark

Finland

Norway

Sweden

Total

%

n

%

n

%

n

%

n

%

n

40 60 –

2 3 –

80 20 –

36 9 –

– – –

– – –

28 72 –

11 28 –

55 45 –

49 40 –

100

5

100

45

–

–

100

39

100

89

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majority, while the Swedish and Danish ads sell psychotropics as a malegendered product. The male representation of the user in the latter two journals is related to the gendering of antipsychotics. All the persons in need of antipsychotic drugs are portrayed as men in the Swedish journal and three of the four user ads (75 percent) for antipsychotics in the Danish journal show men. By contrast, only 24 percent of the users of antipsychotics were portrayed as men in Finnish ads. Antidepressants are positioned as a completely female-gendered product in the Danish and Finnish ads, while a majority of the Swedish ads for antidepressants (59 percent) portray a male user. The use of both genders in marketing, the so-called dual-gender positioning of commodities (Bellizzi & Milner, 1991), was a market strategy to maximize the market for a product in the past, especially by showing men and women together in the picture. The latter type of marketing does not appear in the Scandinavian user ads in 2005 as compared to its frequent prevalence in Scandinavian psychotropic ads in the past (Lo¨vdahl & Riska, 2000). Instead, the psychotropic advertising uses either female- or male-directed images of the product to influence the physician’s prescribing practice.

The Construction of the Enhanced Self The biochemical and restoration-of-balance thinking appears in the discourse in Scandinavian advertising for psychotropics in 2005, but the need for the drug is now displayed in life-enhancement terms for a gendered self. In 2005, the male and female users appearing in the ads for antipsychotics are about 35–40 years old. The ads show or refer to an enhanced self, which the user is now able to present with the aid of the drug. The user is smiling and the text indicates that he or she is up to the demands put on his or her life. Aside from a Danish ad for antipsychotics showing a young man with his two small children (the text says, ‘‘For some it is fun to be together with the family. For others it is a victory’’), the young users are portrayed alone, as single, middle class, well dressed, and well groomed. In one Finnish ad a young woman and in another ad a young man is displayed under a bright lamp and the text asks the question, ‘‘Where to get more power for treating schizophrenia and manic depression?’’ – a portrayal that conveys a biochemical thinking of the mental health problem. A set of Finnish ads for antipsychotics shows a waitress balancing her tray and, in another ad, a male construction worker at work. The text in both ads reads: ‘‘Balance is a skill.’’ Again this image promotes the notion of finding the

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right biochemical balance through the right brand and dosage of the drug. Furthermore, a Danish ad shows a young, good-looking woman in a jump suit. She is sitting, half of her body meditating and the other half lifting weights. The accompanying text promotes the balance theme: ‘‘One can be y both strong and soft.’’ The same kind of de-contextualization and demographic group is targeted in the ads for antidepressants. They display the user as single, young, happy, well dressed and good looking. A Swedish ad for an antidepressant displays two versions of a 35-year-old, well-dressed man sitting in a sofa – one version serious and another happy. The text reads: ‘‘Mild, moderate, or severe depression? The difference does not always show on the surface y but [knowing the difference] is crucial to finding the right treatment.’’ Another Swedish ad for an antidepressant shows the face of a woman about 35 or 40, laughing happily in the sun, her short blond hair still slightly wet, and a towel around her neck. The text tells that the drug is a new antidepressant and ‘‘the goal is to be symptom free.’’ Incidentally, a year later, exactly the same picture is featured in Finnish ads for a national chain of fitness clubs for women called Lady Line, which on its website, in newspaper ads, and in ads on public transport in the capital Helsinki in 2006 and 2007 markets itself as an ‘‘exclusive female sports club’’ (www.ladyline.fi; for example, VN, 2006, p. 10). The dual use of this picture – both to advertise an antidepressant for young women and to promote a fitness center for young women – suggests the shared purpose of the marketed items as part of an enhancement technology for women. Both the gym and the antidepressant are self-techniques in a project of selfdefinition and optimization of a healthy self.

CONCLUSION The aim of this study has been to explore the character of Scandinavian psychotropic advertising in 2005: are the drugs gendered and in which ways? The results show that the biochemical discourse prevails, a thinking that presents psychotropics as a neurochemical restorative of mental functioning. In addition, the discourse of the ads conveys the message that the person can be enhanced to the capacities demanded by a postmodern lifestyle. Both antidepressants and antipsychotics are portrayed as life-enhancement drugs and part of the single, young, middle-class lifestyle. Both the medical and public discourse of SSRI-type of antidepressants have portrayed these drugs as female gendered in the United States and

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Ireland (Blum & Stracuzzi, 2004; Curry & O’Brien, 2006). Slightly over half of the Scandinavian advertisements for psychotropics in 2005 portray a female. Female and male gendering of psychotropics shows no unitary pattern in Scandinavian medical advertising but a clustering by country: In 2005 antidepressants are female gendered in Danish and Finnish ads and convey the message that depression is only a women’s health concern. By contrast, Swedish and Danish ads display antipsychotics as male-positioned and hence present major mental illnesses as an issue of men’s mental health. The findings from this study show that psychotropia, as envisioned by Rubin (2006), is not gender neutral but a condition where advertising is confirming gendered scripts and current binary notions of gender. The Scandinavian user ads for psychotropics did not in 2005 contain dualpositioned ads – ads that are directed to both men and women in the same picture. It has been argued that depression has become a discursive project in the construction of the postmodern self (Fee, 2000b, p. 75; Rose, 1997, p. 238, 2007). The notion of feeling ‘‘better than well,’’ a phrase coined by Kramer (1993, p. 41), has been seen by Elliott (2003, p. 26) and others (Hewitt et al., 2000, p. 174) as a postmodern condition: the quest for self-improvement as a means for self-discovery and the right to pursue and achieve happiness as a revered value and goal. The voluntarism inherent in this view has been challenged by poststructuralist theorizing which views neither the physical body nor the psychic self as fixed or natural but rather as culturally inscripted. Representatives of the biomedicalization thesis argue that biomedicine has reconstructed the boundaries between the material body and social identity so that medical interventions in the form of ‘‘technologies of the body’’ and ‘‘technoscientific identities’’ can enhance a revered notion of the self (Clarke et al., 2003, p. 184). The notion of the technology of the self (Foucault, 1988) implies that psychotropic drugs are part of the broader disciplinary regime of selfcontrol expected to guide an individuals conduct. The gender portrayal in the Scandinavian psychotropic ads in 2005 could be viewed in Foucauldian terms as part of ethopolitics – the current form of biopolitics (Rose, 2001, 2007). According to this view, psychotropics constitute a ‘‘technology of optimization’’ and are the means for the construction of ‘‘neurochemical selves,’’ a new notion of the optimized, essentialist self. The images of the user pictures in Scandinavian advertising for psychotropics in 2005 contain a neurochemical discourse. Far from being gender neutral, the discourse of molecular politics uses gendered images to promote the achievement of an enhanced neurochemical self. For physicians

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reading the ads for psychotropics, the images of psychotropic drugs and of the gym are blurred and both have become representations of a woman’s search for an enhanced outer and inner gendered self. The optimized body and the neurochemical self have become part of the construction of responsible, self-regulating gendered healthy consumers.

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS Miriam Adelman, who holds the M. Phil. in sociology from New York University and Doctorate in Human Sciences from Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina, has been Professor of Sociology at the Universidade Federale do Parana´ (UFPR), since 1992. She is responsible for initiating the first gender studies and research activities at that institution, as co-founder of its ‘‘Nu´cleo de Estudos de Geˆnero,’’ begun in 1994 and continuing today as the major institutional space for promoting women’s and gender studies at the UFPR. In addition to current research and teaching in undergraduate and postgraduate Social Science and Sociology programs at the UFPR, she is also an active member of the Brazilian gender studies community and participates on the Editorial Board of the Revista de Estudos Feministas, one of Brazil’s two major feminist academic journals. She has published numerous articles in scientific journals in Brazil and abroad, as well as book chapters on topics ranging from feminist theory, post-colonialism and contemporary sociology to women in sport and gender in film. She has one edited volume (Geˆnero Plural: um Debate Multi-disciplinar, 2002, Editora UFPR, with Celsi Bronstrup Silvestrin) and is currently organizing another, on gender representations in film. Sarah Jane Brubaker is assistant professor and graduate coordinator of sociology in the L. Douglas Wilder School of Government and Public Affairs at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, VA. Her primary research interests include adolescent girls’ experiences with sexuality and violence, gender-based violence and social constructions of the body, health and illness. She teaches graduate and undergraduate courses in sociological theory, sex and gender, theories of gender violence, and the sociology of health and illness. Laura Corradi, former factory worker, is a scholar activist, professor of gender studies and sociology of health and environment at University of Calabria, South Italy. She earned her Ph.D. at the University of California, Santa Cruz and published several articles and books about women, occupational health, prevention, anti-cancer social movements and globalization. 291

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Mary Jo Deegan is professor of sociology at the University of NebraskaLincoln. She is the author of over 175 articles and the author or editor of 21 books including Jane Addams and the Men of the Chicago School, 1892–1918; The American Ritual Tapestry and Race, Hull-House, and the University of Chicago. She co-edited and introduced Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s With Her in Ourland, The Dress of Women and Social Ethics; and edited and introduced Fannie Barrier Williams’ The New Woman of Color; George Herbert Mead’s Play, School, and Society and Essays in Social Psychology. She is finishing Self, War, and Society: The Macrosociology of George Herbert Mead and preparing a book on Martineau and the sociology of health and disability. Vasilikie Demos is professor emerita of sociology at the University of Minnesota-Morris and senior research fellow at the Center for Conflict Resolution, Salisbury University. She obtained her Ph.D. in sociology from the University of Notre Dame. She is co-editor of this series and of ‘‘Race, Gender and Class for What?’’ a special issue (2007) of Race, Gender & Class. Her most recent publication (2007) co-authored with Anthony J. Lemelle, Jr. and Solomon Gashaw is ‘‘System of Oppression: Ten Principles’’ in Gender, Race, and Class: Central Issues in a Changing Landscape. Her research is in the areas of the history of sociology, race/ethnicity and gender, which includes her current study of ethnicity and gender in the United States, Greece and Australia. She is a past president of the North Central Sociological Association and Sociologists for Women in Society. Heather E. Dillaway is associate professor and director of Undergraduate Studies in the Department of Sociology at Wayne State University in Detroit, MI. Her primary research interests include women’s health and structural inequalities (gender, race, class, age and sexuality). Her current research projects focus on how women’s reproductive experiences – more specifically, childbirth and menopause – are shaped by their social locations and contemporary sociocultural contexts. She teaches graduate and undergraduate courses about sex and gender; race, class and gender; women and health; social problems; research methods and qualitative data analysis. Anna Dryjanska was born in 1983, in Warsaw, Poland. She is a student in the Department of Sociology at the Collegium Civitas where she specializes in Culture, Media and Social Communication. Her essay on the rape culture in Poland was published in the ‘‘Przekroj’’ weekly (46/2006) and she has translated into Polish the preface and the first chapter of Harriet Martineau’s ‘‘How to Observe Morals and Manners’’ (1836).

About the Authors

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Sally K. Gallagher is professor of sociology at Oregon State University. She writes in the areas of gender, family and religion, and is author of Evangelical Identity and Gendered Family Life (2003, Rutgers University Press) as well as numerous articles on evangelical feminism, congregational culture, religious identity and gender. She is recipient of a Fulbright award for research on gender, work and family in Damascus, Syria. Alexandra Gerber is a doctoral candidate in sociology at the University of Michigan. Her interests include gender, European integration and national sovereignty in post-socialist space. She is currently a Fulbright Fellow conducting fieldwork in Poland, where she is investigating how European integration and supranationalism impact discourses of gender and nation. Thomas Heikell is a Ph.D. candidate in sociology at A˚bo Akademi University, Finland. His Ph.D. thesis examines men whose fathers were seafarers and their reflections upon their upbringing and childhood in a family with an absent father. His second topic of interest is the construction of gender in advertisements for psychotropic and cardiovascular drugs, a theme about which he has co-authored articles. Susan Hoecker-Drysdale is professor emerita, sociology, Concordia University, Montreal, and currently research professor, sociology, The American University, Washington, DC. Her books include: Harriet Martineau: First Woman Sociologist, Oxford, Berg, 1992; Harriet Martineau: Theoretical and Methodological Perspectives, co-edited with Michael Hill, Routledge, 2001, and Harriet Martineau: Studies of America, 1831–1868, 8 Volumes, Thoemmes Continuum, 2004. Her recent publications include: ‘‘The Nobleness of Labor and the Instinct of Workmanship: Nature, Work, Gender, and Politics in Harriet Martineau and Thorstein Veblen,’’ Chapter 6 in Thorstein Veblen’s Contribution to Environmental Sociology: Essays in the Political Ecology of Wasteful Industrialism, Ross E. Mitchell, editor (2007) and ‘‘The History of Sociology: the North American Perspective’’, co-authored with John P. Drysdale, in Sage Handbook for Twenty-first Century Sociology, Clifton Bryant, editor (2007). In 2005 she received the Distinguished Scholarly Achievement Award of the Section on the History of Sociology, the American Sociological Association. She is currently writing The Feminist Tradition in Sociology (Blackwell, 2009). Deborah A. Logan who earned her Ph.D. at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill is Professor of English at Western Kentucky University, Bowling Green. She teaches Victorian literature and culture, Romanticism and World Literature, and is editor of The Victorian

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Newsletter. Her monographs include Fallenness in Victorian Women’s Writing (1998) and The Hour and the Woman: Harriet Martineau’s ‘somewhat remarkable’ Life (2002). She has edited 18 volumes of Harriet Martineau’s writing, including The Collected Letters of Harriet Martineau. Current projects include a volume on Florence Nightingale’s political influence, a book-length study of Martineau’s writing on post-famine Ireland and a monograph analyzing Martineau’s writing about the British Empire as it evolved during the 19th century. Fernanda Azeredo Moraes is an undergraduate student in social sciences at the Universidade Federal do Parana´. As a sociology major, she has been an active participant in that institution’s ‘‘Nu´cleo de Estudos de Geˆnero,’’ its major institutional space for interdisciplinary gender discussions and study. Her key areas of study and interest are feminism and gender studies, queer theory, masculinities studies, post-colonial issues, post-modernism, cultural studies and anthropology. Tariqah A. Nuriddin is assistant professor of medical sociology at Howard University. She received the M.S. and Ph.D. in sociology, the latter with a minor in gerontology, from Purdue University. Her Undergraduate study was at Hampton University, where she was a National Institute of Mental Health Career Opportunities in Research and Training Recipient. While a graduate student, she received the Association for Gerontology in Higher Education Minority Master’s Level Emerging Scholarship and the American Sociological Association Minority Fellowship. She is the co-author of ‘‘Psychological Distress and Mortality: Are Women More Vulnerable?’’ in the Journal of Health and Social Behavior, and ‘‘Urban Stress and Mental Health among African American Youth: Assessing the Link between Exposure to Violence, Problem Behavior and Coping Strategies in the Journal of Cultural Diversity. Carolyn C. Perrucci is professor of sociology at Purdue University where she has enjoyed a 40-year career teaching in the areas of gender, work and family, and conducting research focusing on gender and socioeconomic achievement, social impacts of plant closings, the economic status of retirees and graduate educational attainment. Dr. Perrucci is co-editor of Marriage and the Family: A Critical Analysis and Proposals for Change; Women in Scientific and Engineering Professions and The Transformation of Work in the New Economy: Sociological Readings. She is co-author of Plant Closings: International Context and Social Costs, which won the Outstanding Scholarly Achievement Award of the North Central Sociological

About the Authors

295

Association. She also has authored over 40 articles in the leading journals in sociology and related disciplines. Elianne Riska holds the Ph.D. and is professor of sociology at the Swedish School of Social Science, University of Helsinki, Finland. Her research focuses on gender and health and the medical profession. Two of her recent books explore the gendered aspects of health: Gendered Moods: Psychotropics and Society (Routledge, 1995, together with Elizabeth Ettorre) and Masculinity and Men’s Health: Coronary Heart Disease in Medical and Public Discourse (Rowman & Littlefield, 2004). She has examined the position of women physicians in Medical Careers and Feminist Agendas: American, Scandinavian, and Russian Women Physicians (Aldine de Gruyter, 2001). Marcia Texler Segal is professor of sociology and dean for research emerita at Indiana University Southeast. She is co-editor of this series as well as of Intersections of Gender, Race, and Class: Readings for a Changing Landscape (2007, with Theresa A, Martinez). She has also co-edited volumes of teaching resources available from the American Sociological Association, and she currently serves on the editorial boards of Teaching Sociology and the gender section of the new on-line journal Sociology Compass. Her research, teaching and administrative consulting have taken her to countries in sub-Saharan Africa and Central Asia. She is a past president of the North Central Sociological Association and has held elected and appointed offices in the American Sociological Association, Sociologist for Women in Society and Research Committee 32 (Women in Society) of the International Sociological Association. Kathryn A. Sweeney is an assistant professor of sociology in the Department of Behavioral Sciences at Purdue University Calumet. Her research focuses on how societal inequities of race, class and gender are perpetuated and challenged in relationships and institutions. Past and forthcoming publications include studies of racialized responses to Hurricane Katrina, the nuances of white racial ideology, how ideas about race shape arguments used in the antiaffirmative action (with Belisa Gonza´lez), and the role of race in partner selection via internet dating (with Anne L. Borden). Sweeney is currently lead PI on two projects: the first examines what relationships foster white antiracism (with Lee Giordano) and the second looks at how race shapes college experiences and how institutions can improve student success and retention at highly selective predominantly white institutions (with Regine O. Jackson).

296

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Susan Weiss is an attorney, and the founder and executive director of the Center for Women’s Justice (CWJ), a non-profit organization made up of cause lawyers dedicated to safeguarding the human rights of Jewish women in the Israeli rabbinic courts. Susan is an editor of the Law and Its Decisor, a quarterly publication of Bar Ilan University of Israeli rabbinic court decisions. She has published both popular, as well as more academic, articles on the issue of Jewish divorce (Cardozo Women’s Law Journal, Van-Leer Publications); and has recently had an article about women’s head covering accepted for publication at Nashim. This is her first published article that is more anthropological than legal in its emphasis. She sees her academic work and activism as intertwined and indispensable one to the other. Susan took part in the film Sentenced to Marriage and is a Ph.D. candidate in sociology and anthropology at Tel Aviv University.

SUBJECT INDEX Blacks (also see African Americans), 67, 69, 73–75 Brazil, 1–2, 99–101, 103, 105–113, 115, 117–120, 291 Brazilian Turf, 107

Abolition, 36, 74 Abolitionists, 74–75 Advertising, 2, 262, 275–287 Adult Women, 218, 224 African Americans (also see Blacks), 203, 208, 210 Age, 16, 18, 21, 33, 37, 55, 82, 101, 107, 113–114, 116, 130–131, 154–155, 157, 159, 162–163, 165, 197–198, 201, 203–209, 211, 214, 219, 221, 224–225, 237–238, 241–242, 260, 265–266, 276, 278, 282–283, 292 Agency, 3, 13, 18, 135, 173, 186, 256, 266, 269, 278 Agunah, 175, 180, 182–183 Alienation, 65–66, 251 Ambleside, 25, 34, 58 Analgesia, 221 Anesthesia, 221, 229, 259, 261 Authority, 8–9, 14–15, 54, 64, 80–82, 85, 87, 107, 149, 151, 154–155, 157, 162, 164, 166, 179–180, 183–184, 188–189, 219–221, 230, 237–238, 278 Autonomy, 69, 80, 82–83, 88–89, 94, 104, 116, 182, 190, 193

Capitalism, 63–64, 67, 82, 246, 250 Catholic Church, 86, 138, 269 Catholicism, 3, 26, 86, 89–90 Cesarean Birth, 232 Childbearing, 218, 224, 246 Childbirth, 2, 217–225, 227–229, 231–237, 239–242, 269, 292 Choice, 66, 134, 136, 139, 142–144, 193, 219, 221–222, 229–232, 237–241, 245, 247, 265, 269, 278–279 Civil War, 36, 38, 75 Civilizing Mission, 26, 32, 40 Colonial America, 8 Colorblind Racial Ideology, 127 Comparative Analysis, 218, 223, 236 Comte, August, 2, 20, 67 Conception, 64, 90, 181, 263, 266, 276 Conceptualization, 195, 241 Conceptual Framework, 218, 241 Conservative Protestants, 155 Continuum, 239, 241–242, 293 Consumption, 33, 35, 37, 66, 197, 200, 207–212, 214, 281 Control, 3–4, 11, 26, 50, 73, 81–84, 87–89, 94, 100–102, 125–129, 132–137, 139–141, 143, 159, 163, 174, 201–202, 213, 219–222, 228, 230–231, 233–241, 251, 254, 259, 266, 277, 279

Bereavement, 197–199, 201, 203–210, 213–214 Birmingham Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, 64 Birth, 64, 217–223, 227–242, 251–252, 262, 265–266 Birthing Center, 218, 224–226, 231–239 Biopolitics, 278, 286 Biological citizenship, 279 297

298 Crimean War, 1, 44–45, 49, 51, 58 Cultural Studies, 2–3, 63–65, 67–69, 71–73, 75–76, 294 Decisions, 68, 95, 108, 125, 127–129, 132–138, 140–145, 155, 157–159, 161, 163–164, 167, 175–176, 189, 222, 228, 237, 255, 296 Democracy, 63, 67, 69, 73–74, 85, 175 Demonology, 9–10 Denmark, 281, 283 Devine Revelation, 174, 184–185, 188 Dichotomy, 2, 118, 217–223, 239–240, 242 Difference, 32, 57–58, 64, 72, 100, 117–118, 132, 223, 233–234, 270, 285 Discourse, 70, 74, 79, 81, 86–87, 89, 101, 117, 162, 257, 268, 270, 275–277, 280, 284–286, 295 Divorce, 2, 155, 173–177, 186, 190–192, 194, 296 Divorce Law, 176, 191–192 Doctor(s), 2–5, 7–14, 16–19, 23–40, 44–52, 54–59, 63–74, 76, 79–93, 99–100, 102–108, 110–121, 127, 129, 131, 133–135, 137–142, 144–145, 150–153, 155–162, 164–170, 174, 176, 178–193, 201, 213, 217–224, 226–242, 245–260, 262–264, 266–269, 278, 280, 282, 284, 286–287, 291–296 Dress, 54, 56, 178, 292 Dublin, 24, 29, 31–32, 34–35 Eco-feminism, 249, 269 Economic Dependency, 37, 131–133, 140, 142, 145 Education, 13, 25–27, 31, 38, 40, 63, 67, 69, 75, 101–102, 113, 126, 131, 134, 144, 155, 157, 159, 162–165, 224–226, 242, 248, 253, 262, 294 Egg Markets, 2, 245 Emancipation of Women, 63, 66, 73

SUBJECT INDEX Employment, 84, 113, 120, 149–153, 155–159, 162, 164–169 England (also see Great Britain, United Kingdom), 1, 24–29, 32, 35–36, 38, 40, 43, 45, 47, 49, 53, 55–58, 64, 166, 225, 232, 253 Enlightenment, 2, 7, 9–11, 13, 15, 17, 19, 81 Epidural, 220, 227–238, 240–241 Equal Opportunity Policy, 87, 93 Equestrian Sports, 99, 103–106, 109, 118–119 Ethnocentrism, 70 Ethnography, 69–71, 76 European Integration, 79, 85, 88, 90, 293 European Union, 1, 3, 79, 81, 83, 85, 87, 89, 91, 93, 251 Europeanness, 86 Evangelicalism, 150–151, 156, 162, 169 Exegesis, 174, 179–180, 186–190, 192–194 Female Sociologists, 44, 56, 58 Feminism, 118, 168, 178, 187–189, 249, 252, 257, 269–270, 293–294 Feminist Consciousness, 173, 186–187 Feminist Pragmatist Welfare State, 56 Feminist Praxis, 179 Feminist Scholarship, 217, 219, 222, 236, 239, 242 Fenianism, 34 Finland, 1, 261–262, 281, 283, 293, 295 French Revolution, 28, 67 Fundamentalism, 156, 177–178, 186 Fundamentalist(s), 2–5, 7–14, 16–19, 23–40, 44–52, 54–59, 63–74, 76, 79–93, 99–100, 102–108, 110–121, 127, 129, 131, 133–135, 137–142, 144–145, 150–162, 164–170, 173–174, 176–194, 201, 213, 217–224, 226–242, 245–260, 262–264, 266–269, 278, 280, 282, 284, 286–287, 291–296

Subject Index Gender, 1–5, 7–9, 16, 23, 43, 52–54, 63, 67, 76, 79–81, 83–89, 91–95, 99–103, 105–107, 109–112, 115–118, 120, 125–130, 133–146, 149–153, 155, 157, 159, 161–163, 165–169, 173–174, 197–199, 201–205, 207, 209–214, 217–219, 223, 237, 245–247, 249, 255–256, 264–265, 267, 275, 278–280, 282–284, 286, 291–295 Gendered Space, 107 Germany, 92, 94, 249, 252–253 Globalization, 68, 88, 250, 268, 291 Great Britain (also see England, United Kingdom), 64 Great Game, 39 Halakha, 174–175, 177–178, 180, 182–183, 185, 194 Happiness, 36, 53, 63, 68–69, 76, 252, 286 Hartley’s Associationism, 10 Health, 1–3, 24, 29, 33, 37, 43–51, 53–59, 63, 68, 102, 197–214, 217–219, 224, 233, 235, 241, 246–247, 250–251, 256, 258–270, 275, 277–281, 284, 286, 291–292, 294–295 Health Coping Strategies, 204, 211–212 Hermeneutics, 174, 179–180, 186–190, 192–194 Homosociality, 100, 107, 110, 121 Hospital, 34, 45, 50, 53–54, 142, 218, 220–222, 224–225, 229, 231–241 Hospital Administration, 50 Hull House, 44, 48–49, 56 Hungry 40s, 28 Hysteria, 8, 15 Identity, 3, 68, 79, 81, 87–89, 91, 103, 105–107, 126, 149–151, 154–156, 159, 164, 167–168, 170, 173, 178, 186, 190–193, 286, 293 Identity Politics, 173, 190, 193

299 India, 26, 32, 39, 53, 246–247, 249, 264, 267 Industrial Revolution, 64–65 International Relations, 80 Interpretive Strategies, 173–175, 177, 179, 181, 183–194 Interracial Marriage, 125, 129–130, 134, 142–144 Intervention, 219, 221–222, 230, 233–234, 236, 238 Interviews, 105, 125, 129–130, 132–133, 149, 154–155, 159, 167, 174, 182, 186, 199–200, 206, 222, 226, 229, 234, 237, 239, 269 Invested Individualism, 2, 149–151, 153, 155, 157, 159, 161–163, 165, 167–169 In Vitro Fertilization (IVF), 3, 245–247, 251, 253–254, 258–261, 264, 267–269 Involved Fatherhood, 153, 160 Ireland, 2, 23–30, 32–33, 35–40, 286, 294 Irish Nationalism, 34 Irish Question, 23–25, 27, 37–40 Irish Republican Brotherhood, 25, 28 Israel, 1, 3, 175–178, 186–187, 191–194, 269 Italy, 1, 251, 291 Jewish Law, 175, 177, 181–182, 189, 194 Jockeys, 2, 99–101, 103–105, 107–109, 111–121 Judaism, 175, 178, 183, 185 Justice, 26–27, 85, 92, 177, 180, 182–184, 188–194, 245, 247, 296 Labor, 49–50, 54–57, 65–66, 89–90, 93, 109, 127–130, 133–134, 138–139, 144–145, 152, 167–168, 219–221, 227, 229–233, 235–236, 238, 240, 245, 247–248, 259, 264, 293 Laissez Faire Economics, 25

300 Lake District, 55 Law, 3, 16, 18–19, 48, 74, 82, 85, 89, 92, 142, 173, 175–177, 179–182, 184–186, 188–189, 193–194, 251, 262–263, 266, 269, 296 Mamzer, 175, 180–183 Mapping, 47, 51 Marriage, 2, 15, 30, 125–129, 131, 133–143, 145, 152, 155, 167, 175, 183, 187, 191, 194, 257, 294, 296 Marx, Karl, 249 Maslow, Abraham, 68 Mather, Cotton, 15–17 Mather, Increase, 15, 17 Meanings, 2, 69–70, 107, 128, 153, 157, 180–181, 189, 193, 217–219, 221–223, 225, 227, 229, 231, 233, 235, 237, 239, 241–242, 277 Medical, 2, 18–20, 24, 31, 33–34, 49–50, 74, 142, 217–223, 227–230, 232–242, 250, 252, 256–257, 259, 261–263, 265, 275–283, 285–286, 294–295 Medical Procedures, 237–238, 240 Medical Providers, 237 Medicalization, 217–219, 221–223, 227–228, 236, 238–242, 269, 277 Medicine, 2, 10, 43–44, 55–58, 94, 219, 229, 235, 240, 246–248, 261, 280–281 Mental Health, 275, 277, 279–281, 284, 286, 294 Meritocracy, 127 Mesmerism, 8, 18, 21, 24, 29–30, 35 Midwives, 220, 233–235 Middle Class, 115, 149, 151, 153, 165, 222, 284 Monster Meetings, 28–29, 33, 40 Mortality, 30, 49, 52–53, 294 Mother, 27, 113, 115–118, 142, 161, 180, 182–183, 220, 229, 232, 237, 240, 248, 257–258, 260, 263–266, 269

SUBJECT INDEX Motherhood, 2, 224, 245–247, 251, 254–256, 258, 263–264, 267–269 Multiculturalism, 32, 173, 186, 190–191 National Identity, 79, 81, 87–89 Natural, 2, 4, 10, 19, 38, 72, 83, 166, 192, 217–223, 227–242, 252–254, 278–279, 286 Neurochemical Self, 279, 286–287 Nightingale, Florence, 43–59 Nightingale’s Fund, 54 Norway, 281, 283 Nurses, 45, 54, 226 Occupational Health, 45, 291 Oppression, 26–27, 32, 35, 73, 126, 135, 178, 190, 194, 217, 292 Organic Intellectual, 3, 72, 76 Pain, 21, 52, 178, 190, 200, 221, 229–234, 236–237 Pain Medication, 229, 231–233 Pain-free, 231, 234 Patient, 30, 219, 263, 270 Patriarchal Bargain, 187, 193 Phenomenology, 44, 52 Pleader(s), 2–5, 7–14, 16–19, 23–40, 44–52, 54–59, 63–74, 76, 79–93, 99–100, 102–108, 110–121, 127, 129, 131, 133–135, 137–142, 144–145, 150–153, 155–162, 164–170, 174, 176, 178–193, 201, 213, 217–224, 226–242, 245–260, 262–264, 266–269, 278, 280, 282, 284, 286–287, 291–296 Poland, 1, 3–4, 64, 79–81, 83, 85–95, 292–293 Police Officers, 55 Political Economy, 3, 24, 44, 55, 64–65, 67, 263 Politics of Life, 67–68 Popular Sport, 109 Postmodern Self, 275–276, 286 Pragmatic Egalitarianism, 152

Subject Index Privilege, 87, 126, 130, 138, 140, 143, 181–182, 188, 217 Protestants, 149, 153–157, 169 Psychoanalysis, 64 Psychotropic Drugs, 2–3, 275, 280, 283, 286–287 Public Health, 2–3, 45, 50, 56–57, 59 Public Sociology, 43, 57 Qualitative Research, 221 Rabbinic Court Pleaders, 3, 173–175, 177, 179, 181, 183, 185–187, 189, 191, 193 Rabbinic Courts, 173–179, 189–190, 192–194, 296 Race, 1–2, 16, 27, 65, 67–68, 71, 75–76, 100, 106–108, 111–114, 116–117, 120–121, 125–130, 132, 134, 136–145, 162–163, 197–199, 201–205, 207–214, 219, 224–225, 241–242, 249, 253, 255, 265, 292, 295 Reading the Law, 179–180, 188, 193 Religion, 3, 7–9, 11, 18, 90–91, 132, 137, 139, 144–145, 150–151, 177–178, 182–184, 186, 188, 190–192, 266, 293 Religious Subculture, 154, 156 Reproductive Rights, 2, 241, 245–247, 249, 251, 253, 255, 257, 259, 261, 263, 265, 267–269 Reproductive Technologies, 246–247, 250, 252–254, 257–258 Resource Exchange, 128, 133 Rhetoric, 3, 29, 31–33, 84, 86, 88, 90, 152–153, 156, 169–170, 174, 179, 181, 186–189, 193, 240, 266 Right, 11, 35, 53, 63, 67, 69, 74–75, 84–85, 92, 100, 113, 134, 142, 160, 165–166, 174, 183, 191–192, 221, 230, 238, 240, 255, 262, 268, 276, 279, 285–286 Romania, 250

301 Salem, Massachusetts, 9 Sanitation, 49–50, 53, 56, 58 Scandinavia, 280–281, 283 Science, 3, 17, 19–20, 24, 44, 54, 58, 73, 80, 107, 109, 246, 248–249, 251–254, 256, 267–269, 291, 295 Scott, Sir Walter, 10 Scramble for Africa, 39 Sebastopol, 50 Setting, 91, 129, 161, 218, 220–221, 224, 227, 231, 234–238, 241, 269, 280 Slavery, 36, 47, 74–75, 253, 264 Social Class, 53, 65, 73, 75–76, 105, 107, 110, 120, 138, 145, 224 Social Evolution, 20, 112 Social Location, 217–219, 222–223, 228, 236, 239–242, 292 Social Policy, 56, 80, 84, 93 Social Stratification, 75, 125, 137, 144 Social Structure, 64, 70, 72, 76, 140 Socio-cultural Change, 72–73 Sociology of Health and Medicine, 44 Soldiers, 1, 43–44, 47, 49, 51–55, 58 Sovereignty, 3, 79, 81–85, 87–89, 91, 93–94, 293 Sovereignty Bargains, 83, 94 Sport, 2, 4, 99–106, 108–111, 113–114, 118–120, 291 State, 3, 10, 14, 19, 40, 53, 56–57, 76, 80–82, 87–90, 93–94, 102, 110, 112–113, 118, 150, 167, 175, 177, 186, 191–193, 199, 224, 226, 261, 292–293 Subaltern Masculinities, 111 Supranationalism, 79, 81, 88, 293 Surrogacy, 3, 262, 265–267, 269 Surrogate Motherhood, 2, 245–247, 251, 254–255, 258, 263–264, 267–269 Teens, 224–226, 229, 231, 234–239, 241 Unitarian, 9, 20, 26, 56, 64 Unitarian Female Ministers, 56

302 United Kingdom (also see England, Great Britain), 2, 28–29, 39, 250, 262, 267 United States, 1–2, 23–24, 28, 35, 47, 56, 70, 92, 104, 119, 126, 130, 240, 246–247, 261–262, 264, 268, 285, 292 University of Chicago, 44, 56, 292 Upper Class, 66, 105, 108 Uprising of 1848, 20, 28, 45 Vaginal Birth, 232–233 Westphalia, 89 Widowed, 16, 197–200, 203–206, 208–214 White-boys, 26–27 Whites, 126–128, 198, 203, 208 Witch Hunts, 2, 7–9, 11–13, 15–17, 19–20, 253 Witch Trials, 1, 3 Women, 2, 4, 9, 15–16, 37, 45–46, 48–49, 54–58, 63, 66–67, 69, 73–74, 81, 84–85, 87–88, 93, 99–115, 117–121, 126, 128–130, 132–146,

SUBJECT INDEX 149–153, 155–169, 173–184, 186–187, 190–194, 197, 200, 203–204, 208–209, 213–214, 217–224, 226–242, 245–260, 262–263, 266–269, 279–280, 282–286, 291–292, 294–296 Women Athletes, 103, 105 Women Sociologists, 4 Women Veterinarians, 111, 114–115, 120–121 Women’s Sporting Cultures, 103 Work, 2–5, 9, 12–13, 20, 23, 25, 33, 37–39, 43–49, 51, 54–59, 63–67, 69–71, 73, 75–76, 79, 82, 84, 91, 93, 99, 101, 106, 108–113, 115–117, 120–121, 127–128, 133–134, 136–141, 143–145, 149–156, 160, 164–169, 173–174, 177–178, 190, 201, 221–223, 225–226, 233–234, 242, 250–251, 257–258, 268, 278–279, 282, 284, 293–294, 296 Workers, 54–55, 65–66, 75, 129, 262 Working Class, 65, 75, 99, 105, 118–119 Young Ireland, 25, 28, 31, 35, 39