Professional Documents
Culture Documents
and the
Public
AGENDA
AMERICAN SOCIOLOGICAL ASSOCIATION
PRESIDENTIAL SERIES
Volumes in this series are edited by successive presidents of the American Sociological
Association and are based upon sessions at the Annual Meeting of the organization.
Volumes in this series are listed below.
PETER M. BLAU
Approaches to the Study or Social Structure (1975, out of print)
LEWIS A. COSER and OTTO N. LARSEN
The Uses or Controversy in Sociology (1976, out of print)
J. MILTON YINGER
Major Social Issues: A Multidisciplinary View (1978, out of print)
AMOS H. HAWLEY
Societal Growth: Processes and Implications (1979, out of print)
HUBERT M. BLALOCK
Sociological Theory and Research: A Critical Approach (1980, out of print)
ALICE S. ROSSI
Gender and the Lire Course (1985, Aldine Publishing Co.)
KAI ERIKSON and STEVEN PETER VALLAS
The Nature or Work: Sociological Perspectives (1990, Yale University Press)
SOCIOLOGY
and the
Public
AGENDA
EDITED BY
@
"!t~
SAGE Publications
International Educational and Professional Publisher
Newbury Park London New Delhi
Copyright © 1993 by Sage Publications, Inc.
93 94 95 96 97 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
vii
viii SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC AGENDA
research for more than 10 years for the Anti-Poverty Program and the
Greater Washington Research Center. She is also an Assistant Professor
of Sociology at the American University.
xiii
xiv SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC AGENDA
In the past several years a number of articles in the print media have
speculated about the demise of sociology as an academic discipline. These
reports have been fueled by the closing of the departments of sociology at the
University of Rochester and at Washington University in St. Louis; by the
recent decision to reduce the size of the Department of Sociology at Yale by
40%, following threats to abolish the Department altogether; and by the sharp
drop in the number of students in the United States receiving bachelor's
degrees in sociology-from 35,996 in 1973 to only 14,393 in 1989.
However, arguments concerning the fall of sociology are overstated.
Enrollment has slightly increased in the approximately 2,000 sociology
departments around the country in the past 2 years, and the quality of
applicants to graduate departments of sociology has noticeably improved
since 1980. Nonetheless, the recent negative actions taken against some
of the most visible departments of sociology in the country suggest that
the discipline remains vulnerable. Accordingly, I believe that unless soci-
ology can position itself to have a real influence on shaping the national
agenda in the ensuing years, questions about its continued viability as an
academic discipline will continue to be raised.
A discussion of the theme of sociology and the public agenda could not
be more timely. We have entered a period of immense national and
international change and turmoil. Social problems abound. Our nation is
saddled with a 4 trillion dollar debt ana 400 billion dollar annual deficits.
Our cities, stripped of needed revenue from depleted federal sources,
struggle to maintain an adequate quality of life. Problems associated with
the growing concentration of ghetto poverty are spilling over into the
3
4 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
larger urban environment, and the riot in Los Angeles following the verdict
on the Rodney King incident is a dramatic reminder. The poor and the
working classes struggle to make ends meet, and even the middle class has
experienced a decline in its living standard. And, as discussed in Peter H.
Rossi's perceptive Chapter 14 in this volume, perhaps no problem more
dramatically symbolizes the depths of America's predicament than the rise
of homeless individuals and families and their increased visibility in urban
areas in the 1980s.
The hard economic times have aggravated racial relations, as evidenced
in a recent spate of racially motivated violent incidents in a number of
cities, and in increases in racial tensions in schools and on college cam-
puses. Similar problems have surfaced in other countries. Stagnant econ-
omies and slack labor markets in Europe have placed strains on the welfare
state at the very time when the immigrant population has become more
dependent on public assistance for survival. In his comparison of the
problems of immigration and citizenship in France and Germany in Chap-
ter 5, Rogers Brubaker states:
During the 1950s and early 1960s, most foreign workers were either single or
separated from their families. Many lived in isolated workers' hostels. Outside
the workplace, they were largely invisible, participating little in the social,
cultural, or political life of the host society. In the last two decades, however,
the sojourners have become settlers. Single workers were joined by their fami-
lies, or formed new families. Immigrants became neighbors, schoolmates, and
joint users of public spaces. An increasingly vocal second generation emerged,
tenuously rooted in the culture of the parents' generation, yet economically and
socially marginalized in the country of residence. Groups marked by dress,
language, religion, and custom as "culturally distinct" comprised the fastest
growing segment of the immigrant community. Immigrants in both countries
have clustered in particular regions and, within cities, in particular neighbor-
hoods. All these developments made immigrants more visible.
Either the social sciences know more than do the "hardheaded" businessman, the
"practical" politician and administrator, and the other defacto leaders of culture
as to what the findings of research mean, as to the options the institutional system
presents, as to what human personalities want, why they want them, and how
desirable changes can be effected, or the vast current industry of social science
is an empty facade. (p. 18)
Indeed, to dismiss the idea that sociologists can address the issue of
"what ought to be done" is to blur the distinction between what the
philosopher of science Carl G. Hempel has described as instrumental
versus categorical value judgments. An instrumental value judgment is "a
statement which expresses a universal or probabilistic kind of means-ends
relationship, and which contains no terms of moral discourse ... at all"
(Hempel 1965, p. 85). For example, if research has firmly established that
the least prejudiced individuals are those who have grown up in a permis-
sive rather than a restrictive environment, then an instrumental value
judgment would state that if our society wants to embark on a long-term
program to reduce prejudice, then it is better to raise children in a permis-
sive than in a restrictive way. Such a statement clearly represents an
empirical assertion amenable to scientific test.
However, to assert that it is right to have the goal of reducing prejudice
in society represents a categorical, or absolute, judgment of value. To state
that it is right to reduce prejudice is to express a norm for behavior or a
6 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
standard for moral valuation. Since the statement does not express an
assertion that can be empirically tested or since it does not purport to
describe a fact that is directly observable, it falls outside the purview of
science. Accordingly, although it would be inappropriate for sociologists,
in their role as social scientists, to make categorical value judgments, they
can certainly make instrumental judgments of value, judgments that would
be consistent with the assumptions of the logic of scientific inquiry
(Hempel 1965).
However, this is not to say that sociologists or social scientists cannot or
should not address the issues of categorical value judgments in their studies
of basic values and belief systems in society. Often a social scientist can point
out the contradictions or inconsistencies in what are taken to be categorical
judgments of values. For example, in Chapter 18 Philip Harvey argues
persuasively that employment is rarely considered or discussed as a human
right in the United States because it is not defined as such by our Constitution.
It therefore is not included among the "rights that even democratically elected
majorities may not sacrifice for the sake of a net increase in aggregate utility."
Harvey states that "analysts who would never dream of advocating a policy
that violated human rights think nothing of supporting policies they know will
cause unemployment. They simply do not think of such policies as raising
human rights issues." Harvey's chapter presents a discussion of employment
as a human right both in terms of an instrumental value judgment (if the goal
is healthy individual and communities, then unemployment should be ad-
dressed) and in terms of the inconsistencies in America's basic categorical
judgments of value.
Some sociologists would accept the argument concerning instrumental
and categorical value judgments, but would still object to the practical
application of sociology on pragmatic grounds. They would argue that it
is good that sociological research draws very little attention from policy-
makers and the media because it both insulates the discipline from outside
pressures to pursue certain research topics, particularly those that are
topical, and protects the discipline from being sanctioned by the state if
the research does not support a particular political agenda or ideology.
There is some merit to this argument. However, if sociologists are con-
cerned with the present and future state of the discipline, it is shortsighted.
Why? Simply because the more sociology is ignored by policymakers and the
media, the less attention it receives as an academic discipline and therefore
the more removed it is from the decision-making arena, the fewer students it
attracts, and the more difficulty it has in trying to obtain funding support from
private foundations and government agencies. Moreover, as Carol H. Weiss
reminds us in Chapter 2, "if sociological work is to influence the course of
events, some of that influence will have to flow, sooner or later, through
William Julius Wilson 7
agencies of government. There are few mechanisms with the same poten-
tial for wide-scale impact on social issues."
However, overcoming resistance to the practical application of sociol-
ogy is just part of the problem. Sociology is also hampered by a narrow
interpretation of the use of sociological knowledge in the policy arena, a
point to which I now tum.
For example, a few years ago the public policy debate over the causes
of the breakdown of the black family focused narrowly on the adverse
affects of welfare. In a paper first presented at a national welfare confer-
ence in Virginia in December of 1984, Kathryn Neckerman and I argued
for the need to consider the role of male joblessness in the growth of poor
single-parent black families (Wilson and Neckerman 1986). The aggregate
census-type data we presented in support of our position clearly suggested,
rather than firmly established, a positive relationship between male job-
lessness and solo-parent families. Nonetheless, the paper created a splash.
It not only altered the terms of the debate in academic circles and triggered
a round of new research among poverty researchers, but made policymak-
ers on Capitol Hill more aware that the issues surrounding the rapid growth
of single-parent poor black families were more complex than had been
previously assumed. Today male joblessness is routinely identified as one
of several important factors in the growth of solo-parent black families,
and the discussion of contributing factors no longer narrowly focuses on
the receipt of welfare. I
Also, in Chapter 17, Barbara R. Bergmann's discussion of the French
child welfare system raises important issues about the limitations of
overall child welfare, including child care, in the United States and
challenges us to broaden the terms of the child welfare debate in the United
States. The data that informed Bergmann's conclusions are limited to
France; however, she did not have to wait for pilot research on the
application of France's child welfare programs in order to provide provoc-
ative arguments for the public policy debate on child welfare in the United
States.
Perhaps the best example of getting an important word out before all the
data are in is the initial reports on Dr. James P. Comer's creative interven-
tion model on inner-city education, described in Chapter 15. Comer pro-
duced a theoretical framework that relates the individual development,
including academic learning, of the child not only to his or her attachment
and bonding to adults who mediate experiences, teach and motivate in
primary social networks and in schools; but to opportunities and con-
straints in the broader community and society as well. Comer developed
an intervention program based on this framework and used it initially in
two elementary inner-city schools in the city of New Haven (CT). Of the
33 elementary schools in New Haven, these two schools were ranked last
and next to last in Language Arts and Mathematics achievement by the
fourth grade. "In 1984, 4 years after the program had been institutional-
ized, the two schools were tied for the third and fourth highest levels of
achievement in Language Arts and Mathematics by the fourth grade."
Although this model is now being tested elsewhere, because the findings
William Julius Wilson 9
in New Haven represent only one test case, the remarkable success of this
program in New Haven challenges the view that the problems in inner-city
schools are intractable and broadens our conception of ways to address the
educational retardation of ghetto children.
In addition to recasting the terms in which a public policy debate is
discussed, even with preliminary data, sociologists can play another im-
portant role in the policy arena by drawing attention to an important
problem that has been ignored by or has received insufficient attention
from policymakers. For example, Philippe C. Schmitter in Chapter 8,
"Organizations as (Secondary) Citizens," reveals that associations have
displaced individuals in the political process. This problem has received
only minimal discussion in the national policy forum. "Modern democracy
is increasingly becoming organized democracy," states Schmitter, "as
associations grow in number, extend their coverage, augment their re-
sources and consolidate their access to public authorities, the making of
binding collective decisions becomes more and more the outcome of
interorganizational bargaining, less and less a struggle between organiza-
tions and individuals, and even less a competition among individuals."
My book, The Truly Disadvantaged: The Inner-City. The Underclass,
and Public Policy (Wilson 1987), also emphasized a problem that had
received insufficient attention. Following the publication of the book I was
informed by Senator Bill Bradley of New Jersey that as far as he and a
number of other senators on Capitol Hill were concerned, the significance
of the The Truly Disadvantaged was not the specific public policy recom-
mendations advanced, but the fact that the book illuminated their under-
standing of the problems of ghetto poverty, raised their consciousness, and
increased their awareness of the need for effective public policy to address
these problems.
Finally, Roberta M. Spalter-Roth, Heidi I. Hartmann, and Linda M.
Andrews's discussion in Chapter 16 of the dismal plight of working
mothers increases our awareness of a serious problem. Their chapter also
calls our attention to the need for effective strategies to increase the
likelihood that working mothers can earn an adequate family wage.
Thus the issue here is not whether the data are adequate to advance
policy recommendations, or whether one can recast the terms of a policy
debate with certain kinds of data. Rather the issue is whether the descrip-
tion and sociological analysis of a problem that would be considered
important if fully recognized is sufficiently compelling and thought pro-
voking to enlighten or raise the consciousness and concern of policymak-
ers and the general public.
However, sociology's contribution to the policy arena need not be based
solely on empirical studies or research findings. As Carol Weiss points out
10 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
in Chapter 2, its theories, its ideas, its concepts "may also help to shape
what it is that the public thinks about and what it is that governments do."
although good data are useful and build credibility, equally important is the
sociological perspective on entities, processes, and events. Participants in the
policy process can profit from an understanding of the forces and currents that
shape events, and from the structures of meaning that sociologists derive from
their theories and research.
Chapter 6 on citizenship and welfare contrast the liberal and social dem-
ocratic perspectives on social policies. Carefully explicating these two
different conceptions of the welfare state, Moon enhances our understand-
ing of the conflicts over the design of social policy, including those that
involve targeting and those that define and highlight the conditions in-
volved in the social obligation of citizenship.
Anne Wortham's insightful comments in Chapter 11 provide a unique
perspective to help us understand why the influence of New Right activ-
ists, who "contributed substantially to the election of Ronald Reagan to
two terms as President," failed to result in the expected retreat from the
New Deal welfare state. Wortham reveals how the forces that fed this
failure can be found in the self-contradictions of American populism, the
paradoxical relationship of democracy and Protestantism, and the de-
mands of modernity.
Moreover, Roger Lawson's informative comparison in Chapter 7 of
social policy in Great Britain and Sweden reveals why it is so important
to understand the important relationships between social rights and labor
rights (and more generally class politics), or welfare policy and labor
market policy in understanding why societies differ in their approaches to
social inequality.
Finally, in Chapter 13, Robert J. Sampson's community-level perspective
on both offending and victimization increases our theoretical understand-
ing of violence. His theoretical integration of community level factors
(including concentrated ghetto poverty, residential mobility and popula-
tion turnover, housing/population density, family disruption, local social
organization, and opportunity structures) in a framework to explain violent
crimes has profound implications for public policies regarding housing
and municipal services.
The chapters by Moon, Wortham, Lawson, and Sampson provide the kind
of fresh perspectives and theoretical insights that would be useful in discus-
sion and debates in the national policy forum. It would be shortsighted
therefore to discourage or overlook the use of such knowledge to inform
public policy debates as we wait for the compilation of "adequate" data.
CONCLUSION
"adequate" information, even though their views on the issues are far more
sophisticated and comprehensive than those of even some of the most influ-
ential opinion leaders. George Bernard Shaw once said that it is better to be
criticized or misunderstood than to be ignored. This not only applies to the
work of individual scholars, it also applies to an entire academic discipline.
I have advanced some suggestions that I believe would increase sociology's
visibility in the national forum. I believe that we have to be concerned about
the future of our discipline and we need to recognize that our continued
viability is inextricably connected with success in becoming a more important
player in the public policy arena. Accordingly, resistance to the practical
application of sociology must be overcome. A more aggressive and positive
orientation toward public agenda research and scholarship in sociology has
to emerge. This includes expanding the domain of policy relevant scholarship
so that we become more flexible in the kinds of data that we use and the ways
in which we use them; recognizing the important role of sociological theories,
concepts, and ideas in the formulation and discussion of public policy issues;
expanding the outlets for sociological insights; and recognizing the influence
of ideology not only in the way that we select, interpret, and analyze issues
for study that relate to the public agenda, but in the public policy recommen-
dations that we advance based on our research.
It will become clear to the reader that the chapters in this volume raise
issues and advance arguments consistent with many of the suggestions that
I have presented to enhance sociology's image and increase the discipline's
visibility in the national forum.
NOTES
1. Another problem in the way some sociologists use policy relevant data is the failure to
discuss the possible wider implications of their findings. In other words, sociologists may
have intensively studied a problem and are fairly confident about the empirical results but
they avoid extrapolating their data, however tentatively stated, into what Lynd has called the
"realm of wide meaning." This simply invites others, representing organizations that range
from the far right to the far left and who are presumably more biased than the typical
sociologist, "to thrust upon the culture their interpretation of the meaning of the situation"
(Lynd 1939, p. 186).
2. In the remaining parts of this section I am indebted to Lieberson 1988.
REFERENCES
Califano, Joseph A., Jr. 1988. "Tough Talk for Democrats." The New York Times Magazine
(January 8):29.
22 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
Gans, Herbert J. 1988. Middle American Individualism. New York: Free Press.
Kantrowitz, Barbara. 1992. "Sociology's Lonely Crowd." Newsweek (February 3):55.
Lynd, Robert S. 1939. Knowledge for What? The Place of Social Science in American
Culture. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Hempel, Carl G. 1965. Aspects of Scientific Explanation. New York: Free Press.
Janowitz, Morris. 1970. "Sociological Models and Social Policy." pp. 243-59 in Political
Conflict: Essays in Political Sociology, edited by Morris Janowitz. Chicago: Quadrangle.
Lasch, Christopher. 1991. The True and Only Heaven: Progress and Its Critics. New York:
Norton.
Lieberson, Stanley. 1971. "An Empirical Study of Military-Industrial Linkages." American
Journal of Sociology 76:562-84.
- - - . 1988. "Asking Too Much, Expecting Too Little." Sociological Perspectives 31(Oc-
tober):379-97.
---.1989. "When Right Results Are Wrong." Society 26(1uly/August):6G-66.
---.1992. "Einstein, Renoir and Greeley: Evidence in Sociology." American Sociologi-
cal Review 57(February):I-l5.
Lynd, Robert S. 1939. Knowledge for What? The Place of Social Science in American
Culture. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Massey, Douglas S. and Nancy A. Denton. 1987. "Trends in the Residential Segregation of
Blacks, Hispanics and Asians: 1970-1980." American Sociological Review 52:802-25.
Massey, Douglas S. and Mitchell L. Eggers. 1990. ''The Ecology of Inequality: Minorities
and the Concentration of Poverty, 1970-1980." American Journal of Sociology
95(March):1153-88.
Rieder, Jonathan. 1985. Canarsie: The Jews and Italians of Brooklyn Against Liberalism.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Wilson, William Julius. 1987. The Truly Disadvantaged: The Inner City, The Underclass,
and Public Policy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
---.1991. "Poverty, Family Structure and Joblessness in the Inner City: A Comparative
Perspective." Paper presented at the Chicago Urban Poverty and Family Life Confer-
ence, Chicago, October.
---.1992. "The Right Message." The New York Times (March 17): p. A3.
Wilson, William Julius and Kathryn Neckerman. 1986. "Poverty and Family Structure: The
Widening Gap Between Evidence and Public Policy Issues." Pp. 232-59 in Fighting
Poverty: What Works and What Doesn't, edited by Sheldon Danziger and Daniel
Weinberg. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
---0-
2
The Interaction of the Sociological Agenda
and Public Policy
Carol H. Weiss
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wish to thank Robert Smith and Bruce Fuller for their comments.
23
24 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
<
Hypothesis 4. Sociology and public policy each respond independently to the zeitgeist.
Figure 2.1. Hypotheses About Mutual Influences of Government Policy and the
Sociological Agenda
This is a subject that I have studied for more than a dozen years in terms
of both executive (Weiss 1977, 1978, 1986; Weiss and Bucuvalas 1980a,
1980b) and legislative (Weiss 1989) policy, at federal, state, and local levels.
Other sociologists, too, have looked at the effects of sociology on government
policy (e.g., Barber 1987; Lazarsfeld and Reitz 1975; Orlans 1973; Scott and
Shore 1979; van de Vall 1986), and we have been joined by political scientists
(e.g., Lindblom and Cohen 1979; Rich 1981; J. Wilson 1978), psychologists
(e.g., Caplan 1982; Melton 1987), and economists (e.g., Aaron 1978, 1989;
Nathan 1988; Haveman 1987). A considerable body of knowledge is devel-
oping on the subject of social science and public policy.
28 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
To be brief, this research shows that the kinds of effects that many social
scientists expected to see on government policy are only occasionally
evident. The social sciences are rarely applied to select Policy A over
Policy B or to change the features of government programs. Sociology is
not "used" for the specific answers, let alone the recommendations, that it
provides; it does not work to tell government what to do. On the other
hand, it does seem to work to tell government what to consider. Sociology
is sometimes-underline sometimes-used to illuminate the nature of
social problems and to recast the terms in which they are discussed. The
social sciences have changed the terms of discourse in many fields from
criminal justice to pollution control, from chronic poverty to urban plan-
ning. They bring fresh perspectives into the policy arena, new understand-
ings of cause and effect; they challenge assumptions that were taken for
granted and give credibility to options that were viewed as beyond the
pale. They provide enlightenment.
We have found, too, that policy actors find it difficult to pinpoint
individual studies that have altered their ways of seeing the world. They
have a sense that the social sciences have influenced the way they think,
but they cannot disentangle sociological information from the many other
sources of knowledge to which they are exposed. Sociological knowledge
enters their stock of knowledge and becomes part of the organizing
perspective they use to make sense of their work. This amorphous perco-
lation of sociological ideas into the policy arena has been called "knowl-
edge creep" (Weiss 1980).
Sociology has other effects, too. Policy actors sometimes use research
to support positions that they already want to take; they use the research
to provide legitimacy and justification for their cause. On occasion, they
use sociology to help persuade others that the cause is right. It provides
ammunition to mobilize supporters and develop coalitions. But it is the
"enlightenment" function of sociology (Janowitz 1970; Weiss 1977) that
is most pervasive. Broad theories, such as those on class conflict or
individual mobility, have influenced government policies in education,
community development, and social services. Frames or concepts, such as
those of labeling, participatory decision making, or maintenance of native
language competence, have had an impact in criminal justice, mental
health, poverty policy, and education. Sociological ideas, more than dis-
crete pieces of data, have influenced the way that policy actors think about
issues and the types of measures they have been willing to consider.
The influences are often indirect, sometimes amorphous, sometimes
slow, and perceptible more to policy actors than to the outside observer.
A famous quotation from John Maynard Keynes (1936) captures one of
the paths to influence:
Carol H. Weiss 29
The ideas of economists and political philosophers, both when they are right and
when they are wrong, are more powerful than is commonly understood. Indeed,
the world is ruled by little else. Practical men, who believe themselves to be quite
exempt from any intellectual influences, are usually the slaves of some defunct
academic economist. Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are
distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back. I am
sure that the power of vested interests is vastly exaggerated compared with the
gradual encroachment of ideas.
Since Keynes's time, the permeation ofthe policy sphere with the data
and findings of social science has proceeded apace. Today it is a rare
public debate that doesn't rely in some considerable measure on studies,
statistics, and evaluations. In legislation, in administration, and increas-
ingly in judicial proceedings, evidence from the social sciences is drawn
into discussion. Participants in public policymaking almost have to be able
to speak the language of social science to make their points and to protect
their positions against attack. Even though some of this change in the
language of public discourse is little more thana change in fashion,
nevertheless it opens the door to serious consideration of social science
information. Once a participant has introduced sociological evidence into
debate, others-particularly those opposed to the position-will scrutinize
it in order to discredit the ideas. Through this kind of adversarial attention,
study findings move into circulation and into political currency.
Evidence from social science research can reduce disagreements over
matters of fact (e.g., whether fewer pregnant women are receiving prenatal
care, whether vocational education improves employability and job per-
formance). In doing so, it helps to raise the level of debate, freeing policy
actors to talk about matters of value-which are their proper province.
Analogously, the concepts and theories of sociology make a difference.
They are helping to make public decision makers more sophisticated about
social structure and group processes (less content with individual-level
explanations for social phenomena), and they are gradually infusing po-
litical thinking with more complex and subtle notions of conflict, social
disorganization, community norms, social movements, and other sociolog-
ical constructs. Obviously the processes of enlightenment are not evident
in all venues and at all times, but a comparison of the political debates of
today with those of a generation ago will reveal, I believe, a gain in
sophistication about the social (as well as the economic) world.
That there is still a long way to go almost goes without saying. The creep
of sociological ideas into policy arenas remains an erratic phenomenon.
Some ideas are distorted or misunderstood; other are ignored. Those
findings and theories that support existing positions are better heard than
30 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
those that do not. Still there are significant areas in which social science
has influenced the way that public problems are conceptualized and the
solutions that are considered.
This hypothesis suggests that public policy is little moved by sociology and
that sociology basically goes about its business without much regard for
government policy. If this is so, we have to see what alternative mechanisms
account for the current state of sociology. In the absence of direct or indirect
government influence, how is "the sociological agenda" set?
The standard answer is that the agenda for both research and theorizing
arises from the core problems of the discipline. By and large, I think that
is a lot of piffle. Some number of sociologists concern themselves with
what have become consensually known as the core problems of the dis-
cipline, but the direction of the arrows is the other way around. What smart
and creative sociologists do become the core problems of the discipline.
Sociology is such a large and sprawling field that there are scores of issues
that are potential candidates for "core problems of the discipline." Aside from
a few hardy mainstays, like social conflict and social order, the list of "core"
issues is capable of major turnover. (Even issues of conflict and order may be
highlighted only in particular historical periods.) When creative sociologists
come up with heuristic formulations or reformulations, their ideas are likely
to stimulate a host of further studies, and out of the ferment a new core issue
emerges. New concepts appear in mass communications when creative re-
search and thinking are done by people like Gans (1979) and Schudson
(1978). Core issues change in the fields of poverty and ethnicity when new
insights are developed by people like W. Wilson (1978, 1987). Because
sociological concerns range over almost the entire spectrum of human life in
social groups, the discipline can pick and choose its core.
Core issues change over the decades. The reason is certainly not because
we have solved the old problems but because new ideas and new issues
move to center stage. Kuhn's (1970) idea of scientific revolutions ap-
pealed more to social scientists than to the natural scientists on whom it
was based, because we know how apt the picture is for our fields. Actually
in sociology what we experience is not so much revolutions, where strong
theoretical models are overturned or replaced, as a fairly constant churn-
ing. Theories of delinquent behavior move from notions of differential
association to opportunity theories, which are replaced by labeling theo-
ries, which are overtaken by a more catholic acceptance of a variety of
Carol H. Weiss 31
All four explanations about the interaction of sociology and policy have
at least a modicum of support in the evidence. Nor do these possibilities
exhaust the possible links between sociology and public policy. Another
hypothesis, for which there is occasional support, is a two-step flow of
influence: Sociological ideas influence economists who then influence the
development of the policy agenda. Or sociological ideas and methods of
study influence how reporters report the news, and reporters' views influ-
ence the public policy agenda. There is empirical justification for this
hypothesis as well.
34 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
Which explanation has the greatest explanatory power? The answer seems
to be: It depends. It depends on the subspecialty within sociology. Criminol-
ogists, demographers, sociologists of education, and organizational sociolo-
gists have different experiences. It depends on the historical period. The
influence that sociologists had on public policy during the heady period of
the late 1960s and early 1970s was only a nostalgic memory during the 1980s.
It depends on the place. The effects of government policy on sociology in
some nations, such as the Soviet Union and China, have sometimes been
devastating. The influence of sociology on criminal justice and education in
California is not replicated in most other states. Different groups of sociolog-
ical workers, different periods, different places all make a difference.
It would be useful to specify the conditions under which one or another
explanation has greater support, that is, when public policy influences
sociological work, when sociology influences policy. Not enough empir-
ical research has been done to reach conclusions of this sort. Neverthe-
less, we can do some sensible speculation. As a preliminary attempt, these
are some of the conditions that I think may affect the interactions of
sociology and public policy.
CONDITIONAL HYPOTHESES
Sociology and public policy are separate and uninvolved when the
reverse conditions exist. Divergence is especially likely when:
(a) sociology concerns itself predominantly with internal discipline-ori-
ented issues, such as grand theory or methodology. These are yawns to
policy actors, even those with graduate degrees in the discipline.
(b) public policy is dominated by ideologues. Ideologues tend to believe
that they have all the answers and do not need advice or ideas-even, or
maybe especially, empirical evidence. The drastic cuts in social science
funding in the early years of the Reagan Administration apparently evolved
from this perspective. Ideologues also have little interest in trying to
influence what sociologists do.
(c) sociology is dominated by ideologues. Sociologists who are inter-
ested in being ideologically pure and true to the faith have little desire to
36 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
Sociology and public policy each respond to the imperative oftime, tide,
and events:
(a) almost constantly.
(b) the trend is probably heightened when a sizable proportion of
sociologists think of themselves as part of the intelligentsia. Whether or
not they engage in public action, their image as intellectuals sensitizes
them to the political and cultural currents of the day, and affects their
research agenda.
CONCLUDING COMMENTS
see also Heckman 1990). Not only have their prescriptions for government
often turned out to be wrong, but their involvement in policy issues
diverted them from the proper pursuit of knowledge.
Furthermore, as they found out, it is not easy to make the transition from
sociological research findings to policy advice. Few findings within
sociology receive consensual support; disagreements abound. The one-time
"epistemological optimism" that methodological advances would bring about
cognitive mastery of the social world (Wittrock et at. 1991) has foundered.
(For a provocative critique, see Lindblom 1987.) Some sociologists who
worked with policymakers, unable to find substantive consensus within
sociological communities, resorted to something akin to political compromise
to reconcile differences among sociologists-and between sociologists and
political actors. Other sociologists hewed to the line of their political convic-
tions and let research evidence take second place. Others caved in to prevail-
ing orthodoxies in the political arena and became little more than method-
ological technicians for existing government policies. It is not unreasonable
to wish to steer clear of these kinds of involvement.
But there is the possibility for engagement with policy action that is not so
close as to require compromise or collusion. There can be a vigorous,
independent, original, daring, critical sociology that provides insight and
criticism to government, a sociology that is captive to the assumptions of
neither the right nor the left. It is not a rarity. It is the type of sociology that
many sociologists practice. But what is often lacking are two critical ele-
ments: (1) sustained effort to reach policy audiences with sociological mes-
sages; that is, serious attention to dissemination, contact, and continuing
conversation with actors in the policy process; or the use of intermediary
institutions to undertake the task, and (2) recognition that sociology has more
to offer to policy audiences than validated data from well-designed experi-
ments and studies. Although good data are useful and build credibility,
equally important is the sociological perspective on entities, processes, and
events. Participants in the policy process can profit from an understanding of
the forces and currents that shape events, and from the structures of meaning
that sociologists derive from their theories and research.
NOTES
1. One of our doctoral students, Suman Bhattacharjea, did a study of educational research
conducted in India to see to what extent it conformed with World-Systems analysis assumptions
that Third World research is dependent on the ideas, models, and values of the First World
(Bhattacharjea 1990).
38 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
2. I thank Dean Gerstein for his helpful comments on categories. He credits Loubser, but
I was unable to find a specific discussion in Loubser's excellent paper. What Loubser does
say is that the community of social scientists does not attend to problem identification. He
proposes that sociology should establish a set of human values as the ethical basis of the
discipline and its research agenda, and he offers four enduring values as the basis.
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Aaron, Henry J. 1978. Politics and the Professors: The Great Society in Perspective.
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Haveman, Robert. 1987. Poverty Policy and Poverty Research. Madison: University of
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Heckman, James J. 1990. "Social Science Research and Policy: Review Essay." Journal of
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Kuhn, Thomas S. 1970. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. 2d. ed. Chicago: University
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Lazarsfeld, Paul and Jeffrey Reitz. 1975. An Introduction to Applied Sociology. Amsterdam
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Lindblom, Charles E. 1987. "Alternatives to Validity." Knowledge: Creation. Diffusion.
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Carol H. Weiss 39
Rich, Robert F. 1981. Social Science Information and Public Policy Making. San Francisco:
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Wittrock, Bjorn, Peter Wagner, and Helmut Wollmann. 1991. "Social Science and the
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rock, and Helmut Wollmann. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
---0-
3
How Do Issues Get on Public Policy Agendas?
John W. Kingdon
40
John W. Kingdon 41
Something is done when the window is open, or the opportunity is lost and
advocates must wait for the next window to open.
I now discuss each of the three streams in turn, and then discuss their
coupling.
Problem Recognition
Why do important people in and around government pay attention to
some problems and not to others? Fairly often, government simply moni-
tors the performance of systems through standard indicators like highway
deaths, cost of Medicare, commuter ridership, or disease rates. Sudden
shifts in these indicators or performance contrary to expectations produces
attention. At other times, it takes some sort of focusing event, a disaster
or crisis. Plane crashes focus attention on airline safety, for instance, in a
way that one-by-one automobile deaths don't do the same job for highway
safety, even though highway deaths are far more numerous.
There is a difference between a problem and a condition. As one of my
respondents said, "If you have only four fingers on one hand, that's not a
problem; that's a situation." So problem recognition is not simply a matter
of observing objective conditions; it involves interpretation as well. Con-
ditions become problems when we feel we should do something to change
them. How do we come to that sort of conclusion?
Conditions sometimes become problems when they conflict with prevail-
ing values. Uneven access to health care is or is not a problem, for instance,
depending on whether one thinks of health care as a right. Another fascinating
way for conditions to become problems is to place them in one category or
another. If transportation of the handicapped is a transportation problem, for
example, then low-cost and effective solutions like dial-a-ride or subsidized
taxi service are appropriate. But if transportation of the handicapped is
classified into the category of civil rights, then retrofitting subways for
elevators and providing bus lifts is warranted. The struggle for appropriate
categories makes all the difference in framing the issue.
Getting people to see a condition as a problem is a central political
accomplishment.
another time, for instance, profoundly affects which items are possible and
which ones are not. Or the values of elected officials-the current presi-
dent and administration, or the distributions of values in Congress-are
absolutely critical to what can be pushed and what must wait. Or social
movements like the civil rights, consumer, environmental, or taxpayer
revolt movements sometimes sweep across our land bowling over every-
thing in their paths.
So both research and theory attempt to distinguish the effects of ideas from
the effects of self-interest. A major problem with this attempt, however,
may be that the two cannot be disentangled, either empirically or theoret-
ically. Empirically, the two work together. A reelection minded congress-
man, for instance, also believes in certain principles of good public policy,
and most of the time he takes both the expedient and principled course at
once. Theoretically, people attach meaning to their behavior, even their
self-interested behavior. Those meanings are not simply after-the-fact
rationalizations for actions, but affect those actions. In persuading others
and in explaining his votes, for example, a politician also persuades
himself and his explanations affect his decisions. So people often find it
impossible to pursue only their "raw" self-interest. They can't arrive at
positions without both self-interest and principle.
If my account of agenda-setting above is right, ideas don't drive changes
by themselves, because they must be coupled with more conventional
political forces, but ideas do have a considerable independent impact on
the outcomes. One account of the movement in the 1970s and 1980s
toward deregulation in many public policy domains, for example, empha-
sizes the sheer power of the idea (Derthick and Quirk 1985). Economists'
work on natural monopoly, capture, and the inefficiencies of regulation,
together with conservative ideology, powerfully affected public policy,
and extended into transportation, communication, banking, retailing, and
many other areas. My account of agenda-setting, although certainly em-
phasizing the importance of such ideas, also stresses the importance of
coupling those ideas in the policy stream with such events in the political
stream as the taxpayer revolt, the rebellion against "big government" as
represented by some aspects of the Great Society programs, the election
first of Jimmy Carter and then of Ronald Reagan, and the political impulse
to "get government off our backs." The ideas are themselves important;
but their combination with other forces is critical.
How can an idea be introduced into public policy discussions? My
description of agenda-setting above makes clear the importance of timing.
The window, when officials are receptive to a new idea, is open for a short
time and that opportunity must be seized then. This observation has two
implications. First, social scientists and others who wish to have their
ideas considered cannot wait to develop their ideas or proposals until the
opportunity arises, because they are too late at that point. A long period
of research, honing, and settling on proposals is needed well in advance
of the policy-making opportunity in order to be ready to take advantage
of it when it (sometimes unpredictably) presents itself. Both the soundness
of the basic research and the policy implications must be made clear well
in advance. Second, advocates including social scientists must be willing
John W. Kingdon 47
claims to expertise, social scientists are just another interest group in the
political process, no more and no less important.
So let's think about the comparative advantages of social scientists.
What are we good at, or what can we become good at? Hints at possible
answers are found in the nature of policy-making discussed above. First,
it's important to the process of making public policy that problems are
recognized as problems. Social scientists can be very good at documenting
the existence, frequency, incidence, and intensity of a condition. We know
how to gather data about all manner of conditions-frequencies of various
crimes, demographic trends, disease and mortality rates, transportation
ridership, unemployment, income dynamics, social worker caseloads, and
government spending authorizations and outlays, to name just a few. We
can even make reasonable projections (often with a little less assurance)
into the future. So the monitoring of conditions is both important to
agenda-setting and comfortably within a social scientist's kit bag.
Transforming conditions into problems (see above) is more problem-
atic. In the course of monitoring conditions, social scientists often make
that transformation implicitly, either by juxtaposing the condition to a
widely held value or by framing the data in a category that heightens its
importance. But our professional ground for doing these things is more
shaky than for documenting the conditions themselves. We can document
a certain poverty or unemployment level in a population, for instance, and
we may believe that the level is inappropriate or intolerable. But it's really
up to a political process to establish how inappropriate or intolerable it is.
Social scientists can playa part in that process as well as anyone else, but
we have less special claim to expertise in the realm of judging the values
involved than we do in documenting the condition itself.
Second, policymakers are often very much in need of solid information
about how the world works. They particularly need to know, if they undertake
a certain kind of intervention, what will follow from it. Readers will recall
that this concern for how the world works or for cause and effect is the second
type of "idea" as defined above. Social science sometimes has good answers
to such questions. We might especially be able to show policymakers that the
world works in ways that might not have occurred to them. We have studied
certain processes in basic research thoroughly enough to claim reasonably
that we know what is going on. We may not be able to predict all of the effects
of an intervention with great assurance, or we may be able to anticipate some
consequences better than other consequences. But because of our base of
knowledge about how the world works, we may be able to make these cause
and effect connections better than other people can.
Of course, there's an obvious caution buried in this observation. Social
scientists' claim on the policy-making process is weaker when our know ledge
John W. Kingdon 49
is less solid than we would like it to be. It takes both an impressive fund
of basic empirical research and reliable theory to generate a high degree
of confidence in claims of cause and effect. And there is ample reason for
caution. If social scientists make claims to policymakers that cannot be
reasonably sustained, particularly in the name of social science, then the
credibility of the enterprise is threatened. We need good, solid research
and interpretations of data on which we can agree, in order to convince
policymakers that we should be heard on the grounds of our expertise.
Unfortunately, that's easier said than done. Social phenomena are dev-
ilishly complicated. It is inherently difficult to sort out cause and effect.
We can document the incidence of poverty, for instance, but are much less
able to agree on the importance of all of its various hypothesized causes.
This inherent complexity of social phenomena weakens our confidence in
various possible interventions, or at least it should. All of this reason for
caution argues for a tentativeness and an experimental approach to inter-
vention. Again unfortunately, tentativeness is exactly what the political
system does not tolerate very well.
Third, social scientists can often be involved in the process of generating
proposals that takes place in what I have labeled the policy stream. There
are entire communities of specialists on a whole series of social policy
problems, and social scientists are and should be prominent in those
communities. If a policymaker would want to design a new approach to
long-term health care, for instance, social scientists who specialize in the
economics, psychology, and sociology of aging would naturally be among
those to consult. Social scientists who are actively involved in this policy
stream, however, quickly discover that their knowledge must be adapted
to the practical problems of policymakers to be useful. In other words,
policy proposals need to meet the criteria of technical feasibility, budget-
ary acceptability, and value acceptability (see above) with which practical
people wrestle continually.
One development within the policy stream to which social scientists
might contribute as much as anybody else is a gradual reorientation of
world views or categories within which people think. Within the commu-
nity of transportation specialists, for instance, it makes a tremendous
difference whether people think of transportation as naturally market-
driven or as something that needs central planning. Or within the health
insurance policy community, there's a major difference between using
insurance simply as a device for paying the bills and using insurance as an
instrument for redirecting incentives in health care delivery. Processes of
highlighting some problems rather than others or of demonstrating the
consequences of various alternatives, among the processes in which social
scientists can participate, sometimes contribute to reorienting whole
50 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
EPILOGUE
REFERENCES
Cohen, Michael, James March, and Johan Olsen. 1972. "A Garbage Can Model of Organiza-
tional Choice." Administrative Science Quarterly 17:1-25.
Derthick, Martha, and Paul Quirk. 1985. The Politics of Deregulation. Washington, DC:
Brookings Institution.
Kingdon, John W. 1984. Agendas, Alternatives. and Public Policies. Boston: Little, Brown.
---.1988. "Ideas, Politics, and Public Policies." Paper delivered at the Annual Meeting
of the American Political Science Association.
---0-
4
The Powers and the Intellectuals:
Benchmark Texts and Changing Conditions
Steven Brint
Thirty years ago, social scientists and historians were in the midst of a
particularly active-and, in many respects, particularly productive-phase of
thinking about the relations between people of ideas and people of power.
The work that has come since has often been derivative, when it has not
been a step backwards, and, consequently, the period I have in mind
represents a still-relevant benchmark. I want to discuss the assumptions
and conclusions of that period at the beginning of this chapter, because
my work is intertwined with those assumptions and conclusions, even
where it disagrees and even where it urges a change of perspective.
The period is bounded by Edward Shils's "The Intellectuals and the
Powers" published in 1958 and by Lewis Coser's Men of Ideas, published
in 1965. In its span, it includes-to note only works by Americans-Henry
Kissinger's "The Policy-Maker and the Intellectual" (1959), Seymour
Martin Lipset's "American Intellectuals: Their Politics and Status" (1960,
chap. 10 of Political Man), and Richard Hofstadter's (1963) Anti-Intellec-
tualism in American Life. If we stretch the periodization a bit, we can also
include in its span the influential broadsides by C. Wright Mills (1951) on
"Brains, Inc" and by Lionel Trilling (1965), from the opposite direction,
on the "adversary culture" of intellectuals, as well as several other signif-
icant works of scholarship and commentary.'
These writings are particularly relevant to the situation of intellectuals
in the United States, and, in so far as they are generalizable, to the situation
51
52 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
these troublesome waters. The stoic tone does not efface-and in fact rather
enhances-the confidence these writings convey in the possibilities for intel-
lectual independence, for intellectual influence, and also in the potential for
coherence and self-consciousness in the intellectual community.
The potential independence of the intellectual community is assumed
virtually without question. For Kissinger, who had none of Weber's faith
in political heads of bureaucratic agencies, intellectuals represented the
best hope of infusing "purpose and vision" into the technical machinery
of bureaucracy. Even in the (slightly later) work of Talcott Parsons, a
theorist normally sensitive to constraints and interdependencies, the intel-
lectual "classes" are depicted as bidding in an entirely independent way
"to have an impact on the affairs of society commensurate with or perhaps
running somewhat ahead of their actual position of strategic importance
in it" (Parsons 1969, p. 22).
As for influence, Coser's typology makes evident the range and variety
of types of influence that intellectuals can have, and it is clear both in his
work and in other writings from the period that this influence has often
been decisive. One conclusion of Shils's, for example, is that modern
politics-the politics that commences with the constitutionalism of the
18th century-is very much a politics in which intellectuals have played
important roles. "Modern liberal and constitutional politics were largely
the creation of intellectuals with bourgeois affinities and sympathies,"
(Shils 1958, p. 12) and revolutionary politics were similarly very much a
product of dissenting intellectuals, usually, as Shils writes elsewhere,
those "not yet assimilated into intellectual-practical occupations, bohem-
ian free-lance intellectuals ... and occasionally already well-established
persons with unusually sensitive moral consciences" (Shils 1968, p. 413).
It is the sense of coherence and community that is so particularly
striking. Parsons's discussion of ideology as the primary instrument of the
"modern secular intellectual classes" is not at all uncharacteristic. These
midcentury Americans, although they often did not say it directly, clearly
thought of intellectuals as a distinct class in modern societies. 6 The
writers, moreover, found it not at all incongruous to address the entire
community of thinkers, as when Hofstadter sharply questions what he calls
the radical intellectuals' "fetishism of alienation":
Since the last of these works was published, great events have occurred
that have transformed our sense of the intellectual community, and, in-
deed, have raised questions about the very existence of such a community.
Ideologically, these events include the brief but intense challenge of "the
New Left," the waning of liberalism and social democracy, the rise of new
conservative ideologies, and perhaps most importantly the crumbling of
Marxist-Leninism and the state-based forms of socialism in the Soviet
Union and Eastern Europe. Great structural events have also occurred that
bear on our understanding of the relations of intellectuals and the state.
These include the ever-increasing capabilities of organized power centers,
such as political parties, state bureaucracies, mass media organizations,
and universities; and the now very large number of highly educated
professionals who pour out of our universities each year and into govern-
ment, or government-related activities.
In this context, a revaluation of these midcentury writers necessarily
leads in somewhat contradictory directions. On one side, the force of some
of their conceptions seems to me to remain essentially undiminished. On
the other, the ideological and structural changes mentioned above-and
our own changed mood and assumptions-do suggest the need for some
significant revisions. These revisions are based, for the most part, on a
greater sense of modesty about the powers of intellectuals. It is more
difficult now to make a case for the notion that the influence of intellec-
tuals is based primarily on the intrinsic qualities of the intellectual com-
munity-be they qualities of mind, or distinctive resources and interests.
Rather, the qualities of the situations in which intellectuals find them-
selves and the quality of their ties to other groups and organizations now
seem more often decisive. 7
Sources of Dependence
Let us look at the matter of dependence first. We can do this by
examining the fate of several of the categories of politically involved
intellectuals identified by Coser, beginning with the ideological intellec-
tuals-those who provide visions of the proper order of society that help
to legitimate or to delegitimate ruling elites. If we evaluate the situation
unsentimentally, we can see how much of the current influence of these
ideological intellectuals depends on forces that have created repeated
disruptions in the fiscal and political health of states.
A crisis of the state is also a crisis of legitimation. This is perhaps obvious
in the case of Eastern Europe, where the faltering fiscal and political health
of the state created a legitimation crisis of obvious profundity. But it is also
true in the West. Indeed, throughout the West, the dominant left-of-center,
egalitarian ideology of intellectuals suffered a tremendous shock in the early
1970s when the logic of Keynsianism came unstuck and increases in govern-
ment services started to be perceived-fairly or not-as greatly interfering
with, rather than enhancing, economic development.
Indeed, I think we can go further and say that in the liberal democracies,
at any rate, a stable ideology requires a reliably supportive political
coalition, and fiscal and distributive rules that appear to work in the
interests of both social and economic advancement. In the United States,
the "New Deal" coalition; the fiscal rules of Keynsianism; and the distrib-
Steven Brint 59
Sources of Incoherence
One source of the current incoherence. in the intellectual community
stems from the sometimes contradictory directions in which the different
segments ofthe politically involved intellectual stratum are pulled by their
primary institutional ties. Because the interests of the political parties, the
state bureaucracies, and the educated public are often rather different, if
not explicitly opposed, there is always the possibility of a strong sense of
disconnection between ideological intellectuals, policy intellectuals, and
academic intellectual-experts. As employers of ideologists, the parties and
the mass media require, above all, vivid images and bold justifications of
general principles. (The leading intellectual journals of opinion require,
in addition, the seriousness of political and social philosophy.) The bu-
reaucracies most often require skillful plans to meet strategic needs of the
future and specific issues of the moment. And the educated public wishes
to ponder, with the guidance of a fresh, identifiable argument, contempo-
rary issues that fall between the extremes of generality and specificity.
To the extent that coherence exists between the major segments of the
politically active intellectual stratum in the West, it is unquestionably
more on the right nowadays than on the left. But even on the right
coherence is fragile and unstable. This is less because intellectuals are
given to fractiousness-although, of course, they are-than because the
institutional situation in which each segment works often encourages
contradictory outcomes.
62 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
NOTES
1. These include Annan's work (1955) on British intellectuals, Curti's (1956) discussion
of the American founding fathers as intellectuals, Williams's (1958) discussion of intellec-
tual reactions to the industrial and democratic revolutions, the Summer 1959 issue of
Daedalus with comments by five American intellectuals (Schlesinger et al. 1959) on the
status of American intellectuals, Bell's (1960) The End ofIdeology, de Huszar's (1960) edited
collection on intellectuals, Apter's (1964) edited collection on ideology and discontent, and
Lasswell and Lerner's (1965) collection on world revolutionary elites.
2. When the difference is defined, as Hofstadter observes, "it becomes easier to under-
stand why we sometimes say that a mind of admittedly penetrating intelligence is relatively
unintellectual; and why, by the same token, we see among minds that are unmistakably
intellectual a considerable range of intelligence" (Hofstadter 1963, p. 25).
3. In terms of linguistic history, there is, of course, much to commend this view. Both
the original use of the term intellectual during the Dreyfus affair in France and the original
use of the term intelligentsia in mid-19th century Russia were meant to denote groups critical
of and alienated from society (see Coser 1965, pp. 215-26, and Bell 1976).
4. It is a short jump from this definition to the stereotypical view of intellectuals as
maintaining a critical distance between themselves and the everyday life of their societies, and
thus, implicitly, as standing very often in a relation of alienation from their societies. Indeed,
Coser himself makes this short jump: "Intellectuals, then," he writes, "are not only puzzling but
upsetting to the run of ordinary citizens .... Without intellectuals to challenge the established
routines the traditions of the eternal yesterday-s-even while they maintain standards and
68 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLlCY AGENDA
articulate demands-our culture would soon be a dead culture" (Coser 1965, p. x). And
elsewhere: "They consider themselves," Coser writes, "jealous guardians of moral standards
that are too often ignored in the marketplace and the houses of power" (Coser 1965, p. viii).
5. The emphasis on intellectual judgments and intellectual commitments are not univer-
sal. Lipset (1960), at times, favors a variation of the sociological argument based on status
inconsistency. He argues that intellectuals feel a sense of deprivation in the gap between their
cultural accomplishments and their perceived but middling status in the society.
6. When I say class, 1 obviously do not mean to use the term in the Marxist sense, but
rather in the less exacting sense of a self-conscious group of similarly situated people. In the
American context, some conservative writers quite rightly discerned a change of temper, an
increasing sense of self-consciousness and separation, in the way these matters were being
talked about. Kirk (1956), for example, noted that while Europe had long known a self-con-
scious intellectual class, the sense of intellectuals as a distinct class in society had only
recently attained a corresponding influence in the English-speaking world, largely because
of the relatively widespread diffusion of traditional liberal learning and the Protestant-dem-
ocratic concept of a free and dignified personality in all walks of life.
7. Of course, this emphasis was not entirely missing in the work of midcentury Ameri-
cans. It is mentioned at least peripherally by all of the writers. But it is at the center only in
Mills's (1951) vision of "Brains, Inc." Mills writes, for example,
Perhaps, in due course, intellectuals have at all times been drawn into line with either
popular mentality or ruling class, and away from the urge to be detached; but now in the
middle of the twentieth century, the recoil from detachment and the falling into line seem
more organized, more solidly rooted in the centralization of power and its rationalization
of modern society as a whole. (Mills 1951, p. 155)
The difficulty with Mills's view is that it is presented in a rather melodramatic way, full of
expressionistic exaggerations of the brute forces and the evil of the modern world.
8. This neutral usage of the term ideology contrasts with the connotations that ideology
has gained with bias, inflexibility, and special pleading. Geertz (1964) aptly summarizes one
prevailing view: "I have a social philosophy, you have political opinions, and he has an
ideology." For a defense of a nonpejorative use of the term, see Apter (1964), Geertz (1964),
and Gouldner (1976).
9. The sense of intellectual ferment in the Reagan White House is well conveyed in a
recollection (by a presidential speechwriter) of lunch at the White House mess during the
final months of Reagan's first term: "This is like a tutorial, I thought. These people are the
bright, intense people in college who couldn't stop talking about Hawthorne and Tennyson
and the Lake poets. Only the topic was public policy .... It was the authentic sound of the
Reagan revolution buzzing around me" (Noonan 1990, p. 53).
10. They are in fact mentioned as an aside in Coser's discussion as one of two other
possibilities for intellectuals, the other being "withdrawing entirely." See Coser 1965, p. 136.
11. As Kissinger himself noted, "Since individuals who challenge the presuppositions of
the bureaucracy rarely keep their positions as advisers, great pressures are created to
elaborate on familiar themes rather than risk new departures that may both fail and prove
unacceptable" (Kissinger 1959, p. 33).
12. Survey evidence from this period suggests that significant changes in policy-related
racial attitudes were occurring at precisely this time. See, for example, Schuman et al. (1985).
13. The dissatisfaction of conservative ideologists with the "timid" Reagan Administra-
tion is evident as early as January of 1983. Irving Kristol, the neoconservative theorist, for
example, despairs in "The Emergence of Two Republican Parties" of the possibility of a truly
Steven Brint 69
REFERENCES
Aberbach, Ronald, Robert D. Putnam, and Bert A. Rockman. 1981. Bureaucrats and Politi-
cians in Western Democracies. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Anderson. Martin. 1988. Revolution. New York: Harcourt-Brace.
Annan, Noel H. 1955. "The Intellectual Aristocracy." Pp. 243-87 in Studies in Social History.
edited by J. H. Plumb. London: Longmans, Green.
Apter, David E., ed. 1964. Ideology and Discontent. London: Free Press of Glencoe.
Bell, Daniel. 1960. The End of Ideology. Glencoe, IL: Free Press.
- - - . 1976. "The 'Intelligentsia' in American Society." In Tomorrow's American: The
Will Lectures of 1976. New York: Oxford University Press.
Brint, Steven. Forthcoming. Retainers. Merchants. and Priests: Politics and Culture in the
Professional Middle Class in America. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Bruce-Briggs, B. 1979."Conclusion: Notes Toward the Delineation of the New Class." pp. 191-216
in The New Class? edited by B. Bruce-Briggs. New Brunswick. NJ: Transaction Books.
Cameron, David R. 1982. "On the Limits of the Public Economy." Annals of the American
Academy of Political and Social Science 459:46-62.
Coser, Lewis. 1965. Men of Ideas. New York: Free Press.
Curti, Merle. 1956. American Paradox: The Conflict ofThought and Action. New Brunswick,
NJ: Rutgers University Press.
De Huszar, George B. 1960. The Intellectuals: A Controversial Portrait. New York: Free Press.
Gagnon, Alain G., ed. 1987. Intellectuals in Liberal Democracies. New York: Praeger.
Glazer, Nathan. 1975. Affirmative Discrimination: Ethnic Inequality and Public Policy. New
York: Basic Books.
Geertz, Clifford. 1964. "Ideology as a Cultural System." In Ideology and Discontent. edited
by David E. Apter. London: Free Press of Glencoe.
Gouldner, Alvin W. 1976. The Dialectic ofIdeology and Technology. New York: Seabury Press.
70 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC POLICY AGENDA
Heclo, Hugh and Mendrik Madsen. 1987. Policy and Politics in Sweden. Philadelphia:
Temple University Press.
Hirsch, E. D. 1987. Cultural Literacy. Boston: Houghton-Mifflin.
Hochschild, Arlie. 1989. The Second Shift: Working Parents and the Revolution at Home.
New York: Viking.
Hodgson, Godfrey. 1976. America in Our Time. Garden City, NY: Doubleday.
Hofstadter, Richard. 1963. Anti-Intellectualism in American Life. New York: Knopf.
Jacoby, Russell. 1987. The Last Intellectuals: American Culture in the Age ofAcademe. New
York: Basic Books.
Kadushin, Charles. 1974. The American Intellectual Elite. Boston: Little, Brown.
Kennedy, Paul. 1987. The Rise and Fall of Great Powers. New York: Random House.
Keohane, Robert O. 1984. "The World Political Economy and the Crisis of Embedded
Liberalism." Pp. 15-38 in Order and Conflict in Contemporary Capitalism. edited by
John H. Goldthorpe. New York: Oxford University Press.
Kirk, Russell. 1956. Beyond the Dream ofAvarice. New York: Henry Regnery.
Kissinger, Henry. 1959. "The Policy-Maker and the Intellectual." The Reporter 29(March
5):30-35.
Kreisi, Hanspeter. 1989. "New Social Movements and the New Class in the Netherlands."
American Journal of Sociology 94: 1078-1116.
Kristol, Irving. 1983. Reflections of a NeoConservative. New York: Basic Books.
Lasswell, Harold D. and Daniel Lerner. 1965. World Revolutionary Elites: Studies in Coer-
cive Ideological Movements. Cambridge: MIT Press.
Lipset, Seymour Martin. 1960. Political Man: The Social Bases ofPolitics. Garden City, NY:
Doubleday.
- - - . 1963. The First New Nation: The United States in Comparative Perspective. New
York: Norton.
Lipset, Seymour Martin and Richard B. Dobson. 1972. "The Intellectual as Critic and Rebel."
Daedalus 101:137-98.
Mills, C. Wright. 1951. White Collar. New York: Oxford University Press.
Nettl, J. P. 1969. "Ideas, Intellectuals, and Structures of Dissent." Pp. 53-124 in On Intellec-
tuals, edited by Philip Rieff. Garden City, NY: Doubleday.
Noonan, Peggy. 1990. What I Saw at the Revolution. New York: Random House.
Parsons, Talcott. 1969. "The Intellectual: A Social Role Category." Pp. 3-24 in On Intellec-
tuals, edited by Philip Reiff. Garden City, NY: Doubleday.
Pinard, Maurice and Richard F. Hamilton. 1989. "Intellectuals and the Leadership of Social
Movements," Research ill Social Movements. Conflicts. and Change 11:73-108.
Schlesinger, Arthur R., Jr., et al. 1959. "Comments on 'American Intellectuals.' " Daedalus
88:487-98.
Schuman, Howard, et aL 1985. Racial Attitudes in America: Trends and Interpretations.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Schumpeter, Joseph. 1942. Capitalism. Socialism. and Democracy. New York: Harper & Row.
Shils, Edward A. 1955. "The End of Ideology?" Encounter 5(November):52-58.
- - - . 1958. "The Intellectuals and the Powers." Comparative Studies in Society and
History 1:5-23.
- - - . 1968. "Intellectuals," International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences 7:399-414.
Stockman, David A. 1986. The Triumph of Politics: Why the Reagan Revolution Failed. New
York: Harper & Row.
Suleiman, Ezra N., ed. 1984. Bureaucrats and Policy-Making. New York: Holmes & Meier.
Trilling, Lionel. 1965. Beyond Culture. New York: Viking.
Williams, Raymond. 1958. Cultureand Society. 1780-1950.New York: Columbia University Press.
Wright, Vincent. 1989. The Government and Politics ofFrance. New York: Holmes & Meier.
Part I
Rogers Brubaker'
73
74 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
PATTERNS OF NATURALIZATION
AND DEFINITIONS OF CITIZENSHIP
between 1973 and 1991. More than a million foreign residents are under
age 18. At least two-thirds of them were born in France and are destined
to become French at age 18. Thus although the citizenship law of the
United States is based on jus soli, while that of France is based on jus
sanguinis, the result-as far as second-generation immigrants are con-
cerned-is similar: almost all persons born in France and residing there at
majority have French citizenship. German citizenship law, in contrast, is
based exclusively on jus sanguinis. Birth in the territory, even coupled with
prolonged residence, has no bearing on citizenship. Second-generation
and even third-generation immigrants can acquire German citizenship
solely by way of naturalization.
We are now in a position to consider the combined effects of different
rules of ascription and rates of naturalization on the civic incorporation of
the major immigrant groups (excluding ethnic German immigrants to
Germany). Of the nearly 3 million foreign residents from the core immi-
grant groups in Germany-Italians, Spaniards, Greeks, Yugoslavs, and
Turks-fewer than 5,000 acquire German citizenship each year, and nearly
half of these are Yugoslavs. France, on the other hand, gains more than
53,000 new citizens each year from a slightly smaller core immigrant
population of Italians, Spaniards, Portuguese, Algerians, Tunisians, and
Moroccans. This includes about 16,600 persons who are defined as French
at birth each year by virtue of birth in France in conjunction with the birth
of at least one parent in preindependence Algeria, and another 12,700
persons born in France and defined as French on attaining legal majority.
The overall rate of civic incorporation for these core immigrant groups is
thus more than 10 times higher in France than in Germany,"
For second- and third-generation immigrants, the difference in rates of
civic incorporation is even greater. In both France and Germany, new
immigration declined precipitously after 1973. As a result, a steadily
increasing fraction of the population of immigrant origin consists of
persons born in France or Germany. In France, almost all of these persons
are either defined as French at birth or programmed to become French
automatically at age 18. In Germany, which lacks any mechanism of
automatic civic incorporation, second- and third-generation immigrants
will have to naturalize if they want to become citizens. And there is no
indication that they will do so in large numbers.
One further peculiarity of German citizenship law should be noted.
While the citizenry is defined restrictively vis-a-vis non-German immi-
grants, it is defined expansively vis-a-vis ethnic Germans. This ethnic
inclusiveness has two aspects. First, the citizenry recognized by the Fed-
eral Republic of Germany always included the citizens of the German
Democratic Republic. As far as citizenship law is concerned, the division
80 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
UNDERSTANDINGS OF NATIONHOOD
AND DEFINITIONS OF CITIZENSHIP
made "peasants into Frenchmen," as Eugen Weber (1976) has shown, they
made second-generation immigrants into Frenchmen in the same way. The
interest of the French state in an expansive definition of citizenship, then,
was not immediately given by demographic or military imperatives. Rather,
this interest was mediated-indeed constituted-by a certain way of think-
ing and talking about membership of the French nation-state.
Nor can the distinctiveness of the German definition of citizenship-
markedly restrictive toward non-German immigrants, yet markedly expan-
sive toward ethnic Germans from Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union-be
interpreted in instrumental terms. In Wilhelmine Germany as in Republican
France, understandings of nationhood shaped appraisals of state interests.
Yet while the French understanding of nationhood-state-centered and
robustly assimilationist-engendered an interest in the civic incorporation
of second-generation immigrants, the German understanding of nation-
hood engendered an interest in their civic exclusion.
Migrant labor was economically indispensable in eastern Prussia in the
Wilhelmine era. Yet immigrants---ethnic Poles from Russia and Austria-
were not wanted as citizens, for no one believed that they could be made
into Germans. In part, this was the legacy of a traditionally less assimila-
tionist, more ethnocultural understanding of nationhood. Yet just as the
French assimilationist self-understanding was powerfully reinforced in
the 1880s, so too the German ethnocultural, differentialist self-under-
standing was powerfully reinforced in the Wilhelmine era by the increas-
ingly evident failure of attempts to assimilate indigenous Poles in the
Prussian east (Broszat 1972, pp. 143, 157; Blanke 1981, p. 60). Having
failed to secure the political loyalty of Poles to the German state, and
having failed to assimilate them to German language and culture, Pruss ian
and German policy toward the indigenous Poles became increasingly
"dissimilationist." The state openly discriminated by ethnic nationality,
treating ethnic Germans and ethnic Poles differently in an effort to
"strengthen Germandom" in frontier districts (Wehler 1979, pp. 193-95;
Tims 1941, pp. 151-88). Since the state had failed to assimilate indigenous
Poles in the Pruss ian east, there was no reason to believe that it would
succeed in assimilating immigrant Poles. An ethnocultural, differentialist
way of thinking and talking about membership of the German nation-state
thus supported an interest in a restrictive definition of citizenship. An
expansive citizenship law like that of France, automatically transforming
second-generation immigrants into citizens, presupposed confidence in
their effective assimilation. The French elite possessed that confidence:
the German elite did not.
In rejecting an instrumentalist account of French and German citizen-
ship policies and practices, then, I do not wish to offer a naively culturalist
86 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
We cannot ... decode political language to reach a primal and material expres-
sion of interest since it is the discursive structure of political language which
conceives and defines interest in the first place. What we must therefore do is to
study the production of interest, identification, grievance and aspiration within
political languages themselves. (Stedman Jones 1983, p. 22)
Other things being equal, one would expect French and German defini-
tions of citizenship to converge. A Europe without internal frontiers
requires a common immigration policy; it might be thought to require a
common citizenship policy as well. Convergence would seem especially
likely in view of the similar migration processes, comparable immigrant
populations, and converging immigration policies of France and Germany.
There is no doubt, moreover, that the postwar migrations have placed
consideration strain on both French and German self-understandings. The
French tradition of assimilation has been challenged both by the multi-
culturalist left, arguing that immigrants should not be assimilated, and by
the exclusionary right, arguing that they cannot be assimilated. In Ger-
many, on the other hand, even the present conservative government has
had to acknowledge that large numbers of Turkish migrants have become
permanent immigrants, and has proclaimed a public interest in the natu-
ralization of second-generation immigrants.
Yet citizenship policies remain sharply opposed. A French campaign
for a more restrictive politics of citizenship, taken up by the center right
under pressure from the far right, encountered strong resistance, which
ultimately led the government of Jacques Chirac to withdraw its proposed
reform of citizenship law from the legislative agenda in December 1986.
Critics of the proposed reform included the august Council of State, which
characterized it as "contrary to Republican tradition and principles." And
the commission appointed by the government to study the issue proposed
enlarging rather than restricting access to citizenship (Commission de la
Nationalite 1988). In Germany, naturalization policies were liberalized in
1990 for second generation immigrants. But the French system of jus soli
was not even considered: The automatic transformation of immigrants into
citizens is simply unthinkable in Germany-except in the case of ethnic
German immigrants. 13
Why have citizenship policies escaped the convergence to which immi-
gration policies have been subjected? What is special about citizenship?
An important piece of the answer has to do with what is at stake in debates
about citizenship law. Citizenship confers not only political rights but the
unconditional right to enter and reside in the country, complete access to
the labor market, and eligibility for the full range of welfare benefits. In
88 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
culture in general nor the specific social, political, and cultural context of
the postwar immigration is favorable to assimilation. Add to this the fact
that dual citizenship is permitted only in exceptional cases, and it seems
likely that naturalization rates will remain quite low, and that the citizen-
ship status and chances of immigrants in France and Germany will con-
tinue to diverge.
NOTES
who were physically driven out of Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union in the immediate
aftermath of the Second World War. But German administrative practice has been to consider
virtually all ethnic German immigrants from Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union as
Yertriebene, without inquiring into the actual circumstances of their emigration. Given the
very large numbers of persons who have taken advantage of the status of Yenriebene to gain
entry and citizenship in Germany. the practice of automatically granting the status of
Vertriebene is currently being reconsidered. Even if this practice is modified, however, it
appears likely that the migration of ethnic Germans will continue. On German policies in
this sphere, see Otto 1990.
9. The 1648 Peace of Westphalia. ending the Thirty Years' War, imposed religious
pluralism on Germany and provided a model for the coexistence of distinct cultural commu-
nities. This model, to be sure, permitted assimilation on the level of the individual principality
(according to the formula cuius regio, eius religio J, but on the scale of the nation it was
pluralist and differentialist.
10. See Rokkan and Urwin 1983, esp. pp. 27, 35-38.74-76,96, for suggestive comments
on the geoeconomic and geocultural conditions underlying different patterns of state-build-
ing in France and western Germany. On the roots of the more assimilationist self-understand-
ing of France, see also von Thadden 1987; Elias 1978; and, building on Elias, Noiriel1988,
pp.341-56.
11. The French-Spanish and French-German borderlands are interesting in their own right
(Sahlins 1989), but they are marginal to national self-understanding. Since Alsace-Lorraine
belonged to Germany during the crucial phase of nation-building in late 19th and early 20th
century France, we cannot know how vigorously assimilationist policies would have been
pursued then. But before and after this interlude, French tolerance for bilingualism shows
that this cultural borderland posed no threat to national identity.
12. The second wave of settlers, from the 16th century on, especially the more numerous
Protestants. tended to preserve their language, religious culture. and national identity (Hagen
1980, pp. 1-9).
13. The recent French and German debates about immigration and citizenship are ana-
lyzed in detail in Brubaker (1992). chapters 7 and 8.
14. By "immigrants" 1 mean persons enjoying a status permitting them, ordinarily, to
remain indefinitely in the country and, outside of the political domain, to participate in social
and economic life on virtually the same terms as citizens. Persons may be admitted to the
territory as immigrants, as is the case of persons who enter the United States as permanent
resident aliens, or they may be admitted to the territory with some other status and later
become immigrants. as in the case of persons who entered France and Germany with
short-term residence and work permits and only later graduated to immigrant status. The large
majority of resident foreigners in European states are "immigrants" in this sense.
15. Popular understandings of nationhood may be much more similar. But the politics of
citizenship depends on elite self-understandings, for formal citizenship-unlike, say, immi-
gration-is not a salient popular issue.
16. The French political and intellectual elite is itself a remarkable product of assimila-
tion. The habitual schemes of thought and expression deployed by professionals in the
representation of the social and political world-politicians, journalists, high civil servants.
intellectuals, and so on-are products of the labor of "continuous normalization" imposed
by centralized institutes such as the Ecole Normale Superieure, the Ecole National
d' Administration, or the Institut d'Etudes Politiques (Bourdieu 1981).
17. On the transfer of schemes of interpretation and understanding from one domain to
another. see Bourdieu 1977, pp. 82-83; and Bourdieu 1984. pp. 170-75.
94 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
18. On the left, the idea of assimilation, and even the word itself, has been revived in
response to the rise of Le Pen and to the right's assertions of the unassimilability of
immigrants (Noirie11988, p. 341; Pinto 1988, p. 96; Schlegel 1985).
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Nationalism. London: Verso.
Blanke, Richard. 1981. Prussian Poland in the German Empire. Boulder, CO: East European
Monographs.
Bourdieu, Pierre. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice, translated by Richard Nice. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press.
- - - . 1981. "La representation politi que. Elements pour une theorie du champ politique."
Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales 36-37:3-24.
---.1984. Distinction: A Social Critique ofthe Judgement ofTaste, translated by Richard
Nice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Broszat, Martin. 1972. Zweihundert Jahre deutsche Polenpolitik. Rev. and enlarged ed.
Frankfurt: Suhrkamp.
Brubaker, [William] Rogers. 1989. "Citizenship and Naturalization: Policies and Politics."
Pp. 99-127 in Immigration and the Politics ofCitizenship in Europe and North America,
edited by William Rogers Brubaker. Lanham, MD: German Marshall Fund of the
United States and University Press of America.
- - - . 1992. Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Castles, Stephen (with Heather Booth and Tina Wallace). 1984. Here for Good: Western
Europe's New Ethnic Minorities. London: Pluto Press.
Challener, Richard D. 1965. The French Theory ofthe Nation in Arms 1866-1939. New York:
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Cohen, Jean. 1985. "Strategy or Identity: New Theoretical Paradigms and Contemporary
Social Movements." Social Research 52:663-716.
Commission de la Nationalite. 1988. Etre Francais aujourd'hui et demain, vol. 1. Paris: La
Documentation Francaise.
Dubet, Franeois. 1989. Immigrations: Qu' en savons-nous? Paris: La Documentation Francaise.
Elias, Norbert. 1978. The Civilizing Process. Vol. 1: The History of Manners, translated by
Edmund Jephcott. New York: Urizen Books.
Forschungsinstitut der Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung, Arbeitsgruppe Auslanderforschung und Aus-
landerpolitik. 1986. Situation der ausldndischen Arbeitnehmer und ihrer Familien-
angehorigen in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Bonn: Bundesminister fUr Arbeit und
Sozialordnung.
Groth, Klaus-Martin. 1984. Einbiirgerungsratgeber. Frankfurt: Alfred Mekner.
Hagen, William W. 1980. Germans, Poles, and Jews: The Nationality Conflict in the Prussian
East, /772-1914. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hammar, Tomas. 1985. "Comparative Analysis." Pp. 237-304 in European Immigration
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52:43-64.
Rogers Brubaker 95
J. Donald Moon
The welfare state, like any concrete form of political life, was built over
generations by different groups, institutions, and individuals, responding
to a variety of problems and seeking different ends. It would be a theorist's
conceit, then, to suppose that we could offer a single theory of the welfare
state, explaining its characteristic policies and institutions in terms of a
delimited range of basic principles and values. 1 Actual welfare states are
based on various and sometimes incompatible values and beliefs, and their
institutions and practices are similarly heterogeneous. Nonetheless, the
arguments of their critics and advocates often express more or less coher-
ent theoretical positions, which frequently enable us to illuminate impor-
tant political issues. The kinds of proposals that are presented, the criti-
cisms they engender, and the dilemmas that policymakers and citizens face
often reflect a particular interpretation of, or set of aspirations for, the
welfare state.
In this chapter I will present two interpretations of the welfare state,
which I will call the "liberal" or "individualist" conception, and the
"social-democratic" or "collectivist" conception.i I offer these with some
hesitation since even at the level of theory we are dealing with consider-
ations that are often shared by different theorists. What I present as
systematic, integrated positions may better be thought of as differences in
emphasis and concern. But by presenting these differences in a somewhat
sharper and more integrated way, I hope to shed light on some of the
characteristic problems and dilemmas we face, and to explicate some
important aspects of the debate over the direction of social policy.
97
98 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
Welfare rights are required, in the first place, to make option rights
effective. The right to due process of law may be rendered nugatory for
someone who cannot afford to hire a lawyer; as a result, the "positive" right
to free legal counsel comes to be part of the meaning of due process itself. In
a similar vein, welfare rights can be defended on the grounds that the
commitment to equal liberty requires measures to equalize the "worth" or
value of liberty to different individuals. 4 But the liberal theory of the welfare
state goes beyond these considerations, arguing that people become individ-
uals and develop the capacities for autonomy and self-direction only within
particular forms of society. Values such as equality of respect and human
dignity can be realized in actual, on-going relationships only for people who
are full members of their society, who are able to share in what Tawney called
"a common heritage of civilization." Equality cannot be achieved among
"abstract individuals," but only among people who not only share a way of
life in which conceptions of equality and individuality are central, but who
also enjoy a range of common opportunities and "life chances." Liberal
society is premised on what Marshall ([1950] 1977, p. 101) revealingly calls
the ideal of "equal social worth," which requires that citizens be guaranteed
certain social rights as well as the traditional civil and political rights.
Finally, liberals are led to embrace the welfare state because it is necessary
to overcome the moral shortcomings of the market. As I have argued else-
where (1988), market society is premised upon an ideal of equality and
reciprocity, in which individuals are expected to meet their own needs
(mediated through their membership in families) by offering services or other
goods they can provide in exchange for the services or goods of others. The
centrality of markets in liberal society results from its commitment to auton-
omy and liberty, which require that the individual have property in his or her
own person, and which place a premium on the right and ability of individuals
to shape their own ways of life through the choices they make regarding
(among other things) work and consumption. However, the normal operation
of markets is such that individuals may find themselves in situations in which
they are unable to meet their needs, as a result of unemployment, illness,
disability, or old age, through no fault of their own. The welfare state must
fill this gap in market society in a way that is consistent with its basic norms
and so with the self-respect of its members.
For these reasons liberals are led to support the welfare state. The ideal
of the 19th century liberal state, which provides only a legal order enshrin-
ing the principle of juridical equality, has never described any political
reality. In my account of liberalism, however, it could not even be an ideal
because the minimal state fails in one of the primary tasks of the liberal
state, which is to provide the necessary means for everyone to attain full
membership in society, since that is a condition of our understanding
100 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
SOCIAL-DEMOCRATIC OR COLLECTIVIST
CONCEPTIONS OF THE WELFARE STATE
democracy is much younger and less well defined than liberalism. At the
edges, it blurs either into liberalism or into a more full-blooded socialism,
raising doubts as to whether it is a distinctive political position at all. Once
again, I would emphasize that my interest is not in discovering "essences" of
different political tendencies, but in highlighting clusters of related ideas that
can help us to understand conflicts over the design of social policy.
In the preceding section I suggested that liberals come to the welfare
state because of their commitment to agency rights and as a result of the
moral failures of markets, a central institution of liberal societies. In their
vision, the welfare state plays a limited, even a "residual" role, in correct-
ing the problems arising from core liberal institutions and principles. For
social democrats this relationship is reversed. They begin from a concern
with social solidarity and need, rather than individual rights and reciproc-
ity. For them, public provision is not a supplement to market society, but
the core function of the state. Although they may allow market transactions
to coordinate the bulk of economic activity, they view markets as distinctly
subordinate to the realization of collective purposes and to nonmarket
forms of organization and provision. In the revealing title of Esping-
Andersen's book on social democracy (1985b), for social democrats it is
"politics against markets." At an extreme, some social democrats are
unremittingly hostile to markets; their ideal is a society in which all
activities are organized through voluntary, cooperative efforts, and in
which individuals are oriented principally toward common needs and
aspirations. Titmuss (1972) extols the "gift relationship" and Harris (1987)
speaks of the family as a model for social life. More concretely, Offe
(1984) and Esping-Andersen (1985b) hope that the growth of collective
consumption and public control will eventually displace capitalism, lead-
ing to a socialist order of society.
This commitment to decommodification has a number of sources, but
two of the most important are equality and citizenship. Once again, social
democrats and liberals are not completely opposed with respect to these
values. But where liberals focus on juridical equality-equality of rights
and equal respect-and see the need for a limited amount of redistribution
in order to make this ideal effectively part of our social experience, social
democrats see equality of life chances as a good in itself. Conceiving of
"society" as responsible for distributing goods and opportunities among
its members, and recognizing that the institutions through which distribu-
tions occur are human constructions, not natural necessities, social demo-
crats hold that institutions should equalize the life chances of different
individuals. Since needs differ, and since different individuals have dif-
ferent natural endowments, actual distributions of goods and services
would not usually be equal, but the aim should be to equalize the circum-
J. Donald Moon 103
stances of all citizens. Where liberals worry that social policies may go
too far in weakening the linkage between individual performance and
outcome, social democrats seek to sever that tie as much as possible. They
bemoan the failure of welfare states to effect a greater redistribution of
income; they are distressed by the ability of privileged groups to utilize
its programs more effectively than the less privileged; and they object to
the way in which many programs provide income and benefits that are tied
to earnings, thereby reinforcing patterns of Inequality."
This concern with equality has many sources, but one of the most
common is the commitment to equal citizenship, which is sometimes
described in terms of solidarity or membership. This is a major theme in
Michael Walzer's (1983) account of the welfare state; indeed, he argues that
the purpose of all political associations is to meet the needs of their members.
Of course, different societies accept different accounts of human needs,
but once something is recognized as a need, then the goods necessary to
satisfy it should be distributed in accordance with the extent of need and
in a way that recognizes and upholds the status of its members. In a society
committed to equal citizenship, the necessary goods and services should
be universally provided in a way that equally satisfies everyone's needs
and without stigmatizing any citizen (1983, chap. 3 generally).
In a similar vein, David Harris argues that "full membership" in a
society requires that each person be able to enjoy "a certain style of life"
and "certain life chances" (1987, p. 147). Although he recognizes that
modem societies include a plurality of different groups, he insists that
there are more or less common standards of what one must be able to do
and how one must be able to live if one is not to be excluded or socially
marginalized. These standards determine the needs of members of that
society, and should be equally available to all citizens as a matter of right.
The provision of welfare rights involves a corresponding obligation on the
part of the society as a whole, and of its various members, to provide the
necessary goods and services (or to support those institutions which can
provide them [Plant 1988, p. 73]). But why do we have such obligations, and
why are they more urgent than other goals we might pursue individually or
collectively with the resources at our disposal? To answer these questions,
Harris ultimately appeals to the idea of membership itself, drawing an analogy
between political society and the family. Just as we have obligations to
members of our family, irrespective of what they may have done for us
individually, so we have obligations to our fellow citizens.
It is easy to see why family relationships may give rise to obligations-
given the centrality of such relationships to one's identity, and the ties of
affection and shared histories. But it is far from obvious that common
citizenship gives rise to such obligations. Harris concedes that support for
104 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
Targeting
For both liberal and social democratic theory targeting social benefits
on the basis of income is problematic, but for different reasons. Ideally,
both theories call for social benefits to be provided to people through
universal programs on the basis of their meeting certain criteria of entitle-
ment, including being retired, ill, disabled, unemployed, having the care
of a child, or requiring education. By providing benefits only through
programs that meet needs arising from widely or universally shared life
contingencies, the welfare state is supposed to secure the social rights of
citizenship in a way that treats all citizens equally. Unfortunately, realiz-
ing this ideal is very difficult. All welfare states, even the Scandinavian
systems long dominated by Social Democratic parties, rely to some degree
on means-tested programs of social assistance to meet the needs of people
whose benefits under universal programs are inadequate. In the past 15
years of slow economic growth, the gaps in universal programs have
increased, and more and more people have been forced to rely upon social
assistance. Moreover, the characteristics of those who require social assis-
tance are similar in all societies-elderly women, ethnic minority groups, and
various categories of seasonal and low-paid workers; in the past decade,
more people have fallen into this category, particularly with the rise of
single-parent households and growing long-term unemployment.!"
Targeting is a particular problem for social democrats, as it directly
contradicts their commitment to solidarity. By reinforcing market-based
distinctions among people-between those who have successfully formed
stable attachments to the labor force and those who have not, or whose
wages and working conditions are poor-social assistance undermines the
sense of common interests necessary to sustain programs of decommod-
ification and democratization. Since it creates an identifiable class of
recipients whose benefits are made possible by the taxes paid by others, it
sets up an opposition of interests at the heart of the welfare state, generating
political pressure to cut such benefits and to dilute the quality of services
provided. In recent years it has led to renewed attacks on the moral failings
of recipients, particularly regarding their willingness to work, culminating in
demands that they be forced to work as a condition of receiving benefits (an
issue to be discussed in the next section). By engendering conflict and
legitimating market-based distinctions, social assistance is a primary culprit
in the process of "destructuration" of the welfare state that Offe (1988)
describes, undermining popular support for moves toward the full democra-
tization of society, including economic democracy. IS
J. Donald Moon 109
Even if Mead had answered these questions, this line of argument would
be unacceptable to liberals. As I argued above, a fundamental tenet of
liberalism is to respect the different choices that individuals make about
the ends and directions of their lives. It thus denies the legitimacy of
government policies expressly designed to promote certain conceptions of
proper human functioning, not to mention paternalistic attempts to enforce
them. While social democrats may not object as strenuously to Mead's
paternalism as liberals do, they are unlikely to find the grounds on which
he would defend his proposals palatable.
But Mead (1986) also argues that working (and observing other norms)
is required by considerations of fairness. Since taxpayers have to work,
why not everyone who is able to do so? Indeed, since liberals view the
welfare state as an adjunct to the market, ameliorating its moral defects,
they are committed only to providing material support to those who are
either unable to work (because of age, disability, etc.) or to those who are
unable to find adequate employment. Thus programs tying social provi-
sion to work are in principle acceptable within liberal theory, at least so
long as this is done in a way that respects individual dignity and does not
force people to take jobs that involve conditions of degradation or exploi-
tation that deprive them of effective citizenship. As I will argue below, at
least some programs of welfare reform involving work requirements are
acceptable in terms of liberal political theory.
Social democrats also would find an obligation to work based on an
appeal to fairness to be plausible. Given the social democratic opposition
to the commodification of labor, some kind of obligation to work would
seem to be essential. In Sweden, accepting a job or a place in a training
program is a condition for the receipt of unemployment benefits, and
Hernes notes that one of the duties of social democratic citizenship is "to
accept ajob even if this means moving home and family" (1988, p. 201).20
Unlike Mead, however, social democrats would qualify this obligation in
a number of crucial ways. In particular, they would insist that the obliga-
tion to work not only be nonpunitive, but it should also be incorporated
into genuinely universalistic programs, such as unemployment compensa-
tion. "Workfare" tied to social assistance or means-tested programs is
objectionable because it reinforces the separation between those who
supposedly "deserve" social support (due to disability, age, etc.) and those
who do not, and who must therefore be compelled to work. As Katz puts
it, "Workfare is a nonresponse to the structural sources of poverty in
America. It addresses the politics of poverty, not its roots" (1989, p. 232).
Second, social democrats would insist that enforcing work obligations
is acceptable only when the government pursues economic policies de-
signed to bring about full employment and to secure a high minimum
112 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
involves, although superior to the present system, still divides the popula-
tion into a large group of contributors and a minority of recipients. This
builds a tension into the heart of the program, in which the interests of
some will be to expand the size of the redistributive transfers whereas
others seek to limit them. The forging of alliances based on equality and
solidarity of interests may therefore be inhibited. This problem is exacer-
bated by the proposal to limit transitional assistance, to abolish all perma-
nent income support, to create a guaranteed jobs program, and the strong
use made of cash transfers through the tax system. Although much would
depend upon exactly how these steps are implemented, social democrats
would object to the reinforcement of the commodification of labor and
consumption that these measures involve. Indeed, Ellwood's system ties
social rights of citizenship to participation in the market even more closely
than does the current system. Under Ellwood's proposal, one is eligible
for benefits only as a worker or as a potential worker, and as consumers,
since benefits will be provided principally in cash rather than through
universally provided social services. Finally, although social democrats
can accept strong obligations regarding work, they would be concerned
that the means through which the proposals would be implemented and the
context in which it would function, could serve to reinforce patterns of
labor market segmentation, confining a significant group of workers in
exploitive jobs that they are forced to take, and that they can afford to keep
only because the state in effect provides a significant part of their wages.
Far from creating the conditions for the gradual displacement of capitalism
in a system of economic democracy, Ellwood's proposals, both symboli-
cally and in practice, would serve to stabilize the existing structures of the
economy.
Because social democrats and liberals hold different principles and
objectives, they come to support different kinds of policies and to evaluate
proposed changes in different ways. Although the exigencies of power and
political compromise may lead to convergence, we will be able to under-
stand the controversies and processes of compromise better by attending
to the underlying conceptual structures within which conflicting interpre-
tations and judgments are formed.
NOTES
of these theories more fully and in the account of the liberal position. While I emphasize the
differences between these two models of the welfare state, I do not wish to deny the important
similarities. Indeed, many critics hold that the development of social policy has been quite
similar in all industrial societies, responding to the imperatives of industrialization and
modernization. One important similarity, which I have not been able to discuss in this chapter,
has to do with the ways in which both liberal and social democratic models are premised on
certain assumptions regarding gender, work, family, and so on, with men as the principal
wage-earners, and women as principally responsible for child care and household work. See
Hemes (1987) and Gordon (1990) for analyses of the welfare state focusing on questions of
gender, an issue that also receives some attention in Esping-Andersen (1990).
3. See Moon forthcoming. There is a vast literature on the foundations of liberalism, and
considerable controversy regarding the kind of position advanced here. My view is similar
to Rawls (1985); for a critique, see Raz (1990).
4. For a discussion of the worth of liberty, see Rawls 1971, pp. 204-5. Holmes (1988)
and Home (1988, 1990) argue convincingly that welfare programs are natural extensions of
traditional liberal values such as security or property.
5. This point is developed in my 1988, from which much of this discussion is drawn.
6. See, for example, Goodin and LeGrand 1987, and the contrasting views of the welfare
state in Barry 1990, and Goodin 1990. For a discussion of the welfare state couched almost
entirely in terms of equality, see Weale 1990.
7. This is an important theme in Wolfe's analysis and critique of state provision. See
Wolfe (1989), especially chapters 4 and 5.
8. This seems to me to be characteristic of much British theorizing on the welfare state,
including Titmuss, Harris, Townsend, and others.
9. That the commitment to equality can sometimes sit uneasily with the commitment to
democracy can be illustrated by Weale's argument for earnings-related welfare state schemes
on the grounds that, by increasing the total volume of government transfers, they lead to
greater "egalitarian effectiveness." Weale explains this egalitarian effectiveness in part as
follows:
markets and the development of the cognitive and emotional capacities that contribute to
effective citizenship in a series of essays. See, for example, his 1978.
14. See Room et al, 1989, especially pp. 173-74.
15. Targeted or means-tested programs do contribute toward one social democratic
objective, equality, since they concentrate benefits on those most in need and so bring about
a greater degree of equalization than more universal programs can achieve.
16. Esping-Andersen (1990) argues that reliance upon means-testing is characteristic of
liberal programs, but he fails to recognize how problematic this is in terms of liberal theory.
Moreover, his measures of this reliance exaggerate the difference between liberal and
social-democratic regimes by excluding "normal income-tested schemes" as opposed to
"poor relief expenditure," although both make eligibility for benefits conditional upon need.
The distinction here, and its use in classifying particular programs, appears arbitrary. See his
discussion on p. 78.
17. To the extent that the quality of services decline as a result of monopolistic provision,
everyone may be harmed.
18. For a discussion of this difficulty, see my 1988.
19. Some critics of the welfare state disdain any talk of obligation at all, as they view the
welfare state as a set of disciplinary institutions functioning to control and manage its clients.
20. See also Burtless 1987, p. 199.
21. Esping-Andersen (1990) provides a useful account ofthe way in which Sweden, taken
as a model of the social-democratic welfare state, has developed a distinctive "labor-market
regime."
REFERENCES
Barry, Brian. 1990. "The Welfare State and the Relief of Poverty." Ethics 100:503-29.
Burtless, Gary. 1987. "Taxes, Transfers, and Swedish Labor Supply." Pp. 185-249 in The
Swedish Economy, edited by B. Bosworth and A. Rivlin. Washington, DC: Brookings
Institution.
Dahl, Robert A. 1982. Dilemmas ofPluralist Democracy. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Ellwood, David. 1988. Poor Support. New York: Basic Books.
Esping-Andersen, G. 1985a. Politics Against Markets. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University
Press.
- - - . 1985b. "Power and Distributional Regimes." Politics and Society 14:223-56.
---.1990. The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University
Press.
Goodin, Robert. 1990. "Stabilizing Expectations." Ethics 100:530-54.
Goodin, Robert and LeGrand, J., eds. 1987. Not Only the Poor. London: Allen & Unwin.
Gordon, Linda, ed. 1990. Women, the State, and Welfare. Madison: University of Wisconsin
Press.
Harris, David. 1987. Justifying State Welfare. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Hernes, Helga. 1987. Welfare State and Woman Power: Essays in State Feminism. Oslo:
Norwegian University Press.
- - - . 1988. "Scandinavian Citizenship." Acta Sociologica 31: 199-216.
Holmes, Stephen. 1988. "Liberal Guilt." In Responsibility, Rights, and Welfare, edited by J.
Donald Moon. Boulder, CO: Westview.
Horne, Thomas. 1988. "Welfare Rights as Property Rights." pp. 107-32 in Responsibility,
Rights. and Welfare, edited by J. Donald Moon. Boulder, CO: Westview.
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- - - . 1990. Property Rights and Poverty. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.
Katz, Michael. 1989. The Undeserving Poor. New York: Pantheon.
Lane, Robert E. 1978. "Autonomy, Felicity, Futility: The Effects of the Market Economy on
Political Personality." Journal of Politics 40:2-24.
Lundberg, Erik. 1985. ''The Rise and Fall of the Swedish ModeL" Journal of Economic
Literature 23: 1-36.
Marshall, T. H. [1950]1977. "Citizenship and Social Class." In his Class, Citizenship, and
Social Development. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Mead, Lawrence. 1986. Beyond Entitlement. New York: Free Press.
Moon, J. Donald. 1988. "The Moral Basis of the Democratic Welfare State." Pp. 27-52 in
Democracy and the Welfare State, edited by A. Gutmann. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
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- - - . Forthcoming. Thin Selves, Rich Lives, Tragic Conflicts: Moral Pluralism and the
Creation of Political Community. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Offe, Claus. 1984. Contradictions of the Welfare State. Cambridge: MIT Press.
- - - . 1988. "Democracy Against the Welfare State?" Pp. 189-228 in Responsibility,
Rights, and Welfare, edited by J. Donald Moon. Boulder, CO: Westview.
Plant, R. 1988. "Needs, Agency, and Welfare Rights." pp. 55-74 in Responsibility, Rights,
and Welfare, edited by J. Donald Moon. Boulder, CO: Westview.
Rawls, John. 1971. A Theory ofJustice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
- - - . 1985. "Justice as Fairness: Political Not Metaphysical." Philosophy and Public
Affairs 14:223-51.
Raz, J. 1990. "Facing Diversity." Philosophy and Public Affair 19:3-46.
Room, G., R. Lawson, and F. Laczko. 1989. "'New Prosperity' in the European Community."
Policy and Politics 17: 165-76.
Titmuss, R. 1972. The Gift Relationship. New York: Vintage.
Walzer, M. 1983. Spheres of Justice. New York: Basic Books.
- - - . 1988. "Socializing the Welfare State." pp. 13-26 in Democracy and the Welfare
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Wolfe, Alan. 1989. Whose Keeper? Social Science and Moral Obligation. Berkeley: Univer-
sity of California Press.
---0-
7
"Social Citizenship," Work, and Social Solidarity:
Historical Comparisons
Between Britain and Sweden
Roger Lawson
119
120 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
the modern welfare state, though this did not of course preclude other
important equalizing influences.
Marshall developed his theory of citizenship at the end of the 1940s, only
a few months after the enactment, under the Labour Government, of much of
the legislation associated with the wartime Beveridge Report. The thesis
expressed the confidence at the time about the new sense of national solidarity
and will to achieve a more just and equal society embodied in these reforms.
The aim of the new social rights, Marshall claimed, is no longer merely an
attempt "to raise the floor-level in the basement of the social edifice, leaving
the superstructure as it was. It has begun to remodel the whole building, and
might even end by converting the skyscraper into a bungalow" (1963, p. 100).
Nevertheless, Marshall's analysis also represented the postwar settlement as
a sort of truce between citizenship and social class. He by no means ruled out
the resurgence of class and other social tensions that might challenge, or
destabilize, "social citizenship." On the contrary, his writings were soon to
contain ominous warnings of the fragile character of the welfare state. Writing
in the late 1950s, he was highly critical of the new atmosphere of self-enrich-
ment and competitive consumption that encouraged the middle classes and
more prosperous workers to think of the welfare state as conceived in the
1940s as "a back number" (1963, p. 287).
This is an important point that I want to develop in this chapter. In
commentaries on the more recent "crises" facing Britain's welfare state,
there is a tendency to neglect the threats to its stability evident well before
the economic recession and rise of the new right in the 1970s, and not
merely among the middle classes and rising white-collar strata. Indeed, as
the comparisons with Sweden suggest, more critical in the long run was
the failure in Britain to consolidate the wartime spirit of universalism and
solidarity among the mass of the work force, but especially within organ-
ized labor. However, Marshall's general thesis provides us with too little
insight into why this was so, and mainly because it rested on assumptions
about the influence of the British labor movement on social rights that
need to be reappraised. But this also raises broader questions about
Marshall's historical schema, particularly about the way he handled the
impact both on citizenship rights and class relations of trade unionism and
related developments in the "civil sphere of citizenship."
Marshall acknowledged that these issues complicated his thesis when
he introduced the additional category of industrial citizenship-the right
to form trade unions, to strike, and so on. His treatment of these rights
points, however, to weaknesses in his historical analysis. He claimed, for
example, that they developed initially as an extension of civil rights,
although they were clearly quite different from the legal rights of individual
freedom that he saw as buttressing liberal capitalism (cf. Giddens 1982). But,
122 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
more significantly, his account implied that trade unionism and develop-
ments in work and industry generally were essentially of secondary im-
portance in the interaction between citizenship and class. Trade unionism
created a "secondary system of industrial citizenship, which naturally
became imbued with the spirit appropriate to an institution of citizenship"
(1963, p. 116). Before the full development of political rights, this was
important in establishing the claims of workers that they, as citizens, were
entitled to certain social rights. In the 20th century, however, the exercise
of political power had become, in effect, "the normal method" of estab-
lishing social rights, and the role of trade unions in shaping citizenship
was changing. "In the past," wrote Marshall, "trade unionism had to assert
social rights by attacks delivered from outside the system in which power
resided. Today (i.e. the 1940s) it defends them from inside, in co-operation
with government" (1963, p. 117). But he also injected a note of skepticism
when he added that the traditions built up when trade unions were fighting
for their existence still made it difficult for them to accept "a lively sense
of responsibility towards the welfare of the community."
I want to argue that the relationship between trade unionism and class
politics, democracy, and citizenship has been more complex than this
suggests; and, moreover, a key factor in the social construction of ideas of
"social citizenship." To illustrate this, the chapter makes comparisons
between Britain and Sweden in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the
critical period in Marshall's analysis when the franchise was being opened
up to members of the working class. But it includes also a review of the
contrasting conceptions of social rights in the two countries since then,
and of their effects in terms of broader welfare state strategies and social
solidarity.
BRITAIN
the extension of the power of the state at the beginning of this century, which is
generallyregardedas havinglaid the foundations of the welfare state, was by no
meanswelcomed by members of the workingclass, was indeed undertakenover
the critical hostility of many of them, perhaps most of them. (1968, p. 2).
Roger Lawson 123
Other studies have qualified this picture by suggesting that there was popular
support for certain collective solutions to social problems, such as old age
pensions and housing reforms. However, as Thane has concluded:
There can be little serious doubt that most trade unionists would have preferred
adequate wagesand full employment, advancedthrough voluntary organization,
with the resulting sense of independenceand equality with other classes ... to
dependenceon publicly funded benefits. These were seen as undesirable for the
sense of dependence which they created; and, often also, as employer-inspired
alternatives to ... further development of an independent assertive working
class movement. (1985, p. 185)
Whiteside, too, has observed how, in the labor movement, any consensus
on social reforms "collapsed abruptly in areas where industrial bargaining
and potential state welfare overlapped" (1987, p. 213).
Such tensions between industrial and social rights point to certain
peculiarities of British capitalism in the 19th and early 20th centuries. As
Price (1986) has shown, Britain differed from other European countries in
the degree of autonomy over day-to-day affairs that the more organized
sections of the working class were able to prize from the liberal state,
industrialists, and the middle classes. This was not, however, as Marshall
appeared to suggest, a consequence mainly of the primacy of civil rights
in this period. Rather, its origins were in more informal processes of
negotiation and of containing class conflicts, which characterized Britain's
industrial revolution but which became especially important following the
failure of Chartism in the 1840s. Price shows, for example, how much
control over the supply and organization of labor was quite deliberately
evacuated by management in many mid-Victorian British firms. And, as
Perkin (1989, p. 112) observes, "the tradition amongst craftsmen and most
factory workers was that they rather than the employer controlled the pace of
production and, to a surprising extent, the way in which the work was done."
This pattern of negotiated space and autonomy for labor in British
society was critical in shaping class consciousness when a mass labor
movement emerged between the 1870s and the First World War. At one
stage, in the 1880s and early 1890s, there were possibilities that an alliance
between socialists and "new unionists" could radicalize the labor move-
ment. However, the main trends of this period "represented not a victory
for socialists, but the effective containment of the socialist impulse within
older traditions of trade union politics and class collaboration" (Hinton
1982, p. 21). Thus, despite labor's growing political presence, especially
after the formation of the Labour Party in 1900, the prime strength of
British workers was their ability to secure gains in trade union rights and
124 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
of the state and society, their attitudes toward social needs remained
strongly influenced by traditional elite preoccupations with the poor
(Ashford 1986). The unique way in which Britain's Poor Law gave na-
tional exposure to problems of poor relief also played an important role
here. The establishment in the 19th century of a central Poor Law Com-
mission, within the framework of the unitary British polity, meant "that
tensions generated by the workings of the local workhouses, asylums and
sick wards, and by the implementation of other policies to deal with the
poor, inevitably and recurrently generated pressures for national debates,
investigations and policy changes" (Orloff and Skocpol 1984). Underlying
the Liberal measures there was also the paradox that, although much of
the impetus behind the reforms came from revelations of the injustices and
inadequacies of the Poor Law, many of the new services nevertheless "had
their character moulded by the moral assumptions of the nineteenth cen-
tury" (Titmuss 1963). Poor law ideas about need and behavior were carried
into the new legislation.
Despite their potential for more far-reaching change, the Liberal re-
forms thus did little to bridge the gap between "industrial" and "social"
citizenship. On the contrary, they firmly implanted in British politics a
sharper differentiation between "welfare" rights and rights relating to
labor and the productive process than existed in other European countries.
Broadly speaking (and there were exceptions), the former were aimed
essentially at protecting the weak from want, whereas the latter appealed
more to the aspirations of the active and economically stronger sections
of the work force. This division was further reinforced during and after
the First World War by a disenchantment in industry with the wartime
controls over the labor market and by the rising power of labor in the
workplace. "Home Rule for Industry" was the slogan of unions and many
employers after the Armistice. The effects of this were to be readily
apparent in the way Britain responded to the Great Depression of the
1930s. In striking contrast to Sweden, Britain's policy heritage effectively
stifled innovative ideas, particularly "progress toward combining 'social'
and 'economic' interventions in the form of deficit-financed public works"
(Weir and SkocpoI1985). British politics were locked instead into intense
struggles over a massive public assistance program for the unemployed
that raised again the specter of the poor law.
These battles played an important role in shaping the Labour Party's
attitudes toward state welfare, and in turn in setting the scene for the devel-
opments of the 1940s. There were, however, also signs of changes within the
labor movement during the 1930s that might have altered more significantly
the direction of British social policy. Unemployment and the harsher climate
in industrial relations following the General Strike in 1926 led to a marked
Roger Lawson 127
diminution of union bargaining power and the scope for collective action.
Union leaders looked increasingly to reforms in state welfare to safeguard
their members' interests. The central Trades Union Congress (TUC) ad-
vocated a number of measures aimed at forging closer links between work
and welfare, including earnings-related social security schemes and work
promotion programs. However, unlike the outwardly similar trends in
Sweden at the time, these developments stemmed from union and Labour
Party weakness not strength; and had little political impact in the 1930s.
strategies which, in the unions' eyes had caused so much misery in the
1930s" (Bomstein and Gourevitch 1984, p. 18). The unions went to
considerable lengths, too, to avoid compromising their freedom of action,
including (unlike most other European unions) withdrawing from any
direct role in the provision or administration of the postwar social services.
As this implies, this union stance meant in practice for most unionists
an even sharper focus than in the prewar period on their role in advancing
workers' interests in wage bargaining and workplace rights. At the same
time, the realm of the new social rights was circumscribed in ways that
distinguished the British labor movement's contribution to the construc-
tion of the welfare state from that of the Swedish Social Democrats and
unions. A feature of Swedish policies, as mentioned earlier, has been a
bridging of the gap between people's roles as workers or wage earners and
citizens. In Britain, by contrast, such an overlapping of these roles was for
the most part discouraged by the social policy reforms of the 1940s, despite
the new commitment to full employment; and partly because of the con-
straints imposed by the unions' traditionalist approach to industrial rights.
There were, however, other important factors here. As Marshall's (esp.
1963, chap. XX) writings showed, the painfully acquired sense of national
community and solidarity in Britain during the war years encouraged a
view of social rights as promoting welfare for "the people" in ways that
were largely independent of, or tied only loosely to, people's concerns as
workers. This notion of social policy as representing a "higher authority,"
the interests and status of the citizen, became firmly entrenched in the
Labour Party's attitudes to welfare.
In the unique circumstances of the 1940s such ideas provided a powerful
stimulus for collectivist advances in a number of social services, most
notably in health care, and this seemed at the time to promise a more
far-reaching equalization of social status and resources. But there were
also contradictions and tensions underlying the British version of social
citizenship working against this, and that had much to do with the separa-
tion of the worker and citizen roles. Some of these have been highlighted
by Ashford in an interesting comparative analysis of the development of
welfare states. To Ashford, "one of the remarkable characteristics of the
British welfare state [was] how readily government intervened in all kinds
of social policies, but how reticent it was to suggest that wage and income
policies were politically and economically linked to social policy" (1986,
p. 18). The consequences were evident during the rapid welfare state
expansion between the 1950s and 1970s, when Britain was one of Europe's
least successful performers in articulating the interdependence of wages,
welfare, and productivity. Closely related to this, the key area of voca-
tional training and other matters relating to the promotion and recognition
Roger Lawson 129
of skills in the mass of the work force were left largely in postwar Britain,
as previously, to negotiations between unions and managers; and then to
highly decentralized bargaining (Bornstein and Gourevitch 1984, p. 26).
The separation of the worker and citizen roles contributed also to the
undermining of Britain's commitment to full employment well before the
recession of the 1970s. The abandonment of full employment as a primary
goal of public policy occurred in effect in 196611967, when Wilson's
Labour Government vainly attempted to maintain the international posi-
tion of the pound in the face of mounting pressures on the economy. The
pressures reflected British industry's difficulties in maintaining its com-
petitiveness, but behind them lay also the paradoxical and unique combi-
nation of the postwar settlement: full employment and expanding commit-
ments to welfare together with largely unrestrained, unregulated, and, by
the 1960s, increasingly unsettled industrial relations. Significantly, too,
any idea of developing a public labor market policy in cooperation with
the unions and industry to institutionalize the goal of full employment was
absent from the considerations of postwar Labour and Conservative Gov-
ernments. However one interprets this, the effects of the changes in the
1960s were quickly felt in a growing dualism in social policy. As unem-
ployment rose, trade unions successfully campaigned for improved redun-
dancy benefits. But among the poor and unorganized a growing hard core
of the unemployed came increasingly to depend on a last-resort public
assistance scheme still bearing many of the hallmarks of poor relief.
Moreover, as an Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development
(OECD) report observed, in Britain this section of the unemployed was still
"likely to be labelled comprehensively and pejoratively as 'deviant' ... and
subjects as much for social control as for social welfare" (Sinfield 1968).
There was evidence, the report noted, of trade union leaders decrying the
longer term unemployed as workshy or as types who "give the respectable
working man a bad name."
These attitudes reflected in turn other ways in which Britain's postwar
policies had departed from the egalitarian and solidaristic spirit of the
1940s. Again, however, they could be related to contradictions in the
strategy of social citizenship of the 1940s. In social security, for example,
the separation of the worker and citizen roles led in practice to a concep-
tion of welfare more directly related to the traditional act of charity and
to the older concerns with mitigating poverty than to the requirements of
the broad mass of the work force. Thus, the Beveridge-Labour reforms,
although introducing new principles of universal coverage and equal
treatment of citizens, were concerned primarily with ensuring that no one
should fall below a minimum subsistence standard. By tying social secu-
rity to such a basic conception of citizen's rights, the policies soon fostered
130 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
a new social divisiveness in welfare, with the middle classes and more
affluent workers relying increasingly on occupational schemes or private
insurance and regarding state benefits more as an expression of benevo-
lence toward the weak (Lawson 1987). Such developments were strongly
encouraged by postwar Conservative governments and by the 1960s had
created a formidable alternative to the welfare state: company-based
pensions and a range of other benefits acting as "concealed multipliers of
occupational success" (Titmuss 1963).
These divisions are crucially important in explaining the failure, after
the promise of the Beveridge reforms, to develop a coherent antipoverty
strategy and also the powerful survival in postwar Britain of older theories
attributing poverty to individual or group deficiencies. The growth of
occupational and private welfare, which has increasingly embraced blue-
collar workers, has served to undercut popular loyalties to key areas of
state welfare while drawing valuable resources away from the state sector
and enhancing resistance to improving benefits. The results have been
most evident in social security, where universal benefits surviving from
the 1940s, but still offering only minimal protection, have been supple-
mented to an ever-increasing extent by special means-tested programs for
the poor. Whereas in 1948 around 1.3 million persons were living in
households dependent on the basic national assistance scheme, by the early
1970s the number had already reached more than 4 million; and by the
mid-1980s it had doubled again to 8 million (Lawson 1987). Although this
has produced some policies that are benevolent in intent, it has also, as in
the United States, separated poverty policy from broader labor market and
economic issues and restricted the way in which the problem of "poverty"
has been understood. Thus, for example, in a survey of public perceptions
of poverty conducted in the mid-1970s twice as many Britons attributed
poverty to laziness or lack of willpower as did the Germans, French, or
Italians; and almost 4 times as many as the Danes and Dutch (European
Communities 1977).
The full implications of this became apparent when the economic crises
and dramatic rise in unemployment during the 1970s and early 1980s gave
a further boost to individual theories of poverty and fears about the
widespread abuse of benefits. More generally, the paradox of the British
version of social citizenship is that it became associated well before the
Thatcher years with policies that undermined the social solidarity it was
meant to foster by in effect splitting the working class and generating new
coalitions between the better-off workers and the middle class. By the
1980s this had created a large constituency, not only for antiwelfare and
tax backlash, but significantly also for a sustained attack on the power and
traditional autonomy of trade unions.
Roger Lawson 131
SWEDEN
Historical Background
How then does the kind of analysis applied to Britain help us to
understand these developments? Although the answers are to be found
mainly in the period of Social Democratic supremacy since the 1930s, we
need also to take account of earlier trends associated with the development
of citizenship rights, particularly during Sweden's rapid but belated indus-
trialization and modernization between the 1880s and 1920s.
By European standards, the country's transformation in this period was
relatively smooth. But it was nevertheless characterized by a sharp con-
frontation between a conservative state and religious establishment and
radical-democratic forces; and especially by struggles, only gradually
resolved in the first two decades of this century, over political rights and
the introduction of responsible parliamentary democracy. This was crucial
in shaping the traditions of Sweden's labor movement. In contrast to the
early pattern of developments in Britain, it led from the beginning to a
close and interdependent relationship between the movement's party and
union branches, in which the growth of unions was intertwined with
politics and with broader demands for social rights (Korpi 1978; Martin
132 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
1984). When the Social Democratic Party (SAP) was founded in 1889, at a
time when property and income qualifications restricted the franchise to only
about 5% of the population, it was to view unionization as the key to the
political mobilization of the working class. Party leaders stressed "the neces-
sity for trade unions to transcend immediate interest articulation regarding
wages and working conditions in order to participate in the general struggle
for equality and democracy" (Olsson 1990, p. 81). The unions were thus to
throw their weight behind the campaign for universal suffrage, by for example
mounting a 3-day general strike against suffrage restriction in 1902.
The importance attached to broader political and social goals by the unions
was reinforced by other developments. Although most Swedish employers
were willing to recognize workers' rights to organize and engage in collective
bargaining, their approach to labor's challenge was initially distinctly con-
frontational, and with some notable success. Unions were defeated in a series
of industrial conflicts culminating in a disastrous general strike in 1909, when
they temporarily lost half their members. Moreover, Swedish employers
differed from their British counterparts both in firmly insisting on managerial
prerogatives in most local workplace affairs and, perhaps more significantly,
in founding in 1902 a strong centralized confederation aimed at unifying
action against labor. The latter points also to a more general contrast with
Britain that shaped the reactions of Swedish labor: the high degree of concen-
tration and interlocking control in Swedish industry that encouraged an early
drive toward centralization of authority.
These were again important factors behind the premium placed within the
labor movement on a high level of integration, unity, and solidarity, and they
served to underline the unions' dependence on politics. In fact, in the years
surrounding World War I, which marked the democratic breakthrough in
Sweden, "the party's [SAP] position in the state arena, modest as it still was,
proved crucial in protecting the unions against the employers' efforts to use
the state to reinforce their power in the market arena" (Martin 1984, p. 197).
Significantly, too, this also provided a stimulus to Swedish trade unions to
rethink the relationship between "industrial" and "social" rights. Compared
with Britain, there was already considerably more overlap between the two
in the movement's early debates about the "workers' question." This was
taken further in the 1920s, when the central union confederation (LO) indi-
cated its preference for a national strategy of "wage solidarity" aimed at
diminishing wage differentials over conventional competitive wage bargain-
ing (Ashford 1986, p. 202). This was influenced by concerns at the effects of
unemployment in depressing wages and undercutting union strength. How-
ever, it marked also the first step toward the kind of agreement on wage policy
and wage earner solidarity that was soon seen to be crucial in achieving
the broader social objectives of social democracy.
Roger Lawson 133
There were other influences, too, on early trade union strategies that
stressed the overlapping character of the worker-citizen roles. The initial
upsurge of union activity, and of the labor movement more generally, was
part of a more wide-ranging and distinctively Swedish phenomenon of
"popular movements" (folkrorelser) that developed very rapidly in the
1880s and 1890s as a means of mobilizing the politically disenfranchised
and articulating popular resentment with the traditional social order. These
mass popular organizations embraced-often with overlapping member-
ships-religious dissenters and free-thinkers, a powerful temperance move-
ment, and consumer cooperatives, as well as trade unions. For the labor
movement, they were to play an important role in linking what were
perceived as working-class aspirations with more popular concerns, in-
cluding the concerns of Sweden's large class of peasant farmers and
smallholders. Moreover, both because of the early strength and resources
of the labor movement and because of other divisions within the folkrorelser,
Social Democracy became in the 20th century "the main carrier of the
popular movement tradition" (Therborn 1989, pp. 199-201).
This tradition was in turn to mold labor's attitudes toward social issues
and rights, and in two respects in particular. It meant, on the one hand, that
Swedish social democracy avoided the ghettoization on social issues
evident among Continental socialists. Instead, the Swedes were to develop
by the 1920s and early 1930s a clearer, if pragmatic, conception of
universalist "popular" welfare drawing upon the alliances associated with
the popular movements and appealing also to the rural population. On the
other hand, however, the disciplined worldview of the popular movements
meant that "from the start, Swedish Social Democracy had a restrictive if
not prohibitionist view on ... moral issues close to social policy" (Olsson
1990, pp. 75-76). As well as drinking, these moral issues included an
unusually deep distrust in laborite ideology of the workshy. Significantly,
however, the early associational world, which gave expression to these
values, was also to link a strong work ethic with activities accustoming
Swedes to the pursuit of cooperative and collectivist goals.
As Olsson's study of Sweden's early social policy discourse shows,
such values and concerns were found also among the bureaucracy and
liberal "welfare intelligentsia." Moreover, in sharp contrast to the British
liberals, Sweden's brief era of political liberalism in the first two decades
of this century was characterized in social policy by a playing down of
social insurance as a policy alternative to traditional relief, especially for
the able-bodied. The policy development with the most profound long-
term consequences was the establishment of a national Unemployment
Commission with wide-ranging powers to promote "workfare"; or what
was called the "work-line" as distinguished from the "cash-line" (Therb-
134 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
orn 1989, p. 218). First set up in 1914, the Commission soon enjoyed
considerable autonomy in developing an increasingly centralized system
of public relief works, special employment programs and training projects.
Cash relief was not excluded but the authorities had wide discretion to
deny this, and indeed to coax many of the younger unemployed into
nationwide projects building roads and power stations and in forestry and
land improvement. Understandably such measures were initially highly
controversial and during the 1920s two SAP minority governments fell
over disputes with the Commission. However, the disputes were mainly
over the Commission's insistence, backed by liberals and conservatives,
on below-market wage rates on relief projects. On the work-line itself a
broader consensus emerged during the 1920s: Hence at a time when British
labor was obsessed with the "dole," the energies of Swedish movement
were mostly devoted to plans for a more "civilized" model of workfare
(Weir and Skocpol 1985).
This raises also a more general historical point about Sweden's state
structures and political processes. Whereas the drive for social rights took
place initially against a background of confrontation with the state estab-
lishment, by the 1920s and 1930s Social Democratic strategies were
increasingly influenced by other processes deeply rooted in Swedish state
traditions that encouraged significant compromises between different po-
litical and socioeconomic interests. They included a tradition of investi-
gatory commissions and other public forms of deliberation and consulta-
tion, through which state officials had taken the initiative in drawing
"disparate groups into active and continuous participation in the policy
making system and did so early, before the participants became too firmly
locked into opposing positions" (Heidenheimer, Heclo, and Teich Adams
1982). This was to be important in several ways in the launching of the
"Swedish model" following the election of the first majority SAP govern-
ment in 1932. Prior to this, party and union leaders had already been
absorbed into the consultative processes; as, too, had been a new genera-
tion of economists and social policy experts that had begun to emerge
within the labor movement. But, more importantly, this helps to explain
"the unusual combination of political strength and reformist flexibility
exhibited by the Social Democrats" (Weir and Skocpol 1985) after 1932,
which led them into "historic compromises," first of all with the Agrarian
Party and then with industry in the celebrated Saltsjobaden accord of 1938.
expansion of the welfare state and of the links between work, welfare, and
social solidarity, to that found in the British labor movement. At a broad
ideological level, the Swedish strategy involved the notion of an historic
reform sequence beginning with political democracy and then leading through
the creation of a welfare state to greater economic democracy and to a more
fundamental social transformation. Thus social democratic theorists of the
1930s argued that Sweden was entering a second reformist "social citizen-
ship" phase in which the emphasis would be on raising the capacities and
resources of citizens and creating the broader solidarity on which more
far-reaching change could be based. As Wigforss put it, "welfare was to be
the immediate result. But behind it were the greater possibilities for workers
themselves to take over the production" (quoted in Korpi 1983).
More specifically, the priorities associated with the creation of the
Swedish welfare state differed in certain key respects from those in Britain
after World War II. Under the Swedish model far more than in Britain,
business interests were allowed favorable conditions for continuous ex-
pansion and investment, and indeed concentration, partly because, to
quote Wigforss again, "we had to try to hasten the development towards
big enterprises and thereby the need for economic planning which we had
assumed in our programme." SAP and union leaders also placed more
stress than their British counterparts on "making the pie larger in order
that there would be more to divide," and at the same time on laying a stable
basis for continuing Social Democratic governance by establishing firm
links in people's minds between greater social equality and social security
and rising productivity and economic efficiency. This entailed in turn a
revamping of policies promoting the "work-line" and restraining less
popular forms of "passive" or unproductive welfare spending. But it also
meant that, at the more general strategic level, "government welfare policy
was designed to be in harmony with labor-market policy, union wage-bar-
gaining practices, and government macroeconomic management. A defin-
ing characteristic ... [was], therefore, the absence of clear boundaries
between social policy and other policy domains" (Esping-Andersen &
Korpi 1984, p. 186).
Equally important to the Swedish model, however, were the links
between class politics and social rights. In contrast to the British attach-
ment to the moral appeal of "universal" social rights largely disassociated
from class relations, the SAP gave priority to measures aimed at raising
an awareness of "class" identities and interests among Swedish workers,
and hence mobilizing what was later described as a common "wage earners
front" committed to egalitarian policies. This again meant the forging of
close links between social rights and obligations and work, wages, and
training programs.
136 THE POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP
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Part II
Philippe C. Schmitter
143
144 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
SO many resources (cf. Black 1984). Persons, of course, ultimately sat in the
municipal council and bore arms in defense of the city, but they did not do so
as individuals with their own will, preferences, or capacity for deliberation.
These city-states may not have been democratic by contemporary criteria and
they were soon displaced and disbanded by processes of state-building, but
they did leave an important and distinctive legacy to the Western political
tradition: that of representative and limited self-government.
Following upon the French Revolution's destruction of the remnants of
guild privilege, the advent of political liberalism definitively consecrated the
individualist basis of citizenship-first, restricting it to a few "worthy"
persons with sufficient socioeconomic independence to make autonomous
judgments and an adequate stake in the game to encourage them to be prudent
in making those judgments; and, later, extending it to less "worthy" persons
in exchange for their allegiance and conformity. With the exception of such
"oddities" as the Bavarian Senat or part of the Irish Seanad, formal represen-
tation in European parliaments came to rest exclusively on the votes of
individuals grouped according to territorial constituencies-at least, in those
countries with democratic regimes. Even the authoritarian regimes that ex-
perimented with various forms of corporatist representation in the interwar
period (and that persisted in Spain and Portugal until the mid-1970s), still
retained some system of individually defined, territorially based representa-
tion. They decried "individualism" in their rhetoric, but they found it difficult
to eradicate in their practice (Schmitter 1975).
What if we compare this standard tale of the inexorable (if hardly linear)
triumph of Western political individualism with the reality of contempo-
rary liberal democracies? Who actually participates in the making of
collective decisions and determines their outcomes? Certainly, not many
individual citizens. Even if we take into account the representative nature
of these polities and ask whether those who have been chosen in a
competitive struggle for the votes of individual citizens effectively control
the selection and implementation of policies, the answer has to be ambig-
uous. In some of the more "public" arenas where policies are standardized
and parliamentary review is still effective, it might be "yes," but not in
those where technical expertise, detailed information, and specific forms
of consent are required if policy is to met its designed ends. Put more
concretely, the expansion of the modern state into the realms of social
protection and economic promotion has shifted the balance against indi-
viduals playing the role of citizen-an ironic development, since it was in
Philippe C. Schmitter 145
the name of their welfare and security that these innovations were intro-
duced. Moreover, even where elected representatives are prominent ac-
tors, individuals are not the only "citizens" who determine the outcome of
the competitions that bring them to power.
Organizations or, better, associations have taken the place of individu-
als. 2 The extent of this displacement varies considerably from country to
country and sector to sector, but the trend is clear. Modern democracy is
increasingly becoming organized democracyr' Moreover, as associations
grow in number, extend their coverage, augment their resources, and
consolidate their access to public authorities, the making of binding collective
decisions becomes more and more the outcome of interorganizational bar-
gaining, less and less a struggle between organizations and individuals,
and even less a competition among individuals.
Democratic theorists have not made much of an effort to cope with this
sea change. There have long been complaints about "pressure groups,"
"lobbying," and "special interests." Policy measures have even been
designed to monitor and limit their intrusion into politics. But the super-
ficiality of the former and the ineffectiveness of the latter suggest that the
basic issue has not been joined: what difference does it make if many of
the de facto "citizens" of modern democracy are organizations and not
individuals? To pose this question properly would require a critical exam-
ination of the liberal foundations upon which Western democracy rests; to
answer it satisfactorily would require nothing less than a "postliberal"
theory of modern democracy." Strictly within the liberal corpus, two
theoretical arguments have been advanced to resolve the practical di-
lemma posed by the rise of organizations.
Organizations as Democrats
The first suggests that organizations pose no distinctive threat-factual
or normative-to democracy because they themselves are constituted
democratically. It is even argued that, quite the contrary, these new interest
intermediaries significantly enhance the democratic potential for individ-
uals by providing them with proximate arenas where they can tryout their
sense of personal efficacy, learn the rules of civility and deliberation, and
experiment with the practice of competition and compromise. The locus
classicus for this argument is Alexis de Tocqueville's De la Democratie
en Amerique ([1835 and 1840] 1969), which has been used repeatedly by
146 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
Organizations as Individuals
If associations cannot be plausibly described as "minidemocracies," the
next best solution may be to ignore their internal properties altogether and
to treat them as if they were no different than individuals. The participa-
tion, accessibility, accountability, and competition that one fails to find
consistently within specific associations can be shown to prevail between
associations representing different categories of interest. Just as each
individual in modern society is composed of a "bundle" of multiple,
overlapping, and, at times, competing interests, so the polity as a whole
can be conceptualized as a "bundle" of similarly structured interests, each
represented by a different organization or set of organizations. In this
version of democratic theory, the pluralist model is simply transposed
from one level of aggregation to another. Organizations are equated with
Philippe C. Schmitter 147
(2) Amorality. Liberalism and, with it, liberal democracy are frequently
described as resting on the twin assumptions of self-interest and "non-
Tuism," that is, indifference to the benefit of others. It would be more
accurate to say that both of these are, in turn, contingent upon what Adam
148 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
(3) Immortality. The fact that humans are mortal poses a serious problem
for a rational interest-based conception of democracy. Why should any
one individual pursue a course of action many of whose benefits will only
accrue after his or her death? Why should existing persons be concerned
with the status of the polity or, even less, that of the entire earth when they
have left the scene?8 Part of the answer lies in the ethical socialization
stressed above, part in the temporal extension of oneself through family
and immediate community, but much depends on the immortality of
associations and other organizations. These "permanent persons" define a
continuous identity, establish standard operating procedures for promot-
ing it, and provide a living link between generations. Most of them
antedate the individuals that compose their membership at any given point
Philippe C. Schmitter 149
in time and most can be expected to persist long after their members have
died or moved on to other occupations or causesr' By their sheer exis-
tence-not to mention their deliberate efforts at publicization and indoc-
trination-associations provide many of the fixed symbols that orient
individuals in the selection of their social identities. They also layout a
complex set of incentives that can induce individuals to contribute to
collective action by offering them relatively immediate rewards. By link-
ing these incentives over time to successive groups of contributors, a basic
continuity of interest behavior is maintained that would be otherwise
difficult to explain on a purely individualistic basis.
Moreover, associability helps solve another, related, puzzle about lib-
eral interest politics. Individuals should have a very high rate of discount
for future benefits. They are compelled to act myopically. both by the stark
fact of their own mortality and by the sheer dynamics of the modern
society that surrounds them. And yet, no polity could persist without at
least some long-term contractual relations among major social actors. In
capitalist economies that entails a stable compromise between possessing
and nonpossessing classes. Ethical socialization may contribute to the
interpersonal trust that makes such agreements possible; political consti-
tutions can have the effect of binding future generations to a revered set
of rules; individual citizens may calculate that defection from an estab-
lished distribution of benefits may be too costly; but only associations and
other organizations can deliberately adopt and then effectively impose a
longer time perspective on their members/clients/suppliers. What gives them
this capability is their immortality, presided over by a permanent administra-
tive structure and a constantly renewed staff. Persons in these roles have an
incentive to calculate interests on a more future-regarding and other-regard-
ing basis, and to try to convince members to act accordingly. This shift from
an individualist to an organizational basis of negotiation does not ensure that
agreement will be reached among "social partners." Nor does it guarantee that
individual members will always come to accept a less myopic definition of
their interests and conform willingly to contracts made in their name. Never-
theless, it opens up the possibility for a style of conflict resolution that is
denied by participation on a predominantly individual basis.i''
status make use of it, both to reduce their political uncertainty and to satisfy
their interests; and presumably terminates in a result that is the integration of
the citizen into the national culture of the polity that granted himlher/it the
status in the first place. Needless to say, in the real world, there are many
disjunctures in the scenario: the distribution of the status may be too narrow
or the content of the rights too restricted to protect citizens from arbitrary
treatment, social discrimination, or economic exploitation; the beneficiaries
of the process may exploit their favored status to increase the uncertainty of
others and to satisfy their interests at the expense of those who are excluded;
the outcome of the process may not always be to generate loyalty or a sense
of community, but to convince citizens that some other regime or polity can
offer them greater security or satisfaction. For it is important to stress that the
granting of citizenship logically involves a complex set of choices about
inclusion and exclusion, and is closely linked historically to the development
of national consciousness and the nation-state. In the contemporary context
this might even seem anachronistic given the "globalization" of so many
economic and social relations.
In a justly famous essay, T. H. Marshall (1950) suggested that the
content of citizenship has evolved over time. As he reconstructed the
process for Great Britain, initial concessions by authorities provided a
lever that could be wielded to demand others and these, in turn, led to
further claims for equal treatment. It began in the 18th century with the
struggle for equal rights and obligations before the law, expanded in the
19th century to cover equal formal participation in political life, especially
through universal suffrage, and in the 20th century shifted its attention to
equal opportunity to share in the country's material and cultural heritage,
especially through state provision of welfare. 11 Marshall's sequential
account is logically convincing, but it is not historically generalizable.
Both France and Germany took rather different routes to reach, more or
less, the same bundle of rights and obligations in the end.
It is also not clear from Marshall's analysis whether the process of
citizenship has terminated with the attainment of the contemporary wel-
fare state, or whether that merely places new levers in the hands of more
actors demanding further extensions of equal rights (and, to a lesser extent,
equal obligations). Ralf Dahrendorf, for one, sees a serious danger in
pushing its principles into new domains:
the extension of citizenship has reached in recent years, the apparently insur-
mountable walls of ascribed status. Men and women are not merely to be given
the suffrage and equal wages for equal work, but they are supposed to be treated
as equals in all respects; society is to be arranged in such a way that the
differences can be ignored. (1974, p. 683)
Philippe C. Schmitter 153
(1) Unitary, that is, all holders of the status should have full rights and obligations.
(2) Sacred, that is, citizens must be willing to make sacrifices for the state or
community that grants them the status.
(3) National, that is, membership must be based on a community that is simul-
taneously political and cultural.
(4) Democratic, that is, citizens should be entitled to participate significantly in the
business of rule and access to citizenship should be open to all residents so that,
in the long run, residence in the community and citizenship in it will coincide.
154 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
(5) Unique, that is, each citizen should belong to one and only one political
community.
(6) Consequential, that is, citizenship must entail important social and political
privileges that distinguish its holders from noncitizens.
with the informal cultural norms that surround the political process? Must
they conform to the "policy style," the "standard operating procedures," the
"rules of thumb" of the country they are joining? Except for a prohibition on
"extra-territoriality," that is, on insisting that they be treated according to the
norms of their homeland, there may be no reason to apply the national
principle to enforce conformity. The issue is likely to sort itself out much as
it does with individual citizens. They will test the flexibility of local norms
and, if these are ingrained and tenacious enough, the new collective citizens
will conform to them out of political prudence. If not, some "hybrid" or
"supra-national" synthesis will emerge to replace them.i"
NOTES
1. Robert Nisbet (1974) has stressed the historical connection in the West between the
rise of citizenship and the assertion of what he calls: "political individualization." He also
hints at a close link between the actual timing of concessions of citizenship in Europe and
160 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
the advent of war. The former makes the process seem almost functional-a necessary
adjustment to a prior and independent change in values; the latter depicts it more like a
calculated strategy, a "ransom" that elites paid to the masses to encourage them to fight or
compensate them afterward.
2. Both organizations and associations are forms of permanent collective action. Both
have a formal internal structure, a regular staff and a distinctive set of "standard operating
procedures," that is, they are bureaucratic to some degree. Associations (or, better, interest
associations) are a subspecies of the genus. They specialize in acting as intermediaries
between public authorities and differing categories of, for example, persons, firms, localities,
ethnies, or social groups. Organizations with a wide variety of primary tasks-such as
production, distribution, socialization, enlightenment, entertainment-may also intervene on
behalf in matters of public policy, but they do so on a more episodic and ancillary basis.
3. The earliest expression I have found of the awareness of the growing role of organi-
zations in political life is an obscure pamphlet in the Library of Congress by William Ellery
Channing (1830). If one were to trace the contemporary genealogy of this notion, I suspect
that its origins would be found-like so many other of our social scientific conceptions of
modernity-in interwar Germany. During the 1920s the "legal sociologists" or "sociological
jurists," Hugo Sinzheimer, Ernst Fraenkel, Franz Neumann, and Otto Kahn-Freund, devel-
oped the idea of a new social order they called "collective democracy"-in obvious affinity
to the then-prevalent notion of "organized capitalism." For a revival and discussion of the
concept, see Wolfgang Luthardt, (n.d.). Scandinavians should also be given a share of the
credit. Heckscher (1946) is an early expression of this awareness; Olsen (1983) is a more
recent one. See also Gustavson (1966) and Presthus (1962).
4. A conference was recently convened by James Fishkin on the topic of "Competing
Theories of Post-Liberal Democracy," University of Texas, Austin, TX, February 8-10, 1991.
Hopefully, this meeting will give rise to a volume to be edited by Fishkin, Claus Offe, and
myself.
5. For a brilliant new effort to reinterpret de Tocqueville in the light of contemporary
social science theory, see Hadari (1989).
6. The standard reference in the American political tradition is Calhoun ([1853)1943).
For a contemporary version, see Steiner (1974).
7. This charge of amorality seems to have disturbed many of the readers of an earlier
version of this chapter. They all had some organization in mind that "did good" and, therefore,
must have been capable of moral reasoning. The Red Cross, Amnesty International, the Sierra
Club, and other environmental groups were frequently mentioned. Leaving aside the fact that
for each of these do-good groups one could cite many historical examples of organizations
that committed egregiously immoral acts-even on the part of those such as churches that
are supposed to specialize in purveying morality-the real issue is whether it is realistic to
expect organizations to respect general norms when it is not in their members' interest and
when they may not be punished by the state or some interlocutor for doing so. Would they
continue to act according to internalized moral norms if their membership changed its norms
or if their resource basis were threatened severely? Certainly, the American Civil Liberties
Union has taken stands that were unpopular with wide segments of the American public, but
did these cause defections in their core membership or staff? If so, this demonstrates that
associational action may be conditioned by individual morality, but it doesn't prove that its
action per se is moral.
8. An analogous problem could be termed that of human mutability. The fact that
individuals may change their occupation, residence, social connections, and even nationality
in the course of their lifetime makes it irrational for them to "invest" in any given interest
identification because the collective action involved may only yield benefits to others holding
Philippe C. Schmitter 161
that role in the future. Roles that are virtually defined by their transitory nature (e.g., those
of student, apprentice, or conscript) would go unprotected. The answer, of course, is that
associations that outlive any of their immediate members ensure continuous coverage of such
interest, while inducing individuals to contribute for limited periods by providing them with
selective material goods or immediate status gratifications.
9. Actually, very little is known about the mortality rate of interest associations because,
at best, only "birth certificates" are handed out and almost never "death certificates." We do
know that their formation tends to come in waves and that some polities seem to have higher
rates of natality than others; see Schmitter and Brand (1979). What little research has been
conducted on the turnover in membership involves mainly American voluntary associations
and social movements. For some evidence, see Ziegler (1988, pp. 33-65).
10. This terrain is being explored under the label "generalized political exchange:' See
Marin (1990).
11. Or, as Marshall (1950, p. 11) put it, "the right to share to the full in the social heritage
and to live the life of a civilized being according to the standards prevailing in the society:'
12. This development may be similar to what Dahrendorf (1974, pp. 693-97) refers to as
"sectoral citizenship."
13. Although as Michael Walzer (1970, pp. 77-98) notes, citizens may still be compelled
"to live for the state" because national laws typically prohibit and punish suicide. To which
I would add that the current evolution of American legal doctrine and public policy seems to
be aimed at compelling its citizens "to procreate for the state" by outlawing abortion.
14. Although the recent controversy in the United States over the burning of the flag
suggests that the issue is far from over-at least in this most patriotic of advanced industrial
societies.
15. Anyone who doubts this or believes that it has completely disappeared should watch
the hilarious movie, Die Schweizermacher. which chronicles the steps that foreigners must
take to acquire Swiss citizenship.
16. Which may be what is emerging at the level of the European Community, although
the process has been hesitant and uneven. For a recent summary of the evolution of public
attitudes to the EC using data from the Eurobarometre surveys, see Worchester (1990).
17. For a recent work that criticizes liberal democratic practices and stresses the need for
enhancing individual participation, see Barber (1984). Jane Mansbridge (1983, 1991) has
placed emphasis on deliberation.
18. I know of no data on this subject, time-series or cross-sectional, and would appreciate
anyone's calling my attention to where I could find them. My impression, based on the places I have
lived in recent years, is that the proportion has tended to increase, but I would be the first to admit
that this is hardly a representative sample. Note that a rival explanation for this (unproven) fact
might be that more and more of the foreigners resident in advanced industrial societies believe that
they will eventually return (or be allowed to return) to their country of origin.
19. The more specific measures designed to enhance secondary citizenship through
changes in the system of associability are discussed in detail in Schmitter (1988). Critiques
to these proposals are discussed in Schmitter (1991).
REFERENCES
Brubaker, Rogers. 1989. "Traditions of Nationhood and Politics of Citizenship." Social Science
Research Council (New York), States and Social Structures Newsletter 9(Winter):4-8.
Calhoun, John C. [1853]1943. A Disquisition on Government, edited by Richard K. Craller.
New York: P. Smith.
Channing, William Ellery. 1830. Remarks on the Disposition Which Now Prevails to Form
Associations, and to Accomplish All Objects by Organized Masses. London: Edward
Rainford.
Dahrendorf, Ralf. 1974. "Citizenship and Beyond: The Social Dynamics of an Idea." Social
Research 41(Winter):673-701.
Gustavson, Carl G. 1966. The Institutional Drive. Athens: Ohio University Press.
Hadari, Saguiv A. 1989. Theory in Practice. Tocqueville's New Theory ofPolitics. Stanford,
CA: Stanford University Press.
Heckscher, Gunnar. 1946. Staten och organisationera. Stockholm: Kooperative Forbundets
Bokforlag.
Hirsch, Fred. 1978. Social Limits to Growth. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Hirschman, Albert O. 1970. Exit, Voice and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms.
Organizations and States. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
- - - . 1982. Shifting Involvements: Private Interests and Public Action. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press.
Lipset, S. M., et al. 1956. Union Democracy. Glencoe, IL: Free Press.
Luthardt, Wolfgang. n.d. " 'Collective Democracy' during the Weimar Republic. A Semi-
Corporative Conception for Societal Depoliticization?," unpublished MSS, Depart-
ment of Political Science, Free University of Berlin.
Mansbridge, Jane. 1983. Beyond Adversary Democracy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
- - - . 1991. "A Deliberative Theory of Interest Representation." Paper presented at the
Conference on Competing Theories of Post-Liberal Democracy, University of Texas,
Austin, February.
Marin, Bernd, ed. 1990. Generalized Political Exchange. Antagonistic Cooperation and
Integrated Policy Circuits. Boulder, CO: Campus/Westview.
Marshall, T. H. 1950. Citizenship and Social Class. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Michels, Robert. 1962. Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tenden-
cies of Modem Democracy. New York: Collier Books.
Nisbet, Robert. 1974. "Citizenship: Two Traditions." Social Research 41(4):612-17.
Olsen, Johan P. 1983. Organized Democracy. Bergen, Oslo, Tromso: Universitetsforlaget,
Olson, Mancur. 1968. The Logic of Collective Action. New York: Schocken Books.
Presthus, Robert. 1962. The Organizational Society. New York: Knopf.
Salisbury, Robert. 1984. "Interest Representation: The Dominance of Institutions.' American
Political Science Review 78:64-76.
Schlozman, Kay Lehman and John T. Tierney. 1986. Organized Interests and American
Democracy. New York: Harper & Row.
Schlozman, Kay Lehman and Sidney Verba. 1979. Injury to Insult. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Schmitter, Philippe C. 1975. Corporatism and Public Policy in Authoritarian Portugal.
Beverly Hills, CA: Sage.
- - - . 1988. "Corporative Democracy: Oxymoronic? Just Plain Moronic? or a Promising
Way out of the Present Impasse?" Paper presented at the Colloquium on "Politische
Institutionen und Interessenvermittlung," Universitat Konstanz, April.
- - - . 1991. "Some Second Thoughts about Corporative Democracy: Oxymoronic or
Moronic, Promising or Problematic?" Paper presented at the Conference on "Compet-
ing Theories of Post-Liberal Democracy," University of Texas, Austin, February.
Philippe C. Schmitter 163
Schmitter, Philippe C. and Donald Brand. 1979. "Organizing Capitalists in the United States:
The Advantages and Disadvantages of Exceptionalism." Paper presented at the Amer-
ican Political Science Association Meetings, Chicago.
Steiner, Jurg. 1974. Amicable Agreement versus Majority Rule: Conflict Resolution in
Switzerland. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.
Tocqueville, Alexis de. [1835 and 1840] 1969. De la Democratie en Amerique [Democracy
in America]. 2 vols. Garden City, NY: Doubleday.
Truman, David B. 1962. The Governmental Process. New York: Knopf.
Walzer, Michael. 1970. Obligations. Essays on Disobedience. War, and Citizenship. Cam-
bridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Worchester, Robert M. 1990. "European Attitudes to the European Community and to 1992."
International Journal of Public Opinion 2(3):227-48.
Ziegler, Harmon. 1988. Pluralism, Corporatism and Confucianism. Philadelphia: Temple
University Press.
---0-
9
Networks as Political Glue:
Explaining Public Policy-Making
David Knoke
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Support from the National Science Foundation for a series of projects
that led to the development ofthe conceptual model reported herein is gratefully acknowledged.
An earlier version of this chapter was presented at a thematic session "Changing Patterns
of Political Participation" at the American Sociological Association meetings in Washington,
D.C., August 1990. Comments on the session by Paul Burstein were especially appreciated.
164
David Knoke 165
actors (Laumann and Pappi 1976; Fararo and Skvoretz 1986). The basic
elements are:
(1) Social Actors: These units may be individuals, groups, formal organi-
zations, or other collectivities (gangs, classes, work teams, etc.). Only
selected dimensions of an actor are usually relevant for a particular
network. For example, the board of directors and the governmental affairs
office of a corporation, not its production and sales staffs, are the critical
participants for a study of campaign contributions and lobbying networks.
(2) Relationships: These connections result from interactions between
social actors, in which either some physical commodity or symbolic value
is exchanged, or a joint activity is undertaken. Thus elected officials and
their constituents exchange information, votes, money, and services; pub-
lic interest groups collaborate on a lobbying effort; scientific experts
provide evidence at congressional hearings; a labor union offers its meet-
ing facilities to a civil rights organization.
The pattern of linkages and nonlinkages between pairs of actors jointly
identify the basic positions within a social system and its global structure.
Opportunities and constraints on the flow of information and ideas, the
performance of tasks and the achievement of goals, the accumulation and
dissipation of resources-all depend much more on the network's struc-
ture than on the specific attributes of the actors embedded in the network.
Although both actors and relationships can be characterized according to
their various social attributes (such as actors' genders and ages, or their
relationships' intensities and durations), such classifications are largely
irrelevant to the network concept of social structure.
The operating part of any network is that combination of actors and their
relationships that jointly defines the distinct positions in a social structure
and the manner in which these positions interact with one another (White
et al. 1976; Burt 1976). Although actors who share similar attributes may
tend to behave similarly, we can understand this convergence only by
showing how they jointly occupy equivalent positions vis-a-vis their
relationships with actors in other network positions. Thus, if we seek to
explain how workers in a typographic shop decide for whom to vote in a
union election, we will do better by investigating how their friendship,
antagonism, and authority ties expose them to reinforcing or conflicting
political persuasion than to expect that their ethnicities, ages, or job tasks
alone can account for their choices (Upset et al. 1956). The network
perspective is committed to the idea that the dynamic connections, link-
ages, and bonds among actors in social positions capture a more accurate
image of the causal process in a social system than do covariations among
the actors' attributes. Nowhere is this claim more evident than in the study
of political power and public policy-making.
166 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
Actors
Individual Persons Voters; employees; members; politicians; experts
Interest Groups Unions; trade groups; PIGs; corporations; bureaucracies
Peak Associations Federations; chambers; quasi-official advisory bodies
Government Institutions Legislatures; courts; executive departments; regulators
Relations
Influence Policy communications; ideas, data, strategies, advice
Domination Resource exchanges; funds, facilities, votes, coercion
Actions
Mobilization Social movements; grass-roots protests; donations
Publicity Mass media blitzes; targeted mailings
Lobbying Contacts with government officials; legal suits
Events
Program Initiatives Agency formation; personnel reassignments
Allocations Cut a budget; redistribute expenditures
Rulings New regulatory standards; court judgments
the result that the typical number of actors occupying each type of position
is successively smaller. In other words, as an event moves toward resolu-
tion, the more marginal actors fall by the wayside.
(1) An event public is the set of all domain actors that hold an interest
in an event, no matter how slight. This interest is an overtly expressed
concern, not a latent orientation to be imputed from an external analyst's
knowledge of social conditions (e.g., as in a Marxist allegation of the
working class's interest in socialism). In the case of actors consisting of
many persons, such as corporations or interest groups, not all the group's
members need express the interest. An interest held only by an organization's
leadership suffices to engage the collectivity's involvement in the event.
Event publics are heterogeneous audiences with regard to the policy
outcomes they prefer. Both proponents and opponents as well as neutral
observers who merely monitor the scene may all be involved in a specific
public. Thus a public is the broadest possible set of actors from which the
more intensely committed participants may be recruited. Note that mem-
bers of an event public are not required to maintain direct or indirect
communication ties to one another. Indeed, their primary modes of atten-
tion to the substance of the event may be via mass media channels.
(2) A collective actor consists of three or more formal organizations within
an event public that communicate directly or indirectly among themselves
about policy matters and that advocate the same outcome preference on that
event (Laumann and Marsden 1979). That is, the members of one collective
actor all support the "pro" outcome on that event, whereas the members of
another collective actor all prefer the "con" outcome for that decision. For a
subsequent event, other subsets of the event public constitute the distinct
collective actors. The members of collective actors for different events may
only partially overlap with one another. Indeed, the degree of coincidence
among collective actors across numerous events is important evidence about
the cleavage structure prevailing in a policy domain. The collective actor
concept still does not distinguish between those organizations that work
closely together to influence a concrete policy decision and those that are
either passive policy proponents or go their own way in trying to produce their
preferred outcome.
(3) The action set concept further restricts its scope to the members of
a collective actor who consciously coordinate their policy influence activ-
ities (Knoke and Pappi 1991). An action set's members work together to
influence the outcome of a specific policy event. Group cohesion is the
essential feature: All members of an action set prefer the same policy
outcome for the event; are directly or indirectly linked together in communi-
cation or other networks; and overtly coordinate their lobbying and other
policy influence activities (Knoke and Burleigh 1989). If communication
172 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
channels are weak and disjointed, more than one action set may coalesce
that involve different sets of organizations, each favoring the same policy
event outcome, as shown in Figure 9.1. More typically, a single action set
emerges on each of the two opposing sides in a contested event (one pro-
and one con-action set). Aldrich's definition of an action set is closely
related: "a group of organizations formed into temporary alliance for a
limited purpose," but he was not explicit about the alliance requirements
(Aldrich 1979, p. 280). An action set may have formalized agreements, an
internal division of labor, behavioral norms vis-a-vis other organizations,
and clearly defined principles for recruiting new members (Aldrich 1979,
p. 281). Thus action sets are short-term arrangements, most formed only
for single-event collaborations and disbanding after success or failure.
Because a collective actor and an action set are social formations unique
to a single event, they cannot reveal the global structures of a policy
domain. During any political era, many policy fights take place and each
event stimulates the formation of distinct collective actors and action sets
on opposing sides. An important question for a policy domain analyst is
the overarching opposition structure among these multiple events. For
example, organizations A and B may collaborate in the same pro-action
set for event W; belong to different con-action sets on event X; work in
opposing action sets on event Y; and sit out event Z entirely. Similar
diverse patterns apply to collective actors formed around each event.
When dozens or hundreds of other organizations' involvements in every
event must also be taken into account, measuring the global collective
actor and action set structures of the domain becomes critical. To uncover
these deep social structures, analysts can take advantage of the duality of
organization-by-event connections: some organizations participate in the
same events, and some events attract the same organizations. Mapping
these organizations-by-events co-occurrences reveals the entire network
of ties among opposing collective actors and action sets.
More formally, an opposition network is the pattern of overlapping mem-
berships among all collective actors or among all action sets that form around
a set of policy events during some period within a specific domain. The
structure of a domain's opposition network is a function of the degree to which
its collective actors' or action sets' members coincide. If virtually the same
jointly occupied positions reassemble for event after event, then the domain
network structure will tend toward bifurcated blocks, one block taking the pro
and the other block taking the con position. In a spatial representation, such
polarized opposition networks will coalesce around two distant positions.
But, if the collective actors or action sets tend to recruit different members
for each unique event, their infrequent overlaps will result in pro and con
groups that are scattered and interspersed throughout the domain's topo-
David Knoke 173
Disinterested
90%
Disinterested
50%
Organized
Interest Groups
Peak
Associations
Institutional
Actors
to action sets. Finally, the ultimate policy decision makers in the relevant
institutional arenas-such as the Congress or regulatory agencies-enter
the fray at the funnel's narrow end. Almost all these actors are mobilized,
as a collective decision is not possible without definitive action on their
176 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
part. Hence, the large majority of these institutional participants are mobilized
into one of the pro or con action sets where they collaborate with the key peak
associations and interest groups preferring the same policy outcome.
The funnel metaphor implies a temporal procession from earlier activities
that involve broad publics to later actions that are settled among a small
number of key decision makers. Many real policy events are unlikely to
conform to so tidy a sequence. Institutional actors, such as the President or
regulatory agency staff, are as likely to initiate policy proposals as to be
reactors to events raised by pressure groups. Peak associations may activate
their grass-roots members to lobby directly with their Congresspersons.
Passionate interest groups may bolt from their peak associations to pursue an
idiosyncratic agenda (e.g., the Chemical Manufacturers Association's sup-
port of a 1988 workplace safety bill opposed by the Chamber of Commerce).
Despite such chaotic thrusts and parries during the heat of policy battles, the
conceptual simplicity of the funnel is still helpful in highlighting a persistent
pattern: as a policy proposal moves ever closer toward concrete resolution,
the subset of domain actors with sufficient power to influence or dominate
the final decision becomes smaller rather than larger. Ordinary voters and
association members may express general preferences toward one side or
another of a proposal, but they rarely sit down with congressional committee
staff to design sections of a bill. Organized interest groups may prowl the
corridors of a regulatory agency, but when the rate structures are being
marked up only the lobbyists for peak associations are likely to get their phone
calls returned. The mobilization funnel captures the sense that policy-making
is an exclusionary process-locking out both actors and alternatives-rather
than inclusionary.
The eventual success or failure of a policy event fight depends on which
side of the controversy can bring enough influence and domination re-
sources to overcome the advantages on the other side. Such resources are
gathered from every stage of the funnel. Public opinion and election votes
come from persons and collectivities; publicity and grass-roots lobbying
are contributed by interest groups; peak associations pour professional
fund-raisers and lobbyists into the offices of bureaucrats and politicians;
within the institutional arena itself, lawmakers and regulators twist arms
and trade support for their pet projects.
THREE APPLICAnONS
Certainly the state and private association are different, but the differences are
hard to define. Both are to some extent based on territorial lines.... Both state
and associate exercise some form of authority. Each makes rules or laws ... en-
force with penalties of varying degrees of severity, but some organizations'
penalties are more severe than many punishments of the state .... Of course not
all private associations exist in spheres of interest with such degrees of impor-
tance. Yet some do and where they do the problem of authority is substantially
the same as it is in the state. (McConnell 1966, p. 125)
David Knoke 179
CONCLUSION
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David Knoke 183
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----0-
10
Financial Reorganization of
American Corporations in the 19808
Neil Fligstein
Linda Markowitz
AUTHORS' NOTE: This chapter was prepared as a paper for a Thematic Session at the
Annual Meetings ofthe American Sociological Association held in Washington, D.C., August
1990. We would like to thank Jerry Davis for his comments on an earlier draft.
185
186 ORGANI~ATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
WHAT IS TO BE EXPLAINED?
Hirsch has argued that the 1980s merger movement legitimated the
hostile takeover as a "a normal event rather than a deviant innovation"
(1986, p. 821). His account of the process by which hostile takeovers
became commonplace and his discussion ofthe colorful language invented
to describe them forms the starting point for the discussion in this chapter.
The issue to be considered here can be more broadly put as the acceptance
of the finance conception of the corporation as being the normal way to
think about corporations (Fligstein 1990, ch. 7). This conception of the
corporation views the firm as a bundle of assets to be deployed or rede-
ployed depending on the short-run rates of return that can be earned. The
normative acceptance of hostile takeovers in the 1980s reflected the more
general triumph of this view of the corporation. It is useful to consider
what this view entails more carefully.
The American corporation in the early 1980s was under siege from two
exogenous forces: the high inflation of the 1970s and increased foreign
competition. The inflation of the 1970s produced a perverse effect for
large corporations. Their real assets (i.e., land, buildings, tools) were
increasing in value and at the same time, high interest rates meant that the
stock market produced lower returns than other forms of investment. This
left many large American firms undervalued in the stock market (Friedman
1985). Simultaneously, foreign competition, particularly with the Japan-
ese, heated up. This presented a "crisis" to the managers of large firms.
In the context of the response to these exogenous shocks, there are three
important facts to be explained. First, why have the responses to this crisis
been framed in primarily financial terms? Second, given the finance
discourse that dominates, how can one explain the timing of the current
merger movement? Finally, why did some managers embrace the finance
conception and some did not? For those managers who perceived the need
to raise short-term profits and stock prices, forms of financial reorganiza-
tion were attractive. We would expect managers of firms who engaged in
these tactics to avoid being targets of takeovers themselves. This is
because, if successful, they would be unattractive targets for takeovers.
For those managers who ignored the financial conception of the corpora-
tion, one would expect their firms to have been takeover targets. Thus we
assume that the finance perspective on the firm produced profits for those
who practiced it (for a review of some of the evidence, see Jensen and
Ruback 1983). For those who resisted its spread, it potentially made them
targets in the market for corporate control. The theories reviewed propose
quite different answers to these questions.
188 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
FINANCE ECONOMICS
evaluating the relative value of the firm, its riskiness, and its future
prospects (Lorie et a1. 1985, especially, ch. 4, 5). To the degree that both
markets operate efficiently (i.e., change their evaluations quickly in re-
sponse to news about the firm's current and future prospects), managers
of firms will be forced to act to maximize assets or face losing control over
firms. The most important model of stock market evaluation, the capital
assets price model (CAPM), argues that the firm's price will reflect its
riskiness as an investment (Sharpe 1964).
The merger movement of the 1980s can be explained from this perspective
in the following way. The stock market declined significantly in the 1970s as
high inflation meant that investors sought out higher rates of return to protect
their money and left the uncertain stock market for high yields in the bond
market. The high inflation also meant that the assets of large corporations
(i.e., land, buildings, plants, product lines) were also increasing in value. The
value of corporations can be thought of as the net worth, the assets minus the
debt. Taken together, managers were in the ironic situation that their assets
(and net worth) were increasing in value at the same time their equity and
return on equity were decreasing (Fama and Schwert 1977; Fama 1981;
Taggart 1985; Hendershoot and Huang 1985).
From the point of view of finance economics, efficient managers real-
ized their predicament and engaged in actions to increase profitability and
equity whereas inefficient managers did not recognize their situation and
act quickly enough to remedy it. In the late 1970s and early 1980s,
financial operators began to buy undervalued corporations by paying a
premium to current stockholders and to sell the pieces of the firm at high
enough profits to make money. The decision to liquidate firms depended
on the intention of the buyer to operate purely to turn a quick profit or else
to attempt to run the firm more profitably. Thus the market for corporate
control over assets heated up and created the 1980s merger movement.
Efficient managers who wanted to maintain control over their firms had
to engage in actions to increase their equity and stock price and hence
bring their equity in line with their real net worth. They used a number of
tactics. First, many purchased shares of their own stocks either with
retained earnings or by borrowing funds. This had the effect of reducing
the amount of stock in circulation and driving up the share price. If the
money was borrowed, this increasing indebtedness thereby lowered net
worth, and taken together, these actions lowered the odds of takeover.
They could use debt to finance the buyout or purchase of stock of other
firms that could increase their indebtedness as well and thereby make them
less attractive candidates for mergers. Presumably, such buyouts would
operate to raise profits, increase assets, and not dilute equity. Finally, they
could divest divisions that were underperforming and use profits to repurchase
190 ORGANIZA TlONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
tially reducing the prospects for external control. Burt, however, is unable
to show the effects of such interdependencies on profits (1983).
The strongest statement of the potential of bank control comes from
Kotz (1978). He argues that management (and presumably family) con-
trolled firms would avoid debt in order to lessen financial control. Con-
versely, financial institutions would use their control over firms to in-
crease their business. Firms already under the control of large financial
institutions would be more likely to go into debt. Finance controlled firms
would be more likely to engage in mergers for similar reasons. Mizruchi
and Stearns (1988) have provided evidence that firm debt is correlated
with the presence of bankers on the board of directors.
Brancato and Gaughan (1988) argue that large institutional investors
have come increasingly to control the stock of large firms. They suggest
that this might have another unwelcome effect on firms. Because institu-
tional investors generally work with short profit horizons, finance con-
trolled firms (or any firm controlled by a large institutional investor) is
likely to be under considerable pressure to generate short-term profits.
Failure to do so would result in management turnover or the prospects of
having the firm sold off.
These literatures can be combined to suggest an account of the financial
reorganization of the large corporations in the 1980s. The finance control
literature would argue that banks and institutional investors have increased
their power over firms in the past 20 years (Kotz 1978; Mizruchi and
Stearns 1986; Mintz and Schwartz 1985). The basis of this control is direct
ownership of equity or large holdings of corporate bonds. Boards of
directors function to give banks monitoring power over firms. The in-
creases that have occurred in financial manipulations such as stock repur-
chases, higher levels of indebtedness, and mergers and divestments in the
1980s can be explained by the increase of bank and institutional investor
control. In the cross section, one would expect that bank and institutional
investor controlled firms would be more likely than manager or family
owned firms to undertake such actions. It is the rise of finance controlled
firms that accounts for the rise of financially oriented maneuvers.
HYPOTHESES
on their boards of directors as holders of both equity and debt. Mergers and
divestitures and increased indebtedness should follow from the presence of
bank and institutional investors. This view stresses the role of powerful actors
and the dependence of firms upon those actors. In this sense, the financial
perspectives of these actors and their base of power as holders of equity and
debt force managers toward forms of financial reorganization beneficial to
bankers and institutional investors interested in short-run gain.
The finance conception of control focuses on three mechanisms as leading
to increased likelihood of financial reorganization. First, the presence of a
finance-oriented CEO will increase the likelihood of financial reorganization
because the logical course of action for those executives will be to use those
tools to attempt to increase profitability. Second, in firms that do not have
finance-oriented executives as CEOs, we might still see a propensity to
engage in financial reorganization if other firms in their organizational field
are doing so. This is because the field may be dominated by the finance
conception of control. Hence, appropriate behavior will be suggested by
competitors, independent of the background of the CEO. Finally, the product
mix of a firm will signify the presence of a finance conception of control as
well. Firms that are diversified into related or unrelated products have
managers who are more likely to evaluate product lines by their relative
profitability. These managers are more likely to be operating with a finance
conception of control and should engage in forms of financial reorganization
as a result. It should be noted that this hypothesis counters the conventional
wisdom of the 1980s, which was that diversified firms performed poorly and
were generally targets of mergers.
The sample used to test the hypotheses include the 100 largest industrial
corporations in the United States in 1979. Data were coded for each year for
the period from 1979 to 1987. The beginning and end of any merger move-
ment cannot be dated precisely. The most recent merger wave arguable began
in 1981 and the selection of 1979 as the starting year allows us to obtain data
for years before the beginning of the real upturn in mergers. The list was
obtained from Fortune magazine (1980). Nine observations existed per case
for each company, unless that company was bought out. After a firm was
merged into another, no further information was collected.
The selection of the largest firms can be justified on a number of
grounds. The largest corporations are the most important business organi-
zations in American society. They have been the focus of most of the
theorizing and empirical work just discussed, partly because there is a
196 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
Table 10.1 List of the 100 Largest Firms in 1979 That Were Bought Out
by 1989
great deal of data publicly available for these organizations. Further, the
actions of their managers operate as a role model for other firms. One could
argue that the largest firms are a restricted sample and therefore our
parameter estimates suffer from sample selection bias. This is only a
problem if one is asserting that the parameter estimates obtained here
apply to a larger sample of firms, say for instance, all publicly held
corporations. We make no such claims here. Indeed, the focus of this study
is the population of the largest firms and therefore we are not sampling,
but instead providing population parameters.
There were two dependent variables in the analysis: whether or not the firm
was merged and whether or not the firm engaged in the various forms of
financial reorganization. The variable indicating whether or not the firm was
merged in a given year was coded as a dummy variable with the code of I,
signifying that the firm was merged. Information about merger activity was
collected from the 1980 through 1988 editions of Moody's Manual. Out of
the 100 largest corporations coded in 1979, one-fifth had been bought out by
1989. A list of those companies can be found in Table 10.1.
We selected four forms of financial reorganization based on the theoretical
considerations discussed earlier: mergers, divestitures, acquiring one's own
stock, and acquiring stock of other firms. Information about acquiring one's
own stock was collected from the Wall Street Journal Index (for period
1980-1988). The other data were coded from Moody's Manual (for period
1980-1988). The four types of reorganization were coded in several ways: (1)
as dummy variables indicating whether or not the firm had evidence of taking
that form of reorganization in a given year, (2) as a simple scale in which we
summed, in a given year, whether the company engaged in any of the
reorganization activities, and (3) as a factor scale.
Neil Fligsteinand LindaMarkowitz 197
Mergers .56
Divestitures .40
Stock Purchases .49
Stock of Others .39
Eigenvalue 1.84
Percentage of Variance Explained 0.54
The factor scale was obtained using an oblique rotation in SPSSX. The
results are presented in Table 10.2. It is useful to consider them in some
detail. The four forms of financial reorganization do form one unique
factor with an eigenvalue greater than 1. The factor weights are relatively
similar implying that each of the forms of financial reorganization is
equally important for the underlying construct. Together, these results
give credence to our notion that the forms of financial reorganization
reflect a set of behaviors that are undertaken by managers with the goal of
increasing the financial value of the firm; that is, they reflect a financial
conception of the corporation. Managers were likely to undertake more
than one of the actions in agiven year and thereby were either dominated
in their behavior by a finance conception of action or not. Both the factor
scores and the simple additive scale were used in the analysis.
We created three independent variables to test the finance conception
of control hypothesis. The first is a dummy variable coding whether or not
the chief executive office (CEO) of the company has a finance background
(1 = finance CEO). The name of the CEO in 1979 was found using the
1980 edition of Moody's Manual. Other sources, such as Who's Who in
America and Who's Who in Business. were then used to decipher the
CEO's job background. If a CEO had held a number of jobs that were not
in finance functions, then that CEO was not coded as a finance CEO.
The second independent variable concerns the percentage of other firms
in an organizational field with finance CEOs. Our argument was that
although a company might not have a finance CEO, other firms in the field
might be dominated by the finance conception of control. If the company
believes the other firms with finance CEOs have a competitive edge, then
it is likely to engage in activities similar to its competition. To capture this
mimetic effect, in 1979, the percentage of finance CEOs among the 100
largest firms was calculated in each industry (measured at the two-digit
SIC code level). Each firm's CEO was excluded from that calculation in
198 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
order to make the measure orthogonal from the measure of the background
of the CEO of a given firm.
The last independent variable has to do with the product mix of the firm.
We argued that firms with related or unrelated product mixes were more
likely to be controlled by the finance conception of control than were firms
with production concentrated in one dominant line. A product dominant
strategy entails a firm that produces more than 70% of its revenues in a
single product line. A product-related strategy entails a firm that produces
many related products or market extensions (i.e., a chemical company
producing paints and explosives). However, no single line accounts for
more than 70% of the output. A product-unrelated strategy entails a firm
that involves itself in unrelated businesses for a substantial portion of its
revenue (for instance, L-T-V, at one point in time, produced guided
missiles, steel, and owned a rental car company). Information for this data
was collected from Rumelt (1974) and the 1980 edition of Moody's
Manual. Two dummy variables were coded to reflect this distinction. The
left-out category for the measure was product dominant. Each of the other
variables was coded 1 if the product mix was related or unrelated.
The second hypothesis being tested concerns how corporate activity
might be a function of who controls the company. There are three inde-
pendent variables used to test this hypothesis. The first measures how
owner activity might differ from manager activity in terms of engaging in
reorganization tactics. A dummy variable was created in which a company
controlled by an owner was coded as 1. We used Herman's (1981) coding
scheme as his data referred to the period closest to 1979.
The second and third independent variables concern the composition of
the board of directors. It has been argued that individuals on the board of
directors have a potential to control activities of any given company (Burt
1983). Thus, the second independent variable measures the percentage of
bankers on the board of directors for each given year, and the third
independent variable measures the percentage of nonbank financial insti-
tutions (such as insurance companies, pension funds, etc.) on the board of
directors for each given year. Information for these measures was col-
lected from Moody's Manual for the years from 1980 to 1988, Standard
and Poor's Register of Corporations, Directors and Executives for the
years from 1979 to 1986, and the 1985 and 1987 editions of The Corporate
1000.
The last hypothesis being tested concerns the finance economics argu-
ment. This view stresses the importance of maintaining a balance between
equity and debt so that a company is not in a position to be merged. The
prediction is that company actions will be a function of their financial
position. The variable measuring this is calculated as follows:
Neil Fligstein and Linda Markowitz 199
The numerator of this measure contains the net worth of the firm,
whereas the denominator reflects the firm's equity. The argument is that
when this ratio is less than I, the equity is worth more than the net assets
and financial reorganization is unlikely. As the ratio grows greater than I,
the net worth is greater than the equity and the firm is more likely to be a
reorganized or a target of takeovers. The value of the debts and assets was
collected from Moody's Manual (1980 to 1988). The stock price and
number of shares was collected from Moody's Manual and The Daily Stock
Price Record for the years between 1979 and 1988. All measures refer to
conditions at the end of the year.
The analysis proceeds in the following way. First, we look for a causal
relationship between all of the independent variables and the first depen-
dent variable, reorganization activity. Then we use the reorganization
variable and the other independent variables to attempt to predict whether
or not the company has been the object of a merger. We argued that there
ought to be a negative relationship between having undertaken forms of
financial reorganization and being bought out.
The data are structured such that some of the independent variables are
constants throughout the 9 years investigated (i.e., finance presidents,
owner or manager controlled), and some are variable throughout the
investigation (i.e., composition of the board of directors, assets/stock
value). Because the goal of the analysis is to use the data yearly to predict
the dependent variables, the independent variables that changed yearly are
lagged by 1 year, thereby reducing the number of observations from 9 to
8 years.
Two methods were used to analyze the data. When the continuous
dependent variables were analyzed, we used an error components model
to specify the error structure. This is because we have multiple observa-
tions on the same units of analysis over time. When the dependent variable
was discrete, in the case of whether or not the firm was merged, a discrete
time, discrete data model was used (Allison 1981). All statistical tech-
niques were performed using LIMDEP.
RESULTS
Table 10.1 shows the names of those ofthe 100 largest companies that were
objects of a merger during the years from 1979 to 1987. This shows that the
merger movement greatly effected the population of the largest firms in the
American economy. A brief glance at the list shows that 7 out of 20 of those
200 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
Merged 0.03
Reorg I 0.50 0.43
Reorg 2 1.03 0.89
% Fin pres 0.32 0.20
Finance pres 0.32 0.46
Related Strategy 0.55 0.49
Unrelated Strategy 0.24 0.43
Owner Control 0.25 0.47
% Bank Directors 0.03 0.05
% Institution Directors 0.04 0.05
Assets/Stocks 0.81 0.98
merged were oil companies. There were 22 oil companies on the list in
1979 and this percentage is higher than would be expected. Table 10.3
presents the means and standard deviations of the variables for the 8 years
we investigated (N =753). All firms with missing data were removed from
the analysis. The Reorgl variable is the reorganization variable computed by
factor analysis. The Reorg 2 variable is the additive scale that shows that each
company averaged one form of financial reorganization per year.
The variables concerning the financial conception of control hypothesis
reveal that 32% of the companies had finance presidents and in each field
there was an average of 32% of the firms with finance presidents in their
organizational fields. Most companies were likely to engage in some type
of product diversification: 55% of the firms had a product-related strategy
and 24% had a product-unrelated strategy, which shows that these tactics
that reflect the finance conception of control have become quite common.
Only 25% of the companies are controlled by the owners. The majority
(75%), thus, are controlled by managers. The board of directors are made
up of 3% bankers and 4% institutional investors. The rest of the board of
directors are company insiders or outsiders with no financial institution
attachment. The net worth/value ratio variable associated with finance
economics has a mean ofO.8!. This means that, on average, a company's
net worth is less than its stock value (number of shares multiplied by the
price of the stock). The average firm was thus not likely to be bought out.
As the ratio increases past 1, we find that assets become more valuable
than the stock. It is in these cases that finance economists predict a merger.
Neil Fligstein and Linda Markowitz 201
Reorg 1 Reorg 2
Yariables" b SE(b) b SE(b)
Given that the standard deviation was quite large (0.98), there were likely
to be a great many firms that were merger candidates.
Table lOA is an attempt to model the two composite measures of the
reorganization variables whereas Table 10.5 models each of the reorgani-
zation activities separately. Because results from the factor analysis sup-
port the idea that the four reorganization activities are conceptually re-
lated, we will consider Tables lOA and 10.5 together.
Table lOA demonstrates that Reorgl (the factor measure) and Reorg2
(the additive measure) are predicted by the same variables. The first three
variables represent measures related to the finance conception ofcontrol. The
percentage of finance CEOs in an organizational field had no effect on the
reorganization variable. But, whether or not the CEO was a finance CEO and
if the company had a product-related or -unrelated type of product mix had a
significant, positive effect on firms engaging in the forms of financial reor-
ganization. This is strong evidence that firms that already were dominated by
the finance conception of control were likely to have managers who engaged
in financial reorganization of their firms.
Variables measuring the owner/managerlbanker factors show that only the
percentage of institutional investors on the board of directors had an effect
on the dependent variable. Neither the types of control over the firm nor the
percentage of bankers on the board of directors had a significant effect on
whether or not the company reorganized. In this case, institutional investors
were able to convince managers to undertaking financial reorganization.
202 ORGANIZA TIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
Stock Stock of
Mergers Divestitures Repurchases Others
Variables" b SErb) b SErb) b SErb) b SErb)
% Fin Pres 0.05 0.26 0.14 0.48 0.09 0.26 -0.25 0.81
Fin Pres 1.30* 0.63 0.54** 0.18 1.38* 0.62 0.32* 0.14
Related Strategy 0.34* 0.17 0.59** 0.21 0.29* 0.12 0.34* 0.16
Unrelated Strategy 0.33* 0.15 0.66** 0.25 0.29* 0.14 0.69 0041
Owner Control -0.03 0.08 0.05 0.05 -0.04 0.08 -0.03 0.10
% Bank Directors 0040 0.80 1.12 1.47 -0.27 0040 0.59 0048
% Institution Directors 1.64* 0.81 2.23** 0.74 1.16** 0.37 0.72 0.38
Asset/Stock -0.01 0.11 0.21* 0.10 0.02 0.08 0.08 0.11
Constant -1.83** 0.32 -1.24** 0.25 -1.71** 0.31 -2.51** 0040
,l(dO 10.79 (8) 21.0 (8) 9.15 (8) 11.80 (8)
Table 10.6 Logit Models Predicting Whether or Not a Firm Was Bought
Out or Merged (N = 753)
CONCLUSIONS
and institutional investors. Second, the 1970s did leave large corporations
asset rich and stock price poor. Additional work should attempt to adjudic-
ate between these competing explanations of the initial shocks that pro-
duced the financial reorganization of American corporations.
But whatever the cause, the finance conception of the large corporation
has triumphed. Even though mergers have once more slowed, the finance
conception of the corporation dominates discourse. The power and inter-
ests that have produced this view now control the world of the largest
firms. Unless public policy changes the rules to make these views of the
corporation less profitable or unless a recession discredits such views
entirely, the next 10 years are not likely to change this trend.
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---0-
11
The Conservative Revolution That Wasn't:
New Right Populism and the Preservation
of New Deal Liberalism
Anne Wortham
Ronald Reagan has moved the entire political debate sharply right. Conserva-
tives have now won the war of ideas on every foreign, domestic, and social
policy issue.
Benjamin Hart (1987)
Ronald Reagan should have repealed the New Deal and the Great Society and
pulled the United States out of the United Nations for openers. He didn't.
Joseph Sobran (1988)
Many thought the "Reagan Revolution" marked the sure turning of tides in
the early 1980s.... The great turning back turned out to be a symbolically
concealed gallop into statism.
Jack D. Douglas (1989)
The secular New Right movement arose out of schisms within the
Republican Party that began with the right-wing opposition to President
Gerald Ford's selection in August 1974 of Nelson Rockefeller as his
interim vice president. The party's expectation that conservati yes would
Anne Wortham 213
support their old betrayer for the sake of "party unity" was, says Richard
Viguerie, "the last straw." Viguerie and his associates realized that if they
were to have any impact on the Republican party they would have to do
so outside the party (Viguerie 1982, pp. 27-28). Another "last straw" was
the Carter Administration's successful bipartisan campaign to ratify the
Panama Canal treaties that had been initiated by Presidents Nixon and
Ford. Although New Right conservatives were defeated by the adminis-
tration, they benefited by the addition of new names of potential supporters
acquired by the direct-mail campaign directed by Richard Viguerie and
others. By the election of 1980 Viguerie had reportedly acquired the names
of 4.5 million conservatives drawn from single-issue and multi-issue
groups. It was this mechanism, more than any other, that enabled the New
Right to operate apart from the major parties (Viguerie 1981).
The politicization of the religious Right was precipitated by a proposed
Internal Revenue ruling that required any private school to prove, on pain
of losing its tax-exempt status, that it was not founded to avoid racial
integration (Rusher 1984, p. 297; Skerry 1980). For fundamentalist leaders
this was government intimidation of private Christian schools. They were also
shocked by Supreme Court decisions that in 1963 outlawed prayer in the
public schools and in 1981 the posting of the Ten Commandments on the
classroom wall.
As Pines (1982, pp. 17-18) reports, other groups were "pushed to the
brink" at different times and in different ways, "most incrementally and
others by a single precipitating event or development." For some business
leaders, the brink was the congressional attempt to create a Consumer
Protection Agency. Parents and employers were shocked by the spectacle
of local public high schools graduating near-illiterates. Homemakers re-
sented the claim by the feminist movement that its radical agenda reflected
the views of all American women. Devout Christians and Jews were
intimidated and outraged by the "secular humanism" of those in control
of schools, courts, and other key institutions.
Feeling threatened and offended by out-of-control liberalism, by secu-
larism, permissiveness, and government intervention, these groups reacted
by mobilizing to recapture and affirm precious values, defend endangered
institutions, eliminate elitist rule by judges and bureaucrats, and restore
popular rule. Their activism was centered more around cultural defense
than around status defense as Upset and Raab (1978) have maintained
(Simpson 1983; Bruce 1988). They aimed to accomplish their goals by
building a coalition of social, religious, and fiscal conservatives that
would become the philosophical alternative to liberalism and Old Right
conservatism and the political alternative to Democrats and Republicans.
This meant affirming their loyalty to old-guard conservative tenets of free
214 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
When he declared that "government is not the solution to our problem; govern-
ment is the problem," he appealed to his countrymen's primordial suspicion of
authority. When he talked of God's plan for American freedom, he revived the
Anne Wortham 217
When the New Right movement is viewed in terms of the paradoxes of its
populism rather than merely as the continuation of Old Right conservatism
218 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
of the 1950s and 1960s, several unintended benefits to New Deal liberal-
ism become apparent. One was Reagan's contribution to increased public
confidence in government, in which historian Robert S. McElvaine (1986,
p. A35) observes a dialectical irony. Reagan's antigovernment rhetoric
(though not most of his programs) and his geniality as head of government
restored the people's faith in government, and to that extent served con-
temporary liberalism's belief that "affirmative" government can better
people's lives. The effect, says McElvaine, was that Reagan's seeming
success (prior to the Iran-Contra scandal) damaged the ultimate conserva-
tive objective of instilling in people a skeptical view of state power.
Reagan also benefited liberalism by doing very little to change the basic
structure of the welfare state. As Nathan Glazer (1988, pp. 56-57) observes,
The administration made no head-on assault on the idea ... that government had
the responsibility to maintain a safety net of basic social programs to provide for
the income needs of the destitute, and it announced its complete commitment to
social security to provide for the aged and disabled, unemployment insurance for
the unemployed, health insurance for the aged and destitute.
it is not that Reaganism embraced all the prevailing ideas about the social
functions of government, but that by tolerating, marginally adjusting or simply
failing to reverse so many policies and attitudes, the Reagan experience unwit-
tingly served more or less to preserve the base of political argument and domestic
policy for future development. (p. 60)
ACCOMMODATING MODERNITY
As the crisis of the welfare state, the persistence of liberal policies, and the
contradictions of conservative populism deprived the Reagan administration
of an economic revolution, so the forces of modernity and competing defini-
tions of the meaning of the American experience deprived the secular and
religious Right of its "cultural counter-revolution," to use Jonathan Reider's
(1985) term. In his meticulously argued analysis of the emergence and decline
of the New Christian Right (NCR), Steve Bruce (1988) points to several
factors that undermined the ability of the NCR to achieve its goals. Many of
his observations are applicable to the secular New Right, especially insofar
as secular spokesmen and groups share the moral agenda of the NCR. The
following discussion relies heavily on the main points of Bruce's argument.
One of the NCR's strategies for resisting the consequences of modernity
was to attack secular humanism. Most of the things the NCR did not like
or felt threatened by shared the features of "secularity" and "humanism."
But the New Right cannot succeed in its goal of defeating secular human-
ism because most of what it means by secular humanism actually amounts
to consequences of modernity and necessary elements of a modern demo-
cratic society that "will not go away."
As Bruce points out, it is conceivable that a democratic society might reject
feminism, socialism, government controls on business activity; and dramatic
medical interventions connected with birth and death-all of which the New
Right designates as secular humanist practices. But it is not possible for
modern democracy to satisfy the New Right by prohibiting certain other
practices it characterizes as secular humanism: the exclusion of religion from
the public sphere; the extension of moral choice; and tolerance of alternative
sexual life-styles. For these practices are not the result of actions by secular
humanists as such. Rather, they are the consequences of the key components
of modem identity that Peter Berger calls the "pluralization of life-worlds"
and its "secularizing effect" (Berger et al. 1973, pp. 76-81).
Neither can democracy satisfy the New Right's demand that primacy be
accorded to prescientific ideas (such as creationism) over modern scien-
tific and technical knowledge. There is no reason why modern industrial
societies cannot permit the survival of premodern ideas in certain limited
areas of social life, says Bruce. But these ideas can only contest matters
224 ORGANIZATIONS AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS
CONCLUDING REMARKS
and the demands of modernity. Instead of forcing the Left on the defensive,
they reinvigorated democratic populism (see Boyte and Riessman 1986).
Instead of imposing their morality on the country, they had to accommo-
date the demands of pluralism.
Ronald Reagan made Americans feel good about America, which was
an important achievement. But he also reinforced the hegemony of New
Deal pragmatism in American politics. His leadership was, in the final
analysis, one of continuity not revolution. Similarly, the New Right move-
ment was one of adjustment to the ongoing revolution in tolerance in
sexual behavior and race relations and the increased centralization that
accompanies it.
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Part III
In recent years, scholarly debate has centered on the size and sources of
the underclass. This effort to chart trends in persistent poverty has ob-
scured an observation undisputed both by those who believe and those who
doubt that the underclass is growing. Poor people, even those living in
entrenched poverty. are not all alike. Indeed, differences among the un-
derclass may be as conspicuous and consequential as any commonalities.
Yet the conditions creating dissimilarity among the disadvantaged have
received comparatively little attention.
My interest in these conditions grew out of a 20-year longitudinal study
of teenage mothers and their offspring in Baltimore. The early years of
this investigation were devoted to understanding how early childbearing
shaped the life course of young mothers and their children (Furstenberg
1976). But as the study evolved, I became more curious about the different
patterns of managing premature parenthood than in the contrast between
early and later childbearers. In fact, the diverse outcomes of teenage
parenthood proved to be one of the most surprising results of the research
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This work has been supported by the MacArthur Foundation Research
Program on Successful Adolescent Development Among Youth in High-Risk Settings. Helpful
comments on the research design have been provided by the members of that Committee. I
would also like to thank Jane Ballin, who contributed valuable insights as the project
unfolded. Some ofher interview data has been incorporated in this chapter.
231
232 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
(Furstenberg et al. 1987). What was true for the mothers seems to be no
less true for their offspring. To be sure, early parenthood seemed to have
real and lasting consequences for the children's prospects of educational
success and for becoming teen parents, themselves (Furstenberg et al.
1990). But many of the offspring of teen parents, even a number of those
whose mothers had remained on welfare throughout the study, were faring
reasonably well in early adulthood.
Intrigued by these findings, my collaborator Brooke Gunn and I spent
some time talking to some of the youth in the Baltimore study in hopes of
discovering conditions that promoted a successful response to disadvan-
taged circumstances. We were impressed in these conversations by how
many youth, who appeared to be doing well, had experienced close calls
that nearly resulted in serious trouble with the law, school dropout, or
teenage parenthood. They were not so very different from those with less
successful profiles. One conspicuous difference between the early "win-
ners" and "losers" was the significant role that family members played in
their children's lives. Parents (mothers especially) and sometimes other
close relatives (grandmothers, siblings, aunts, or uncles) often represented
the margin of difference between the successes and failures.
Consider Jerome, a 20-year-old male, who had managed to graduate from
high school and find a job in a seafood processing plant. During Jerome's
junior year of high school, he was suspended more than a dozen times.
I would get suspended like on a Wednesday. My mother would get me back there
by Thursday. That Friday I was suspended again but, no matter what, she was always
there. She would take days from work.... My mother was really what made me. I
got my diploma. I was proud for her. It was like she went to school over again.
DATA ANALYSIS
The data drawn from field notes were organized to illustrate the connec-
tion between neighborhood characteristics and family functioning. Ac-
cordingly, I am leaving out a great deal of relevant information about other
important determinants of the parents' style of managing the external
world. Within each neighborhood tremendous variation occurred in par-
ental competence-the term employed to recognize differences in parents'
child-rearing skills. Certain parents were more successful than others in
commanding respect, obtaining cooperation, transmitting and implement-
ing their goals. Often, these same parents had a greater capacity to cope
with high levels of stress, were more imaginative and persistent in finding
solutions to day-to-day problems, and were generally more positive and
easygoing when facing troubles. Many displayed a pronounced willing-
ness to sacrifice their own needs for the betterment of their children. Not
surprisingly, these more efficacious parents also tended to be more re-
sourceful in regulating their children's behavior outside the home and in
dealing with the formal and informal institutions in which their children
participated. They generally knew more about what happened to their
children when they were not in direct contact with them because of their
greater attentiveness and superior communication skills.
Field-workers had no difficulty discerning differences in parental com-
petence or noticing the effect of parental skill on the adolescents in the
study. Even allowing for differences among children within families, more
adept parents generally had more conforming children who were less
prone to problem behavior. But as the study progressed, we learned that
certain features of the social environment conditioned parents' managerial
skills. These same elements of neighborhood context enhanced or inter-
fered with parents' ability to implement goals for their adolescents: school
completion and the attainment of economic security, staying out of trouble
with the law, the postponement of childbearing, and avoidance of exces-
sive use of drugs and alcohol. The analytic task that I have set in this
chapter is to show the special ways that neighborhood context interacts
with different levels of parental competence to create different styles of
family management with, perhaps, varying outcomes for adolescents.
As a way of distilling the evidence, the discussion will initially feature two
families living in quite different circumstances. I have deliberately altered the
identities of the families to protect their anonymity, and sometimes merged
information from other families as well. The cases, then, can be regarded as
synthetic portraits of families we studied in different neighborhoods.
If they ever happened to meet, Lillie Gales and Meg Moran would
probably not recognize how much they actually have in common. Both are
Frank F. Furstenberg, Jr. 237
single parents with three children, the oldest of whom is a young teenager.
Both were receiving welfare at the beginning of the study although each
was making periodic efforts to get off public assistance. Both are con-
cerned parents who fervently want their children to have a better life than
they have been able to enjoy. Both worry about the problems that their
children are having in school, but their daily concerns are consumed as
well by the threat of physical violence in their neighborhoods, the prob-
lems of drugs, crime, and teenage childbearing. In fact, they are unlikely
ever to meet for Lillie, an African American, resides in a public housing
project in the heart of one of the poorest sections of North Philadelphia,
whereas Meg lives on one of the less desirable blocks of a small white
working-class enclave in South Philadelphia.
I don't know too many people here. I sticks to the neighbors. It's not too bad but it's
not too good neither. People don't know you-so they feel you out too. My kids-I
basically don't let them go down and play. When I take them out, we all go together.
recently got a job as a parent helper. Meeting the other parents at school
did little to shake her views that other community people do not have much
to offer. She complains that they spend too much time in idle gossip and
expresses disdain for their values. Lillie believes her neighbors lack any
interest in bettering the community.
We found a lot of confirmation of Lillie's attitudes from other infor-
mants in the study. Leah, a long-standing resident of the Projects, echoes
many of the same sentiments about her neighbors and her neighborhood.
Leah agrees with a member of her household who declares in a conversa-
tion, "you can live in the projects, but you ain't got to be like the project."
When Leah was asked to draw a map defining the area where she travels,
she responded: "I don't go nowhere around here. I don't know nobody. 1
don't want to know nobody." The field-worker reports that, in fact, Leah's
acquaintance with her neighbors and neighborhood is much greater than
she admits to, but her pretense of ignorance is an accurate expression of
her feelings about the impoverished social world in and around the Pro-
jects. Among the residents there is a high level of superficial familiarity,
but investment in strong and lasting relations rarely occurs. A sign of the
relatively low level of social integration in the Projects is that residents
typically do not know the names of their neighbors, even some of those
that they had dealings with on an occasional basis. Leah's attitude, like
Lillie's, was to manage to survive until you can find a better place to live.
Says Leah, "Now I'm not going to make no mansion out of this place but
1 would want to live nice and comfortable until you leave .... 1 mean it's
still your home." She is not alone in her desire to move out, an objective
that undermines a sense of community.
The low level of cohesion in the Projects does not prevent neighbors
from entering into exchanges. Leah, for example, took in a young mother
and her child for a time during the study until the woman violated a
household prohibition on drug use. Lillie is characteristically more cir-
cumspect than many of her neighbors.
When some people be friendly, it's for something that you have that they want.
If they come and they knock on my door-and it's within reason-I give it to
them. Then after three times, I tell them, "Look. I don't mean no harm to you,
but I really feel I'm being taken advantage here."
The social networks that were formed around cooperation often seem
precarious. As Lillie's comment indicates, ties are often too shallow to
withstand the pressures of the constant barrage of claims and requests.
Resourceful parents generally segregate their children from the sur-
rounding community. Lillie attempts to teach her children to resist the
Frank F. Furstenberg, Jr. 239
local culture, encouraging them to feel different from (and better than)
their neighbors. Other parents, less confident of their ability to internalize
their values, maintain a tighter rein of control than Lillie. These parents
are extremely wary of entrusting their children to the care of others,
especially others in their immediate neighborhood. Indeed, the most adap-
tive pattern, quite unlike the collective pattern of parenting described by
Stack (1974), is a highly individualistic style offamily management where
parents devote enormous personal time to monitoring, supervising, and
controlling their children's behavior.
An employed neighbor of Lillie's insists that her teenage daughter call
her at work as soon as she comes home from school. And she checks in
hourly by phone until she comes home. Across the city, in another danger-
ous neighborhood in West Philadelphia, a parent of an l l-year-old boy
confesses, "Well, I know that I'm very protective of my son. I have to give
him more space so he can grow." Parents like these are reluctant to give
up direct control. They feel that they must insulate their children from the
neighborhood either by keeping them home or chaperoning them when
they go out. As the parent above suggests, this becomes more difficult and
less appropriate when children reach adolescence.
There are some safe niches within very dangerous communities. The
field-worker in North Park, a Puerto Rican neighborhood not far from the
Projects, volunteered at a local settlement house that was organized by
some of the parents in the neighborhood to combat the growing drug
problem in the area. But organizations, like this one, were unusual and
generally used only by the most active members of the community. Most
parents seemed either unaware of these protected enclaves for their chil-
dren or were unwilling to relinquish the responsibility they felt for directly
supervising them.
Maria, a resident of North Park, expresses misgivings about community
institutions. She criticizes many of her neighbors for being far too permis-
sive with their children and inattentive to the ever-present dangers of drugs
and drug-related violence. Maria insists that she know the whereabouts of
her children at all times and she is wary about entrusting them even to
community organizations. She recalls the time when her son had gone on
an after school trip: "They were supposed to leave at 12 and return by 3,
so supposedly he would be with the woman who takes care of him when I
got home from work." Her son wasn't home at 5, the time he usually
arrived home from the woman's house. At 6, when he was still not there,
Maria went to get him. Not finding him, she began "losing my mind."
It was already 6:30, almost 7:00 and my son still hadn't appeared. I couldn't even
talk.
240 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
Eventually her son returned by bus, the plans of the after school program
having been changed. "Why didn't you call me?" Maria asked the bus
driver. He replied, "I took all the kids home and no mother was like this."
Maria answered "I can't tell you what other mothers are like, but I'm not
like that. 1 don't like that my kids are walking around like that." Maria
now refuses to permit her children to participate in the program. Her means
of protecting her children from the dangers of the neighborhood now
resembles what has been called a "lock up" strategy. "My world is here,"
Maria remarks about her household, "sitting." And she goes on to say, "I
cannot permit things outside of me to damage me. If you don't have the
money to move to a better place, then you have to fight from the inside."
This tactic is costly, for it helps to sustain the social paranoia that prevents
many parents from banding together in anomie communities like the area
where Lillie, Leah, or Maria reside. The distrust of neighbors is understand-
able. Drug dealers hang around at the entrance to the Projects, forcing Lillie
to use the back door. Competent parents see themselves as a beleaguered
minority in their communities. A favorite stratagem for keeping their children
in line is negative comparisons-pointing out improper behavior of their
neighbors as a means of reinforcing their own values. This technique was used
in all of the communities that we studied, but the power of bad example is
omnipresent in the anomie areas. Ultimately, the message provided to the
children is that they are different from other families in their community.
Lillie's I5-year-old daughter, Davenna, comments:
Well, they were always pointing out bad examples of, you know, every neighbor-
hood. There's good things and there's bad things. And they showed me that that's
not the wayto go. And they might thinkthat I don't listen. But I do. I really do.
Davenna is so convinced of her dissimilarity from her neighbors, that she does
not tell her closest friends at school where she lives and refuses to bring
friends home to the Projects. Lillie understands, "I would like to say well
yeah, bring'em up. 1would like to meet them. But 1don't for the fact that the
way she feels about it. So I don't push the issue." Lillie finds herself in a bind.
Her strategy of encouraging Davenna to disengage from the community
lowers Lillie's ability to monitor Davenna's whereabouts outside the home.
The self-segregation of families in anomie areas does not entirely
prevent parents from banding together. However wary of their neighbors,
families find others like themselves. The best friend of Maria's son
happens to be the child of Cecilia, another women in our study. Cecilia is
considerably less skilled as a parent but she understands very well that
Maria is a good influence on her son. She encourages him to hang around
with his pal, Roberto. So parents employ an informal referral system to
Frank F. Furstenberg, Jr. 241
vet their children's friends, usually relying on their own direct knowledge
of the families. One unusually strict parent simply refused to pass on phone
messages from undesirable callers.
Relatives, when they are available, supply the safest companions or, at
least, they can become the connecting link to the other desirable friends.
Again, here is an account from Lillie's daughter, Davenna, about her
friends in her old neighborhood:
Davenna: There were a couple of people that were good examples, and we all
hung together. We were a crew.
Interviewer: How did you find each other?
Davenna: Well, my cousin. She was one of my buddy-buddies and she's going
to college.
In fact, Davenna does not have close relatives living in or near the Projects.
She goes to school outside the neighborhood. When she wants compan-
ionship, she often crosses the city to see her old friends and relatives. She
finds protection by maintaining links to another community that offers
greater resources. In the Baltimore study, we learned that families sent
their children to live with relatives outside of the city during the summer
to keep them out of trouble.
Limited social networks and scarce services in anomie neighborhoods
compel many families to seek sources of support outside their community.
There are simply too few functioning institutions within the immediate
neighborhood. Lillie explains why she goes back to the health clinic she
was using in South Philadelphia.
Now, see the clinic my kids go to, it's all bright and lively. Even if you is sick,
you don't be looking like I'm going to die. But that place (referring to the clinic
near the Projects) looked like the slaughterhouse.
reported, they find ways to channel their children into the outside world,
that is, to establish and retain links with agencies beyond their immediate
neighborhood. These parents assiduously seek out after school programs,
summer camps, and the like that place their children in safe settings that
also provide opportunities for mobility. The ability to sponsor their chil-
dren may be limited, but resourceful parents are often unusually adept at
locating and cultivating people who sponsor their children. Channeling is
a political skill, but it is enhanced by a well-developed social network.
Relatively few of the parents in our study could lay claim to such a
network. Therefore, parents typically looked to the schools, the churches,
or community agencies to provide sponsorship. Occasionally, their expec-
tations were met when an interested teacher, guidance counselor, minister,
or coach discovered their child. Maria's son was selected in a city-wide
contest to participate in a youth forum for improving the schools. Several
of the children in the study were or would be attending magnet schools
that offered academically enriched programs for college-bound youth or
those with high technical skills.
Ida's youngest son, a child with some academic talent, was offered a
scholarship at an exclusive private school in the center of the city. She
never told the boy about the possibility, feeling that transportation would
be prohibitively expensive. In fact, her apprehensions about sending the
child outside the neighborhood were as much psychological as economic.
One ofthe most restrictive parents in the study, Ida was unprepared to see
her child so far removed from scrutiny. The task of avoiding dangers while
promoting opportunities involves a different sort of balancing act than the
one facing Lillie. Parents, like Ida, who attempt to isolate their children
from threats in their immediate environment run the risk of prohibiting
them from taking steps to escape poverty.
Most youth in our study were not among the lucky few to be discovered
by an adult sponsor. The number of "talent scouts" in neighborhoods like
the Projects or North Park is too small to provide a steady source of
referrals. And parents are frequently mistrustful of the institutions outside
of their community that might place their children in contact with adult
sponsors. Those parents unwilling to seek opportunities outside the neigh-
borhood usually place little confidence in local institutions as well. Leah
talks about her educational ambitions for her children but tacitly supports
their disaffection from school. Leah tells her children not "to hookey
school." But, in fact, what she really means is that they should not cut
school without telling her. She freely offers to cover for them when they
don't feel like attending. When her daughter was suspended from school,
Leah did nothing to get her reinstated. "That school is a trip ... it's not
like it used to be [when] they made you learn." Leah admits, "I don't know
Frank F. Furstenberg, Jr. 243
From all outward appearances, Meg Moran and her neighbors in Garri-
son Heights seem to share many of the same problems as families living
in the Projects or North Park. The Heights is inhabited mostly by white
working-class families, but many residents, like Meg, are quite poor. On
all sides, the community is surrounded by low-income black sections of
244 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
Those who stay sometimes complain about the tremendous burdens im-
posed by membership in the community-the high obligations placed on
residents, that everyone minds everyone else's business, the endless fam-
ily commitments, and the constant fear that the community will lose its
precious sense of sovereignty. Heighters boast of extensive kinship net-
works and lifelong friendships. All of the families that we observed in the
Heights had at least one grandparent living within walking distance and
all had other siblings nearby. One family in our study claimed to have more
than 70 relatives living in the immediate neighborhood that occupies only
about a square mile. "Well my kids," one informant reports "get a lot of
positive attention from their grandparents who live around the corner;
from my family-my parents and sister and brother-who usually see
them once a week." One of her husband's sisters is constantly buying toys
and clothing for her children.
More than I ever would.... And then we have to bail her out when she charges
so damned much that she can't pay the bills. But still, she's good to my children;
they know she cares a lot about them.
Better off residents frequently use surplus income to subsidize the rent
of relatives or to buy a home for a child, parent, or sibling. Meg's brother
helps pay for her housing. Her mother lives across the street and cares for
Frank F. Furstenberg,Jr. 245
her children almost as many hours a week as she does. Meg constantly
complains that her mother undermines her authority as a parent. But, as a
highly stressed single parent, it is difficult to see how Meg would function
without her mother's help.
Garrison Heights is one of a handful of urban villages in Philadelphia
that have survived successive waves of urban deterioration and gentrifica-
tion. It is easy to overlook the darker side of this community. But the
Heights, and other neighborhoods like it, are held together by a fierce
racism that helps contain the almost constant internal frictions and politi-
cal infighting within the community. Heighters are brought up from early
childhood to defend their territory from the encroachment of blacks, who
reside nearby. An informant, no longer living in the neighborhood, recalls:
the determiningfactor in the way people think about race relations is that people
think they're surrounded ... I remember having that consciousness at 6 or
7 ... I wasn't really filled with fear about that. That just was the way it was.
There was fear when ... violent incidents started to happen. You were kind of
obligated to beat them up. You had this sense that if you didn't beat them up,
they would be in all the time. We're talking about the mentality of 8- and 9-year
olds. This is how you proved yourself, too.
During the day nearby black residents shop at local stores, for the poorer
areas provide no commercial facilities. At night, they are virtually barred
from the area. Throughout the study, dozens of racial incidents took place.
And news of confrontations travels quickly throughout the Heights. The
morning after one such occasion, a 4-year old was able to recount in some
detail the violent events of the night before to the field-worker.
Heighters complain that outsiders are responsible for the serious drug
and crime problem in the community. However, in their descriptions of
the problems facing the youth of the community, Heighter parents describe
the dangers of drug use, delinquency, school dropout and teen parenthood
in terms that would be familiar to the residents of the Projects or North
Park. Complaining about the laxity of many families, Meg states "There's
a lot of that around here. Parents just don't care. And a lot of drugs and
alcohol. A couple of girls I know got their kids taken away from them."
The similarity ends here. For parents like Meg, Garrison Heights offers
a remarkable amount of support to adolescents. The well-developed insti-
tutional resources and the extensive social networks create an ample
supply of adults who assume responsibility for the children in the commu-
nity. Jane O'Brien moved back into the Heights some years ago to assume
an administrative position in the Catholic junior high school where her
daughter attended school. Within a few years, she was also teaching a craft
246 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
course for kids in the park (for her own profit). Her brother-in-law is well
connected in the city and has helped her arrange the funding for several
teen programs. Jane now employs several teenagers herself as counselors
in her summer program. She serves on the advisory committee of the
antidrug program and is active in the neighborhood association. Like many
other adults in Garrison Heights, Jane combines her work, community, and
family roles to mutual benefit. She is well connected in the school system,
dispenses summer employment, and often is in a position to exchange
favors with other parents.
Residents of the Heights complain that when they were children, adults
used to assume a lot more responsibility for children in the community.
This may well be true, but by contrast to the other neighborhoods that we
observed and, indeed to most middle-class communities, adults are ex-
tremely visible to children. Locals operate the community businesses, staff
the community institutions, and are in evidence on the street corners,
parks, and house steps. Meg may complain about the disintegration of the
family in the Heights, but in the same breath she says of her neighborhood,
"Somebody's always watching over the kids. Not just all my family here.
But just people I know on the block, in the neighborhood."
Heighters are vigilant about controlling their community. People expect
to know others in the community. The field-worker who worked in the
Heights was only permitted to approach families after she worked for a
drug prevention program in the community. During this volunteer experi-
ence, she was closely watched by parents to make sure that she would not
exert a negative influence on the youth of the community.
I was supervising the neighborhood clean-up on my own when all the neighbors
turned out on the street corners to watch (they were also watching, I think, to
help as well); these people don't really hesitate to discipline each other's children
and, I think, when an outsider is involved, all neighborhood kids represent the
whole neighborhood, so everyone assumes a stake in their behavior.
The field-worker first met Meg's 13-year-old son, Kevin, when she was
asked to help supervise a community-based work program for younger
teens in Garrison. Children as young as I I were provided with summer
employment to clean up the neighborhood-a program arranged through
the auspices of Jane O'Brien and other members of the community council.
This program is an example of the political largess received by Garrison
Heights from an influential City Councilman who represents the district
and began his political career there. The community has other powerful
allies. Heighters are good Catholics who benefit from church supported
schools, social services, and recreational programs that keep kids in the
Frank F. Furstenberg, Jr. 247
Monday nights has been basketball practice, Tuesday night practice, Wednesday
nights there is usually a game, and Thursday nights, there's peer counseling.
And, they are not supposed to be out on school nights. Well, they are never in
on school nights. But, at least they're not hanging out on the corner.
In fact, hanging out in the Heights is a major form of recreation for adults
and youth. But it, too, is a quasi-supervised activity as Heighter youth
generally frequent public places that are open to community scrutiny.
The field-worker describes meeting Meg one evening in the park when
she encounters a string band procession.
The street life here, the unbelievable density of people on the streets in the
evenings is strikingly reminiscent of a time gone by. The streets really become
the focal point of life in the summer, not just for kids, but for adults .... When
the mummers passed, adults didn't participate directly with the mummers ...
until they could grab a kid to do it with. Donations, too, were made the same
way ... "Here, Billy, go give the man a dollar."
Formal and informal coaches almost outnumber the kids. T-ball for children 6
and under has 40 kids, uniforms, regular games and five grown-men coaches.
Outside the batting cage, benches are filled with family and friends of family,
all of whom know each other, look after each other's kids and so on.
The rich supply of resources and dense network of adults that come into
contact with Heighter children serves as an effective system of sponsor-
ship as well as a source of social control. There is an abundant supply of
talent scouts in the form of priests, teachers, coaches, and the like who are
on the lookout for worthy candidates for academic scholarships and job
opportunities. Tommy Mitchel's father was a well-known figure in the
community-one of the "low-life" parents who come in for so much
community scorn. But Tommy, it seems, enjoys a different reputation. One
community leader comments, "He's the nicest kid you'd want to meet and
he's smart, too. He won the St. Matthews scholarship to Catholic High."
Tommy was given a leadership role on the youth council and received an
award (by a local dry-cleaning establishment) for good sportsmanship.
Just as important as the formal referral system is the informal system of
trading favors among parents for one another's children. Holly, one of the
residents of Garrison Heights, explained how her nephew received the
benefits of local sponsorship. He wanted to attend a local engineering
school but had failed to meet the deadline for application. The sister of a
close friend worked in the admission's department at a local university.
When appealed to for assistance, she arranged a special interview that
opened the way for the young man's entrance to the program.
Heighter parents participate in a system that promotes shared parental
responsibility through delegation of control and sponsorship to both for-
mal agencies and informal networks. The availability of resources, the
relatively high degree of normative consensus, and strong social bonds
forged by kinship and friendship all contribute to a close connection
between local institutions and the family. Parents feel responsible to the
schools and schools are responsible to parents. Youth cannot easily escape
the scrutiny of neighborhood, schools, and families when these agencies
are so interconnected. The high degree of observability keeps youth in
check. The task of parents inside the home is reinforced by the support
rendered by other parents outside the home. It is for this reason that
parenting in Garrison Heights must be viewed as a collective activity, a
style that distinctly contrasts to the individualistic mode of family man-
agement forced upon parents in more anomie neighborhoods.
in the study fall more toward the middle of the continuum if neighborhoods
were arrayed from the most to the least organized and endowed with
resources. Both these communities are in decline, demoralized by a steady
attrition of neighborhood services and community spirit.
Kerryville is a changing neighborhood, historically inhabited mostly by
lower income whites but with a growing population of African Americans
and Puerto Ricans. It lies in the heart of a former industrial area of the city
that has been steadily deteriorating for some decades. In contrast to
Garrison Heights, many more of the residents of Kerryville are unem-
ployed, living in single-parent families, and on public assistance.
Maplewood, situated in West Philadelphia, is solidly African American.
Earlier this century, it was the first way station for Jews and Italians out
of poverty neighborhoods. Then, it became a haven for working- and
middle-class blacks. Like Kerryville, Maplewood in the past two decades
has witnessed an exodus of better off families. A core of employed
homeowners are trapped by their shrinking housing assets or by long-
standing obligations to older relatives.
In these two neighborhoods, Kerryville and Maplewood, we can see the
vestiges of social organization, recalling an era when schools, churches,
and local groups functioned as effectively as they still do today in Garrison
Heights. Residents of both communities bemoan the decline of local
institutions and local customs.
It's not like when I grew up, I remember all the neighbors would be sitting on
the steps. And if! did anything, they wouldall know I did it. "Ahh, you shouldn't
have done that. Your mom's right. You should be in for a week."
This same parent later comments, "We used to have a clean block commit-
tee, but that kind of fell apart.... They used to clean the school yard up
and everything. But they got tired of it."
The whites of Kerryville attribute the change to the incursion of blacks
and Puerto Ricans. Nancy, who has spent much of her life in poverty but
has recently found stable employment, is bitterly critical of her Latino
neighbors.
I didn't have anything. I'm just beginning to have anything. But my house was
always my home. I didn't trash it.... Why are their houses trashed? Cause they
put 15 people in there so, of course, it's trashed.
Dave remarks that his sister-in-law has been trying to persuade them to
move, but he says "It's not that bad around here." His wife, Millie,
disagrees "It's just as bad [referring to her sister-in-law' s old block]. You
just don't get out. You don't see it."
Families who remain behind, unwilling or unable to leave, bemoan the
breakdown of social ties and the loss of community consensus. Several of
the parents that we became acquainted with in Kerryville continued to
invest in local institutions. Their chronic complaint was that their efforts
at rebuilding the local institutions were thwarted by the demoralization
and apathy of their neighbors. Nancy, an activist in the community,
constantly complains about her neighbors' unwillingness to participate.
Field-workers in both neighborhoods report a pervasive sense that the
community is no longer "we" but "they." Kerryville parents feel that they
have been invaded by outsiders and deserted by insiders. Many now refuse
to allow their children to participate in recreational programs that attract
Puerto Ricans or African Americans, complaining that they will be ex-
posed to drugs or threatened by violence. Residents feel suspicious of their
neighbors, displaying the same sort of social paranoia that we observed in
the Projects. Nancy observes that every time her kids go out, she gets
252 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
hysterical. "I don't think they're safe anywhere. If I could, I would keep
them chained to the porch."
Maplewood families also perceive a sharp decline in active community
involvement. And they, too, experience the evaporation of social trust
described by their counterparts in Kerryville. Says one informant: "It's not
as easy as when I was a kid ... I've lived in West Philly for 22 years. We
used to be more open with each other." And then she added, "If you try to
talk to people, they think you are trying to get into their business."
More competent parents shift their attentions away from organizational
investment to channeling strategies of locating resources outside their
neighborhood. Liz Jones lives on one of the more stable blocks in Maple-
wood. She sends her daughter to a magnet school outside the area. Through
her work, Liz was able to find her a summer job in the suburbs, requiring
her daughter to spend more than an hour commuting each way. According
to Liz and her husband, they must guide their children to where the
resources are-out of their local community.
The disengagement of these competently managed families from neigh-
borhood organizations further hastens the decline of these local institu-
tions. The lack of community involvement further justifies the withdrawal
of outside resources, fueling a spiral of demoralization among residents in
both of these communities. Kerryville parents are especially critical ofthe
deterioration of order in the schools. They feel that their authority has
disappeared and that schools now refuse to support stricter parents.
I swear, I just feel like pulling them out of school. And I don't care if they ever
get their degrees. I just don't want them in school. I can't take it any more.
The decline of formal institutions also has the effect of weakening informal
social networks that sustain and are sustained by public arenas that bring
parents together. The social world of transitional communities contracts as
neighbors become strangers. Low participation at school meetings and neigh-
borhood improvement associations reduce the networks. Parents complain
that their neighbors are not really interested in cooperating with each other.
Here is Millie's account of the participation of parents in the community
athletic league: "Halfthe parents don't even show up to the games. They send
the kids and you're a baby-sitter." Then she adds, "It's everything. It's school.
You send your kid just to get him out of your hair, you know." And returning
to the subject of the games, she protests,
You have about three parents to take about 23 kids to a game. And some of the
parents had the nerve to come and then leave before the game was over; So you
had to take their kids home.
Frank F. Furstenberg. Jr. 253
This prompts the field-worker to comment, "Millie feels that she is fight-
ing almost alone to make the neighborhood a better place and she gets little
support."
Parents who despair of the possibility that they can help to restore
schools, churches, or community services may nonetheless create informal
arrangements that provide collective support. One Kerryville resident, for
example, described how she had created a "rat line," a telephone network
to inform parents whose children were suspected of drug use. She reported
that parents were sometimes at first put out when they received a phone
call that their child was probably using drugs from a neighbor whom they
didn't even know. Most of the parents, she claimed, were grateful for the
interest of other neighbors. The rat line was an attempt to reinstate the
informal social control that had once resided in the community.
General doubts were voiced by many informants about the child-rearing
commitment and competence of their neighbors. How could they entrust their
children to parents who seemed incapable of managing their own children?
In fact, many of the participants in these communities were experiencing
moderate to severe problems with their children. Millie, whose oldest daugh-
ter has had drug problems in the past and is now a teen mother, condemns
other parents who, she feels, are too permissive. Parents in Kerryville and
Maplewood commonly complain about the subversive influence of their
children's peers who are poorly supervised by their families.
We see in transitional neighborhoods a shift from collective to individ-
ualistic strategies of family management. Fewer parents are willing to
delegate authority to formal institutions that have lost their credibility and
command of external resources. Informal networks become attenuated as
kin and close friends move out and are replaced by new residents who are
regarded as outsiders. The perception of normative consensus in the
community diminishes accordingly. As parents come to believe that their
standards for child rearing are not shared by others, they begin to distrust
other families nearby.
These changes at the community level help to bring about the disengage-
ment of the family from the community. The family becomes less and less
embedded in formal and informal structures that reinforce parental stan-
dards. Other adults in the community are no longer relied upon to supervise
and sponsor children. And systems of formal and informal control are
attenuated. As the family becomes separated from the community, parents
resort to more individualistic strategies of managing the external world.
They are disinclined to delegate authority to other parents or, reciprocally,
to assume responsibility for other children. Some parents in transitional
neighborhoods, like the women who started the rat line, try to develop
more cooperative arrangements but they are wary about relying on formal
254 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
Neighborhood Characteristics
rI Resources I Rich Declining Impoverished
ISocial Networks Extensive Limited Restricted
Perceived Perceived
HNeighborhood Norms I High Medium Low
Consensus Consensus
Social Trust I High Selective Low
Family/Neighborhood Linkages
I------- InstitutionaUFamily I High Partial Low
Connectedness I Embeddedness Embeddedness Embeddedness
~ Observability of
Youth by Adults
I High Scrutiny Partial Scrutiny Low Scrutiny
L...o
Responsibility
of Adults
I High Enforcement
Large Role for Men
Partial Enforcement
Some Role
Low Enforcement
Low Role
Family Strategies
Consequences for Collective Mixed Individual
Family Functioning Strategies Strategies Strategies
Family Strategies Delegation Mobility Confinement
Sponsorship Chaperonage
Community Participation Channeling
Community Building
Consequences for Greater Promotion---------- More Restricted
Adolescents of Opportunities Opportuni ties
children. Much of our social policy emanates from our cultural ideal of
parenthood, an ideal that I have characterized as highly autonomous. We
sometimes act as if parenting is carried on exclusively in the face-to-face
interactions that take place within families. Many of our social programs are
designed to equip parents with better resources-material, informational, and
psychological-to manage the task of child rearing. In our ideology and our
services, we locate the full burden of caretaking on parents. And when their
children do not succeed, we assign them the full measure of blame.
Throughout this chapter, I have tried to show how parents are supported
or undermined by the immediate community beyond the household. Of
course, both competent and incompetent parents can be found in all kinds
Frank: F. Furstenberg, Jr. 257
of areas, but I contend that ordinary parents are likely to have more success
when they reside in communities where the burden of raising children is
seen as a collective responsibility and where strong institutions sustain the
efforts of parents. If this idea is correct, then if we are committed to
strengthening the family, we must give more attention to rebuilding local
institutions-schools, churches, neighborhood centers, and recreational
services-that support families. Doing so offers the best hope of creating
and nurturing informal social networks within neighborhoods that are
important to family functioning. The calamitous decline in resources for
schools, housing, recreational programs, and social services that occurred
over the past decade and a half has contributed importantly to the problems
that are faced by poor urban families. Rebuilding local community insti-
tutions may be a potent way of supporting beleaguered poor parents and
ensuring a better future for their children.
NOTES
1. This point has been nicely developed by a small group of researchers who have had a
wider purview on parenting. See, for example, the excellent review essay by Steinberg
(forthcoming); the relationship of the family to the community is also the subject of a recent
special issue of Marriage and Family Review edited by Unger and Sussman (1990).
2. A notable exception is the seminal ethnographic research by British anthropologist
Elizabeth Bott (1957). Important connections between child rearing and neighborhood
patterns have also been observed by a number of field-workers such as Gans (1962) and Stack
(1974). This literature has been well summarized in a recent paper by Jarrett (1990).
3. This work also benefited from frequent exchanges with other members of the MacAr-
thur Committee on Successful Adolescence and members of the SSRC Committee on
Communities, Families, and Individuals, as well. I am especially indebted to the contribu-
tions ofthe Philadelphia Project: Tom Cook, Jaque Eccles, Glen Elder, and Arnold Saneroff.
4. For an interesting discussion of the conceptual and empirical challenges of testing
Wilson's hypothesis, see Tienda (1990).
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---0-
13
The Community Context of Violent Crime
Robert J. Sampson
Violent crime is a serious and apparently growing problem facing our na-
tion-particularly urban centers. Given the site of the 1990 annual American
Sociological Association meeting, it is appropriate to note that the Washing-
ton, D.C., murder rate reached an all-time high last year. Violent crime rates
in cities such as New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia are also running at
record highs (Hinds 1990; Recktenwald and Morrison 1990; James 1991).
Moreover, the leading cause of death among urban black males is homicide
(Fingerhut and Kleinman 1990, p. 3292), and the lifetime risk of being
murdered is as high as 1 in 21 for black males compared to 1 in 131 for white
males (U.S. Department of Justice 1985). As a sobering report in the New
England Journal ofMedicine recently revealed, a resident of rural Bangladesh
has a greater chance of surviving to age 40 than does a black male in Harlem
(McCord and Freeman 1990). Clearly, the time is ripe for a better understand-
ing of the roots of urban violence.
In an attempt to meet this challenge I advance in this chapter a commu-
nity-level perspective on violence. Although violence has not been an
under-studied phenomenon in American criminology, the study of the
causes and consequences of criminal violence in community context has
not been a major priority. Most of the more than 2,000 studies of violence
published since 1945 (see Bridges and Weis 1989, p. 14) have been
descriptive and focused on individual-level correlates of violent offend-
ing. As a result, extant reviews emphasize individual-level factors (e.g.,
age, race, and gender) or particular classifications such as family violence
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is drawn in part from a commissioned review, coauthored
with Janet L. Lauritsen, for the Panel on the Understanding and Control of Violence of the
National Research Council, National Academy ofSciences.
259
260 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
and criminal career violence. And at all levels of analysis the link between
offending and victimization in personal violence has been neglected
(Sampson and Lauritsen forthcoming). My goal is therefore to show how
a community-level perspective on both victimization and offending may
substantially increase our theoretical understanding of violence.
In keeping with the theme of the 1990 ASA meeting-"Sociology and
the Public Agenda"-I also believe a community-level framework has
much to offer in the way of public policy. The public agenda of crime
control is in particularly bad shape, guided by punitive and expensive
public policies predicated on false assumptions. Indeed, when millions of
federal dollars are spent on drug policies and incarceration programs that
ignore key pieces of knowledge on the structural and cultural sources of
violence, it seems time for alternative voices to be heard. In a nutshell, I
propose that a community-level perspective offers just such new insights
into constructive public policies, while at the same time exposing the
faulty premises and negative consequences of current programs.
To assess the implications of a community-level perspective on violence
for future research and policy, we must first come to grips with the empirical
foundations and limitations of past work. In a recent paper commissioned by
the Panel on the Understanding and Control of Violence of the National
Academy of Sciences, Janet Lauritsen and I reviewed in depth the empirical
literature on individual, situational, and community-level sources of serious
interpersonal violence (i.e., assault, homicide, robbery, and rape). As might
be expected, such a task was not easy and the result was rather long and
detailed. I Therefore, in this chapter I simply highlight the major continuities
running throughout past community-level research. Readers interested in the
detailed empirical foundation upon which this synthesis is based are referred
to the longer version which will be published as part of the Panel report
(Sampson and Lauritsen forthcoming).
or societies that lead to high rates of criminality (Short 1985; Byrne and
Sampson 1986).
Within this framework I focus primarily on studies that examine neigh-
borhoods or other intraurban units of analysis. Cities and metropolitan
areas are large, highly aggregated, and heterogeneous units with politi-
cally defined and hence artificial ecological boundaries. Although in-
traurban units of analysis (e.g., census tracts, wards, block-groups) are
imperfect proxies for local community, they possess more ecological
integrity (e.g., natural boundaries, social homogeneity) than cities or
Standard Metropolitan Statistical Areas (SMSAs) and are more closely
linked to the causal processes assumed to underlie the etiology of crime
(see also Bursik 1988).
highlighted by Shaw and McKay that may help to shed light on the
meaning of poverty in ecological context.
One of the fundamental claims made by Shaw and McKay (1969) was that
population change and turnover had negative consequences for the social
control of delinquency. A high rate of mobility, especially in an area of
decreasing population, was inferred to foster institutional disruption and
weakened community controls (Kornhauser 1978). The existing research on
mobility has not been as extensive as that on economic status, but it has been
revealing. For example, Block's (1979, p. 50) study of Chicago's community
areas revealed large negative correlations between stability and the violent
crimes of homicide, robbery, and aggravated assault.
Victimization data from the National Crime Survey show that residen-
tial mobility has significant positive effects on rates of violent victimiza-
tion (Sampson 1985, pp. 29-30). Even after controlling for other neighbor-
hood-level correlates of victimization, rates of violent victimization for
residents of high-mobility neighborhoods are at least double those of
residents in low-mobility areas (Sampson 1985, p. 30; 1986, p. 44). As
noted above, Smith and Jarjoura (1988) also found a significant positive
effect of neighborhood mobility (percentage of households occupied by
persons who lived there less than 3 years) on rates of robbery and assault
victimization in low-income neighborhoods. This interaction of mobility
and poverty was the largest determinant of violence (1988, p. 41). In
community contexts of poverty at least, mobility appears to have impor-
tant consequences for violence.
Although mobility rates of an area have been linked to violence rates in
cross-sectional designs, until recently few studies in the Shaw and McKay
tradition have actually investigated processes of neighborhood change in
a longitudinal perspective. Recognizing this gap, Taylor and Covington
(1988) published an important study of changes in community structure
and the violent crimes of murder and aggravated assault for 277 Baltimore
city neighborhoods in the period 1970-1980. The two dimensions of
ecological change examined were economic status and family status. Their
thesis was that neighborhoods experiencing declines in relative economic
status and stability should also experience increases in relative violence
(1988, p. 561). In support ofthis notion, Taylor and Covington found that
increasing entrenchment of the urban underclass in the form of increasing
poverty and minority concentration was linked to increases in violence. In
other words, in the city's lower income neighborhoods that changed for
the worse in terms of an increasing concentration of ghetto poverty,
264 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
Family Structure
ties, and intervening in local disturbances (see e.g., Sampson and Groves
1989; Taylor et a1. 1984). This conceptualization focuses on the commu-
nity-wide effects of family structure and does not require that it is the
children of divorced or separated parents that are engaging in crime. For
instance, youth in stable family areas, regardless of their own family
situation, have more controls placed on their leisure time activities, par-
ticularly with peer groups (Sullivan 1989, p. 178). Because delinquency
is a group phenomenon (Reiss 1986a), neighborhood family structure is
likely to be important in determining the extent to which neighborhood
youth are provided the opportunities to form a peer-control system free of
the supervision or knowledge of adults (Reiss 1986b).
Felson and Cohen (1980) also note the potential influence of family
structure not just on the control of offenders, but on the control of criminal
targets and opportunities. They argue that traditional theories of crime
emphasize the criminal motivation of offenders without considering ade-
quately the circumstances in which criminal acts occur. Predatory crime
requires the convergence in time and space of offenders, suitable targets,
and the absence of effective guardianship. The spatial and temporal struc-
ture of family activity patterns plays an important role in determining the
rate at which motivated offenders encounter criminal opportunities. For
example, those who live alone (e.g., single women) are more likely to be
out alone (e.g., going to work, restaurants, night clubs, etc.) than married
persons and are thus more vulnerable to personal crimes of violence (e.g.,
rape, robbery). In support of their theory, Felson and Cohen (1980)
demonstrated that primary-individual households had a significant and
positive effect on crime trends in the United States in the period 1950-
1972, independent of factors presumed to reflect the supply of motivated
offenders (e.g., unemployment, age composition).
The salience of family structure has been supported at the neighbor-
hood-level with respect to violence. Studies reporting a large and positive
relationship between measures of family disruption (usually percentage
female-headed families or divorce rate) and rates of violence include
Block (1979), Messner and Tardiff (1986), Sampson (1985, 1986), Roncek
(1981), Smith and Jarjoura (1988), and Schuerman and Kobrin (1986).
What is especially striking is the strength of family disruption in predicting
violence in multivariate models. For example, Sampson (1985, 1986)
found that rates of victimization were 2-3 times higher among residents of
neighborhoods with high levels of family disruption compared to low
levels, regardless of alternative predictors of violent victimization such as
percentage black and poverty. In fact, the percentage of female-headed
families helped to explain in large part the relationship between percent-
age black and crime. Namely, percentage black and percentage female-
Robert J. Sampson 267
METROPOLITAN-LEVEL STUDIES
Racial Disaggregation
The Land et al. (1990) approach is important because it provides a summary
index of the effects of poverty and relative deprivation on homicide. How-
ever, the resource deprivation index still confounds measures of racial com-
position, and hence does not allow the examination of poverty and family
structure independent of race. This is problematic because racial differences
in poverty and family disruption are so strong that the worst urban contexts
in which whites reside are considerably better off than the average context of
black communities (Sampson 1987, p. 354). Thus, regardless of whether or
not a black juvenile is raised in an intact or "broken" home, or rich or poor
home, he or she will not grow up in a community context similar to whites
with regard to family structure and poverty.
One way to examine these contextual issues is through racial disaggre-
gation of both the crime rate and the explanatory variables of theoretical
interest. This approach was used in research that examined racially disag-
gregated rates of homicide and robbery by juveniles and adults in more
than 150 U.S. cities in 1980 (Sampson 1987). Substantively, the theory
tested focused on the exogenous factors of black male joblessness and
economic deprivation and their effects on violent crime as mediated by
black family disruption. The results supported the main hypothesis and
showed that the scarcity of employed black males relative to black women
274 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
PROBLEMS OF INTERPRETAnON
at early ages-even at age 8 or so, and certainly by the early teens (Glueck
and Glueck 1950). Antisocial children tend to fight, steal, become truant,
drop out of school, drift in and out of unemployment, live in lower class
areas, and go on to commit adult crime (Sampson and Laub 1990). The
causal nature of the relationship between achieved adult characteristics
(e.g., employment status) and adult crime is thus fraught with methodolog-
ical difficulties. In fact, in Deviant Children Grown Up, Lee Robins (1966)
offered the provocative hypothesis that antisocial behavior predicts class
status more efficiently than class status predicts antisocial behavior.
If area differences in violence rates result from the characteristics of
individuals selectively located in those communities (Kornhauser 1978),
we must question the findings derived from macrolevel criminology. Is the
correlation of concentrated poverty with violence caused by an aggrega-
tion of individual-level effects of class, a genuine community-level effect,
or is it simply a differential selection of individuals into communities
based on prior (e.g., antisocial) behavior? Or is it that common third
factors cause individuals to both commit violence and perform poorly in
the occupational sphere? And if violent and antisocial tendencies are
formed at early (preteen) ages, what plausible roles can community labor
markets and economic stratification play in understanding violence?
Simply put, macrolevel research is not immune to questions concerning
the level at which causal relations operate. The level at which a causal
relation occurs is a complex issue that is not solved simply by the nature
of how variables are measured or the unit for which they are measured. To
make matters more complicated, the concrete actions of individuals also
feed back to shape the collective environment (Tienda 1989). Thus the unit
of analysis does not define the level of causal explanation, and the infor-
mation contained in aggregate data is not necessarily generated by macro-
sociological processes.
Implications
simple comparisons between poor whites and poor blacks would be confounded
with the fact that poor whites reside in areas which are ecologically and econom-
ically very different from poor blacks. Any observed relationships involving race
would reflect, to some unknown degree, the relatively superior ecological niche
many poor whites occupy with respect to jobs, marriage opportunities. and
exposure to conventional role models. (1987. pp. 58-60)
Race and violence is but one example of the potentially misleading infer-
ences that might be drawn in our attempt to explain violence when individuals
are stripped of community and structural context. Others include family
disruption and residential mobility. Because of the typical individual-level
research design, alternative explanations are never subject to a critical test.
Although space limitations preclude detail, I therefore conclude with discus-
sion of community-based research strategies and insights that may help to
resolve outstanding questions and provide policy inputs.
Perhaps most disturbing, Wilson (1987, pp. 20-62) documents the negative
consequences of policy decisions to concentrate minorities and the poor in
public housing. Opposition from organized community groups to the building
of public housing in their neighborhoods, de facto federal policy to tolerate
extensive segregation against blacks in urban housing markets, and the
decision by local governments to neglect the rehabilitation of existing resi-
dential units (many of them single-family homes), have led to massive,
segregated housing projects that have become ghettos for the minorities and
disadvantaged (see also Sampson 1990). The social transformation of the
inner city, triggered in large part by governmental policy, has thus led to the
disproportionate concentration of the most disadvantaged segments of the
urban black population in a few areas. The result is that even given the same
objective socioeconomic status, blacks and whites face vastly different envi-
ronments in which to live, work, and raise their children (Massey and
Kanaiaupuni 1990, p. 18). When linked to the probable effects of concentrated
urban poverty and family disruption on community social organization as
reviewed above, governmental housing policies clearly become relevant to
crime control policy. Moreover, when segregation and concentrated poverty
represent structural constraints embodied in public policy, concerns raised
earlier about self-selection confounding the interpretation of community-
level effects on violence are considerably diminished. As Massey and
Kanaiaupuni have argued, public housing represents a federally funded,
physically permanent institution for the isolation of black families by race
and class, and must therefore be considered an important structural constraint
on ecological area of residence (1990, p. 20).
In short, government matters, and we need to incorporate explicitly the
political economy of place (Logan and Molotch 1987) into theories and
policies of community-level social organization. The reason is that what
seem to be "non-crime" policies-for example, where or if to build a
housing project; enforcement of municipal codes; reduction in essential
municipal services; rehabilitation of existing residential units, the dis-
bursement of the disadvantaged---can have important indirect effects on
violence. As detailed above, many community characteristics implicated
in violence such as residential instability, concentration of poor, female-
headed families with children, multiunit housing projects, and disrupted
social networks, appear to stem rather directly from planned governmental
policies at local, state, and federal levels. This conceptualization diverges
from the natural market assumptions of the early social ecologists (e.g.,
Shaw and McKay 1969) by considering the role of political decisions in
shaping community structure.
On the positive side, the implication of this community-level perspective
is that policy-manipulable options may help reverse the tide of community
282 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
among crime policies, race, employment, family structure, and the social
organization of inner-city communities. Just as the demographers' predic-
tion that crime would fall in the 1980s as the baby boom aged turned out
to be largely erroneous, so too will be the crime-control prediction that by
simply locking up more of the (black?) population, the crime problem can
finally be solved.
CONCLUSION
NOTES
1. For a complete description of the criteria used to evaluate past research, see Sampson
and Lauritsen (forthcoming). In general, we focused on recent quantitative research in the
United States where interpersonal violence was directly measured and the strength of
relationships could be determined. As seen below, however, these criteria did not rule out
the selective use of important ethnographic research and delinquency studies from early in
this century.
2. Most sociological research has relied on official statistics (i.e., police and court
records). The general criticisms of official data are well known and need not be repeated here
(for a discussion, see Sampson and Lauritsen forthcoming). Suffice it to say that the official
data problem has been addressed in two basic ways. The most common has been to limit the
284 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
domain of inquiry to serious crimes such as homicide and robbery where police biases appear
to be minimal. A wide-ranging body of research shows that, for serious crimes, police bias
and underreporting are very small and/or unrelated to individual-level and community
variables of interest. Second, self-reported offense behavior and victimization experiences
have been brought to bear on the validity of official statistics. As shown in Sampson and
Lauritsen (forthcoming), a general convergence of community-level findings between offi-
cial police statistics and "unofficial" rates of violence has been achieved. This convergence
underscores the fact that high victimization rates and high offender-based rates of violence
tend to occur in the same places.
3. To be sure, criminology has prominent cultural explanations of crime, especially
regarding lower class culture and the subculture of violence. The most influential continues
to be the subculture of violence theory (Wolfgang and Ferracuti 1967). The basic tenet of
subculture theory is that the overt use of violence "is generally viewed as a reflection of basic
values that stand apart from the dominant, parent, or central culture" (1967. p. 385). However,
neither the theory of lower class culture nor of subculture of violence refer explicitly to
community-level processes of the sort explicated here.
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Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
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Katz, J. 1988. Seductions of Crime: The Sensual and Moral Attractions of Doing Evil. New
York: Basic Books.
Kornhauser, R. 1978. Social Sources ofDelinquency. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
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Liebow, E. 1967. Tally's Corner. Boston: Little, Brown.
Logan, J. and H. Molotch. 1987. Urban Fortunes: The Political Economy ofPlace. Berkeley:
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Maccoby, E., J. Johnson, and R. Church. 1958. "Community Integration and the Social
Control of Juvenile Delinquency," Journal of Social Issues 14:38-51.
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McCord, M. and H. Freeman. 1990. "Excess Mortality in Harlem." New England Journal of
Medicine 322: 173-75.
Messner, S. and K. Tardiff. 1986. "Economic Inequality and Levels of Homicide: An
Analysis of Urban Neighborhoods," Criminology 24:297-318.
Messner, S. and R. J. Sampson. 1991. "The Sex Ratio, Family Disruption, and Rates of
Violent Crime: The Paradox of Demographic Structure," Social Forces 69:693-714.
Recktenwald, W. and B. Morrison. 1990. "Guns, Gangs, Drugs Make IIDeadly Combination,"
Chicago Tribune. July I, sec. 2, p. 1.
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Careers and Career Criminals, edited by A. Blumstein, J. Cohen, J. Roth, and C.
Visher. Washington, DC: National Academy Press.
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286 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
Peter H. Rossi
287
288 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
As used in vernacular and professional usage before the 1980s, the term
homelessness had connotations that included much of the richness of
meanings conveyed in the Oxford English Dictionary entries under "home."
The Skid Row dwellers studied by sociologists from the 1920s through the
1960s were considered homeless not because they were without any
shelter or without indoor places in which to sleep but because they were
not living in families, that is, with spouses, children, or other kin. Indeed,
almost all of the 1950s and 1960s Skid Row homeless were sheltered on
a fairly regular daily basis, mainly in cheap SRO (single-room occupancy)
hotels and flophouses. A minority slept in mission dormitories or slept out
"on the streets." In his 1958 survey, Bogue estimated that there were
12,000 homeless persons in Chicago, only about a hundred of whom slept
nightly "on the streets." Indeed, more of the homeless on a typical night
in the 1950s slept in the Chicago jails than in public places.
For the social scientists, public officials, and the general public in the
1950s and 1960s, the critical characteristics of the homeless were their
poverty and being family-less, living without the intimacy and warmth of
family life, and without spouses and/or children. Indeed, Bahr's edited
volume (1970) on homelessness was entitled The Disaffiliated. expressing
the view that the essential characteristic of the homeless was their lack of
intimate affiliation with others.
In contrast, current usage of the term homeless emphasizes being with-
out shelter, meaning lack of nightly, customary access to conventional
dwellings and resorting either to shelters or places in which to sleep that
were not intended for that purpose.
There are several reasons why the meaning of homelessness shifted in
meaning. To begin with, the objective character of homelessness changed
in the 1980s. Especially important was the fact that the "new homeless"
of the 1980s were characterized by more severe shelter deprivation. As
mentioned earlier, few of the 1950s Skid Row inhabitants slept in the
streets or in public places, such as bus or train stations or traveled all night
on buses or subways. In contrast, many of the 1980s homeless were
literally without nightly access to housing, except for the places provided
in the shelters for the homeless.
The contemporary meaning of homelessness covers primarily those who
sleep in emergency shelters or "out on the streets." Some include as well
all persons who are in some way inadequately housed, covering those who
are doubled up or living in dilapidated quarters. To be sure, most of the
new homeless were also family-less, but their salient characteristic in the
1980s became, at minimum, their lack of conventional shelter and, at
maximum, lack of adequate shelter. This shift in meaning recognizes the
more severe shelter-deprivation of the 1980s' homeless.
Peter H. Rossi 291
the poor both reduced the construction of family low-income housing and
raised housing prices. But even if the flophouse and SRO stock had
increased, there is no way that such housing could be available to today's
homeless. Because of their destitution, today's homeless can only afford
housing at virtually zero rent, that is, the rental "paid" in shelters.
The 1980s price levels for family housing are at least part of the cause
for the appearance of female-headed families among the homeless. Aid to
Families with Dependent Children (AFDC) stipend levels were allowed to
decline in constant dollar value to the point that in tight housing markets
(such as New York) female-headed families dependent on AFDC had only
precarious holds on housing, positions from which it was easy to fall.
The main source of shelter for today's homeless are the thousands of
shelters that came into being during the 1980s, offering accommodations
for more than a quarter million people. The shelters are generally basic
accommodations, providing protection from the elements, beds, bathing
and sanitary facilities, and little else. A comparable expansion in the
numbers and capacities of food kitchens also took place. The food served
in the shelters and food kitchens is typically adequate but far from standard
American fare. But for literally hundreds of thousands of Americans,
shelters and food kitchens daily furnish basic survival items. Indeed, it is
difficult to imagine what would be the toll of morbidity and mortality if
shelters and kitchens did not exist.
All that said, the shelters and the food kitchens constitute a "homeless
industry," forming the backbone of the homeless advocacy movement.
Like other industries, the shelter industry has developed a considerable
stake in enlarging the support coming from public sources.
rise in federal budget deficits also placed restrictions on what could fit
easily into current policy space.
The implicit definition of homelessness changed from an emphasis on
lack-of-family, as in the 1950s, to an emphasis on lack-of-shelter. Both
the greater shelter deprivation and the increased visibility of the unshel-
tered homeless helped the transformation of the homeless problem into a
housing supply problem. The seeming crisis resulting from the depletion
of the low end of the housing market was pointed to as the cause of the
increase in homelessness, at the same time suggesting a remedy. People
were living in the streets and in emergency shelters because there was little
or no housing they could afford, a consequence of the rising costs of
housing and the change in the composition of local housing supplies. The
remedy proposed was to build "affordable" housing. The public sector,
especially the federal government, should get back into subsidizing the
building of low-cost housing.
It should be recalled that an equally critical characteristic of the new
homeless was their long-term unemployment and consequent poverty.
However, an emphasis on poverty and unemployment suggests income
support and employment strategies, both likely to be unacceptable, given
the policy space constraints. Also missing in the 1980s and current discus-
sions of the homeless is any consideration of the typical social supports
that buffer the vast majority of destitute persons from becoming homeless.
My own calculations from the 1987 Current Population Survey (CPS)
(Rossi 1989) are that there are 3 million single destitute adults (22 or older)
living in conventional quarters who are mainly supported by families and
friends.
It was also necessary to present the homeless problem as a problem of
considerable magnitude. In this connection, the advocates for the homeless
were greatly aided by deficiencies in the conventional modes used for
developing social statistics. Neither the decennial Census nor the annual
CPS could generate credible estimates of the extent of homelessness or the
size of the population who were homeless (nor did they attempt to do so).
As a consequence, those seeking to raise the visibility of homelessness
were free to provide almost any estimates because there were little pros-
pects that any credible official estimates could be produced easily. In 1982
Congressional testimony, Mitch Snyder (Hombs and Snyder 1982) pro-
claimed that there were 2.5 million homeless in the United States and
predicted that there would be several millions more by the end of the
decade. The mass media, eager to provide "facts" that would astound and
amaze their readers and viewers, gave a big play to Snyder's guesstimates.
Local advocates followed Snyder's lead and produced local numbers based
on Snyder's nonexistent methods.
Peter H. Rossi 295
were presented as the pools from which the homeless are recruited.
Finally, the lines between related social problems began to be blurred.
Shelters established to provide interim housing for battered women were
incorporated into treatments for homelessness.
All of these themes are at least partially true. There are women among
the persons in emergency shelters and out on the streets. Unattached
women and their children do constitute families and are present in signif-
icant numbers in shelters or in "welfare hotels." The chronically mentally
ill, substance abusers, and convicted felons are all minorities among the
homeless. Some of the homeless are undoubtedly displaced automobile
assembly-line workers. The residents of shelters for battered women are
homeless. And so on. The issue is one of relative salience. Emphasizing
the characteristics of the homeless that provoke sympathy gets a better
hearing with a wider audience.
The end result was a widely disseminated image (Media Monitor 1989)
of the homeless as persons who were largely victims of inequities in
housing supply, especially of shortages in "affordable housing," and as
composed of displaced workers, down on their luck, and helpless women
and children. The "affordable housing" theme was one with a wide appeal,
especially to those who experienced high housing prices directly as would-
be purchasers or renters on the housing markets of the 1980s. Correspond-
ingly, certain other characteristics of the homeless were downplayed
including the high prevalence rates of mental illness, substance abuse, the
predominance of young single long-term unemployed males, and, most
importantly, destitution.
Act. Of the total federal expenditures spent that year, about $90 millions
(18%) were allocated to deal with physical health, mental health, and
substance abuse issues; 231 millions (46%) for the support of emergency
shelters and food kitchens; 125 millions (25%) went for housing assis-
tance; 21 millions (4%) for education and training; and about 27 millions
(5%) to support services for runaway youth.
In short, about half of the federal effort went to support the shelters and
food kitchens and one-fourth to housing. Of that latter portion, most of the
funds went to homeless families. For programs addressed to mental health
and substance abuse, only 13% (65 millions) were appropriated.
Even more dramatic is the fact that very little of the funds went for
income maintenance or for job-oriented programs. The massive income
deprivation of the homeless is clearly ignored in this federal response to
homelessness and only a minute fraction of the funds went for unemploy-
ment reducing measures, such as job training. To be fair, female-headed
homeless families are covered in the AFDC income transfer program.
However, there is nothing in the federal response that addresses the
income maintenance needs of the 75% to 80% of the homeless who are
young single males. Nor was there any effort to involve the Social Security
agency under the income maintenance programs for the disabled, mainly
SSI, enrollment in which might materially improve the destitution of the
more severely disabled among the homeless. The very small portion
concerned with connecting the homeless with the labor market-only $9
millions (or 2%)-is earmarked for job training, mostly in the form of
demonstration grants. Both the demographic composition of the homeless
and their severe income needs are glossed over in the emphasis given to
homeless families.
There were several defects both in the diagnosis of homelessness as a
housing supply problem and in the proposals that the affordable housing
component of the housing supply be built up. On the first count, given the
extreme destitution of the homeless of 1980s, the only relevant "afford-
able" housing would have to be made available at close to zero costs, the
median income of the homeless being around $100 per month, with
one-fifth to one-third with zero incomes. One might make the point that
the federal response is doing just that: The emergency shelter housing is
being provided at essentially zero rent and the largest amount of federal
dollars is going for emergency shelters and food kitchens.
Second, the emphasis on affordable housing is primarily concerned with
housing for families, an emphasis that misses the critical fact that three
fourths to four fifths of the homeless are single persons, for whom hotel
rooms and similar accommodations are more appropriate. Even then, there is
not much point in increasing the supply of single person accommodations
298 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
unless such could be offered at zero rent or, alternatively, the income
position of the homeless single persons could be drastically improved.
Third, the emphasis on affordable housing for homeless families is also
insufficiently specified. Given that virtually all homeless families are female-
headed households attempting to get by on AFDC benefits, the affordable
housing that homeless families could afford would have to be very inexpen-
sive indeed. The best housing program for AFDC supported families would
be to increase benefits to the point that realistically represents the housing
costs such families have to bear. Very relevant to this last point is a recent
paper by Jencks and Edin (1990) that indicates that Illinois AFDC recipients
frequently have to supplement their benefits with earnings from the informal
and illegal economies in order to get by. That there are homeless families, I
believe, is because AFDC has been funded so miserly during the 1980s. The
reasoning is simple: There is no way that a woman and her children can be
anything but precariously housed on AFDC payments that averaged $355 per
month in 1987 across the nation, and was $507 in the most generous and less
than $55 in the least generous state.
CONCLUSION
REFERENCES
Anderson, Nels. [1923]1961. The Hobo: The Sociology of the Homeless Man. Chicago. The
University of Chicago Press.
Bahr, Howard M., ed. 1970. Disaffiliated Man: Essays and Bibliography on Skid Row,
Vagrancy and Outsiders. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
Bahr, Howard M. and Theodore Caplow. 1974. Old Men: Drunk and Sober. New York. New
York University Press.
Blumberg, Leonard, Thomas E. Shipley, Jr., and Irving W. Shandler. 1973. Skid Rowand Its
Alternatives. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.
Bogue, Donald B. 1963. Skid Row in American Cities. Chicago: University of Chicago,
Community and Family Study Center.
Burt, Martha R. and Barbara E. Cohen. 1989. America's Homeless: Numbers, Characteristics
and Programs That Serve Them (Urban Institute Report 89-3). Washington, DC: Urban
Institute.
Department of Housing and Urban Development. 1989. A Report on the 1988 National Survey
of Shelters for the Homeless. Washington, DC: Department of Housing and Urban
Development, Office of Policy Development and Research.
Hombs, Mary Ellen and Mitch Snyder. 1982. Homelessness in America: A Forced March to
Nowhere. Washington, DC: Community for Creative Non-Violence.
Inter-Agency Council on the Homeless. 1989. The 1989 Annual Report of the Inter-Agency
Council on the Homeless. Washington, DC: Author.
Media Monitor. 1989. "The Visible Poor: Media Coverage of the Homeless 1986-1989."
Media Monitor 3(3).
Jencks, Christopher and Kathryn Edin. 1990. The Real Welfare Problem. Evanston, IL:
Center for Urban Affairs and Policy Research.
Rossi, Peter H. 1989. Down and Out in America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Sutherland, Edwin H. and Harvey J. Locke. 1936. Twenty Thousand Homeless Men: A Study
of Unemployed Men in Chicago Shelters. Chicago: J. B. Lippincott.
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15
Inner-City Education:
A Theoretical and Intervention Model
James P. Comer
Students in our nation's inner cities underachieve and drop out of school
at alarming rates. They are often more than two grade levels behind in
Language Arts and Mathematics by the fourth grade. The dropout rate is
more than 50% in some of the most difficult areas (Children's Defense
Fund 1990). At the same time, President Bush (1990) recently indicated
that we will need a 90% graduation rate by the year 2000 for successful
economic competition with other postindustrial nations of the world.
If we attempt to meet our work force needs through immigration policies,
we will create social problems of a magnitude that will put a drag on our
economy and lower our overall quality of life. Safety, race relations, civil
rights and civil liberties, and other conditions we value and take for granted
will be compromised unless we successfully educate most inner-city children.
Current school reform efforts address various components of the prob-
lem. Often these efforts are drawn from particular experiences without an
overarching theoretical framework. Where there is a theoretical frame-
work at all, the focus is usually on individuals or groups-students,
parents, teachers. At the other extreme, school organization and manage-
ment approaches are being developed that almost ignore individual devel-
opment. To understand current problems and opportunities in education
we need a theoretical framework that considers development and learning
of the child in his or her several social contexts. We must understand how
the child and the social contexts were and are influenced by critical
contemporary as well as past public policies and practices.
In this chapter, I will describe a theoretical framework for understand-
ing schooling-inner-city schooling as a variant-as the basis from which
300
James P. Comer 301
In 1968 the Yale Child Study Center, in collaboration with the New Haven
School System, established a school intervention project in New Haven (See
Comer 1980 for a detailed description of the project). I directed the project,
working with a social worker, a psychologist, and a special education teacher
from our Center. Two schools-Martin Luther King, Jr., kindergarten-fourth
grade, with approximately 300 students; and Simeon Baldwin School, kinder-
garten-sixth grade, with 450 students-served as a research and development
site. The project was eventually to be disseminated to all the schools in New
Haven. The project was discontinued at Simeon Baldwin because of disagree-
ments among participants and initiated at Katherine Brennan in 1977, a 350
student, kindergarten-fifth grade school.
The students in these schools were 99% black, almost all poor, and more
than 70% from families receiving Aid to Families with Dependent Chil-
dren (AFDC). They were among the lowest in achievement and attendance
among the 33 schools in the city. There were also serious behavior
problems among the students. The staffs had experienced and expected
low achievement, but with an infusion of resources they were hopeful that
the school could turn around. The parents were hopeful, but distrustful.
Our strategy was to immerse ourselves in schools to learn how they
function, and in collaboration with staff and parents, develop and imple-
ment a school improvement model based on our findings. We felt that
predetermined research-intervention designs imposed on schools might
well be missing the most important variables. But because school manage-
ment turned out to be one of the key variables, our strategy left the program
without leadership, and as a result, we had a very difficult first year. And
although it was not part of the plan, the quick deterioration of high hopes
among committed and reasonably competent staff and parents quickly
enabled us to identify the three major problems in inner-city schools, and
to appreciate the forces beyond the school that contribute to inner-city
education problems.
302 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
The first, and perhaps most complex and difficult problem, is that many
of the parents have had stressful, nonmainstream life experiences, and low
levels of education (Clark 1983). Although they want their children to
achieve in school, they often do not provide them with the preschool
experiences that enable them to develop adequately-particularly in the
social-interactive area needed to meet the expectations of the school.
Second, school staff are not trained to meet the developmental and rela-
tionship needs of students, regardless of background. The focus in their
training is on curriculum and teaching methods. The underlying assump-
tion among educators is that academic learning is based largely on intel-
lectual ability and will, and that relationship and affective factors have
little or no importance.
The third problem is that the organization and management of schools
is still largely hierarchical and authoritarian. This approach worked rea-
sonably well when people were more interactive locally because most
lived in small towns and rural areas, and when people were undereducated
and received little information from the mass media. Under these circum-
stances the authority of parents and teachers was less challenged. But by
1968 the power of authority figures was greatly weakened by fundamental
changes in the expectations of people from all groups. As a result, the
organization and management of the school was problematic.
These conditions previously contributed to school failure and dropping
out, but did not create a major national problem. As late as 1950 only 20%
of all people more than 25 years of age had a high school education, and
most were elementary school drop outs (Snyder 1987). Most were ab-
sorbed into a preindustrial, and then heavy industrial, economy that ex-
isted prior to World War II and into the 1950s and 1960s. But African
Americans, Hispanics, and Native Americans were closed out of the
political and economic mainstream, and as a result, disproportionately and
greatly undereducated (Ogbu 1986). Racist attitudes fully rationalized
these practices, adversely affecting the majority and minorities. Only
within the past decade have policy makers begun to understand the need to
educate minorities fully to maintain national economic and social vitality,
and the possibility of doing so. But when we began our work, the commit-
ment to and expectations of inner-city education were low. This affected
everything from the condition of the buildings to the morale of the staff
and the performance of parents and students.
To survive, we moved quickly to stabilize the two schools. Simulta-
neously we began to develop a theoretical framework for understanding
schooling. Due to my training in public health and child psychiatry, I was
inclined toward a broad and interactive perspective, combined with a focus
on individual development and behavior. Because we noted that the
James P. Comer 303
THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK
holidays in particular ways. They value or do not value the arts, schooling,
timeliness, disciplined behavior, and so on. Living with their parents,
children are acculturated to the attitudes, values, and ways of their social
network or subculture (Damon 1983).
Children from all social networks and/or subcultures then go off to
school. The school is an instrument of the mainstream culture. The tone
and expectations of the school are established by the most powerful people
in it-the teachers and administrators. Their preparation, practice, and
beliefs were shaped by their own social network experiences and by
institutions of the larger society: the tertiary social network of a child.
Children from social networks with similar attitudes, values, and ways to
those of the school and the most powerful school people have the best
opportunity of meeting the expectations of the school (Lightfoot 1978).
When children are disciplined and able to invest in a task when appro-
priate, are spontaneous and curious when appropriate, are able to interact
well with other children, and have had adequate cognitive development,
they are thought of as being nice and intelligent. In so being, they elicit a
positive response from the school staff. This permits an attachment and
bonding to the school similar to that that took place at home. Similarly,
imitation, identification, and internalization of the attitudes, values, and
ways of the school take place (Hawkins and Weis 1985). This permits
parents and school people to give meaning and purpose to the academic
program. Largely because of the relationships, even when the program is
not inherently interesting most children make an effort to achieve socially
and academically. Early school success at a reasonable level promotes the
competence, confidence, and self-esteem needed for continued overall
development and later school success (Cummins 1986).
Because children have internalized the values of parents and school people
who support learning, they accept them as their own. Emotional separation,
or a decrease in the dependency on adults through the negotiation of a new
relationship with them, does not include a rejection of academic learning
among young people who are developing adequately. As children develop the
cognitive capacity that permits adequate reality testing after 8 or 9 years of
age (Flavell 1985) they begin to place themselves and their families in the
social scheme of things. As they continue into middle adolescence, they begin
to see the direct connection between academic achievement and future oppor-
tunities. These capacities, observations, and opportunities all motivate social
and academic learning. For a child from a mainstream family the school--or
secondary social network-belongs to and is the instrument and gateway to
full participation in the larger society.
Adequately educated mainstream young people are pulled into opportu-
nities in the economy of the society-with ease or difficulty based on its
306 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
blacks could not gain an economic base and also had no ties to foreign
capital. Without political and economic power racism remained high, and
blacks were forced to the bottom of the economic ladder and remained
marginal to the social mainstream (Elkins 1963).
Despite these conditions, a well-functioning African-American commu-
nity with a church and rural culture-base began to emerge and undergo
change and development similar to that of other groups. But without
powerful political, economic, religious, and social networks, African
Americans could not impact the mainstream society as did immigrant
groups. As a result, high levels of racism and rigid segregation remained.
Blacks could not experience the same degree of belonging beyond their
race-based social networks as did immigrant groups. Also as a result
blacks were massively undereducated (Blose and Caliber 1936).
In the eight states where 80% of the black population lived, sometimes
25 times as much money was spent on the education of a white child as on
the education of a black child into the 1940s (Blose and Caliber 1936).
The same disparity existed in postsecondary education. There are still
major inequities in support for education. Because blacks were massively
undereducated during the period between 1900 and 1945, when all of
America was being prepared for the late industrial and postindustrial ages,
blacks were most seriously hurt by an economy that increasingly required
a higher level of social and educational development after the 1950s
(Jaynes and Williams 1989). Many black families that functioned reason-
ably well in an economy that did not require an education began to function
less well. Further, the migration from Southern rural to Northern urban
areas involved blacks disproportionately and also disrupted the impact of
the church and rural cultures (Jaynes and Williams 1989). There was an
even more subtle problem developing.
Urbanization after the 1940s led to reduced family size among well-
functioning families within all groups except where there were religious
reasons not to do so. The greatest growth of population in the society
among all groups in the past half century has been among the poor, and
disproportionately among poor families not functioning well (I am not
suggesting a lack of will or intelligence). In most of the industrialized
countries of the world, faced with the same situation, family policies were
developed that enabled such families to function reasonably well (Kamer-
man and Kahn 1981). There could have been specific adjustments in
school and other preparatory institutions. We did not develop such policies
or make the necessary institutional adjustments.
As a result, economic stress, family deterioration, marginalization, and
problem behaviors began to take place among vulnerable groups, social
networks, and families, a disproportionate number of them African American.
310 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
These families and social networks were vulnerable to the drug culture
and other problems. Families and their children growing up in these social
networks are in a worse position to prepare their children to meet the
expectations of the school, and to support their children in a way that will
enable them to succeed in school and in life (Wilson 1987).
INTERVENTION
Our two initial project schools were 32nd and 33rd out of 33 schools in
achievement in Language Arts and Mathematics by the fourth grade. We
James P. Comer 313
left one school because of a disagreement with the principal and began to
work in another school with a similar profile. In 1984, four years after the
program had been institutionalized, the two schools were tied for the third
and fourth highest levels of achievement in Language Arts and Mathematics
by the fourth grade (Comer 1988). We have expanded the program to 14
school districts in 12 different states and the District ofColumbia, and an even
larger expansion is being planned. Similar results were achieved in Benton
Harbor, MI, after 3 years but have leveled off. At one point in our work they
had had three superintendents in 4 years. The 10 schools we worked with in
Prince George's County, MD, doubled the achievement gains of the rest of
the system in 3 years and two of those schools have won national awards,
achieving in the 80th and 90th percentiles on standardized achievement tests
(Comer 1988). We see similar trends in other districts. The model is being
expanded to middle and high schools in New Haven and elsewhere.
We elected to demonstrate the ability to change schools based on our
theoretical model in areas outside of New Haven rather than do follow-
through studies because it was argued that the model required our presence
and thus was very expensive. A unique set of circumstances did allow us to
compare 24 students from one of our elementary schools in New Haven with
24 students from the same neighborhood who attended a school with a very
authoritarian leader and a highly structured, traditional program. Three years
later with both groups in the same middle school, our students were more than
a year ahead of the comparison group students in Language Arts and more
than 2 years ahead in Mathematics. But in general our work in New Haven
was structured as a dissemination effort and there are generally multiple and
massive sources of contamination in comparison studies.
Finally, our program is not a "magic bullet" that will work all the time
and under any circumstances. It is a process that must be carried out at the
site level, with the enthusiasm and support of the central office and the
key building-level leadership. It requires at least average management and
teaching competence. The power of the model stems from the fact that it
is a building-level intervention rather than one based on individuals and
that the problem solving, creativity, and skills come from the participants.
Their empowerment is key to program success.
The model only partially addresses curriculum and teaching changes
needed to make it possible for inner-city children to achieve at a higher
level. Thus the model needs to be combined with successful new curricula
and teaching methods now being developed by educators. Optimal effec-
tiveness will only come after the child development, relationship, and
systems management issues become a part of teacher and administrator
training so that educators are not asked to change their methods of working
long after they are established in preparatory programs and in practice.
314 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
REFERENCES
Berry. M. F. and J. Blassingame. 1982. Long Memory: The Black Experience in America.
New York: Oxford University Press.
Blose. D. and A. Caliber. 1936. Statistics of the Education of Negroes, 1929-30: 1931-32
(Bulletin 133). Washington. DC: U.S. Department of the Interior. Office of Education.
Bush. G. 1990. "Remarks to Members of National Governors' Association." Weekly Com-
pilation of Presidential Documents. February.
Children's Defense Fund. 1990. SOS America: A Children's Defense Budget. Washington.
DC: Author.
Clark. R. M. 1983. Family Life and School Achievement: Why Poor Black Children Succeed
or Fail. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Comer. J. P. 1980. School Power. New York: Free Press.
- - - . 1988. "Educating Poor Minority Children." Scientific American 259:5.
Cummins. J. 1986. "Empowering Minority Students: A Framework for Intervention." Har-
vard Educational Review 56: 1.
Damon. W.• ed. 1983. Social and Personality Development: From Infancy Through Adoles-
cence. New York: Norton.
Elkins. S. M. 1963. Slavery: A Problem in American Institutional and Intellectual Life. New
York: Grosset & Dunlap.
Fine. M. 1988. "De-Institutionalizing Educational Inequity." In Council of Chief State
School Officers. School Success for Students at Risk. Orlando. FL: Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich.
Flavell. J. H. 1985. Cognitive Development. Englewood Cliffs. NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Hawkins. J. D. and J. G. Weis. 1985. "The social development model: An integrated approach
to delinquency prevention." Journal of Primary Prevention 6:73-97.
Haynes. N. M.• J. P. Comer. and M. Hamilton-Lee. 1989. "School climate enhancement
through parental involvement." Journal of School Psychology 27:87-90.
Jaynes. G. D. and R. M. Williams. eds. 1989. A Common Destiny: Blacks and American
Society. Washington. DC: National Academy Press.
Larosa. L. and I. Siegel. 1982. Families as Learning Environments for Children. New York:
Plenum.
Kamerman, S. and A. J. Kahn. 1981. "Europe's Innovative Family Policies. Transatlantic
Perspectives 2:9.
Lieberson, S. 1980. A Piece of the Pie: Black and White 1mmigrants Since 1880. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
James P. Comer 315
Lightfoot, S. 1978. Worlds Apart: Relationships Between Families and Schools. New York:
Basic Books.
Oakes, J. 1985. Keeping Track. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Ogbu, J. U. 1986. "Class Stratification, Racial Stratification and Schooling." In Race, Class
and Schooling. Special Studies in Comparative Education (No. 17), edited by L. Weis.
Buffalo: SUNY, Comparative Education Center.
Rist, R. C. 1970. "Student Social Class and Teacher Expectations: The Self-fulfilling
Prophecy in Ghetto Education," Harvard Educational Review 40:411-51.
Snyder, T. D. 1987. Digest of Education Statistics 1987. Washington, DC: Government
Printing Office.
Stein, N. L., ed. 1986. Literacy in American Schools. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Stem, D. N. 1985. The Interpersonal World of the Infant: A View from Psychoanalysis and
Developmental Psychology. New York: Basic Books.
Wilson, W. J. 1987. The Truly Disadvantaged: The Inner City. the Underclass, and Public
Policy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Wilson, W. J. and K. M. Neckerman. 1988. "Schools and Poor Communities," In Council of
Chief State School Officers, School Success for Students at Risk. Orlando, FL: Harcourt
Brace Jovanovich.
---0-
16
Roberta M. Spalter-Roth
Heidi I. Hartmann
Linda M. Andrews
316
Spalter-Roth, Hartmann, and Andrews 317
The ideal of a wage that could adequately support an entire family appeared
in the United States as early as the 1820s and 1830s. It was most developed
during the late 19th and early 20th centuries in the rhetoric of trade unionists,
Progressive Era reformers, and some employers (such as Henry Ford) con-
cerned about the threat to family subsistence from cheap female labor, the
disintegration of the working-class family, and reduced worker productivity
(May 1987; Spatter-Roth 1984; Boris and Bardaglio 1983). The struggle for
a family wage was an effort to increase the standard of living of the majority
of workers who earned only enough to support one person (May 1987). The
struggle, however, was grounded in the belief that it was the male breadwinner
who should earn this wage and that paying adequate wages to the male
breadwinner would limit the participation of women and children in the work
force. From its inception, the ideal of the family wage was a gendered
one-that men should earn this wage and that all women should marry and
be supported by a male breadwinner (May 1987).
Women who did work for wages (mostly unmarried women) were not
thought to require a family wage because they did not need to support an entire
family. As Nearing and Watson wrote in their 1909 textbook Economics,
A man in industry requires a wage sufficient to maintain himself and his family,
whereas many women living at home, with little or nothing to do, are willing to
go into industry in order to secure spending money, or enough money to
guarantee the little necessities and luxuries of life that a young woman naturally
desires. (p. 148)
These authors did suggest, however, that one effect of women going into
industry was independence from compelled marriages.
The family wage remained only an ideal for the families of minority
men, who were by and large excluded from higher paid, union-protected
jobs (Foner and Lewis 1980), and for the families of many unskilled
workers. Implemented or not, it did not have the long-run effect of keeping
women out of the labor force.
Women's labor force participation increased from 20% in 1900 to 55%
in 1988, with much of the growth among mothers. In 1988, 67% of single
mothers, 65% of mothers in dual-parent families, and 53% of mothers with
children under 3 years of age were in the labor force (Bureau of Labor
Statistics 1988). As a result of their increased employment, women have
gained unprecedented economic independence. The increasing tendency
of women to maintain their own households, rather than live with husbands
318 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
federal level assume that paid employment, even at low wages, is a means of
avoiding dependency on government income-support programs. These policy
changes lead us to expect that poor working mothers will have difficulty in
using these benefits as a substitute for an additional breadwinner.
Clearly, neither marriage nor welfare is guaranteed to keep women and
children out of poverty. We argue here that single parents (who are
predominantly women) have a special need for jobs that enable them to
support their children above the poverty line (Bergmann [1986] also makes
this argument). Our definition of adequate wages assumes that all adult
workers, regardless of gender, should earn enough to support a family of
four above the poverty line. The average woman-maintained household
has three members (Lino 1989). A wage level for a family of four thus
provides support for a woman, two children, and for child care and
household services, which, because they are not provided by a stay-at-
home wife, must be obtained in the market. This assumption adds less than
$3,000 (in 1989 dollars) to this family's adjusted poverty threshold and
raises the required wage to $6.33 per hour. Though substantially above the
current minimum wage, $6.33 is still extremely low. Helburn and Morris
(1989) find that a minimally adequate budget for a working mother
needing full-time day care for one child and part-time day care for another
required full-time earnings of $9.00 per hour in 1988 dollars, earnings that
are well above the poverty threshold for a family of four. In the study
reported here, we define wages between $6.34 and $12.66 per hour as
"minimally adequate" for a family of three.
We first describe women's wage levels by race, ethnicity, and respon-
sibility for children; children's poverty by the number of earners in the
family; and the receipt of government income-support programs and
benefits by family type. We then analyze which factors increase or de-
crease the odds that women workers will earn a wage adequate to support
a family. The conclusion outlines policies to increase women's wages and
suggests future research.
Variables
Wage Levels. Our definitions of wage levels are all calculated as multi-
ples of the poverty line for a family of four, or $12,675 in 1989 dollars
(U.S. Bureau of the Census 1991). These definitions are: below adequate
Spalter-Roth, Hartmann, and Andrews 321
wages ($6.33 an hour or less, or 100% or less of the poverty line if earned
full time, full year); minimally adequate wages ($6.34 to 12.66 per hour,
or 100% to 200% of the poverty line if earned full time, full year); and
higher wages ($12.67 per hour and above, or more than 200% of the
poverty line, if earned full time, full year). This method of classifying
workers by the amount they would earn full time, full year at a given hourly
wage level underestimates the proportion of women workers who do not
have adequate annual earnings because many low-wage women workers
do not work full time, full year.
FINDINGS
Race White and African American only. The sample size was too small to
include other racial groups such as Asian Americans in the study.
Ethnicity The following groups are categorized by the Census Bureau as
Hispanic (both white and black races): Mexican American, Chicano,
Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Central or South American (Spanish
speaking), and other Spanish.
Marital Status Respondent's marital status as married (with spouse present) or single
(married with spouse absent, widowed, divorced, separated, or never
married) at the beginning of 1984.
Presence of Respondent's status as designated parent or guardian of children
Children under 18 who live in her household at the beginning of 1984.
Years of Highest grade or year of regular school completed by respondent at
Schooling the beginning of 1984.
Years of Work Number of years respondent has worked in current type of job or
Experience business at the beginning of 1984.
Job Training Whether respondent received formal training designed to help find a
job, improve skills, or learn a new job.
Industry Field of respondent's occupation at her primary job (manufacturing,
wholesale trade, retail trade, etc.).
Occupation Kind of main activities and duties of respondent's primary job at the
beginning of 1984.
Government Social Security, AFDC, WIC, General Assistance, Medicaid, Food
Income Support Stamps and other welfare. (All major means-tested programs plus
Programs Social Security.)
Large Firm Employed in an establishment with more than 500 workers at one
location.
Small Firm Employed in an establishment with less than 25 workers.
Annual Hours Annual hours worked is calculated using the sum of the weeks worked
per month times hours usually worked per week.
Union Member Respondent is a member of a labor union or covered by a union
contract on primary job.
Women earning less than adequate wages are somewhat more likely to
live in households with children and are more likely to be the family's sole
breadwinner than are women workers as a Whole. About 55% of women
earning below adequate wages have children to support, whereas about
half of all working women in this sample have children. Fewer than 40%
of higher wage women have children (not shown on the table). Generaliz-
ing from this sample, we find that approximately 10 million mothers with
Spalter-Roth, Hartmann, and Andrews 323
Table 16.1 Wage Level by Race and Ethnicity for Women Workers
NOTE: Hispanic women may be of any race and are not included in the totals for whites and African-Ameri-
cans. Asian and Native Americans are excluded from the analysis because of inadequate sample sizes.
more than a temporary attachment to the work force do not earn enough
to support themselves and their children at an adequate level, even if they
work full time, full year. Ofthese 10 million workers, somewhat more than
half live in dual-earner households, but almost half are the sole breadwin-
ners in their families.
Women Breadwinners
Women with Children with Children
Total As Percentage As Percentage
(thousands) (thousands) ofAll Women (thousands) ofAll Mothers
NOTE: Women breadwinnen are those women who are the sole wage earner either in households of single
women with children or in married-couple households with children in which the husband is not working.
324 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
Percentage Number
Table 16.3, which shows the percentage of working women in this sample
by marital status, presence of children, and single or dual-earner status.
White Women. About 43% of white women workers in this sample earn
less than an adequate family wage and only 11% earn a higher wage. White
women are the least likely to have children and the most likely to live in
dual-earner families. Generalizing from this sample, we find that about
4.7 million (more than 3 out of 10 of all committed white women workers
with children) are their family's sole breadwinner. More than half of these
women earn less than adequate wages to support a family. Of those white
mothers who earn low wages, more than one-third are their families' sole
breadwinner.
Spalter-Roth, Hartmann, and Andrews 325
Hispanic Women. More than half of Hispanic women in this sample earn
poverty-level wages or below, and only 6% earn higher wages. Hispanic
women in the paid work force are the most likely of all groups to have
children (70%) and the second most likely to live in dual-earner families.
Generalizing from the sample, more than 700,000 Hispanic women with
children are their family's sole breadwinner, or about 4 out of 10 Hispanic
women workers with children. Of these, more than 60% earn below
adequate wages. Of those Hispanic mothers who earn low wages, half are
their families' sole breadwinner.
These findings show that the majority of African-American and Hispa-
nic women workers (and close to a majority of white women workers) do
not earn wages that are high enough to support a family adequately.
African-American women, who are least likely to have a male breadwinner
in the family, are especially needy of jobs that make it possible to support
children-and are less likely to have these jobs. Elsewhere, we have shown
that, even after controlling for differences in education and labor force
experience, women of color are 4 times as likely as white men to be
low-wage workers (Institute for Women's Policy Research [IWPR] 1990).
NOTE: A low-wage parent earns "below-adequate" wages of $6.33 per hour or less in 1989 dollars.
Adequate-wages are between $6.34 and $12.66 per hour. Higher-wages are $12.67 and above. A child is
in poverty if the total family income is below the official poverty level for a family of that particular size
and composition.
The findings show that children living with only one employed parent
who earns below adequate wages (most often a female parent) are just as
likely to be poor as are children with no working parents. (About 41 % of
each of these groups of children are living in poverty.) These children are
more than twice as likely to be poor as are children in households with two
low-income earners. A very small proportion of poor children live in
households with at least one parent earning an adequate wage. These
findings suggest that adequate earnings for women workers are an impor-
tant poverty-prevention strategy for children. Although marriage, even to
another low-wage earner, substantially reduces the risk of poverty for the
children of women workers, these children are at risk of falling into
poverty if one parent loses a job or the marriage breaks up.
In our view, however, these figures underestimate the percentage of
children actually living in poverty, especially for the children of single
working parents. Official poverty thresholds are based on 3 times the cost
of the Department of Agriculture's economy food plan for families of
different sizes and composition, updated annually using the Consumer
Price Index. A poverty budget does not include costs for child care and
other substitutes for the household production of a stay-at-home wife;
hence, it underestimates the needs of families in which there is no such
person. It also underestimates the "time poverty" experienced by em-
ployed single mothers (Vickery, as cited in Burbridge 1990).
Table 16.4 shows that fewer than half of the children whose single
parent earns a "poverty" wage or below are "poor." Some of these children
avoid poverty simply because of the differences just noted between this
study's and the official definition of poverty, or because they live in very
small families (for whom the wage is minimally adequate under both
definitionsj.f Other of these children avoid poverty because there are other
Spalter-Roth, Hartmann, and Andrews 327
Percentage in Families
Family Type Receiving Benefits
sources of family income besides the custodial parent's wages. For exam-
ple, divorced and widowed women are more likely than never-married
women to obtain income from interfamily transfers such as child support
and from property-related sources (Gabe et al. 1987).
Intercept -6.118*
Age 37.22 0.158* 1.17
Age-squared 1,542.14 -0.002* 1.00
Education 13.05 0.179* 1.20
Experience 7.64 0.123* 1.13
Experience-squared 119.61 -0.002* 1.00
Hours worked (thousands) 1.74 0.966* 2.63
Job training 0.22 0.403* 1.50
Union status 0.14 0.787* 2.20
Large work site 0.39 0.721 2.06
Small firm size 0.22 -0.090* 0.91
Technical, sales, and administrative
support occupations 0.42 -0.671* 0.51
Service occupations 0.13 -1.773* 0.17
Blue-collar occupations 0.12 -1.313* 0.27
Agriculture and mining 0.09 -1.041 * 0.35
Construction 0.01 -0.210 0.81
Transportation, utilities, and communication 0.04 0.504** 0.60
Wholesale 0.03 -0.081 0.92
Retail 0.16 -1.244* 0.29
F.I.R.E. 0.09 -0.094 0.91
Services 0.36 -0.402* 0.67
Personal services 0.03 -1.251* 0.29
Public administration 0.03 0.540** 1.72
Married 0.03 0.217* 1.24
Children 0.62 -0.306* 0.74
Inner city 0.47 -0.028 0.97
Outside MSA 0.27 -0.788* 0.45
continued
NOTES: Number of observations: 5,550
Percentage earningbelow adequate wages: 42.3
Percentage estimated comedy of the below adequate wageearners: 82.8
Percentage estimated correctly: 77.2
• p < 0.01; •• P > 0.01 and < 0.05.
do not (but firm size is not significant). Hours worked also increases the
probability of earning adequate wages.
Intercept -4.975·
Age 36.64 0.114 1.12
Age-squared 1,481.24 -{).002** 1.00
Education 12.30 0.159· 1.17
Experience 7.40 0.109· 1.12
Experience-squared 109.04 -0.002 1.00
Hours worked (thousands) 1.74 1.037· 2.82
Job training 0.24 0.292 1.34
Union status 0.22 1.027* 2.79
Large work site 0.44 0.020 1.02
Small firm size 0.16 -1.467* 0.23
Technical, sales, administrative support
occupations 0.32 -0.504 0.60
Service occupations 0.25 -2.018· 0.13
Blue-collar occupations 0.19 -1.026** 0.36
Agriculture and mining 0.09 -0.937 0.39
Construction 0.00 0.892 2.44
Transportation, utilities, and communication 0.04 -0.191 0.83
Wholesale 0.01 -0.160 0.85
Retail O.ll -1.114* 0.33
F.I.R.E. 0.05 0.222 1.25
Services 0.33 0.171 1.19
Personal services 0.08 -0.691 0.50
Public administration 0.08 1.273· 3.57
Married 0.41 0.182 1.20
Children 0.66 -0.655* 0.52
Inner city 0.58 -0.208 1.23
Outside MSA 0.19 -1.279* 0.28
odds of earning below adequate wages than do those without children. Although
African-American women, like white women, are more likely to earn adequate
wages with increased work experience and education, some structural and
demographic factors have a greater impact on African-American women's
wages than on white women's wages. African-American women are one-eighth
as likely to earn adequate wages when working in a service occupation; they
Spalter-Roth, Hartmann, and Andrews 331
Intercept -4.575*
Age 35.01 0.188** 1.21
Age-squared 1,362.37 -0.003** 1.00
Education 11.32 0.169* 1.18
Experience 6.44 0.061 1.06
Experience-squared 95.72 0.001 1.00
Hours worked (thousands) 1.68 0.498 1.65
Job training 0.16 0.295 1.34
Union status 0.19 0.854** 2.35
Large work site 0040 0.939* 2.56
Small firm size 0.24 -0.946** 0.39
Technical. sales, and administrative
support occupations 0.40 -1.599* 0.20
Service occupations 0.17 -2.668* 0.07
Blue-collar occupations 0.20 ':'1.971* 0.14
Agriculture and mining 0.12 -1.921 .... 0.15
Construction 0.00 na na
Transportation, utilities, and communication 0.03 0.644 1.90
Wholesale 0.02 -1.257 0.28
Retail 0.14 -1.344*" 0.26
F.I.R.E. 0.07 -0.176 0.84
Services 0.30 -0.524 0.59
Personal services 0.06 -1.071 0.34
Public administration 0.05 0.156 1.17
Married 0.60 0.717*" 2.05
Children 0.69 -0.422 0.66
Inner city 0.59 -0.250 0.78
Outside MSA 0.05 -0.638 0.53
are one-fifth as likely when employed in small firms. They have about 3 times
the odds of earning adequate wages when working longer hours or in public
administration than do African-American women who do not. As with other
workers, African-American women employed in retail have one-third the odds
of earning adequate wages. African-American women who are covered by a
union contract have almost 3 times the odds of earning adequate wages.
332 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
Policy Recommendations
Strategies that can increase the likelihood that working mothers will
earn an adequate family wage can be categorized as marriage policies,
income-support policies, and earnings policies.
Future Research
Although we have examined marriage, government income-support,
and earnings policies as strategies for women workers to increase their
ability to support themselves and their children at an adequate standard of
living, more refined multivariate research is needed. Such research should
further explore how, and at what level of adequacy, different groups of
women support their families over time, in and out of marriage, and with
which income sources and benefits. The SIPP is a valuable data set for this
additional research. This proposed research should analyze how different
groups of women attempt to earn a family wage within the context of
changing government regulations concerning income-support programs,
child-support enforcement, affirmative action and pay equity, and within
the context of a changing economic structure and changing social institu-
tions. Additional research is also needed to further investigate whether the
policies we suggest will in fact increase women's earnings.
NOTES
1. For a more detailed discussion of how the SIPP survey design works see Nelson et aI.
(1985).
2. For example. a child in a single parent family of three. whose mother earns $6.20 per
hour (a poverty wage by our definition) actually earns enough ($12,400) to surpass the Census
Bureau's poverty threshold for that family composition ($9.995) but not enough to also allow
for the market-substitute for a wife required in our definition ($12.675). If the child is the
only child of a single parent. earning $6.20, the child is not poor either by the Census Bureau
standard for a family of two ($8.549) or by our standard (for a family of three with two parents
and one child-$9.965). It should be noted that all the Census Bureau figures here are
provisional for 1989.
3. The multiplicative effect on the probability of an independent factor is the exponential
value of the coefficient and is interpretable as the effect on the odds attributable only to that
factor. holding all other characteristics constant. We would like to thank Professor Stephen
Tuck of the Department of Sociology at George Washington University for his valuable
assistance in helping us interpret the results of the logistic regressions. The responsibility for
any errors is. of course, ours.
4. The new Family Support Act Guidelines. issued in April 1989. allow states to make
naming fathers of children a condition of receiving AFDC and mandate states to track down
fathers. using genetic testing if necessary, and garnishing wages. regardless of whether
fathers are voluntarily paying or not.
5. We are especially indebted to Diana Pearce. Director of the Women and Poverty
Project. previously of IWPR and now affiliated with Wider Opportunities for Women. for
this finding based on data from the Panel Study of Income Dynamics.
Spatter-Roth, Hartmann, and Andrews 337
REFERENCES
Abramovitz, Mimi. 1988. Regulating the Lives of Women: Social Welfare Policy from
Colonial Times to the Present. Boston: South End Press.
Albelda, Randy and Chris Tilly. 1990. "All in the Family: Family Types, Access to Income,
and Implications for Family Income Policies." Unpublished paper, University of
Massachusetts-Boston, Economics Department.
Beller, Andrea and John Graham. 1989. "Trends in Annual Support Payments." pp. 52-57 in
Proceedings: First Annual Women's Policy Conference. Washington, DC: Institute for
Women's Policy Research.
Bennett, Neil G., David E. Bloom, and Patricia H. Craig. 1989. "The Divergence of Black
and White Marriage Patterns." American Journal of Sociology 95(3): 692-722.
Bergmann, Barbara R. 1986. The Economic Emergence of Women. New York: Basic Books.
Boris, Eileen and Peter Bardaglio. 1983. "The Transformation of Patriarchy: The Historic
Role of the State." Pp. 70-93 in Families, Politics, and Public Policy: A Feminist
Dialogue on Women and the State, edited by Irene Diamond. New York: Longman.
Burbridge, Lynn C. 1990. "Policy Implications of a Decline in Marriage Among African
Americans." Paper presented at a conference sponsored by the Center for Afro-Amer-
ican Studies, University of California, Los Angeles, June/July.
Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS). 1988. [Marital and Family Characteristics of Workers.)
Unpublished BLS data. March.
Burkhauser, Richard V. and Greg J. Duncan. 1989. "Economic Risks of Gender Roles: Income
Loss and Life Events Over the Life Course." Social Science Quarterly 70(1):3-23.
Burkhauser, Richard V. and T. Aldrich Finegan. 1989. "The Minimum Wage and the Poor:
The End of a Relationship." Journal of Policy Analysis and Management 8(1):53-71.
Ellwood, David T. 1987. Divide and Conquer: Responsible Security for America's Poor. New
York: Ford Foundation.
- - - . 1989. "Conclusions." Pp. 269-89 in Welfare Policy for the /990s, edited by Pheobe
H. Cottingham and David T. Ellwood. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Foner, Philip S. and Ronald L. Lewis, eds. 1980. The Black Worker From /900-/9/9.
Philadelphia: Temple University Press.
Gabe, Thomas P., Jeanne E. Griffith, and Richard V. Rimkunas. 1987. "Factors Affecting the
Earnings and Welfare Income of Unmarried Mothers. Survey of Income and Program
Participation: 1986." Selected Papers given at the Annual Meetings of the American
Statistical Association in Chicago, Illinois, August 18-21, 1986. Washington, DC: U.S.
Bureau of the Census.
Hartmann, Heidi I. 1987. "Changes in Women's Economic and Family Roles in Post-World
War II United States." Pp. 33-64 in Women, Households, and the Economy, edited by
Lourdes Beneria and Catharine R. Stimpson. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University
Press.
Heclo, Hugh. 1986. "The Political Foundations of Antipoverty Policy." Pp. 312-46 in
Fighting Poverty: What Works and What Doesn't, edited by Sheldon Danziger and
Daniel Weinberg. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Helburn, Suzanne and John Morris. 1989. "Welfare Reform and the Adequacy of the Poverty
Budget." Pp. 44-51 in Proceedings: First Annual Women's Policy Research Confer-
ence. Washington, DC: Institute for Women's Policy Research, May 19.
Institute for Women's Policy Research. 1990. Low-Wage Jobs and Workers: Trends and
Options for Change. A Summary Report. Issued with the National Displaced Home-
makers Network. Washington, DC: Institute for Women's Policy Research.
338 ADDRESSING HIGH PRIORITY SOCIAL PROBLEMS
Barbara R. Bergmann
In the United States today, a country with one of the highest per capita
incomes in the world, it is common knowledge that many of our preschool
children are deprived of things they need to grow up to be well and
productive-health care, protection against abuse, nurturant care during
the day in safe surroundings, and help in learning the skills they will need
if they are to do well in school. Our system of protecting children from
abuse is in shambles, and "each year, hundreds of thousands of children
are being starved and abandoned, burned and severely beaten, raped and
sodomized, berated and belittled" (U .S. Advisory Board on Child Abuse
and Neglect 1990). By contrast, France, a country with per capita income
about 70% of ours (DECO 1990b, pp. 26-27), has been able to mobilize
both public money and public administrative competence to provide nur-
turing, health care, and protection from abuse in good measure to its
children.
Like the United States, France has sizeable minorities (DECO 1990b,
p. 8), many of whose members are presently not well integrated into the
mainstream culture and the economy. Although the French programs are
open to children from all social and economic classes, are used by almost
all children, and are widely popular, these programs are particularly
helpful to children from minority and deprived backgrounds. For those
children suffering because of the poverty, ignorance, cruelty, neglect, or
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter was delivered as a paper at the 85th Annual Meeting of the
American Sociological Association. Washington, DC, August 14. 1990. 1 would like to
acknowledge the help ofthe French American Foundation and ofElisabeth Marx and Harriet
Presser.
341
342 ISSUES FOR THE PUBLIC AGENDA
cuts their first grade failure rate in half. Children from more affluent
backgrounds are also materially helped to pass.
Another important item on the ecole maternelle's agenda is teaching the
children how they are expected to behave, and exposing them to the
traditional French culture. The walls of the rooms and corridors are full of
art posters. Each ecole maternelle has a professional cook, who makes
elaborate hot lunches from scratch. The children are served on china
dishes, with the food elegantly arranged on the plate. One of the cooks
remarked that the kids were served the cheese course at the beginning of
the lunch rather than, as traditional, at the end. "They tolerate it better that
way," she said. Obviously, the kids hate the cheese. But French cheese is an
acquired taste, and the ecole maternelle is seeing to it that they acquire it.
Still another goal of the ecole maternelle is the diagnosing of any
physical, mental, emotional, or cultural problems a child may have, and
the detection of abuse. Children who appear to have problems are directed
to appropriate treatment, and followed carefully. The purpose is to reduce
the incidence of problems later in life.
France has been receiving considerable numbers of people from Algeria
and sub-Saharan Africa. While politicians on the right are mobilizing
sentiment against the presence of these people in France, the ecoles
maternelles are receiving their children, and working to make them into
French people (Greenhouse 1990).
The government provides a wide range of other child-care services in
addition to the ecoles maternelles (Caisse d' Allocations Familiales, n.d.).
For a modest fee, parents can use auxiliary child-care services for the hours
before and after the official school day. These services deliver children to
the ecole maternelle in the morning when it opens and pick them up when
it closes. Auxiliary day-care services are also provided for school holidays
and summer vacations. There is also a species of governmental child-care
center (haltes-garderies) that take charge of children on little notice for a
few hours. These centers help parents who need to run an errand, go to the
doctor, or just have some relief from a cranky child. Such relief may, on
occasion, help some exasperated parents to refrain from physical abuse.
For the care of infants and toddlers, the French government has estab-
lished creches. These are also high quality, and have high staff-to-child
ratios, so the annual cost of accommodating a child is on the order of
$10,000. The fees to parents range from $200 to $5,000 per year, depend-
ing on income. These centers have long waiting lists, and their high cost
to the government has slowed the expansion of supply to meet demand.
As a lower cost alternative, the government is pressing the expansion of
networks of family day-care providers, who take the children into their
homes, and who are given some training, help, and oversight by govern-
Barbara R. Bergmann 345
For the United States to mount child welfare programs similar in nature and
magnitude to those of France and other Western European countries (Kamer-
man and Kahn 1978) would require a change of ideas about what we can
"afford." We would have to improve the ability of government to deliver
high-quality services itself or to regulate private agencies supported by a
voucher system. Perhaps most important of all, we would have to worry less
than we now do about subsidizing what are seen as delinquent parents and
worry more about insuring that children are well cared for. We have to shift
the focus from parents' perceived delinquencies to saving children from the
consequences of those delinquencies, and to the importance of reducing the
likelihood that the children will grow up to commit delinquencies of their own.
Barbara R. Bergmann 347
The public money to make the S & L depositors whole will be forthcoming
with no debate at all, because it is feasible and felt to be desirable. Farm
subsidies and high defense expenditures will continue to be considered
affordable. But until we change our notions of how desirable adequate
child welfare programs are, the public purse, which opens so easily and
lavishly for other purposes, will not be available for them.
Along similar lines, government help with day care is seen as benefiting
wives who selfishly pursue a second income or self-expression, and who
want the taxpayers to finance the nurturing that they themselves ought to
be providing. Thus the antifeminist backlash plays its part. Again, the
benefit to the children of being well cared for in a learning environment
slips from sight.
Racist ideas also playa part. Black adults' inability to succeed in the
free competitive economy to the extent that whites do is attributed by
many, not to discrimination, but to an inherent or culturally induced
inability or unwillingness to be as productive as whites. Sympathy for
black children is limited by the fact that under current conditions a
considerable minority of black kids are liable to become troublesome
threats at a relatively young age. What they might become were we willing
to build and staff day-care centers and clinics and to improve schools so
as to help them overcome their environment is not much discussed;
perhaps many people consider them incorrigible. But these children won't
disappear if we ignore them; they are inescapably part of the country of
the future, and we will have to live with the adults they will become.
There has been very little effort in the United States to sell the idea that
no matter how delinquent or lazy or nonfunctional their parents, the
children are innocent and malleable, and that it is moral and also prudent
for a nation to insure that children have a good environment for growing
up. The children of the most inadequate and blameworthy parents are the
ones who need the most help. Nor has there been recognition of the fact
that black parents' kids are going to be a part of our population, no matter
how much some resent the fact that their parents live and procreate on our
soil. We are so fixated on the alleged sins of the parents, that we have been
unable to look beyond them to the fate of the children.
We have lacked leadership to preach the morality of caring decently for
all our children for the children's own sake. Perhaps child welfare can be
successfully portrayed as a prudent national investment, for the economic
and "security" benefits the nation would get out of it. If both of these
justifications fail to move the public to increased public welfare programs
for children, then we face a dubious future when today's ill-served chil-
dren become part of the adult American nation.
REFERENCES
Bergmann, Barbara R. and Mark Roberts, 1987. "Income for the Single Parent: Work, Child
Support and Welfare." In Gender in the Workplace, edited by Clair Brown and Joseph
Peckman. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution.
Caisse d' Allocations Familia1es de Saone-et-Loire. n.d. "Les Modes de Garde des Jeunes
Enfants.' Mllcon, France: Author.
Greenhouse, Steven. 1990. "For Emigres, a Lesson that Begins in the Nursery." The New
York Times. March 3, p. 10.
Kamerman, Sheila B. and Alfred J. Kahn, eds. 1978. Family Policy: Government and
Families in Fourteen Countries. New York: Columbia University Press.
Ministere de l'Education Nationa1e. 1983. Unpublished tabulation of panel survey results.
Paris: Centre National de Documentation Pedagagique.
- - - . 1986. L'Ecole maternelle: Son Role/Ses Missions. Paris: Centre National de Docu-
mentation Pedagagique.
Murray, Charles. 1984. Losing Ground: American Social Policy. 1950-1980. New York:
Basic Books.
Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). 1987. Financing and
Delivering Health Care: A Comparative Analysis of OECD Countries. OECD Policy
Studies No.4. Paris: OECD.
---.1988. The Future of Social Protection, OECD Policy Studies No.6. Paris: OECD.
- - - . 199Oa."Child Care in OECD Countries." Pp. 123-46 in OECD Employment Outlook.
July 1990. Paris: OECD.
- - - . 1990b. OECD in Figures. 1990 Edition. Paris: OECD.
Rallu, J. S. 1985. "Du divorce et des enfants." Travaux et Documents No.3. Paris: Institut
National d'Etudes Demographiques.
Ray, Jean-Claude. 1990. "Lone Mothers, Social Assistance and Work Incentives: The
Evidence in France." Pp. 223-40 in Lone Parent Families. OECD Policy Studies No.
8. Paris: OECD.
Richardson, Gail and Elisabeth Marx. 1989. A Welcome for Every Child: How France
Achieves Quality in Child Care. New York: French American Foundation.
Strober, Myra H., Suzanne Gerlach-Downie, and Kenneth E. Yeager. 1990. "Child Care Centers
as Workplaces." Stanford, CA: Stanford University, Graduate School of Education.
U.S. Advisory Board on Child Abuse and Neglect. 1990. "Child Abuse and Neglect: Critical
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of Health and Human Services.
---0-
18
Philip Harvey
There are few economic problems that cause as much suffering as unemploy-
ment. It has been linked to increased suicide rates, criminal activity, morbid-
ity, mortality, mental illness, and to a variety of negative social psychological
effects (Platt 1984; Taggart 1981; Stern 1983; Brenner 1973, 1977; Kelvin
and Jarrett 1985). More generally, because it is a primary cause of poverty
(Sawhill 1988), it is implicated in the full range of social problems that flow
from material want and economic marginalization.
Given the seminal role of unemployment in the etiology of so many of
the social ills that beset modern society, social welfare policy researchers
have good reason to interest themselves in strategies to combat it. And so
they have. Labor market issues have occupied a prominent place in social
welfare policy debates in recent years. A distinctive feature of these
debates, however, has been their almost exclusive focus on the supply side
of the labor market. The effects of transfer programs on labor market
participation have been studied in depth; and programmatic proposals
designed to enhance the employability and/or encourage the job-seeking
efforts of needy persons have received considerable attention. In contrast,
possibilities for social welfare intervention on the demand side of the labor
market have received scant attention.
This slighting of the demand side does not reflect a lack of awareness
of its importance. References to the potential contribution that improved
macroeconomic performance would make to poverty reduction is ubiqui-
tous in the antipoverty literature, and recent research has confirmed that
declining unemployment rates do benefit the poor (Freeman 1989; Oster-
man 1989). This awareness sometimes leads to wistful comments such as
David Ellwood's observation that he would "trade away many of [his]
351
352 ISSUES FOR THE PUBLIC AGENDA
favorite ideas for welfare reform for a guarantee of the 2-3 percent unemploy-
ment and high growth" that Massachusetts experienced in the mid-1980s
(Cottingham and Ellwood 1989, p. 288). Still, the design of government
initiatives to achieve lower overall rates of unemployment is generally as-
sumed to be outside the province of social welfare policy experts. Indeed, the
possibility of using demand-side interventions to achieve social welfare goals
has attracted so little attention in the United States that no discussion of the
topic was deemed necessary in Elizabeth Sawhill's widely cited 1988 survey
of poverty research and antipoverty policy (Sawhill 1988, p. 1097).
The neglect of demand side initiatives in American social welfare policy
has not escaped criticism. Noting the links between concentrated inner-
city poverty and systemic changes in the nation's economy, William
Wilson and Loic Wacquant have argued that a successful antipoverty
policy must include "economic measures designed to attack the structural
roots of the problem," not just programs that "treat its more apparent
symptoms at the level of individuals" (Wacquant and Wilson 1989, p.
100). More specifically, they advocate the adoption of a "comprehensive,
social-democratic agenda of reform" with the achievement of full employ-
ment occupying first place on the reform agenda (Wacquant and Wilson
1989; see also, Wilson 1987, pp. 150-55).
In a recent book, I explored one strategy for achieving this goal-the use
of public employment programs to provide jobs for all persons unable to find
work in the nation's regular labor market (Harvey 1989). First advocated by
New Deal social welfare planners (Committee on Economic Security [1935]
1985, pp. 3-4,7-10), this was the strategy proposed in the original Humphrey-
Hawkins full employment bill (Ginsburg 1983, pp. 64-65), and it continues
to attract some support (Nickel 1978-1979; Townsend 1979; Thurow 1980,
pp. 200-206; Gordon 1980, pp. 320-39; Rustin 1983; Simon 1987; Riemer
1988; Wacquant and Wilson 1989, pp. 100-101).1
To assess the pros and cons of such a policy I relied, for the most part,
on conventional considerations of economic and social utility. Given the
benefits likely to flow from a guaranteed employment program, I argued
that it was desirable on utility maximization grounds alone. However, I
also briefly explored a second line of inquiry concerning the desirability
of job guarantee proposals. This inquiry concerns the claim that access to
remunerative employment is not just socially desirable. It is a human right
that governments have a duty to protect. The question posed in this inquiry
is not whether the economic and social benefits of a guaranteed employ-
ment program would outweigh its economic and social costs, but whether
such a program is needed to secure a fundamental right.
It is the purpose of this chapter to pursue this inquiry a few steps farther.
I begin by describing the recognition accorded the right to employment in
Philip Harvey 353
A legal basis for the claim that employment is a human right can be
found in international human rights agreements.f The United Nations
Charter binds member states to promote "full employment" and "universal
respect for, and observance of, human rights" (United Nations Charter, art.
55). When the Charter was drafted in 1945 the "full employment" goal
was clearly understood as a mandate to ensure the availability of remuner-
ative employment for all job-seekers (see Harvey 1989, pp. 11-14). This
point needs to be emphasized because the term full employment is now
commonly used in a more restricted sense.
The substantive content of the human rights pledge contained in the
United Nations Charter was not clearly settled in 1945. This definitional
gap was largely filled, however, by the promulgation of the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights in 1948. The right to employment is ex-
pressly recognized in Article 23 of the Universal Declaration.
Unlike the United Nations Charter, the Universal Declaration is not a
treaty, and it was not generally viewed as imposing legally enforceable
obligations on individual governments at the time of its promulgation.'
This is one reason it was so readily embraced by the member states of the
United Nations. Nevertheless, it has gradually assumed legal weight over
the years. First, it helped to clarify the nature of the human rights goals
that members of the United Nations are obligated to promote under the
terms of the Charter (Szabo 1982, pp. 23-24; Sieghart 1985, p. 65).
Second, by virtue of its widespread acceptance it has gradually assumed
an independent status as a statement of customary international law (Hum-
phrey 1984, pp. 64-65,73-76; Pechota 1981, pp. 34-38; Sieghart 1985, pp.
64-64; Robertson 1972, pp. 26-28). Finally, to the extent that it does
enumerate genuine human rights, it can be viewed as a statement of the
obligations that governments bear irrespective of customary practice and
354 ISSUES FOR THE PUBLIC AGENDA
In the opinion of the United States delegation, the right to work, in this Declaration,
meant the right of the individual to benefit from conditions under which those who
were able and willing to work would have the possibility of doini useful work,
including independent work, as well as the right to full employment.
Right to work claims, per se, have not attracted much commentary in
contemporary discussions of human rights. There are, however, two issues
that have been addressed at length that bear directly on the legitimacy of
such claims. The first concerns the question of whether economic and
social entitlements can be properly viewed as human rights (compare
Cranston 1973, p. 66ff.; Feinberg 1973, pp. 83-88,95-97; Nozick 1974,
356 ISSUES FOR THE PUBLIC AGENDA
pp. 235-38; and Flew 1979; with Watson 1977; Langan 1982; Gewirth
1982, pp. 64-65, 211-14; Dworkin 1985, pp. 181-213; Donnelly 1989; and
Henkin 1990, pp. 46-48). The second concerns the closely related question of
how to balance properly the utilitarian norms of ordinary public policy
assessment and the preemptive claims of human rights standards.9 I shall not
attempt to reproduce the debates that have occurred with respect to these
issues, but I do want to note their particular salience in the United States.
Rights do not fall from heaven. Nor can they be drawn from the consensus of
philosophers, since there are no signs of agreement among them. For practical
purposes, rights are what people, by democratic procedures, properly protected
from bias and distortion, decide to be rights. (Elster 1988, p. 55)
the same result: the state will be the sole employer, and all labor will be
underemployed. (Elster 1988, p. 74)
to note, however, that leisure also has value, and the same would appear
to be true of a more relaxed pace of work. Moreover, if increased produc-
tion is our goal, it is worker productivity that we should be seeking to
maximize, not work effort. Working harder will increase productivity, of
course, but so will working smarter, or with more capital stock, or with better
quality capital goods. Thus, even if Elster's analysis of the effect of full
employment on work effort is correct, it does not follow that worker produc-
tivity would be similarly affected. We must also consider the effect of such a
policy on the organization of production and on the accumulation of both
physical and human capital. There is good reason to believe that these effects
would be positive (Harvey 1989, pp. 66-74), and if they were, they could
easily compensate for a decline in the intensity of average work effort.
Finally, even if Elster is right in his assessment of the likely effects of
a commitment to secure the right to employment, these effects must be
weighed against the negative economic effects of unemployment. The
issue in a utilitarian analysis is not whether a government commitment to
secure the right to employment would be free of negative economic
effects, but whether those effects outbalance the economic benefits of such
a policy. If we considered only the medical side effects of a prescribed
course of medication, we would be unlikely to submit to it. Instead, we
weigh side effects against the problem the medication will treat. Elster
claims that recognition of the right to employment would force us to
choose between increased "shirking" by all workers and the creation of a
"second-rate work force that is paid lower wages than private-sector
workers performing the same tasks" (Elster 1988, p. 74). Admittedly,
neither prospect is desirable, but that doesn't mean it would be irrational
to choose either fate. Would more production be lost as a result of
"shirking" than is lost through forced idleness and the other economic and
social problems associated with unemployment? Would the creation of a
"second-rate work force" entail more economic sacrifice than our suffer-
ance of an unemployed work force? Elster's analysis offers us no help in
answering these questions.
Negative economic effects are not the only problem that Elster foresees
with a commitment to secure the right to employment. He also argues that
the public sector jobs created under such a proposal would not be worth
having due to their failure to provide certain psychological and social
benefits associated with regular employment. Three such benefits are
identified-self-esteem, positive social relations, and self-realization.
Elster argues that employment in heavily subsidized jobs does not
provide workers with self-esteem unless the subsidies are temporary, well
disguised, or justified on other grounds. This is said to be so because
self-esteem is a by-product of the esteem of others. "To engender self-
Philip Harvey 363
esteem, work must first of all result in production of a good or service that
is valued by consumers or taxpayers" (Elster 1988, p. 74). Jobs created
specifically to provide employment lack this crucial quality.
If the work one does is esteemed enough by others to provide one with self-es-
teem, there will be a demand for it and no need to provide it as of right. If there
is no demand for it, so that it has to be provided by a separate right, it cannot
promote self-esteem. (Elster 1988, p. 76)
score, but there is much that can be done to counteract the problem, given
the many sources of self-esteem that employment in a government jobs
program could provide. As Elster notes, subsidized employment need not
undermine worker self-esteem if the subsidies are disguised, temporary,
or independently justified. All three characteristics could be built into a
jobs program, if necessary, along with other features that would enhance
the self-esteem of participating workers.
There is, however, an even more telling weakness in Elster's analysis of
this issue. As with his economic analysis, he fails to make the relevant
comparative assessment. Public employment programs are criticized for their
alleged inability to engender self-esteem; but is the alternative policy of
leaving workers unemployed any more conducive to the achievement of this
goal? That is the relevant utilitarian question, and the correct answer is almost
surely "No." Working in a public employment program may not foster the
same self-esteem as working in a normal job, but unemployment would
appear to be even more corrosive of self-respect, especially when it leads to
reliance on public assistance. As Harry Hopkins, the New Deal's chief public
welfare administrator commented, "The family of a man working on a Works
Progress Administration project looks down its nose at neighbors who take
their relief straight" (Hopkins 1936, p. 109).
The same weakness is apparent in Elster's discussion of public employ-
ment programs as sources of positive social relations and self-realization
for workers. He again identifies alleged weaknesses in such programs
without comparing them to unemployment as a source of the benefits he
identifies. Is an unemployed worker more likely than a worker in a
government employment program to experience the self-realization and
positive social relations associated with being employed? To ask the
question is to answer it.
Elster's substantive claims regarding the achievement of self-realization
and positive social relations are also quite weak. He argues that the
government cannot guarantee self-realization for all workers, because
chaos would ensue if society "tried to underwrite the right of each and
every individual to pursue his chosen means of self-realization" (Elster
1988, pp. 76-77). This is certainly true, but it is hardly an argument against
the use of public employment programs to expand the number of employ-
ment opportunities available to workers, especially in light of the strong
job-training component that such programs could contain. The claim that
public employment programs could not serve as a source of positive social
relations is almost as weak. Elster's only argument on this point concerns
the duration of such employment. He argues that the development of
positive social relations requires "stability and continuity in the work
force, so that relations among workers can develop into enduring friend-
Philip Harvey 365
In June 1990, with the economy at the peak of its longest peacetime
expansion on record, there were 6.4 million unemployed individuals
looking for work in the United States, another 0.9 million "discouraged"
workers (individuals who say they want to work but are not actively
366 ISSUES FOR THE PUBLIC AGENDA
seeking it because they believe no jobs are available for which they could
qualify), and 5.1 million involuntary part-time workers (individuals who
say they are working reduced hours because of slack work or an inability
to find full-time employment). Counting these three groups together, there
were 12.4 million persons who reported themselves as either wholly or
partly unemployed and wanting work.
Were these persons unemployed by choice or because there were not
enough jobs for everyone who wanted work? Economists have shown little
interest in addressing that question directly, but the professional literature
of the past two decades has conveyed the strong impression that, except
for cyclical upsurges in joblessness, little if any unemployment is truly
involuntary. This message has been communicated, whether or not inten-
tionally, by the tendency of economists to focus their research on the
"choices" individuals make that affect their labor market experience-
laborlleisure choices, choices in job search activity, and choices between
different types of employment in which the probability of future layoffs
is weighed against other job attributes (see Osberg 1988).
Daniel Hamermesh's widely cited study of the economic effects of
unemployment insurance (VI) exemplifies this literature (Hamermesh
1977). Hamermesh concluded that the availability of VI benefits caused
the civilian unemployment rate to be 0.7 percentage points higher during
periods oflow unemployment and 0.45 percentage points higher in periods
of maximum unemployment (Hamermesh 1977, pp. 101-2). He derived
these estimates from evidence that the return of unemployed workers to
active employment is delayed by their receipt of VI benefits. Briefly put,
the availability of such benefits reduces a worker's incentive to seek and
accept work. If recipients of VI engaged in more vigorous job search
activities and lowered their expectations regarding acceptable employ-
ment, they would experience less unemployment. This suggests that, in
some sense, VI recipients are voluntarily rather than involuntarily unem-
ployed, even though eligibility for VI benefits is generally predicated on
an involuntary loss of employment.
There is a logical leap in Hamermesh's analysis, however, that is rarely
noted. Assuming he is correct that unemployment is higher among VI
eligible workers than it would be if the program were abolished, does it
really follow that total unemployment is higher? During the 1970s, only
about half of the pool of officially unemployed workers at any point in
time received VI benefits.V The rest of the unemployed had either never
qualified for benefits or had exhausted them. If those receiving benefits
were not competing as vigorously for available jobs, unemployed workers
who were not receiving benefits would presumably have an easier time
finding work. How do we know that available jobs went unfilled because
PhilipHarvey 367
of the more relaxed job search activities of UI recipients rather than merely
going to persons who were not receiving such benefits? Longer spells of
unemployment among persons receiving UI benefits may be counterbal-
anced by shorter spells of unemployment among persons not receiving
such benefits. If this is actually the case. the availability of UI benefits
may tend to concentrate unemployment among persons receiving benefits
without increasing the overall unemployment rate (or at least without
increasing it as much as Hamermesh's estimate). This possibility can be
discounted. of course. if we assume that ajob exists for every job-seeker.
But that assumes away the very question we are interested in answering.
The logical flaw in Hamermesh's analysis is inherent to all research on
unemployment that focuses on the behavior or personal characteristics of
the unemployed to explain their labor market experience. Unfortunately.
this is the only type of research on unemployment that most researchers
undertake-regardless of their discipline. Studies of this sort may indeed
explain why some people experience more unemployment than others. but
they cannot explain why the unemployment rate is 5.3% instead of2.3%-
unless it is true that there really are enough jobs to employ everyone. This
is evidently what many people believe. an attitude best exemplified by
President Reagan's habit of citing the amount of help-wanted advertising
in local newspapers to justify his opposition to government job creation
efforts (see Abraham 1983. p. 708).
Surprisingly. very little research has been conducted to determine whether
or not popular assumptions regarding job availability are well-founded.
Many countries collect data on job vacancy rates as regularly as they do
data on unemployment rates. but only intermittent efforts have been made
in the United States to r.ather this kind of information (Devins 1992;
Riemer 1988. pp. 30-31). 4 What little research has been conducted in this
area, however, suggests that the number of job-seekers far exceeds the
number of available jobs. The author of one such study estimates that there
were "roughly 2.5 unemployed persons for every vacant job during the
middle 1960's. an average of close to 4.0 unemployed persons per vacant
job during the early 1970's. and an average of 5.0 or more unemployed
persons for every vacant job during the latter part of the 1970's" (Abraham
1983. p. 722). Another study of 28 southern and midwestern survey cites
found unemployment rates to average 4.7 times the corresponding vacancy
rates in 1980 and 8.4 times the corresponding vacancy rates in 1982
(Holzer 1989. p. 48. table 3.8).15
Many economists would respond to this data with the observation that
they do not assume the actual existence of enough jobs to provide work
for all job-seekers. only that enough jobs would be created to do so if
wages were permitted to fall. The basis for this belief lies in the persua-
368 ISSUES FOR THE PUBLIC AGENDA
tion of all family members is counted, then 24.7% of all poor families with
children had the equivalent of at least one worker employed full time
throughout the year (U.S. Congress 1989, p. 948, table 7, 950, table 8).
Even after two recent increases, the minimum wage is still below the level
necessary for a full-time worker to earn a poverty level income for two
people. If it were reduced to its 1989 level it would be below what a
full-time worker needs to earn a poverty level income for just one person.
How much lower do proponents of wage flexibility believe the wage floor
would have to fall to achieve full employment? And how Iowa wage are
they willing to countenance as consistent with "an existence worthy of
human dignity" (Universal Declaration of Human Rights, art. 23.3)?
The conclusion seems inescapable that the right to employment has not
been secured in the United States. I argue elsewhere that this failure can
be remedied without sacrificing other legitimate public policy objectives
and that the federal government should therefore be held accountable for
its failure to do so (Harvey 1989, pp. 7-10, 112-17). To gain a hearing for
this claim will not be easy. Civil and political human rights claims are
supported by both a rich philosophical tradition and a history of formal
recognition in the United States. These claims may have been revolution-
ary in the 17th and 18th centuries, but they now form a part of the official
ideology of our government. Certain advantages flow from this formal
recognition that make it easier to press for expanded protection of civil
and political human rights in the United States, and one of these advan-
tages is that it is relatively easy to gain a hearing for civil and political
human rights concerns in public policy discussions.
In contrast, economic and social human rights claims are rarely even
discussed. Commonly overlooked and frequently scorned, these claims are
the "poor cousins" of the human rights family. They will have to be pressed
with great vigor if they are ever going to be taken seriously. This is
particularly true of the claim that employment is a human right. Right to
work claims are far from new, but they have never received much attention
in intellectual quarters. More important, they have generally been associ-
ated with profound challenges to established socioeconomic institutions.
Such conflicts are always bitter, as the history of efforts to secure legisla-
tive protection for the right to employment in the United States illustrate
(Harvey 1989, pp. 99-112). Moreover, the fact that some of the more
ardent champions of the right to employment have shown scant respect for
civil and political human rights has made it easy for defenders of conser-
vative economic interests to argue that uncompromising resistance to these
claims is necessary to protect cherished freedoms.
Nevertheless, advocacy of the right to employment would not be an
entirely uphill battle in the United States. As I noted earlier, there is strong
370 ISSUES FOR THE PUBLIC AGENDA
a human right, but it would shape the debate in important ways and help
constrain the actual political decision-making process. At the very least,
social welfare policy analysts should feel some responsibility to at least
acknowledge the existence of credible human rights claims touching on
the subject matter of their work. Continued silence on that point may well
have a more corrosive effect on economic and social human rights claims
than would a broadside of vocal opposition to them.
NOTES
12. Elster's positivist definition of rights settles the question of whether employment is
a right for purposes of his analysis, but his comments suggest that he also places some reliance
on Maurice Cranston's argument that the relative importance and feasibility of a claim should
be viewed as tests for determining whether it truly qualifies as a human right (Cranston 1973,
p.66ff.).
13. The proportion of all unemployed persons receiving UI benefits during the 1970s
varied on a monthly basis from a low of 31% in June 1973 to a peak of 81% in April 1975.
The average ratio for the decade was just over 50%. During the 1980s the ratio has declined
substantially, so that only about a third of all unemployed workers are now receiving UI
benefits. See U.S. Congress (1989, pp. 442-43, table 4 and chart 1).
14. The Conference Board's help-wanted advertising index is the closest proxy to a
job-vacancy index currently available in the United States, but its usefulness for that purpose
is limited due to the distorting influence of such factors as declining newspaper competition
and changing job-advertising practices among employers. See Abraham (1987).
15. Average unemployment rates for the survey cites (7.0% in 1980 and 10.1% in 1982)
were comparable to national averages (7.0% in 1980 and 9.5% in 1982).
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375
376 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC AGENDA
Longitudinal surveys, government funding Means-tested programs, 106, 107, 108, 109,
of,26-27 318
Lorie, J. H., 186, 189 Meckling, W. H., 188
Los Angeles riots, 4 Media, 35,171; communicating through, l l-
Lower middle-class culture, 18-19 B; homelessness and, 288, 294; ho-
Lynd, R. S., 5, 7 mosexuals and, 222-223; ideology and,
59; New Right and, 209, 214; policy
agenda and, 33
MacArthur Foundation, 234 Medicaid,318
Maccoby, E., 275 Medical care, see Health care
Maccoby, E. E., 232 Meislin, R., 280
Macedo, S., 212 Melting pot, 1S5
Maddox, W. S., 211, 222 Mental health, research on, 25,26
Majluf, N. S., 188 Mentally ill, homeless, 295
Males: breadwinner role, 317; homelessness Mergers, 186, 187, 188, 191, 193, 194-205
and, 295; See also African American Messner, S., 262, 264, 266, 267, 282
males Method of difference, 80
Management: corporate control and, 190,200; Metropolitan-level violence studies, 271-274
large firms and, 188 Michel, R., 146
Manfrass, K., 74 Michigan political science model, 177
March, J., 41 Middle class, 18; Britain and, 124, 130; liv-
Market: moral shortcomings of, 99,101, 102; ing standard, 4; parental duties and,
regulation of, 100; social democrats 233
and, 102; unemployment and, 113 Migrants, see Immigration
Market relations, social relations and, 17, Military, immigrants and, 75, 83
204 Military-industrial complex, 17
Marklund, S., 139 Mill, J. S., 80
Markowitz, L., 16-17, 185-205 Miller, A. H., 219
Marriage policies, 333-334 Miller, J., 212
Marsden, P. V., 164, 171, 173 Mills, C. W., 51, 65
Marshall, T. H., 99, 119, 120-122, 128, 152 Mind, qualities of, 52, 67
Martin, A., 131, 132, 138 Minimum wage workers, 318
Marxist-Leninism, 56 Mintz, B., 190
Mass media, see Media Mishra, R., 208, 220-221
Massey, D., 281 Mitchell, A., 84
Massey, D. S., 12 Mizruchi, M., 190, 191
Matching funds, 27 Mobility: friendship networks and, 269; vio-
Material rights, 105 lence and, 262-264; See also Social
Material well-being, 100 mobility
Mauer, M., 282 Mobilization: networks and, 168, 174-176;
McCall, P., 271, 272, 273 of voters, 177-178
McCarthy, J. D., 214 Modernity, New Right and, 223-225
McConnell, G., 178 Moen, P., 233
McCord, M., 259 Molotch, H., 280, 281. 282
McCrae, D., 36 Moon, J. D., 10-11,97-115
McElvaine, R. S., 218, 219 Moral equality, liberalism and, 98
McKay, H., 261, 262, 263, 264, 267, 268, Morality, 6, 52, 53; government regulation
270,281 and, 211; intellectuals and, 63; New
Mead, L., 110-111 Right and, 211-212, 214, 220; Sweden
Means, G. C., 190 and, 133; utilitarian, 357
384 SOCIOLOGY AND THE PUBLIC AGENDA
Moral Majority, 212, 214,224 itics and, 16, 166; social structures as,
Moral pluralism, 98, 100 164-165; voters and, 177-178
Moral sentiments, associations and, 147-148 Neuhaus. R. J., 220
Morgan, S. P., 231 Neutrality. dilemma of, 100
Morganthau, T., 208, 212 New Christian Right, 209, 223-225
Morrison. B., 259 New Deal. 58. 216, 352, 356. 364
Mothers. working, see Working mothers New Deal liberalism, II, 207-226
Moynihan. D. P., 19 New Haven, Connecticut, 8-9, 301
Multiculturalism, postnational, 73 New Left. 56
Multinational state, 89-90 New Right. II, 207-226; accommodating
Municipal services, 280 modernity and, 223; emergence of,
Myers. S., 188 212-215; ideological context of, 209-
212; populism of, 216-217; public
opinion and, 221-223; welfare state
Nash, G. H., 209, 211, 212 and,217-221
National Alliance to End Homelessness, 289 Night watchman state, 100
National consciousness, 81-82, 152 Nisbet, R., 212, 216, 220
National identity, Reagan and, 217 Niskanen, W. A., 208, 218, 219
National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), Nixon, R. M., 213
25 North African immigrants, 76, 91
Nationalism. 73
National policy domains. 180-182
National Science Foundation, 25 Oakes, J., 306
Nationhood, 73-94; assimilative expansion Obligations to work, 110-111, 114
of, 82; citizenship definition and. 83- Offe, C., 102, 108
86; political understanding of, 81 Offending, community-level perspective on,
Nation-state, French, 82 11
Native language competence, 10 Ogbu, J. U., 302
Nativism. 18, 73 Oil companies, mergers and, 200
Naturalization, 73, 76-80 Old age pensions. see Social security
Natural law. rights and, 358 Old Right, 210, 211-212
Neckerman, K. M., 8, 306 Oligarchy, 146, 151
Negative liberty. 107 Oliver, P., 166
Negative rights, 98 Olsen, J., 41
Neighborhood(s): anomie, 240-242; cohesive, Olson, M., 147
243-249; dangerous, 231-257; density Olsson, S.• 132. 133
of. 265; deterioration and, 279-280; Omniscience, associations and, 149-150
family management and, 231-257; Op-ed articles, 12-13, 17, 35
gentrifying. 264; heterogeneity and, Oppositional network, 172-173
264; high-mobility, 263-264; immi- Option rights, 98-99, 107
grants and, 75; parenting in transi- Organizational change, culture and, 185
tional, 249-254; violent crime and, Organizational interdependence, 190
260-271 Organization-by-event connections, 172
Neighborhood identification, 268-269 Organizations: as individuals, 146-151; as
Neighborhood organizations, 237 secondary citizens, 9, 143-161; mass
Nelkin, D.• 181 membership, 174; with institutional
Networks, 164-182; collective action organi- members, 174
zations and, 178-180; national policy Organized anarchies, 41
domains and, 180-182; opposition, 172- Organized power centers, 56
173; policy-making and, 167-173; pol- Outcomes, 41, 46
Index 385
Simcha-Fagan, 0., 268, 275, 279 Social issues: current, 32-33; impact on, 5-7;
Simpson, J. H., 213, 220 New Right and, 222
Sinfield, A., 129 Socialization, 233, 304
Single-parent families, 113,266-267; blacks Social libertarians, 211-212
and, 8, 274; community violence and, Social mobility, 10, 18,242
272-273; family wage and, 316-336; Social movements, 44; factional disputes in,
Sweden and, 137 179; intellectuals and, 65
Single-room occupancy hotels, 290 Social network: activities in, 304-305; for-
Skerry, P., 213 mal, 267; in school, 303, 305; infor-
Skocpol, T., 126, 134 mal, 257, 267; locality-based, 268-269;
Skogan, W., 268, 280 marginal, 306; neighborhoods and, 238,
Skvoretz, J., 165 245; primary, 303; race-based, 309; re-
Slavic lands, German settlement in, 82 sourceful parents and, 242; secondary,
Smelser, N., 32 303, 307; tertiary, 303, 305; voters and,
Smith, A., 147-148 177
Smith, D, R., 262, 263, 264, 266, 267 Social obligations of citizenship, 110
Smith, J. A., 181 Social organization, media pictures of, 59
Smith, R. M., 87 Social paranoia, 240, 251-252
Snyder, Mitch, 294 Social phenomena, complexity of, 49
Snyder, T. D., 302 Social policies: side effects of, 20; Sweden
Sobran, J., 207 and, 119, 131-139
Social actors, networks of, 165 Social problems: dangerous neighborhoods,
Social agenda, liberal dominance over, 208 231-257; feminization of poverty and,
Social analysis, 54 316-336; homelessness, 287-299; inner-
Social authoritarians, 211-212 city education, 300-314; related, 296;
Social benefits, income-based, 107, 108 violent crime, 259-284
Social capital, parenting and, 234 Social programs: for children, 237; public
Social citizenship, 119-139; Britain and, 125- support for, 222
130; Marshall's theory and, 119-122; Social reform, 33
Sweden and, 131, 134-139 Social relations, market relations and, 17,
Social class, citizenship and, 121-122 204
Social control: community and, 249, 253, Social rights, 99,100,119; Britain and, 122-
263, 267-269; delinquency and, 261; 128; citizenship and, 87-88; Marshall's
informal, 265-266, 268-269, 275; in- theory and, 120, 121; political power
tellectual community and, 66, 67; pol- and, 122; Sweden and, 131, 132, 134-
icies and, 282 139; work casualization and, 138
Social democracy: Sweden and, 131-139; wan- Social rights of citizenship, 98, 108, 110,
ing of, 56 113-115
Social Democratic Party, 132-138 Social science, pure, 5
Social democrats, 106·107, 119; obligation Social scientists, public policies and, 46-50
to work and, 111-112, 115; targeting Social security, 218, 297; Britain and, 129-
and, 108; welfare reform and, 114-115; 130; Sweden and, 135, 136
welfare state and, 101-107 Social solidarity, 18, 102, 106
Social engineering, 219 Social structure, networks and, 164-165, 170-
Social environment, family management and, 173
236 Social world, cognitive master of, 37
Social human rights, 356, 369 Social worth, equal, 99
Social insurance, 101, 106,318,348 Societal factors, research agenda and, 32
Socialism, 56, 102 Society: core values of, 52, 53; full members
Social isolation, poverty and, 272-273 of, 99-100, 103
Index 389
MACRO-MICRO LINKAGES
IN SOCIOLOGY
edned by Joan Huber, The Ohio State University
-All {the essays] are interesting, and many are outstanding. Since the topic of'macro-mao' linkages isof
such central interest tothe discipline, itishard to imagine any sociologist who will not find rewarding material
oore. • -ContefTJJOrary Sociology
ISBN 0-8039-41 03-X cloth I ISBN 0-8039-41 ()4.8 paper
SOCIOLOGY IN AMERICA
edned by Herbert J. Gans, Columbia University
"This collection ismore than satisfactory. The contributing editors alladvance arguments that stimulate
reflection on the editor's chosen theme. • -Canadian Journal ofSociology
SAGE Publications
International Educational andProfessional Publisher
Newbury Park London New Delhi