Category Archives: on community

Family/Community as network of significance

After the eclipse of “community” in the late 1960s anthropology, culminating with Geertz’ quip that “anthropologists do not villages study in villages, “community” came back when Lave, and particularly Wenger’s, summarized their work on learning in everyday settings as involving “‘community’ of practices.”

I have written elsewhere why I thought it was a bad idea for Lave and Wenger to have used the term. Generations of anthropologists (and many others) have been misled by this resuscitation of a way to approaching human organization that should have remained in the past. At various times, I suggested that “polity” would be a better word to capture the overall social processes involved in setting the positions (peripheral, full, etc.) and movement. The model can easily be expanded to deal with all the mechanisms that move someone into a “legitimate” peripheral position (e.g. admission committee), prevent someone from ever being acknowledged as “full” (e.g. failure at some examination), and including other matters that remain open to investigation: for example the processes that make someone aware that one might enter into some apprenticeship (move to a different country, etc.). I sometimes toy with the idea of a kind of “accretion” disk around the internal polity that might then be treated, metaphorically, as a “black hole” (e.g. “America” for many in the world).

Having been challenged by students insisting on the continuing usefulness of “community” (and perhaps for other reasons than those who let the early Chicago sociologists and anthropologists to write about “community studies”), I realized something that came even more salient because of a recent experience with a major personal loss and that classical “community of practice” research cannot quite handle. When she first wrote about it, Lave was responding (as I put it in my last post) to cognitive psychologists and their purely cerebral theories of learning. She wanted to establish that learning is always a social process that requires the one is put in the position of “learner” even before they know anything. She, and many others, did establish, empirically, that this is the case.

However, she may have downplayed another possibility somewhat implicit in the earlier theories of community. “Community” is not only about learning, it is about support and, what I would now want to investigate, the assembly of people who are doing the support. Or rather, and much more technically, about the people “affected” by something that happens to a particular person. They are the people who may then return something—in the sense that a personal tragedy is also a “gift” that requires a response by at least some. This response may involve, in the case of someone dying, bringing food, attending a wake, making a donation (in some traditions in the United States), or may other matters in other traditions (“culture”).

This opens a wide range of re-interpreted research questions. Most simply perhaps, who would be the “some” who must respond? And what should be the nature of the response? How far can an initial event resonate? As one student asked when I presented an earlier version of this: what is the place of institutions in these responses?

Possible lines of investigation: I have never read the social psychological literature that has used the phrase “significant others” but it has always allowed me to think more specifically about human relationships. First, I take “signification” here in the structural sense (see Bateson 1972: 381) where it refers to anything that makes a difference. In very brief then, a person’s significant others are those who, if something happens to the person, must respond personally in some ways that might make a difference in the future of the interaction. One should check here how this may be treated in the literature on family therapy.

A parent, a spouse, a child, are prime examples to the extent that anything that happens to anyone of them will impact on of them but not necessarily in the same way The response, and its extent within some assembly, are then a sign of who are these “others” and the weight of their significance.

That all of this is going to be observable (though perhaps difficult to do) is not problematic. What are the methods to use for the observations is the difficult thing since we need to escape imagining what is to be observed (I am here invoking Garfinkel). The danger is to define ahead of the research the boundaries of some units assumed to carry significance, of the roles and relationships that may be most significant. Much on the writing about “the family” (and the “community”) have fallen for this and must now be used with the greatest care unless we reproduce what earlier critics did successfully challenge.

The genius of ethnography is specifically that we do not have to do that. So, what do I suggest be done?

In this case I’d start with an individual at a moment of stress. For ethical reason, this stress may be minor (e.g. a tooth ache, college admission or graduation, etc.) but sufficient to trigger some response from some people. Tracing the network of the responders, and the intensity of their response becomes the ethnographic goal.

See also my post on the “end of a community”
For example, let’s say that husband has a tooth ache and mentions it to wife and they discuss what to do next. One can imagine that this will not lead to much of a response from, say, their small children. Whether it affects their adult children may depend on the their age and other matters. If the husband/wife are quite aged, a toothache might require one of the children to, for example, drive them to the dentist. At another extreme, if a president gets killed (as happened to Kennedy) then millions may be affected, but would probably lead to other responses than if this happens to a close relative.

Such an investigation might then lead to a kind of network map (à la Latour) with different weight for different linkages. Latour’s discussion of mediations, translations, etc. would probably help in tracing the tenor of the responses, particularly when the original speaker (to channel conversational analysis) is not present for correcting a response. In this interactional/conversational processes, institutions can enter as either dampeners of further transmission, or as enhancers (consider how FaceBook enhanced extended family ties that had weakened, sometimes to nothing, and then reappeared).

References

Bateson, Gregory   1972    ” A re-examination of ‘Bateson’s rule'” in his Steps to an ecology of mind. Balentine Books.

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While crossing Manhattan on 14th Street

Half a century ago, when I searched for a catchy title for the book building on my dissertation (1972), I came up up with Americans Together (1978). I am not sure what I then meant by “Americans”—though I am sure that, from the time when I proposed the research (in 1970), I had been looking for a “pattern” or “structure” as I interpreted Benedict, Lévi-Strauss, or Dumont, to have done. But I may also have accepted that the plural “AmericanS” somewhat referred to a plurality of individuals. And thus I fell to American (patterned) common sense.

As far as I can check, I never used the plural noun again, though I continued to use “American” as an adjective and “America” as a proper, always singular, noun—and I persist. And, now, after many years teaching Garfinkel, Latour, Lave, and those inspired by them, it came to me that I should have titled the book “Together in America” which would in fact had fit better the subtitle to the book: “Structured diversity in a Midwestern town.”

This subtitle directly stated the main ethnographic point of the book that, while Paw Paw, Michigan, (“Appleton” in the book) may appear indistinguishable from thousand of such towns, it was internally (as I am sure all other such towns are) extremely varied religiously, ideologically, generationally (and probably also by all the most commonly invoked 21st century categories of race, gender, ethnicity that also appeared in my fieldnotes). But, to me then and now, the more interesting internal variability was in the organization of settings where people came together and manipulated identity symbols (as we would currently say in anthropology). One example that made it into the book is the moment when “ethnic background” briefly emerged during a round of introductions when I first partied with a group of friends of my age (1978: Chapter 4). When narrating (!) my (lived?) experiences in Paw Paw, I like to embroider my travels through the town, on a Sunday, when I started (dressed in a suit and tie) at a Sunday School then service at the Methodist or Presbyterian church (where/when all men wore suits and tie), before driving to the apartment of friends (where I was told to take off my tie), and ending the day at a Catholic mass (where the congregation was dressed in everything from dirty blue jeans to fur coats). Depending on I am not sure what, I was sometime positioned as a high school exchange student, an awkward young male with a funny accent, a doctoral students at the University of Chicago, etc. (including other things I may not have been directly told, though I remember several attempts to test my “orientation”). Eventually I was also struck by the diversity of politico/economic interests as I explored the many governing board regulating this or that aspect of everyday. This was most salient perhaps in the school board when town’s people and farmers clashed over taxation, curriculum, etc. only apparently coming together for ritual performances (football games, graduation ceremonies, etc.).

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A warning to apprentice anthropologists: on “identity” in the New York Times

The New York Times is a major adult education institution in the United States. Mostly it educates implicitly but, quite regularly, it gives mini-lectures, in the style of encyclopedia entries. On December 15th, Max Fisher posed the question “What is national identity?” And then he made authoritative statements like a college professor might do. In brief, Fisher taught “The concept [of identity], scarcely 200 years old, holds that humanity is divided among fixed communities, each defined by a common language, ethnicity and homeland. Those communities are nations; membership is one’s national identity” (New York Times, Dec. 15, 2019).

Identity, community, nation are thereby collapsed into each other, authoritatively. Continue reading A warning to apprentice anthropologists: on “identity” in the New York Times

Who imagines nations?

I remain surprised by the continuing success of Benedict Anderson Imagined Communities ([1983] 1991). When it is was first brought to my attention I thought that there was not much there since, “everybody knew, or should know” that something like “nationalism” was a cultural construction, appearing at a certain point in time, with antecedents of course, and an ongoing evolution. While many political actors of the past two centuries have asserted that, say, “France” is an entity with full ontological reality, any anthropologist, steeped in the critique of “religion,” “social structure,” etc., would work from the stance that 1) “nation” is a native term among certain populations at a certain time and that 2) “nation” should not be reified any more than terms like “taboo,” “totem,” “caste,” etc. This would then lead to research into the actual deployment of “nation” in performances of all types, and particularly in all attempts by the States which claim “nation” to impose certain matters on recalcitrant populations, both inside and outside the boundaries imagined as those of “France,” “Germany,” or …

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on communities within communities

For some reason, my anthropological imagination, these past months, has circled around renewed wonder about that reality indexed by words like “community” (polity, unum, cohort, congregation, plenum, etc.). This was first triggered as I tried to distance myself temporarily from what was bringing me to the neurological intensive care unit of a Large Urban Teaching Hospital. I knew enough to wonder what host of human beings were needed to keep my wife alive hooked to multiple machines in constant need of re-adjustment by this, but not necessarily by that, human being–with instructions by some to others to NOT do this or that.

So, I stood by the door, looking out. What struck me were the huddles of intense interaction and the spaces and silences between these. There had been the huddle who had greeted me with concerned stances, explained stuff I could barely register, asked me to sign various documents I did not read. They had introduced themselves as those who would operate on my wife—though I only found out later that their leader, the one with the ultimate authority (and responsibility) was not there. That huddle, I never saw again. But by the 2nd or 3rd day, I could identify recurring huddles. There was one I labeled “physicians” (students/residents/interns—clearly a divided community, even if they huddled together on the floor). There was one or more huddle made up of those I labeled “the nursing staff” (I discovered later that they too were divided into multiple units). There was a small one made by the police who were guarding one of the rooms. There was the janitorial staff. They were all in view of each other, often quite close physically. And yet they remained distinct. I could sense differences in the tenor of the speech each used (I was amused listening to flirting among the young cops…). But always they maintained boundaries which, I know from every research on the matter, require ongoing work to NOT acknowledge one another’s presence in the performance of their parallel duties—even when these duties required asking the other to move their bodies as happened regularly when floors had to be cleaned, or examinations done.

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End of community

I ended my last post with a sentence about the “body two Others-to-each-other constructed.” In parenthesis I suggested this body might be a ‘community’ or ‘polity’.

Usually, I resist the word “community,” and insist on ‘polity’ for analytic reasons. But, in this case, I will start with ‘community’, first because it is easy to write in American, and second because of its almost forgotten etymology: ‘community’ is “united with”—or, in other words, “e pluribus unum.”

That is, Susan and I, 47 years ago, transformed a plurality into a unum that has now disappeared since I cannot unite myself to the Other that was essential to this unum.

What exactly was this unum that, through continual practice, made a thing all who approached it had to contend with?

Not surprisingly for those concerned with the individual (psychological) impact of not being “united with” a most significant Other—in this material life at least—, leads me often to reminesce about various moments when Susan and I made something that neither of us had experienced before. There were several “beginnings” to the construction. The first one happened, one morning at the International House of the University of Chicago, at breakfast when half a dozen of us introduced ourselves. Susan liked to recount how she thought, after hearing me mumble my name, “well, that’s one I will never remember!”.For a classic on naming practices, see Geertz ([1966] 1973)Fifteen months later, at what could count as the last of the beginnings, we were married and she who had been “Susan Martin Brydges” became, for all State matter at a time when she could have chosen differently, “Susan Brydges Varenne” (I do not recall any discussion of this). In between she had changed from being “Sue” to earlier others to being “Susan” to all the others we gathered from then on. I was the main architect of that change.
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