Stuck in the Margins?: Young people and faith-based organisations in South African and Nordic localities [1 ed.] 9783666568558, 9783525568552

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Ignatius Swart / Auli Vähäkangas /  Marlize Rabe / Annette Leis-Peters (eds.) The Editors

Ignatius Swart is Professor of Religion and Development at the University of the Western Cape, South Africa.

Stuck in the Margins?

Marlize Rabe is Professor of Sociology at the University of the Western Cape, South Africa. Annette Leis-Peters is Professor of the Sociology of Religion and Diaconal Studies at VID Specialized University in Oslo, Norway.

VOLUME 31

This book represents the first major international scholarly endeavour to explore the contemporary phenomenon of youth marginalisation from a focused interdisciplinary faith-based organisational perspective. This is done through combining the interrelated fields of ‘religion and development’ and ‘religion and social welfare’ with ‘international youth studies’. At the centre of the discussions are the views and experiences of young people from different localities in South Africa, Finland and Norway. The result is a scholarly work that is both appreciative as well as critical of the involvement of faith-based organisations in the lives of marginalised youths, but also of the research enterprise itself.

ISBN 978-3-525-56855-2

9 783525 568552

Swart / Vähäkangas /  Rabe / Leis-Peters (eds.) Stuck in the Margins?

RESEARCH IN CONTEMPORARY RELIGION

RCR 31

Auli Vähäkangas is Professor of Practical Theology at the University of Helsinki, Finland.

Young people and faith-based organisations in South African and Nordic localities

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Research in Contemporary Religion

Edited by Carla Danani, Judith Gruber, Hans-Günter Heimbrock, Stefanie Knauss, Daria Pezzoli-Olgiati, Else Marie Wiberg Pedersen, Hans-Joachim Sander, Trygve Wyller In co-operation with Hanan Alexander (Haifa), Wanda Deifelt (Decorah), Siebren Miedema (Amsterdam), Bonnie J. Miller-McLemore (Nashville), Garbi Schmidt (Roskilde), Claire Wolfteich (Boston) Volume 31

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Ignatius Swart/Auli Vähäkangas/Marlize Rabe/ Annette Leis-Peters (eds.)

Stuck in the Margins? Young people and faith-based organisations in South African and Nordic localities

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht © 2022 Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht | Brill Deutschland GmbH https://doi.org/10.13109/9783666568558 | CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

1 2 3 4 5 6 Generous grants from VID Specialized University in Norway and the University 7 of Helsinki made this open access publication possible. 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 With 8 tables and 3 figures 19 20 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek 21 The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; Withdata 8 tables and 3online: figures detailed bibliographic available https://dnb.de. 22 23 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek © 2022 by Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Theaterstraße 13, 37073 Göttingen, Germany, an imp rint of 24 The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; the Brill-Group (Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands; Brill USA Inc., Boston MA, USA; detailed bibliographic data available online: https://dnb.de. 25 Brill Asia Pte Ltd, Singapore; Brill Deutschland GmbH, Paderborn, Germany; 26 Brill Österreich GmbH, Vienna, � 2022 by Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Theaterstra ße 13, 37073Austria) Göttingen, Germany, an imprint of Brill(Koninklijke NV incorporates Brill,Netherlands; Brill Nijhoff,Brill BrillUSA Hotei, Brill Schöningh, 27 Koninklijke the Brill-Group Brill the NV,imprints Leiden, The Inc., Boston MA, USA; Brill Fink,Brill BrillAsia mentis, Vandenhoeck Ruprecht, Böhlau,GmbH, Verlag Paderborn, Antike and V&R unipress. Pte Ltd, Singapore;&Brill Deutschland Germany; 28 Brill Österreich GmbH, Vienna, Austria) 29 This publication licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution – Non Commercial No Koninklijke BrillisNV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Sch–öningh, 30 Derivatives International license, at https://doi.org/10.13109/9783666568558. For a unipress. copy of Brill Fink,4.0 Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau, Verlag Antike and V&R 31 this license go to https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/. Any use in cases other Thisthose publication is licensed underrequires a Creative Attribution – Non – No than permitted by this license theCommons prior written permission fromCommercial the publisher. 32 Derivatives 4.0 International license, at https://doi.org/10.13109/9783666568558. For a copy of 33 this license go to https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/. Any use in cases other Cover image: Johanna Vilja-Mantere (Helsinki), entitled: “In-between” 34 than those permitted by this license requires the prior written permission from the publisher. 35 Cover design:Vilja-Mantere SchwabScantechnik, Göttingen Cover image: Johanna (Helsinki), entitled: “In-between” 36 37 Typesetting: le-texSchwabScantechnik, publishing services,GLeipzig Cover design: öttingen 38 Typesetting: le-tex publishing services, Leipzig Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage | www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com 39 Printed and bound: Hubert & Co. BuchPartner, Göttingen 40 Printed in the EU ISSN 2197-1145 41 ISBN 978-3-666-56855-8 Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage j www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com 42 43 ISSN 2198-7556 ISBN 978-3-525-56855-2 44

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Contents

Acknowledgements ................................................................................ 11 List of Figures and Tables ........................................................................ 13 Ignatius Swart, Auli Vähäkangas, Marlize Rabe, Annette Leis-Peters Chapter 1: Introduction .......................................................................... 1.1 Background to the Book .......................................................... 1.2 Planning and Conducting the Research ..................................... 1.3 Conceptual Demarcation ......................................................... 1.4 Distinctive Features of the Book................................................ 1.5 Structure of the Book ..............................................................

15 15 16 18 22 25

Part I Contexts and Concepts Ignatius Swart, Bjørn Hallstein Holte, Heikki Hiilamo Chapter 2: NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation. A South African–Nordic European Exchange of Perspectives .......................................................................................... 2.1 Introduction........................................................................... 2.2 Conceptual Evolution in the UK and Continental Europe ............ 2.3 NEET as a Phenomenon in the Nordic Countries........................ 2.4 NEET as a Discourse in the Nordic Countries............................. 2.5 NEET as a Phenomenon in South Africa .................................... 2.6 NEET as a Discourse in South Africa ........................................ 2.7 Conclusion.............................................................................

31 31 32 34 37 39 41 45

Bjørn Hallstein Holte, Marlize Rabe Chapter 3: Statistical Snapshots. Contextualising the Lives of Youths in South Africa and the Nordic Countries ...................................... 3.1 Introduction........................................................................... 3.2 General Social and Economic Indicators .................................... 3.3 Welfare, Health and Security .................................................... 3.4 Youth Employment and Education ........................................... 3.5 Religious Affiliation, Identity and Participation ........................... 3.6 Conclusion ............................................................................

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Contents

Olav Helge Angell, Stephan de Beer Chapter 4: Social Cohesion. Critical Theoretical Exploration of a Concept .... 4.1 Introduction........................................................................... 4.2 The Concept of Social Cohesion................................................ 4.2.1 Roots of the Social Science Discourse on Social Cohesion .. 4.2.2 The Political Discourse on Social Cohesion ...................... 4.2.3 Interdependence of Social Science and Political Discourses on Social Cohesion ....................................... 4.2.4 Social Cohesion – Preliminary Definition and Operationalisation ........................................................ 4.3 Social Cohesion at Different Levels of Society ............................. 4.3.1 The Neighbourhood ...................................................... 4.3.2 The City....................................................................... 4.3.3 The National Level ........................................................ 4.3.4 Social Cohesion and the Role of the State ........................ 4.4 Related Concepts .................................................................... 4.5 Conclusion: Approaching and Operationalising Social Cohesion .. Auli Vähäkangas, Elina Hankela, Elisabet le Roux, Eddie Orsmond Chapter 5: Faith-Based Organisations and Organised Religion in South Africa and the Nordic Countries..................................................... 5.1 Introduction .......................................................................... 5.2 The Term Faith-Based Organisation ......................................... 5.3 FBOs in the Context of Development and Civil Society................ 5.4 Roles of FBOs in Local Communities ........................................ 5.5 The Religious Context of FBOs: Religion and Religious Affiliation .. 5.6 Religion in South Africa........................................................... 5.7 Religion in the Nordic Countries .............................................. 5.8 Conclusion ............................................................................

65 65 66 66 67 68 70 73 74 76 78 79 80 82

85 85 85 87 88 90 91 93 95

Part II Case Study Perspectives Ignatius Swart, Marlize Rabe, Stephan de Beer Chapter 6: “Eish! It is Tough Living Here”. Marginalised Young People and Faith-Based Organisations in Pretoria Central........................... 6.1 Introduction........................................................................... 6.2 Young People in Pretoria Central .............................................. 6.3 FBOs in a Context of Far-Reaching Religious Change .................. 6.4 Methodology and Profile of Research Participants .......................

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Contents

6.5 A Place of Hardship: Between Hope and Despair in Pretoria Central ...................................................................... 6.6 Perceptions and Expectations of FBOs amid Experiences of Hardship ........................................................................... 6.7 FBOs Meeting Basic Survival Needs .......................................... 6.8 Conclusion.............................................................................

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Bjørn Hallstein Holte, Annette Leis-Peters, Olav Helge Angell, Kari Karsrud Korslien Chapter 7: Us and Them. Faith-Based Organisations and Street Youths in Søndre Nordstrand .................................................................. 121 7.1 Introduction .......................................................................... 121 7.2 Søndre Nordstrand.................................................................. 122 7.3 Methods and Data Used in the Case Study ................................. 124 7.4 What Young People Want......................................................... 126 7.5 What FBOs Provide for the Youths ............................................ 129 7.6 How FBOs Recruit Youths ....................................................... 132 7.7 How the FBOs Relate to Street Youths ....................................... 134 7.8 Why FBOs Engage with Youths ................................................ 136 7.9 Conclusion............................................................................. 141 Elina Hankela, Reggie Nel Chapter 8: “Keep Yourself Busy”. Young People, Faith-Based Organisations and Social Cohesion in Riverlea .......................................... 8.1 Introduction .......................................................................... 8.2 Data and Methods................................................................... 8.3 From Forced Removals to a Low-Income Post-Apartheid Neighbourhood................................................ 8.4 Young People on Challenges in Riverlea ..................................... 8.5 Brought Up in a Church .......................................................... 8.6 Churches as Alternative Spaces ................................................. 8.7 Moral Norms in the Construction of Belonging and Exclusion...... 8.8 Family and Church as Support Structures................................... 8.9 Conclusion............................................................................. Eddie Orsmond, Anita Cloete, Elisabet le Roux, Zahraa McDonald Chapter 9: A Story of Continued Separateness. NEET Young People and Faith-Based Organisations in Franschhoek ......................................... 9.1 Introduction........................................................................... 9.2 Franschhoek in a Nutshell ....................................................... 9.3 Doing Fieldwork in Franschhoek ..............................................

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9.4 Young People’s Separatedness in Franschhoek ............................. 9.4.1 Factors Impeding Young People’s Limited Education and Employment Opportunities ..................... 9.4.2 Absent Fathers, Male Absenteeism and Dysfunctional Family Structures .................................... 9.4.3 Isolation ...................................................................... 9.4.4 Faith-Based Organisations: Common but not Cohesive ..... 9.5 Conclusion ............................................................................ Christina Landman, Hannelie Yates Chapter 10: “Do the FBOs Know Where They Are Going?”. Listening to the Voices of Rural Youth in the Emakhazeni Local Municipality .. 10.1 Introduction........................................................................... 10.2 Rural Emakhazeni: Parameters and Process of the Case Study....... 10.2.1 Locality, Education Facilities and Employment Opportunities............................................................... 10.2.2 Challenges Related to the Youth ...................................... 10.2.3 Religious Context ......................................................... 10.2.4 Method ....................................................................... 10.3 Voices of the Young People on Marginalisation ........................... 10.3.1 No Hope, Opportunity or Agency ................................... 10.3.2 No Respect from Formal Institutions............................... 10.3.3 No Alternatives to Drugs and Meaningless Sex ................. 10.3.4 Lack of Role Models ...................................................... 10.4 Youths’ Expectations of FBOs .................................................. 10.4.1 FBOs to Offer Hope ...................................................... 10.4.2 FBOs to Teach the Youths to Show and Receive Respect..... 10.4.3 FBOs to Control Drugs and Sex through Moral Education .. 10.5 Responses from FBO Leaders .................................................. 10.6 Conclusion............................................................................. Auli Vähäkangas, Anna Juntunen, Elina Juntunen, Johanna Vilja-Mantere, Ulla Siirto Chapter 11: The Church at the Centre of Community? Young People’s Experiences of Social Cohesion in Lammi .................................... 11.1 Introduction........................................................................... 11.2 A Rural Community with Strong Identity and Traditions ............. 11.3 Method and Data Collection .................................................... 11.4 Young People’s Experiences of Communality ............................. 11.5 Experiences of the ELCF .......................................................... 11.6 Critical Attitudes towards the ELCF ..........................................

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11.7 Active Participation in the Faith Communities............................ 217 11.8 Tolerance and Diversity ........................................................... 218 11.9 Conclusion ............................................................................ 220

Part III Discussions and Conclusions Marlize Rabe, Bjørn Hallstein Holte, Zahraa McDonald, Olav Helge Angell, Ulla Siirto Chapter 12: Youth at the Margins. Reflections on Diversities and Similarities Using Intersectionality as a Lens ............................................. 12.1 Introduction........................................................................... 12.2 Intersectionality as a Heuristic Tool .......................................... 12.3 Religious Affiliation as a Node of Intersecting Experience ............ 12.4 Gendered Experiences through an Intersectional Lens ................. 12.5 Location, Location, Location .................................................... 12.6 Intersectional Reflections on the Researchers.............................. 12.7 Conclusion.............................................................................

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Annette Leis-Peters, Ignatius Swart, Anita Cloete, Per Pettersson Chapter 13: A Common Spatial Scene? Young People and Faith-Based Organisations at the Margins ................................................. 13.1 Introduction........................................................................... 13.2 Using Space and Place as Heuristic Lens..................................... 13.3 Six Spaces of Youth Marginalisation .......................................... 13.4 Understanding Marginalisation through Spatial Lenses................ 13.4.1 Spatial Expanses without Hope and Possibilities................ 13.4.2 Places of Hope and Meaning .......................................... 13.5 Spaces of Confinement Restraining Agency ................................ 13.6 Concluding Reflection: Meaning Within and Beyond Confined Spaces .....................................................................

247 247 248 250 252 253 256 260

Auli Vähäkangas, Stephan de Beer, Elina Hankela, Annette Leis-Peters Chapter 14: Whose Cohesion? What Cohesion? Liberative Theological Reflection on Young People and Faith-Based Organisations ....... 14.1 Introduction........................................................................... 14.2 Liberative Theological Lens on Social Cohesion and Conviviality .. 14.3 Reflection on the Research Process ............................................ 14.3.1 Interlocution, Power and Representation ......................... 14.3.2 Young People’s Views and a Liberative Approach: Aligned or Not? ...........................................................

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14.4 Liberative Theological Perspectives on the Roles of FBOs and the Youth in Imagining Social Cohesion .............................. 275 14.5 Examining Cohesion through the Lens of Conviviality ................ 279 14.6 Concluding Remarks on Multiple Margins ................................ 282 Bibliography ......................................................................................... 285 Appendix 1: YOMA Interview Guide for Individual Interviews with Young People ........................................................................................ 317 Appendix 2: YOMA Interview Guide for Interviews with Focus Groups........ 323 Appendix 3: YOMA Project Research Output Since 2013 ............................ 327 Notes on the Editors and Contributors ..................................................... 333 Index ................................................................................................... 341

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Acknowledgements

This book is the final, comprehensive and synthesising product of an ambitious South African–Nordic collaboration known as the Youth at the Margins (YOMA) project. In total 22 researchers from eleven universities in South Africa, Finland, Norway and Sweden contributed to the collective chapter output. As editors, we want to express our sincere gratitude to each member of the research team for making this book happen. Without their sustained perseverance and commitment during several rounds of revision of individual chapters, including the final revision of the complete manuscript, this book would not have materialised. We want to acknowledge the indispensable contribution towards the overall funding of the research undertaking by several institutions. Our research was formally kick-started by the funding awarded to us early in 2013 by the National Research Foundation (NRF) of South Africa (Grant Number 104033) and the Academy of Finland as part of the two institutions’ initiative to promote collaborative research on the research theme of “Children and Youth” in a number of priority areas. This support laid the foundation for several other institutions offering their active support and expressing confidence in our project. On the South African side, we want to acknowledge the generous funding support of the College of Humanities at the University of South Africa, the Faculty of Theology’s Hope Project at Stellenbosch University, and the Unit for Reformational Theology and the Development of the South African Society in the Faculty of Theology at North-West University. On the Nordic side, we want to give equal acknowledgement of the support from the Emil Aaltonen Foundation, University of Helsinki, Diakonhjemmet University College (2013–2015), VID Specialized University (2016–2020), and the Swedish Research Council. Without this collective support, the execution of the various case studies as well as the sustained participation of several members of the research team would not have been possible. We are indeed grateful for all the assistance we have received! We feel we must also acknowledge a number of further invaluable personal and institutional contributions towards our book outcome: Professor José Frantz, Deputy Vice-Chancellor, Research and Innovation at the University of the Western Cape, for awarding us the necessary funds to enable the language editing of the revised manuscript; Professor Edwin Hees, for proofreading and improving our text in such a meticulous way over two rounds of language editing; Professor Stefanie Knauss and the other members of the editorial board of the RCR series for presenting us with invaluable review feedback on the manuscript we initially submitted; Christoph Spill and Doctor Izaak de Hulster at the publishing house

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Acknowledgements

for steering us so patiently and competently throughout the production process; and the Faculty of Theology at University of Helsinki as well as VID Specialized University for making the necessary funds available to have this book published as an Open Access publication. Last but not least, we dedicate this book to the many young people who have participated in our research and to whom we have attempted to give a voice in our publication. As the readers will discover, we recognise the imperfect nature of this endeavour. Yet for us these young participants are the real heroes of our research, persons whose anonymity is respected for ethical reasons, but who have opened themselves up to us to allow us glimpses into their life worlds. We consider their willingness to do so and the contribution they have made as absolutely indispensable to the emancipatory research agenda we believe we have at least begun to embark on. Ignatius Swart, Auli Vähäkangas, Marlize Rabe, Annette Leis-Peters Cape Town/Helsinki/Oslo, December 2021

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List of Figures and Tables

Figures 3.1 Lorenz Curves 3.2 Population Pyramids 3.3 Youth Aged 15–24 by Labour Market Status

Tables 3.1 Key Social and Economic Indicators 3.2 Health Expenditure, Life Expectancy and Mortality Rates 3.3 HIV Prevalence, Morbidity and Mortality Patterns 3.4 Unnatural Causes of Mortality 3.5 Youth Employment and Education 3.6 Religious Affiliation, Identity and Participation 4.1 Aspects of Social Cohesion, by Dimension and Component 4.2 Aspects of Social Cohesion, by Dimension and Component (Revised Version)

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© 2022 Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht | Brill Deutschland GmbH https://doi.org/10.13109/9783666568558 | CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

Ignatius Swart, Auli Vähäkangas, Marlize Rabe, Annette Leis-Peters

Chapter 1: Introduction

1.1

Background to the Book

This book is primarily a project of tempered hope. Our research has testified to the way that young people are often excluded or ignored. This inspired us to re-centre youths’ lived realities by focusing on their experiences and perspectives, while also focusing on the role of faith-based organisations (FBOs) in the lives of youths labelled as “marginal”. The book presents the findings of a research project that was launched under the working title “Youth at the Margins: A Comparative Study of the Contribution of Faith-Based Organisations to Social Cohesion in South Africa and Nordic Europe” (Swart: 2013a). “Youth at the Margins”, for which we adopted the acronym YOMA, was conducted formally between 2013 and 2016. The project was an undertaking in team research made possible by a new cooperation initiative between the National Research Foundation (NRF) of South Africa and the Academy of Finland to promote collaborative research across disciplines on issues related to children and youths.1 Importantly, however, the project undertaking also benefitted from a previous South African–Nordic collaboration in the field of religion and welfare research2 that consolidated ever-growing network relationships between researchers from South Africa and the Nordic countries. Through the YOMA project, therefore, a conscious effort was made to build on the previous collaboration by engaging in an even more ambitious research undertaking between South African and Nordic researchers aimed at generating comparative perspectives on a topical issue that was seen as having important, if not crucial, global relevance: the phenomenon of “marginalised youths” in contemporary society. This was undertaken on the basis of an interdisciplinary interest across the fields of religious studies, theology and the social sciences3 in seeking to explore the nature and extent of FBOs’ involvement in the lives of marginalised youths in selected local contexts. The following threefold aim steered the execution of the research: 1 Several other institutions also contributed to the funding of the project. They are acknowledged at the very beginning of this book (see Acknowledgements). 2 This previous collaboration was funded through the South Africa–Swedish Research Links Programme (NRF–SIDA) and was known as the WRIGP (“Welfare and Religion in a Global Perspective”) project (see Swart et al.: 2012). 3 Researchers from the project hailed from all three these broad fields.

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– To study the extent to which FBOs contribute to strengthening or weakening social cohesion in the way they relate to marginalised youths at the local level in South African and Nordic society; – To compare the function of FBOs and religion for young marginalised people in South Africa, Finland and Norway; – To fill the gap in knowledge about FBOs’ relationship to and involvement with marginalised youths in their everyday living environments.

1.2

Planning and Conducting the Research

We recognised from the outset the complexities associated with the concept of “youth” which, as was well expressed in one South African source, “differs from one international organisation and country to the next, influenced by a number of cultural, socioeconomic and political factors” (Crause & Booyens: 2010, 7). However, given that age is a criterion for defining youth or young people (Herrera: 2006, 1472), we decided to adopt the United Nations’ classification of youths as persons who are between 15 and 24 years old (United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs: 2004, 2, 5; cf. Crause & Booyens: 2010, 7; Herrera: 2006, 1427). The initial plan was to study the youth in a city context, a midsize town and a rural community in South Africa and in the Nordic countries. The Swedish case study did not materialise and hence only a city locality (Søndre Nordstrand in Norway) and a rural community (Lammi in Finland) were explored from the Nordic perspective.4 South Africa was represented with four case studies, two city contexts, one midsize town and one rural community. The grounds for selecting the locations were based on a wide presence of “youth at the margins” across this urban–rural spectrum. The South African case studies included a heterogeneous urban area (Pretoria Central), an urban residential area south of Johannesburg (Riverlea), a residential area in a midsize town (Franschhoek) and a deep rural residential area (Emakhazeni). The context-specific reasons for choosing these localities are further discussed in each case study chapter. After selecting the localities, a mapping process was undertaken to gain a broader understanding of the chosen areas. This mapping was done based on a unifying mapping document, which included generating basic background information on the different locations, specific information about young people in those locations,

4 Even though the Swedish case study did not materialise, a Swedish researcher, Per Pettersson, remained an active participant throughout the research process.

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Introduction

as well as information on the FBOs and their work among young people in those locations. As our aim was to conduct a coherent study in these various localities, we spent a lot of time in planning the research together. To implement our joint planning effectively, the research team met annually. Additionally, the project and case study leaders had frequent Skype meetings.5 With the support of our theoretical exploration of key concepts from the perspective of our different (South African and Nordic) contextual realities (see Chapters 2 to 5) and the information on the localities from the mapping phase, we planned the individual and focus group interviews that were to be conducted with young people in each locality (see Appendices 1 and 2). In certain case studies the strategy was to start with interviewing the youths and to concentrate on their views and perceptions and only after that to interview the resource persons in the area, but in other case studies we interviewed the resource people first to gain a sense of the complexity of the specific environments. These schedules were contextualised to fit the specific location and, in the Nordic cases, translated into an official language of the country. Moreover, it was left to the different case study teams to use the two interview guides as a basis to conduct their interviews with resource persons from across the local faith-based, public and educational sectors. The initial plan was to include at least ten young women and men in the individual interviews, but the realisation varied to some degree. Each case study chapter contains more specific information on how the data were collected in that locality. We selected participating youths from each study locality according to set criteria (purposive sampling). These set criteria included age and young people who clearly fitted the so-called NEET category (that is, young people not in education, employment or training) or were in danger of becoming NEET (see more on this concept below). Certain organisations and resource people assisted us in this initial sampling approach and by implication in getting access to the young people whom we interviewed. Snowball sampling was also used, where the initial participants were asked to direct researchers to additional participants. In most cases we interviewed the participants only once, with the few exceptions being people who participated in individual as well as in focus group interviews. This implies that we obtained limited information from each participant, with the result that we did not gain deeper insight into the living circumstances and experiences in each research setting. We acknowledge the limitations of our chosen research approach and methods, and we hope that our groundwork will inspire more exploratory approaches in future (see especially Chapter 14).

5 The YOMA meetings were held in Paarl, South Africa (2012), Tshwane, South Africa (2013), Lammi, Finland (2014), Pretoria, South Africa (2015) (only case study leaders) and Paarl, South Africa (2016).

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Some teams used inductive content analysis while others opted for inductive thematic analysis to analyse the data. Most teams utilised the Atlas-ti analysis programme. The analytical methods are reported on in more detail in the respective chapters together with the findings of a specific locality (see Chapters 6 to 11). The case study leaders met once during the data-gathering process to compare the preliminary findings and make some changes to the data-collection approach, if that was warranted. Ethical clearance was obtained according to the guidelines of each country and the respective universities where the researchers were employed. In a study focusing on NEET youths, ethical considerations are of particular importance since the majority of them are in a vulnerable position. For example, it was necessary to ensure that participants understood their right to withdraw from the research at any time without suffering any negative consequences. Throughout the book, we use pseudonyms when referring to all the research participants to protect their identities. Some researchers were previously known in the study localities, whereas others visited the localities for the first time at the beginning of the study. Thus, a variety of roles both helped the research and in some cases made the process more complicated. These insider and outsider roles are analysed more closely in Chapter 12 from an intersectional perspective and in Chapter 14 from the point of view of a critical theological voice. The South African–Nordic interdisciplinary research cooperation is clearly evident in the book. The theoretical explorations of the key concepts of the study in Part 1 and the summarising analytical chapters in Part 3 were written by South African–Nordic author teams. While this strategy slowed down the analytical and writing process, it had the positive effect of conceptual rigour, since all the terms used and the results presented were pondered and weighed thoroughly so that they made sense in both contexts.

1.3

Conceptual Demarcation

As already alluded to, this book derives from a research agenda that was intended to pursue further the development of a comparative South–North/South African–Nordic perspective on the place and contribution of faith-based organisational agencies in the sphere of social welfare and social development. Based on what we decided would be our more pertinent focus, we decided from the outset that our collaboration would contribute to the growing body of comparative youth research necessitated by what scholars had already identified in the mid-2000s as a distinctive trend – “the globalisation of youth and youth research” (Holm & Helve: 2005, xv). This did not mean that we were not aware from the very beginning of the

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Introduction

valid criticism in the literature of a one-sided focus on “youth-related problems” at the expense of focusing on what young people offer “as a positive force in society, as a resource that is changing the culture as well as societal structures” (Holm & Helve: 2005, xi–xii). At the same time, however, it was through our initial literature research that we found an important justification for the choice of our topical focus – a concern with the structural problems of social exclusion, marginalisation and pauperisation that a disturbing number of youth populations across the globe are experiencing (Swart: 2013a, 6). We started the conceptualisation of our research by recognising that the phenomenon of youth marginalisation and its related social problems were a societal challenge shared today by both the Global South and Global North. This did not mean overlooking the fact that the contemporary South African youth context represents an extreme case in comparison to the youth contexts of the Nordic partners (Swart: 2013a, 6–7). On the contrary, we found important supporting perspectives in an initial corpus of critical scholarship that emphasised the failure of governments and market forces to implement policy and creative development opportunities for South Africa’s youth. Over against the idea of a “demographic dividend”, which holds that the youth bulge of almost half of the population has great potential to promote economic growth (National Youth Development Agency: 2011a; The Presidency, Republic of South Africa: 2009), the underlying argument was that South African society could not capitalise on this dividend because a large section of South Africa’s youth remains “stuck in the margins” (Shezi et al.: 2003) – not only in the geographical sense, but also in terms of young people’s personal physical deprivation, structural isolation and lack of opportunities for development in the post-apartheid democratic dispensation (cf. e.g. Crause & Booyens: 2010; Everatt: 2007; Gumede: n.d.). From the very beginning our conceptualisation did not want to shy away from the fact that there are considerable contextual differences between South Africa and the Nordic countries, as reflected in the extreme case of South Africa’s marginalised youths. And yet we found an important justification for our decision to embark on a comparative South African–Nordic research undertaking from learning how the problems of youth marginalisation were in fact receiving increasing attention in Nordic youth research. As suggested by a considerable corpus of literature, “marginality”, “marginalisation”, “the margins” and the related notion of “social exclusion” constituted concepts that had moved towards the centre of a distinctive Nordic youth research agenda, not least in the countries represented in our research. Importantly, however, we also learned from our exploration that these concepts were not confined to studies of youths in the hinterlands of Nordic society, but were also adopted to understand and study social and economic processes and phenomena that were affecting young people more generally (see e.g. Aaltonen:

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2012; Andersson: 2003; Chisholm: 2001; Heggen: 2000; Hertz & Johansson: 2012; Nyyssölä: 1999; Paakkunainen: 2002; Sletten: 2011; Storen: 2011). In exploring the role of organised religion in the lives of so-called marginalised youths in our selected localities, we decided to focus on the more open concept of FBOs. This not only meant that we would adopt an organisational concept that had become widely used and accepted in international development discourses (see e.g. Clarke & Jennings: 2008a; Global Health Council: 2005; Jones & Petersen: 2011; Marshall: 2011; Oluwu: 2011; Piper: 2009; Van der Merwe & Swart: 2010). It also meant that we would be open – on the basis of interfaith sensitivity and in accordance with a definition of faith-based organisations by Clarke and Jennings (2008b, 6) – to engaging with any organisation that derives its inspiration and guidance from the teachings and principles of a particular faith tradition, or from a particular interpretation or school of thought within that faith in the various case study localities. Furthermore, we adopted the broad concept of FBOs because we contended that our research would be relevant from an international, comparative perspective, and in this way make an important contribution to addressing the lack of knowledge about FBOs’ relationship and involvement with marginalised youths in their everyday environments. In other words, for us this meant that our research would make an important contribution to filling what we identified as a significant gap internationally in both theological and social science literature studies in addressing the question of how and to what extent FBOs are involved in addressing the plight of marginalised youths (Swart: 2013a, 24–25). By engaging in extensive empirical investigation in a range of differentiated localities and by developing different heuristic lenses to focus on the material,6 we anticipated that the research would serve as an important testing ground for the new positive appreciation of religious agency in the sphere of social welfare and development in both the South African and the Nordic European contexts. This included reference to the research outcomes related to the South African–Nordic research collaboration alluded to at the beginning of this chapter7 (Bäckström et al.: 2010; Bäckström et al.: 2011; Swart et al.: 2012). Not insignificantly from a South African perspective, however, it also included a wider spectrum of literature from the social sciences (see e.g. Maharaj et al.: 2008; Piper: 2009) that explicitly acknowledged the potential and actual role of FBOs in addressing the problem of youth marginalisation (Everatt: 2001; Everatt et al.: 2005; Shezi et al.: 2003).

6 Our intention from the start was to develop a threefold gender, sociological and theological perspective on the empirical material. 7 See 1.1 and footnote 2.

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Introduction

In our endeavour to produce policy-relevant research, we also incorporated the notion of social cohesion as part of our conceptual framework. We justified this conceptual choice by observing that, while the concept of social cohesion appeared to feature less prominently in the scholarly literature, it was highlighted in policy and related strategically oriented documentation on youth development (Swart: 2013a, 12). As a closer study of such documentation from both the South African, Nordic and broader European contexts revealed, social cohesion appeared to have a central place in the conceptualisation of policy addressing the problem of youth marginalisation in the respective societies (Committee of Ministers of the Council of Europe: 2008; National Youth Development Agency: 2011a; The Presidency, Republic of South Africa: 2009, 1; Weingaertner: 2010, 5). From the vantage point of this shared concern, we therefore anticipated that a similar understanding of social cohesion could emerge (Swart: 2013a, 12–13). Social cohesion, we determined, could be defined as a strongly value-oriented and politically oriented concept denoting a conscious concern with creating new conditions of equity, inclusion, active citizenship, human dignity and solidarity in society at large. As a key priority for action aimed at the youth, the concept essentially denoted a process of strategic intervention that should lead to the creation of societal conditions significantly enhancing young people’s opportunities, in particular those who find themselves in marginalised and vulnerable positions for whatever reason, for civic participation in all spheres of life: social, cultural, economic, educational and political. This, in turn, forms the basis for an understanding of social cohesion in which it is projected that young people’s new-found participation would generate a dynamics of positive identity formation, active citizenship and the building of self-esteem and a sense of belonging (Mairesse: 2010; National Youth Development Agency: 2011a, 197–254; National Youth Development Agency: 2011b, 48–49; Schild: 2010; Schildrick: 2010; The Presidency, Republic of South Africa: 2009; Weingartner: 2010; Wulff: 2010). Finally, while the concept of NEET – an acronym for young people not in education, employment or training – did not form part of our initial conceptualisation (cf. Swart: 2013a), it constituted a somewhat later and central conceptual expansion of what we saw to be a useful framework for capturing the essential realities of marginalised young people in a very concrete way. On the basis of our gradual exploration of the literature (see Chapter 2 in this book), we increasingly learned how the concept is located at the centre of present-day social science discourses and debates on youth marginalisation. This did not mean that we would not remain attentive to the criticisms of the concept in the academic literature, such as that the concept may fall short in dealing sufficiently with the full reality of contemporary youth vulnerability, or even more critically that it may capture a misrepresentation of young people’s self-perceptions. However, as our frequent use of the concept in this book suggests, these acknowledged shortcomings do not preclude the use-

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fulness of NEET as a conceptual framework for comparative research such as our own.

1.4

Distinctive Features of the Book

We have endeavoured to stick closely to the initial conceptual demarcation outlined above, but this conceptual focus also underwent a critical development of its own. We contend that our book can be favourably compared with recent titles from the field of international youth research such as Youth ‘At the Margins’: Critical Perspectives and Experiences of Engaging Youth in Research Worldwide (Bastien & Holmarsdottir: 2015) and Youth at the Margins: Perspectives on Arab Mediterranean Youth (Sánchez-Montijano & Sánchez Garcia: 2019). Admittedly, these examples are titles of anthologies of international and global scope that represent only a small, selective sample of a broad focus worldwide on cross-disciplinary youth-related research today. Yet at the same time, when considered against the background of our initial exploration of the literature (see 1.3 above), they represent prominent examples of a sustained international interest in the topic of youth marginalisation, noticeably defined in both instances by the catchphrase “youth at the margins”. We are confident therefore that this book can take its rightful place in the ongoing international explorations on the topic of contemporary youth marginalisation and we accordingly want to identify a number of distinctive features that characterise our work. Firstly, we present this book and its perspectives as the product of a carefully planned inductive research process. At the core of what it has to offer are the empirical perspectives derived from the six case studies presented in Chapters 6 to 11. In this endeavour the researchers from the respective case study teams have in their own concerted ways tried to relate their findings to the contextual and conceptual explorations in the chapters in Part 1. Yet central to the discussions in the case study chapters (Part 2) is a deliberate attempt to give a voice to the young people with whom interviews were conducted in the various case study locations. As a distinctive outcome, it is the perspectives and experiences of these young people that count in the first place and give direction to the collective perspective in this book. Consequently, it is by drawing on the words and insights of these young people that the authors grapple with the meaning of key concepts such as marginalisation, margins, social cohesion and social exclusion. Secondly, a distinguishing feature of the book is the topical focus on youth marginalisation by bringing to the foreground a unique faith-based interest. Indeed, it is evident that not much has changed since our initial review of the literature indicated a noticeable gap internationally in addressing the question of FBOs’ involvement in the lives of marginalised youths. This book makes a contribution

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Introduction

towards filling this gap and in the process initiating an empirically informed deliberation on such an involvement and relationship. As the stipulation of the threefold aim of our research at the beginning of this chapter indicates (see 1.1), learning about this involvement and relationship has been the major focus of our conversations, with young people in the first place, but secondly also with a selection of resource persons who included leaders and representatives from local FBOs. Through this endeavour and the findings and insights that have emanated from it, we believe that this book advances what has been missing from the discourse so far, namely a necessary combined topical interest in the social development role of FBOs and the contemporary challenge of youth marginalisation. As our readers will discover, however, our discussions do not shy away from the fact that FBOs evince noticeable shortcomings – not least when viewed from the perspective of young people at the margins. At the same time, however, our findings also provide ample evidence that FBOs constitute a meaningful presence in local society and the lives of many young people at the margins that cannot be ignored. Whether in societies in the far north such as Finland and Norway or in the far south such as South Africa, our book bears testimony to the fact that this institutional presence deserves ongoing investigation and consideration across the interdisciplinary spectrum of theology, religious studies and the social sciences. Thirdly, while this book reflects a research interest focused on the role of organised religion in the lives of marginalised young people – based on the open concept of FBOs – this exploration has turned out to deliver findings on more than just that. By exploring the role of FBOs in the lives of marginalised young people, the authors of this book have – perhaps inevitably one could say – also gained some valuable insights into the lived religion of young people at the margins, as well as into the role of religion in the lives of young people at the margins. Although more pronounced in the South African case studies but by no means absent in the two Nordic case studies, this perspective gives evidence of a high degree of religiosity among significant numbers of young people at the margins. For these young people elements such as faith, belief in a personal God and learning the art of prayer clearly seemed to have mattered and had a decisive influence on shaping their sense of moral agency and hopeful attitudes towards the future. And yet, as the case study findings also significantly show, this is an expression of lived religion that more often could be traced to particular FBOs and what they had to offer in terms of religious prescriptions, guidance and devotional practices. Fourthly, as an important qualification to its perspective on FBOs, this book by no means romanticises the role and presence of such organisations in the lives of marginalised young people. Based on the case study findings and the perspectives developed on those findings in the final part, this book leaves its readers with the impression of a group of young people whose desire for emancipation from the life-worlds that label them as marginalised remained by and large unfulfilled. Their

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social realities do not suggest that the young people necessarily lacked a voice or agency, or lived lives without meaning and purpose. But these positive features did not invest them with the power to overcome by themselves the conditions of marginalisation entrenched in the structural make-up and operations of their respective societies. Consequently, it is this realisation of unfulfilled emancipation that necessarily also has a direct bearing on how the role of FBOs should be valued. A critical perspective developed throughout this book pertains to the way in which FBOs are consistently seen as falling short by not drawing on the agency of marginalised young people to forge relationships that would more purposefully work towards overcoming the structural conditions conducive to their marginalisation. In a nutshell, what is absent from this relational dynamic between FBOs and young people is a more active striving for social justice and liberation (or emancipation) emanating from solidarity relationships (see Chapter 14). Fifthly, this book does not avoid critical self-reflection and introspection either. As evident from two of the concluding analytical chapters in particular (Chapters 12 and 14), there are members of our research team who hold strong views regarding our own conduct as researchers and the methodology that we have used. They advance arguments such as that we have by and large remained privileged outsiders with limited insight into the life-worlds of the young people with whom we have engaged (Chapter 12), and that we have fallen short of implementing a liberative research practice undergirded by the fundamentals of direct participation, action, solidarity and social justice (Chapter 14). Indeed, as the authors of this introductory chapter we do not perceive these criticisms as a devaluation of our collective contribution. We believe instead that these critical insights are an indispensable dimension of what our book has to offer; they are insights that do not devaluate our advancement of a very specific research agenda and focus, but rather present a very important challenge within the realm of youth-related research, not least from a faith-based perspective. From this vantage point, it was perhaps inevitable that an inductive research process steered by a predetermined work plan designed by a few individuals would reveal its limitations on the road of discovery. Our self-reflection and introspection highlight those limitations in an honest way and at the same time pave the way toward a mode of engagement that should come ever closer to the ideals of a liberative research practice. Sixthly, and finally, this book reflects a research outcome that values an openness toward interpretation of the findings. This is perhaps first and foremost suggested by the choice of the main title of our book in question form: “Stuck in the Margins?” On the one hand, as our readers will encounter, there is a strong line of interpretation running through the discussions in Part 2 and 3 that leans toward an affirmative answer to the question in our title. According to this understanding, the young people from the case study locations, but significantly also the local FBOs involved in their lives in one way or another, can be said to be subjected to a state of seemingly

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Introduction

permanent marginalisation – from the point of view of their physical separation from worlds of greater social, economic and political opportunity, but also from their mental perspective. On the other hand, however, this line of interpretation can also be said to be overhauled by a line of interpretation that until the end of the book does not want to abandon hope for a better future and the belief that social justice, liberation from marginalisation and oppression, and participation as full citizens are realistic ideals. In this line of interpretation concepts such as marginalisation, exclusion but also social cohesion therefore have relative value as they are challenged by new imaginaries of what may become possible when the voices, understandings and agency of young people at the so-called margins were to shift to the centre of larger liberative practices.

1.5

Structure of the Book

Now that the six distinctive features of the book have been identified, we want to invite our readers to learn more about the content of our discussions. On offer is a book that is structured in three parts to reflect its contextual, theoretical, empirical, analytical and evaluative dimensions. The chapters are presented throughout as co-authored, with a noticeable feature being that the chapters in Part 1 and 3 were all produced by a combination of South African and Nordic members of the research team. Under the heading “Contexts and Concepts”, the four chapters in Part 1 present theoretical and contextual explorations relevant to the conceptual apparatus of our book, all from a comparative South African-Nordic perspective. Here the discussions start off in Chapter 2 with Ignatius Swart, Bjørn Hallstein Holte and Heikki Hiilamo’s exploration of the NEET concept and its usefulness for comparative youth research such as the South African–Nordic research represented in this book. This is followed in Chapter 3 by Bjørn Hallstein Holte and Marlize Rabe’s drawing on publicly available statistical information across the economic, social and religious spectrum to develop a more informed contextual perspective on the diverse living situations of young people in South Africa and the Nordic countries. In Chapter 4 the contribution by Olav Helge Angell and Stephan de Beer next resumes the exploration of key concepts to make sense of the notion of social cohesion and its multiple theoretical constructions, operationalising it for the purpose of the case study research presented in the book. In Chapter 5 Auli Vähäkangas, Elina Hankela, Elisabet le Roux and Eddie Orsmond conclude Part 1 with their contribution on a contextually relevant framework for using and understanding the concept of FBOs in the book. Next, under the heading “Case study perspectives”, the six chapters in Part 2 are aimed at giving an account of the various case studies. These case studies

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stand at the core of what this book has to offer as a research undertaking and, as such, the respective chapters have to be read by taking the six distinctive features outlined above into account. Furthermore, it should also become clear how the case study presentations follow a particular sequential logic. This means that the size of the different localities is taken as the point of reference, after which the presentations proceed from the biggest to the smallest localities in order to look for similarities and differences between the city contexts and between the smaller localities, and not between the South–North divide underlying the research. In Chapter 6 Ignatius Swart, Marlize Rabe and Stephan de Beer begin the case study discussions with their account of what they have learned about the situation of marginalised young people and their relationship with FBOs in Pretoria Central, an area of diverse neighbourhoods located in South Africa’s Gauteng province. In Chapter 7 Bjørn Hallstein Holte, Annette Leis-Peters, Olav Helge Angell and Kari Karsrud Korslien present their research on the interactions between FBOs and young people in the city district of Søndre Nordstrand in Oslo, Norway, and this leads them to specifically highlight the case of so-called “street youths”. In Chapter 8 Elina Hankela and Regie Nel present their account of young people’s rather diverse perceptions and experiences of the FBOs in the neighbourhood of Riverlea, a spatial remnant of apartheid South Africa located on the outskirts of the City of Johannesburg. In Chapter 9 Eddie Orsmond, Anita Cloete, Elisabet le Roux and Zahraa McDonald shift the focus to the midsize town of Franschhoek in the Western Cape province of South Africa to recount what they discovered about the dynamic between the FBOs and young people in NEET situations in this setting. In Chapter 10 Christina Landman and Hannelie Yates give an account of the views of the rural youth from two townships in the municipality of Emakhazeni on the Highveld of South Africa’s Mpumalanga province in order to learn about the FBOs’ engagement with the young people in this context. And lastly, in Chapter 11 Auli Vähäkangas, Anna Juntunen, Elina Juntunen, Johanna Vilja-Mantere and Ulla Siirto present their account of young people’s experiences of the FBOs in Lammi, a small town located in the southern part of Finland. Finally, under the heading “Discussions and Conclusions”, the three chapters in Part 3 seek to move the book to a deeper reflection on and interpretation of the collective case study findings by offering discussions from three perspectives: intersectional, sociology of religion and theological. From the start of the research undertaking, we knew that aspects such as gender and race would be important to understand the life worlds of the young people who participated in our research. However, given the fact that some of the locations where the case studies were conducted were poles apart from each other, we wanted to analyse and reflect not only on the differences but also the similarities between the respective case study findings in a systematic way. Applying an intersectional lens became an obvious method to do exactly that, as seen in Marlize Rabe, Bjørn

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Introduction

Hallstein Holte, Zahraa McDonald, Olav Helge Angell and Ulla Siirto’s contribution in Chapter 12. Concepts for describing marginalisation often imply spatial metaphors distinguishing between inside and outside, or centre and periphery. In the process of analysing the case studies from the perspective of a sociology of religion, it was therefore not surprising that the dimension of space turned out to be an important prism that cast light on many of the findings. This is explicitly and purposefully shown in Chapter 13, where Annette Leis-Peters, Ignatius Swart, Anita Cloete and Per Pettersson opt for a spatial lens to interpret the case study findings. From the beginning of this research journey we also very deliberately wanted to apply the appropriate theological lenses to gain a deeper understanding not only of the religious and spiritual elements in the lives of the young people who participated in our research, but also of the particular theological motivations and ideas that steer FBOs in their interactions with those young people. In Chapter 14, in addressing this theological aim, Auli Vähäkangas, Stephan de Beer, Elina Hankela and Annette Leis-Peters fittingly conclude the book by building their argumentation on a “liberative” theological perspective inclusive of liberation and diaconal theological approaches.

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Part I Contexts and Concepts

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Ignatius Swart, Bjørn Hallstein Holte, Heikki Hiilamo

Chapter 2: NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation A South African–Nordic European Exchange of Perspectives1

2.1

Introduction

Youth can be defined as “a socially constructed intermediary phase that stands between childhood and adulthood” (Furlong: 2013, 1). This is the phase in which young people should ideally advance toward adulthood through a series of interconnected transitions. The transitions leading from childhood into social adulthood typically include moving from education into work, household establishment and family formation (Furlong: 2013, 16–7; Honwana: 2012, 19–22). With the advance of the global capitalist economy over many decades, successful transitions into work – which ideally means secure employment – have become key to all these transitions for most young people; failing the transition into work is associated with marginalisation and exclusion on the individual level, and if too many young people fail to make this transition, it can become a societal problem of social integration and social cohesion (cf. Chapter 4). Yet, evidence has accumulated over the last two decades indicating that large numbers of young people across the Global South and the Global North are failing to make transitions into work, or at least taking longer to do so than what is seen as ideal. Researchers working in the Global South have referred to young people “waiting” and in “waithood” (e.g. Dawson: 2014; Honwana: 2012; Jeffrey & Young: 2012), while researchers working in the Global North are concerned about young people not in education, employment or training (NEET young people; e.g. Eurofound: 2012; Eurofound: 2016; Social Exclusion Unit: 1999). The concepts represent different approaches to similar phenomena with waiting and waithood being more closely geared towards understanding failing transitions in young people’s lives and their experiences, while the NEET concept appears more normative in public statistics and policy discourse. This chapter shows and reflects on how the NEET concept is used in the contexts immediately relevant to the case studies in this book. We consider the value of the NEET concept for comparative research by reviewing its evolution and refinement in the United Kingdom (UK) and continental Europe, after which we address its adoption in the Nordic countries and South Africa. We discuss the Nordic 1 An adapted version of this chapter was first published in Journal of Youth Studies 22/2, 256–272.

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countries more broadly, but focus mostly on Finland and Norway, in line with the case studies presented in Part 2 of the book. By comparing research evidence and discourses that have emerged in these very different contexts, we highlight the strengths and limitations of the NEET concept as a comparative conceptualisation of youth marginalisation. We demonstrate that marginalisation is not necessarily tied to employment status, whereas the NEET concept might reinforce a capitalist focus on gainful employment as the criterion for inclusion in society. However, we argue that despite the concept’s limitations it can be used as a lens through which young people’s lives and their contexts can be compared across the case studies and the different countries focused upon in this book.

2.2

Conceptual Evolution in the UK and Continental Europe

The NEET concept has its origins in the UK, by and large because of changes in benefit regimes in the late 1980s whereby British school-leavers were no longer eligible to unemployment benefits until they turned 18. This resulted in the need for a new indicator to capture those young people in the age group who were vulnerable to the risks of social exclusion (see Eurofound: 2012, 19; Social Exclusion Unit: 1999; cf. Furlong: 2006, 553–554, 556–559). As a direct consequence, by the late 1990s “the term NEET was firmly established as the only acceptable form of language to be used in referring to workless youth” in the UK (Furlong: 2006, 556). NEET had by then been adopted as a replacement for the term “Status Zero”, which researchers and government officials had started to use a few years earlier to identify young people who were experiencing difficult transitions. The NEET concept soon gained popularity beyond its initial consolidation in the UK. The term was adopted in almost all EU member states as a working concept, as well as in countries such as Japan, New Zealand, Taiwan, Hong Kong and South Korea. However, NEET became a frequently used term at the international level especially after the onset of the global economic recession during the late 2000s, which led to very high youth unemployment in a number of countries (Eurofound: 2012, 20; cf. Eichhorst et al.: 2013; Maguire: 2013; Serracant: 2014; Styczyńska: 2013). At the same time, the recognition of NEET young people as a heterogeneous category also became the basis for problematising the concept, noticeably in the wider European NEET debate. The criticism was that it incorporated “very different young people, displaying very different characteristics, facing very different challenges, risks and transitions in their lives, and with very different potential needs for intervention” (Yates & Payne: 2006, 333–339). One attempt to refine the concept therefore led to the identification of at least five subcategories within the NEET population:

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NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation

– The “conventionally unemployed”, consisting of long-term and short-term unemployed young people who are available for work and are seeking employment; – The “unavailable”, including young carers, young people with family commitments, and young people who are sick or disabled; – The “disengaged”, referring to young people who are not seeking employment or education and training opportunities, and are not constrained from doing so by other obligations or incapacities; as such, this group includes young people discouraged from seeking employment as well as those who are pursuing dangerous and a-social lifestyles; – The “opportunity-seekers”, referring to young people who are actively seeking work or training, but are holding back in anticipation of opportunities that they perceive will benefit their skills and status; – The “voluntary NEETs”, referring to young people who are developing skills in an unpaid capacity through voluntary work, are travelling, or are engaged in other constructive activities such as art, music and self-directed learning (Eurofound: 2012, 24; cf. Eurofound: 2016; Holte: 2018a, 7–8). Yet another line of problematisation has focused on how the concept is rather “too narrow” to deal with contemporary youth vulnerability (Furlong: 2006, 566). For some researchers it has thus become important to “go beyond NEET” to address the problem of youth vulnerability (e.g. Cuzzocrea: 2014; Furlong: 2006; King: 2015; MacDonald: 2011; MacDonald: 2013; Roberts: 2011). For them, it has become imperative to consider “underemployment”, low pay, precarious jobs and the situation of the working poor, which they argue have become distinctive features of the new globalised condition of “limited opportunity structures” that are increasingly uniting “the more and less disadvantaged in the experience of underemployment” (MacDonald: 2011, 439). They argue that this recognition should lead to a broader focus that will also direct attention to two other groups: graduate youths who increasingly suffer from un- and underemployment, and the so-called “missing middle” – working-class young people who neither follow NEET nor educational pathways, but who nevertheless remain vulnerable to the risks of social exclusion as their “future prosperity is by no means guaranteed by having low-level employment” (Roberts: 2011, 23–24; cf. Furlong: 2006; King: 2015; MacDonald: 2011; MacDonald: 2013). For those arguing for a broader focus, then, it is not a case that the “conditions of life of those at the bottom” (that is, NEET young people) do not demand research and policy attention. Instead, they suggest that the focus on those at the bottom should not be at the expense of “a more panoramic view” (MacDonald: 2011, 437) that takes into account not only the missing middle, but also the insecurities and risks facing well-educated young people for whom fast-track transitions from tertiary education to secure graduate employment is no longer a given (MacDonald:

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2011, 437; MacDonald: 2013, 3; see also King: 2015; Roberts: 2011). Seen from this broader perspective, there is today an increasing levelling of the playing field affecting a wide range of young people. Effectively this means that the correlation between education and training, on the one hand, and employment, especially of a more secure and life-sustainable kind, on the other hand, seems increasingly uncertain. This divergence calls for a critical questioning of the orthodoxy of the “skills economy” which posits that the “(p)roblems of young people becoming NEET or trapped in poor-quality jobs can be solved by ‘up-skilling’” and that “(t)here will be more opportunities for higher-skilled workers, such as graduates, in the coming ‘high-skill, information economy’” (MacDonald: 2011, 434; see also King: 2015;144–145; MacDonald: 2013, 2–3). This, it is argued, should be contrasted with the reality of “the growth of underemployment” in the youth labour market, which is bringing about situations in which the disadvantaged may become even more disadvantaged as they are squeezed out by an “over-supply of wellqualified workers” for whom non-graduate jobs may become the only source of employment. By implication, this leads to a situation where “non-graduates become increasingly disadvantaged in the labour market and face increasing pressure to get higher qualifications in order to ‘keep up’, even though returns diminish relative to previous cohorts” (MacDonald: 2011, 435; cf. MacDonald: 2013).

2.3

NEET as a Phenomenon in the Nordic Countries

In shifting the focus in this section and the next to the Nordic countries, our starting point is to outline how young people are (and are not) NEET within a particular welfare state context. We also comment on some relevant differences between the Nordic countries before we turn to how NEET as an identifiable phenomenon is discursively constructed in Nordic debates, on the national and the regional level. This is done by pointing out how Nordic discourses on NEET likewise relate to the welfare state context – that is, to particular ways of thinking about education, work and welfare. The Nordic countries are usually understood as relatively similar when compared to the rest of Europe and the world. In Gøsta Esping-Andersen’s (1990) typology of welfare states, for example, the Nordic welfare states are distinguished as a distinct regime. The basic idea of the Nordic ‘social democratic’ welfare state is to provide comprehensive universal welfare, which entails that public programmes, services and transfers are designed to serve everyone who lives in a country (Hiilamo & Kangas: 2013). This furthermore means that the state crowds out the market as a provider of welfare by offering the same services and benefits to all to promote an “equality of the highest standards” (Esping-Andersen: 1990, 27).

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NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation

Comprehensive and high-quality tax-financed welfare presupposes broad tax bases and high employment rates, and the whole working-age population is expected to participate in education, training or employment. This is particularly important for young people because research indicates that unemployment has a “scarring effect” and affects future labour market opportunities (e.g. Albæk et al.: 2015a, 8). One recent article notes that “individuals who experience unemployment at an early stage in their career face a longer time horizon until retirement, thereby making the long-term scarring effects particularly severe” (Nilsen & Reiso: 2014, 37). In this context young people who are neither active in the labour market paying taxes and gaining work experience, nor participating in education or training to become more productive citizens in the future, are therefore often constructed as a social problem, as well as a problem for the individual. The idea is that those with an education should be employed as quickly as possible and those without an education should start one as soon as possible – if they are able. However, while non-negligible shares of young people face difficulties in attaching to labour markets, and youth unemployment rates are much higher than general unemployment rates in the Nordic countries as elsewhere (Albæk et al.: 2015a; see Chapter 3), youth unemployment figures are also partly arbitrary. For technical reasons Nordic youth unemployment figures include large numbers of students who are looking for work, part-time or full-time. Also, the youth unemployment rates are much higher in Finland and Sweden, for instance, than they are in Norway and Denmark. This difference is largely explained by how pupils in the school-based vocational training systems that dominate in Sweden and Finland are classified as outside the labour force or as unemployed if they are looking for a job, while apprentices in the apprenticeship-based vocational training systems in Norway and Denmark are classified as employed (Bäckman et al.: 2011). Such classificatory differences yield relatively large effects on some indicators, such as youth unemployment, while the countries have more similar NEET rates (Albæk: 2015a, 64–65). This means that the proportion of NEET young people is similar across the Nordic countries, but the way they are classified in labour market statistics differs between them. NEET rates can be posited as a more relevant indicator of youth disengagement than youth unemployment rates, as they include all young people and not just those who are active in the labour force (Albæk et al.: 2015b; Eurofound: 2012, 22–23). By one estimate, NEET rates for individuals aged 16 to 24 years were 8.4 per cent in Finland and 6.7 per cent in Norway in 2012, against 12.6 per cent across all Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) member countries (OECD: 2014a, 103). Finnish and Norwegian NEET rates have also remained comparatively low since 2012 (e.g. OECD: 2018, 36; OECD: 2019, 34–35).

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These comparatively low Nordic rates reflect strong economies and labour markets, as well as how the Nordic welfare states make more interventions than most other countries to reduce the number of young people without a registered occupation (Hyggen: 2013). As a direct consequence, many NEET young people are integrated into activation activities and programmes, which leads to a reduction in the overall NEET rates. Although the content and form of such activities and programmes vary, they generally aim to integrate individuals into education or employment. This is clearly the case in Finland and Norway. In Finland all unemployed young people below the age of 25 who have not completed formal vocational training or who need practical training are offered an individual plan to be followed – the so-called Youth Guarantee (see Ministry of Education and Culture: 2012; OECD: 2019, 100–104). The idea is to assign young people places at workshops to help them complete their education and find work. In Norway the integrated employment and social services at the Norwegian Labour and Welfare Administration (NAV) coordinate the services and support available to NEET young people, most of which are aimed at moving them closer to work or helping them find work, and many of which come with strict activity requirements (see OECD: 2018, 123–140). This is over and above the fact that since 1994 there have been Follow-Up Services that contact people below 21 years of age who are not in education or employment and have not completed upper-secondary education to give them information and help tailor the services available to them (Albæk et al.: 2015a, 56; OECD: 2018, 99). It is important to mention that all the Nordic countries offer education free of charge and financial support to students to promote access to secondary and tertiary education. But although this results in nearly all young people starting upper-secondary education in the Nordic countries, a significant proportion of Nordic students do not complete this level of education and remain in NEET situations for certain periods of time (Albæk et al.: 2015a; Bäckman et al.: 2011). In Finland, only 75 per cent of young people who started vocational education five and a half years earlier had completed their qualifications by 2014. The same was true of 89 per cent of those who had started general education tracks four and a half years earlier (Statistics Finland: 2016). This means that one in four students in vocational education and one in ten students in general education tracks did not complete their qualifications. Similarly, 27 per cent of students who enrolled in upper secondary education in Norway in 2010 did not complete their three or four years of education by 2015. Students enrolled in vocational training programmes had a lower completion rate than students in general studies tracks (Statistics Norway: 2016a). An oftencited explanation for non-completion is that young people have not acquired basic skills in reading, writing and mathematics in primary education. In this respect one solution that has been proposed is to improve basic skills at kindergarten and primary school level already to prepare young people better for secondary education

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NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation

and the labour market; another solution was to tailor secondary education more to the individual needs and skills of each student, and to offer more practical training as part of the curriculum (Djernes: 2013). Furthermore, a lack of apprenticeships continues to be an important reason why some young people do not complete vocational education, especially in Norway (Bäckman et al.: 2011; OECD: 2018, 103).

2.4

NEET as a Discourse in the Nordic Countries

The above discussion provides some background to illustrate how the NEET concept corresponds with already established research and policy discourses on youth marginalisation in the Nordic countries. Indeed, the concept has been used in research on young people “dropping out” of school (Bäckman et al.: 2011), youth marginalisation (Halvorsen et al.: 2012) and youth unemployment (Albæk et al.: 2015a) on the regional level, although this formed part of already established discourses rather than a separate and coherent discourse specifically on NEET. At the same time, however, the concept has also been used in research on the national level in Finland (Myrskylä: 2011) and Norway (Bø & Vigran: 2014; Grødem et al.: 2014). These reports have outlined the demography of “outsiders” in Finland and “NEETs” in Norway, thereby constructing NEET young people as populations and objects of discourses. Furthermore, most of this research has been commissioned by public authorities and is based on a tradition of population statistics that uses administrative registers and representative surveys to produce knowledge in the form of numbers. This has, at least to some extent, left the impression that Nordic discourse on NEET young people tends to feature probabilistic and future-oriented language. As in the broader European discourse outlined above, the NEET indicator is not generally understood to capture a singular problem in Nordic discourse. Instead, it is emphasised that NEET young people are a “very heterogeneous” population and that the concept encompasses a variety of subgroups (Albæk et al.: 2015b: 88; Hyggen: 2013, 372–373). This has resulted in much of the Nordic research being focused on outlining the demographic properties of these populations to establish who the NEET young people are, what they do and what their future outcomes are likely to be. Indeed, it is widely accepted that young people with low levels of education, young people whose parents have low levels of education, and immigrants and the children of immigrants are over-represented amongst NEET young people in Finland and Norway (Bø & Vigran: 2014; Myrskylä: 2011; OECD: 2018; OECD: 2019). Nordic research has tended to refer to NEET young people as not only facing heightened risk of falling outside the labour market and society (Halvorsen et al.:

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2012, 132; Larja et al.: 2016), but in fact as being “at great risk of long-term exclusion from working life and society, perhaps for much of their adult lives” (Halvorsen et al.: 2012, 199; cf. Hyggen: 2013, 373). This suggests that the most important problem for NEET young people is their increased likelihood of future social exclusion rather than their prevailing situation. In reaction to this understanding, however, an emerging body of research has also started to address how the future orientation and probabilistic conceptualisations of the above-mentioned type of research do not correspond well with the experiences of the people the research is concerned with (Follesø: 2015; Holte: 2018a; Wall & Olofsson: 2008). According to this line of thinking, subjective experiences of risk may not correspond with predictions of risk based on population statistics and some young people simply understand “youth at risk” as referring to “others” who are different from themselves (Follesø: 2015). Along the same lines, young people who are conceived as “NEET young people” or “youth at risk” by researchers may also be more prone to understand their situation in terms of on-going problems, such as physical or psychological health issues, financial problems or boredom rather than in terms of potential future problems. The discussion in this section suggests that there will also be noticeable incongruences between the conceptualisations of youth marginalisation in Nordic research and the policy discourses and everyday understandings of marginalisation that need to be taken into account. The problems that Bjørn Hallstein Holte (2018a; 2018b, 25–29), for instance, encountered when trying to find and meet NEET young people for interviews for the case study from Oslo in this book (Chapter 7) can be held up as an important case in point. The difficulties that he experienced pointedly highlight how people he met during the research tended to understand his translation of the NEET concept in the light of discourses on youth gangs, teenage criminals and dangerous youths rather than as a normatively neutral description. This applied to the extent that even individuals who could be identified as NEET from what they shared about their lives in informal conversations did not see themselves as NEET young people, understanding the concept rather as referring to “different others” (Holte: 2018a, 4). We want to suggest that the difficulties that Holte experienced could well be explained against the backdrop of how young people who are neither in employment or education are often referred to as lazy, unmotivated and lacking in self-discipline in the Nordic countries. They are considered as not contributing to the sustenance of the welfare states (Kallio & Niemelä: 2014), while amongst young people themselves, those with jobs and work incomes have displayed a more punitive attitude towards young people who are on social assistance (Hiilamo: 2015).

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NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation

2.5

NEET as a Phenomenon in South Africa

Judging from a survey of the literature, it appears as if the concept of NEET has in recent years also given new shape and direction to the academic and public debate on youths and marginalisation in South Africa. In this respect it could well be said that discourses and debates about young people in South Africa have followed the example of Europe, the continent where NEET emerged some 20 years ago as a popular (but also criticised) concept to explore comparative and comprehensive measures of inactivity, unemployment and problematic transitions in young people’s lives (Eurofound: 2012; Quintini & Martin: 2006). In the South African debate a study entitled Responding to the Educational Needs of Post-School Youth (Cloete: 2009a) is credited with having introduced the concept of NEET and, in doing so, creating new awareness about the dismal situation of a large proportion of the country’s youth (see Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b, 1; Kraak: 2013, 81; Perold: 2012, 178; Taylor: 2011, 50). This study reported (on the basis of results from the 2007 Statistics South Africa Community Survey) that almost three million young people (or 41.6 per cent of a total population of 6 758 366 in the age group 18 to 24) were so-called “NEETs” (Cloete: 2009b, 10–11). Furthermore, the study reported that this category included: – Almost 1 million pupils who left school after completing Grades 10 and 11 and were therefore in need of multiple “second-chance opportunities” to complete matriculation; – 700 000 youths who had the secondary school qualification of matric (Grade 12), but were not improving their education and training; – Another million unemployed young people with a qualification of less than Grade 10 in need of training and jobs (Cloete: 2009b, 11; cf. Kraak: 2013, 81–82). One could today easily point to a development whereby the term NEET has become firmly entrenched as a statistical indicator and concept in discussions about the plight of South Africa’s youth. Painting an even bleaker picture, a commonly accepted figure that has emerged in more recent studies is that the number of NEET youth in the age group 15 to 24 years today stands closer to between 3.2 and 3.3 million individuals (close to 33 per cent of just over 10 million people in this age cohort) (Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b; DHET: 2013, 3; Hall: 2015, 125; Lings: 2013, 7; Mashilo: 2012; Ramose: 2014; Van Broekhuizen: 2013, 45). This identification has in turn become the basis for the national Department of Higher Education and Training (DHET) pointing out a trend of an ever-rising NEET population; by using the findings from the census surveys since the demise of apartheid (1996, 2001, 2011), it could point out how the number and percentage of NEET youths in the age cohort 15 to 24 has grown from 2.049 million in 1996 (a NEET rate of 25.1 per cent) to 3.155 million in 2001

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(a NEET rate of 34 per cent) and to 3.199 million in 2011 (a NEET rate of 30.8 per cent) (DHET: 2013, 3). Although some inconsistencies may be identified when comparing different figures of the extent of South Africa’s NEET problem, it is nevertheless clear that in present-day South Africa the high and increasing rate of NEET young people presents a considerable challenge. Furthermore, it is against this backdrop that international comparative results put the extent of South Africa’s NEET problem into a clearer perspective. When compared with countries beyond the African continent, South Africa emerges as a weak performer in terms of meeting the challenges of youth unemployment and addressing the problem of NEET. In the wake of the country’s poorly performing labour market, it was found that the unemployment rate of its workers aged 15 to 24 was 51.8 per cent, three times the OECD average, and the NEET rate of youths in the same age cohort was close to 32 per cent, more than twice the OECD average (OECD: 2014b, 1–2). And a subsequent study found that amongst 42 OECD and G20 countries only Greece and Spain recorded higher unemployment levels in the age cohort 18 to 25 than South Africa (OECD: 2015, 1). On this basis, the study concluded: The failure to integrate young people in the labour market threatens social cohesion. In particular young NEETs are at risk of having their future work career permanently “scarred” by prolonged spells of not working. Reaching out to this group and ensuring they are given the help needed to find employment or opportunities for further training is a key challenge for South Africa (OECD: 2015, 2).

On the basis of the discussion so far in this section, it is not surprising that South Africa’s youth unemployment and NEET problem has been identified by commentators as perhaps the country’s “most urgent challenge”, a “national crisis” that seriously undermines its prospects of long-term social, economic and political stability (Creamer: 2013; Lings: 2013). According to some, this could be put in context by the fact that South Africa has a strikingly youthful population with more than 50 per cent of its total population under the age of 25 (Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b, 1). It is amongst this youthful half of the population that the related problems of unemployment and NEET could be said to represent a real struggle for a considerable and growing group of young people, leaving them with a bleak future and leading them, as one commentator puts it, to “disengage from society and participate in risky or socially-disruptive behaviour” (Lings: 2013, 7). However, the factors of race and gender crucially also define the crisis of South Africa’s unemployed and NEET youths. In present-day South Africa, as often recognised in discussions of the problem, unemployed and NEET young people are

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NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation

predominantly from the country’s majority black African and coloured population groups (Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b, 2; Lolwana: 2014, 14; Mathibe et al.: 2012, 3, 5, 7; Mashilo: 2012; OECD: 2015). They by far surpass their unemployed and NEET counterparts from the white minority population, in some cases by more than three times the rate of the latter (Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b, 2; Lolwana: 2014, 14). As one commentator has observed, it is the black youths of South Africa who are the major bearers of the brunt of the country’s triple defects of unemployment, poverty and inequality, along the old lines of the apartheid era (Mashilo: 2012). To an overwhelming degree, they are the victims of very poor schooling and an unaccommodating post-school sector (see Cloete: 2009a; DHET: 2013; Gibbon et al.: 2012; Hall: 2015; Kraak: 2013; Lolwana: 2014; Spaull: 2013; Van Broekhuizen: 2013). They lack the necessary skills for meaningful employment and many young black African men in particular express their frustration and anger by taking to the streets in protests that are often violent (Kraak: 2013, 93; Mashilo: 2012). South Africa’s protesting black male youths may represent the public face of the country’s unemployed and NEET youth today most explicitly, but this should not obscure a distinctive gender differentiation. Amongst South Africa’s unemployed and NEET youths, females are numerically the most disadvantaged group. They represent a noticeable majority and while this may be a feature across population groups, at least two important qualifications stand out: firstly, that the percentage rates of African young black and coloured females are much higher than the rate of their white female counterparts; and secondly, that African young black women conspicuously remain a special case, given the fact that they represent a noticeable majority also in comparison to their African black male counterparts (Lolwana: 2014, 13–14; Mashilo: 2012; see also DHET: 2013, 6; Hall: 2015, 125).

2.6

NEET as a Discourse in South Africa

The South African discourse on NEET that has developed since the landmark study by Cloete and others (Cloete: 2009a) has not encountered the same kind of problematisation and lack of enthusiasm as the adoption and use of the concept has in the Nordic and broader European contexts. In South Africa today NEET is embraced as a straightforward, standard and innovative concept to discuss the plight of the country’s youth. In this discourse, as illustrated by the verdict of Kraak in his important contribution to the unfolding of a South African discourse on NEET, “international criticisms of the concept” do not negate the fact that “NEET as an explanatory and predictive device is still very powerful and useful, particularly when applied to youth unemployment in South Africa” (Kraak: 2013, 79–80).

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As a straightforward, standard and innovative concept, then, NEET has strengthened the debate or discourse on the endemic problem of youth unemployment and inactivity in South Africa in a threefold way. To the extent that it has become a complementary statistical and numerical indicator to that of youth unemployment figures, NEET has highlighted how a disturbing number and proportion of young people are not only unemployed but also not engaged in any form of meaningful education and training that could remedy their situation. Secondly, the adoption of NEET as statistical indicator has given weight to a thesis on an endemic social crisis in South Africa, also alluded to in the previous section. And, thirdly, as a result, it is from such vantage point of a deepening sense of social crisis that much of the discourse on NEET has evolved around an identification and discussion of the causal factors of the NEET and youth unemployment problem (cf. Kraak: 2013, 82–83), but also connected to this, around an identification and discussion of policy and strategic interventions to resolve the problem. Indeed, attempts towards the development of a more profound understanding of South Africa’s related NEET and youth unemployment problems, and the strategic and policy measures to solve them, have to a great extent been focused on the deficiencies of the country’s education and training system. However, whereas much of this focus has been on the deficiencies of the post-school system (see e.g. CHET: 2012; Cloete: 2009a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b; Cosser: 2010; Fisher & Scott: 2011; Kraak: 2013; Perold et al.: 2012; Taylor: 2011), some have also pointed to the appalling state of the country’s primary and secondary school systems (Hall: 2015; Spaull: 2013; Taylor: 2011, 10–22). According to this emphasis, attention should be paid first to the way in which South Africa’s school system is failing the majority of the country’s youths. In South Africa one is confronted with the reality that there “are in effect two different public school systems” that reflect the vast inequality of education opportunities across the divides of socio-economic privilege, geographic location and race: on the one hand, there is a “smaller, better performing system” accommodating the wealthiest 20 to 25 per cent of pupils and, on the other hand, a “larger system” characterised by its abysmal performance and catering for the poorest 75 to 80 per cent of pupils (Spaull: 2013, 6, 35–37; see also Hall: 2015, 122–124; Taylor: 2011, 10–22). Consequently, it is the education system that could be regarded as a major factor in failing to prepare a large section of South Africa’s young people to avoid a life of NEET conditions and precarious job opportunities. This is because a major feature of this system is the way in which it leaves large proportions of pupils “functionally illiterate and innumerate” (Spaull: 2013, 3, 39–44), and one could add to this the low retention rate of learners in the system (Fisher & Scott: 2011, 2; Hall: 2015; Spaull: 2013, 5, 31–34). In terms of the more precise findings of one study:

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NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation

A close inspection of school data shows that of the 100 pupils that start Grade 1, 50 will drop out before Grade 12 (most of which happens in Grades 10 and 11), 40 will pass the NSC [National Senior Certificate] exam and 12 will qualify for university. Given that the NSC is the only externally evaluated, nationally standardised exam in the South African school system, grade progression in primary and lower-secondary school is an unreliable indicator of actual learning. Many pupils proceed to higher grades without acquiring foundational skills in numeracy and literacy. As the NSC exam approaches, schools and teachers can no longer afford to promote pupils who have not acquired the grade-appropriate skills, and consequently pupils fail and drop out of schools in large numbers in Grades 10 and 11 as schools weed out the weaker pupils (Spaull: 2013, 5).

In the South African discourse involving the NEET concept, the connection made between the prospect of meaningful employment and the factors of meaningful educational attainment and training could consequently be regarded as a distinctive feature. Thus, when compared to the critical European debate on NEET, there is a more ready acceptance of the orthodoxy of the skills economy and a related emphasis on the importance of “upskilling”. In this discourse the mantra is sustained that tertiary education and training increases individuals’ prospects of formal employment and increased earnings (Branson et al.: 2009; Branson: 2012, 154; Cloete: 2009b, 4–6; Fisher & Scott: 2011, 1; Lolwana: 2014, 9; Van Broekhuizen: 2013, 52), despite the labour market’s inability and unwillingness to absorb young people, insufficient economic growth and the manifestation of graduate unemployment (see Cloete: 2009b, 5–6; Creamer: 2013; Kraak: 2013, 82–83, 84–85; Lings: 2013; Lolwana: 2014, 5, 18–27; OECD: 2014b; Van Broekhuizen: 2013, 45, 47–48). While a high premium is placed on the importance of tertiary education and training, what is identified as a more specific challenge in the South African discourse involving the NEET concept is to improve the quality and relevance of this level of education to equip young people more effectively with the skills demanded by the labour market and an increasingly knowledge-based, high-skills economy (Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b, 2; Cosser: 2010; Fisher & Scott: 2011; Lolwana: 2014; OECD: 2014b, 2; Taylor: 2011, 34–37, 56–57). Added to this, it is emphasised that the tertiary sector should transform itself into a far more differentiated and expanded system providing for the needs of a far more heterogeneous group of young people (CHET: 2012; Cloete: 2009a; Cloete & ButlerAdam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b, 4–5; Cosser: 2010; Fisher & Scott: 2011; Gibbon et al.: 2012; Perold: 2012; Taylor: 2011, 35–36, 52–59). Moreover, it has been pointed out that such transformation should be regarded as paramount as the current post-school system suffers from a number of serious deficiencies: – Its inability to provide access and opportunities (including “second-chance” education) to a large segment of socio-economically disadvantaged young people,

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especially those young people who have qualified for further education and training, and its tendency to sustain if not intensify a system of inequality along the lines of South Africa’s apartheid past (Cloete: 2009b, 7–12, 16; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b, 2–3; Fisher & Scott: 2011, 1–3; Gibbon et al.: 2012, 134; Kraak: 2013, 82–83; Taylor: 2011, 25–29, 37–38, 40); – Its very high student drop-out (attrition) rate, with specific reference to those socio-economically disadvantaged young people who do manage to gain access to tertiary education (Cosser: 2010; Fisher & Scott: 2011, 1–2, 7–10; Kraak: 2013, 83, 90–91; Taylor: 2011, 29–30, 34–35, 43–45); – Its inability to provide sufficiently for the needs for work placement (on-the-job) and practical and technical skills training of young people both in and outside formal tertiary education (Archer: 2012; Branson: 2012; Cosser: 2010; Kraak: 2013; Taylor: 2011, 48–49, 58–59). Finally, it cannot go unnoticed that in the South African discourse involving the NEET concept, the state is both appreciated as a proactive role-player and acknowledged as part of the problem. So, for instance, one finds in the discourse participants who have been appreciating initiatives such as South Africa’s National Development Plan (NDP), the implementation of a so-called Youth Employment Accord and measures to improve the country’s technical, vocational and skills development (TSVD) sector (DHET: 2013, 7; Lolwana: 2014, 5–6, 30–41). Nevertheless, in stark contrast to such appreciation, one also finds those participants who not only point to the problems and challenges of effective policy implementation (Archer: 2012; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012a; Cloete & Butler-Adam: 2012b, 3–5; Lings: 2013, 8; Perold: 2012, 192–195), but even to the issue of outright state failure (Kraak: 2013). In the light of these issues and challenges, we think it would be meaningful to once again take into consideration André Kraak’s provocative article on South Africa’s NEET problem. This is not only because of his claim of state failure, but importantly also for his thesis on the “substitution” role of the NGO sector (Kraak: 2013, 81) in the wake of the state’s failure to provide for the employment, educational and training needs of its youth population. Indeed, Kraak’s elaboration on how NGOs operating at the micro level in South Africa are instrumental in creating the kinds of social capital networks that are enabling young people to find access to workplace training and first-time job opportunities (Kraak: 2013, 85–94) provides important scope for exploring whether a potentially similar role might be played by faith-based organisations (FBOs) in the South African context. We acknowledge the current dearth of such research, but at the same time want to point to the case study research reflected in the later chapters in this book as a meaningful step towards addressing this shortcoming.

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NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation

2.7

Conclusion

Our exploration in this chapter has provided sufficient scope for us to conclude with at least a qualified positive answer to the question about the usefulness of NEET as a conceptual framework for comparative research. The concept has risen to prominence in discussions about youth marginalisation on national and international levels; it clearly cannot be ignored – even if it is found unwarranted in certain respects. When considering its shortcomings, in line with our discussion in Section 2.2, youth marginalisation is not necessarily tied to employment status only. From this perspective the NEET concept offers a narrow view on young people’s difficult life situations by reinforcing a capitalist focus on gainful employment as the (only) criterion for inclusion in society. However, besides NEET status there are also other important features that define young people’s functional status, for example, their participation in care work and other household responsibilities, their participation in political processes, and their taking up of roles as mentors or providers for others (Eurofound: 2016; Holte: 2018a). Yet, there can also be little disagreement that sampling participants by the combined criteria of not being in education, employment or training will inform a concerted qualitative research initiative to capture a category of young people of whom at least a noticeable proportion will be marginalised, notwithstanding whether they find themselves in the Nordic countries or South Africa. Nevertheless, from our discussion a strong case emerges for understanding the situation of NEET young people in relation to their social contexts. In the case of the countries covered in this book, the NEET rates are so much higher in South Africa than in the Nordic countries, and the resources available in families and from public welfare services are so different, that we cannot assume that the concept captures youths’ experiences in directly comparable situations. Indeed, as readers will discover from a closer reading of the South African case study chapters, young people who participated in the research reflected in this book experienced homelessness, violence and other forms of hardship on a scale far beyond the difficulties experienced by their counterparts in the Nordic case studies. Moreover, the above-mentioned discrepancies are also reflected in the differences between the Nordic and the South African discourses outlined in this chapter. Whereas the concept has been problematised because it captures heterogeneous populations in the Nordic countries, as in Europe more generally, it has been accepted more readily as capturing significant social and structural problems in South Africa. In the case of the Nordic discourse, the concern clearly remains with preserving the long-term sustainability of the welfare state; in the case of the South African discourse, there is in contrast a wider concern with the more fundamental issues of social cohesion and social stability, racial and gender inequality, weak state performance and a dysfunctional education system.

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Although the NEET concept is used in different contexts, it should not be assumed to refer to directly comparable phenomena across these contexts. At the same time, however, we want to contend that the emphasis on difference should not be taken as discounting the fact that being NEET can delay or obstruct individual young people’s transitions to adulthood. In the Nordic countries, being NEET not only hinders access to the social rights that are tied to paid employment, but also comes in the way of establishing independent living and attaining other markers of adulthood. And in South Africa, being outside the spheres of education and employment can mean that one is cut off from a source of more viable income as well as from perhaps the most important means of remedying such a situation of permanently precarious income. Across the localities focused on in the case studies in this book, NEET therefore also refers to distinct experiences resonating with the ideas of waiting and waithood alluded to in the introduction of this chapter. On the other hand, in the Nordic countries and at least in the case of the more privileged classes in South Africa, the labour market categories on which the concept of NEET is based may become less relevant where young people are increasing their stocks of capital through voluntary work, travelling or self-directed activities. But this diminishing relevance of conventional labour market categories to no lesser degree applies to those young people who, whether in South Africa or the Nordic countries, find themselves in conditions of insecure employment, or in education or training that they are unmotivated or unprepared for. In an important way, then, these qualifications suggest important grounds why the concept of NEET also needs to make way for reflections on structural changes emerging through the forces of neoliberalism and globalisation, changes that render increasingly flexible the distinction between those who are in education, employment or training and those who are not, and between those who are vulnerable and those who are not. We could well point out how neither the Nordic nor the South African discourses explored in this chapter have so far taken sufficient account of the structural argument, in contrast to the way we have seen this argument take on an emphasis in the broader European discourse on NEET. Indeed, in both discourses the imperative of right and good education and training as the panacea for meeting the problem of youth unemployment still seems to be upheld without much qualification. In the case of the Nordic discourse, we have seen how this train of thought is accompanied by a steadfast belief in the virtues of the social democratic welfare state and the importance of education, employment and training to sustain that system. And in the case of the South African discourse, we have seen how this line of thinking is accompanied by a rather unqualified acceptance of the orthodoxy of the skills economy, without taking account of how the forces of the global capitalist economy – with which the South African economy is fully integrated – may be impacting on the prospects not only of the country’s NEET youths, but also a significant

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NEET as a Comparative Conceptualisation of Youth Marginalisation

proportion of its youths in general who find themselves in some form of education and training. Finally, our critical observations with regard to both discourses should not be taken as a call, similar to the call by some in the broader European discourse, to move beyond NEET as a conceptual apparatus. Instead, our critical observations should be understood as a recognition that adopting NEET as a conceptual framework in research on youth marginalisation necessarily demands that the factor of larger societal changes and their impact on the opportunity structures available to young people in the different countries be taken into account. For youth researchers in the Nordic countries, this implies that it may no longer be sufficient to understand the problem of youth marginalisation within the confines of the social democratic welfare state. And for their counterparts in South Africa, it equally implies that merely getting the economy and the education system right may not be regarded as the complete answer to the problem of youth marginalisation. In anticipation of the case study discussions presented later in this book, this wider outlook on youth marginalisation suggests that the problems faced by NEET young people in both contexts go beyond and are more complex than their NEET status alone.

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Chapter 3: Statistical Snapshots Contextualising the Lives of Youths in South Africa and the Nordic Countries

3.1

Introduction

In this chapter we use standardised statistical parameters to compare the contexts of the lives of youths in South Africa, Finland and Norway. We draw on publicly available statistics, but also note the limits to comparability of the standardised measurements and provide additional information to afford perspective or indicate caution in comparing very different countries. We are sensitive to the fact that the two Nordic countries have much in common with each other and often stand in stark contrast to South Africa. The national figures presented in the tables below illuminate differences between the countries, but they sometimes conceal gendered, social, regional and other inequalities within them. Because this book is concerned with “youth at the margins” rather than representative samples of young people, we also comment on inequalities internal to the three countries. Since the research for the case study chapters was undertaken in the period 2014 to 2015, we cite statistics from around those years where possible. The Nordic human geographer Katherine Gough (2008, 220) argues that space is central in the social construction of childhood and to a large extent in the social construction of youth as well; the terms “marginalised youth” and “youth” have different meanings in different places. Gough (2008, 220) states that “[t]here has been a tendency for much of the work on children and youth within the global South to focus on their marginalization, disenfranchisement, and exclusion,” which may also apply to this book to some extent. However, by also focusing on marginalised youths in the Global North, who mostly have access to basic services and grants, we are forced to scrutinise marginalisation beyond basic survival strategies and rights. This book is a contribution towards a better understanding of the agency of youth, not only to understand how youths survive but also how they live with dignity under difficult circumstances. This chapter sets the scene for achieving this aim. Below, we first present general social and economic indicators and then turn to measurements of welfare, health and security, youth employment and education, and religious affiliation, identity and participation. We conclude the chapter with a reflection on the value of comparing these specific countries and the situation of youths in them.

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Table 3.1 Key Social and Economic Indicators Population (census year)

Number of principal languages

Gross national income per capita (current USD)

Gini index

Share of income or consumption of the lowest 20%

South Africa

51 770 560 (2011)

11

6 080

63.4

2.5%

Finland

5 375 276 (2010)

2

46 550

27.1

9.4%

Norway

4 979 955 (2011)

1

93 740

25.9

9.3%

Source: Lewis et al.: 2016; United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs: 2016; World Bank: 2017, Table 1.1, Table 2.9.

3.2

General Social and Economic Indicators

Table 3.1 illustrates that the Nordic countries are small, homogeneous, wealthy and egalitarian countries. South Africa, by comparison, is large, heterogeneous, less wealthy and features vast economic inequalities. The South African population is about ten times the size of the Finnish and Norwegian populations. While Norway and Finland have gross national incomes per capita above the average for “highincome” countries, gross national income per capita in South Africa falls somewhat short of the average for “upper-middle-income” countries (World Bank: 2017, Table 1.1). On average, South African citizens are not wealthy when compared to Nordic citizens, but they are better off when compared to citizens of many other developing countries.1 With regard to economic inequalities, South Africa and the Nordic countries represent two extremes in the world. South Africa has the highest Gini index2 of 153 countries listed by the World Bank, while Norway and Finland are among the ten most egalitarian countries in the world by this measure (World Bank: 2017, Table 2.9). However, the Gini ranks must be understood against the backdrop that estimates are unavailable for about sixty states, some of which have very unequal distributions of wealth and income. The Lorenz curves3 in Figure 3.1 visually repre-

1 The gross national income figures in Table 3.1 do not accurately reflect the purchasing power of citizens in the three countries because price levels also differ. Purchasing power parity-adjusted figures correct for this effect, but are not included in this chapter. 2 The Gini index (Table 3.1) is a measure of inequality. A Gini index of 0 represents perfect income equality, an idealised scenario where everybody has the same income, while a Gini index of 100 implies perfect inequality, an idealised scenario where one individual earns the entire national income. 3 Lorenz curves visually represent income distributions by plotting cumulative proportions of total income earned against cumulative proportions of populations, starting with the poorest individual.

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Statistical Snapshots

Figure 3.1 Lorenz Curves The curves in this figure were drawn with data points at 10%, 20%, 40%, 60%, 80% and 90% of the population. Source: World Bank: 2017, Table 2.9.

sent the income distributions of South Africa, Finland and Norway in a different and more detailed way. Table 3.1 also illustrates that South Africa is more heterogeneous than the Nordic countries. This is manifested, for example, in its eleven official languages. Although some of these languages are in related language groups and many South Africans are multilingual, even the smallest official language group has more than a million mother-tongue speakers (Statistics South Africa: 2012a, 23). In contrast, Finland has two principal languages, and Norway has one,4 and the principal languages are first languages for the majority of people in both Finland and Norway. Also, the languages of the indigenous Sami people are administrative languages in some municipalities in both countries (Lewis et al.: 2016). Although Finland and Norway are more homogenous when compared to South Africa, both countries have indigenous populations and other minority populations with deep historical roots. These people, however, are not represented in the case studies in this book. Immigration has contributed to the diversity in the Nordic countries, especially over recent decades. In 2013 5.3 per cent of the Finnish population had a foreign first language, up from 0.2 per cent in the mid-1980s (Statistics Finland: 2014). By comparison, immigrants and individuals born to immigrant parents in Norway accounted for 16.3 per cent of the Norwegian population at the beginning of 2016 (Statistics Norway: 2016b). The first wave of immigration to Norway in modern The straight diagonal dotted lines represent perfect income equality (a Gini index of 0). A greater area between the diagonal line and the curve means greater inequality (or a higher Gini index). 4 Norwegian is spoken in many different dialects and has two written forms. The dialects and written forms are mutually comprehensible and considered forms of the same language rather than different languages.

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times came in the late 1960s and early 1970s. This wave was dominated by Pakistani labour migrants, whose families constituted the second wave when they moved to Norway for family reunification from the late 1970s. Asylum seekers from different countries have come in increasing numbers since the 1980s, constituting a third wave of immigrants, while labour migration from EU countries became pronounced after the accession of eastern European states to the EU in 2004 (Brochmann & Kjeldstadli: 2008). Although Norway is not an EU member state, it is part of the common market and the Schengen agreement, which facilitates the free movement of people. The immigration waves are reflected in the demography of immigrants and their descendants in Norway; while Poland was the most frequent country of birth among immigrants in 2012, a few years before the research reported in the case studies in this book, Pakistan was the most frequent country of birth among the parents of second-generation Norwegians (Pettersen & Østby: 2013). In 2015, while research was conducted for this book, a surge in the number of refugees and asylum seekers to Europe also reached the Nordic countries. Finland and Norway received over 30 000 asylum seekers each in 2015, a nearly threefold increase from 2014 for Norway and a tenfold increase for Finland; 5 297 asylum seekers to Norway and 168 asylum seekers to Finland were unaccompanied minors under 18 years of age in 2015 (Finnish Immigration Service: 2016; Norwegian Directorate of Immigration: 2016). The number of asylum seekers arriving in Finland and Norway has since declined, although readers may still find evidence of this “wave” of asylum seekers in the case study presentation of Lammi (Chapter 11) in this book. In addition to substantial internal African migration, South Africa has received large numbers of overseas immigrants since the seventeenth century. South Africa is a former British colony and the Cape Colony had also been under Dutch rule. As in other colonies in Africa, there were systems of racial segregation and hierarchy in South Africa. Waves of migrants from Europe and forced labour migrants from places such as Malaysia, India and China arrived and settled in South Africa during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The population was formally divided into four racial categories in the policies of “separate development” (locally and internationally known as “apartheid”): white, black, Indian and coloured (mixed race). Formal segregation was abolished in 1994, when the first democratic election was held (Davenport & Saunders: 2000), but the effects of these policies are still salient. Racial segregation and hierarchy established vast socio-economic inequalities along racial lines (Davenport & Saunders: 2000). In an influential book, Seekings and Nattrass (2008, 236) have suggested that “the primary basis of inequality shifted from race to class under apartheid,” with the result that the end of racial segregation had little redistributive impact. The racial categories are still important identity markers today, partly because they are closely linked with people’s socio-economic status: the majority of white people have been much wealthier for the last three and

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Statistical Snapshots

Figure 3.2 Population Pyramids The pyramids were drawn using five-year age categories from ages 0–100 years and a separate category for those over 100 years of age. The horizontal axis of the South African pyramid is ten times the scale of those of the Finnish and Norwegian pyramids. Source: United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs: 2013a.

a half centuries, while the majority of black and coloured people bear the brunt of poverty. During the colonial and apartheid eras, displacement became a common feature through the physical and harsh removals of black, Indian and coloured people (Allen: 1992, 185–224; Platzky & Walker: 1985). In the post-apartheid era racial categories still intersect with location, with especially black and coloured people often living far from economic hubs as a result of entrenched practices and a general failure of post-apartheid policies to reverse this (cf. Chapter 12). According to the Community Survey of 2016 in South Africa, 80.7 per cent of the inhabitants are categorised as black, 8.7 per cent coloured, 2.5 per cent Indian and 8.1 per cent white (Statistics South Africa: 2016a, 21). Since 1994 people have migrated to South Africa for various reasons such as being with relatives or to pursue educational and job opportunities. There has also been an influx of forcibly displaced people from other African countries. From 2006 to 2011 South Africa was the largest recipient of applications for asylum status in the world (Smit & Rugunanan: 2014, 5). South Africa was reported to have over a million asylum applications pending on appeal and review at the end of 2015 (UNHCR: 2016, 59). The number of pending applications has accumulated over several years as a result of inefficient processing. In 2014 the overall median age of people obtaining temporary and permanent residence permits in South Africa was between 30 and 33 years. There are substantial variances; for example, the median age for successful applicants for permanent residence from Angola is 17, from Malawi it is 37, and from South Korea it is 21 (Statistics South Africa: 2015a).

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Finally, as represented by the population pyramids in Figure 3.2, South Africa has a more youthful population than the Nordic countries. South Africa’s larger proportion of young citizens reflects how South African women, on average, give birth to a larger number of children than Nordic women do. According to the World Bank (2017, Table 2.17), the total fertility rate is 1.8 births per woman in Finland and Norway, and 2.4 births per woman in South Africa. However, there are different population dynamics among different racial categories of South Africans. The 2011 census estimated the total fertility rate to be 2.67 for all South Africans, 2.82 for black, 2.57 for coloured, 1.85 for Indian and 1.7 for white South African women (Statistics South Africa: 2015b, v). The population pyramid for white South Africans is thus more like that of the Nordic countries than that of black or coloured South Africans. Nevertheless, South Africa’s younger population has different welfare needs, which means that there are different national priorities than in the Nordic countries. This must also be understood against South Africa’s much higher levels of socio-economic inequality, as we discuss in more detail in the next section.

3.3

Welfare, Health and Security

Differences in wealth and wealth distribution permeate all sectors of society, such as access to health and welfare services, and the physical security of individuals. In this section, we discuss differences not only in the provision of basic services across the three countries, but also in the outcomes that result from these differences. Although the three countries all have public health and welfare services, they operate in different contexts and are differently funded. The differences in funding are not just a question of expenditure levels, but also of the relative proportions of private and public expenditure that have important implications for the distribution of resources and inequality in the three countries. Social insurance against loss of earnings can be posited as the cornerstone of the welfare state (Garland: 2016, 46). In South Africa state-supported social benefits are paid out to people with disabilities, individuals younger than 18 years, and people 60 years and older who earn less than a stipulated amount. In 2014 29 per cent of South African individuals received a state-supported grant and 44.5 per cent of households had at least one member who received such a grant (Statistics South Africa: 2015c). Yet the value of the grants, especially those for children at less than 30 USD per month, is not great enough to cover basic needs and are therefore shared to try and cover the needs of entire households. Instead of extending the grant system to young people older than 18 years, various initiatives have been introduced that aim to address the youth unemployment crisis (Youth Desk: 2015). The Nordic welfare states offer a wider range of benefits and services that are available to all citizens, in line with the social democratic welfare state model

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Statistical Snapshots

Table 3.2 Health Expenditure, Life Expectancy and Mortality Rates Health expenditure per capita (current USD)

Public health expenditure (% of total health expenditure)

Life expectancy at birth (years)

Children who die within first year (per 1 000 live births)

Maternal death rate (per 100 000 live births)

South Africa

570

48.2%

57

34

138

Finland

4 612

75.3%

81

2

3

Norway

9 522

85.5%

82

2

5

Source: World Bank: 2017, Table 2.15, Table 2.21, Table 2.17.

(Esping-Andersen: 1990). In these countries the states are the main providers of welfare through universally available welfare systems financed through high labour force participation rates and broad tax bases, as was also touched upon in the previous chapter (Chapter 2). As in South Africa, benefits are paid to children and people with disabilities, and old-age pensions are paid out to persons 65 years of age and older in Finland, and 67 years and older in Norway. Child benefits amount to just over 100 USD per month in both Finland and Norway, with conditional additions. Moreover, the public welfare schemes in the Nordic countries include sickness insurance, unemployment benefits and various benefits that are not meant to replace wages, such as social assistance that can be applied for when the income and resources of an individual or family are insufficient to cover their daily expenses. In 2010 in Norway 23.6 per cent of persons aged 15 to 66 years received some form of benefit and 15.5 per cent of the cohort received benefits and did not work (Horgen: 2014). The proportion of the total population that received welfare benefits was even higher than 23.6 per cent as all people under 18 years and over 67 years are covered by child benefits and old-age pensions. Also excluded from these statistics were public loans and grants to cover living expenses while studying; 288 057 individuals in Finland and 397 306 individuals in Norway received such loans and grants during the 2014/15 academic year (KELA/FPA: 2015, 311; Lånekassen: 2016). The value of the loans and grants is low compared to wages earned by full-time workers, but they ensure a certain financial independence for full-time students. They are also often combined with income from part-time employment, an issue to which we return below. In terms of health services, Table 3.2 shows that South Africa has the lowest per capita health expenditure of the three countries, and that Norway has the highest per capita health expenditure, spending about 15 times as much as South Africa does. However, this figure provides only a very general idea of the differences in the quality of health services in the countries. It exaggerates differences because it is not adjusted to reflect differences in the cost of service delivery and it does not reflect the fact that most of the health expenditure is public spending in the

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Table 3.3 HIV Prevalence, Morbidity and Mortality Patterns HIV prevalence (% of population ages 15–49)

Incidence of tuberculosis (per 100 000 persons)

Deaths by communicable diseases (per 100 000 persons)

Deaths by noncommunicable diseases (per 100 000 persons)

South Africa

19.2%

834

897.2

383.6

Finland

–

6

19.0

798.8

Norway

–

6

59.9

749.1

Source: World Health Organization: 2011; World Bank: 2017, Table 2.20.

Nordic countries, unlike South Africa. In the Nordic countries large public health sectors make the same services available to all citizens. It is important that these services are well funded, because privileged citizens are more likely to turn to private alternatives if public services cannot offer the best possible standards, which would undermine the social solidarity and equality of the social democratic welfare states (Esping-Andersen & Korpi: 1986, 70). South African health services, in contrast, feature a well-resourced private health sector that caters for privileged citizens and a lowly funded public health sector. A national health insurance system intended to contribute towards universal health coverage for all South Africans has been under discussion, and it is envisaged that this will be phased in eventually (Mayosi et al.: 2012). Important measures of the quality and availability of health services are life expectancy at birth, infant mortality rates and maternal death ratios. As illustrated by Table 3.2, infant mortality rates and maternal death ratios are much higher in South Africa than in the Nordic countries. This reflects that high-quality health services are unavailable to many South Africans. In addition to this lack, Table 3.3 indicates that larger proportions of South Africans also die of communicable diseases when compared to the Nordic countries. The main causes of death in South Africa are coexisting infectious diseases such as HIV and tuberculosis, non-communicable diseases, persistent child diarrhoea and malnutrition, as well as interpersonal violence and accidents (World Health Organization: 2011). In the Nordic countries, where communicable diseases are less prevalent and more often successfully treated, more people grow old and develop non-communicable diseases. Malign neoplasms (cancers) and cardiovascular diseases (heart diseases) are the main causes of death in the Nordic countries (World Health Organization: 2011). Norway and Finland have high life expectancies at birth, while South Africa’s life expectancy at birth is 25 years lower (see Table 3.2). With the advent of AIDSrelated deaths, the life expectancy of South Africans plummeted as many people died at much younger ages. South Africa was estimated to have 6.3 million people living with HIV and 2.4 million children younger than 18 years who were orphaned in 2013, mainly as a result of their parents dying from AIDS-related ill-

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Statistical Snapshots

Table 3.4 Unnatural Causes of Mortality Death by violence (per 100 000 persons)

Death by self-inflicted injuries (per 100 000 persons)

Death by road traffic accident (per 100 000 persons)

South Africa

27.3

6.3

19.1

Finland

2.3

20.0

6.6

Norway

0.6

10.5

6.2

Source: World Health Organization: 2011.

nesses (UNAIDS: 2014). However, mass implementation of antiretroviral treatment that slows the progress of HIV in the public health sector is associated with a slow increase in life expectancy (Mayosi et al.: 2012). Also, the high infant mortality rate in South Africa was linked to the mother-to-child-transmission of HIV, although this is decreasing (Motsoaledi: 2012). Still, even the most optimistic health indicators reflect enormous health needs and high levels of inequality in South Africa, especially when compared to the Nordic countries. As noted, major causes of death in South Africa include road accidents and interpersonal violence. This reflects the higher risks that South Africans are exposed to in their daily lives. In Cape Town and Pretoria, two urban areas in South Africa, the death rates for young people are lower than for other age categories, but deaths among young people are more likely to be the result of unnatural causes, including assault and transport accidents (Statistics South Africa: 2014a). Also in Norway, a recent study indicates that young people are more frequently exposed to violence than older people are (Thoresen & Hjemdal: 2014). Finland has higher rates of death by violence and self-inflicted injuries than Norway, suggesting a more violent society with a particularly high suicide rate.5 However, it has been suggested that the high incidence of violent deaths in Finland, compared to the other Nordic countries, is caused by alcohol-related violence among middle-aged men (e.g. Lehti & Kivivuori: 2005). Table 3.4 reflects how the distribution of risks, as well as their magnitude, varies between the three countries. In terms of managing risks, the private security industry in South Africa is believed to be the largest in the world, comprising 2 per cent of the total GDP of the country. It has been argued that the sector is taking over functions that the state should be performing (Berg & Nouveau: 2011). The state’s responsibility is towards all citizens, but private companies have responsibilities only towards their paying clients. Wealthier citizens are thus becoming clients, while poorer citizens only have public facilities to turn to for health and security services. While the

5 This is the only reported death rate where South Africa scores lower than the two Nordic countries, though these figures should be treated with caution as suicides may not always be reported as such.

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Table 3.5 Youth Employment and Education Youth unemployment rate (2014)

Youth inactivity rate (2013)

Gross enrolment rates for tertiary education

Number of births per 1 000 women ages 15–19

Mean age at first birth (latest year available)

South Africa

54.7%

73.9%

20%

44

22.5 (2003)

Finland

20.6%

48.4%

89%

6

28.2 (2009)

Norway

7.9%

43.1%

77%

6

28.1 (2008)

Source: Higher Education South Africa: 2014, 2; International Labour Organization: 2016, Table 10a, Table 13; United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs: 2013b, Table A.6; World Bank: 2017, Table 2.11, Table 2.17.

relatively wealthy can afford to contain some of the risks of life in South Africa, the less wealthy cannot and become even more vulnerable (Murray: 2009). In South Africa risks are thus concentrated along certain socio-economic, racial and spatial lines, a situation that does not provide fertile grounds for social cohesion. In the Nordic countries, on the other hand, public welfare is designed to pool risks and responsibility among all citizens.

3.4

Youth Employment and Education

The indicators presented so far have compared the contexts that young people live within in South Africa, Finland and Norway. We will now turn to indicators that reflect young people’s lives more directly and discuss access to employment and education within these contexts. An indicator that captures this in one figure – namely rates of young people not in education, employment or training (NEET young people) – has emerged over the last few years. It shows how the large majority of young people in Finland and Norway are in education, employment and training, or some combination of these activities, while a large proportion of young South Africans are not. However, as the NEET concept is given extensive consideration in Chapter 2 of this book, we do not discuss it in this chapter. Instead, we highlight other measures of young people’s participation in education and employment. Table 3.5 shows that the youth unemployment rate, a commonly cited measure, is higher in South Africa than in the Nordic countries, but also higher in Finland than in Norway (see also Chapter 2). This figure refers to the proportion of people between 15 to 24 years who are not in paid employment and seeking work. The youth unemployment rate is much higher than the general unemployment rate in all three countries. Breaking down the youth unemployment figures by gender, we find that youth unemployment is slightly higher among men than among women in the

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Statistical Snapshots

Figure 3.3 Youth Aged 15–24 by Labour Market Status Source: International Labour Organization: 2016, Table 6, Table 10.

Nordic countries, whereas the opposite is true of South Africa (International Labour Organization: 2016, Table 10a). Chapter 2 also indicates that there are substantial differences between the different races’ participation in education, employment and training in South Africa. The youth unemployment rate gives only a partial picture of the labour market situation of young people, as 73.9 per cent of South African youths and nearly half of young people in the Nordic countries are not in the labour force (Figure 3.3). The “youth inactivity rate” is comprised of young people who are not employed and do not seek employment, for example because they are full-time students, unpaid interns, engaged as care persons, or work in the informal sector. One reason why the youth inactivity rate is low in the Nordic countries is that it is common for students in secondary and tertiary education to have part-time jobs. Figure 3.3 indicates that many of the young people who work in these countries work part-time. Over a third of Finnish youths aged 15 to 24 years who were employed in 2014, and nearly half of those in Norway, worked part-time (International Labour Organization: 2016, Table 6). As important as labour market statistics are to understanding young people’s lives, the gross enrolment rates for tertiary education in Table 3.5 suggest that a large number of young people in the Nordic countries pursue tertiary education. The gross enrolment rate includes older people who study, but is expressed as a percentage of the total population of the five-year age group following on from secondary school-leaving age. It does not give the exact proportion of young people who pursue tertiary education, but it gives an indication. It is much higher in the Nordic countries than in South Africa, but also higher in Finland than in Norway. The difference between the South African and Nordic tertiary education enrolment rates must be understood in the light of a number of factors. The most frequently cited reason for not attending an educational institution among young

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people between 15 to 24 years in South Africa is not having the money to pay the fees (Statistics South Africa: 2013, 54). In the Nordic countries young people do not pay fees to study at most educational institutions. Family commitments and pregnancies are also relatively frequently cited reasons for non-attendance in South Africa by women, while men are more likely than women to indicate that they are working (Statistics South Africa: 2013, 54). Although the nature of work mentioned by young people may include precarious work, adhering to traditional gender roles prevents young people from attaining higher levels of education. Such factors are less frequent in the Nordic countries, where there are fewer teenage pregnancies and the mean ages of first birth are higher (Table 3.5). Loans and grants to cover students’ living expenses, mentioned above, also make it possible for young people to combine family commitments with higher education, and therefore contribute to the high tertiary education enrolment rates.

3.5

Religious Affiliation, Identity and Participation

The above sections show that young people are exposed to greater unmitigated risks in South Africa than in the Nordic countries, and that a larger proportion of young South Africans lack opportunities to work and study. We will now address indicators of religious affiliation, identity and religious participation in South Africa, Finland and Norway as a backdrop to asking what faith-based organisations (FBOs) can do for youths at the margins in these very different contexts in the chapters that follow in this book. In all three countries, most citizens are members of a faith community, but there are large differences in the proportions of the populations who say that they identify as religious persons or that they attend religious services regularly. As indicated in Table 3.6, the majority of people in Norway and Finland are members of the Lutheran national churches, although rates of membership have been decreasing over recent decades (see also Chapter 5). In Finland 22.1 per cent of the population had no religious affiliation, 1.1 per cent belonged to the Greek Orthodox Church, and 1.5 per cent belonged to other religious communities, including the 0.2 per cent of the population who belonged to Islamic congregations (Statistics Finland: 2014). By one estimate, at the beginning of 2016 12 per cent of the Norwegian population were members of other faith communities than the Church of Norway. Of these, over half were members of Christian communities and one in four (or about 3 per cent of the population) were members of Islamic communities (Statistics Norway: 2016c). The high rates of faith community membership in Norway and Finland can be put in perspective by the lower proportions who said they identified as religious people and the much lower proportions who said they attended religious services once a week or more in the World Values Survey (Table 3.6). The difference

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Statistical Snapshots

Table 3.6 Religious Affiliation, Identity and Participation Members of national church (% of population)

Identifies as religious person

Attends religious service once a week or more

South Africa

–

79.7%

54.4%

Finland

75.3%

58.5%

6.7%

Norway

72.9%

40.9%

4.5%

Source: Statistics Finland: 2014; Statistics Norway: 2016d; World Values Survey Association: 2014. Because Norway and Finland were not included in the 2010–2014 World Values Survey, this refers to the 2005–2009 wave.

may indicate that faith community membership can reflect traditions and national identities, as well as religious identities and the intention to participate in religious services. At the same time, Nordic faith communities’ youth work reaches large proportions of the countries’ youth populations. Participation rates in the confirmation ritual in the Lutheran national churches remain high. In 2012 85.6 per cent of 15-year-olds in Finland and 64 per cent of 15-year-olds in Norway were confirmed in the Lutheran national churches (Høeg & Krupka: 2015; Niemelä & Porkka: 2015). Secular humanist associations offer alternatives to the rites of the Lutheran national churches, and an additional 15 per cent of Norwegian 15-year-olds had secular humanist confirmations in 2012 (Høeg & Krupka: 2015). Comparable statistics are not easily available for other faith communities, but one study found that 71 per cent of Norwegians aged 16–25 years with immigration backgrounds from Pakistan, Turkey and Vietnam had participated in at least one religious meeting or prayer in a faith community over a period of twelve months (Løwe: 2008, 70). Particularly active, but also particularly numerous, those with a Pakistani background had participated in 49 religious meetings or prayers in a faith community during the preceding twelve-month period, on average. Young men participated more actively than young women (Løwe: 2008, 70). This indicates that faith communities have a presence in many young people’s lives – even if for a shorter, intensive period in the case of the Lutheran national churches – and that faith communities play a particularly important role among young people with an immigration background. A recent report suggested that young people with an immigrant background in Norway consider religion to be more important in their lives than young Norwegians who do not come from immigrant families (Friberg: 2016). Overall, faith communities may thus potentially contribute to social cohesion in the Nordic countries through their youth work, but it is not possible to assess whether and how they do so from the publicly available statistics we draw on for this chapter. Compared to Finland and Norway, larger proportions of South Africans said they identified as religious people and that they attended religious services once

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a week or more in the World Values Survey (Table 3.6). More than half of South Africans attended a religious service at least once a week. A question asked on attending religious services and ceremonies in the General Household Survey of 2013 revealed that Muslims were the most active; 74.3 per cent of Muslims attended a service or ceremony at least once a week, while 56.4 per cent of Christians, 55 per cent of Hindus, and 28.2 per cent of followers of ancestral, tribal, animist or other traditional religions reported weekly attendance, not including weddings and funerals (Statistics South Africa: 2014b, 33). The proportion of South Africans who said they identified with specific religions in the General Household Survey was higher than the proportion who said they identified as religious people in the World Value Survey, indicating that religion may be a proxy for identity in South Africa, as in the Nordic countries. Based on the General Household Survey of 2013, it is estimated that 85.6 per cent of South Africans describe themselves as Christian, 5.6 per cent say they follow no religion, 5 per cent say they follow ancestral, tribal, animist or other traditional religions, and 2 per cent describe themselves as Muslim (Statistics South Africa: 2014b, 32). The last South African census to include questions on religious affiliation, the 2001 census, shows a great variety of Christian churches with which people identify. The Dutch Reformed, Zion Christian, Catholic, Methodist, Pentecostal/charismatic and other Apostolic churches each have between 6 and 13 per cent of South Africans aligning themselves to them (Statistics South Africa: 2004, 28). The phenomenal growth of the Pentecostal and charismatic churches in South Africa should be noted in this regard. In 2001 8.2 per cent of the population indicated that they belonged to such churches compared to 5.5 per cent in 1996. This is an estimated growth of 1.5 million people (Chipkin & Leatt: 2011, 42). Chipkin and Leatt (2011, 43) argue that this growth in Pentecostalism can be associated with the decline of the economy and the development work being undertaken by churches in FBOs or, as the authors put it, non-governmental organisations (NGOs) acting as “subsidiaries of church organisations”. A second observation by the authors is that the “churches preach a gospel of ‘wealth and health’” that finds fertile ground where uncertainty in South Africa is fuelled by the kinds of risks outlined above (see also Norris & Inglehart: 2004). Yet these churches grew the fastest among the middle classes, and hence Chipkin and Leatt (2011, 44) argue that the development of these churches should be understood within “broader social and political processes”. These include the transition to a democratic society since the first democratic election held in 1994. Despite the ground gained by the Pentecostal and charismatic churches, South Africa remains characterised by multiple religious institutions. In this regard, interdenominational and interfaith umbrella bodies such as the South African Council of Churches (SACC), the National Interfaith Council of South Africa (NICSA) and the South African Christian Leaders Initiative (SACLI) are noteworthy. SACC and

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Statistical Snapshots

NICSA have youth forums, but from their stated missions or programmes it is clear that they have overarching goals such as poverty alleviation and a focus on “family values” (NICSA: 2013; SACC: 2014). SACLI, which includes the SACC, describes its role as strengthening the voice of churches in the South African public domain (SACLI: n.d.). It is thus evident that many religious institutions in South Africa regard their role as extending well beyond religious matters only. Compared to Finland and Norway, faith communities’ central role in South Africa is also evident from how more people attend religious services regularly. This feature is examined in greater detail in Chapter 5.

3.6

Conclusion

The above indicators illuminate how living in South Africa is very different from living in Norway or Finland. In South Africa, a diverse country with stark economic inequalities and high exposure to risk, the safety nets provided by the state are minimal and risks must be contained in other ways. There is a high prevalence of private health and security services among those who can afford it, while support and care by families may be precarious for young people who live in communities where poverty, illness and morbidity are rife among adult family members. It appears that young people are more likely to be working in the informal sector, employed or seeking employment in order to help support families. Young South Africans also have fewer opportunities to further their education than young people in the Nordic countries, who are more likely to be students and to have part-time jobs while in secondary and tertiary education. In the Nordic countries, high rates of attendance in education and high youth employment rates mean that schools, universities and places of work become important social arenas for young women and men, making social as well as economic marginalisation a likely outcome for those who do not participate. This may not apply to the same extent in South Africa, where youths in some communities rather share experiences related to unemployment and exclusion (cf. Dawson: 2014). What can be gained from comparing these very different countries? The statistical snapshots presented in this chapter illustrate how the Nordic countries and South Africa are “extreme contexts” for the study of youths’ opportunities and welfare (Holte et al.: 2019; cf. also Chapter 2). The countries also have very different patterns of diversity, with majority populations sharing the same histories, languages and religious affiliations in the Nordic countries, while there is no single, uniform majority in South Africa. However, the populations of the Nordic countries have featured minorities over several centuries, and they are becoming more heterogeneous as immigrants are accommodated and continue to have children. Policy-makers, researchers, social workers and activists from these countries can gain insight from

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experiences in culturally, socially and religiously diverse countries such as South Africa in addressing issues related to “youth at the margins”. Policy-makers, researchers, social workers and activists from South Africa can gain from the Nordic experiences by trying to understand the experiences of marginalised youths who are not challenged by absolute poverty and fighting for survival. Being poor and without access to vital resources is so common in South Africa that youths in certain communities are not necessarily socially marginalised by these challenges, but fit in with their peers. However, in the Nordic welfare states, educational failure or unemployment places youths outside important social arenas. Moving from such marginal spaces may be challenging for youths on an individual level in the Nordic countries, while youths may feel marginalised as a group in South Africa, at least in certain communities. Comparing these very different countries and identifying similarities and diversities in the lives of their youth can provide insight into the global, national and local structures shaping youths’ lives, as well as the role of faith-based (and other) organisations in responding to the needs and ambitions of young people.

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Chapter 4: Social Cohesion Critical Theoretical Exploration of a Concept

4.1

Introduction

The term “social cohesion” has become widely used over the past two decades, referring to various types of phenomena, both economic and social. Thus, it may be associated with different forms of capital (especially social capital), values and ethics. Nevertheless, in many cases its meaning appears rather vague, even in social science publications. In this chapter we will approach the idea of social cohesion as it appears in political documents and the academic literature. On the basis of the discussion we will define and operationalise the concept for our purposes in the book. We will suggest ways of understanding its relevance in a societal context, as potentially useful both at the neighbourhood, city and national levels. Intuitively, social cohesion may be conceived of as “the glue” or the bonds that hold a social system together. With reference to the emergence and popularisation of this concept in recent South African socio-political discourse, Desai (2015, 103) cynically comments that “(i)n almost every national and provincial document, the phrase ‘social cohesion’ is reiterated and emphasised.” He remarks that it is as if “some new magic balm has been invented that will be able to glue” together very disparate narratives and realities. But what are these bonds that should hold a social system together? On the macro level of society such bonds can be people’s integration into important institutions, participation in education, in the labour market, in politics, in civil society organisations, etcetera. Lack of participation can be a result of the operation of exclusionary mechanisms in the form of forced exclusion; but it can also be voluntary. From the individual’s perspective, exclusion involves the individual’s lack of access or capacity to access the multitude of social opportunities that are available to anyone included in mainstream society. If we take the person’s “need” as a starting point, exclusion entails lack of “welfare” as the concept is defined by the Finnish sociologist Erik Allardt (1975; 1993). He differentiates between three dimensions of welfare: a material or economic dimension (“to have”); a dimension referring to social relations (“to love”); and a dimension of human quality referring to the person’s relationship to society, e.g. the need for self-fulfilment (“to be”). All three dimensions may be linked to participation, social inclusion and a feeling

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of belonging. In particular, for young people who have not yet developed their potential resources and capacities, being excluded from such dynamics may have serious consequences – for themselves and society at large. From the collective perspective, social exclusion breaks the social bonds that hold society together. In particular, in societies where there is much socio-economic inequality, the following observation of Amartya Sen (2000, 22) seems particularly relevant: [S]ocial cohesion faces many difficult problems in a society that is firmly divided between a majority of people with comfortable jobs and a minority – a large minority – of unemployed, wretched, and aggrieved human beings.

This is true, of course, also for societies where the “comfortable jobs” are the privilege of a minority and the “unemployed, wretched, and aggrieved human beings” make up the majority of people, as in South Africa. It is no less true when it concerns young people. The concerns of governments with social cohesion have been accompanied in several European countries by a renewed interest in religion and FBOs (Braginskaia: 2015; Furbey & Macey: 2003; Flint & Robinson: 2008; Loga: 2012; Wollebæk: 2013). Referring back to Sen and his analysis of social exclusion, the role of religion and FBOs in processes of social exclusion or inclusion is certainly a politically and scientifically relevant issue both in South Africa and the Nordic countries. Social cohesion has been theoretically constructed in many ways. In this chapter we will discuss possible ways of measuring social cohesion at different levels of society. At the same time we will consider the concept of social cohesion critically, problematising aspects of it.

4.2

The Concept of Social Cohesion

In the following sections we will address the concept’s historical roots and its contemporary use in political as well as social science discourses. We will define the concept in a way that makes it fruitful for this book, and show how it may be operationalised at different levels of society, and how we may relate social cohesion to the role of the state. 4.2.1

Roots of the Social Science Discourse on Social Cohesion

The notion of social cohesion is closely connected to basic sociological and political issues such as the question of social order. The social science discourse on

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social cohesion draws its inspiration from sociologists such as Émile Durkheim and Ferdinand Tönnies and their analysis of the transition from traditional to modern society – or differences between small-scale communities and large-scale, complex urban forms as basis for interrogating what holds social systems together. Durkheim (1984 [1893]) in this respect distinguished between “mechanical solidarity” (social systems characterised by common values, beliefs and life experiences) and “organic solidarity” (systems characterised by diversity, a complex division of labour, interdependence and cooperation, and a collective conscience based on shared principles and expectations as expressed in legal systems and the operations of the market). Tönnies (2001 [1887]) developed the parallel notions of Gemeinschaft (solidarity and social ties based on personal, face-to-face social interactions, and the common roles, values and beliefs based on such interactions, especially in family and peer groups) and Gesellschaft (solidarity related to indirect interactions, impersonal roles, formal values, and beliefs based on such interactions, and governed by formal authority). In the tradition of Durkheim and Tönnies, the idea of social cohesion as a form of social dynamics that “holds social systems together” is often analysed in terms of social integration, stability and disintegration (e.g. Berger: 1998). The problem for research, however, is that many approaches to social cohesion are rather abstract, with few attempts at defining and operationalising the concept. 4.2.2

The Political Discourse on Social Cohesion

The political discourse on social cohesion is largely problem-driven. This problem orientation has made the issue of measurement more topical. In Europe population mobility, ethnic and religious diversity, and growing economic inequality have brought about new social problems and political challenges, which have made participation, political and civic, an important political theme from a social cohesion perspective (Chan et al.: 2006). Ritzen et al. (2000, 6) define social cohesion as a situation in which people collaborate in a way that produces a climate for change. Social cohesion leaves “room for maneuver”, which may produce better institutions and economic development to benefit the poor (Ritzen et al.: 2000, 9). In a European political context, the concept is widely used in EU documents, indicating a social phenomenon of political importance in the Union (see e.g. European Committee for Social Cohesion: 2004). In South Africa the directorate for social cohesion in the national Department of Arts and Culture (DAC) defines social cohesion as “the degree of social integration and inclusion in communities and society at large, and the extent to which mutual solidarity finds expression amongst individuals and communities” (DAC: 2012). A community or society is cohesive to the extent that the inequalities, exclusions

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and disparities based on ethnicity, gender, class, nationality, age, disability or any other distinctions are reduced and/or eliminated in a planned and sustained way. The precondition for such cohesion is community members and citizens who are active participants in society, working together for the attainment of shared goals, designed and agreed upon to improve the living conditions for all. This corresponds with the strong emphasis on civil society agency to be found in North American and European discourses on social cohesion. In European political documents social cohesion has been linked to a concomitant marginalisation through social mechanisms producing or maintaining social inequality: The promotion of social cohesion requires the reduction of the disparities which arise from unequal access to employment opportunities and rewards in the form of income. Such inequality tends to have serious social consequences through the marginalisation of sections of society (European Commission: 1996, 14).

In the South African context, such reduction of social inequality will not only include improved access to skills, employment and income, but also increased access to land, restitution and redistribution of land, and the spatial transformation of human settlements that were divided racially, thereby marginalising black and poor South Africans systematically and institutionally over decades (De Beer: 2014, 6–8). The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was one-sided in its emphasis on social cohesion as relational reconciliation, without addressing the deep structural injustices and inequities of the colonial and apartheid past (Terreblanche: 2014, 141–142). Desai (2015, 101) speaks of a reformist approach with its emphasis on reconciliation and good governance, instead of a transformative approach, aimed at transforming the way in which society is structured, through redistribution and a “bottom-up, mass based approach”. 4.2.3

Interdependence of Social Science and Political Discourses on Social Cohesion

Just as the concept of social cohesion lacks a clear, unified and coherent meaning in political discourse, the same may be said of the concept in social science discourse. With an urban governance perspective in mind, Kearns and Forrest summarise the situation in this way: Typically, it [social cohesion] is used in such a way that its meaning is nebulous but at the same time the impression is given that everyone knows what is being referred to. The

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usual premise is that social cohesion is a good thing, so it is conveniently assumed that further elaboration is unnecessary (2000, 996).

Bernard (1999, 2) is even more critical and views the notion as a “quasi-concept” or a “hybrid mental construction” of political correctness. One reason why he characterises the concept in this way may be that the word “cohesion” is part of ordinary language and therefore subject to ordinary, imprecise usage by ordinary people. The Oxford Dictionary of English defines cohesion as “the action or fact of forming a united whole” (Soanes & Stevenson: 2005, 335). This corresponds closely to Kearns and Forrest’s idea of social cohesion. They provide no explicit definition, but state that “the kernel of the concept is that a cohesive society ‘hangs together’” (2000, 996). Some of those who have criticised the use of the concept (in political discourses) argue strongly that social cohesion is a euphemism for social coercion or social control. Fitzpatrick and Jones argue that the government in the United Kingdom prioritises social cohesion over social justice by using “forceful measures […] for enforcing social cohesion instead of measures that would facilitate higher degrees of social justice” (Fitzpatrick & Jones: 2005, 389). In their analysis, therefore, the notion of social cohesion is part of a discourse used to cover over deep societal fractures instead of addressing the real causes of a socially fractured society, which are often structural injustices or exclusions. In their review of the policy literature on social cohesion, Chan et al. (2006) identify three main approaches, outlined below. First, in the “means-end approach” social cohesion is primarily defined in terms of the means through which a desired state of society is reached (Chan et al.: 2006, 281f). We may use Berger-Schmitt’s (2000) way of conceptualising social cohesion as an example, in line with Chan and his colleagues. Berger-Schmitt draws on political documents (both national and EU-level documents), as well as on social science research literature in her analytical approach. Summarising, she distinguishes two societal goal dimensions that the various uses of the concept incorporate: reducing social inequalities and social exclusion in a way associated with social integration, and strengthening social relations, which we may associate with generating social capital (including trust). This distinction correlates with the broad distinction made earlier between goals of equity and justice, and goals of diversity and participation. However, one problem with this approach is that the two societal goal dimensions she specifies are perceived as conditions to promote social cohesion, or as means to an end; the concept is defined in terms of its conditions or causes, not its aspects or dimensions. Second, authors using a “pluralistic approach” have accepted multiple ways of defining the concept (Chan et al.: 2006, 285f). Chan et al. take Jenson’s widely used

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analysis as one example (Jenson: 1998). Her conception of social cohesion is based on a policy literature review. Thus, it is more an outcome of an analysis of the existing literature than an attempt to come up with a single, coherent definition. She identifies “five dimensions” of the concept (Jenson: 1998, 15–17): – Belonging vs isolation (refers to shared values and a sense of identity); – Inclusion vs exclusion (refers to opportunities in economic institutions, especially the market); – Participation vs non-involvement (refers to political participation at various levels of government, especially the local level); – Recognition vs rejection (refers to tolerance of diversity in society); – Legitimacy vs illegitimacy (refers to attitudes to political and social institutions). With respect to each dimension, the first situation contributes to social cohesion (left side of the polarity), while the second (the reverse) represents a threat to cohesion. Jenson and others who pursue a pluralistic approach on the basis of policy-oriented analyses demonstrate that in a social science context the term social cohesion is by and large “‘a catchword’ for incorporating the most pressing social issues of the day” (Chan et al.: 2006, 288). Third, approaches based on “identification of constituent elements” tend to have in common two types of components: objective (associated with behaviour) and subjective (like feelings of trust and sense of belonging), and two main dimensions: horizontal (cohesion in civil society) and vertical (state-citizen cohesion) (Chan et al.: 2006, 293–294). This is the approach Chan et al. subscribe to in the way they define social cohesion: Social cohesion is a state of affairs concerning both the vertical and the horizontal interactions among members of society as characterized by a set of attitudes and norms that includes trust, a sense of belonging and the willingness to participate and help, as well as their behavioural manifestations (2006, 290).

These elements may be put together as outlined in Table 4.1 (as a first step toward operationalisation or concretisation). 4.2.4

Social Cohesion – Preliminary Definition and Operationalisation

In this chapter we define social cohesion in line with the definition given above (Chan et al. 2006, 290), but with some modifications, as we add normative, subjective components related to cooperation, solidarity and mutuality, in line with Dimeglio et al. (2013, 759).

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Table 4.1 Aspects of Social Cohesion, by Dimension and Component

Horizontal dimension

Vertical dimension

Subjective component

Objective component

General trust of fellow citizens

Social participation and vibrancy of civil society

Willingness to cooperate and help fellow citizens, including those from “other” social groups

Voluntarism and donations

Sense of belonging and identity

Presence or absence of major inter-group alliances or cleavages

Trust in public figures (such as politicians, celebrities, social media personalities, business leaders) Confidence in political and other major social institutions

Political participation

Source: Chan et al. (2006, 294), slightly modified.

The three main reasons for adopting this definition are, firstly, that it specifies components of social cohesion; secondly, that empirical research, including a large sample of countries with different types of welfare systems, proves that the selected components are statistically interlinked, that is, that they make up a consistent way of operationalising the concept; and thirdly, that the components are applicable even in qualitative research such as the case studies in this book. The operationalisation of the concept thus defined enables us to use indicators of social cohesion in conjunction with empirically established conditions or means and (possible) social mechanisms connecting the two. A possible example would be a city district where a correlation between a high level of economic inequality or widespread poverty and unemployment among young people, and a low level of confidence in political institutions as well as trust in fellow citizens is observed. A qualitative research strategy may enable researchers to construct mechanisms that explain the correlation. Both Chan et al. (2006) and others claim that shared values should not be included in the definition of social cohesion, but rather be seen as a possible empirical correlate. In the real world the correlation between the level of social cohesion and the degree to which values are shared in a given population or social system may vary, for example, by cultural context. The idea, therefore, is that it is possible for social systems to have a high level of social cohesion without a shared value system. The countries represented in this book are different, but they are all marked by increasing diversity ethnically, culturally and religiously. For these countries we find it difficult to think of high levels of social cohesion without people sharing values – and practices – that enhance respect for diversity, solidarity and mutuality. When we take into consideration that social cohesion must refer to societies undergoing change, it means that values of respect for diversity as well as confidence

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Table 4.2 Aspects of Social Cohesion, by Dimension and Component (Revised Version)

Horizontal dimension

Vertical dimension

Subjective component

Objective component

General trust of fellow citizens

Social participation and vibrancy of civil society

Willingness to cooperate and help fellow citizens, including those from “other” social groups

Voluntarism and donations

Respect for diversity Sense of belonging and identity Solidarity and mutuality

Presence or absence of major inter-group alliances or cleavages

Trust in public figures

Political participation

Confidence in political and other major social institutions Chan et al. (2006, 294), further modified.

in social institutions should be associated with the “sensitivity towards discrimination and exclusion” (Dimeglio et al.: 2013, 759), social and political participation characterised by accommodation of dissent, and space for diversity of expression and high levels of debate (Desai: 2015). Therefore, with a view to the case study analyses presented in the book, these elements should be included as aspects of the components indicated in Table 4.2. Based on our definition, a high level of social cohesion is thus present in the population or social systems we address when: 1. people trust, help and cooperate with each other; 2. people accept and respect others, different from themselves; 3. people share a sense of belonging to or identity with the social system in question; 4. people manifest these values, attitudes and feelings in the way they behave; 5. people manifest high levels of social and political participation. The first four components, by themselves, may facilitate at least some level of social cohesion. The fifth component in turn safeguards the depth of cohesion by securing a vibrant civil society through the active participation of people at all levels of society, where people engage in debate, where diversity of expression is given space, and dissent is allowed – on the condition that the behavioural aspects reflect voluntary engagement and not enforcement by state power (Green & Janmaat: 2011). Nevertheless, the countries participating in this study make it particularly topical to draw attention to the significance of social exclusion, already mentioned several times in this chapter, for wellbeing and the level of social cohesion. As Amartya Sen (2000) has observed, where there is a high level of socio-economic inequality, “social cohesion faces many difficult problems”; and, not least in this regard, is the functioning of the labour markets in determining the level of inequality and thus

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social cohesion. Empirically, Larsen (2013, 73) has demonstrated the correlations between increased levels of social cohesion in societies where economic inequality and poverty has decreased, and decreased levels of trust and cohesion where inequality and poverty have increased, though specifically with reference to the USA, UK, Sweden and Denmark after World War II. With a view to the topic of the book and the case studies presented in later chapters, our definition of social cohesion leads us to ask if FBOs, in their interactions with young people, contribute towards: a) developing, maintaining or strengthening mutual trust and young people’s ability and willingness to help and cooperate with other people; b) enhancing respect for diversity, solidarity and mutuality and/or inspiring a shared sense of belonging and identity; c) fostering young people’s agency to participate socially, politically and economically in meaningful ways, and d) mutual cooperation – where there is more than one FBO present – in addressing the challenges of young people, instead of competing for affiliation and membership. We are interested in whether FBOs by and large foster conformity, even silence in the face of unjust adversity, or allow for critical debate, and even dissent, in ways that can contribute to innovation and new ways of engaging with and seeing the world. We are particularly interested in how this applies to young people at the periphery of society in terms of their social participation, their integration into important institutions in society, and in how far they are allowed to express dissent from mainstream society if their concerns or exclusions are not regarded – in ways that would enhance their full integration.

4.3

Social Cohesion at Different Levels of Society

Research has been done – and legitimately so – on social cohesion at various levels of society, for example, in urban studies, and among various kinds of groups and communities, including religious groups, neighbourhoods, as well as society as a whole. Dimeglio et al. (2013, 757) pose the question about the level at which social cohesion is an attribute: is it at an individual, community, societal or international level? Like many other authors, they make the point that what “hangs together” at one system level may not do so at another, higher level (see e.g. Forrest & Kearns: 2001; Chan et al.: 2006; Green & Janmaat: 2011; Janmaat: 2011). Forrest and Kearns (2001, 2128), for instance, illustrate the point by comparing a situation where citizens may have a strong attachment and loyalty to their city, but at the expense of a sense of common purpose connected with the wider society (macro level) in

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which they live. Their attachment and loyalty to the place may even go together with a conflictual relationship to the society – and other places for that matter. The same may be true at the neighbourhood level. Keeping this in mind, social cohesion may nevertheless be conceived of and analysed at various systems levels. In what follows we will approach social cohesion at three levels: the neighbourhood, the city, and the societal or national level. It means that we in principle use an urban perspective as our point of departure, even though there may be parallels – at least partly – between what applies to the urban neighbourhood and a more rural area. In our analysis of social cohesion, these levels do not exhaust the number of relevant societal levels; they are selected because of their general theoretical – and policy – relevance in research. 4.3.1

The Neighbourhood

Are locally based identities, networks and cooperation still relevant and important to people at this level of society? If so, are they equally relevant to all people in a neighbourhood, or are they more/less relevant to some people than to others? The neighbourhood level has received renewed attention and interest in policy debates internationally, not least because a tendency has been observed for disadvantaged people, the poor or the classes lowest in the social hierarchy to concentrate in certain areas of cities (Friedrichs: 1998; Forrest: 2008). In policy debates this tendency has been a matter of concern both because of possible problems it may generate for the neighbourhoods and for social cohesion at the city level (Forrest & Kearns: 2001, 2133). In the South African context apartheid legislation created legal divisions between people and neighbourhoods of different races. The abolition of apartheid laws did not succeed in eliminating social and spatial differentiations overnight. Spatial differentiation underscores the reality that local neighbourhoods, even in the case of urban informal settlements, might display high levels of social cohesion. However, new exclusions and hostilities between neighbourhoods and people, spatially expressed, diminish the quality of social cohesion at the city or societal level. The Nordic countries also face challenges, though not at all of the same scale as in South Africa, and spatial segregation is more of a consequence of the way market forces work than a result of forced (re)location. In Norway economic inequality and spatial segregation between the “haves” and the “have-nots” are more conspicuous in the capital, Oslo, than elsewhere. Poverty, youth unemployment and criminality rates are higher in some city districts than in others. These districts also see higher levels of migrant population, of moving in of people with migrant background and moving out of people without migrant background (Lepperød: 2017; Nærland: 2014; Strand & Kindt: 2019). However, tensions between majorities and minorities have not materialised in terms of riots, as in other European cities. Moving out

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of neighbourhoods in Oslo by majority people has often been caused by what they experience as language problems in school when children with minority backgrounds lack satisfactory skills in the Norwegian language (Spence: 2017). At the very local level, social cohesion is basically about “getting by and getting on at the more mundane level of everyday life” (Forrest & Kearns: 2001, 2127; cf. Turner: 1990). In more ethical terms, social cohesion may be defined as “the willingness of members of a society to cooperate with each other in order to survive and prosper” (Stanley: 2003, 5). Members’ willingness means that they collectively, as autonomous persons, “choose to form partnerships and have a reasonable chance of realizing goals, because others are willing to co-operate” and “do good across group dynamics and organizational boundaries” (Heuser: 2005, 13). Though this approach explicitly refers to the societal level, it may well be applied to other spatial levels, such as the neighbourhood level. Still, one would expect that the neighbourhood has gradually lost its significance as a source of social identity and belonging, not least for young people, as ways of life have become more individualised and fluid, and social relationships more virtual. The new situation makes even an international perspective on social cohesion topical. Phenomena such as the marginalisation of young people, not least those who belong to religious minorities, the feeling of being excluded from the majority society, the search for identity in FBOs, and calls for strong religious commitment as a basis of identity in the online environment, may all be factors conducive to “radicalisation” (Flemström & Ronnby: 1972; Jacobsson & Åkerström: 2013). Social networks are less territorially limited than before. But not all people are equally mobile. For children, older and disabled people, the unemployed and those whose work is home-based, the neighbourhood continues to be important. They are likely to spend much more time there than those people who are in part- or full-time employment (Forrest: 2008). The same may hold true for young people, in particular those described as NEET (cf. Chapter 2). Social cohesion at this level of society in this context at least is about social networks, care, supervision and participation. The neighbourhood is significant as an arena for the development and maintenance of social ties (Henning & Lieberg: 1996). Henning and Lieberg (1996, 6) underscore the importance of “weak ties” (cf. Granovetter: 1973), that is, of the “unpretentious everyday contacts in the neighbourhood”, including “weak ties of friendship”, in a “friendly society”. Such contacts may give people a feeling of belonging; it provides opportunities for exchanges of services and support, and “help people get through life effectively and responsibly” (Kearns & Forrest: 2000, 1000). From this vantage point, local civil society organisations, and among them faith-based actors, may serve similar functions (functional equivalence), not least for young people without extensive social networks. We may relate such a functional equivalence to a distinction made by Forrest and Kearns (2001) between neighbourhood and neighbouring. The latter refers to

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the process of developing weak and strong ties locally, with differential significance for different categories of people, as pointed out above. A neighbourhood where neighbouring is prominent may be characterised as a community distinguished by a set of “relationships that help to achieve different aspects of well-being” within the same group of people (Völker et al.: 2007, 100–101). But neighbourhoods can also be characterised by lack of neighbourliness and community, lack of mutual trust, support and services, of qualities of self-help, which reduce the level of social cohesion (Forrest & Kearns: 1999; Putnam: 1993; Putnam: 2000). A high level of social cohesion in a neighbourhood is not always a good thing though. Above we emphasised the important role of weak ties for social cohesion. Portes and Landholt (1996), in a critical analysis of the role of strong ties at this level of society, state that such ties can create “downward-levelling pressures”. What they mean is that strong ties can involve pressures to conform in such a way that “the same kinds of ties that sometimes yield public goods also produce ‘public bads’” (Portes & Landholt: 1996, 20), attitudes and behaviour that make it difficult for people to enter mainstream society. A possible example would be young people with a substance use problem caught in a social network of people suffering the same problem and finding it difficult to escape the situation because of a lack of external support persons and/or other resources. Does diversity have a negative effect on social cohesion at the neighbourhood level? Various scholars have concluded in the affirmative, but Natalia Letki’s seminal study of British neighbourhoods (Stead: 2017) mainly disconfirms the negative effect, bringing in the socio-economic status of the neighbourhood as a mediating factor. The way that social cohesion could manifest itself at the neighbourhood level of society is suggested by Forrest and Kearns (2001, 2134) who observe that it would be constituted by “groups of people who live in a local area getting together to promote or defend some common local interest” in line with what was captured by the (positive) term neighbouring above. Applying a case study research strategy, it should be possible to look for such engagement, keeping in mind the aspects of social cohesion as we have defined them (cf. Chapters 6–11). 4.3.2

The City

One reason for introducing this level is that high – or low – levels of social cohesion at the neighbourhood level may not be reflected in a corresponding level of social cohesion at the city level. Similarly, relatively high – or low – levels of social cohesion at the city level do not necessarily mean that all neighbourhoods of the same city experience the same level of social cohesion. To build social cohesion in society is not a simple bottom-up process, though this is partly how it is conceived in much policy debate (Forrest: 2008). Neighbourhoods with a high level of social

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cohesion may be in conflict with each other; “neighbouring” may be prominent in each neighbourhood, but does not by necessity “spill over” into tolerance, respect, trust, help and cooperation across neighbourhood divides, or a common sense of belonging and identity. And there are also other relevant perspectives on the neighbourhood than the community perspective. We may, for instance, conceive of the neighbourhood as commodity, when characterised by social and spatial exclusion; or when the neighbourhood is mostly private space and “safety and security becomes a commodity to be packaged and sold as a neighbourhood type” (Forrest: 2008, 135). Thus, this type of neighbourhood may define itself in contrast to or in conflict with other neighbourhoods, where the residents may perceive that they have little that binds them together. There has been a debate in the literature about the importance of the neighbourhood as compared to the city level with regard to those aspects of how people relate to each other (see e.g. Bagnall et al.: 1997). From a policy perspective, a high level of social cohesion at the neighbourhood level may be expressed in terms of organised ways of cooperation between people. It may imply that organised cooperation may be structured, for example in the form of voluntary associations, to work for the welfare of the neighbourhood. In such a situation the associations may find it relevant to engage with the authorities at the city level. However, the ability to do so may depend on formal structures at the city level, informal strategies and the political system. Thus, in many ways there are important connections between these two levels of society. Many urban neighbourhoods with a high level of social cohesion may result in low levels of social cohesion in the city at large if the neighbourhoods are shut off from each other, in particular when the well-off maintain “a wilful blindness to the social conditions of the lower parts of society” (Cassiers & Kesteloot: 2012, 1916). More generally, this may be the case when respect, trust, help and cooperation limit themselves to the neighbourhood, and relations between neighbourhoods are characterised by tensions or conflicts, which is the case in many ethnically or socio-economically segregated cities. Riots in neighbourhoods in European cities such as Paris, the self-imprisonment of wealthy neighbourhoods and violent service delivery protests in poor and socio-economically excluded neighbourhoods in South African cities, and, in a mild form, spatial segregation of (relatively) wealthy and (relatively) poor neighbourhoods in Nordic European cities could be understood from this perspective. A reasonable conclusion is that the relationship between social cohesion at the neighbourhood level and the wider urban or societal levels seems rather complex. Cassiers and Kesteloot (2012) combine the city and neighbourhood levels through a policy perspective, considering preconditions and social mechanisms for social cohesion to be achieved. They examine the city and its neighbourhoods in the context of new forms of capitalist accumulation and the changing role of the public sector (Cassiers & Kesteloot: 2012, 1911–1912), acknowledging

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contradictory interests and ideals among diverse local populations. Instead of brushing over difference, they argue that the city should “create institutions in which these groups can confront each other and decide about the city’s future” (Cassiers & Kesteloot: 2012, 1910). This is similar to Stead’s (2017) assertion that social cohesion is the outcome of negotiating conflicting interests and visions, instead of consensus-oriented city processes, which often involves silencing or suppressing minorities (cf. Beaumont & Nicholls: 2008). In exploring the theoretical concept of social cohesion, the usefulness of the concept, and the actual possibility of socially cohesive cities, it is important also to retrieve hopeful narratives of possibility. A city such as Medellin, Colombia, demonstrated the possibility of social cohesion between vastly disparate and diverse neighbourhoods, when politicians, planners, architects, designers, community leaders and local neighbourhood people themselves intentionally worked towards it (Puddephatt: 2006; see also Roden: 2017). Through deliberate planning and design interventions, as well as active community participation in social and design planning processes, trust, cooperation and a feeling of belonging were developed by connecting socio-economically diverse neighbourhoods with each other. For this book, based on research which in itself was not policy oriented, experiences from cities like Medellin offer fruitful perspectives in the case study analyses, even though the findings may not easily be constructed in terms of “hopeful narratives”. 4.3.3

The National Level

There may be several reasons for choosing the national level as the most appropriate level for analysing social cohesion. One reason is that in a political context the state is the most important political institution, and social cohesion policies are mainly initiated and/or implemented at the government level (Chan et al.: 2006). But as we have already emphasised, social cohesion is not necessarily “spatially homogeneous” (Maloutas & Pantelidou-Malouta: 2004, 452), in the sense that the level of social cohesion in one urban neighbourhood need not correspond to the level of social cohesion in other neighbourhoods; high levels of social cohesion at this level may not necessarily be accompanied by a high level of cohesion at the city level, which in turn may not correspond to a high level of social cohesion at the national or societal level. But the way the concept has been specified in this chapter, including a horizontal and a vertical dimension, helps to link the macro and the micro levels, though primarily through institutions such as the labour market (cf. Dimeglio et al.: 2013). At this level of society the role of the media is worth mentioning. They can take on different roles in a situation of social tension and conflict, contributing to increasing – or reducing or resolving – tensions and conflicts (Cottle: 2006; Puddephatt: 2006). In this way media presentations can have an effect on social

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cohesion. In the case of Norway, for instance, voices have been raised in the national media to present a more nuanced picture of the situation in the city districts in Oslo most often associated with negative characteristics, as “myths” and media logic may contribute to labelling and segregation undermining social cohesion (Edvardsen: 2020; Eilders: 2006; Nærland: 2014). 4.3.4

Social Cohesion and the Role of the State

To return briefly to the political perspective, the preoccupation with social cohesion during the past two decades may be understood as a consequence of changes in dominant political and economic ideologies; neoliberalism has gained momentum in Western Europe and North America, along with processes of economic globalisation. Growing disillusion with the political system and the politicians arising from things like a widening income gap in the populations, persistently high levels of unemployment, and widespread social exclusion are some of the factors behind the growing disenchantment. The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) is among the international institutions that have been concerned about this situation (Keeley: 2015; OECD: 2011; cf. Putnam: 2004). The OECD (1997) and Jenson (1998), combined, propose three different overriding political strategies to come to terms with the problems identified above related to social cohesion, strategies based on: a) neoliberal ideology (market-based and individually oriented); b) public institutions and shared values (collectively oriented); and c) certain versions of democratic socialism (post-war Christian democracy and positively oriented liberalism). What these strategies have in common is that they see social order as a result of “an active government, capable of redistributing income, in a well-functioning, productive economy and in democratic public institutions dedicated to overseeing the whole” (Jenson: 1998, 12). Conflicts between persons and groups are supposed to be resolved through collectively made choices in a democratic system of decision-making. From a social science perspective, the three strategies presented above correspond well with the way Green and Janmaat have analysed social cohesion discourses in European and North-American policy discourses more generally (Green & Janmaat: 2011). They identify three main discourses on social cohesion in their analyses of political documents: – “Liberal discourse”: the strongest emphasis is on an active civil society, citizens’ participation, especially at the local level; – “Republican discourse”: most emphasis is on the state rather than civil society. A key concept is “social partnership”, which refers to the importance of representative civil society organisations for conflict intermediation;

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– “Social democratic discourse”: shares most of the characteristics of the republican discourse, including “social partnership”, but with a more fundamental stress on equality. In the South African political discourse on social cohesion the emphasis is often placed on addressing inequalities, exclusions and disparities that hinder the formation of a cohesive society and the full participation of citizens in achieving such shared goals (cf. DAC: 2012). This corresponds with the strong emphasis on civil society agency to be found in North American and in some European discourses. However, in practice, there is often a tension in South Africa between the formal political discourse with its emphasis on a participatory citizenry, and the reality of a more top-down, statist approach. In the Nordic countries, in comparison, more emphasis is placed on the role of the state – in cooperation or partnership with civil society – for structures and enabling processes to maintain or strengthen social cohesion and social and economic equality. Thus, the three discourses on social cohesion identified by Green and Janmaat are relevant as environments for understanding the role of civil society organisations – including FBOs – in processes to strengthen social cohesion at various levels of society. And yet, we cannot but heed the caution of Desai (2015) in the context of the South African debate on social cohesion. The co-option of social cohesion by a “reformist agenda”, emphasising reconciliation and good governance at the expense of more fundamental structural and systemic change, could result in deepened inequalities and exclusions, and even a greater lack of cohesion instead of the opposite.

4.4

Related Concepts

The many ways of defining social cohesion provide easy access to other related concepts or terms that are invoked in pursuing the same goal or concern. In both a political and a social science context, the distinction between means-end approaches and approaches based on identification of constituent elements may be helpful (cf. Section 4.2.3). In her analysis of the concept and its operationalisation, BergerSchmitt (2000, 4ff) introduces two principal goal dimensions: integration and social capital. The former is associated with social equality (or lack thereof) and social inclusion. The latter is associated with social networks and trust. Both goal dimensions are closely related to the various conceptions of social cohesion in the research literature. In research on the effect of diversity on social cohesion, social capital and trust are among the most frequently used indicators (Letki: 2008; Fieldhouse & Cutts: 2010; Lancee & Dronkers: 2011; Larsen: 2013).

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“Social integration” is often connected with and measured at the individual level in terms of position in the labour market or in education (Berger-Schmitt: 2000; Cassiers & Kesteloot: 2012; Portes & Fernández-Kelly: 2015) – which links it directly to the NEET category discussed in Chapter 2 of this book. In turn, “social inclusion” is usually constructed as a complex, multidimensional concept, including both spatial, relational and functional aspects in the literature (Jeannotte: 2008; Oxoby: 2009; Fieldhouse & Cutts: 2010). It may be constructed as a process, a collective agency, an institutionalisation process, and also as a policy perspective. In the literature on the problems of social cohesion, it is frequently the opposite of social inclusion that is in focus (Levitas: 2005; Moulaert: 1996; Moulaert et al.: 2007). It is likely that processes of systematic social exclusion in the long run increase chances of tensions or conflicts arising by generating increased social differences and accompanying frustrations. In Berger-Schmitt’s framework (2000) “social capital” is a dimension of social cohesion in what we categorised earlier in this chapter as a “means-end approach”. What most definitions of social capital have in common is that they focus on social relations that have some benefits; in other words, social capital represents resources linked to the availability of social relations (Bourdieu: 1986), “networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit” (Powell: 2001, 67). By implication, lack of social capital may therefore reduce the chances of success in the education system or the labour market (social integration). In rapidly changing societies the connections may be less obvious, but nonetheless important. Socio-cultural assets not previously acknowledged or embraced as assets may be turned into real assets. Putnam’s emphasis on “trust” as an aspect of social capital finds resonance in Larsen’s work on social cohesion. Larsen (2013, 6), in his interesting book on the rise and fall of social cohesion in Anglo-Saxon and Nordic countries, takes trust as his indicator for social cohesion. He defines the latter as “the belief held by citizens of a given nation state that they share a moral community, which enables them to trust each other.” From a South African perspective, De Beer (2014, 1) argues that one should address “on the one hand, the question of diversity and participation, social inclusion, healing and reconciliation as well as citizenship and participation and, on the other hand, the question of equity and justice, namely social justice, restitution, land distribution and spatial transformation.” Without a comprehensive understanding of social cohesion that also addresses the root causes of social fragmentation and upheaval, a narrower understanding will be unable to facilitate sustainable cohesiveness in society.

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4.5

Conclusion: Approaching and Operationalising Social Cohesion

When it comes to the question of how to operationalise social cohesion, our starting point is our definition of the concept and the corresponding five components: mutual trust, help and cooperation; mutual acceptance and respect of others, different from oneself; a shared sense of belonging to or identification with the social system in question; manifestation of these values, attitudes and feelings in the way people behave; and high levels of social and political participation. We should keep in mind that in the case studies presented in later chapters in this book the respective authors do not aim to measure degrees or levels of social cohesion in the societies and case study locations. The overall and underlying goal instead is to study whether and how religion or FBOs contribute to one or more of the five conditions in their interactions with young people in a difficult life situation. To this end, using a qualitative research strategy, we should thus investigate how the interactions between the young people and the FBOs contribute, most realistically, to shaping, maintaining or strengthening the subjective components connected with the horizontal and the vertical dimensions of social cohesion captured in Table 4.2: mutual trust, help and cooperation; mutual acceptance and respect of others, different from oneself; and a shared sense of belonging to or identification with the social system in question. Since the case studies involve FBOs as mediators, it will be important to study aspects of social cohesion at an organisational level in a means-end perspective. Such a perspective implies a study of whether and how the FBOs contribute to several aspects of social cohesion, be it trust relationships, integration in inter-organisational networks, and processes of inclusion or exclusion, both in the FBOs’ relations with young people and in a wider societal perspective. The concept of social cohesion has been the focus of much criticism. In current political debates one of the recurrent issues is ethnic and religious diversity and their consequences in society. This is highly relevant to this book, since the case studies presented have taken place in widely diverse localities, both ethnically and religiously. We have referred to research on the effect of diversity on social cohesion, which suggests a rather complex interplay. If Berger and his research colleagues are correct (Berger: 1998, 353) that no modern society should aspire to a unified system of norms, then “pluralism becomes not just a fact but a virtue – to wit, the ideal of people with different beliefs and values living together in a state of civic peace,” but not necessarily in harmony. Social tensions and conflicts are not necessarily threatening the integration of a society, and conflict and cohesion are not antonyms. As Coser suggests, conflict tends to be dysfunctional only for social structures in which there is insufficient tolerance or institutionalisation of conflict. Social structures are not threatened by conflict as such; it is rather their rigid character that may put them in jeopardy (Coser: 2001 [1956]). The seeds for (positive) change often lie in disharmony and social protest, and they should

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therefore not be conceived as being in opposition to a vision for social cohesion (cf. de Beer: 2014, 2). Labonte (2004, 116) cautions that greater threats to social cohesion are the economic and social structures of exclusion and injustice that evoke disharmony or protest. Thus, to the extent that relevant conflicts are identified, it is of interest to study how local communities cope with or handle conflict – as a way of taking responsibility to deal with fault lines or social exclusions, and of ensuring the necessary structural changes in order to address conflicts that have surfaced.

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Chapter 5: Faith-Based Organisations and Organised Religion in South Africa and the Nordic Countries

5.1

Introduction

Religion is incorporated into diverse organisational forms that perform different roles in different contexts. This is especially obvious when comparing the Global North to the Global South, or the Nordic countries to South Africa. While the majority of the population in both settings declare their Christian affiliation, this membership is enacted in different ways and with different meanings attached to it. This chapter provides a general background for understanding the organisation and meaning of religion in the respective countries focused upon in this book and, by doing so, offers a conceptual framework for what is meant by faith-based organisations (FBOs) in the case studies presented in the second part of the book. We begin by offering a working definition of the term FBO. FBOs could be examined at an international, national or local level, and the organisational forms and primary goals may differ between the levels. As the discourses and strategies developed at the international level inevitably influence the local level, we first deal with FBOs in relation to the theme of development and civil society on the broader, international and national levels. Then we move onto the local level and tease out connections between FBOs, communities and individuals in some of the recent literature. In the second half of the chapter we look at the broader religious context in which FBOs function in South Africa and the Nordic countries in order to gain a more context-relevant sense of the playing field of FBOs in the case study contexts reflected in this book.

5.2

The Term Faith-Based Organisation

As a term, FBO is a rather recent coinage, and there is a lack of consistency in how the term is defined and used by scholars. The term emerged in an international context shaped by the rise of civil society and the increasingly visible role of nongovernmental organisations (NGOs) from the 1980s, as well as a growing interest from donors and policy-makers in the work of religious actors some years later (see Burchardt: 2013; Jones & Petersen: 2011; Occhipinti: 2015; Tomalin: 2012). Part of the religious sector responded to the pro-faith climate by aligning their

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organisational structures to fit into NGO-shaped civil society, for instance, by creating non-profit organisations (Burchardt: 2013, 42–43). The growing visibility of the actual term FBO in international discourses in the 2000s “coincided with a rise in awareness of the resurgence of religious activity in public life globally” (Tomalin: 2012, 692). The different and at times conflicting definitions were not merely the result of academic bickering, for, among other things, defining the boundaries of FBOs started to matter more and more from a policy perspective (Tomalin: 2012, 691). Against this background, it is no wonder that researchers are divided on whether or not churches and other faith communities in themselves – not only non-profit organisations attached to and run by churches – fit under the rubric FBO (see Clarke & Jennings: 2008a; Leuers: 2012; Occhipinti: 2015; Tomalin: 2012). A clear fault line lies between those who reserve “FBO” only for NGO-like organisations, and those who include faith communities (such as churches or congregations) or their various activities, such as Sunday schools. Yet the variation between different NGO-like FBOs is also significant (see e.g. Occhipinti: 2015). With the case studies in Part II of this book in mind, we agree with Tomalin (2012, 694) that differentiating between FBOs that are NGO-like and those that are not, but have been involved in social work for hundreds of years (e.g. churches), can easily become an artificial distinction. Since our book wants to broadly speak to the role of organised religion in the context of NEET youth (that is, youth not in education, employment or training – see Chapter 2), we opt for a definition that also includes churches and other faith communities because of the potential of such a broad definition to allow “a fuller consideration of FBOs as a category of actors” (Occhipinti: 2015, 342) in thinking about social cohesion. For this purpose, Clarke and Jennings’s general phrasing serves as a starting point: an FBO is “any organisation that derives inspiration and guidance from the teachings and principles of the faith or from a particular interpretation or school of thought within the faith” (2008b, 6). In other words, for the case studies in this book faith has to be an identifiable aspect of an organisation’s vision or the carrying out of its mission in order for the organisation to be defined as “faith-based”, although the actual organisational forms may vary. For instance, in the Lammi case study the research participants mostly spoke of the local Lutheran parish, while in the Pretoria case study the young people spoke of both churches and the NGO-like Tshwane Leadership Foundation. Opting for a broad definition therefore allows us, first, to focus on the religious actors that the young people themselves talked about and found important in their neighbourhoods regardless of their organisational forms or aims, and second, to compare the role of organised religion in the case study settings despite the differences between the FBOs. Differentiating between different kinds or typologies of FBOs (e.g. Occhipinti: 2015) is thus not central to this book as a whole. While

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we have opted to embrace the broad field of organised religion in our definition of FBOs, the more particular characteristics of the actual FBOs that the case study chapters engage with give nuance to and illustrate the variety among faith-based actors.

5.3

FBOs in the Context of Development and Civil Society

FBOs have been receiving increasing attention in development practice and discourse (see Jones & Petersen: 2011; Occhipinti: 2015). The interface between the concepts “faith” and “development” has become an important theme and reveals a need to negotiate the position of FBOs in the field of international development (Clarke & Jennings: 2008b, 1). As a result of the increased interest in religious actors, the actual cooperation between FBOs and donor agencies has also increased (Clarke: 2008, 39–40). However, such cooperation can be challenging, especially because of the prevailing binary opposition between the sacred and the secular in the discourses of development and international relations (Linden: 2008, 72). Some views and practices regard religion as an antithesis of development, while the constitutional separation of religion and state in “modern” or “rational” public policy-making has deep historical Western roots (Clarke & Jennings: 2008b, 4; Occhipinti: 2015). Nevertheless, the role of FBOs in development is being recognised not only by academia (see Jennings: 2013; Jones & Petersen: 2011; Occhipinti: 2015; Rae & Clarke: 2013), but also by governments, other policy-making agencies and donors. For example, the South African government recently established the National Interfaith Council of South Africa (NICSA) as the official forum through which a partnership relationship between the country’s religious sector and the state should be promoted. This umbrella body and its predecessor, the National Interfaith Leadership Council (NILC) replaced the National Religious Leaders Forum (NRLF) in a series of events since 2009 (Swart: 2013b, 100–101). On the other hand, studies in the WREP (2003–2006) and WRIGP (2006–2008) projects1 that engaged with various countries (including South Africa, Finland and Norway) (Bäckström et al.: 2010; Bäckström et al.: 2011; Swart et al.: 2012) found that the state and FBOs (here Christian churches in particular) struggle to effectively manage their relationship in pursuit of mobilising FBOs as welfare agents (see Angell: 2010; Pettersson: 2011; Middlemiss Lé Mon et al.: 2012; Pessi: 2010; Pettersson & Middlemiss Lé Mon:

1 WREP = “Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective: A Comparative Study of the Role of the Churches as Agents of Welfare within the Social Economy;” WRIGP = “Welfare and Religion in a Global Perspective: Theoretical and Methodological Exchange across the North–South Divide.”

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2012; Swart: 2012). The complexities of the FBO–state relationship are further illustrated in Swart’s (2010; 2012) critical reflection on the pragmatic turn in the social development debate promoted by the Ecumenical Foundation of Southern Africa (EFSA) and, in particular, his criticism of FBOs focusing too much on gaining state funding for development projects, and not enough on critical engagement with the government’s economic and developmental approaches. Overall, historical links between church and state are under pressure in the countries studied, while new forms of collaboration challenge the way churches are involved in society (Pettersson & Middlemiss Lé Mon: 2012, 309), as will be further elaborated on in the sections below on religion in South Africa and the Nordic countries.

5.4

Roles of FBOs in Local Communities

In line with the focus of this book on FBOs within local communities, we now look more closely at the functioning of FBOs at the local level and, in particular, at the characteristics of FBOs that may influence processes of inclusion and exclusion. Connections between FBOs, local communities and individuals feature in recent scholarship on religion and development from at least three perspectives, which are discussed in this section: the organic or “rooted” relations between FBOs and local communities; the role of FBOs in community formation or sustenance; and the role of FBOs as channels through which individuals meet each other’s needs and contribute to the wellbeing of their communities. All three aspects also feature in the context of the case study chapters in Part II of this book, which thus further complicate and nuance both the critique delivered against FBOs as well as their reported positive potential in communities as discussed by scholars and reviewed briefly here. First, scholars writing on religion and development note the rootedness of FBOs in local communities and their connectedness at the grassroots level (Burchardt: 2013, 41; Krige: 2008, 23; Leuers: 2012, 708; Moyer et al.: 2011, 983). Because we opted to include local faith communities (such as churches) in the definition of an FBO, such rootedness becomes even more evident. As and through local faith communities, FBOs are able to tap into existing pools of potential volunteers, beneficiaries, funds, moralities and so on. Some portray this connection as a special asset and imply that this ability is not necessarily present in so-called secular NGOs. This embeddedness has, for instance, been said to increase efficiency in carrying out developmental tasks (Clarke & Jennings: 2008a), and from a moral and motivational perspective, FBOs can be seen as having access to the “moral energies” of communities (Clarke: 2007, 90). Generalised claims of such an advantage, however, have been criticised for their lack of comparative empirical support and because it is difficult to discern the actual difference between faith-based and

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secular organisations and their impact (Leuers: 2012, 708; Tomalin: 2012, 696–700). Whatever the advantages or disadvantages of the perceived community link, such a link, nonetheless, clearly characterises the nature of FBOs. Second, attention has been devoted to the role of faith in creating relationships and in the formation of collective identities or a sense of belonging and unity (Bornstein: 2005; Bradley: 2009, 107; de Cordier: 2009, 678–679; Haynes: 1997, 713–714; Haynes: 2007). This, of course, comes close to saying that FBOs impact positively on social cohesion. However, the other side of the coin has also been noted, namely the potential of religion to contribute towards social exclusion and divisions (Clarke: 2007, 84; Krige: 2008, 23). In other words, the sense of belonging of individuals and social groups to a faith community, as well as the broader local community, may be either facilitated or retained depending, for instance, on how the limits of belonging are perceived within a given religious framework. Moreover, when looking at the development and welfare activities of FBOs, any physical distance that might exist between those who fund FBO activities and the intended beneficiaries (see Bradley: 2009, 110) further problematises the actual role of FBOs in creating communal relationships and the limits to those relationships. In the South African context, in particular, a similar concern could be raised about physical and social distance between racial, ethnic and other groups of people within faith communities. Third, FBOs can play a very concrete, functional role in providing a channel for the charitable giving and faith-based actions of individuals (Bradley: 2009, 110; Sanchez: 2010, 110). In other words, FBOs can provide individuals with a particular kind of lifestyle, offer building blocks for a shared morality, and comprise a community within which to enact their morality. For example, FBOs can be a source of motivation to change one’s own challenging life situation (see Skjortnes: 2014, 77–78). And participating in faith communities can also provide individuals with access to social capital, that is, to social networks and systems of reciprocity and trust (Moyer et al.: 2011, 988). Such networks may prove to be beneficial and effect a sense of belonging in other social spaces beyond the immediate faith community itself. Besides being aware of these roles that FBOs play in local communities, thinking about FBOs in local communities also involves the different philosophical-moral notions linked with being human and the potential implications of these notions and discourses for everyday life. At times, also in the research literature, the “African” person is strongly associated with the notion of communalism, while the “Western” person is linked with rationality and individualism (see LenkaBula: 2008, 384; Shutte: 2001). These fundamentally different ways of approaching human existence have implications for understanding notions such as religion, community and social cohesion. By focusing on specific contexts in South Africa and the Nordic countries, the discussions in this book highlight the micro-contextual nature and the possible

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mixing and reconstruction of these notions. As an example, in the South African urban context the competition between communal ideals and an “I am what I have” notion of subjectivity (see Eze: 2011) importantly calls for a closer examination of the moral frameworks of young people in particular.

5.5

The Religious Context of FBOs: Religion and Religious Affiliation

In the context of the case studies in this book, many FBOs that the young people spoke of are the Christian churches with which they themselves were affiliated. In the Riverlea local community, for instance, the authors engaged with young people who identified with and attended Catholic, mainline Protestant and Pentecostal churches, while in the Lammi community the research team spoke with, among others, Muslim asylum-seeker youths and young people who had chosen to leave the Lutheran Church. The following section on organised religion in South Africa and the Nordic countries locates both the personal narratives of these young people and the various kinds of FBOs within the broader religious environment. Before looking at the specific country contexts, the notions of religion, spirituality and religious affiliation call for clarification. The categorisation of organised versus non-organised forms of religion is relevant when introducing the concept of spirituality, which is often erroneously associated only with non-organised religion. In popular usage, at least in the Western world, and at times also in scholarly writing, religion is referred to as something organised, as opposed to spirituality (Ammerman: 2013, 258–260; Ellingson: 2001, 257–260). Ammerman, however, points out that this division does not do justice to the complexity of the relationship between religion and spirituality, and stresses that spirituality is “neither a diffuse individualised phenomenon nor a single cultural alternative to religion” (Ammerman: 2013, 258). These definitions imply that spirituality is also an aspect of organised religion and in that sense part of what we explore in our case studies later in this book. Furthermore, our choice to explore the role of religion among young people in the context of specifically FBOs is not an indication that religion is limited to, or more authentic in, these spaces than in less organised settings; and nor does our emphasis indicate an understanding of a homogeneous religious experience within a given FBO. Rather, we have decided to position our exploration within the context of organised religion in order to provide policy-relevant findings, in particular, on the role of organised religion (particularly FBOs) vis-à-vis marginalisation of the youth. The term religious affiliation is linked to organised religion. It is commonly understood as the religious grouping with which an individual chooses to identify (Klingenberg: 2014, 42–46). Such affiliations can be indicated in various ways, for

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example, through census data or registered membership. However, such data are not fully reliable and even the term “religious affiliation” is quite problematic. For example, in Africa it is common practice to have multiple religious affiliations, although they might not all be official (Ellis & Ter Haar: 1998, 177–178). This is also true of South Africa, and to a certain extent of the Nordic countries, where official affiliation is often linked to the majority churches, although many also attend the minority Christian communities (Furseth et al.: 2017). Furthermore, neither registered membership nor census data can indicate the level of involvement of the individual, and many people fail to cancel their membership when they no longer associate with the group. Yet, while recognising the complexity and ambiguity of the term religious affiliation, it is nevertheless used as a tool in understanding the religious landscape of the countries being studied. For instance, census data still provide the most nuanced analysis of religious data in South Africa, both cross-sectionally and longitudinally (Erasmus: 2012, 45). Moreover, we use the data that are available. In South Africa the last census to include a question on religious affiliation was conducted in 2001, although the 2013 General Household Survey included two questions on religion (Schoeman: 2017, 3). In the Nordic countries, on the other hand, registered membership is a more reliable reflection of religious affiliation.

5.6

Religion in South Africa

In South Africa citizens overwhelmingly identify as religious. In the 2001 census, only 15 per cent stated they have no religious affiliation. Almost 80 per cent stated that they are Christian: 32.6 per cent belonging to mainline churches, 31.8 per cent to independent churches, 5.9 per cent to Pentecostal churches, and 9.5 per cent to “other” Christian churches. Judaism (0.2 per cent), Hinduism (1.2 per cent), Islam (1.5 per cent) and Eastern or other religions (0.9 per cent) are small minorities (Statistics South Africa: 2004, 24). The General Household Survey, conducted by Statistics South Africa since 2002, is a representative survey of non-institutionalised and non-military persons and households in South Africa (Schoeman: 2017, 3). The findings of the 2013 General Household Survey, while not surveying as comprehensive a sample of South Africans as the national census, is nevertheless relevant to this study as it asked questions on religion. During the survey 92.6 per cent of South Africans identified as having a religious affiliation. With the categories of affiliation differing from those in the 2001 census questionnaire, the majority identified as Christian (84.2 per cent). Ancestral or traditional African religions (5 per cent), Muslim (2 per cent), Hindu (1 per cent), and Judaism (0.2 per cent) were small minorities (Schoeman: 2017, 3). Thus, taking into consideration the last census to

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ask about religious affiliation, as well as the most recent representative survey to do so, we see that South Africans as a people can be described as very religious. However, the nature of the religious landscape is complex. Tracking census data from 1911 onward shows that there is an increase in Christianity, particularly African Indigenous, Pentecostal, charismatic and evangelical Christianity, and a move away from mainline Christian churches (Chipkin & Leatt: 2011; Erasmus: 2012; Schoeman: 2017). As on the continent at large (Ellis & Ter Haar: 2004, 1; Uzodike & Whetho: 2008, 198), Pentecostal churches are on the increase and increasingly influential (Anderson: 2005; Burchardt: 2011, 669). There is also an increase in the numbers of people with no religious affiliation, particularly among those younger than 35 (Erasmus: 2012, 52). However, high rates of religious affiliation do not necessarily mean that FBOs as a sector of civil society are influential. On the contrary, FBOs, in particular mainline churches, in South Africa are generally accused of little public social engagement (Kumalo & Dviza: 2008; Maluleke: 2010; Mkhatshwa: 2007; Winkler: 2008) and the South African state is experienced as demarcating FBOs only as spiritual and moral actors, and not as change agents (Winkler: 2008, 2100). Some argue that this is to a large extent the fault of FBOs, and here in particular faith communities, as they are hampered by competing faith identities, exclusionary ideologies, turf struggles and a lack of community development capacities (Winkler: 2008, 2100). However, one should take note that the post-apartheid era is a difficult one for FBOs to negotiate, especially for mainline churches. Since the end of apartheid, church involvement in politics has become more diverse and the mainline ecumenical movement has become weaker (Bompani: 2006, 1138; Cochrane: 2009; Kuperus: 2011, 279). While during apartheid churches were defined by their affirmation, condemnation or neutrality on apartheid, the post-apartheid era offers many different approaches or responses to state action (Kuperus: 2011, 284). Some argue that in the first years of the democratic dispensation ecumenical churches tended to align themselves with the state, but have since then become more independent and critical of the government (Bompani: 2006, 1138; Swart: 2013b). Thus, there are signs of a re-emerging FBO sector that engages critically with social issues. Two ecclesial letters, issued in 2012 and 2013, for instance, critically addressed the ruling government and its practices, and were backed by FBOs and FBO networks such as the South African Council of Churches (SACC), The Evangelical Alliance of South Africa (TEASA) and the Church Leaders Consultation. These letters could be seen as a potential sign of a renewed kairos or critical consciousness in the present-day socio-religious landscape (Swart: 2013b, 86–88). However, it is also important to note that politicians have at times read such criticism of the ruling party’s discourse or actions as “abandoning the struggle” against apartheid and its legacy (Bompani: 2006, 1142).

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Faith-Based Organisations and Organised Religion

Nevertheless, FBOs still have the potential to significantly impact on South African youths. So, for instance, a recent South African study identified religion as an important source of resilience amongst young people, as it fosters positive behaviours and provides them with emotional and social support, coping skills, a sense of external and internal purpose, a connection to the past and a moral compass (Brittian et al.: 2013). However, one should not unequivocally assume that religious teachings and principles determine the behaviour of their youthful adherents. Various studies have illustrated how youths act in ways that directly conflict with the teachings and expectations of the FBOs with which they affiliate (Brittian et al.: 2013; Burchardt: 2011; Eriksson et al.: 2013; Garner: 2000; Mbotho et al.: 2013).

5.7

Religion in the Nordic Countries

Historically, the Nordic countries have constituted homogeneous spaces with regard to religion as a result of little inward migration, and because the Lutheran Church used to be the state religion/church, also known as the “religion of the throne” (Bruce: 2000, 34). The state church status, however, has officially changed. In Norway this change came about as recently as 2012, but in Finland it had occurred officially already in 1870 (Høeg & Krupka: 2015, 235; Seppo: 1998). Nevertheless, in practice the situation in Finland is still very close to the state church situation (Seppo: 1998). The late nineteenth-century industrialisation and the growing differentiation in the Nordic countries had produced a model in which religion was increasingly privatised and located in the private sphere, while the growing number of social tasks for which the state and municipalities assumed responsibility, such as welfare provision, were located in the public sphere (Bäckström: 2005; Botvar: 1993). In all of the Nordic countries the majority of the population belongs to the national Lutheran churches. In this chapter we use the statistics collected by the NOREL project.2 With respect to membership in the majority churches, in our Nordic case study countries the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland and the Church of Norway follow very similar trends. In the year 1988 membership of both churches was 88 per cent of the total population and in 2014 74 per cent in Finland and 75 per cent in Norway (Furseth et al.: 2017). Other previous research calls membership in the Lutheran churches to be a civil religious phenomenon, which makes the church a symbol of nationality and national culture (Sundback: 2007).

2 The NOREL project (2009–2013) compared religious changes during the past twenty years in all five Nordic countries. See more on the project at www.kifo.no. The final publication of the project was published in 2017; see Furseth et al.: 2017.

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During recent decades the above-mentioned public/private division has become more and more blurred, not least as a result of migration. Immigration of people of other religious traditions has increased considerably during the last thirty years, to varying degrees in the different Nordic countries. Moreover, the Nordic countries in general are noted as societies that are influenced most by values such as individualism and self-development. This explains why immigration contributes towards making religion more visible in the Nordic public sphere (Botvar & Schmidt: 2010) and towards a need to rethink the public role of FBOs in society (Bäckström: 2014, 61). Immigration has increased the membership of Christian minority churches and of the Muslim communities, but still their membership as percentage of the total population is very small. According to NOREL statistics, the increase of membership of Christian minority churches in Finland rose from 2 per cent to 2.3 per cent from 1988 until 2014, and during the same timeline from 3 per cent to 6.6 per cent in Norway (Furseth et al.: 2017). The increase of membership in Muslim communities has been somewhat more rapid, even though the baseline numbers in 1988 were very low. In Finland and Norway respectively only 770 individuals and 0.3 per cent of the total population were members of Muslim communities. One reason for these very low numbers is that membership is not very common among the Muslim populations. Many more attend mosques than are actually official members in these communities. In 2014 Muslims in Finland formed 0.2 per cent of the population, but in Norway it was as high as 2.6 per cent (Furseth et al.: 2017). The increase in Norway is significant and has influenced the Norwegian religious situation since then. It is, in any case, important to note that the national churches continue to perform many public roles in the Nordic countries. For instance, in most of these countries the national churches remain responsible for the maintenance of cemeteries (Kasselstrand & Eltanani: 2013, 106–107). Moreover, the Nordic Lutheran churches are still significantly tied to the state on the financial and administrative level (Kääriäinen: 2011, 159–161). These public roles of the national churches, the strongest FBOs in the Nordic countries, seem to suggest that the churches and the state are still strongly connected in the two Nordic countries focused upon in this book (Kasselstrand & Eltanani: 2013, 107). In line with the private nature of religion in the Nordic countries, religion has been almost invisible in research on the living conditions of young people. Even though religion has, for example, been one of the categories of Norwegian youth studies and even though the studies show that many more young people with immigrant and non-Christian background consider religion important in their life, religion and FBOs are not mentioned as resources (Øia: 2005; Øia & Vestel: 2007). Also revealing the influence of the Lutheran churches is a Nordic study that suggests a correlation between church affiliation and trust in the state in the Nordic countries. The findings of Kasselstrand and Eltanani show that members of the

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national Lutheran churches trust the state the most, more than members of minority religious groups do, both Christian and non-Christian. Other Protestant Christians trust the state less than the Lutherans do, but still more than those who indicated no religious affiliation (Kasselstrand & Eltanani: 2013, 110–115).

5.8

Conclusion

The discussion on FBOs and religious affiliation in this chapter provides a background for our case studies on the role of FBOs in strengthening or weakening social cohesion among young people in the Nordic countries and South Africa. The brief introduction to the religious context of South Africa and the Nordic countries exposes historical and contemporary religious landscapes that differ greatly from one another. Such contextual diversity is one reason why we have opted for a broad definition of the term FBO, following the often-quoted formulation of Clarke and Jennings. More importantly, though, this broad definition allows the case study authors not to predefine their focus, but rather to develop an empirically informed sense of how organised religious actors impact on the lives of the young people who participated in the research. The conversation of this chapter continues in different ways in the rest of the book. While studying and categorising particular FBOs themselves in detail has not been an aim in the book, as the reader will discover, interesting differences between faith communities and NGO-like FBOs emerge in the case studies and further explain why scholars debate and disagree on the definition of FBO. As will also be seen in the case studies, the academic perceptions on the various roles of FBOs in local communities that have been briefly discussed in this chapter resonate with and are further complicated in these local contexts. Moreover, the chapter has shown that the results of the case studies are relevant beyond the context of studying FBOs and young people: the findings of the case studies also contribute to the broader academic discussion around the relevance, irrelevance, meaning, and positive and negative potential of religion and FBOs in both international and local contexts.

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Part II Case Study Perspectives

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Ignatius Swart, Marlize Rabe, Stephan de Beer

Chapter 6: “Eish! It is Tough Living Here” Marginalised Young People and Faith-Based Organisations in Pretoria Central1

The place is very unhealthy, it is very old … You can have more than 20 people in the house. Imagine. That’s why this is a slum area (Participant in focus group interview with male and female participants, 15 to 19 years old, Salvokop).

6.1

Introduction

An assortment of historical buildings, monuments, museums, government offices, department stores, churches, gardens, parks, apartments and neighbourhoods all form part of the kaleidoscope that makes up the area known as Pretoria Central. During peak hours Pretoria Central presents itself as a colourful but noisy African city where luxury cars, modest vehicles and taxi kombis (small buses) meander bumper to bumper through a sea of pedestrians. By nightfall much of this traffic disappears, when people leave for their homes, often outside of and far away from Pretoria Central. Yet many people remain, as they retreat to their inner city apartments or stay out and about on the streets of the city. Pretoria Central is part of the City of Tshwane in the Gauteng province of South Africa. Pretoria is the administrative capital of South Africa and located approximately 50 kilometres north of Johannesburg. Similar to the Riverlea case study in this book, it is situated within an extended urban area (see Gauteng City-Region Observatory: n.d.). Therefore, an important feature of this case study is its focus on young people who grew up in a city, but also on those who moved here from smaller towns, other cities or neighbouring countries in the hope of building a better life (cf. Rabe et al.: 2019) through finding employment and having access to better amenities. Many young people arrive in the City of Tshwane just to find themselves without employment, shelter and any prospect of social opportunities and inclusion.

1 An adapted version of this chapter was first published in HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 75/4, 1–12.

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The aim of this chapter is to present a more informed perspective on the role of faith-based organisations (FBOs) in the lives of marginalised young people in Pretoria Central. With this in mind, we start the discussion by contextualising the lives of young people in Pretoria Central against the backdrop of far-reaching socio-economic, demographic and religious change in the area since the end of the apartheid era (see below for further details). After explaining our case study methodology and offering a brief profile of our research participants, we proceed with a more detailed discussion of our case study findings. We begin with an account of our young interviewees’ own experiences of Pretoria Central as a place of considerable hardship and the resultant expressions of hope and despair that emanated from such experiences. From this vantage point of deepened contextual insight, our focus then shifts to our specific concern with the role that FBOs played in the lives of the young people interviewed. This is done under two separate headings: first we discuss the perceptions and expectations of FBOs expressed by our young interviewees amidst their experiences of hardship, and second we examine the meeting of basic survival needs as a dominant mode of FBO involvement with the young people. Finally, we offer some concluding observations on the essential insight that our chapter offers for the present book’s concern with the relationship between marginalised young people and FBOs.

6.2

Young People in Pretoria Central

Pretoria Central changed dramatically from being an almost exclusively white community at the end of the apartheid era in 1994 to becoming a cluster of neighbourhoods that were 90 per cent black by 2018. Furthermore, although the population of Pretoria Central was always on the younger side, often accommodating young families until they were established enough to buy a house in the suburbs, recent statistics have shown that Pretoria Central has become an increasingly young community, with the median age being 25 years (see Statistics South Africa: 2011a; Statistics South Africa: n.d.; Wazimap: n.d.). Yet another significant statistic is that approximately only 20 per cent of the population of Pretoria Central originally comes from within the Gauteng province in which Pretoria is located, with close to 80 per cent of the population having migrated from elsewhere at some point in time (cf. Statistics South Africa: 2011a; Statistics South Africa: n.d.; Wazimap: n.d.). Pretoria Central thus presents itself at least initially as a place of promise for many. This could be explained by the strategic location of the City of Tshwane, with Pretoria Central at its core, as a significant part of the Gauteng City-Region, which is an economic powerhouse on the African continent. In addition, one may also consider favourable factors such as Pretoria

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“Eish! It is Tough Living Here”

Central’s close proximity to three of the largest universities in the country,2 as well as the Department of Home Affairs’ newly erected centre for newcomers to South Africa in Marabastad, on the edge of Pretoria Central (Rabe et al.: 2019, 166–168; cf. Gauteng City-Region Observatory: n.d.). However, the large-scale economic disinvestment in Pretoria Central that coincided with South Africa’s political transition to democracy in the early 1990s has rendered the expectation of economic opportunity in Pretoria Central rather illusionary for many (Rabe et al.: 2019, 167). Here we particularly consider the way in which Pretoria Central has since the early 1990s presented “arrival neighbourhoods” for large numbers of vulnerable young people, South African youths,3 but also transnational migrants, hoping to find alternatives, or running away from abusive and desperate situations. While this group of vulnerable young people was initially comprised mostly of young men and boys living on the streets in different places in and around Pretoria Central (such as Sunnyside or Marabastad), towards the late 1990s and since 2000 the youths on the streets have increasingly included young women and girls as well (cf. De Beer & Vally: 2017, 384; Moloko-Phiri et al.: 2017, 439–449). It follows that for many young migrants Pretoria Central has not delivered the desired results. Their lives are instead characterised by an ongoing precariousness that leaves them particularly vulnerable to exploitation, exclusion and risky life styles as reflected in the endemic substance addiction, the proliferation of child-headed households, and the activities of a visible and well-established commercial sex work and human trafficking industry (cf. De Beer & Vally: 2015, 14–15, 24–25; De Beer & Vally: 2017, 390; Mkansi: 2012). For this group of young people, migration and mobility have clearly not translated into a better life, but have become part of a permanent survival strategy, as they move from one place to another, from one street corner to another, from one relationship to another, in order to survive (Rabe et al.: 2019, 167). The reality sketched of Pretoria Central as a place where many young people suffer from a “multiplicity of deprivations” (De Lannoy: 2017, 3) is well matched by statistical research suggesting that more than half of the population of Pretoria Central may be unemployed (cf. Statistics South Africa: 2011a; Statistics South Africa: n.d.; Wazimap: n.d.). We concede that this figure may be misleading as there are also large numbers of young people in Pretoria Central who are working and/or studying, and as occupants of one of the many apartments (flats) in the area could be considered to be relatively well off. Nevertheless, this does not relativize 2 University of Pretoria, University of South Africa and Tshwane University of Technology. 3 These young people may often come from surrounding black townships or informal settlements. In other cases they may come from further afield, noticeably rural areas where opportunities for work, education and training are few and far between.

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the picture of precarious living conditions and life styles that we have sketched as the fate of a disturbing section of the young population that lives in present-day Pretoria Central.

6.3

FBOs in a Context of Far-Reaching Religious Change

It becomes important to note in the light of the topical focus of our chapter that the profile of the faith-based sector in Pretoria Central has also changed dramatically as a result of the changing demography. In 1994, for example, there were only nine churches in the central parts of Pretoria. These churches were all, with one exception, churches from traditional mainline (mostly white Reformed) denominations. Today, in the same area a recent count found 57 churches, now predominantly independent Pentecostal and charismatic churches, with almost exclusively black members (Ribbens & De Beer: 2017, 5–7). Churches, then, have diversified, with low percentages of white members and an overwhelming black membership that includes members from other African countries. For example, the Apostolic Faith Mission in Sunnyside worships in at least five languages, acknowledging the large number of Amharic-, Frenchand Portuguese-speaking people now living in Pretoria Central. A former white, Afrikaans Seventh-Day Adventist Church became an Ethiopian Orthodox Church, and the former congregation of the Netherdutch Reformed Church is now a vibrant charismatic church led by a Ghanaian pastor. In terms of this ever-increasing religious and ethnic diversification, it is important to mention that two new mosques were also built in Pretoria Central over the past 20 years, and the majority of Somali newcomers into Pretoria Central are Muslim believers (De Beer & Smith: 2019). Whereas most faith-based work in Pretoria Central was done through local congregations before 1994, the post-1994 period saw the emergence of a number of strong, and now well-established, NGO-type FBOs such as PEN (Participate, Empower, Navigate) (PEN: n.d.), Tshwane Leadership Foundation (TLF: n.d.) and the People Upliftment Programme (POPUP: n.d.). PEN has always had a strong focus on children and the youth, and the Tshwane Leadership Foundation’s focus on the most vulnerable people in the inner city saw them reaching out to young girls on the streets and an increasingly young homeless population. NGO-type FBOs have often played leading roles in incubating social responses to particular inner-city vulnerabilities in Pretoria Central that were not necessarily being sufficiently addressed by the state. Examples of such responses include the Sediba Hope Medical Centre (n.d.), which was initially established to create HIV and AIDS support services in close proximity to local inner-city communities, but today provides much more comprehensive community-based health care; and Yeast City Housing (n.d.), a faith-based social housing company evolving from the

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“Eish! It is Tough Living Here”

Tshwane Leadership Foundation, and now managing over 1,300 social housing units in the inner city.

6.4

Methodology and Profile of Research Participants

Our research was aimed at developing a deeper understanding of the contextual situation of marginalised youths in Pretoria Central and from this vantage point addressing two issues in particular: (a) the perceptions and expectations of marginalised youths regarding FBOs in this context; and (b) the way in which religion and FBOs touched the lives of those young people. The research method was a case study that started with four researchers visiting various sites in Pretoria Central. One of the members of the research team, Stephan de Beer, had years of involvement with various organisations in Pretoria Central and he introduced the other members to various sites such as houses of safety, shelters, prominent churches providing homework facilities and/or holiday programmes for school children. Purposive sampling was used to gain access to research participants through youth workers and social workers employed or doing internships at FBOs. Care was taken to include participants who had experiences of and support from FBOs as well as people who had little or no contact with them, necessitating the use of different entry points for sampling, such as shelters, a community centre and a prominent park where tea and bread were distributed daily. Only one participant mentioned encounters with religious bodies that were not Christian, but he also had a longstanding involvement with Christian churches. We conducted individual interviews with nine resource people, who included FBO workers, youth workers, clergy, a school principal and a government official at the National Youth Desk of the national Department of Social Development. Twenty-four in-depth interviews were held with identified marginalised youths (even though four of them were somewhat older and one was 30 years old, we decided to include them because of their willingness to be interviewed). Three interviews with focus groups were also conducted, one of them with women only, a second with men only, and a third with both young men and women. An additional focus group was held with youth workers working at an FBO. All interviews were conducted in English, a language in which all the research participants could express themselves fluently as it is widely used in urban areas in South Africa as a language of communication. The only exception was one individual interview with an Afrikaans-speaking youth and two interviews with resource people who preferred to speak in Afrikaans. All the youth participants were black, except for one coloured participant. The majority of the resource people

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and the clergy were black South Africans, while one Indian, one coloured and four white South Africans also formed part of this group. Fourteen of the 24 participants with whom individual interviews were held lived on the streets most days, four lived with family members and five in shelters or foster care homes. Thirteen of the individual participants were male and eleven female. Two of the women were pregnant at the time of the interviews. The participants in the female focus group all lived in a shelter (some with their children), while the participants in the male focus groups lived on the streets (there were no full-time shelters for men over the age of 18 years at the time of our research). In contrast, the participants from the mixed group (males and females) all lived with their families and, with the exception of one participant, were all in school. Five of the participants declared that they were addicted to Nyaope,4 although many more referred to their smoking habits. One participant was participating in a sponsored drug rehabilitation programme. The divisions between us as researchers and the participants were stark. Aspects such as our formal educational levels, access to resources, racial identities and different lifestyles were dividing factors. Yet these divisions also meant that certain participants narrated some of their experiences in detail, since they believed we understood nothing about their circumstances. However, certain participants indicated that they were not willing to share certain aspects of their lives, since that was too painful and we respected their decisions.

6.5

A Place of Hardship: Between Hope and Despair in Pretoria Central

A thematic line pursued from the very start of this chapter relates to Pretoria Central as a place of hardship for many young people living there. From the vantage point of our participants’ own articulation of their experience, some of the strongest viewpoints emerged from the focus group with male and female participants. All between the ages of 15 to 19 years, the participants from this group had in common that they were all still attending school and living with family members (except for one participant who had completed high school the previous year and described his current situation as being on a gap year). However, this relatively stable set-up did not prevent the group from painting a sombre picture of their immediate neighbourhood, not least by that member of the group whom we quoted as the epigraph to the chapter. This participant described their neighbourhood, in a rather emphatic 4 Nyaope, also known as Whoonga in some South African communities, is a drug cocktail consisting of illicit drugs such as methamphetamine, heroin and marijuana as well as HIV antiretroviral medication (Grelotti et al.: 2014). Since there is no standardised recipe or method to mix the cocktail, the dosages may differ dramatically and may also contain a number of unknown substances.

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tone, as a place that was tough to live in. This neighbourhood, she explained, was “a place that has issues and like problems and like bad stuff and things like that.” Other participants were quick to elaborate on this critical view by mentioning a number of issues that cast their community in negative light. Living in this community meant being confronted on a daily basis with problems of substance abuse, corruption, overpopulation, unemployment, crime, drunk driving, alcohol abuse and squatter camps. When asked how they coped with these adverse circumstances, a general response was: “Ah, we are used to it.” This almost boastful explanation suggests that these young people lived in and embodied the spatial challenges of the city (cf. Fuller & Löw: 2017, 480), but some of them did this with resilience and without losing hope for the future. This was clearly reflected in the responses to the question about their dreams for the future, which were remarkably similar and often contained elements of a middle-class lifestyle: We have dreams! [It] is to finish school, go to university, get everything and then ja … to have my own company or at least go to IT or Electrical.   I want to finish matric, go to varsity5 and get a nice job.   Ja, I know I like I want to be focusing I want to study electricity. Ja, that’s what I want to focus on and do electricity.   I want to be a pilot and a soccer star.

Although the above quotes represent good examples of the way in which a significant number of young people wanted to remain hopeful about a better future for themselves, the realities of unemployment, a hostile, dangerous environment and drug addiction clearly dominated their everyday existence. As a result, these factors also impacted on certain participants’ own sense of social cohesion (cf. Chapter 4) and they expressed how they felt excluded from opportunities in their immediate environment. We consider the cases of two individual interviewees: Benjamin, a 22-year-old male who grew up in Pretoria Central but completed his schooling in another province, and Calvin, a 25-year-old male who completed high school in Pretoria Central, then spent some years in Polokwane, the capital of the Limpopo province of South Africa, but then returned. Benjamin decided to return to Pretoria Central, because he believed there were more job opportunities there and so he rented a place in an informal dwelling. He had some experience with construction work and had previously worked nearby

5 Slang word for university.

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as a temporary contract worker in the construction industry. He was, however, unemployed at the time of the interview and pinned his hopes on a huge government building that was under construction in the area to provide at least some temporary employment opportunities. Yet to his dismay these were given to “people from outside” (some of them most probably migrants), thereby taking job opportunities away from young people, who included his own circle of friends: I know the majority of the young people … because we are a whole friendship group moving around here in the location, and we say to one another that these are now the two projects they have going; we apply [for jobs], but we get nothing.

We could present the case of Calvin as being not much different from that of Benjamin. Having also returned to Pretoria Central in the hope of a better future, he similarly bemoaned the fact that he was now finding himself “on the street … looking for a job”. And, in similar vein, he also related his immediate predicament to “a problem of foreigners”. However, unlike Benjamin, Calvin related this problem more pointedly to the way in which the foreigners were directly responsible for the situation of endemic substance abuse in the area (and in South Africa at large). From his perspective, this problem was directly responsible for the destabilisation of his own community and a concurrent lack of job investment, with detrimental consequences for young people. Indeed, we could interpret Benjamin’s and Calvin’s responses as indicative of a wider sense of intolerance simmering beneath the surface in South African society and of direct relevance to the critical focus on social cohesion in this book. Especially since 2008, social tensions have culminated sporadically in xenophobic attacks in certain areas of South Africa (cf. Mahr: 2017). These negative sentiments have been targeted at African immigrants and is explained by authors such as Worby, Hassim and Kupe (2008, 6–10) as symptomatic of poor people’s frustrations at not being safe, not having access to health resources and other basic necessities. They explain such acts of xenophobia as black, poor South Africans countering the “illusion of inclusion” and hence questioning the notion of social cohesion. Accordingly, they comment that not only should xenophobia be seen as an indictment of the state, but also a condemnation of the private sector, the wealthy and the middle classes. Continuing the discussion at this point we may note how several other participants likewise identified the important issue of substance abuse as a major problem plaguing Pretoria Central communities. Yet this included some participants who were also willing to acknowledge their own substance addiction and the way it had a detrimental effect on their life prospects. We relate as a preeminent case the accounts of Queen (30-year-old female), Neo (24-year-old female), Lindiwe (25-year-old female) and Winnie (24-year-old fe-

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male). These young women were upfront about their substance addiction to Nyaope. They gave evidence of their lives on the streets, with Queen recounting her eight to nine years on the streets, Neo her seven years on the streets, Lindiwe her untold number of years on the streets, and Winnie her two years on the streets. Caught in situations characterised by substance abuse, crime, idleness and separation from their own children and family, their futures were according to their own admission rather hopeless. This did not exclude expressions of hope against all odds, such as Neo still wanting to “make something of her life”, Lindiwe (who dropped out of school in Grade 10) wanting “to go back to school” and fixing her life, and Winnie going “back home” to reconcile with her parents, reunite with her child and getting a job. Yet at the same time these hopeful expressions were countered by pronouncements of despair such as Queen responding that it was “too late” to fulfil her many dreams and that she was in fact “tired of this life”. In similar vein Winnie also explained that she might not have much of a future unless she stopped smoking Nyaope: “To be honest, for me I think if I continue to smoke, even twenty years is too long, I can’t make it.” We do not have sufficient space here to recall in more detail the accounts of our other participants, and can only highlight how their life stories in Pretoria Central seemed to follow similar trajectories to those we have highlighted so far. Mpho (22-year-old female), Lucky (21-year-old male) and David (23-year-old male) were three of the individual interviewees who had in common the fact that they all migrated from neighbouring countries in search of a better life in Pretoria. However, their moves also similarly took a turn for the worse. Mpho, who wanted to escape her dysfunctional family life in Maseru (Lesotho), recalled how she was now finding herself “sleeping with other people on the street, all men”. Lucky, who came to South Africa in search of employment opportunities to support his mother back home, recollected how he likewise found himself confined to a life on the streets and doing occasional odd jobs such as paid garden work. And David, who in his own words had been searching “for greener pastures”, was rather upfront about his lonely life on the streets, with a nearby park as his overnight home. He acknowledged that he had basically not only given up “searching for work”, but in fact on life itself: “Ah, I don’t have any hope … It is just I am giving up.” Our successive focus group interviews with the eight men and the six women offered another glimpse of young people living rather desperate lives in Pretoria Central. Both group interviews were conducted at a central point in one of the neighbourhoods in the area; the interview with the men turned out to be with a group of males living on the streets who, in the words of one participant, were all “busy looking for jobs”. Their situation of unemployment appeared to be chronic and to a large extent became a topic that dominated the discussion. The only success of these men had been to find casual jobs (like gardening and painting), which could well be explained by their low levels of education and training (even though a few

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completed Grade 12 and one even had a certificate in Basic Ambulance training). This clearly represented a rather desperate situation for some, as expressed by one participant: “I’m saying there is no hope here.” In comparison, the situation of the six women did not seem any better except for the fact that they had at the time of the interview all found a temporary haven at a local shelter intended to provide holistic support for women in crisis along with their children. Finding temporary residence in this shelter was perhaps the only reason why they were not likewise forced into a life on the streets. And while they clearly expressed the desire to rise from their current situation, a certain degree of anxiety was also noticeable among participants about achieving this goal within the period they were allowed to stay in the shelter. In the words of one participant: Most of us, only if not all of us, we all want to get back on our feet. But sometimes it’s not as quickly as we’d hope, you know, because sometimes they will tell you your time is up and you’re thinking oh my goodness! I haven’t done anything or nothing has come up yet for me. It is a bit stressful.

As suggested by our discussion at the start of this section, we also encountered participants who found themselves in relatively more stable and secure environments, which in turn was also reflected in a more hopeful outlook on life. We close this section by pointing to the similar case of the ten participants from our individual interviews who did not live their lives on the streets of Pretoria Central. They were young people who in most cases still attended various educational institutions, in a few cases even engaged in some form of volunteer work, and generally speaking seemed somewhat more upbeat about their life prospects. Yet their vulnerability is reflected in the way in which they were without exception either living in shelters and foster care homes or households headed by single (lone) mothers or siblings.

6.6

Perceptions and Expectations of FBOs amid Experiences of Hardship

For the large majority of young people interviewed a discussion about FBOs related directly to the Christian churches, which were the FBOs they knew and many had regular contact with. As a result, churches were the organisations that shaped their perceptions and expectations of FBOs amid their experiences of hardship. In some cases this exposure to FBOs also extended to the operational work and activities of particularly one Christian faith-based NGO. One of the strongest impressions that emerged from the interviews was the rather conventional perceptions and expectations the young people had of churches gen-

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erally speaking, but also more specifically of the church or churches they had direct contact with. Related to such perceptions and expectations, we in fact encountered no young person who seemed to be openly atheist or a non-believer, even if he or she appeared to be critical of and less devoted to the Christian church and its activities. Instead, we encountered a large majority of young people who seemed highly religious and committed to their faith, openly willing to confess their belief in God and Christ as the source of their strength and preservation. This noticeably included an acknowledgement that praying to God was an important religious practice in their lives. A few striking examples suffice to illustrate the point. Peter, an 18-year-old male from Salvokop, admitted without hesitation that he believed it was Christ’s presence in his life that made him survive during all the years of migrating from country to country. Thabeo, a 23-year-old female temporarily living in a shelter for women in crisis, in turn stated that she believed it was only God who protected her from being raped when she was forced to sleep under a bridge with other homeless people after arriving in Pretoria. And Da Silva, a 25-year-old male living a lonely life on the streets of Pretoria, similarly acknowledged that God was in fact his “only friend”. But in addition to these examples, we could also quote the following responses as telling testimonies by some participants of how their faith provided certainty and solace amid their lives of hardship: Ja, me, I believe in God, you see. Because God is the one who is protecting me every day. Like He is the one who stand up, is the one who protects me and give me some mentality to do something. He is the one who teaches me how to go somewhere (Lucky).   No, I can’t blame God, sir. He knew me before I was even been found. He knew me, it’s who I am (Wisdom, 22-year-old male).   I think that is one thing that has kept me from going astray … I have a very strong faith and have always been a church-going person and I’ve always looked up to God for comfort and everything. So it’s not just now, it’s been like that for me (Phalisa, 19-year-old female).

As well reflected in Phalisa’s direct response, it therefore came as no surprise that several participants made a direct connection between their faith and the importance of attending church. Whereas there were also those participants who reported that they attended church sporadically or not at all, others seemed fairly devoted churchgoers. For instance, such devotion is reflected quite emphatically in Phalisa’s ongoing discussion about her faith. She had no hesitation in identifying the church as the organisation that played the most important role in her life. In this respect, she went on to state that she had in fact never been to a nightclub and

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attended church on Sundays and Wednesdays. And when asked why she attended this specific church, which was some distance from her home, she replied: Because I love it there. When I got there I got a sense of belonging. I felt like there’s God. I felt like I’m comforted there, I am at peace. I just love it. I do not see myself in any other church other than the one that I’m in right now.

For Phalisa, and several other young people interviewed, going to church thus provided the opportunity par excellence to strengthen their faith and experience fellowship with God and fellow believers through religious activities that included worshipping, praying, listening to a sermon and singing. These were the activities for which this group of interviewees appreciated the churches and that even led some of them to attend church as frequently as three to four times a week. Put differently, these activities framed the young people’s expectations of the church, to the extent that they seemed to expect very little if anything from the church outside these activities. This is reflected, for instance, in the response from Peter that the sole reason he attended church was “for worship”. His further response suggested that it did not really matter to him that members of the particular church had to date not helped him “with anything” tangible. However, what he did expect and regarded as non-negotiable was to attend a church where worshipping God takes centre-stage. “As long as they uplift the name of Christ and they uplift God. That’s all I am concerned about.” Our case study results thus suggest clearly that the social life of a number of the young people revolved around the activities that their churches provided. Besides their appreciation of churches as places of worship, there were among the participants also those who expressed a somewhat broader social appreciation. Thus attending church two, three or even four times a week meant that these young people were not only enthusiastic participants in the Sunday worship services and weekly prayer and praise and worship meetings. In a similarly enthusiastic vein, some individuals also alluded to their participation in weekly choir practices, drama sessions, DVD evenings and events that extended beyond weekly gatherings in the form of youth camps and spiritual conferences. The following extracts give an insight into how certain of these activities were appreciated by our interviewees for their social (capital) value: [M]ostly everyone in the Sunday School, we are in the choir at church and then we can go places. Like we went to Bloemfontein. The bishop was there and then we went to, I don’t know, I forgot the place, it was somewhere next to, before Botswana (Leto, 17-year-old female).

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Ja, spiritual conferences … [We] visit some of the sisters’ houses, they come and visit us, they chat with us, we get together, we make some lunches here in the house, especially the youth come, and their pastors … and they do come, just stay with us, they sleep over, we read and we also visit, we get together (Josephine, 21-year-old female).

Responses by a number of participants pointed to a strong perception that going to church and participating in church activities arguably provided the best safeguard against the dangers of the unsafe world around them. Such confidence in the churches is reflected, for instance, in Peter’s comment that he found the church to be a place of “relaxation”. Petrus, a 21-year-old male from Salvokop, responded in similar vein that he saw the churches as having the ability to take young people “out from the street”, from activities that young people such as himself were “[not] supposed to be doing”. This belief in the church also reverberated in Phalisa’s affirmation that it was the church that kept her “from going astray or following peer pressure and being influenced”, as well as, similarly, in a participant from the focus group interview with male participants’ response that it was within the power of the churches to help young people “leave the alcohol and drugs”. Clearly, then, for these young people the churches were nothing less than being a potential and actual moral guide and force in their lives. It should be conceded that such positive perceptions and expectations of the churches predominantly came from those young people whom we profiled as experiencing a relatively stable set-up. In contrast, however, a somewhat different picture emerges when we shift the focus to those interviewees whom we identified as on the receiving end of even harsher conditions through their lives on the streets of Pretoria Central. While members of this group almost without exception confirmed their belief in God, and while a noticeable number suggested through their responses that they belonged to the above-mentioned group of devoted churchgoers, it is among this group, both through the individual and focus group interviews, that we also encountered those who confirmed their lack of regular or any church attendance. We do not want to overlook the possibility that feelings of shame and a loss of expectation that the churches could make a difference to their desperate situations were direct but unspoken causes of apathy, or at least a lack of enthusiasm, about the churches. At the same time, however, we could importantly also allude to a more critical disposition toward the churches among members of this group. Prompted in particular by the questions of whether the church did anything for them, could do anything for them, or could do more for them or help them better, some participants remained rather vague or indifferent in their respective responses, while others were more outspokenly critical. The following responses, for instance, give evidence

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of certain individuals’ discontent about what they experienced as church people’s rather insensitive attitudes toward their real-life needs: I don’t think so. Because I remember one day I asked Katlego about those things. She said to me I am supposed to stand up myself. He6 says ‘stand up yourself and go look for a job’. Me I said to them, I said to them straight, I said: ‘Ah, Katlego, you are [a] Christian’ (Lucky).   It just feels to me as if the churches are more concerned with making money than with serving the Lord … They are not doing much for the youth as far as I know (Benjamin; translation from Afrikaans).   When we ask about jobs, they just pray for you (Participant, focus group interview with males).

In addition to the above responses, some of the most stringent views emanated from our interview with the group of six women already introduced earlier in the discussion as temporary residents of a local shelter. The duration that they were allowed to stay in the shelter was three months, on condition that they had to take part in all the activities that were offered at the shelter by volunteers. If they wanted to stay longer than three months, their participation in the activities became a major consideration in granting them more time to stay there. At the time of our interview, however, many of the women were at the end of their three-month cycle and agitated about their future as a result. Cynical views such as the following were expressed: Ja, the churches. I think churches are not doing anything for… I don’t know if they are, but they’re really not doing anything. Those churches come in and give us like soaps and toiletries, I mean we have lots and lots, our bags are full of toiletries (Participant, focus group interview with women).   We actually need someone like a company that say ‘look I’m here, I am looking for skilled people, I am looking for five people’, for example. ‘What do you have, what can you do?’ And then they employ us maybe for a year or two just to … you know. Instead of people … I appreciate the toiletries, but when your three month is up, you leave with the bag of toiletries (Participant, focus group interview with women).

6 In certain African languages, pronouns are not gendered, hence when speaking English, people may switch between gendered pronouns without realising it.

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Importantly, then, these statements came from a group of young people who fitted a somewhat different profile – women who had children and may have been employed in the past. They had been living independent lives previously and did not regard exposure to a variety of activities as a current need. And as the above quotes suggest, they also did not appreciate being flooded with the many hand-outs from church volunteers. Essentially, their case differed from the other young people’s in the sense that it did not entail their entering or exposure to any church space, but church members who entered their living space (that is, the temporary shelter where they found themselves). For the women, however, this reverse situation turned out to be nothing short of being intrusive and undermining their dignity. From their perspective, it represented an outreach that neglected their real needs and exposed the volunteer work simply as an act that made the volunteers feel better about themselves. In this regard, it was even observed among the group that when volunteers prayed for or spoke to them living in the shelter, you had “to look depressed … like shame and stuff ” (Participant, focus group interview with women). In other words, the women felt that because the volunteers were performing as do-gooders, they as recipients also had to perform as being thankful and/or shameful. However, a complete picture from our interviews about the young people’s perceptions and expectations of the churches suggests that the churches still functioned as perhaps the most important institution on the ground meeting the most basic survival needs of those exposed to a life on the streets. A perception cutting across many interviews with the young people who fell in this group, including those who expressed more critical views, is one of ongoing dependence on the churches to provide them with basic facilities as well as food, clothes and other items for their everyday survival. But even more, among this group we also encountered a very few that seemed steadfast in their higher expectations of the church to serve as a bridge out of their present desperate situation. We close the discussion in this section with the story of a young couple that reflected such expectations. Solly (22-year-old male) and Joyce (18-year-old female) hailed from the Eastern Cape province of South Africa, where they had met. A decision taken by Solly to travel to Gauteng in pursuit of employment unfortunately had unforeseen consequences, as not only did he fail to secure a regular income, but also became addicted to Nyaope. On her part, however, Joyce decided to follow him a few months later in what sounded almost like a romantic daze as even Solly tried to discourage her to join him as he was living on the streets. Joyce’s siblings and cousins were always against their relationship, but this seemingly made her even more determined to follow Solly. They were now both living on the streets, while Joyce was four months pregnant with Solly’s child at the time of the interview. They experienced street life as harsh and had at least one violent encounter when Joyce was almost raped. They spent most of their day hustling for money in order to get enough to eat and to

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support Solly’s Nyaope addiction. Now that Joyce was pregnant, health concerns and nutritious food were also becoming more important. Both of them were raised by grandparents who had passed away, while their parents had never made any real tangible contribution to their upbringing. Their living siblings and cousins were also not in a position to help them financially, but still the small town in the Eastern Cape from which they had wanted to escape was now described as their “home” that they wanted to return to. And to achieve this, their main if not last hope, against all the odds, was an appeal to a particular church to help with transport money: You see we are going there [attending a church service], we thought that it is a church; they will still pay for us. They will help us to go back home, you see, if we are going there. So, when we are going there, they don’t want to help us. They are telling us that we are ‘nyaope people’. Yes we do smoke nyaope but I will leave nyaope when I go back home. We don’t want money; we want them to help us to buy a ticket for us to go home (Solly).

6.7

FBOs Meeting Basic Survival Needs

We could on the basis of the discussion so far lay claim to a fairly well-developed picture about the extent to which FBOs touched the lives of the young people whom we had interviewed. This is a picture of local churches playing an important, if not indispensable, role in meeting a noticeable number of young people’s needs on an existential and social level. For those young people, certain local churches represented places par excellence to strengthen their faith through direct contact with God and fellow-believers, and to experience a broader sense of belonging and socialising through a wider range of activities. To this extent, churches also functioned as an important moral compass for several young people, safeguarding them from the dangers of their surrounding world and thereby enhancing their sense of moral security and safety. However, the discussion also presented a picture of a number of young people for whom the churches did not carry the same existential and social significance. To this group noticeably belonged individuals whose harsh lives on the streets of Pretoria Central and in temporary shelters coincided with an aloofness and in certain cases even a more critical attitude towards the churches and their activities. But while this could be considered as one important image, such aloofness and critical attitude did not imply a complete distancing from or lack of dependence on the churches. Instead, our findings reveal that it was especially members of this group of highly vulnerable young people who appeared to be most dependent on

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local churches – and in certain cases also the faith-based NGO mentioned at the start of the previous section – to meet their most basic survival needs. Thus despite the aloofness and critical attitude of some, for participants from the group of highly vulnerable young people, FBOs in the form of local churches and the mentioned faith-based NGO represented the logical first, if not only stop, to meet their basic needs for survival in Pretoria Central. This sense of dependence was, for instance, acknowledged by Mpho, when she stated the reason why she frequently visited a particular local church: “I come to [the] Night Church because I don’t have a place to go.” For Mpho this particular church provided a temporary escape from her life on the streets. It seemed to have multiple meanings for her, as it constituted a place where she could engage in recreational activities such as “chess and knitting”, could even make herself useful by sweeping the church hall and pavement corner where she slept with others, and, not least, could find food and clothing to meet her basic subsistence needs. “They help with clothes for women and men, [and the] pastor also gives food” (Mpho). We find in Mpho’s account a meaningful description of what seemed to be a situation of dependence shared by several other participants. For these young people churches and faith-based facilities clearly offered the only known and visible places where they could find free food, clothes, shelter and facilities to bath, shower and keep their meagre belongings. In a significant way, this was also recognised by those participants who adopted a more critical attitude toward the churches or people in the church. We could, for instance, return to the case of Lucky and the focus group of six women who, despite their criticisms, had the following to say about how they benefited from their relationship respectively with a certain church and the residential (shelter) facility: Here, I like because also sometimes they give us water to bath, you see. And then they give us like a lock to keep your clothes safe. Ja, and then tea, they give us like in this one … It’s life. It’s life (Lucky). [H]here you actually stay for free. You actually don’t worry about the basic stuff like food, shelter, where to bath, where your kids are going because my kid attends the day care and I pay only R50 while others pay more than that … And then we are also able to go out there and find jobs because it is easier if you are here in town than being away in the location [township] (Participant, focus group interview with women).

These were common refrains also evident in the responses of several other participants. However, while these young people were in some instances simply recipients of basic subsistence services, in other instances such services were also accompanied by religious instruction. This reinforced the idea that some participants may have

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used religion in an instrumentalised fashion as a means of receiving something tangible in return. For example, we witnessed prior to one of our interviews how the recipients of bread and tea all had to listen to a religious sermon before food was distributed in a public park. Furthermore, certain responses also suggested that receiving food not only served as a prime motivation to attend church, but even that religious instruction or services might simply have been tolerated or used in order to receive food. When I go to church maybe it’s where we get food after the church (Winnie).   You see, these churches they play a special [role], the one[s] who provide food, food, food, especially food (Luke, 21-year-old male).

Be that as it may, a predominant picture thus emerging from our research is one of FBOs – local churches but noticeably also a prominent local faith-based NGO – playing an indispensable role in meeting the basic survival needs of several of the young people whom we interviewed. Yet at the same time this could also be depicted as mainly an unchanging picture. At least when captured from the perspective of the young people interviewed, it is a picture of the same FBOs showing little capacity to transcend a mode of social engagement that goes beyond meeting the survival needs of severely marginalised young people within their local contexts. It becomes important to note, however, that this picture changes somewhat when we take into account the interviews that we conducted with the resource persons alluded to above (see 6.4). From our interviews with clergy and FBO workers (which included a focus group of five youth workers), we not only obtained glimpses of a more self-critical attitude but also noble ideals and statements about FBOs playing a more profound role as change agents in the lives of marginalised youths. This does not imply that a number of these resource persons did not still value the traditional roles of their own FBOs in meeting the immediate survival and spiritual needs of homeless young people. At the same time, however, there were among the resource persons also those who acknowledged that such FBO engagement fell short of addressing more deeply rooted social challenges faced by young people on the streets. For instance, we could present the case of Alan, a minister of a prominent mainline church in Pretoria Central, who alluded to the inadequacy of the “relief work” of his own congregation in the wake of the epidemic nature of drug addiction among young people in Pretoria Central: People find it easier in their participation … to say how much do you need you know, get it done rather than be part of what needs to be done. So it is easier to do relief work amongst the homeless because we are given the money than to tackle the issue of Nyaope

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amongst the young people who are on the streets. In my own discernment for ministry … I am drawn more and more to this scourge of Nyaope drug abuse in the city, substance abuse because it destroys and there is very little response from [the] state or anybody.

Alan was clearly a compassionate clergyman sensitive to the social sufferings and challenges reflected by the surrounding community. While cognisant of the limitations of his congregation’s involvement in the lives of homeless young people, he nevertheless took pride in what his congregation was offering these young people in the form of various services that included a clothes bank, ablution facilities, assistance with the cumbersome bureaucratic processes at the Department of Home Affairs, and meals. Moreover, as head minister of a “cathedral congregation” that attracted a substantial group of more affluent members from outside Pretoria Central, he took special pride in the way in which his congregation had managed to incorporate the homeless (and by implication a substantial number of young people from the streets) into the life of the congregation. For Alan, this was an achievement that could be celebrated as a step towards social cohesion between the “haves” and the “have-nots”, at least within the immediate confines of his own congregation. In his own words: So it was a huge coup to get the homeless to be accepted and be part of this … Like, for example, when we have tea it is amazing on a Sunday, at about seven-thirty, that there are homeless people who come to this service because there is tea afterwards. Now when I started here and noticed this, they are not in the service but once the service is out they have tea with the congregation, so we started befriending them and in the end encouraged them to be in the services. Now they are in the service and it is amazing to see these guys [homeless people and affluent members] talking with each other after the service and these guys dress up for the service.

While the limits of space do not allow us to elaborate on the responses of the other resource persons (clergy and FBO workers) whom we interviewed, suffice it to say that they likewise testified about an honest desire for a more profound involvement in the lives of marginalised young people. This is reflected in statements of a more visionary and idealistic nature, such as by Mary, who spoke passionately about the existing entrepreneurship programme of her organisation – the faith-based NGO mentioned frequently in this chapter – to “(b)ecome more viable in …[the] city, produce more entrepreneurs, create more jobs.” But it also reflected in statements by a number of resource persons testifying about programme initiatives in their respective organisational milieus that were seeking to make a transformative difference in the lives of marginalised young people. This included reference to advocacy work, a Youth Leadership Academy, a sports programme, an HIV and AIDS programme,

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a Compassion Centre focused on community theatre and community art, and an educational centre.

6.8

Conclusion

Our aim in this chapter was to give an account of the way in which FBOs were a reality in the lives of a selection of young people in Pretoria Central, our case study area – and the extent of this involvement. The discussion began by giving an account of the selected individuals’ experience of Pretoria Central and the varying mental dispositions of hope and despair resulting from their experience. Our findings revealed that for the selected individuals Pretoria Central had turned out to be a place of considerable hardship. This played out through their experiences of a life on the streets and in temporary shelters, but also in their finding of a way through the many social issues plaguing the communities of Pretoria Central. Our findings furthermore testified that FBOs – churches but also a prominent faith-based NGO – were in fact in one way or another playing a role in the lives of most of the selected young people. In the case of a large majority of the participants, personal faith and belief in God seemed to have played an important existential role and it is among this group that some also seemed to have been devoted churchgoers finding meaning and purpose in the worship and social activities offered through the churches. Importantly, however, our research revealed that these kinds of positive experiences were not shared by everyone. A noticeable number of participants displayed indifference towards the churches and their activities, while some were also more outspokenly critical of the churches for not providing the type of support they felt they needed. For these participants their criticisms were often based on a broader sentiment of frustration with their circumstances and disillusionment at what the future might hold. At the same time, however, one of the important findings was that the criticisms raised did not lessen the dependence of the same young people on local churches and other FBO structures to meet their most basic needs for survival. For these young people, who belonged to the most vulnerable and disadvantaged among the selected individuals, it in fact seemed to be a case of those churches and FBO structures serving as the only available institutional support to meet their needs. FBOs, then, could rightly be appreciated as an important reality in the lives of marginalised young people in Pretoria Central. Yet, when finally asking ourselves what our case study findings reveal in the light of the conceptual exploration of social cohesion undertaken in Chapter 4 of this book, we need to conclude on a sober note. We indeed find it difficult to draw a positive correlation between our case study findings and the essential components of social cohesion highlighted in Chapter 4. Instead, what we gained from our research was exposure to a group of

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“Eish! It is Tough Living Here”

young people so marginalised in relation to the wider society that their prospects of sharing in the fruits of social cohesion – as defined by the notions of belonging, inclusion, recognition and participation – seem hard to imagine. This turned out to be a context where the prospects of getting access to the necessary support services of the state seemed rather slim for marginalised young people, such as those whom we encountered. And it is in this context that churches and other faith-based structures were trying to compensate for the lack of state intervention by meeting young people’s basic survival needs, while in selected instances also offering more empowering modes of support amid the limited resources at their disposal. In Pretoria Central the FBOs as a collective thus seemed in the final instance to have made little difference to the conditions of seemingly permanent structural exclusion in which many young people found themselves. And yet, when drawing this conclusion we do not want to disregard the role the churches in particular were playing in offering worship and social activities through which at least some young people experienced a sense of belonging and existential meaning. Furthermore, and of no lesser importance to acknowledge, we could allude to our interviews with resource persons that gave evidence of what also appeared to be an honest desire and sincere attempts especially among FBOs of the NGO type to initiate activities that could potentially strengthen the FBO contribution to marginalised young people’s experience of social cohesion.

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Chapter 7: Us and Them Faith-Based Organisations and Street Youths in Søndre Nordstrand

If you don’t play football, there is nothing to do (Aalan, 21-year-old male, and Imran, leader in a Muslim organisation, Søndre Nordstrand).

7.1

Introduction

In this chapter we describe and analyse faith-based organisations’ (FBOs) activities for and engagements with youths in Søndre Nordstrand, one of the most diverse city districts of Oslo. We ask whether these activities and engagements contribute to social cohesion, focusing particularly on whether and how they relate to youths at the margins of the local communities in the city district. The case study focuses on how the FBOs’ activities for and engagements with youths in Søndre Nordstrand relate to youth at the margins of their communities rather than how youths at the margins relate to the FBOs, reflecting a slight reorientation in comparison with the other case studies in this book. Our approach problematises the idea that young people not in education, employment or training (NEET young people) are at the margins in this context. Elsewhere, Bjørn Hallstein Holte (2018a) has argued that the NEET concept did not mean the same to the people we talked to in Søndre Nordstrand as it does in published research. In Søndre Nordstrand it was understood as referring mainly to teenage boys who were associated with youth gangs, petty crime or drugs. Our research indicates that these youths were at the margins of the local communities, but it is not clear that they were in NEET situations to a greater extent than other young people. There may also have been other groups of NEET young people, including girls and young women, who were rarely mentioned by the people we talked to. We therefore use the emic category

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“street youths” to describe the youths at the margins in Søndre Nordstrand rather than adopt the NEET concept in our case study.1 In the next section we briefly describe Søndre Nordstrand city district. We then outline the methods and data used in this case study. Our empirical account begins with a synthesis of what the youths we interviewed told us they missed in, or wanted for, their local communities, and continues with an overview of FBOs’ activities and engagements with youths in Søndre Nordstrand. We analyse how the FBOs recruit young people to understand how their youth activities relate to the street youths. We then proceed to discuss why FBOs engage with the youths. In the conclusion we return to the question of how the FBOs’ activities and engagements with the youths contribute to social cohesion in Søndre Nordstrand.

7.2

Søndre Nordstrand

Søndre Nordstrand made media headlines when it became the first city district in Oslo where over half the population had an “immigrant background” (e.g. Aftenposten: 2012).2 About 51 per cent of the 37 100 individuals who lived in Søndre Nordstrand at the beginning of 2014 had immigrant backgrounds from 147 foreign countries, of whom the largest number were from Pakistan (Wiggen et al.: 2015, 113). Public statistics indicate that the proportion of people with immigrant backgrounds was higher among young people than for older cohorts. Søndre Nordstrand also had some of the highest incidences of crowded living in Oslo and the average educational and income levels were lower in Søndre Nordstrand than they were in the central and western city districts. Søndre Nordstrand had the highest school dropout rate of the city districts in Oslo in 2014, when 37.2 per cent of young people aged 21 to 29 who had started upper-secondary school had not finished their threeor four-year courses within five years (Oslo Municipality: 2016; cf. Holte: 2018b, 6–10).3 The city districts of Oslo are administrative constructs rather than communities in a sociological sense. In Søndre Nordstrand communities have rather formed

1 The street youths referred to in this case study did not generally live and sleep outside as some of the youths in the South African case studies did, but rather lived with their families and possibly in some cases in child welfare institutions. 2 The term “immigrant background” is used by Statistics Norway to describe immigrants and individuals born in Norway to two immigrant parents. 3 Upper-secondary school is the lowest level of non-compulsory education in Norway; it is attended by nearly all young people in the relevant age group. Rates of non-completion and how they compare with the corresponding rates of other European countries have become a main concern in Norwegian youth policy (Vogt: 2017; see also Chapter 2).

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Us and Them

in different suburbs within the city district with slightly different histories and characteristics (Holte: 2020). The two main suburbs in the city district are Holmlia and Mortensrud. Holmlia has a train station and Mortensrud has a subway station, and both suburbs are therefore closely connected to the city centre. Both have shopping centres and several FBOs. Bjørndal and Hauketo are minor suburbs, and Hauketo also has a train station. In the suburbs youths from different backgrounds meet in public primary and lower-secondary schools, which virtually all Norwegian youths attend until age 16, and in sports clubs. Places in primary schools (6–13 years) and lower-secondary schools (13–16 years) are normally allocated according to geographical criteria in Norway, bringing together youths in local communities. Places in upper-secondary school (16–19/20 years), which nearly all young people also attend, are allocated based on applications ranked by grade point averages. Many youths in Oslo attend upper-secondary school in another part of the city from where they live, and from the age of 16 most youths have networks that span across local communities and city districts, at least to some extent. When we began our research in late 2014, there were seven Christian organisations, five Muslim organisations, a Buddhist organisation and a Sikh organisation in Søndre Nordstrand, in addition to four parishes of the Church of Norway.4 Public subsidies for the Church of Norway and subsidies payable on a per member basis to other religious communities in Norway mean that lists of membership in such organisations are publicly available. The largest FBOs in Søndre Nordstrand in terms of membership were the Church of Norway parishes, with a total of some 14 440 members in 2014 (or somewhat less than half of the population of the city district; NSD: 2015). Five other FBOs in the city district had 2 973 members; four of the FBOs reported membership that also included branches located outside the city district; while five of the FBOs were not on the list (Ministry of Culture: 2014).5 Our interviews and observations indicate that some of the FBOs that were not on the list had very small numbers of members, the smallest among them being constituted by just a few families. While the parish structure of the Church of Norway means that its members belong to a nearby parish church, some of the other FBOs in Søndre Nordstrand had members who lived further away, in other parts of the city district, in other parts of the city, and even further away. This reflects, once again,

4 Two of the Church of Norway parishes merged in 2016 and are treated as one FBO in this case study. 5 The number of members in the Church of Norway and other religious communities in Norway does not reflect the number of people who regularly attend services and worship, or the number of people who identify as religious people (cf. Chapter 3). The combination of high rates of membership, high rates of adherence to life rites and low worship participation rates in the national churches in the Nordic countries are sometimes referred to as the “Nordic Paradox” (Bäckström et al.: 2004). Thus, the number of members stated here must not be taken to reflect the number of people that engaged regularly with the religious organisations.

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how Søndre Nordstrand city district is not an isolated community, but composed of several suburbs that are interlinked with each other, as well as with the rest of Oslo. The FBOs also had very different resources at their disposal. Some had their own meeting places in Søndre Nordstrand, while others rented the venues of other FBOs. Among the venues used as meeting places by FBOs, some were purposefully built as churches, mosques or a temple, while others were built for other purposes and had been converted to their current use. These included a former kindergarten, a former shop and a former warehouse. Many FBOs effectively cater for specific segments of the population; in this chapter we distinguish between “minority” and “majority” FBOs. In the minority FBOs the leaders and most of the members had immigrant backgrounds, while the leaders and most of the members of the majority FBOs could be described as “ethnic Norwegians”. This term is somewhat vague, but it is used in everyday speech to describe the majority of Norwegians who do not have immigrant backgrounds. In the analysis of the prominent Norwegian anthropologist Marianne Gullestad (2002), Norwegian ethnicity is furthermore underpinned by ideas about “equality as sameness”, metaphors of home and family life, and Lutheran Christianity (see also Thun: 2012). All the Church of Norway parishes in Søndre Nordstrand were majority FBOs by our definition, but so were some other Christian organisations and the Buddhist organisation. The Muslim organisations and some of the Christian organisations were minority FBOs. We focus on the ethnicity of the FBOs’ members rather than the religion the FBOs espouse when we define our majority and minority concepts, because what we call minority FBOs share certain concerns and characteristics that are not shared by what we call majority FBOs, as we show in this case study. We thus find it a useful distinction.

7.3

Methods and Data Used in the Case Study

As we alluded to in the introduction above, we started our research for this case study aiming to interview NEET young people. However, we were not able to recruit NEET young people in a systematic way. Our attempts at cooperating with public welfare services to do so failed. Representatives were often willing to talk about NEET young people, but they could not help us talk with the youths. They either declined our requests for help recruiting NEET young people for interviews with reference to the privacy of their clients, or referred us to superiors who refused to talk to us. When we asked secular civil society organisations and FBOs in the city district that we knew arranged activities for youths, they generally told us that the people we were looking for did not participate in their activities (Holte: 2018b, 25–26). As noted, the NEET concept was generally understood as referring to teenage boys who were associated with youth gangs, petty crime or drug usage,

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Us and Them

or street youths, rather than the broad selection of young people that the term refers to in published research (Holte: 2018a). This was the first indication during our research that NEET young people were seen as others – or as “them” – in the FBOs, a point we return to in the conclusion. After a lengthy process (accounted for in Holte: 2018b, 25–29), we interviewed only two NEET young men, whom we met almost haphazardly, before we decided to focus on how the FBOs in the city district and their youth groups related to the street youths rather than on how NEET young people related to FBOs. The bulk of this case study therefore draws on interviews with 17 adult representatives from 12 FBOs and 6 focus group interviews with 34 youths (16 girls and 18 boys) from 5 FBO youth groups. The youths were included in our study based on their ongoing relationship with FBOs, and they had varied ethnic and socio-economic backgrounds. In order to avoid asking stigmatising questions in the focus groups, we did not collect data on their backgrounds in a systematic way. The representatives were religious leaders or board members of the FBOs. We selected the FBOs, leaders and representatives after we had contacted all the FBOs in the city district and asked whether they had contact with youths between 16 and 24 years. In 12 of the FBOs the representatives we spoke to said they had contact with youths. The 17 representatives we interviewed came from these FBOs. Five of the FBOs in the city district were excluded from our research during this process, most of them because they had little contact with youths.6 We feel confident that our research gives a comprehensive, but perhaps not complete, overview of the FBOs’ activities for and engagements with youths in Søndre Nordstrand at the time of our research. Among the 12 FBOs that were part of our research, the adult representatives from the Buddhist organisation and 4 of the Christian organisations told us that some youths participated in their ordinary activities, but that they did not have a youth group or any separately arranged youth activities. Representatives from both of the relevant Church of Norway parishes, one of the Christian minority organisations, and 4 Muslim organisations said that their FBOs had youth groups. We asked these representatives to help us set up focus group interviews with their youth groups, which led to focus group interviews with 5 youth groups.7 The adult 6 Representatives from two Christian organisations and the Sikh organisation were not included because they told us that they did not have any contact with youths. A Muslim organisation was not included because we failed to establish any contact with them. Two of the three Church of Norway parishes that remained after the merger in 2016 (see note 4) had merged their youth groups. We interviewed representatives from only one of these parishes. 7 The representatives from two of the Muslim organisations were not able to convene their youth group members for focus group interviews. One of the FBOs was temporarily without a meeting place and the representatives told us that this had a detrimental effect on their youth group. The FBO was starting the construction of a mosque around the time of our interview. The other FBO was a local branch of a large mosque in central Oslo, where the young people mostly met in the downtown venues.

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representatives whom we had interviewed introduced us to the youth group leaders, who recruited the focus group participants for us, except in one of the Church of Norway parishes, where the focus group interview was conducted as part of an ordinary youth group meeting. This means that the youths we interviewed may have been among the most active in the FBOs.8 They were also among the oldest youth group members, in part also because they had to be 16 years or older to participate in our research. The focus group interviews nevertheless provided insight into the experiences of youths in the city district and were a means of validating what the adult representatives told us. We conducted most of our interviews on the FBOs’ premises, making the interviewees feel comfortable and providing us with a sense of the material resources available in the different FBOs.9 For the focus group interviews with the youths this – as well as the presence of youth group leaders who were also the sons and daughters of religious leaders in some of the FBOs – may have made it difficult for the young interviewees to be critical of the FBOs. With only two exceptions, our interviews were conducted in Norwegian, recorded and transcribed. One representative requested that we conduct his interview in English, although he was also fluent in Norwegian. Another interview was not recorded but transcribed shortly afterwards from notes we took during the interview. We have translated the interview excerpts used in this case study from Norwegian and edited them slightly for readability, but also tried to retain the flow of the spoken originals.

7.4

What Young People Want

We started all our focus group interviews with youths by asking what the participants saw as good and bad about their local communities. The first and sometimes only bad thing that came up was how they felt that many people associate their communities with failed integration and social dysfunction. The high proportion of immigrants in the city district is viewed with suspicion by some, and in recent years In other words, it was unlikely that these two FBOs had active youth groups in Søndre Nordstrand at the time of our research. 8 We did not ask the representatives or youth group leaders to invite youths with a specific type of background, as we wanted our focus groups to reflect the composition of the youth groups and the youths’ thoughts about this. We did not want to force our own categories on them. 9 Exceptions were a representative from a Muslim organisation whom we interviewed in his home because the mosque could not accommodate our female interviewers, and the representatives from another Muslim organisation whom we interviewed in a church because their FBO did not have a meeting place at the time of our interview. The representatives from the latter FBO suggested that we meet in a Church of Norway parish church as they knew the priests there well. Not being able to meet us on their premises also suggested something about the material resources available in these FBOs.

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media coverage and public discourse on the suburbs in eastern Oslo have focused on criminal youth gangs, explicitly or implicitly seen as composed of “immigrant youths” (cf. Holte: 2018b, 3–5). Some of the young people felt stigmatised by the stereotypes other people had of their communities. In one of the Church of Norway youth groups, the youth group members told us that a rough street culture was causing problems in their everyday lives, by and large in line with the media coverage and public discourse. We had separate focus groups for boys and girls in this parish church. The boys told us about having their bikes stolen and other misdemeanours, while the girls told us about being harassed by “refugees”, which made them feel insecure, as the following exchange from the focus group interview illustrates: Participant 1: There are some refugees in particular, who are very aggressive, for example at the [shopping] centre, and they look down on girls, and we often hear comments if we go to the centre or even just pass by those boys. So it’s, well, it’s them.   Participant 2: I’ve at least been called ‘whore’ and [they’ve told me to] ‘go back to the kitchen’. We get comments like that.   Participant 1: They don’t really respect girls.

In the focus group interview in the youth groups in the other FBOs the young people told us that they heard about problems in their communities, but they did not experience them first-hand. When we asked about street youths in our focus group interview in the other Church of Norway youth group, a discussion developed when one of the participants tried to downplay their significance: Participant 1: No, I don’t see any of that. I don’t know any of them. [He laughs.]   Participant 2: We only know them from school.   Participant 1: It sounds so bad and pervasive, but it’s not, it’s a gang of about …   Participant 3: It’s pretty bad.   Participant 1: Yes, but how many are they? There are about ten of the younger ones out of, well, how many youths are we [in this suburb]? And there are a few others in their twenties who are into organised crime at times, but I went to a police conference and they said that they mostly to go to the city centre to do their things anyways … [I]t’s not like a totally all-encompassing problem, it is more of a problem for those it concerns.

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As a group, these young people emphasised how serious the problems were, but also that they concerned other youths more than themselves. The participants in this focus group interview were more eager to talk about what they liked about the communities in their suburbs, as most of the youths in our focus groups were. They mentioned the many new sport facilities and the different activities that were available for youths, the diverse social environment, and their down-to-earth neighbours whom, they said, were very tolerant of cultural differences. Although they were happy with the variety of activities they could engage in, many focus group participants thought there were too few places where they could meet friends in informal settings (see also Guttu & Schmidt: 2010, 107). Using a phrase that we heard several times during our research, both youths and adult representatives suggested that there was “nothing to do” if you did not play football, the most widely played sport among Norwegian youths. In some focus group interviews the youths talked about how organised sports demanded too much of their time and attention; a few individuals said that they needed places to escape from the stress and pressure of their everyday lives. In one of the Church of Norway parishes the youths who participated in our focus group interview agreed that they valued the youth services in their church every Thursday afternoon as a place to escape the stress caused by the demands of “parents, school, and sports”. There were several public youth clubs in the city district that were popular with children and younger teenagers, but they did not attract many youths of the ages focused on in our case study. A report commissioned for a publicly financed area development programme found that youths in Søndre Nordstrand rather used public transportation hubs, shopping centres and fast-food stalls as meeting places (Guttu & Schmidt: 2010, 108–109). The issue of having somewhere to meet in informal settings also came up in the interviews with the two NEET young men mentioned above. After a slow start, our interview with Martin (20-year-old male) livened up when we asked him to tell us what he did on a normal day. He spoke of how he had been bored most days since he finished school about a year earlier, but had failed to secure an apprenticeship.10 By the time of our interview, several months had passed during which he had done “nothing”. He said he kept in touch with his friends by visiting them in the evenings and on weekends. He had also made new friends in a martial arts club he had joined since he finished school, but he still spent much time alone, online with his

10 Apprenticeships at regular work places are an integrated, but not mandatory, part of vocational tracks in Norwegian upper-secondary schools. The low availability of apprenticeships has been a major reason for lower completion rates in vocational tracks than in academic tracks, as nearly a third of applicants do not get an apprenticeship (Bäckman et al.: 2011, 13; Vogt: 2017). Some youths in vocational tracks who do not get an apprenticeship do not opt for the school-based alternative and thus “drop out” of their education.

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computer. He had participated in a job-seeker course that was organised by his school for students who did not get apprenticeships, “[s]o at least for one month I had something to do.” When we asked if there was anything an FBO could have done for him during the year, he replied that “the church”, where he had been a youth leader for a few years after his confirmation, could have provided: someone to talk to, right? … like, open talk, with others who do not have a job or something, like with the vicar or something like that. To talk about where, or whether anybody has a network that they can use to get a job.

Aalan (21-year-old male), the other NEET young man we interviewed, also told us that he wanted somewhere to meet other youths in life situations similar to his own. He saw himself as resourceful and able to help others, and suggested that a “club” should be built “so that we can help each other”. When asked how such a club would work, he explained: When you’re in your twenties, you’re not looking for a place to relax or just to get out of the house. You’re there [at the club] to talk to others your age and to find somewhere to go, so that you can set your alarm clock to six o’clock in the morning and you just have to meet up for whatever appointment you and the boys have set up together.

Overall, the young people we interviewed wanted venues where they could relax, meet and help each other. They did not necessarily see this as a responsibility of the local FBOs, although some indicated that local churches and mosques could do this, or already did so. In a country such as Norway where the majority of youths participate in education and employment, social as well as economic marginalisation is a likely outcome for those who do not participate (cf. Chapter 3). The two NEET young men we interviewed wanted somewhere to meet young people in situations similar to their own and from where they could help each other find “a job” or set up an “appointment”.

7.5

What FBOs Provide for the Youths

The adult representatives we interviewed told us about different activities for and engagements with the youths. Most of the FBOs provided religious teaching for children and youths, where religious leaders or adult volunteers lectured or held special services for young people. For example, Masoud, a leader in a Muslim organisation, told us that he lectured to the youth group in his mosque every Sunday. The lectures were about religious matters, but also focused on practical

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aspects of living in the Norwegian context in which they found themselves. The lecture was also sometimes followed by other activities. For example, the mosque held education fairs where Masoud spoke about the importance of education and employment from a theological perspective, and the youths and their parents could meet university students from different fields, most of whom were also members of the FBO. In some FBOs youth group members taught the younger children. In one of the Christian minority organisations, for example, youth group members taught Sunday school for children while the parents attended Sunday service. In the Church of Norway parishes, recent confirmands were invited to volunteer as leaders for subsequent generations of confirmands, as Martin had done. Representatives from minority FBOs told us that their religious leaders took on mediatory roles when there was a clash between immigrant parents’ cultural background and the youth culture that their children grew up with in Norway. Representatives from some of the larger minority FBOs also saw it as their role to mediate between their members and public welfare services by inviting welfare workers to hold seminars for FBO members. Some of these seminars concerned issues related to bringing up children and youths in Norway (see also Holte: 2020). The representatives we interviewed in two of the Muslim organisations had grown up in Norway, while the representatives from the other two Muslim organisations and one of the Christian minority organisations had lived in Norway for several decades. All the adult representatives we interviewed knew the Norwegian language well and some of them were also active as politicians. They justified taking on the mediatory roles by referring to how they had lived in Norway for many years and knew the country and welfare system well. Representatives from three of the Muslim organisations emphasised that most of the activities in their mosques, including the Friday speeches, were held in Norwegian so the youths could understand what was said. This represents an important difference from earlier studies on Norwegian mosques. The religious historian Kari Vogt (2000, 93–98) found that Norwegian Muslims wanted imams with a knowledge of Norwegian language, civic issues and culture (see also Jacobsen: 2002, 122; Jacobsen: 2011, 205–206, 264–265). Yet only eight of twenty imams in Oslo at the beginning of the century spoke Norwegian well, while an additional two were taking Norwegian language classes (Vogt: 2000, 95).11 Other research has confirmed that Norwegian mosques have tended to be divided along ethnic and ideological lines, often employing religious leaders from abroad who do not speak Norwegian (Jacobsen: 2011, 67–70; Østberg: 2003, 57; Sultan: 2012, 169). Sissel

11 Some of the adult representatives we interviewed were board members in the mosques and not imams. Some of the imams we met in Søndre Nordstrand did not speak Norwegian well.

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Østberg (2003, 54–55) noted that some of the mosques in her research would use Norwegian as a language of instruction for youths, “if necessary”, while there were discussions about introducing Norwegian as a language of instruction for youths in other mosques that had not yet done so. At the time of our research a decade later, using Norwegian as a language of instruction for youths was the mainstream position among the Muslim organisations in Søndre Nordstrand. This may reflect the changing situation of Islam in Norway as new generations of Muslims are born and raised in the country. In addition to the activities led by religious leaders and other adults mentioned so far, some FBOs had semi-independent youth groups. As we mentioned above, representatives from seven FBOs said they had youth groups, and we conducted focus group interviews with five of them. The adult representatives were positive about giving the youths space to meet, and some talked about this as supporting youth initiatives to build meeting places. The youth groups met regularly and did different activities together, some of which were religious in nature but others not. Some of the Muslim organisations allowed youths (mainly boys) to sleep over on their premises and representatives from several Christian organisations talked about bringing youths to denominational camps and Christian conferences. The representatives told us that this offered opportunities for the youths to connect with the FBOs, learn more about the religion, and practise the rituals and worship. For some of them, staying in the churches and mosques was important because it provided young people with an escape from the dangers and “temptations” of the streets. We return to this point shortly. Yet representatives from Muslim organisations told us that they had to work hard to keep their venues open for the youths. Older members did not understand how important it was for the youths to be able to stay in the mosques, and complained about the mess and the noise they made. Waseem, a leader in a Muslim organisation who was in his late twenties and had grown up in Norway, said: Older people, in a way they don’t get it. We get these things better because we have been there ourselves, right? Many of them think that those who come to the mosque, they are in a way, they are angels, that they don’t have any temptations or things like that. So they say ‘[w]hy can they not just go home?’ We try to explain to them that this is not how it is. If you close the mosque, they will not just go home – there are thousands of other places where they could go and where they will go. They get phone calls all the time about different places, ‘[j]oin us for this or that,’ so it’s not true that because they have started to come to the mosque all those temptations are gone. The temptations are there and they have to fight them every day and we have to give them this opportunity.

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That Søndre Nordstrand has a high incidence of crowded living conditions and that the young people we interviewed wanted venues where they could relax, meet and help each other, as we have already mentioned, can underline the value of the FBO youth groups and their more informal activities.

7.6

How FBOs Recruit Youths

The adult representatives and the young people we interviewed told us that activities in the FBOs and youth groups were open to all young people who wanted to join them. The only exception was one of the mosques, which did not have facilities to include girls and young women in their activities.12 Yet when we conducted focus group interviews with youth group members from different FBOs, the groups we met were largely homogenous. The young people in the Church of Norway parishes were mostly youths who could be described as ethnic Norwegians. All the young people who participated in our focus group in one of the Christian minority FBOs had African backgrounds, and the participants in our focus groups in the Muslim organisations had backgrounds from South Asia, the Middle East and Africa. We met a few people who could be described as ethnic Norwegians when we visited minority FBOs and a few people with immigrant backgrounds in the majority FBOs, but they were generally older and did not participate in our focus group interviews. The homogeneity of the youth groups in a diverse city district such as Søndre Nordstrand must be understood against how the different FBOs recruit young members. One of the most important sources of new members for FBO youth groups is parents who are members of the FBOs. When we asked how the youths in our focus groups became involved in the FBOs, many answered that they had come with their parents. Some had been coming to the churches and mosques since they were children, while others had become involved more recently. In the Church of Norway youth groups, confirmation training is an important source of recruitment. As mentioned in Chapter 3, over 60 per cent of Norwegian teenagers participate in the confirmation ritual of the Church of Norway. Beyond these two forms of recruitment, most of the adult representatives we interviewed saw it as the job of the youth group members to invite other youths to the youth groups. Kristoffer, a representative from one of the Church of Norway parishes, said: “My job is not to recruit youth group members, but to enable the youth to recruit new members.” Other representatives told us that they encouraged the youths who were active in

12 The representative we interviewed assured us that they were planning an expansion to address this issue.

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the FBOs to invite their friends to activities. Kristian, a pastor in a small church attended mostly by people who could be described as ethnic Norwegians, said he wanted his church to be a “bring-a-friend church”. However, because individual members’ families and friends are likely to be like the members themselves in various ways, all these forms of recruitment reproduce the homogeneous youth groups rather than lead to diversification of their membership. The homogeneous youth groups were not an outcome that the youths or leaders in the FBOs desired, but a result of their recruitment strategies. Two representatives told us that they worked with youths outside their organisation’s venues. Roland, the pastor in a church mainly attended by people with backgrounds from Africa, told us that he was “still a pastor” when he was not in his church, for example, when he watched his son’s team play football. Speaking of his son’s team mates, he said that “they all get to know I’m a pastor. And because of that, I will tell you, maybe I have some privileges to hear some things. They can confide in me.” We did not get a sense that these youths came to his church. Waseem, a leader in one of the Muslim organisations, told us that both adults and youth group members in his mosque went out to invite people to the mosque. He explained that the mosque was part of an “inner mission” movement and that it focused on inviting people who had “a Muslim background”. In our focus group interview with youth group members from the mosque, the youths told us that they made an important contribution to this work because they connected more easily with other youths than the older members of the organisation did. When we asked them whom they targeted, one of the boys replied that “we talk to people we know have a Muslim background.” When we asked how they can know this, the boy continued: [This suburb] is a small place. To be honest, it doesn’t take much time to see if a person is Pakistani or Somali, and then you know that he has a Muslim background. Also, most of us grew up in [this suburb] and we know almost everyone who is our own age and younger, so we know the people we talk to.

Finally, some representatives also told us about youths who showed up to their FBOs’ activities without having been invited. Possibly because of how they understood our research, the examples the representatives gave mostly concerned individuals with personal problems or youths coming in from “the streets”. Thomas, the representative from the Buddhist organisation, told us that young people with mental problems contacted them. The FBOs did not have special programmes for this group, but included them in their activities on the condition that they also sought professional help, if it was needed. In our focus group interview in one of the Muslim organisations, a young man told us that he had ended up “on the

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streets” and was selling drugs because he did not have a job. He first came to the mosque about five months before the interview, after a dramatic family incident had made him “depressed”. He said he was becoming “less and less” depressed at the time of our interview. Unlike other influences, he knew that the other youth group members would not send him “down the wrong path”: “They teach me something good, I learn something good from them. Some of them are younger than me, actually, and yet I learn a lot that is good from them.” Kristian, the pastor who was quoted above as wanting to build a “bring-a-friend church”, told us that some “boys” had begun showing up for their Sunday services until they eventually stopped coming some time before our interviews. His church did not have any activities for them and he thought they were more interested in the food they served than in the religious services anyway: There was a gang that used to hang around and not have anything to do, and, well, and then you start doing boyish pranks. They burned down our sign just for fun. There were some incidents like that. [He laughs.] After they had been here and had eaten our food … They have been a subject for prayer … but then we didn’t have contact with them anymore and we wouldn’t actually have anything to offer them either because we are only here on Saturdays.

Thus, the FBO youth groups in Søndre Nordstrand remained homogenous in a diverse city district at least in part because they recruited new members from existing members’ families and personal networks. As the last example above illustrates, some of the FBOs struggled to accommodate other youths, even when they showed up. Although some of the youths who showed up may not have been interested in becoming part of the FBOs, but rather just passing time or looking for a nice meal, this story is one example of how the FBOs relate to the street youths.

7.7

How the FBOs Relate to Street Youths

As we have already noted, both adult representatives and youth focus group participants told us about boys who gathered at certain outdoor venues, whom many associated with crime and drugs, when we asked about youths at the margins or NEET young people. Despite sharing similar ideas about who these young people were, the people we interviewed understood the relation between their youth groups and the street youths differently. In this section we distinguish three different relations as they emerged from our interviews. In one of the Church of Norway youth groups the young people saw the street youths as irrevocably different from themselves. Focus group participants from this

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youth group called the street youths “refugees”, as cited earlier, and saw their church as a place where they could relax and feel safe among “people like themselves”. Kristoffer, the adult representative from the parish, told us that the youth group included very different youths, ranging from the most ambitious and popular ones at school to those who wasted their time “fooling around”. He suggested that the youth group members nevertheless saw each other as equals in relation to the “gangs” in the suburb: “They won’t say they’re racist, but they will say that they appreciate having this time with other people like themselves.” In our focus group interview with young people from the youth group in this church one of the girls said that “[the church] means a lot to us, it is the highlight of the week and one feels safe here. And one feels like one is part of a small family.” The members of this youth group saw themselves as different from the street youths. Their use of the term “refugees” implied that the street youths came from somewhere else. The use of phrases such as “people like themselves” and being “part of a small family” suggested that the group was closed to outsiders. These phrases also evoke the idea of “equality as sameness” and the family metaphors that, according to Gullestad (2002), underpin Norwegian ethnicity. Youth group members and street youths came across as more fluid categories in our interviews in the other FBO youth groups. The young people tended to speak of the streets as somewhere all youths could end up if they were not provided with better alternatives. When we asked the youths in the other Church of Norway youth group whether the FBOs in the city district helped youths in difficult situations, a young woman told us her own story: I guess you can say that I am living proof that the church can help quite a lot. At least, I did not get lost. I had older leaders who did exactly what they had to do, really, and when it was needed the most. In a way they just said that ‘[i]t is OK to be here’ and in a way that ‘[e]ven if you do not feel like a Christian and believe in God right now, you are still welcome to be here and we will look after you because it is better for you to be here than for us to find you on the streets on a Friday night.’

We were told similar stories about how FBOs and their youth groups protected young people from the streets by providing alternative spaces and activities in other youth groups as well. This more preventive function, based on a view of “the streets” as a place to be avoided, was the most common understanding of the relation between FBOs and the streets. This has also been reported in other research on religious youth work in Norway (e.g. Jacobsen: 2011, 80). One of the Muslim organisations represented a third way of relating to street youths. As mentioned above, youth group members from this mosque went out on the streets and invited youths into the mosque. This FBO reached out to street youths

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to invite them into the mosque and help them change their lifestyles. Waseem, the adult representative from the mosque in our study, told us: We try to get the young people off the streets. For example, we invite them to the mosque. That is hard enough, and it can take many attempts. When the person comes to the mosque, the person is isolated from his gang; he’s off the streets. He is in another environment, in a mosque, and that does something to this person. In a way he becomes calmer, more thoughtful, doesn’t have to think about what his friends will say, and so we can talk to him about our message.

Street youths were not seen as fundamentally different from youth group members and the street was not seen as posing a danger from which other youths had to be protected in this mosque. The adult representative and the youth group members saw their mosque as a place where street youths could get the help they needed. However, as was also cited in the previous section, the FBO focused on youths with “a Muslim background” rather than on youths in general. This can relate to the FBO’s motivation for engaging with youths.

7.8

Why FBOs Engage with Youths

Much of the recent research on FBOs, and in particular on minority FBOs, has focused on their social role and contribution (e.g. Baumann: 2014; Furseth: 2008). We know less about what motivates their work. Our research shows how all the FBOs in Søndre Nordstrand share some concerns in this regard. The main purpose of their activities for and engagements with youths was to provide religious teaching and to help them shape religious identities, but not to solve social problems. Jan, a representative of a Christian majority organisation, was particularly clear on this point. His FBO, he said, did “not actively go out to offer this kind of help. Instead we focus on what is our primary task, to give the good message.” Both Christian and Muslim organisations dealt with stereotypes about their respective religion, but the stereotypes were different. Youths from Christian majority organisations told us that they were seen as different because they were Christians. For example, a young woman from the youth group in one of the Church of Norway parishes said: [T]here has never been outright bullying, but there have been a few comments, like ‘Do you believe in Jesus? Why do you bother? I’ve seen you on parties on Saturday nights, and if you are Christian, why were you there?’

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Her example illustrates how being a Christian was seen as being at odds with mainstream Nordic youth culture (cf. Zackariasson: 2014). Yet, youths in our focus groups in both Christian and Muslim organisations suggested that being a religious person might be easier in a diverse city district such as Søndre Nordstrand than in more homogeneous Norwegian and Nordic localities. A girl from the same Church of Norway parish reported: [I]t was more accepted in lower-secondary school, just because … it was so common to have a religion, everybody had it, so it was more, very … respected; just as I could say ‘I will go to church on Thursday’, so somebody else could say ‘I will go to the mosque.’ So in a way it became a totally normal thing; but now I go to upper-secondary [school] and have changed the social environment completely…13

Some of the youths thought that being a Muslim was more accepted among youths in Oslo than being a Christian, although young Muslims struggled with the perceptions of Islam they encountered. In a focus group interview in a Muslim organisation a young man said: Ironically, I think that Christianity is stigmatised in a different way from Islam. And even if there is a lot of negative stuff on Islam in media all the time, I believe that it’s not so easy to be a Christian sometimes. I think this is because, although I do not know why, but if an ethnic Norwegian meets someone from Tajikistan, he thinks that he does not really know anything about what he does, [and so he asks] ‘Tell me about what you do?’ I think it’s a bit more like that, but if you meet a Norwegian, then it is more like, ‘But we are the same, why are you in church?’ And then there are all these negative things, [these] thoughts that people have about the church, I sometimes feel that Christianity is stigmatised in Norway.

The adult representatives from Muslim organisations also talked about how media portrayals of Islam affected their work. Kashif, a leader in one of the Muslim organisations, told us: We know that media affects us a great deal and that we are fed with whatever information media wants to feed us with, and I think the biggest challenge for Muslims is that we do not manage to resist this and show who we are. We don’t manage this.

13 As mentioned earlier, places in upper-secondary school are allocated among all youths in Oslo based on applications. There is only one upper-secondary school in Søndre Nordstrand and many of the youths aged 16–19 who live in the city district attend schools in other parts of the city, including this girl.

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In this context the leaders in Muslim organisations whom we interviewed emphasised that youths had to learn the traditions of their religion. Muslim youths had to learn to read Arabic and to master different interpretative strategies to read the Quran. Understanding the religious texts properly was important because Muslims are a minority in Norway and have to adapt Islamic values and traditions to a new social and political context (see also Bowen: 2012, 156–173). They also have to be able to defend their religion, which means that they had to acquire a thorough understanding of it (Østberg: 2003, 55). In one of our focus group interviews youths from a Muslim organisation believed that “identifying themselves, knowing where you stand” was one of the main challenges for young Muslims in Norway. Two of the youths said explicitly that FBOs could help mitigate this by providing knowledge: Participant 1: Young people know little about their religion and then get insecure and don’t know where they stand. The solution is to remove the problem. Give them knowledge. And this is what we try to do here.   Participant 2: We give information, we share experiences, we give advice and encourage them to take an education. We encourage them to seek knowledge because that is what Islam is about.

The adult representatives from Muslim organisations were concerned about the radicalisation of young Muslims in Western countries and elsewhere. The representatives distanced themselves from violent organisations and were eager to explain how they taught the jihad concept. Kashif and Masoud referred to the Quran (5, 32), which states that killing a human being is like killing all humanity. Waseem, on the other hand, told us that his organisation wanted to offer their young members a more nuanced discussion of jihad to keep them away from radical influences, including online communities. He argued that a nuanced discussion was important because the youths understood that the concept was used to legitimise war and their questions could not simply be ignored: [W]e tell them, ‘yes, it is true, there is jihad in Islam, there is jihad and the only jihad is not what you do to yourself, there is real jihad as well, but let me tell you about it.’ And then we show them from Islam what Islam says about these things … If we don’t do this, it’s not like they say ‘oh, well, never mind’. They go somewhere else and they will find what they are looking for.14

14 The Norwegian anthropologist Sindre Bangstad (2016) has suggested that the Norwegian government has privileged “liberal” Muslim organisations as partners over and above more “conservative” potential partners in the “counter-radicalization” field, both when it comes to policy development

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Waseem wanted the religious leaders and other adults in his FBO to use their authority to challenge inappropriate religious interpretations and lead youths away from “bad” theological influences. The leaders from the other Muslim organisations also emphasised that it was important for youths to learn how to evaluate different sources of knowledge. Imran, for example, said: It is about teaching young people source criticism. Whose knowledge should they accept? What should they accept from the mass media and the Internet and groups like that, and how should they relate and try to find a golden middle way? In a way, this is what is at the back of our minds when we work with youth.

Our interviews also reflect how teaching religion was not only about knowledge and source criticism, but also about helping youths develop religious identities and lifestyles. Some of the representatives we interviewed described religious lifestyles as different from other lifestyles. Waseem, for example, told us that they wanted to teach young people a spiritually informed way of life: [I]t is spirituality that we focus on, and our conviction is that this is the most important thing for people, how we behave, what our character is, and what our deeds are, [these things] are between us and God. These are the things that we talk to people about. This takes a little bit of time because it is not something that people see … but it is something that emerges from inside.

Alain, a representative of a Christian minority organisation, suggested that he could help children and youths change their ways of life: There are many of us who have come to Norway, many parents have lost [control of] their children. The children do not listen to the parents, the children go to the city, they steal. But our children live by God’s word. We can do so for others as well. If the children come, Alain can take care of this child and teach them how the child should live. And by God’s word, I can do that.

At the same time, the adult representatives emphasised that offering alternative lifestyles did not mean that the FBOs distanced themselves from mainstream Norwegian society. Especially representatives from minority FBOs emphasised that they wanted to support the welfare services and contribute to their local communi-

and funding. Against this background, Waseem’s statement can be read as a critique of how Muslim organisations like his own are treated by Norwegian authorities.

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ties. For example, Masoud told us that he wanted to work with the Child Welfare Services:15 I have talked to them [the Child Welfare Services] and said that we can help as much as we can with the issues they have. At least use us as a last resource before you take the children away from their families.

The representatives argued that they helped their members become good citizens of Norway. This included acting as mediators between parents and children, as noted above; helping them find out what it meant to be religious people in Norway; and helping them integrate into other parts of society. It was important for the minority FBO representatives that their youth members got educations and found jobs. Representatives from Muslim organisations in particular reported initiatives in this field, such as the education fairs that Masoud talked about, which we mentioned earlier in this chapter. Imran told us that he was “passionate” about letting the youths in his FBO meet older members who were well educated and well integrated into Norwegian society: This is the work that I am the most passionate about, because this will be our security in the future. We can do what we want, we can secure our borders, we can do this and do that, but we are ourselves our security; this means including our young people, and telling them that they are a part of society and that they are society, because then we avoid the problem of people who drop out and become a subculture.

The main purpose of FBOs’ engagement with the youth was to pass on religious beliefs, values and identities, and to make religion accessible in a secular context. The FBOs’ youth work can be described as pedagogical in that it was passing on knowledge, traditions and values, and as apologetic in that it was preparing young people to defend their religion in an environment where stereotypes about religions and religious people flourish. Most of the FBOs had no activities or engagements focused on street youths, but rather focused on working with the youths they saw as “their” young people. They wanted to contribute to their young members’ success in Norwegian society. Even though they were interested in youths in general and aware of youths on the margins of their communities, they did not see it as

15 The Norwegian Child Welfare Services has been the subject of several rounds of public criticism, particularly for taking over custody of children too easily. A number of cases involving immigrant families have gained widespread media coverage in Norway and internationally recent years, and a number of cases have been brought to the European Court of Human Rights. This has led to low levels of trust between the Child Welfare Services and immigrants and minority groups.

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their responsibility to address this particular social problem (see also Holte: 2018b, 71–79).

7.9

Conclusion

The aim of this case study was to describe FBOs’ activities for and engagements with youths in Søndre Nordstrand and to analyse whether the FBOs contributed to social cohesion through their youth work. Although most of the people we interviewed spoke warmly of the communities in their suburbs, our interviews also reflected divisions among the youths in Søndre Nordstrand. Most of the youths and adult representatives we interviewed expressed that they wanted the youths affiliated with their organisations to avoid the streets. Thus, there was a sense among the members of the different FBOs as “us” and the street youths as “them”. The FBOs provided activities and meeting places for their young members, including those who were not interested in football or other sports, as a form of “sanctuary haven in a heartless world” (Coleman: 2003, 38). In this way the FBOs provided some youths with spaces where they could build trust and help each other, but mostly in rather homogeneous groups. Because the FBOs recruited youths through their members’ families and personal networks, the youths in the different FBOs tended to share similar backgrounds as well as certain lifestyle choices. It is likely that they “consider[ed] themselves as more or less the same” (Gullestad: 2002, 46). Only one of the FBOs reached out to street youths to integrate them into the organisation. This FBO acted to bridge the social divide between “us” and “them”, even though the activities did not aim to reach beyond the borders of the religious community. Thus, this FBO also engaged with youths on a principle of religious sameness. Overall, the FBOs’ activities for and engagements with youths in Søndre Nordstrand reflected – and hereby contributed to upholding – differences and divisions in the local communities, which may have impacted negatively on the cohesion of the communities and the city district as wholes (cf. Chapter 4). Another perspective is that segregated activities for minority youths can contribute to social cohesion “by creating a new more encompassing identity that is adapted to the society in which they live” (Walseth: 2016, 96). Shaping identities – including religious identities – can be a precondition for developing the trust and respect for diversity that social cohesion may also require. The same goes for the work to prevent theological and political extremism in some of the Muslim organisations in Søndre Nordstrand. Yet the youths and adult representatives we interviewed were conscious that the religious lifestyles promoted by their FBOs could be seen as different from other Norwegian lifestyles; both Christian and Muslim youths told us about the negative perceptions of religion and religious people they encountered. Against this backdrop, several of the adult representatives empha-

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sised that they promoted values that were compatible with mainstream Norwegian society. Especially the representatives from the Muslim organisations emphasised how they promoted participation in mainstream Norwegian society, for example, in education. The FBOs did not generally foster shared identities related to the local communities, but rather different religious identities that they said promoted certain forms of participation. In this way, both the youths and the adult representatives we interviewed argued for broader understandings of what we could call “Norwegianness” than Norwegian ethnicity underpinned by sameness, metaphors of home and family life, and Lutheran Christianity (see also Thun: 2012; Walseth: 2016). With higher levels of tolerance and respect for diversity, a single shared identity may not be so important for social cohesion. Promoting participation and a shared sense of belonging may then be all the more important. When the representatives of the minority FBOs claimed that their teaching aimed to help the youths develop as good citizens, when they said they worked to promote their young members’ success in school and working life, and when they emphasised that they wanted to support the welfare services and their local communities, this may have been a way of conveying that their organisations promoted participation and were legitimate social agents in Norway. The minority FBOs did not promote “assimilation” or contribute to “sameness” in their local communities. Rather, they supported their youths in developing distinct identities, while still promoting a sense of belonging and different forms of participation (cf. Thun: 2012; Walseth: 2016). Even though the population in Søndre Nordstrand was diverse, the FBO youth groups were more homogenous. The youth groups in both minority and majority FBOs had strong senses of an “us”. The FBOs engaged with youths primarily to pass on their religion. Protecting their young members from the streets and other influences they saw as bad was another major reason for having youth groups. The FBOs’ activities for and engagements with youths in Søndre Nordstrand may have promoted social cohesion through their influence on the youths who participated in them. However, most of the FBO youth groups did little to include street youths, and their contribution to building social trust and social participation was therefore selective. In many of the FBOs, we encountered a sense of the street youths as others – as “them”, which may have contributed to pushing these youths further into the margins of the local communities. The contribution to social cohesion of the FBOs’ activities with and engagements for youths in Søndre Nordstrand was therefore ambiguous: the FBOs could be seen as contributing to the exclusion as well as the inclusion of different groups of youths.

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Chapter 8: “Keep Yourself Busy” Young People, Faith-Based Organisations and Social Cohesion in Riverlea

If you need help in any kind of situation, you know, you have a support structure not only at home but here within the church. And with us, our church, there’s a lot of things, like I said, which you end up being involved in to keep yourself busy with. And look at myself now, if I didn’t belong in this church, I don’t think I would be sitting here right now … Probably I would be in a bad space, maybe doing bad stuff, I don’t know (Tania, 22-year-old female, Riverlea).

8.1

Introduction

This chapter addresses the role of faith-based organisations (FBOs) in weakening or strengthening social cohesion among NEET youth through engaging with young people from Riverlea, a predominantly low-income and coloured1 neighbourhood in Johannesburg. The focus is on the ways in which these young people perceive the role of FBOs in their lives and their neighbourhood. In other words, because of the nature of the data, in this case study the notion of social cohesion is approached primarily from a subjective point of view (cf. Chapter 4 in this book). The focus is on the young people’s feelings and perceptions, rather than on a presumably more objective perspective on actual behaviour gathered through extensive participant

1 Unlike in contexts where “coloured” is used to refer to black people in general, in the South African context the term refers to a particular even if phenotypically diverse group that descends from Cape slaves, Khoisan people, other African and Asian groups, and European settlers (Adhikari: 2005, 1). Coloured people comprise just below 9 per cent of the total population; the other categories used in South African censuses are black African, white, Indian/Asian and other (Statistics South Africa: 2012b). As the authors, we acknowledge that the term coloured is contested and used in multiple ways in scholarly work. We have chosen to use the term without inverted commas or adding ‘so-called’ before the term to acknowledge the fact that people in Riverlea largely self-identify as coloured.

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observation. Moreover, because of the richness of the qualitative interviews conducted with the young people, it is not possible to cover all interesting aspects. Therefore, particular themes that recur in the data have been chosen to answer the main research question about social cohesion and FBOs. As two middle-class researchers, we set ourselves the explicit aim, in line with a qualitative research strategy, of going beyond negative stereotypes about people who live in predominantly low-income neighbourhoods such as Riverlea. As a way of doing this, it was also important to be actively aware of negative stereotypes of coloured people in South Africa, such as “the reference to Coloured people as being particularly prone to laziness, alcoholism, gangsterism, violence and drug addiction” (Petrus & Isaacs-Martin: 2012, 88). Thus we set out to pay attention to the positive aspects of the neighbourhood addressed by the young people, even in a context of a set of data in which interviewees often portrayed Riverlea as “not an ideal place” (Lerato, 21-year-old female). In other words, we hope that the chapter reflects something of the wholeness of life, including the spirit of community and laughter, which author and poet Chris van Wyk’s (2004) memoir of the neighbourhood also conveys, even if in a different genre. In this way the chapter aims to speak also of the poorer areas within Riverlea as more than places of survival and daily struggles. Yet the concerns of the young people are not played down either: when telling the researcher about drugs, they probably did so with the idea that maybe (just maybe) something would change if their stories were heard. The chapter begins with remarks on methodology and proceeds by locating Riverlea historically and spatially in South Africa in general and in Johannesburg in particular. The rest of the chapter is then based on interviews with young people in Riverlea. The analysis of the young people’s insights that shed light on the relationship between FBOs and social cohesion is divided into five sections. Firstly, a brief overview of the interviewees’ perceptions of Riverlea helps the reader to locate the discussion on FBOs within a broader context. Secondly, the young people’s participation in and knowledge of FBOs in the neighbourhood are discussed in order to establish an understanding of the level of interaction between the research participants and FBOs. The last three sections deal with specific aspects of the young people’s relationship with and thoughts about FBOs: church as an alternative safe space; the ambiguous role of religious social and moral norms in impacting on belonging and exclusion; and the importance of family and church as the young people’s support networks.

8.2

Data and Methods

The data for this case study consist of eighteen qualitative individual interviews with young people, two focus group sessions with different young people, and two

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qualitative interviews with adults who work with young people in Riverlea, as well as field notes of informal conversations and observations. The individual interviews with the youths were conducted between April 2015 and May 2016. Eighteen young people between the ages of 18 and 24 were interviewed (with the exception of one 27-year-old interviewee); three of the interviewees were in their late teens and the rest in their early twenties. Twelve interviewees were female and six male; three black African2 and fifteen coloured. All the interviewees were in some way affiliated with Christianity, which could be considered a limitation of our case study, given that there are also mosques in the neighbourhood and that there might also be those who adhere to African traditional religions. The young people were reached for the interviews through different channels: seven through Nel’s (the second author’s) connections at his church (see below), five through a non-profit organisation that, for instance, offers training courses for young people,3 three through another organisation that provides services related to drug and alcohol abuse, and three through snowball sampling through other interviewees. Hankela (the first author) conducted the interviews, but in some instances Nel was also present and participated in the interview conversations. Hankela used a mind map as the guide for the interview (based on the YOMA interview guide) in order to allow for space to follow the flow of the interview conversation and still ensure that all key areas were covered. As the authors of this chapter, we discussed the contextual realities and the interviews already conducted in order to sharpen the interview questions as the research progressed. The interviews were approximately 70 minutes long and were conducted in different venues: the premises of the two above-mentioned organisations (9), homes of the young people (6) and Nel’s church (3). The two focus group interviews were conducted in 2016. One was conducted by Hankela and Nel, and the other by Hankela at the premises of the two organisations mentioned in the previous paragraph. The first group consisted of three 18-yearold girls and two young men in their early twenties, all of them coloured. The second group consisted of four young women and one young man who attended a training course at one of the above-mentioned organisations. They were between 19 and 23 years of age; four black African and one coloured; one of them stayed in a nearby neighbourhood, one in Zamimpilo (see below) and the rest in different parts of Riverlea. The two interviews with people who work with youths were also conducted in 2016.

2 We follow the racial labels used for the different people groups in official statistics (e.g. Statistics South Africa: 2012b): black African, coloured, Indian/Asian, white and other. 3 These young people were not strictly speaking NEET as they were attending a training course at the time of their interviews. This training course was, however, targeted at unemployed youths.

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The main focus in the data analysis is on the individual interviews with young people, which were coded using the Atlas.ti programme applying an open coding approach – yet with the research questions in mind. The quotes under certain key codes were then further analysed on paper, such as quotes attached to the code “church”. The focus group interviews were used to check the analysis based on the individual interviews: after writing an initial draft of the chapter, the focus group interviews were read through, looking for deviations from and/or support for the analysis based on the individual interviews. The interviews with the adults and the field notes were not analysed systematically, but are rather used to give context to the young people’s voices where applicable. The case study team for Riverlea consisted of two people. Elina Hankela is a Finnish social ethicist and a permanent resident in South Africa. For her the language of communication in the context of this research was English. Reggie Nel is a missiologist and a coloured South African who speaks Afrikaans and English, both languages also spoken in Riverlea. While working full-time in academia, Nel also served as a minister in a Uniting Reformed Church in Riverlea from 2000 until 2017, his long-term involvement making him a partial insider. Our own social locations inevitably played a role in the construction of the meaning behind the data and hence, in the spirit of qualitative research, we set out to understand the perceptions of the young people from where we stood. As researchers, but in Nel’s case also as the minister of some of these young people at the time when the interviews were conducted, we had to take cognisance of the reality of power relations that may influence the answers of the young people. This was taken into account especially in relation to interview arrangements with youths recruited through Nel’s church as well as in interpreting the findings.

8.3

From Forced Removals to a Low-Income Post-Apartheid Neighbourhood

Riverlea, a predominantly coloured neighbourhood on the western side of Johannesburg, is part of the broader map of South African realities and a result of apartheid history and city planning (cf. Chapter 4). As Martin Murray (2011, xi–xii) writes, Johannesburg “bears the spatial scars of white minority rule” perhaps more profoundly than any other city in the country, and remains socially highly unequal and spatially divided. Riverlea was established in apartheid Johannesburg in 1965 as a destination for coloured people who were forcibly removed from other areas in the city (Community Agency for Social Enquiry: 2004). In the country at large more than half a million coloureds were forcibly relocated under the Group Areas Act of 1950 (Adhikari: 2005, 3). Don Pinnock (1984) some decades ago located the drug trade and gang activity in coloured communities in

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the violent context of the historical development of apartheid. Writing specifically about the situation in the city of Cape Town, Pinnock observed how it led to “the closely grained working-class communities of the old city [being] ripped up” (1984, 55). He argued that the central life force of urban development among the coloured people was the extended family networks, and that the Group Areas Act and the consequent forced removals destroyed this web of “relationships, and networks of knowledge, experiences, things; the very support of their culture” (1984, 55–56). Since emerging in the late nineteenth century, coloured identity has gone through different phases and has been represented in vastly different ways by scholars (Adhikari: 2005). Formed in relation to a black African majority and a privileged white minority, coloured identity has over time been both mobilised in an attempt to gain relative privilege over black Africans, and rejected in the name of the anti-apartheid struggle and black consciousness (Adhikari: 2005, 2–4). In the postapartheid era coloured identity has again become more prominent (Adhikari: 2005). The re-emergence of this identity politics relates to, among other things, fear of again being marginalised under black African majority rule, so that “first we were not white enough and now we are not black enough” (Adhikari: 2005, 5). While questions about identity and race were not in the forefront in the individual interviews, in one of our focus groups the young people spent some time discussing race. One of them echoed the sentiment of not being black enough: I may be better qualified than a black person. I come here for an interview. I have better qualifications. I have my degree. This person, this black guy, comes in. He only has his CV. They’re gonna take him and not me, because why? He’s black. … They say apartheid is over. For me, from my point of view, it’s not over. It’s begun again.

Besides this critique of the broader post-apartheid society, the young people in the same focus group were also critical of the coloured community, to which they all belonged. Responding to the person quoted above, another one of them said: But the thing is that we’re lazy people. Honestly, we’re lazy people. … There was people coming, they’d be like, ‘Ja we want better service delivery, better jobs, better this, better this.’ This one guy asks this lady, ‘Okay, fine, you want better. What are you doing to get it?’ She walked away. Why? … A coloured’s thing is: ‘I want. I want.’ But what are you doing [for yourself]? Yes, an African [black] guy will get up, toyi-toyi, but for the right thing. If they ask a black guy [what he is doing to get what he wants], he was gonna say, ‘Listen here, I’m working. For me I don’t feel I’m getting better this. And I, we’re working in mines, not to better myself but to better a country.’

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While this young man quoted is repeating the very stereotypes mentioned in the introduction, one should not be too hasty to necessarily read his account as an internalisation of such stereotypes. A little later he continued: “I’m sorry to say this, but me, if a coloured has to stand up and toyi-toyi,4 I’ll tell him straight: I’m standing with the blacks.” “Standing with the blacks” in his narrative referred to what he perceived as a willingness among black Africans to make an effort to better their own lives and the country. While the scope of the chapter does not allow a thorough analysis of these and similar comments, together with literature quoted above they help situate the case study. These comments point both to the circulation of harmful stereotypes of coloureds, but also, and here perhaps more importantly, to the agency and active approach to life that we heard in the interviews with many of the young people we spoke to. What might add to feelings of marginality in the province of Gauteng, where Riverlea is located, is that coloured people form only 3.5 per cent of the population (Statistics South Africa: 2012b, 17), since the majority of the coloured population resides in the western parts of South Africa. A coloured man who worked in Riverlea argued that, unlike in the Cape, in Johannesburg coloureds are not “a proud nation” (Hankela notes 6.6.2014). Even if Riverlea is still known as a coloured neighbourhood, the demographics have diversified since the abolition of the apartheid laws: according to the 1996 census, coloureds formed 91 per cent of the population in the area (1996 census cited in Kruger & Chawla: 2002) but in 2011, when the total population of the area was roughly over 16 000, the percentage of coloured people was at 67.29 per cent (Frith: n.d.). The change is mainly due to the growing percentage of black African residents in the neighbourhood (see Frith: n.d.). Furthermore, it is likely that not all international African migrants living in the area – from countries such as Zimbabwe, Malawi and Somalia – are reflected in the census data. According to the people we spoke to, in some parts of Riverlea people had built zozos5 in their backyards to generate extra income through rent, and a number of people occupying these rooms were migrants from other African countries (Hankela’s notes 29.5.2014 and 6.6.2014). From a spatial perspective, unlike many of the areas created under the Group Areas Act, Riverlea is rather centrally located. The neighbourhood lies less than 10 kilometres west from the Johannesburg CBD (central business district), with easy access to the city by taxis, that is, minibuses that operate on designated routes and form a key component of public transport in Johannesburg. The CBD has not been

4 “Toyi-toyi” refers to a dance that has been an important element of political protests in both the apartheid and post-apartheid eras in South Africa. 5 Small one-room houses, often made of corrugated iron.

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the primary financial centre of Johannesburg anymore for decades, after capital fled to the northern suburbs starting in the 1970s (Murray: 2011). Yet the central city is a major transport hub, hosts various shopping opportunities and banks, and has over recent years again been changing, some would say sections of it “uplifted”, as a result of gentrification (see Winkler: 2013). West from Riverlea is Soweto, a large and predominantly black African township. Riverlea is also close to several other neighbourhoods with high percentages of coloured residents, such as Eldorado Park, Noordgesig, Westbury, Bosmont, Coronationville and Newclare. The connectedness with the surrounding areas was reflected, for instance, in the young people telling us about friends in Westbury or family in Eldorado Park. Moreover, while some youths from Riverlea went to school in the surrounding areas at the time of the interviews, according to a community member, young people from Soweto, for instance, attended high school in Riverlea (Hankela’s notes 29.5.2014). Moreover, in Riverlea itself one could find, among other things, two recreational centres, a clinic, a library, schools, a gym and many small corner shops. In a focus group a young woman highlighted the point that in her experience “the community itself and everything around it is very accessible.” At the time of the interviews Riverlea hosted three mosques and a large number of churches, including mainline churches such as Uniting Reformed, Reformed, Methodist, Anglican, Roman Catholic and Ebenezer Congregational churches as well as independent evangelical or Pentecostal charismatic churches such as the Church of the Nazarene, Evangelical Bible Church, Mission for Jesus, Glory to Glory and Bread of Life. The buildings of the churches and mosques formed a stable feature of the Riverlea landscape, while a number of church groups also gathered in classrooms at local schools. We did not get to know of any FBO based or working in Riverlea that was independent of churches or mosques in the neighbourhood (apart from one of the interviewees, Elaine, mentioning a man from a Bible correspondence school who brought her Bible study booklets on a regular basis). In this chapter, based on the interviews with the young people, when referring to FBOs we speak in particular of churches and at times also mosques, but not NGOtype FBOs. Keeping this limitation in mind, when Bradley (24-year-old male), one young interviewee, estimated that “half of Riverlea’s youngsters do attend church”, he was seemingly suggesting that FBOs were a normal aspect of everyday life also among the young. It should also be noted that both of the organisations mentioned above, which we engaged with and through which we found interviewees, operated in spaces provided by churches. One of these organisations did not pay rent to the church that provided it with the necessary physical space to operate in as well as electricity and access to using the phone; we do not have details about the arrangement between the other church and organisation.

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Riverlea itself is divided into different sections, of which we explicitly mention Riverlea Extension (henceforth, Extension) in the text. Extension, which has been “identified as a priority area by the local government on the basis of its low socioeconomic status” (Plagerson & Mathee: 2012, 340), is located at the southern edge of Riverlea and separated by a railway line from a more developed, or relatively speaking wealthier, section that is popularly called Riverlea Proper. The difference is visible in the surroundings, for instance, in the smaller houses and problems with service delivery in Extension, reflected in issues with sewage or trash, as well as in the fact that most of the zozos are found in Extension. Yet there seemed to be socio-economic variations within each section as well: for instance, while the houses tended to be larger in Riverlea Proper than in Extension, Riverlea Proper also had blocks of flats, which were generally associated with a lower-income status. It is also important to note that there is an informal settlement, Zamimpilo (isiZulu: “try life”), on the western edge of Riverlea. The city has at different occasions relocated people from the makeshift shacks in Zamimpilo to areas with proper housing and better service delivery, but it remains a home to many (Frankson: 2015; Thamela: 2013). At the time of the interviews, five of the individually interviewed young people stayed in Extension, one had stayed there before, one young man stayed in Zamimpilo, and the rest of the interviewees came from other, relatively more developed, sections of Riverlea. Initially our plan was to focus on Extension alone, but because of the difficulty in establishing access to young people, we opted to include participants from different areas in Riverlea. Many young people also moved across the dividing railway line daily and in that sense Extension appeared to be connected to the rest of Riverlea. While our main emphasis in this chapter is on FBOs, a key theme in the interviews was drugs and related social challenges, and we address this first now that we move to describing and analysing the data. We deem this necessary to provide a context for understanding the rest of the discussion.

8.4

Young People on Challenges in Riverlea

A negative starting point could be discerned in the way many of our interviewees spoke of Riverlea. Their answers to our questions were telling both of the immediate socio-economic context and seemingly also of people’s perceptions of the neighbourhood: drugs, crime and unemployment were recurring themes in the interviews, while some also spoke of school dropouts and teenage pregnancies. Indeed, many answers to the question “What is it like to live in Riverlea?” began on a negative note, even if the young people then also reflected on positive aspects of their surroundings. Belinda (19-year-old female), who stayed in Extension, for instance, said:

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“Keep Yourself Busy”

You can’t really communicate with people in Riverlea because they’re always busy with their own stuff, mostly drugs, alcohol. So for you to prevent yourself from that, you have to keep yourself distantly.

Some seemed to respond to a negative perception of the area when they began their answer by: “It’s not bad…” (Nico, 24-year-old male). Lerato, too, seemed to respond to a judgment on Riverlea from the outside when she answered the above question about living in Riverlea by emphasising the ambivalent nature of this, or any, neighbourhood: It’s not, it’s not an ideal place. I wouldn’t wanna raise my kids here. But as any other place, it’s got its ups and downs and it’s got its good and bads. But the whole character of Riverlea cannot be judged by one person. It can, you can judge it over a lot of people, and most people that stay here are not as bad as people think they are. [Interviewer: Why do people think that they’re bad?] Because of the crime, the drugs, the sex, and actually the ethic and morals that most people live by here.

Even though the young people also spoke of positive experiences, such as a sense of community and support, the emphasis was on negative aspects of the neighbourhood in several interviews. This drew our attention to the possible impact that one’s home neighbourhood has on how young people relate to the rest of the city and perceive their own identity and opportunities in relation to it, in particular in a city as unequal as Johannesburg. In particular, as also mentioned by Belinda above, drugs were a key theme related to living in this neighbourhood. Kayla’s (21-year-old female) answer to a question about where people go if they need help or support in Riverlea is telling about the centrality of drugs in the social scene, as well as that of FBOs in Kayla’s reading of her surroundings: “I would say they go to church. … I think they do, I’m not sure. … Or go to rehab and start off there.” The young people told stories of themselves or their family or community members using drugs: Sharon (22-year-old female) said she used to use drugs to stay awake at work at night, Elaine’s (24-year-old female) brother was in jail during the interview because of a drug-related murder, and Bradley said that “after using these drugs with my friends I lost everything, you know, all my hopes and dreams.” In line with Elaine’s and Bradley’s experiences relating to drugs, the young people mostly spoke of drugs as a negative issue in Riverlea. Kayla spoke of “drugs taking over” the neighbourhood, Henry (18-yearold male), who had used drugs, said “I know what those drugs do now. … It destroys you,” and Linda (27-year-old female) was concerned that “our young people are going down, they’re dying of these drugs.” At least eight of the eighteen young

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people we interviewed individually used or had used drugs themselves (one of the eight only dagga6 ). Furthermore, drug abuse was linked to stories of stealing, muggings or burglaries. Another central aspect in these young people’s Riverlea was unemployment, which some also related to drugs: You know most of us, most of us are doing what we’re doing because we don’t have a job, or, ja, I think jobs is the, the most common thing that nobody really has … You know, some girls will go and sell themselves for those things [to be able to buy nappies for their babies] because of not having a job. Smoking, drugs: not having a job. Drinking every day: not having a job (Monique, 19-year-old female).

Youth unemployment was coupled with stories of school dropouts. Only half of the eighteen interviewees themselves had finished high school. Our engagement with the young people as well as older residents confirmed the perception of Extension as an area where social problems were concentrated, and drew attention to differences within the neighbourhood: “It’s hectic to stay in Riverlea Extension. Like really hectic. Unemployment, the crime rate that side it’s worse, worse, worse” (Natasha, 23-year-old female). While drugs were spoken about in relation to Riverlea as a whole, many perceived Extension to be a specifically drug-stricken area: “That place is [a] ghetto place. … Extension is a place of drugs, where you, I won’t lie, where every second house you’ll get drugs, ja” (Henry). An older resident said that she knew of six houses that sold drugs in her street in Extension, and that the young men at the street corners sold them too: but when the police came, she said, they never found anything. She continued by saying that there was only one road leading in and out of Extension, and when a police car was at the traffic lights leading to Extension, it seemed that every drug dealer in the area already knew (Hankela’s notes 29.5.2014). Indeed, in the context of Extension where drugs were particularly prevalent, this example speaks of a particular kind of social cohesion – cooperation and participation – that operates by the rules of another kind of social order than that accepted either by the city or FBOs. Given the scope of our data, we were not able to examine the sense of spatial belonging and identity that might be linked to such networks outside mainstream society. Yet what the interviews do suggest is that this strong presence of drugs, coupled with other social challenges, could be related to the difficulties that the young people faced when they tried to get by and move on in life within mainstream society. In this short section the focus is on the challenges and especially drugs, because of the emphasis the young people placed on them in the interviews and in order to convey

6 Dagga is one of the popularly used names for marijuana in South Africa and also in Riverlea.

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an understanding of the context from this perspective, which also emerges in the discussion on FBOs below. According to the interviewees, drug-related challenges seemed to be a central issue that complicates the flourishing of the kind of social cohesion – cooperation and participation – that would involve all the inhabitants of Riverlea, not simply a section of the neighbourhood, such as those involved in the drug business. Their concern with these issues in the neighbourhood also drew attention to the social justice aspect of social cohesion: the need to address these issues at a structural level therefore appeared to be central to strengthening different dimensions of social cohesion in Riverlea, such as boosting trust and a sense of belonging between different groups.

8.5

Brought Up in a Church

All of the individually interviewed young people either were or had been involved with an FBO, or, in particular, a church. They attended or had previously attended Reformed (7), Catholic (2), Jehovah’s Witness (1), Old Apostolic (2), Pentecostal or charismatic (5) and Congregational churches (1). It is to be noted that over time the young people had attended or visited different churches, some also simultaneously, and so these affiliations only give a rough idea of the context of the research participants. At the time of the interviews, about ten out of eighteen attended church services on a regular basis either in Riverlea or elsewhere, and among them some actively participated or held leading positions in church-related groups or activities as well. The young people spoke about their own churches as places where they interact with other people, though some said they do not really talk to people when they go to the Sunday service. The other activities that the interviewees mentioned, which also give an idea, albeit a limited one, of church activities in Riverlea, included: a youth group, a worship team/band, a prayer group, a dance group, a support group (dealing e.g. with drug abuse), a prophecy group, computer classes, youth conferences and a young women’s ministry. The young people’s reasons for attending church activities varied. Growing up in a Christian environment was one motivation. Many of the young people had grown up with a Christian family member, mostly a parent or a grandparent. Thus they had at some point had at least this experience of belonging to a collective more diverse than simply one’s own family. And so, for instance, Jacques (20-year-old male) said he only went to church when his grandparents told him he had to come, while Monique said she had grown up in church and now wanted to take her son to church so that he too would know God. Similarly, Tania explained that she went to church because this was her religion and the way she was brought up. She further added that she had chosen a church where she felt comfortable. We return to the relationships between families and FBOs later in the chapter.

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Another reason for involvement was the ways in which one felt one benefitted by attending church, an aspect we discuss in more detail in the next section. For instance, Sharon remarked that church kept her strong, and Kayla said she attended church because it kept her away from worldly things and trouble (such as drinking, partying and fights). For some, the responsibilities they had in church were part of the motivation. A few interviewees had special responsibilities at their church, such as that of a Sunday school teacher, an usher or a deacon. Henry, for instance, said he went to church to teach the Sunday school kids: “That’s my mission every week, why I go to church. To teach the younger children. And to pray for myself as well.” One could suspect that having a mission bestowed on one by a group could impact on a sense of being a trustworthy member of the broader society. Lastly, worshipping God, learning about God and life and maintaining one’s relationship with God were also cited as reasons. Of those who did not attend activities at any FBO at the time of the interviews, many had participated in such activities before. Reasons for dropping out of church varied. Bradley had stopped going to church when he got involved with drugs: “I needed more free time for this wrongdoing, and I started feeling like a stranger to church.” Lerato, on the contrary, said she was “kicked out of church”, and was clearly disappointed by the leader/membership of the church and religious people in general. This theme is further explored below in relation to social and moral norms in creating belonging and exclusion. Many had very little to say about what they would change in their churches. Among those who did offer insights, interviewees asked for concrete things like organising activities for youths in a church that did not have them, getting a church its own building, delivering more food parcels, avoiding running boring services or youth activities, or painting the church building. Suggesting more substantial change, Natasha and Tania both spoke of a need for their church to follow up on people who stopped coming to church, visit them and find out why they left. Their comments might, therefore, indicate an expectation that the collective had a responsibility towards the individual in the church context, and in this way a responsibility of nurturing the individual’s sense of belonging. The limited number of critical views about the churches that the young people attended could, of course, be revealing about either the relevance or otherwise of FBOs, and might in some cases also have been influenced by Nel’s role as a minister. Despite their connections to particular churches, many participants’ knowledge of the activities of FBOs in the neighbourhood, other than their own church, was rather limited. Most young people could name some church or mosque other than their own or some activity, but not many knew much, if anything, about the actual activities in other FBOs or whether FBOs were doing something for or with young people in particular.

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When it came to the personal aspect of religion, the interviewees spoke of God, faith and prayer as natural aspects of life, regardless of whether they themselves were active members of an FBO. Despite the deep structural problems that the young people spoke of in the context of their neighbourhood and their own life, like unemployment and drug abuse, they articulated very little doubt about or criticism of God. For instance, Monique, an unemployed 19-year-old mother, who at times attended Sunday services but did not have important social relations at her church, said: Some of the girls, young girls, like from the other side are using drugs … [they] are selling themselves because there’s no job or they have a child to look after. But you know, I don’t see myself selling my body for, because my child doesn’t have milk or he doesn’t have [missing word], you know. That’s why I said to you like there’s, God always makes a way.

Natasha was an exception among the interviewees in her directing actual criticism towards God. She had stopped being active at her church and connected that to, among other things, having gotten tired in a situation where she felt she was devoted to God and church, but felt like God did not see her: she was unemployed despite praying for a job and her child was sick. “So that makes me tired, makes me like: why must I go and be part of anything when this is the life you have in store for me.” Overall, the mainly positive relationship to faith among the interviewees, and the links that many of them had to local churches, could speak to what development scholars describe as FBOs’ natural access to the moral energies of the community (cf. Chapter 5). In Riverlea FBOs spoke a language that these young people grew up with.

8.6

Churches as Alternative Spaces

A recurring theme in the young people’s thinking of what FBOs did or could do for them and their peers was to keep them busy. The social context for the quest was one in which, as the interviewees themselves emphasised, drugs were prominent. Another contextual detail that perhaps further explains the quest was several interviewees’ suspicion of social relations with age mates, although there were also different, positive views about having friends. Friends, especially a particular type of friend, meant trouble and keeping to oneself and preferably not having many friends was a way of staying out of trouble. Belinda, who was quoted above as saying “for you to prevent yourself from that [drugs and alcohol] you have to keep yourself distantly,” continued: “…do your own stuff, don’t have a lot of friends, and communicate with the right people only.”

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Within this context, for some young people FBOs featured as alternative spaces. A number of interviewees portrayed them as potentially trouble-free zones, especially from the perspective of drugs and related issues, and as such they were spaces that could aid one in making it into adulthood. Being in church was seen to help one live according to certain social expectations, such as staying away from drugs and finishing school. The view of churches as alternative spaces was reflected in different ways by different young people, both in relation to their own experiences and in relation to the expectations they had for themselves to attend church or for churches to organise activities for young people. For instance, as noted above, staying out of trouble motivated Kayla to be involved with her church. She further explained that she knew the worldly things that she spoke of, drinking, partying, fighting: her life used to be “out of order” and she did not want to go back there. Refilwe (24-year-old female) had attended her church regularly for years already, and reckoned that had she not been part of a church, living in a “hectic” place like Extension, she would probably have dropped out of school when she was young and said that the church had helped her not to get involved in “doing bad stuff ”. Jeremy (22-year-old male) and Jacques, who both had a substance abuse background, said much the same as Kayla, although neither one of them was active in church at the time. Jeremy, whom we suspected still used drugs and was probably high also during his rather incoherent interview, seemingly suggested that churches assisted one in staying “in line”: I want to come again back [to church], you see ma’am. Put myself in line, ma’am … Like bringing everything right, ma’am … Always now looking who’s your friends and so on.

For Jeremy the idea of getting involved in church activities seemed to mean being away from the kind of friends who made one “go out of line”. And so he thought that the church could help someone in his situation “by keeping a person busy”. Jacques, who had moved to Riverlea fairly recently and was scheduled to go to rehab at the time of the interview, spoke of the need for churches, or the church he knew, to have more fun activities for youths: “let them play soccer and stuff like that, make it more nicer.” This, he suggested, was needed to avoid other harmful options available: Let them come more to church, you know. Sometimes they also don’t wanna go to church and they’re sitting in the parks and smoking zol (dagga) and stuff like that. Just to keep them busy.

Jacques himself had stopped going to the youth group because he had started smoking crystal meth. After rehab he planned to go back to church and do all

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the “right stuff ”. For him, being involved with church can enable one to avoid “bad friends” and instead “meet some church guys and be around just with them.” Jacques’s reasoning therefore suggested that the FBO space could provide the young person with access to relationships, an identity and sense of belonging that were based on participation in this space and, at least Jacques seemed to think, doing “right” things (cf. Chapter 5). While these accounts emphasised the need for FBOs to be welcoming, open and active, they also reflected a sense of personal responsibility in making use of the space and hence a sense of agency. This aspect seemed particularly clear in Tania’s reflection: I like the fact that there’s a lot of different ministries also within the church, so there’s a lot of things that, you know, you can keep yourself busy with. And that’s actually what I’m doing now, especially with being at home. So instead of my mind wandering off to, you know, negative things and so forth, I actually joined [one of the ministries at my church] which I’m very passionate about now.

In this way some of the interviewees emphasised the choice they had made or wanted to make for themselves, but also wanted to assist others to make. According to Cindy (21-year-old female), who herself was an active member of her church’s youth group and various other groups, young people at her church encouraged the bringing of friends to youth events or youth meetings and made an effort to make these visitors feel welcome. Though there had been more and less active phases in this regard. For instance, the church youth decided on a certain day that no one should wear branded clothes or shoes. Branded clothes could have made some young people feel like they did not fit in. These kinds of views could be read to speak of FBOs as spaces that impact positively on the lives of young people by virtue of keeping them away from more dangerous places. But in other instances the young people also portrayed FBOs as more proactive in addressing concrete problems that young people had to deal with. In a sense this shifted the focus more clearly onto the social justice aspect of social cohesion and the importance of structural issues affecting cohesion. Of course, the alternative space idea could also be read through a (spatial) justice lens, even if it seemed to primarily engage the social relations aspect of cohesion (cf. Chapter 4). These views of churches addressing concrete problems mainly came up in relation to what the youths wished FBOs would do for them rather than in relation to their own experiences. While staying away from trouble could be achieved by providing an alternative space, dealing with unemployment, for instance, would also require concrete measures in relation to education and employment opportunities. Cindy and Natasha saw that churches could have a role to play:

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[S]ome of the young people are academic but they drop out of school for, for their own reasons. Some fall pregnant. You know, the girls fall pregnant, the guys have to go get a job to look after the kids. So, you know, offer them that platform where they can go and see what they are missing outside of Riverlea. You know, take them to different universities... (Cindy)   So I think like if our community can come together, all the different churches, organisations can come together, they can find a way to help the people in the community find jobs, to maybe go study if they wanna study, help the children at school … So if they can even motivate the children in schools to say there’s better things than just to go work, you can go study and better yourself, follow your dreams (Natasha).

The young women thus imagined churches as bridges between Riverlea and future opportunities outside Riverlea. They expressed a vision for their peers to step out of a life defined by lack of education and unemployment. Sifiso (22-year-old male), from Zamimpilo, actually knew of a church that offered young people bursaries. Likewise, in one focus group a young person mentioned a church group that tried to tackle youth unemployment by, according to her, organising “learnerships” (that is, some form of internships) for young people.

8.7

Moral Norms in the Construction of Belonging and Exclusion

The young people’s talk of keeping oneself busy in church had a very positive undertone, as illustrated above. Church as a space was then seen to assist a young person to survive in a challenging environment as an eligible member of a broader society. Now we move onto discussing a particular aspect of the church as an alternative space: the idea that through such space a shared set of moral and social values of a particular church is cultivated. Such values indeed contributed to what some of the young people found helpful in attending church: at church you do all the “right stuff ”, as Jacques said. But according to our reading of the data, such values also formed boundaries between people in the church and those who spent their time outside of formal religious institutions, and in particular the ones who spent much time on the streets, as well as, it seemed, contributed towards informal hierarchies of young people in the church (cf. Chapter 5). In a number of interviews the young people’s views of churches reflected a dualistic relationship between the church and the world. Mostly this difference between the church and the world surfaced in relation to social norms that the interviewees thought contributed towards a better life, that is, norms that assisted one in making it in life in accordance with the mainstream

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dream described above, as already obvious in the previous section. This difference was not necessarily thought of in moral terms, that is, as a question of right and wrong. However, a few interviewees did discuss certain social norms through a moral lens and that is what we turn to now. Natasha and Chantel (21-year-old female) referred to having a child at a young age as an unmarried person in moral terms. Both spoke of this particular situation as a negative issue, but otherwise they differed in how they addressed the matter. Through looking at their accounts, we illustrate how social norms when understood in moral terms have the potential of further marginalising young people who have not lived by these norms and might thus already find themselves at the margins of mainstream society. Natasha was a young mother herself, as were seven of the twelve individually interviewed females. Speaking to adults in Riverlea when preparing for the research, we had already heard that, for instance, according to a man who worked in Riverlea, teenage pregnancies were one of the three key challenges facing young people besides unemployment and drugs. We had also listened to a conversation between a small group of young people on their goals as a youth group in the same church that Natasha and Chantel attended. One of the young people mentioned “looking for love in wrong places” as one of the challenges for the youths in the neighbourhood. Another one continued by saying that some did certain things outside the church and were afraid that inside the church people would judge them and look down on them because of their lifestyle. She then further defined this lifestyle as one of drugs, alcohol and sex at a young age (Hankela’s notes 1.11.2014). The first perspective on the question of moral norms highlights the potentially divisive impact that the prevailing moral norms can have within the church community, so that people may feel that some belong in the church community more than others. Young women having children before getting married, and in this way seemingly complicating their own lives, visibly troubled Chantel: “I think I feel so, so, um, passionate about it and I just, it’s just what I was taught, you know, and this is why I feel so strong about it.” During the interview, she also spoke of how she advised younger girls with whom she grew up with, and even if we did not talk about this in relation to teenage pregnancies, this nevertheless draws the attention to how a moral order is reproduced in a religious community. Chantel also seemed to wonder how unmarried young mothers thought they would be chosen to serve in a position of trust in the church. She pointed at the aspect that leaders were expected to be examples for the younger generation. In turn, Tania, who belonged to the same church as Chantel, spoke of a young woman who, according to her account, had expressed a similar clear-cut moral stance. Tania said that in her church’s young women’s group they had discussed the possibility of approaching the church board and asking them to include counselling in the disciplining process of unmarried young mothers to avoid “traumatising” people. One of the participants had been against the counselling idea and, according to Tania, had argued: “They give you

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that sense of: it’s right for you to do it because now there’s counselling and stuff. And why should they provide the counselling for you?” In these two examples it seemed clear that the young women were worried about their peers complicating their lives by having a child. Yet in both examples, and especially in Chantel alluding to who qualifies to hold a position of trust, it seemed that for some people hierarchies might emerge among youths around this given issue. The second perspective on the question of moral norms in the church community speaks to the young person partly excluding herself from the said community because of a sense of having failed the norms of the church. Natasha used to be active in church, but by the time of the interview she had stopped attending many of the activities she used to participate in. As mentioned above, she said she grew tired of feeling that God did not see her. In relation to speaking of why she quit going to a particular prophecy group that she used to visit at another church, Natasha further said: …like my whole life was just a mess, you know, like I was making one mistake after another, so I thought no, let me not go back … So I had to decide now where I want to be in life, ja. But with a community like Riverlea it’s hard to make such a decision cause you get tempted to do worldly things a lot and if you’re not persistent in your faith … you get eaten up by those very quickly.

As in Chantel’s interview, here too the moral boundary between the church and the world appears to be clear. Natasha felt like she was “a big disappointment” to her own church community for having had a child with her boyfriend, even if they had been supportive of her. She also recounted how her pregnancy changed her dream of working in the church: “it’s pointless for me to live like in sin and then preach the Word of God, so I didn’t want to do it anymore.” Yet Natasha still perceived her religion as a source of strength and motivation to hold onto hope: Even after my children, I still had that hope that I sinned but God forgave me and I need to make right with him … I think it’s because of my religion that I’m still where I am today, keep fighting even in this crazy community, this crazy world.

Nevertheless, in relation to her faith community, Natasha had partly excluded herself by giving up her dream of working in the church and becoming a less active member of the congregation. To move from this particular issue to the more general level in thinking of moral norms, a few young people commented on churches’ being judgmental. Lerato, who had not had good experiences with churches herself, recounted:

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They always criticise, they think they’re holier than thou. They, they … There’s not much support going on there. People feel that they, they think that they’re supporting you but they’re not. Personally, me, I’ve just never had good experience with religion.

Like Lerato, Sharon critiqued the judgmental streak in churches directed at individuals. Nico, for his part, spoke about members of different denominations condemning one another: So that’s another reason why I … relapsed because for me I felt that there was too many condemnation cause I didn’t understand why would another Christian fight with another Christian … Cause I didn’t understand that okay if I’m a Catholic I have to defend my faith against more Christians.

In this way it seemed to matter to the young man that instead of getting along, churches set up dividing lines between their members. In this instance such division also complicated the actualisation of neighbourhood cohesion. Potentially then, by belonging to a church a young person was set up against other young people in the other churches in the neighbourhood (cf. Chapter 5 in this book).

8.8

Family and Church as Support Structures

For the majority of the interviewees their family was an important part of their social network and the backbone of their support system. Two thirds of the young people stayed with their mom or dad or both parents, and the rest with other family members. About two thirds mentioned one or more family members when asked where they went if they needed support – mother, grandma, cousin, uncle, aunt, brother. In many instances the parents or other relatives were connected to the same church to which the young person was or had been connected. In this sense, in the context of young people, the rootedness of FBOs in communities that development scholars claim to be one of FBOs’ assets in development work (cf. Chapter 5) could be said to manifest through the family. However, it is to be noted that we were also told by a person working with young people in Riverlea about parents who did not attend to their children and thus contributed to the problems the young people found themselves facing. In a similar tone, in one of the focus groups a young man directed critique towards some parents, whom he thought did not “care” about their children using drugs or wanting to drop out of school. For some of the interviewees their church provided an additional support structure. Four young women, Tania, Cindy, Chantel and Natasha, who all belonged to the same church, emphasised the nature of their church as a support network of

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people that they could go to when they needed help, thereby reflecting a strong sense of reciprocity and trust between members of the church. Three of them spoke of their church as “family” or “home”, and they all told of older people in the church, the pastor, the members of the church board and certain “seniors” to whom they could tell their troubles. For example, Tania spoke of how she was comfortable talking about her troubles to the older members of the congregation, and felt that they were genuinely supporting her: Like there’s one of the seniors in our church that I feel so comfortable with talking about, like especially with unemployment and stuff, and I know she’s there to give me advice because sometimes you don’t wanna go to your own family … And you get an, you get an objective opinion from that person … And they actually show you love cause now after you’ve spoken to them about your situation they’ll always come back to you and say, “How are you doing?”

As a concrete example, one young woman said she got help with quitting drugs after talking to an older woman in her church: And then this lady that was in our church, I told her about it and then I got help … We had an open relationship so it was easier for me to tell her and she didn’t go and run and tell my family and stuff.

In this concrete way the trust she shared with her church community affected her position in relation to the broader neighbourhood as well. On the other hand, another young woman shared a contrary experience in a focus group conversation. The priest at her church had urged her to attend church more regularly, implying that her not having a job could be related to her failure to attend church: He was like, ‘Ah, maybe that’s why you won’t find a job because you don’t attend church.’ I was like how can you say that! Ja, and … [missing word] you don’t always find it (support) maybe.

Also, it was not only the older members that were thought of as a support base. Cindy talked about support amongst her peers at church. She said that she met her “real friends” at the church, and these were people that she knew she could rely on and they would provide her with advice and help when she needed it. Chantel, for her part, spoke of how the younger girls in the church talked to her “about anything”, and her sense of responsibility towards them: “I want what’s best for them.”

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Besides these experiences of support that are based on relationality and community, some young people spoke of FBOs’ support role in the community more generally and on a less personal level. A few interviewees mentioned church activities that had taken a visible form in public spaces and were aimed at raising awareness, such as drug walks: I won’t be able to tell you which churches do what, but I know there’ll be like drug walks or, you know, parades or stuff like that. Just to stop drugs, or helping, it’s just a kind of a benefit thing (Chantel).

Another support activity that was mentioned by many was delivering food parcels or running soup kitchens by mosques, in particular, but also by churches. While most of the interviewed young people perceived FBOs through a predominantly positive or neutral lens, there were also critical views; this kind of charity, for example, was a phenomenon that was perceived through both approving and critical lenses. The critical comments included, for instance, “spoon-feeding” people instead of providing longer-term empowerment through activities related to employment or education (Natasha). In other words, FBOs seemed to play a role both in immediate first-aid type assistance in Riverlea and, at least for some, in creating a social safety net. Perhaps it is also worth repeating here that the two organisations – which were not faith-based or affiliated with an FBO – through which we found some of the interviewees also operated in premises owned by churches. While our data cannot speak of the FBOs in Riverlea in a representative manner, these three perspectives show at least the potential of FBOs to contribute to the social safety nets for young people in relation to different needs.

8.9

Conclusion

A key idea that emerged in the Riverlea case study was a perception of FBOs as an alternative to the “margins”. Margins should then be understood mainly in relation to the neighbourhood itself, in other words, as being located at the places of rupture in the social fabric created by phenomena such as drug abuse, unemployment or teenage pregnancies. These ruptures contradict a vision, seemingly supported by the mainstream society but also the youth themselves, according to which finishing school, possibly studying further, having a job and taking care of one’s family are the admirable things to do. As the analysis in this chapter has shown, the young people saw or wanted to see FBOs as actors that enable NEET youth in a challenging neighbourhood, marked by structural inequalities, to navigate their way into adult

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life in line with mainstream society’s expectations. In large part this view of the potential of FBOs to function as alternative spaces was premised on the mere existence of church spaces and youth activities in those spaces (that is, keeping the young person busy), regardless of whether such activities directly dealt with the concrete challenges that the young people spoke about. Through such activities the young people could forge a sense of belonging in a community that promoted an alternative way of life compared to the potentially rough street culture, even if not necessarily alternative in relation to society at large. Moreover, family also seemed to play a part in facilitating young people’s access to these alternative faith-based spaces, since, as indicated above, the connection between an FBO and a young person was often linked to family networks. However, as was illustrated in the chapter, the notion of an alternative space did not only strengthen social cohesion, understood as participation in communities and society and cooperation with others; besides the many positive comments about FBOs helping youths to stay “in line”, as one of the young men put it, the data also exposed the potential of the moral codes of these alternative spaces to have an exclusionary impact. Some of the issues that were characteristic to the NEET context in Riverlea, such as drugs or teenage pregnancies, seemed to have the potential to become issues dividing young people in the church and outside the church. Likewise, in some instances, the same issues featured as a push to (partially) exclude oneself from the church, or as the basis for perceptions of hierarchies among church youths. Lastly, one of the interviewees above pointed at social, religious or moral norms also playing into tensions between different FBOs in the neighbourhood. To recap, the notion of an alternative space affected one of the two aspects of social cohesion, namely, impact on social relations (cf. Chapter 4), both positively and negatively. On the one hand, young people perceived FBOs to have a positive impact on their participation in the so-called normal ways of society. On the other, the dividing lines between “alternative” and “other” also created social tension and distrust. The drug and employment-related challenges that the young people spoke so much about drew attention in particular to the other one of the two aspects of social cohesion, namely, the reducing of social inequalities as a requirement for cohesion, at both structural and personal levels. An expectation of FBOs to participate in such a task was reflected in the interviews, often simply in relation to reversing inequality at the personal level. The social challenges that the young people addressed further indicate the need to think of social cohesion not only at the level of the neighbourhood but also in relation to other, more privileged neighbourhoods. Although our interviews concentrated only on the neighbourhood level, the case of Riverlea raises the question about the implications of the dynamics at the neighbourhood level for the city level, and more so, raises questions about the young person’s opportunities in the broader city based on their home neighbourhood (cf. Chapter 4). While

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these questions seem worthwhile subjects for future research, our data speak more directly about the need for such spatial sensitivity when thinking about cohesion between the different parts of a neighbourhood itself.

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Chapter 9: A Story of Continued Separateness NEET Young People and Faith-Based Organisations in Franschhoek

Some of the young people there said ‘Well, we have never ever been to Franschhoek’ and they are literally ten kilometres outside of town, which is a big problem. I mean, they don’t know what is going on, they don’t even know what the town looks like, and then you have people sitting in this town which are some of the richest people in the world probably (Neil, representative of a community organisation, Franschhoek).

9.1

Introduction

Franschhoek, a small town in the Western Cape province of South Africa, mirrors the gross inequality prevalent in South Africa in a significant way (cf. Chapter 3). Young people in Franschhoek find themselves in a town separated along racial and spatial lines, with much higher population densities and lower incomes in the areas where predominantly coloured and black people live. In this chapter we present insights from young people who were in a NEET situation – not in education, employment or training – when our research was conducted, hence telling a story about their continued separatedness from broader social integration, participation in mainstream economic activity, as well as from exposure to developmental opportunities and religious activities. This chapter seeks to offer a perspective on the nature and extent to which faithbased organisations (FBOs) are strengthening or weakening social cohesion in the way they relate to marginalised young people in Franschhoek. The chapter provides background to Franschhoek in terms of the locality, the religious context as well as the social and economic context, including the state of employment, education and training of young people. It first discusses data collected in Franschhoek, followed by the presentation and discussion of the collected findings under specific themes.

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9.2

Franschhoek in a Nutshell

Franschhoek is one of the oldest towns in South Africa. It was established as a service centre for the agricultural community living in the valley (Cottyn: 2011, 37). In terms of the grouping of towns for the purpose of local government in the Western Cape, Franschhoek forms part of Stellenbosch Municipality. It is located approximately 75 kilometres from Cape Town and has a population of over 17 000 inhabitants (cf. Statistics South Africa: 2014c). The main produce of Franschhoek is grapes and fruit (Cottyn: 2011, 37). Franschhoek has evolved to become one of the top five South African destinations for both domestic and foreign tourists. The tourism sector, including hospitality and the wine industry, now constitutes the primary economic activity of the town (Cottyn: 2011, 37). As with most South African cities and towns, the spatial division of Franschhoek continues to echo apartheid planning, simultaneously tied to economic conditions. In other words, those areas designated for black and coloured people on the margins of cities and towns following the promulgation of the Group Areas Act of 1953 continue to be populated predominantly by black and coloured people. Apartheid legislation also divided Franschhoek along racial and class lines, which have become even more entrenched by recent developments and changes. Since 1990 Franschhoek experienced significant changes and developments because of renewed economic interest in the area from investors abroad. The inflow of capital and expanded economic growth resulted in significant land cover changes between 1990 and 2008, the period of Willemse’s (2008) study on the extent and nature of development and change in land cover in the Franschhoek Valley. According to Willemse, this land cover change divided Franschhoek effectively into two towns, Franschhoek North, or Groendal, and Franschhoek South, separated by high-quality agricultural land (2008, 4). Spatial separation thus contributes to the isolation and separatedness of the young people interviewed for this chapter. As is explained in Chapter 4 of this book, these divisions have disabled social cohesion across South African society, and in the process have influenced relationships between racial groups and communities, as well as between socio-economic classes. According to the 2011 census survey by Statistics South Africa, the population of Franschhoek also resides in three other residential areas outside Franschhoek South and North. These residential areas are Hugenote, Langrug and Wemmershoek (Statistics South Africa: 2016b). These areas are relatively far removed from the centre of Franschhoek South and house poorer communities, mostly from the coloured and black population groups. Langrug is the most densely populated area, housing 12 513 (mostly black) people, on 1.17 km2 compared to Franschhoek South, where 907 people reside on 2.66 km2 (Statistics South Africa: 2016b). Groendal, where most coloured people in Franschhoek reside, houses 1 888 people on 0.38 km2 (Statistics South Africa: 2016b).

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In terms of Willemse’s (2008, 4) North–South categorisation of Franschhoek mentioned above, 72.1 per cent of the town’s white population resides in Franschhoek South and none in Groendal, while 11.8 per cent of the coloured population group resides in Franschhoek South and 55.8 per cent in Groendal (Cottyn: 2011, 43). Stellenbosch Municipality’s Integrated Development Plan (2013, 75) for Franschhoek promotes the integration of Franschhoek North and South. The ongoing effects of Franschhoek’s spatial division became apparent during the interviews and will be discussed later in this chapter. Franschhoek has experienced a higher growth in foreign property investment than other small towns in the country (Van Laar et al.: 2014). Since 1994 it has been experiencing what some regard as a “second wave of colonialism” (Van Laar et al.: 2014, 194). Foreign owners from predominantly European countries tend to spend the South African summer in Franschhoek. They are absent during the winter and are consequently referred to as “swallows” (Van Laar et al.: 2014, 194). Swallows are a sector of the social fabric of the town, albeit one that is partly and not fully integrated into the area. According to Van Laar et al. (2014, 201), foreignisation and gentrification processes in Franschhoek impede redress of the spatial legacy of apartheid. In terms of age distribution, 20.6 per cent of the Franschhoek population is between the ages of 15 and 24 years. As with the overall population of Franschhoek, the balance between the genders for this age category is evenly poised (10.2 per cent male and 10.4 per cent female) (Statistics South Africa: 2016b). Of the Franschhoek population aged 20 years and older, only 6.3 per cent have higher education training and 23.5 per cent have matriculated (that is, completed high school) (Statistics South Africa: 2016b). Unemployment in Franschhoek stands at 32.6 per cent (Statistics South Africa: 2016b). Current municipal development priorities for Franschhoek thus aptly include youth development and job creation (Stellenbosch Municipality: 2013, 131–133). Franschhoek is an overwhelmingly Christian town. The Salamander Publishing Team (2018, 12–14) produces a booklet for the purpose of advertising local places of interest. Amongst other categories in the general information section, the booklet provides contact details for “Churches” as well as “Local Organisations”. The booklet has no section for broad categories such as “religious institutions” or “places of worship”. Given that this is a locally produced booklet, one can thus deduce one of two probabilities. In the first instance, Christianity is the dominant faith in Franschhoek. Alternatively, or perhaps concurrently, alternative faiths have not been integrated and/or organised in the local milieu. In summary, although there might be single identities for different parts of Franschhoek, a shared sense of spatial belonging and identity, which Angell and De Beer indicate as an element of social cohesion in Chapter 4 of this book, is unlikely in Franschhoek. The challenge to develop a shared identity among people who

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live such vastly disparate lives is complicated. However, the social integration and inclusion of individuals and communities constitute an important element of social cohesion in South African policy (DAC: 2012). As such it can be acknowledged that Stellenbosch Municipality’s already mentioned Integrated Development Plan (2013, 75) for Franschhoek also promotes the integration of Franschhoek North and South.

9.3

Doing Fieldwork in Franschhoek

In this section we briefly describe how the findings presented in this chapter were gathered. The research process commenced in early 2014 by our first gaining a sense of the physical environment as well as the social context of the area. On 19 February 2014 FBOs and other community organisations focusing on youth in Franschhoek were invited to a workshop. Sixteen such organisations were present at the meeting, although not all were faith-based. During March 2015 the Franschhoek team interviewed young people from Franschhoek. As none of our research team resided in Franschhoek, the selection of participants relied on one of our team member’s existing relationship with a key community leader.1 This community leader was asked to identify young people from Franschhoek between the ages of 18 and 24 who were not employed nor at an educational institution. In total 22 young people from Franschhoek were interviewed. Most of the interviews were conducted in community halls, while a few interviews were conducted at the homes of these young people. This was done either in English or Afrikaans, but not isiXhosa – the other language widely spoken in the area but in which none of our team members was conversant. The biographical breakdown of the 22 young people interviewed with regards to their denominational membership, gender, race and language of interview was as follows: – 8 were from an Apostolic Christian denomination, 5 from Pentecostal/ charismatic denominations and 4 were affiliated with a Reformed denomination; – 1 was from the Rastafarian religion and 4 had no religious affiliation; – 15 of the 22 were female and 7 male; – 19 of the 22 were coloured and 3 African; – 19 interviews were conducted in Afrikaans and 3 in English.

1 This community leader has been involved in community-based activities for many years and resides in one of the former coloured townships of Franschhoek.

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In late 2015 the research team conducted focus group interviews. A focus group interview schedule was developed based on the themes identified in the individual interviews and any gaps the team wanted to fill. Two focus groups, one with men and one with women, were conducted in a local Franschhoek community hall. The majority of the focus group participants were female, coloured, Afrikaans-speaking and Christian. During the interviews and focus group sessions six organisations were mentioned relatively frequently. This led to a next data-collection phase where interviews were conducted with seven representatives from these six organisations (one organisation elected two representatives to take part in the interview). Two organisations were churches – one from the Reformed tradition and one a Pentecostal/charismatic church in the coloured community, with a membership of more than three thousand people (1 800 adults alone). The Pentecostal/charismatic church was a community church with an active youth group in the coloured community. Two organisations were NGOs with no official faith connection. The first provided statutory services in terms of child protection legislation. The second was a community-based organisation that had been in existence since 2003, focusing on younger children and parents with young children. While having no official faith ties, the second organisation engaged in many religious activities and stated that their staff and volunteers were driven by their personal faith convictions. One of the six organisations mentioned above was a registered non-profit organisation functioning as the social development arm of a Pentecostal/charismatic church. The last of the six organisations had no religious ties or activities and focused on promoting the performing arts. It appeared that young people taking part in the interviews and group sessions repeatedly mentioned this organisation, which was not only well connected and very active in Franschhoek, but also started by youths and run by youths for youths. The following breakdown summarises the gender and racial composition of the seven individuals interviewed as representatives of the respective organisations, as well as the nature of the institutional affiliation of these individuals (based on the above organisational identification): – 3 representatives were female, and 4 male; – 4 representatives were coloured, and 3 white; – 2 representatives, both coloured and male, were pastors of the churches involved; – the 3 female representatives were affiliated to the two NGOs with no official faith connection, and the remaining 2 male representatives respectively to the NPO with a formal Pentecostal/charismatic connection and the community-based organisation with no formal faith-based connection.

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9.4

Young People’s Separatedness in Franschhoek

The findings from the fieldwork are discussed in four separate sections. Firstly, we take a deeper look into the factors that impede the education and employment opportunities of young people in Franschhoek. Secondly, we take a closer look at the lack of parental involvement and the noticeable absence of fathers as a further aggravating factor of young people’s “separatedness” in Franschhoek. This is followed, thirdly, by a discussion of the way that friendship and isolation feature in the lives of young people in Franschhoek. Lastly, we discuss FBOs in Franschhoek, with a particular focus on the six organisations identified by the youth participants, regarding the bridging and linking role these FBOs play within the broader community. 9.4.1

Factors Impeding Young People’s Limited Education and Employment Opportunities

One’s ability to find and hold “decent” employment is a crucial condition for inclusion in society. Furthermore, the level and nature of one’s education have a major influence on employment opportunities. Chapter 2 of this book describes the connection between the prospects of meaningful employment, on the one hand, and the factors of meaningful education attainment and training, on the other, as a distinctive feature of the South African discourse on the concept of NEET. In this section we reflect on the education and employment of the young people in Franschhoek, as explained by those young people who were interviewed. Our interviewees made a clear link between education and employment. For instance, many of these young people did not complete secondary schooling (high school); in their view, this left them with limited employment opportunities. As Zeldanette (19-year old female) explained: “If one left school at an early stage, then one doesn’t really get a job easily.” Young people furthermore offered various reasons for leaving school early. Given the relatively small sample of young people interviewed, the variety of reasons reported by them is noteworthy. They reported being expelled for bad behaviour, failing because subjects were too difficult, failing because they were too lazy to do their schoolwork, having financial challenges that impeded school attendance, and leaving school because they fell pregnant. The financial challenges took on different guises: some could not afford school fees, while others could not afford transport and uniforms. When parents were unable or unwilling to make the required contribution, learners’ access to schooling was curtailed. According to Holte and Rabe (Chapter 3 of this book), statistics show that in the South African context family commitments and pregnancies are relatively frequently cited reasons for leaving school early.

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A Story of Continued Separateness

School attendance is an important avenue through which young people in the Franschhoek community – both male and female – are included into and form part of an in-group. Carl, the pastor of a Reformed church, noted the social prejudice in Franschhoek society towards those who drop out of the school system. Nonattendance of school hampers social integration, thus contributing to a form of separatedness within the community. Mariaan, representing an NGO rendering statutory services, commented that participation at the local sports centre also required that a young person be affiliated to a school. Unsurprisingly, given the low rate of high school completion, not many interviewees made reference to tertiary education. Where high school was completed, financial limitations were the barrier to tertiary education. According to Holte and Rabe (Chapter 3), lack of money to pay fees is the most cited reason amongst South African 15–24 year-olds for not attending an educational institution. Andile (18-year-old male), who completed high school, explained that that was why he could not study further: “I was starting college … but my mother did not have much money to let me go to a tertiary institution.” Unemployment among the young people of Franschhoek is common. Although all the young people were unemployed at the time of the interviews, some had been employed in the past. Reflecting the Franschhoek economy, the employment opportunities reported by our interviewees were mainly within the agricultural and tourism sectors. Opportunities in the agricultural sector included working in fields, pressing grapes, labelling wine bottles, storehouse work, cellar work and fruit packing. Positions in tourism and hospitality included guesthouse cleaning, restaurant work, kitchen work, assisting during special events (e.g. weddings, parties, etc.) and baking. Other employment opportunities mentioned were in the domestic labour, public transport and construction sectors and the extended public works programme. The types of employment opportunities identified by the young people were mainly cyclical in nature, as well as generally short-term. The limited education that young people reported also impacted on the nature of employment they were able to access. The employment was generally in relatively unskilled work with consequent low wages and, because of the seasonal nature of the economy, also precarious. As Carol-Ann’s (26-year-old female) story illustrates: It’s a guesthouse … I went to clean there perhaps twice a week, and then I was late and I worked at [name of new place of employment].2 I was a scullery worker there for a year. I washed dishes. Then I became pregnant, then I stopped working, and it was then that I got a job, but I wouldn’t say that I was always at that job, because it is seasonal work.

2 To ensure anonymity no names mentioned by participants are used in the chapter.

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It’s like a packing shed3 in Stellenbosch, [name of workplace]. I worked there and that was the last job that I had for a while … As you know, seasonal work is when the fruit is finished, there is no work then.

The immediate social relations and conditions of interviewees placed added strain on their capacity to find and hold employment. For example, it appeared that many among them were responsible for either young children or aged relatives. This impeded their capability to find and hold employment. Elanza (22-year-old female) explained: I’ve worked at a guesthouse up here in town for a short while … But when my little son had congestion of the lungs, we found out he had a problem with his lungs, and then the people said I can’t keep on going into and out of hospital with the guesthouse being full at times, but then I said but I’m going to leave my job because of my child’s illness.

Our findings revealed that schooling and employment opportunities for young parents, and particularly young mothers, were duly compromised. During the interviews parenthood was cited as a reason why some young people did not complete school. In other words, in this community the responsibility of young mothers to care for their children, their inability to purchase such services and the absence of such services available free of charge compromised their education and employment opportunities. Consequently the capability of these mothers to be incorporated into mainstream economic activities was not buffered in any way, which further intensified their vulnerability. But neither were FBOs spaces where relief might be sought. In this respect, Carl revealingly explained that young women who dropped out of school as a result of pregnancy were sometimes stigmatised within the church. Isolation, a particularly acute form of separatedness, might be the most appropriate description of the position that young mothers occupy in the Franschhoek community. This was confirmed by our findings, suggesting that motherhood exacerbated the process of social isolation for young women in this community. An absence of a wide and reliable social safety net in the lives of the young women interviewed amplified the effect of motherhood on them in ways that were different from those who had access to such social safety nets. But this may be true for fathers as well. A young father, Damien (18-year-old), related in an interview that he had to quit his job in order to pick up his child and the mother at the hospital after the birth of their child. There was no one else available who could do so, forcing him to choose between his responsibilities as an employee and his responsibilities as a

3 Fruit is packed for distribution and export at packing sheds.

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young father. At the time of the interview Damien had been unemployed for two months. Yet it became clear that young women were most affected. The responsibilities with regard to raising a child, together with the absence of support structures that could assist young women, contributed to their social isolation and economic exclusion, rendering them entirely separated from opportunities. In this case a reproduction of poverty became clearly visible – not because of the inability of individuals to care for one another, but as a result of their inability to access resources to enable such care. The findings in Franschhoek suggest that the capability of young people at the margins to make use of education and employment opportunities would be substantially enhanced if social services such as childcare were available. On the whole, the situation described by the young people in Franschhoek suggests that they constitute part of what Seekings and Nattrass (2008, 44, 271) refer to as the reserve army of labour or “underclass of society”. Priorities set by the Stellenbosch Municipality for promoting youth development and job creation for young people in Franschhoek provided evidence that the local political authorities seemed serious about meeting the education, training and employment challenges of young people in this region (Stellenbosch Municipality: 2013, 131–133). Nevertheless, in our research we did not find evidence of young people referring to such municipal programmes during the interviews. Interviewees did not respond enthusiastically to questions related to entrepreneurship. Nor did they consider formal channels of obtaining work as reliable. As Aneschke (26-year-old female) explained, one has to know people already working at an establishment: I handed in my CV during the week … I don’t think the CVs help, because all over in town my CV has already been handed in, but it’s all a matter of knowing the people to be able to get into a place.

In summary, then, our discussion of the findings in this section demonstrates that education and employment were severely limited for the young people in Franschhoek. Young people often did not complete formal schooling as prescribed by law. This limited their opportunities for employment in a labour market characterised by low skills, low pay and precariousness. In addition the burden of care of young children and the aged was not buffered for young people in this community, further limiting their capability to take up the already limited opportunities available. Such consequent separatedness spawned social isolation and economic exclusion, which appeared to be intense and acute for young people in Franschhoek.

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9.4.2

Absent Fathers, Male Absenteeism and Dysfunctional Family Structures

The living arrangements of the young people told a story about where they belong and who the people were that had a significant impact on their lives. The majority of young people indicated that they were living with a single parent, together with extended family members. Gianette (26-year-old female), for example, stated that her household included “my mother, my auntie, my niece and my two cousins and my child and my niece’s mother”. From the interviews it became clear that fathers were mostly absent from family life and single mothers were taking responsibility for families. Antoinette, representing an NGO rendering statutory services, viewed the lack of parental guidance and broken family structures as one of the biggest challenges facing the community of Franschhoek: “I think that’s probably where the biggest challenge lies, its family structures are just a massive problem.” Carl (the pastor of a Reformed church mentioned above) claimed that “if one young man can get a break, he can change his whole family’s life;” Matthew, a representative of the development arm of one of the local churches, argued that this problem had become cyclical and generational, with each subsequent generation of young people in Franschhoek repeating the hopelessness and poverty of the preceding one: The cycle of poverty they are in … doesn’t instil within them an ability to hope … they don’t believe that they can achieve much because of the cycle they are in. They don’t get, I guess, as much opportunities as for example a person who has the right family structure.

Marlena, representative of an NGO that develops child and youth programmes, claimed that many parents were absent, sometimes physically and at other times also emotionally. As a result, she claimed, children did not feel special, because they did not receive attention from parents. According to Marlena, “things are bad in the community and parents are worried about food and other things. There is no time to give attention.” Similarly, Matthew stated: Some families neglect youth and children more than others and have bigger issues, bigger problems than others or have things that get passed down generations. For example, alcohol abuse, drug abuse … It just snowballs into a vicious cycle.

The phenomenon of “the absent father” is a huge challenge in Franschhoek. Mariaan (representative of the same NGO as Antoinette) emphasised this challenge when she referred to her own emotional experience in her profession when writing

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A Story of Continued Separateness

reports for children’s court procedures: “If I must deal with one more case of ‘father unknown’, I will certainly kill him – if I could only lay my hands on such a figure.” She then proceeded to comment on the interconnectedness between poverty, teenage pregnancy and absent fathers as follows: I think it is a very tough thing for a lot of mothers to raise up children where the fathers are absent and teenage pregnancy is massive in those communities and it literally, I think, boils down to basically fundamental emotional issues if you get born into a povertystricken community. Like I said you’ve got … massive issues of rejection, massive issues of neglect.

According to Antoinette, women were the stronger leaders in the communities in which she and her NGO served. She was of the opinion that women were forced to be strong, because men were not always taking up their responsibilities. The absent father syndrome caused women to be left alone with their babies and the responsibilities of caring. While some men did come to the fore to take responsibility, much more needed to be done. Antoinette stated that “faith communities” were challenged to develop a “super” programme for boys in order to teach them skills to take responsibility for their children and to be part of a family. Carl, in turn, responded forcefully to the issue of gender configurations in society and specifically regarding the role of men within the community his church served. He stated: Men do not have a role. They are nowhere to be found. The women are the people who stand strong and take the lead. And this is not something that originated yesterday. It is a big and old issue.

According to Carl, it was the women – mothers and grandmothers – who were teaching children to read the Bible and participate in the formal religious activities of the church. He described the attitude of most of the men (fathers) in the communities he worked with as only taking responsibility to put food on the table of the family. They did not involve themselves with the emotional and relational needs of the family. Within this seemingly dysfunctional social structure, families nevertheless played a significant role in young people’s lives. Even families that might seem broken and dysfunctional to outsiders were often the central place where young people were cared for, according to Marlena. She added that a large part of the support for young people came from families, while Antoinette related that in the family support programmes of her NGO, the biological parents of teenage parents often became foster parents to the children of their daughters or sons.

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While family structures appeared to be central to the lives of our young people, Carl argued that it was families that also contributed to reproducing the cycle of poverty. This was evident from Matthew’s statements above related to issues such as drug abuse and alcoholism passed down from generation to generation. 9.4.3

Isolation

The theme of isolation was picked up especially among the young people when they described the community they lived in as well as their relationship with friends and neighbours in that community. Many young people expressed a very negative view of their community as illustrated in Daleen’s (18-year-old female) response to the question of what she liked about the community: “To be honest I don’t like anything in our community, it’s a shambolic community.” Other young people explained that it was the character of many people that made their environment negative. Aneshke (26-year-old female) described people in her environment as “a little hostile ... their character is kind of destructive.” And Danie (17-year-old male) expressed the view that relationships between people in his neighbourhood were restricted: “We do not talk much to our neighbours. We are restricting ourselves to our own domestic affairs.” Several interviewees discussed the importance and impact of their friends on their lives and the values they live by. The places or institutions where friendships were formed appeared to be schools and churches, implying that if young people were not in school or involved in religious organisations, then any opportunities for meeting friends were limited. The influence of friends was experienced as either positive or negative, and therefore choosing friends seemed to be a very important decision that could impact on one’s life significantly. In this regard interviewees reported that friendships were formed based on shared interests in things such as dancing, singing and soccer. Xavier-John (18-year-old male) explained this as follows: The reason why I chose those friends that I had is because they were all interested in dancing, just like me. I wanted all the way to be like Michael Jackson. And so we mixed.

It was interesting to learn that some young people indicated that they made a conscious decision to end certain friendships, or refused to be friends with others, because of their perceived negative influence. In many cases this negative influence took the form of alcohol or drug abuse. Gertjie (24-year-old male) explained: “Well, I don’t really have friends around here, see … because my friends that have been with me, they are into drugs.”

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While isolation could be viewed as negative, especially concerning the formation of social cohesion, some participants described not having friends as the preferred and positive option in this particular context. Quite a significant number of young people indicated that they either left friends or made the choice not to have friends in order not to get involved with drugs and alcohol. It seems as though some of the young people interviewed tried to isolate themselves from former friends on purpose in order to protect themselves from other social ills and destructive behaviour. Nevertheless, there were also those young people who experienced their lack of friends as something negative. Friendships have a significant impact on how young people live their lives and especially the morals and values they live by. However, from our research in Franschhoek it became clear that unemployment and the associated economic and financial challenges impacted on young people’s mobility and participation in activities that could lead to friendships or strengthening of existing friendships. Furthermore, the fact that many left school prematurely also minimised their opportunities to make new friends. For many of the young people interviewed, contact with neighbours was also limited. Factors relating to social cohesion, such as bridging and bonding social capital, as well as trust (cf. Chapter 4 of this book), appeared to be sorely missing from the lives of these young people. Experiences of isolation emerged from the young people’s narratives, despite the fact that Franschhoek is a relatively small town and many young people found themselves staying at home because they were unemployed. In general it appeared as if community interaction was limited in Franschhoek. This isolation and immobility of young people were embedded in different layers in the society, which Neil so eloquently and potently formulated in the quotation at the beginning of this chapter. As was mentioned earlier, the places where friendships were formed were schools and religious communities such as churches. From the interview with Carl it became clear that access to faith communities was also limited because of the lack of public transport at certain times, such as evenings, when specific church activities were taking place. He explained how this presented itself as a problem for his own congregation: Our problem at present is that because our church building is situated in town (Franschhoek South) and the taxis do not operate in the evenings, it is difficult for members to get to the church premises to participate in these activities.

Spatial separation between the place of residence and the place of worship thus clearly affected the ability of, among others, the younger members of this particular congregation to participate in its activities, at least on certain occasions and at some times. This illustrates the way in which factors such as poverty and lack of access

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to vital resources such as public transport become paramount in contributing to the isolation not only of a certain section of a local South African community (in this case of the town of Franschhoek) more generally speaking, but especially its young people, to the extent that they are not even aware of a world just a few kilometres beyond their daily experiences. Social cohesion, in the sense of shared values and common experiences of participation and inclusion, thus becomes hard to comprehend. 9.4.4

Faith-Based Organisations: Common but not Cohesive

The young people interviewed by us identified 18 different FBOs in Franschhoek, 16 of which were churches. The majority of these young people did not know of any FBOs apart from churches and commented that churches were an important part of the social infrastructure in Franschhoek, as most inhabitants belong to, or are members of, a particular church, either by personal choice or based on family history. At the same time, however, such appreciation of the role of the churches in the community of Franschhoek did not mean that they were themselves necessarily overtly devoted to or positive about the worship practices and ministry activities of their churches. One member of the all-female focus group explained: At our church, it is like the people are only looking to see what you are wearing, and they are watching you, and it is a fashion parade. It is only about clothes and whatever.

Marlena, the NGO representative whom we have already cited above, explained that while it was especially young people who were increasingly attending church, it did not seem to affect their behaviour: I see that the youth have the tendency to really go to church. These days the churches are full of youth. All the churches, different churches are full of youth. But their actions after that service show that everything is back to normal. It is not like they grow spiritually, nor do they change according to the Word … The youth are becoming more and more aware that they must go to church. So I don’t know if this is a good thing or not, it is not for me to say. But it still worries me, even in the church itself they are nasty to each other.

Other FBO leaders did not necessarily agree with Marlena. Russel, the male pastor of a Pentecostal/charismatic church, felt that young people did not go to church of their own accord: “You must go and get them. They don’t come out of their own.” Most of the young people interviewed stated that although they were members of a certain church, they never attended any form of church service. Thus, affiliation with or membership of a church did not necessarily mean that the person commits

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to the life of the faith community and in that way become part of a larger social unit. The majority of the young people interviewed were critical of the lack of cohesion and cooperation between FBOs, especially amongst churches. Some of the interviewees were quite negative about the social role of church communities with regard to social cohesion and integration. They felt that the churches were in competition with one another and rarely worked together. During the all-female focus group with young people the whole group felt that the churches in Franschhoek were in competition: “They rather work against each other than co-operate with one another.” The church representatives interviewed confirmed this sentiment. For example, Carl explained that this factor limited the impact that churches have in the community: I think our problem here in Franschhoek is that every church is on its own – and our church is also guilty of that. We are also part of the problem. Everyone tries to fix things in his own way, instead of doing it together. And that contributes to us doing less than what we should be able to do.

Neil, the representative of a community development organisation with no faith affiliation cited above, agreed that FBOs’ unwillingness to work together was a problem. He stated that, although churches and other FBOs wanted to reach out to the people in the community, they struggled to cooperate because they tended to protect their own ideas and people. He explained this lack of cooperation as follows: I think some people are just more protective over their focus as an organisation and they don’t really want other people to kind of take their vision away or to kind of intervene with it. Which is very understandable. So sometimes it’s really also hard to get people to buy into a big vision.

It appeared, though, that the FBOs which were not churches, as well as those churches with extensive community engagement, were better at creating partnerships and working in cooperation with others. Five of the six organisations whose representatives were interviewed (with the exception being the church without a community development focus) could identify civil society partnerships that were critical to their functioning. Cooperation appeared to be based on the personal relationships between leaders, and their individual willingness to work together, rather than on formalised structures. Both Russel and Antoinette (representatives of two different organisations) mentioned attempts in Franschhoek to form at least two network organisations to facilitate cooperation. However, for Antoinette the

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failure of these attempts to mobilise cooperative action underlined why interpersonal relationships could be considered as so important: “You get to know a person, and that person gets to know you, and then you are part of a team. It works.” The impact of FBOs in the community also appeared to rely to some extent on the leadership of the organisation. Russel articulated this issue well. He had been working for approximately 30 years in Franschhoek. His good reputation and positive relationships both with other churches and public institutions such as local government and the Department of Correctional Services, as well as his church’s focus on different generations in the community, contributed to the success of his church and even helped in accessing funding for its activities. Networking was thus singled out as crucial to the success of reaching community goals, as well as a “Kingdom vision” (a vision of what “God’s Kingdom” would look like and be established on earth and in eternity) that does not force people to belong only to a church or an organisation, but that it is about changing lives. In the words of Russel: “We have a healthier approach; it is not about an organisation. It is about the Kingdom.”

9.5

Conclusion

Faith-based organisations are an established and entrenched part of the Franschhoek community. The definition of an FBO opted for in Chapter 5 of this book, which identifies an FBO as “any organisation that derives inspiration and guidance from the teachings and principles of the faith or from a particular interpretation or school of thought within the faith” (Clarke & Jennings: 2008b, 6), proved to be optimally useful for the Franschhoek setting, as this definition supported inclusion of churches as FBOs. Churches seemed to be what the young people interviewed in Franschhoek most often identified as FBOs within their community. However, some of the young people interviewed were sceptical about the ability of the churches they associated with to facilitate social integration of young people in Franschhoek. Our research revealed that FBOs in Franschhoek ran activities that focused on young people in NEET situations. These included sport, drama, art and skills development activities, but also the offering of educational bursaries, leadership opportunities and social events. Young people, however, reported mainly a superficial connection to these organisations, and in most instances seemed to have little knowledge of their activities. As became clear from this case study research, for many young interviewees affiliation with a church contributed little to such individuals experiencing a greater sense of social integration and belonging. While many of the young people interviewed indicated some relationship to a certain church, they actually rarely attended any church service or other church-related activity in which interaction with other church members could take place.

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The research also revealed a dualistic position of FBOs in this community. It appeared as if FBOs have the potential to both contribute to, but also weaken, social cohesion in Franschhoek. Young people felt that especially the churches in the community are fragmented and in competition. FBOs themselves admitted that they struggled to work together and that this meant that they were not serving the community optimally. The spatial divide that resulted from forced relocation during apartheid has not been resolved. On the contrary, this divide has become even more entrenched since 1990, with the land cover change mentioned earlier contributing significantly to a sense of isolation and separation. Especially the cost but also lack of transport hamper young people’s ability to move around and they rarely go outside of their own residential areas. Visits to even the closest towns are rare occurrences. This spatial isolation is intertwined with the emotional, economic and political challenges in the community. The situation in Franschhoek might support the argument that social justice should be prioritised. Can it be possible to achieve social cohesion in such a divided community, if the social injustices of the past are not addressed? Social justice in the South African context, as so well illustrated by the Franschhoek case study, therefore needs to be regarded as a priority in order to create a setting where social cohesion becomes possible. It is thus appropriate that the South African political discourse on social cohesion emphasises addressing the inequalities and exclusions that hinder social cohesion. In Chapter 4 of this book Angell and De Beer discuss the case of “weak ties” at the neighbourhood level as a dimension of social capital. Such connections not only provide opportunities for exchange of services and support. In a town such as Franschhoek they importantly also need to become instrumental in overcoming the highlighted problems of spatial division and neo-colonial development to promote social justice and strengthen social cohesion. In a concrete way, the creation of new opportunities for employment, but also improvement of the quality of available employment, needs to be considered as a crucial element of addressing and enhancing marginalised young people’s experience of social justice and social cohesion in Franschhoek. This quest for social justice does not imply that there are no signs of social cohesion in Franschhoek. Although the family structure was singled out in our discussion as under pressure in this community, it also became evident that families were the institutions that provided the most care and assistance to young people. Yet families seemed to be under enormous stress. Teenage and extramarital pregnancies appeared to be common, combined with the fact that it was common for fathers to be absent. But despite the numerous challenges faced by families, we contend that the family as social unit could still be viewed as the context where social cohesion appears to be most visible and possible in the community of Franschhoek.

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Furthermore, we discovered that FBOs in this community prioritised the family. Yet it must be kept in mind that the challenges to social cohesion remain largely of a broader structural nature and widespread: inadequate education, lack of employment opportunities, and isolation, which are exacerbated by limited mobility and inadequate social support. Thus, although interventions at the individual and family level contribute positively to the wellbeing of young people at the margins, such interventions by themselves are not sufficient.

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Chapter 10: “Do the FBOs Know Where They Are Going?” Listening to the Voices of Rural Youth in the Emakhazeni Local Municipality

Do the churches know that they are supposed to help us or do they have any information of where to go so that they can help us? Because we do go to them and ask for something and then they are just praying for us and then tell us to pray, that’s all (Participant, focus group interview with male and female participants, Emthonjeni).

10.1

Introduction

This research explored the relationship between faith-based organisations (FBOs)1 and rural youths by applying the principles of Africanity to the research process. The two researchers identified the two “townships” of Sakhelwe2 (in DullstroomEmnotweni) and Emthonjeni (in Machadodorp–eNtokozweni) as research sites. These two areas are situated in the Emakhazeni local municipality on the Highveld of Mpumalanga, South Africa’s most eastern province. It is important to note that in rural South Africa the heritage of apartheid is still very visible in the relationship between impoverished poor black townships and neighbouring towns, often still dominated by white occupation and ownership.3 Consequently, we do refer to the marginalisation of youths in the townships of Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni vis-à-vis the privileges of people in the still predominantly white towns of Dullstroom and Machadodorp.

1 In this text, faith-based organisations refer to organised churches of any denomination. 2 The name “Sakhelwe”, meaning “We have built this for you,” has been rejected by some inhabitants of the area because it reminds them of the forced removals during apartheid. Others still refer to the area by its apartheid name as a “location”. 3 Census data provided by Statistics South Africa in 2011 confirmed that the population of Emakhazeni local municipality is overwhelmingly black. Inclusive of all the racial groups the specific figures were: 88.16 per cent black, 10.91 per cent white, 0.47 per cent coloured, 0.46 per cent Indian and Asian, and 2.8 per cent other (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, 15).

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The choice of the two areas was not based on the presumption of finding “data fishponds”4 for the research, but to respectfully build on existing relationships of trust and to create space for the interviewees to invite the researchers into an Africanity-oriented research process5 in which their concerns and life-worlds are prioritised.

10.2

Rural Emakhazeni: Parameters and Process of the Case Study

Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni were chosen as typical of the geographical, educational and social challenges rural youths in South Africa face today. The term “rural” refers firstly to the fact that these townships are situated in historically white-owned farming areas, and secondly, by the fact that basic health and social services are only available in towns more than 50 kilometres away. The authors gained access to this population as Christina Landman was a part-time minister of a local congregation in both areas at the time of the research. 10.2.1 Locality, Education Facilities and Employment Opportunities The youth of Emakhazeni are isolated by their rural locality. Dullstroom–Emnotweni and Machadodorp–eNtokozweni are halfway stops between the metropoles of Pretoria and Johannesburg and the Kruger National Park on the R540 and N4 roads respectively. Although the towns of Dullstroom and Machadodorp are frequented by tourists, Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni are hidden from view with no roads that connect them with the main entry points to the two towns. This makes transport to the business centre of the towns difficult. There is also little in terms of service provision for the two sites. Healthcare is limited to primary care clinics. Few, if any, of the young people in Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni have access to private transport.

4 The “white” town of Dullstroom–Emnotweni is known for its fly-fishing and fishponds as a tourist attraction from which the people in Sakhelwe gain very little (cf. Landman: 2015, 159). 5 Jacques Maquet defined the tenets of the concept of Africanity for the academic community in 1972 in his book Africanity: The Cultural Unity of Black Africa. In his conceptual analysis of Africanity, the South African theologian Rodney Tshaka (2007, 541) explains that “an African is one who is holistically rooted in the cultural setting from which s/he originated,” and adds that “one cannot be converted to being an African.” He locates the essence of Africanity “not in race but in commitment to the ideals of this continent” (Tshaka: 2007, 542). For the purpose of this research, we define Africanity as the values indigenous to a group that identifies with African ways of being and thinking. Africanity, as a determinant in research methodology, takes cognisance of the dialogical spaces between the binaries. These binaries can include racial identity and group identity, indigenous and traditional values, post-colonialism and post-racialism, and many more.

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“Do the FBOs Know Where They Are Going?”

Dullstroom and Machadodorp too are both small towns and depend on larger towns nearby for advanced medical services, food shopping, education and technology. The research sites are at least 50 km removed from any sizable towns (Lydenburg, Belfast and Middelburg), and since few inhabitants have transport, they struggle to access the basic resources listed above. At the time of conducting the research, information provided by the local police and FBOs suggested that around 8 000 people reside in Sakhelwe at any given time. From their estimations we also learned that only about 40 per cent of the inhabitants in Sakhelwe and half of the more or less 15 000 people living in Emthonjeni have access to running water, while approximately 70 per cent of households across the two areas have electricity. We also learned from local NGOs and the local clinics in the area that as many as 89 per cent of the working-age population in the two areas are unemployed and 47 per cent are infected with the HIV-virus. In Sakhelwe, the jobs available to the youths are mainly in the hospitality industry, that is, to be employed as waiters and cleaners in the 27 restaurants in Dullstroom’s main street (Landman: 2015, 158; Landman & Yates: 2017, 3). This situation of limited economic opportunities is further exacerbated by the youths’ lack of specific skills that can equip them for employment or self-employment. Related to this is the fact that the inhabitants do not have access to land to run businesses or to engage in farming activities.6 Mphilonhle Primary School and Siyifunile Secondary School provide basic education in Sakhelwe, but without any computer and laboratory facilities. The available statistics suggests that in Sakhelwe over 20 per cent of people over the age of 20 have never been exposed to any schooling, while about 30 per cent of children of school-going age (5–24 years) are not attending school (Statistics South Africa: 2011b). The same desperate socio-economic situation also prevails in Emthonjeni, where the unemployment rate has further escalated because of the closing of the Assmang chrome factory in 2015 and the downscaling of the Nkomati mine since 2010 (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, 103). Emthonjeni is double the size of Sakhelwe in terms of population and has five times more “shacks” in informal settlements. As a result, at the time of our research both areas suffered from a huge shortage of permanent housing and, according to the municipality’s Integrated Development Plan, Emakhazeni as a whole had “a backlog of 3 200 housing applications as per the municipal housing database” (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, 104). 6 The municipality, in its revised Integrated Development Plan (IDP), acknowledged the slow pace of land reform and restitution. It noted, for instance, that there were 705 claims lodged in the period from 1 July 2014 to 15 April 2015 and continued to identify “Land Reform and Restitution” as one of its strategic priority areas (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, v, 103–104).

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Emthonjeni, at the time of our research, accommodated pre-school and afterschool facilities originally built by Assmang chrome factory as part of their social responsibility as a business. Dumezizweni Primary School and Sikhulile Secondary School provide primary and secondary education, although statistical data suggest that an estimated 10 per cent of inhabitants over 20 have never received schooling. In the whole of eNtokozweni township, almost 9 per cent of the people have received tertiary education, which is high in comparison with the 1.4 per cent of Sakhelwe (Statistics South Africa: 2011c). In both Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni the local businesses – mainly spaza shops7 – do not belong to the locals but to immigrant shop owners from Pakistan, Zimbabwe and Mozambique. 10.2.2 Challenges Related to the Youth The Integrated Development Plan (IDP) of Emakhazeni lists the following as the challenges the municipality experiences in achieving its goal of “creating an enabling environment” that would “alleviate poverty and promote economic growth and development” in relation to its priority area of youth development: lack of career guidance and skills shortage; youth delinquency; under-parenting (including parental neglect, labour-related absence, and death); increasing number of childheaded families; moral decay; teenage pregnancy; substance and drug abuse; and the high rate of unemployment as a result of a lack of job opportunities for the youth (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, 68). The strategies envisaged by the IDP are aimed at equipping youths by way of education and practical skills, combatting substance and drug abuse, and educating the youth about HIV and AIDS. The aim is to produce skilled and employable youths, leading a healthier lifestyle with reduced pregnancy rates, a decline in substance and drug abuse, and lowering the prevalence of HIV and AIDS (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, 68–69). In 2016 half a million rand was budgeted by the municipality to achieve these aims through sports development, arts and culture development, drug and substance abuse awareness campaigns, health-promotion awareness campaigns, teenage pregnancy dialogue, career guidance, capacity-building workshops and entrepreneurship development programmes (Resource Person 3, Emakhazeni Youth Manager). However, the only visible outcome of these strategies was the youth centres that have been established, that is, Sakhisizwe Youth Centre in Sakhelwe, and Vukukhanye Youth Centre in Emthonjeni. These youth centres have only three to five computers each. When the researchers visited the youth centre in Sakhelwe, the personnel

7 Shops in informal buildings selling basic groceries.

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“Do the FBOs Know Where They Are Going?”

pointed out that the data provided for internet services were extremely limited, and that the youths do not visit the centres for this purpose because their computer skills are limited (there were no computers at school) and they do not want to feel embarrassed. Recreational facilities are restricted to informal soccer fields, and a majority of the youths are finding their “recreation” at the numerous shebeens (or drinking places). There is a small library in the main town of Dullstroom, although books are limited to Afrikaans and English, and the youths from the research sites cannot easily access the library. Two further remarks should be made about the youth situation. Firstly, according to the IDP (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, 13–15), youths between the ages of 15 and 24 constitute more than 25 per cent of the inhabitants of Emakhazeni. In the two areas under discussion this percentage could even have been higher. The youth, then, forms the largest group of all age groups in any given community in Emakhazeni. The second remark is that the IDP of the municipality did not, in any of its planning, strategies or implementation plans, involve the local faith-based organisations (FBOs) in any way. There was a single reference to the prevalence of HIV and AIDS where the municipality calls on FBO leaders to teach the youths morals and values with respect to sexuality (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, 76). However, this instruction did not include the provision of any material to enhance safe sex. “Religious groups” also formed part of the IDP Representative Forum (Emakhazeni Local Municipality: 2016, 3), although the reference is very vague and, as Landman discovered at one such meeting, local pastors seemed unaware that they were being represented on this forum. 10.2.3 Religious Context In Sakhelwe, at the time of our research, the three FBOs that were drawing the most members were firstly the Uniting Reformed Church in Southern Africa (URCSA), previously known as the Dutch Reformed Church in Africa. It is a mainline FBO that has become enculturated among its black members. Secondly, there is the Zion Christian Church (ZCC), the largest African Independent Church (AIC) in South Africa; and, thirdly, the Elohim Bible Church, which is a popular independent FBO. Another independent FBO, the St John’s Apostolic Faith Mission, has appeared on the scene more recently, as did another independent FBO from KwaZulu–Natal. There is a mosque on the border between main town Dullstroom and Sakhelwe with an onsite Imam. There are five sangomas (traditional healers) in the area, and although they are not part of any FBOs, they do form part of the religious life of the communities. However, neither the Imam nor the five sangomas in Sakhelwe afforded the researchers any interviews.

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In Emthonjeni in Machadodorp (eNtokozweni), we learned about the existence of a much greater variety of FBOs. The FBOs include a variety of names and during a focus group interview on 8 April 2016, the youths indicated those they find significant. They mentioned the Uniting Reformed Church (URCSA), Roman Catholic Church, Church of the Nazarene, Holiness Union Church, Seventh Day Adventist Church, True Worshippers of God Church, African Methodist Episcopal Church, the Zion Christian Church, and the Kingdom Life Church. Pastor Trevor (Resource Person 2) added the names of the Faith Mission Mighty Power, In Presence of God, Solid Rock, and the Holy Bible Focus. Most of these independent FBOs, however, do not have buildings. In addition to the wide range of Christian FBOs, we learned from Pastor Trevor that there is a very small number of Muslims living in the area, despite the presence of a mosque in Machadodorp. Numbers of youths participating in religious activities are undocumented. This made it even more important for us to hear their voices on religion and the role of the FBOs in their lives. 10.2.4 Method We first orientated ourselves with respect to the physical context of Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni by driving from street to street to map the assets of the two communities. This was done with the assistance of Paulus Mnisi, who at the time was not only serving as the lead elder at the Uniting Reformed Church congregation in Sakhelwe, but also knew both areas intimately. This first phase of mapping confirmed the scarcity of educational and recreational resources for the young, as well as the absence of anything more than very basic health facilities. Although not a direct part of the YOMA project plan on which our chapter and this book as a whole is based, a Community Asset Mapping Programme (CAMP) workshop was hosted in Sakhelwe from 15 to 18 July 2014 by the Department of Geography at the University of South Africa and the Greater Rustenburg Community Foundation. It turned out to be an important additional resource informing the outcome of our mapping process. The workshop was attended by 27 young people from Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni, who not only expressed their views on being young in Sakhelwe, but through their participation also provided valuable information for our own mapping endeavours. The population for our research included all youths between the ages of 18 and 24 in the NEET category (cf. Chapter 2) in Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni. We identified the sample of participants through snowball sampling. We interviewed a first focus group consisting of four young people at the URCSA Mission House in Sakhelwe on 8 December 2015. Although small in number, this group represented both genders (two females and two males) from the main local ethnic groups (two Ndebeles and

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two Swazis) as well as two prominent local FBOs (three from URCSA and one from the Kingdom Life Connections Worship Centre). The second and third focus groups were held at the same place, the second consisting of four males and the third of three females and one male, of whom only one was from URCSA and the others without any specific FBO affiliation. We conducted three individual interviews on the same day and at the same venue, first with Nene, an 18-year-old Swazi male from URCSA, second with Slater, a 24-year-old woman without any FBO affiliation, and third with Gift, a 24-year-old woman from the Elohim Bible Church. In Emthonjeni a group of 30 young people were interviewed at the Vukukhanye Youth Centre on 8 April 2016. The logistical circumstances forced us to interview the participants in one large group. As researchers we were confronted with the dynamics of an African rural community-based setting where we had to let go of our own ideas about a valid focus group interview, such as that it should not include more than eight members. The participants felt no discomfort with the large group dynamic as they adhere to a different understanding of privacy and the validity of information in a group context. Because the participants were so relaxed, the size of the group felt natural and we engaged with the interviewees in an organic manner. We allowed the interviewees to invite us into an Africanity-oriented research process where the interviewees’ own voices, life-worlds and modes of interaction and communication were prioritised. The conscious decision to allow for a shift of power from the researchers to the interviewees helped the researchers to be flexible and relaxed in this “unusual” focus group interview setting. In total, then, 46 young people (18–24 years of age) were interviewed, either individually or in groups. In addition, several local pastors were approached for interviews, but eventually only one from Sakhelwe and one from Emthonjeni agreed to be interviewed as resource people. One (Resource Person 1) was Pastor Clive from an independent FBO (church) in Sakhelwe. He was interviewed at the Emakhazeni local municipality offices in Belfast on 4 March 2016, where he worked full-time as a municipal officer. Resource Person 2 was Pastor Trevor from an independent FBO (church) in Emthonjeni, who worked full-time as a school principal in Waterval-Boven. He was interviewed at his house in Machadodorp on 8 April 2016. Interviews were held with a number of other resource people, although their responses are not reflected in the following discussion. The interviews were conducted in accordance with the interview schedules developed by the YOMA team, focusing on retrieving information on the day-to-day contextual challenges of the interviewees, their relationship with the local FBOs, and their expectations of the latter.

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The process of data analysis after the interviews considered a central tenet of a methodology guided by Africanity, namely that of “interpreting is colonising”. As such, we attempted as much as possible to observe and not to interpret. We made an effort to refrain from looking for facts that suit our hypothesis or using research methods that centralise the topic and not the interview participants. We tried to present the voices of the youths for publication with as little interpretive interference as possible. The interviewees acted as co-constructors of the data and the findings.

10.3

Voices of the Young People on Marginalisation

We used the transcripts of the 46 interviews with young people to identify themes in the life stories of our interviewees. The young people interviewed described the problems holding them captive in their state of “marginalisation” as (1) having no hope because of a lack of education and employment opportunities; (2) experiencing no respect from the municipality, the FBOs, the schools and society; (3) having no escape from drugs and abusive sex; and (4) having no role models. 10.3.1 No Hope, Opportunity or Agency From the interviews it became clear that social exclusion had become the lens through which the youths defined themselves. The interviews were loaded with expressions of isolation, as well as expressions of not having the right to have a future and having to protect themselves against hope. The interviews bore witness of a generation of youths who have become used to waiting for something to happen to improve their lives from the outside. The interviews testified to the youths slipping into passivity; being non-responsive; not having expectations; not knowing how to express their needs; and being too insecure and shy to utilise the few resources available because of their lack of skills. A lack of opportunities leads to boredom and hopelessness, as well as a lack of will to develop agency, as was expressed in the following response: “It is difficult. You can finish high school here but for me to go to university … not even the municipality is assisting us” (Participant, Focus Group 1, Sakhelwe). This meaninglessness of everyday existence also found expression in the following description: It is not good here, because many of us leave school and it is hard to get jobs and I am drinking and smoking … I play soccer in my free time. If I don’t play soccer I play video games … I watch television and hang out with my friends (Participant, Focus Group 1, Sakhelwe).

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And what was confessed to in Sakhelwe was also the case in Emthonjeni: “To live in Emthonjeni is boring, there is nothing to do, no employment, no facilities … nothing to live for” (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni). However, such expressions of boredom and futility were also turned on their head by some interviewees who tended to see the youths’ predicament less as one of exclusion but as a condition brought about by their own passivity and lack of agency. One interviewee from Focus Group 1 (Sakhelwe), who worked in Groblersdal (a farming town some 100 kilometres away) but grew up in Sakhelwe and visited there during weekends, for instance, had this to say about the local youths: They are just walking around, smoking drugs, ja. Dealing with friends or sleeping with someone that means nothing to them. Just they are dead … waiting for the sunset (Participant, Focus Group 1, Sakhelwe).

In similar fashion an interviewee from Focus Group 3 (Sakhelwe) also stated: “They just wait for something to come to them.” 10.3.2 No Respect from Formal Institutions Mutual respect is central to the African way of doing, and a lack of respect is traditionally a deal-breaker in any relationship. The youths showed that they still hold this value close to their hearts: You must not disrespect another person’s culture and the way he is doing things (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).   They should respect what is in their hearts and not give in to peer pressure (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).

Within the context of this view of relationships, the youths who elaborated on their experiences of marginalisation pointed specifically to the fact that they did not feel respected by the few formal institutions that were present in their rural context, such as schools, the municipality and even their (mostly absent) parents. They felt that they were not being listened to or consulted on their daily experiences, needs or future. They expressed themselves as follows: Our parents reject us; the teachers are beating us; we are two Grade 8 classes, one with 64 and the other with 74 learners. We are treated with no respect (Slater, Individual Interview 2).

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We are not used to voice our own opinions. Nobody seems to be interested in what we have to say. They take decisions on our behalf for what is good for us (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni).   Without respect, nothing is helping you. It does not help if you are given things but you are not respected (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).

10.3.3 No Alternatives to Drugs and Meaningless Sex A section of the youth described themselves as engaging in damaging behaviour because of an experience of rejection by their parents, while one interviewee (Slater) self-critically ascribed this rejection to the young people’s own “self-damaging behaviour”. According to Slater (Individual Interview 2): Parents reject the children because they do not take life seriously. They don’t look at their books. They just go to the taverns, so they failed at the end of the year.

With no jobs, educational opportunities or healthy role models available, the youths engage with what is available, that being drugs, alcohol and sex. The youth themselves expressed their dissatisfaction with substance and body abuse as being the only “securities” available to them to shape their future. All of the interviewees mourned the use of unhealthy substances. However, when they expressed themselves on the issue, they referred to those addicted in the third person, thus distancing themselves from the “problem”, while they pointed to its intensity: Most of the youth are ignorant. They do not know what they want. They do not see the future. But if you can say there is a new shebeen,8 they will run and see (Participant, Focus Group 1, Sakhelwe).   Even though you can come today, it’s Monday, just pass the tavern and you will see that they are all there. The parents give them money to go and buy food while they work, then they take out marog9 to eat and go to the tavern and use the money there (Nene, Individual Interview 1).

8 A bar or liquor store. 9 A type of spinach that grows wild and is free to collect.

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The young people interviewed nevertheless seemed to be conscious of the consequences of leading a life dominated by substance and bodily abuse. One of the participants in Focus Group 3 (Sakhelwe), for instance, went so far as to comment that the use of “dagga”10 and other substances was “not good for the community because you end up stealing at home and then killing other people for their money.” This critical perspective was shared by Slater, the outspoken individual interviewee, when she observed that “(t)o be a young person who lives in Sakhelwe is not good if you are not working, because you will end up doing dirty things like stealing or using drugs.” Lastly, the same criticism against themselves and the systems that have failed them was also expressed on the issue of teenage pregnancy in several responses by the youths interviewed: It is like insurance instead of going to school … as if having a baby will fix the problems they have (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).   You are having a baby; you are part of the social grant. Maybe they think that money will help in the house, but it is still wrong to have a baby at a young age … [I]t is a wrong decision to make in life … [Y]ou are not able to feed the house and the baby with the grant money (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).   Many girls in Dullstroom like money; they are in bad shape and they do not have a salary of their own. They depend on a man’s salary. That is why you get one man having four girlfriends … And that is why HIV is so high … I want an educated girlfriend. She must be financially independent. If possible I can marry a white girl (Nene, Individual Interview 1).

10.3.4 Lack of Role Models Participants also expressed their concern regarding the lack of role models in the community. Their criticism was particularly directed at their parents but also grown-up members of the community in general as absent or setting a bad example through their continuous visits to the local shebeens: It is not good to be a young person here, because as a teenager you follow your parents and what they do in Sakhelwe. So, if they go to the taverns, you will also go to the taverns (Participant, Focus Group 2, Sakhelwe).

10 Cannabis, marijuana.

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There is no future because if you grow up seeing people going to the shebeens, you fall for it because you grow up by seeing the wrong things. You think that is how life is, going to the shebeen (Participant, Focus Group 2, Sakhelwe).

However, despite the severe criticisms, there were also limited expressions of appreciation of the good example set by parents, as we heard in Nene’s (Individual Interview 1) appreciation of his father’s transformation: The thing that is killing the future of Dullstroom is that our parents do not motivate their children … My father was drinking hard, very hard before he got here in this church. But then the church changed his life completely, because when we got in this church he stopped drinking, he stopped smoking. I remember at work he got some warnings with drinking, but after he came to this church his life started to change completely. At work he got promotion, he is now getting a nice salary.

Nene continued to tell how all six children in the family, though still living in a modest house, were engaged in tertiary education. However, we could not find other young people in Sakhelwe attending university or engaged in any other tertiary training.

10.4

Youths’ Expectations of FBOs

It is clear from our description of the religious context of the two study sites earlier in this chapter (10.2.3) that FBOs mainly consist of Christian churches or groupings. This was also reflected in the interviews with the young people. Against this backdrop the young people noticeably had an overall “pietistic” view of an FBO as a place for prayer; a place that could address spiritual needs; a place where you receive moral direction; a place of hope and support; a place where one is taught about love, forgiveness, service to others; and a place where you are respected. In short, FBOs were seen as an institution with intangible assets, but not so much as a role player in development. A response from one participant in the focus group interview in Emthonjeni articulated this view point succinctly: The church does not do anything for the community. The only thing that the churches do for us, they just pray for a better life. The people do not get what they need, but they continue praying.

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In what follows the voices of the youths express their ambivalent relationship with FBOs (read “the church”/“churches”) as entities that offer necessary intangible but not as yet sufficient tangible rewards. 10.4.1 FBOs to Offer Hope The perception on the part of some of the young people interviewed that FBOs did not know where they were going with the youth has already been indicated as a dominant line of thinking at the start of this chapter. Yet, in close relation to such thinking, other voices pointed specifically to the irrelevance of FBOs as a place that would not provide you with bursaries, except for the priesthood. For these youths FBOs lacked programmes to address real-life issues, like wanting to become a medical doctor, social worker, teacher, paramedic, owner of a computer shop, business man or traffic controller. But some interviewees nevertheless thought FBOs had a role to play: Like financially it would be difficult for the church to help us, but emotionally supporting you by saying go pray and study hard … like spirit guiders in that way (Participant, Focus Group 1, Sakhelwe).   The church can help us with directions by encouraging us and maybe they can be financing us by asking some of the members of the church to fund … you know? And to pray for us so that we can achieve our goals (Participant, Focus Group 1, Sakhelwe).

However, some acknowledged that FBOs’ role in the lives of the youths was restricted because they themselves did not go to FBOs: “Only ten per cent of young people go to church and also not every Sunday, but only on special occasions during Christmas” (Participant, Focus Group 1, Sakhelwe). The reason for this low percentage of FBO attendance was in turn attributed to the fact that young people liked “interesting things … they do not like boring things. Then they won’t come to church. We need a band” (Participant, Focus Group 1, Sakhelwe). “If I were the pastor, I shall start a choir. And then renew the stadium” (Participant, Focus Group 2, Sakhelwe). A majority of the voices of the youths nevertheless acknowledged the hope offered by the FBO with regard to moral improvement and direction; it was a source of divine power for changing lives, healing, identity, providing a space for safety and calmness, forgiveness and love. This was expressed in statements such as the following:

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Going to church offers us hope because we will learn about how God do the impossible. We look at people who yesterday were drunks on the street, not knowing what to do with their lives, but they did come to church and look their lives improved (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).   The church is giving us hope in a way that could help us to see that God can do everything for you, that you must always trust in him and that he will change everything good for you (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).   When we go to church we find healing and that is the part the church plays in our lives. We don’t expect them to do more than that like building parks for us, no. That hasn’t even crossed our minds (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni).   I feel safe in church. I feel more calm in church than outside (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni).   We never thought the church should come into our careers. The only thing we think of going to church is spiritually. The only thing they can help us with, is praying, not money (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni).   The church teaches me how to forgive. And it gives me love (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni).   The church teaches me to discover something about myself I have not discovered before. I have the gift to sing, and the church prays and fasts for me in order for God to reveal the gifts I have (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni).

10.4.2 FBOs to Teach the Youths to Show and Receive Respect Many interviewees expressed their disappointment with the divisions between FBOs themselves, and the fact that FBO leaders did not work together, a fact that impinges on their respect for FBOs. However, appreciation was expressed for individual FBO leaders who were not judgmental and willing to get involved with the young people of the FBO. Again, even with this ambivalence about the role of FBOs in their lives, the young people expected FBOs to teach people to respect one another. Thus there was a clear expectation on their part and a fairly solid conviction that FBOs were the appropriate agent for teaching respect:

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According to my opinion, in church they teach you how to treat others with manners or with respect. You must have respect for others so that you can get the respect back (Participant, Focus Group 2, Sakhelwe).   If you go to church maybe you will get some respect or you must respect one another. (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).   Those who go to church, they do respect. Yes and then they know the name of God. Those who do not go to church, they do not respect one another (Participant, Focus Group 2, Sakhelwe).   The church teaches me how to respect myself and respect others and people’s feelings (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni).

Finally, some of the young people testified boldly to their human dignity being acknowledged and enhanced by FBOs. According to Gift (Individual Interview 3): If I want something or did something bad, I can tell my pastor that I need some prayers so that he can make me feel like a human being … The church can encourage people not to sleep with other people at a young age, looking for some disease such as HIV. The church should tell them that, wherever they go, they are not alone. Jesus is with them and won’t let them do stupid things.

10.4.3 FBOs to Control Drugs and Sex through Moral Education As in fact already stated, there was a clear expectation from the young people interviewed that FBOs should focus and improve on its moral training. For them this possibly pointed to a desire among the youth to return to the basic principles of Christianity and their culture to protect them from HIV infection, unwanted pregnancies and substance abuse: The church helps me to do the right things and not the wrong things (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).   When I think about those bad things [drugs and sex], then my inner voice says ‘no way am I going to do that.’ The church teaches you this thing, so your inner voice will protect you when it comes to these things (Participant, Focus Group 3, Sakhelwe).

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The church is very useful in terms of keeping the youth from dangerous stuff like drinking alcohol and being involved in drugs (Participant, Focus Group, Emthonjeni).

10.5

Responses from FBO Leaders

We conclude the discussion of our empirical findings by turning more pointedly to the responses of the two resource persons identified in Section 10.2.4 of this chapter: Pastor Clive (Resource Person 1) and Pastor Trevor (Resource Person 2).11 Having served as part-time pastors at the time of the research, with extensive contact with young people in Emakhazeni in their “secular” jobs, these two resource persons effectively presented a “micro” perspective on the nature of young people’s marginalisation in Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni. In line with this observation, this section offers an insight into how both pastors described the challenges the youths are facing in these two areas, the reasons for the challenges as well as how the solutions proposed relate to the level of the individuals themselves. From a critical point of view, we argue that this focus on the individual has occurred at the cost of identifying broader structural or macro factors impacting on the lives of the marginalised young people in these rural areas. Challenges were related either to the individual or immediate family. Pastor Clive, for example, identified as challenges the lack of family love, a forced small-town mentality, a lack of recreational facilities, and excessive drinking. Pastor Trevor added that among his congregants there were “more single parents than children with two parents”. He bemoaned the fact that people were “not getting married” and added that the issuing of child grants, a major source of income in the community, also contributed to idleness and a mind-set in which “sex becomes hope”. For both resource persons the lack of healthy family lives stood out as the major factor impacting on the social wellbeing of young people in the two case study areas. Young people were described as moving from a broken family to an equally broken self. According to Pastor Trevor, young people were faced with a situation in which they had nobody to turn to and nowhere to go: “there is not a parent, there is no tradition.” In turn, by pointing more specifically to the problem of absent fathers, Pastor Clive added to this perspective:

11 A majority of pastors ministering in Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni were approached to be resource people. They either evaded appointments, refused to sign a consent form, or demanded financial compensation. The researchers, however, are satisfied that the two pastors who were used as sources for this section provided useful data as responses to the research questions dealing with the relationship between marginalised youth and FBOs from the perspective of the FBOs.

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“Do the FBOs Know Where They Are Going?”

The family unit is broken. We have absent fathers. They spend most of their time working outside and come over the weekend carrying plastic bags full of meat. They go to their friends and leave again on Sunday. It creates anger, resentment and low self-esteem amongst the youth. At the end of the day the youth try to find their identity in things, in substance abuse, drugs and friends.

In response to the question of how these identified challenges could be met, both resource persons had pertinent ideas about the role that the local FBOs could play. Pastor Clive emphasised the importance of FBOs motivating the youths instead of encouraging them to blame their parents or society. He described his ministry as steered toward the creation of an alternative space where young people could experience a new sense of affection and purpose in life: The greatest need I have seen with the young people of this area, is lack of love … Our church is a family full of love whereby everybody belongs as soccer players, netball players and those things. The church must think outside the box in terms of developing the community … There is nothing that challenges them, inspires them … No proper sport facilities, no cinemas. There are jobs, but what do you do at the end of the month? They drink themselves out of all those things and lose their jobs … It is not only a matter of jobs, but also of motivation and challenge … I preach to them about people like Joseph and David who came from very difficult backgrounds and try to cluster it with life … and shift their thinking in terms of making their lives better.

Similarly, Pastor Trevor also referred to motivation from the pulpit as creating opportunities for the youths to keep themselves employed. For him this entailed the changing and broadening of young people’s mind-set regarding their own sense of agency: We teach on issues that talk to them and their self-esteem. Like this evening I am teaching on careers and entrepreneurship, so that they change the mentality of wanting to be employed and always know they can do things on their own … And then also we teach on leadership skills to say when you are a leader what is expected of you and so that you don’t just follow all the time but you take leadership roles.

From their responses it thus emerged that both pastors viewed change as based in the individual. In other words, the solutions that were highlighted focused on micro factors. For the two pastors, it was all about changing young people’s mind-set and enhancing their self-esteem and confidence. This way of thinking was also reflected in what they perceived to be the role of the local FBO. As tellingly expressed by

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Pastor Clive when he reflected on how his own FBO prioritised its engagement with the youths: In this church we accommodate different types of talents that can be exercised through opportunities that are provided by the church … We remind them that what is very important is not what people are saying to you, it is what you are saying to yourself.

However, Pastor Trevor was also adamant that FBOs should be in a position to give tangible assistance to needy youths. He upheld the example of his FBO intending to intervene on behalf of one of its young members who was admitted to university but could not find accommodation to commence his studies: Like now we have one who is registered with the university. He got a bursary but now he cannot get accommodation in the residence. We are discussing with the church board what do we do.

Yet, as already suggested, neither of the two resource people mentioned wider structural issues as a focus of their ministries or missions. For example, when attempting to explain his way of engaging with young people Pastor Trevor responded: I get my hands dirty with them, so sometimes I will initiate the talks at their level. I mean like sometimes we are cleaning the church and then I will clean with them and while we are cleaning I will say ‘I heard you are getting married, what’s happening?’ The church will also get a professional nurse from the Department of Health to come and teach them around teenage pregnancy, TB, HIV and AIDS – because sometimes we teach things we don’t have adequate knowledge of.

Similarly, when responding to the problems of drugs and sex before marriage and how his FBO sought to deal with those problems Pastor Clive commented: Our aim is to win those who are lost. Those who are involved in drugs. It does not help when we lock ourselves inside our church … We tell them: ‘Drugs are wrong; sex before marriage is sin.’

Pastor Clive observed that when he addressed the issue of dating and teenage pregnancy, he did so without the parents of the young people present, since they did not open up except when they were among their own age group. For him, under these conditions the role of the FBO was to convince the youths that their only hope of survival did not lie in drugs and sex.

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“Do the FBOs Know Where They Are Going?”

Not surprisingly, micro factors were likewise identified by both resource persons as hindering potential interventions and solutions. Pastor Clive pointed the finger at self-centred FBO leaders. “People who are divided are not church members, it is leaders.” To this Pastor Trevor added: The churches need to cooperate more closely in addressing the needs of the youth. The pastors believe it is my people and not God’s people.

The two resource persons’ observations on ecclesial leadership and the lack of cooperation are valid and important. This recognition implies that FBO leaders should urgently acknowledge the way in which wider socio-economic issues are contributing to young people’s marginalisation. This is not happening in the deep rural case study areas of Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni. While churches as the dominant FBO in the two areas undoubtedly offer valuable tangible and intangible assets from which young people benefit, the data we have gathered also suggest that it is more likely that the same FBOs contribute to an isolationist discourse among young people that can hardly contribute towards developing more profound experiences of social cohesion. This being said, blame is not laid without reservation at the feet of the FBOs; they suffer from the same wider structural factors faced by young people and communities. As we have learned from the responses of Pastor Clive and Pastor Trevor, FBOs such as churches may still offer hope, show youths respect and enable them to control drugs and sex in their lives.

10.6

Conclusion

In the light of the question in the heading of this chapter, “Do the FBOs know where they are going?”, we conclude our discussion with the following remarks. Firstly, the inclusion of principles of Africanity in our methodology meant that we focused on listening to the voices of the youth. As the youths felt respected in their own right, they opened up and spoke freely during the interviews. Not only did a methodology cognisant of Africanity get us the information we needed from the youths, it made the youths the co-creators of their alternative story, instead of simply the receivers. Secondly, this study has shown that the interviewed youths indeed regarded FBOs – in the form of churches – as part of their future alternative story, although they tended to restrict the churches’ role to acting as providers of intangible assets. At the same time, however, the FBOs themselves appeared to be marginalised, firstly, because of their own poverty and lack of resources, which often included the absence of a church building itself, and secondly, because of exclusion from policy

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documents by local and national government. Reference could be made here to the Integrated Development Plan of the Emakhazeni local municipality, which omits FBOs from future plans to contribute towards youth development. In the light of this, we set as ideal a future role for FBOs/churches in Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni that would be less focused on the marginalisation of young people, but instead on promoting their own agency role and social capacities. Furthermore, FBOs could play an important role in enhancing experiences and conditions of social cohesion where other social services in these impoverished rural communities are lacking. However, this would entail better collaboration between FBOs, in contrast with the competitive spirit that currently seems to divide them. Thirdly, the study revealed that there appeared to be an ambivalence in young people’s perceptions of FBOs in the two case study areas. They viewed them negatively as largely irrelevant to their economic and educational needs. In fact, they held that FBOs were themselves not sure where they were heading. However, the same youths also felt positive that FBOs could and should provide moral guidance and safe spaces for belonging. In this respect, we detected glimpses of a possible alternative future story in what was being done by the two pastors who motivated the young people in their churches to embrace their independence fuelled by a healthy self-esteem. We contend that it is these kinds of actions by church leaders that, despite their shortcomings, have the potential to contribute to social cohesion and the integration of the youths into the larger society. Fourthly, we are concerned that the tendency of identifying young people as “marginalised” sets them up to remain captive in identities of failure. In contrast, in their future alternative story, their voices need to be heard and incorporated into policies and development plans, both locally and nationally. Fifthly, given our case study’s concern with a deep rural context in South Africa, reference should be made to the specific challenges facing rural youths and FBOs that serve them. In the rural communities in question, youths are socialised into a world without economic progress and access to training, while family structures and cultures are fluid. As a direct result, FBOs are facing challenges such as living conditions where four generations share one house, usually with one parent or grandparent present. There is an absence of role models and a lack of success stories. Hope and agency are consequently based on access to sex and liquor (and drugs), as well as political power. However, this study provided hints of alternative stories where churches (as a particular representation of FBOs) and the youths could begin to become partners in preparing the young people for leadership roles and economic independence based on self-respect informed by religious values. Finally, then, for FBOs to be part of the future alternative stories of young people, they should consider at least the following questions. Particularly in deep rural settings, can they provide ways in which to convert the despair of young people into the desire to pursue a lifestyle of seeking and using possibilities? Can they assist in

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“Do the FBOs Know Where They Are Going?”

creating systemic change in the light of persistent inequalities? Can they address the wide variety of societal issues? Can they participate in creating a new identity of belonging, intimacy and love? Can they find a role in shaping a world as envisaged by the youths themselves, where young people will no longer be dependent on external agencies for their future but be in control of their own lives? If FBOs attend to these questions, they can become part of the journey towards an alternative story of hope and cohesion for the youths in Sakhelwe and Emthonjeni.

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Chapter 11: The Church at the Centre of Community? Young People’s Experiences of Social Cohesion in Lammi

My family belongs to the church, so we go to the graveyard every now and then and we go to church too, if there’s something special on (Anni, 16-year-old female, Lammi).

11.1

Introduction

The aim of the chapter is to report on how youths experience social cohesion in a small rural Finnish community. Our focus is an analysis of the role of faith-based organisations (FBOs) in facilitating or preserving social cohesion. Previous research has shown that most marginalised youths in Finland are rural men and immigrant youths (Myrskylä: 2012). Additionally, there are strong internal gendered migration patterns. Young women tend to move from rural villages after school, but many young men stay there after they have completed their schooling (Kytö & KralLeszczynsk: 2013, 50–51). This means that there are more boys than girls in the rural towns in Finland, and considering that it is especially boys who are in danger of becoming marginalised in the community, it is essential to study rural youths in Finland. Historically, the Nordic countries have constituted homogeneous spaces with regard to religion as a result of little inward migration, as was already discussed in Chapter 5 (Bruce: 2000, 34). The Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland (ELCF) is the majority church in Finland, but the number of church members has decreased to 71.9 per cent of the population (ELCF: 2017). Even though membership has decreased in recent years, the ELCF still has a strong influence on religious traditions in the country. In this rural situation it is thus necessary to understand the strong role of the ELCF in facilitating or preserving social cohesion. Although Lammi is mainly a mono-ethnic community, a reception centre for asylum seekers was opened in 2009. In 2015 there was a rapid influx of refugees and two additional reception centres were opened, which led to a situation in which asylum seekers constituted approximately 10 per cent of the population of Lammi by September 2015 (Niiranen: 2015). This rapid influx of refugees resulted in extreme

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reactions, such as an attempt to burn a reception centre even though there were children inside (Karjalainen et al.: 2015). We begin this chapter by introducing in more detail the context of the rural town of Lammi; then we address issues pertaining to data collection and the methodology used in this chapter. The following sections discuss the main results of the study in light of theoretical perspectives on social cohesion. First, we analyse the role of locality in general experiences of social cohesion. After this we analyse participation and belonging, focusing on the experiences of youths with the local FBOs. The final subsection deals with tolerance and diversity, which, in view of the huge number of asylum seekers coming into Europe, is a central topic to be discussed in the context of Lammi specifically.

11.2

A Rural Community with Strong Identity and Traditions

Lammi is a rural community with a long history and strong local identity. It was an independent municipality until 2009, when it was united with the city of Hämeenlinna. Before unification, Lammi had around 5 500 inhabitants. Lammi is located in the southern part of Finland, halfway between Hämeenlinna and Lahti. In 2016 the number of unemployed youths under 25 years was 658 in the whole of Hämeenlinna town, which is 14,9 per cent of the age cohort (Teimola: 2017). There is, however, quite a big difference between the holiday months, when the number of NEET youths rises to 18 per cent (Toimiala Online: 2017), and the semester times, when the number declines again as some of the youths engage in opportunities for further education and training (as is evident from Teimola’s above-mentioned statistical indicators, which were recorded in October 2016). The local sense of identity was challenged not only by administrative unification and rapid migration, but the small rural town also faced challenges from drug abuse. The national news reported on a big confiscation of illegal drugs in Lammi in 2011 (Yle Häme News: 2011). The issue of selling drugs and drug use among youngsters in Lammi was frequently discussed during our first visits to Lammi in 2014. Illicit drugs were also being sold outside the Hakkala secondary school in Lammi, which led to various attempts by professionals and adult volunteers in the community to counter drug use among young people. The Lammi parish of the ELCF is an important part of the community and the fact that this parish is still independent, as it was not integrated into Hämeenlinna parish during the administrative changes, is important for sustaining a local identity. The physical presence of the parish is also clearly evident when one arrives in the village, as an old stone church is located in the very centre of the community. The Lammi parish of the ELCF had 4 284 members in 2015 (ELCF: 2015), compared to the second largest religious community, namely the Pentecostal church, which

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The Church at the Centre of Community?

had only 63 members in 2017 (oral information from the leading pastor of the Pentecostal church in Lammi, 15 May 2017). There is also one additional church, called the Free Church, with only 10 members. In order to understand the life of youths in Lammi, it is essential to note the importance of confirmation school to young people in Finland. In earlier days confirmation marked the transition point between being a child and becoming an adult. However, in recent decades the pedagogy of confirmation schools in Finland has become more and more advanced and creative. Confirmation work and confirmation school have therefore become important means for the church to reach out to a wide range of young people. In addition to faith instruction, confirmation has been seen as an important contribution to life orientation, civic education and developing a common understanding of how to live together (Niemelä et al.: 2015, 14). In Finland the confirmation school is a major tool for working with youngsters and 84 per cent of 15-year-old young people went to confirmation school in the whole country in 2014 (Niemelä & Porkka: 2015, 224). The percentage of those attending confirmation school is usually higher than the percentage of the same age group belonging to the ELCF (Innanen et al.: 2010; Niemelä & Porkka: 2015). In Lammi parish 96 per cent of all 15-year-old youths attended confirmation school in 2015 (n=51) (Lammi Parish Office of the ELCF: 2017). This is substantially higher than the general national level mentioned above and confirms the general picture of higher attendance in rural Finland regarding attendance of confirmation schools compared to urban areas. The small-town setting, the importance of the ELCF to this rural community, and the challenge to local identity through integration into the neighbouring city influenced the data collection, which will be discussed in the following section.

11.3

Method and Data Collection

The fieldwork in Lammi was done in collaboration with a six-person research team. The basic interview scheme followed the unified YOMA interview plan. We collected a large amount of qualitative data, which included individual interviews with youths and professionals working with them, as well as three focus groups with young people and one focus group consisting of professionals working in the local schools. The total number of those interviewed was 42. Interviews were conducted between December 2014 and May 2016. The data consisted of 20 individual interviews with young people between the ages of 15 and 24 years. Thirteen were male and 7 were female. The individual interviewees were recruited mainly through city youth workers and teachers. The snowball sampling method was also used. Most of the interviews were conducted at the city youth centre, some in public places

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like cafes and one even in a local bar. All of the asylum seekers were selected by reception centre personnel and interviewed at the centres. The youths were also interviewed in three focus groups. Two of these groups consisted of youths born in Finland. The nature of these two focus groups was interactive and the focus was on two example narratives. The first addressed how youths should deal with young people from diverse backgrounds and the second one with the way one could help young people in challenging life situations. The first focus group consisted of six participants who were 15 to 16 years old (three females and three males), attending lower secondary school.1 The second focus group consisted of participants older than 18 years, two women and one man. Both the first and the second focus group were conducted in the small youth centre next to the secondary school in Lammi. The third focus group was conducted with three participants in one of the asylum seekers’ centres and consisted of two women and a man. The selection criteria were youths identified as NEET or in danger of falling into this category, which was an important qualification in a situation where most young people were either in education, training or work. The social system, especially with unemployed youths, seemed to work in such an effective way that most of the previously unemployed youths in our data had access to some work or training. At the beginning of our field work we approached the 15- to 16-year-olds who were still in lower secondary education, but attended a special class. The aim of this special class was to provide students with the opportunity to learn through doing. Most of the students attending the class had some difficulties either with their concentration, learning or social skills before joining the class. Among our interviewees, nine attended this special class and three were in further education, mainly in vocational training. Only one interviewee was completely without work and education, while two attended special training for jobless youths. One was employed in temporary work and three were waiting for the outcome of their asylum applications. Seven individual interviews and one focus group of three persons were conducted with professionals working with youths in different capacities. Four of them were working for the city of Hämeenlinna in various roles as professionals in the public welfare services in education and youth work. Another four were representatives of various religious organisations in Lammi, two of them in the ELCF, one in the Pentecostal church and one in the Free Church. Finally, one interviewed professional was working in a reception centre. 1 According to ethical guidelines in Finland 15-year-olds can decide to take part in research but their written consent is needed. A parent of interviewees who were under 15 needed to give written consent for their child to attend the interview. All the young people themselves also gave written consent for their interviews to be used in the research.

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The Church at the Centre of Community?

We first identified the religious affiliations of the youths and then continued to collect their experiences of the various FBOs in Lammi. Most of the interviewed youths were members of the local parish of the ELCF, which is unsurprising as it is the biggest religious community in Lammi. All but one of the church members were confirmed and the interviewee who had not yet been confirmed also planned to attend the confirmation school in the near future. Among the youths interviewed, 23 were members of the ELCF, two had resigned from the ELCF, five were Muslims and one belonged to an African traditional religion. All data were analysed in terms of widely used qualitative content analysis in which coding categories are derived directly from the text data (Hsieh & Shannon: 2005). Most young people understand church membership as related to collective factors, such as tradition and the societal role of the church, rather than to individual faith. Some young people were very critical of the ELCF in general and only very few young people regarded FBOs as important communities for them, hence their lack of participation in them. The following section will narrate and analyse the experiences of social cohesion in the locality.

11.4

Young People’s Experiences of Communality

Lammi’s integration into the city of Hämeenlinna had challenged the sense of local identity. Anni (16-year-old female) expressed this worry strongly: “Everything’s changed here and developed in the wrong direction and all that. I’d undo the unification thing if I could.” Unification was not only a question of the integration of an old agricultural community with a neighbouring city, but it was also strongly a question of local identity and concerns about how the experience of social cohesion would survive in the bigger administrative unit. Communality seemed to have two faces in Lammi. Some liked living in Lammi because it was such a small place and everybody knew almost everybody else. Those with a positive view of communality recognised it as a safe place to live, where one was supported by friends and neighbours. Henrik (15-year-old male) said: “Lammi is really nice to live in, it’s just like a small village, no major problems or anything. Almost everyone knows each other. Super chill to live in like. Very free, not too much of a disturbance.” Miki (19-year-old male) shared the positive view of the locality: “Well, Lammi is just that kinda place where I sorta like to live.” Miki faced many challenges in family life and schooling. He had moved multiple times during his schooling because of his parents’ divorce. He lived with his girlfriend in Lammi and considered her a very important source of support. For Miki the rural home community and his girlfriend represented the only form of stability in his otherwise insecure life, which was influenced by drug abuse and run-ins with the

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police. Miki expressed his relationship with the local police as follows: “… fucking police. Ruining everyone’s lives, well not really ruining, but disturbing, might just check up on you like that …” Even though Miki had negative experiences with the police in the small town, he wanted to continue living there and also found positive things in it. Miki and Henrik both found that the small size of the community added to their sense of social cohesion and to feelings of security. There were also youngsters who considered Lammi to be such a small place that it was easy to be left out of social networks and get caught up in gossip. Quite often these stories highlighted just how small the small circles of Lammi were, and Lammi youths were described as a community that you either belong or you are an outsider. The youth centre, run by the local municipality, in particular was found to be an important place for youths who were members of the Lammi community, as was described by Niina (16-year-old female): We always meet there, we talk trash and shit about all the people. We go through all the details that we heard from others. It is the thing for the young people here. You have to be tough to be able to handle the things that people are saying behind your back. For instance, according to the rumours I’ve been pregnant like a hundred times and escaped from a mental hospital. You cannot take such talk too seriously.

Pekka (15-year-old male), who lived in the neighbouring village but went to school in Lammi, stated: “I don’t really trust these guys from Lammi, ’cos they always blabber if you tell them something. I trust the guys from Tuulos. None of them really blabber, but keep things to themselves.” Anni’s (16-year-old female) experience of gossip was similar: “Gossip is born out of nothing … that’s the worst thing here, when everyone knows everyone here in Lammi, you could pretty much say that everyone’s related here.” Yet, a perception shared more widely by the interviewees was that if you had a certain reputation as a youngster, it was hard to change such perceptions later on because of the widespread gossip among young people. In the most severe cases the trash talk was seen as truly painful; talking behind a person’s back was found to be a way of excluding them from the group. In a few cases being bullied and talked about behind one’s back was linked to depression and problems with self-image, as Jaakko (21-year-old male) described: “Bullying broke me inside. Still, when I walk by younger people I get goose bumps … as I can remember how devastated I was.” Some of the interviewees said that they had problems related to diagnosed depression. It seems to be an extreme double burden: simultaneously being depressed and excluded from the peer group. Many young people said that family and friends were important to them during times of need. Patrik (15-year-old male) asserted: “Mum’s the kind of person you can always talk to about anything and you know she won’t be cross.” Niina similarly

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The Church at the Centre of Community?

considered her mother to be very important in her life: “I get on with my mum and sisters. I don’t have that much to do with my dad. Probably last saw him a few years ago.” Among the interviewed youths there were also those who experienced the most support from friends and felt that their parent/parents did not understand and support them at all. Nevertheless, the strongest experiences of social cohesion for these youths derived either from family or friends rather than from any official institution. Grandparents played an important role in the lives of youngsters in Lammi. Young people also recalled how they helped their elderly grandparents with practical tasks such as clearing snow from around the house. In Lammi, however, living close to the grandparents did not mean living in the same household but rather living nearby, because in Finland three generations of family very seldom occupy the same household. The stories about the importance of grandparents seemed to be in line with a wider trend where the maternal grandmother had been found to be the closest grandparent and the one helping her daughter’s family the most, in dealing with both practical issues as well as emotional ones (cf. Danielsbacka et al.: 2011; Danielsbacka et al.: 2015). In addition to the social cohesion facilitated through family connections, some adults also volunteered in the community to help the young people in various ways. One way to volunteer is the so-called “school-dude” service in which men volunteer and are available at the school library especially for young people who cannot pay attention and listen during lessons. Jussi, a retired policeman, said that his most important task was to listen to these young people and to tell them that they are valuable as human beings, even though they cannot always behave in the expected manner. Additionally, adults within the community had organised teams to go around the streets in the town centre on Friday evenings to look after the safety of young people while they were partying. This practice, however, revealed some problems of recruiting enough volunteers during the time of our field research in the area. We were told that it had been easier to recruit volunteers for this purpose during the drug crisis a few years before our study, when parents were extremely worried about their children and wanted to contribute towards ensuring their safety in the community. The youths interviewed were generally of the opinion that the local community not only facilitated but also preserved social cohesion because the town is so small and everybody knows everybody else. The shared experiences of social cohesion were linked to the locality itself as well as to friends and family. Those young people who held atypical opinions, or who acted differently, became the particular focus of gossip.

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11.5

Experiences of the ELCF

Confirmation teaching has a long tradition in the ELCF, as noted in the introduction to this chapter. Most young people interviewed had a positive experience of confirmation school and expressed special appreciation for the sense of communality that they experienced during the confirmation camp. Aino (15-year-old female) explained what she enjoyed: “Pretty much all the people, the camp counsellors, and making new mates. It was like there was a good team-spirit there and everything went well.” For this girl the most important part of confirmation school had been the feelings of togetherness during the camp, not the contents of the teaching as such. Confirmation school is a strong brand in Finland and it is not strange that the same youths who thoroughly enjoyed their confirmation school experience usually do not attend other activities of the ELCF after this experience. Among those who were critical of FBOs, most had initially attended confirmation school and only subsequently became more critical of the church. Ville (23-year-old male), who had resigned from the church the year before, explained: “Confirmation was kinda forced down our throats, I went because I had to.” These more critical youths were not motivated to participate in confirmation school, as most of those belonging to the traditional group were. Here we have to note that generally in the Finnish context, those young people who are active in ELCF youth work – for example, volunteering as camp councellors during the confirmation school – are mainly secondary school students. In the Lammi context this strong involvement of the secondary school students was confirmed in the interview with Emilia, an ELCF youth worker: “The very active ones in the parish are at the moment in their final year in the secondary school.” In contrast to this involvement, the youths critical of FBOs all belonged to the NEET category; none of them attended secondary school and it seemed that not continuing with further education was one of the reasons for not attending church youth work either. Some young people who said that they appreciated the church traditions were, however, also critical of the teachings of the ELCF. They nevertheless still wanted to continue as members in the ELCF. Patrik, who was otherwise quite critical of the ELCF, commented: “I really dunno, like if I don’t quit the church at some point, then when I get married anyway I can have a proper church wedding.” Patrik’s comment confirmed the findings of the second European study on confirmation, which argued that the high attendance rates at confirmation schools in Finland were the result of this being a requirement in the ELCF for a church wedding (Niemelä & Porkka: 2015, 23). The older youths in Lammi in particular had started thinking of their own relationship towards the church and participation in it. Heidi (20-year-old female) explained: “I wanna get married in church and have a christening for our kids.” She was already a godmother to a child and said that the baptismal ritual of her godchild had been important to her.

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The Church at the Centre of Community?

Many young people in Lammi saw that the ELCF’s most important tasks were diaconia, the Christian social practice of the church, and the possibility of pastoral counselling for those in crisis. During their interviews these youths pointed out that diaconia and counselling could help other youths in need, but did not consider that they would themselves need these services. As otherwise critically minded Ville explained: “If something terrible happens and a loved one passes, it can help with the grief.” Ville himself had resigned from the ELCF, but he acknowledged that the counselling services offered by the parish could be important to grieving people. Religion was seen as an important channel of support for those who were lonely. As Maija (15-year-old female) explained: “Well, for some it can be a kind of mundane source of strength, like you’re not alone and you have your own religion and you’ve like got God and Jesus to turn to when that happens, I suppose it’s just the little things.” Maija could be considered as a typical representative of the youth in Lammi; she appreciated the Lutheran traditions although she was not actively involved in parish life herself. Age was seen to make a difference to experiences of social cohesion through the church among the youths in Lammi. Some became more critical of the church when they got older, but many also felt a more concrete need to be loosely connected with the ELCF as they matured. This resonates with Maria Klingenberg’s similar findings about Finnish youths when she writes: Church membership implies complex patterns of collective belonging and individual interpretation. The religious majority related its membership to family tradition and cultural convention, and described religious practice as being social in character (2014, 9).

Youths in Lammi followed these strong family traditions by actively attending confirmation school and also showing appreciation to other traditions of the church. At the same time, however, there were also those young people who were very critical of the ELCF, as will be discussed below.

11.6

Critical Attitudes towards the ELCF

Those young people who had critical attitudes towards the ELCF did not have wide experience of participation in the various activities of the parish. A few of the youths interviewed reported that they would like to resign from parish membership and two of them had actually done so. Ville described how and why he left the church:

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I resigned from the church in November (last year). I had been thinking of that for two years already, if I should resign. … I did not get any benefits from being a member, I did not find a community in it … I did not want to continue to pay taxes if I do not attend. I was mostly thinking of my wallet.

All members of the ELCF pay church taxes, which are deducted from their salaries and allowances. According to previous research, 44 per cent of young adults who resigned gave the church taxation as their most important reason for resigning (Niemelä: 2006, 186–91).2 Ville, whose explanation above partly resonates this reasoning, had been unemployed for a while and explained frequently during the interview that he was frugal with money. The other young man who had also resigned from the ELCF, Mikko (19-year-old male), gave similar reasons: I was a member when I was little, but no longer. I am not interested in that nonsense … There is no need to pay the church tax because I do not give a shit about the church. It has no meaning to me.

Negative experiences with other believers were given as an additional reason for resigning. Mikko vehemently continued that it was these believers who were the worst. He added that his friend’s mother was an active believer and that she tried to separate him and his friend. He added that his father was never a member of the ELCF and that, most probably, his mother had also resigned. Thus religion had never played a role in his childhood family. Previous research indicates that negative experiences with church members were not given as an important reason for resignation. According to Niemelä, more important was criticism of those values of the ELCF that many young people found too traditional (2006, 191). Those young people in Lammi who had resigned from the ELCF or were thinking of resignation did not explicitly stress these values as the reason for their resignation; rather, they expressed quite openly, for example, that the discussion on homosexuality was not a big issue for them. However, Miki (19-year-old male already cited above) and Jimi (15-year-old male), who were critical of all FBOs and their work, remained members of the ELCF. Miki had recently been contemplating resignation for financial reasons. Jimi also regarded the FBOs as having nothing to offer him. However, he did not discuss the issue of resigning during the interview. This may have been because of his age, as people under 18 need their parents’ permission to resign. Additionally, as a

2 The research further reports that a common time to resign seemed to be early adulthood, as suggested by the fact that two thirds of those who resigned from the ELCF in 2002 were 18–39 years of age (Niemelä: 2006, 186–191).

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The Church at the Centre of Community?

schoolboy, the question of church tax was not as relevant to him as it was to the three others in this group who had to support themselves financially. Jimi articulated his view on why some need religion: “They have it so bad that they need support and attention, and if they do not get that from anywhere they become believers.” He felt that becoming an active Christian would be a last-ditch effort in anybody’s life: an option only for those who do not get any support or attention from anywhere else. The youths discussed above were quite critical of faith communities, but at the same time also retained a somewhat positive opinion of the ELCF and the role of religion in other people’s lives. Young people who were not motivated to participate in the ELCF also shared experiences of exclusion from some communities in Lammi. Fortunately, these young men, such as Miki, who lived his life under the shadow of drug abuse, had some good friends who were very important to them.

11.7

Active Participation in the Faith Communities

Some of the participants of our study were actively religious young people, but none of them attended the ELCF and this is why the title of this section refers more widely to various faith communities. Two of the individually interviewed asylum-seeking youths were strongly religious young people and would have liked to participate actively in their own faith communities, if there had been such community nearby. Jaakko, a 21-year-old Lammi-born man, also expressed how deeply religious he was. He was an official member of the ELCF, but participated actively in a minority religious community. These actively participating young people saw the influence of FBOs and religion as important in their lives and also considered that religion could play an important role for a wider youth community. Fadi and Allen, two asylum-seeking youths, were the only ones who expressed a need to associate with a faith community other than the Christian one in Lammi. Allen belonged to the African traditional religious faith and could not participate in any faith community nearby. Fadi (male in his early twenties from Somalia) in turn mentioned that he had visited the closest mosque to Lammi in the town of Hämeenlinna: “I’ve been there twice. The first time was when I got my national insurance number and had to collect it from the police. The other occasion was also a bureaucratic matter, I got to pray there then too.” Fadi had visited the mosque only twice, and even then he had other primary reasons for going to Hämeenlinna. In contrast Ashraf (24-year-old male from Iraq) heard of the Hämeenlinna mosque for the first time from the interviewer: “First time I hear about it.” Ashraf was a Muslim but had not been actively searching for a place of worship in his new country. There might have been ethnic differences as well, because Fadi, who had worshipped in the mosque, was Somalian and he stated that when he visited that

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mosque the Imam preaching was also Somali. Ashraf was Iraqi and pointed out that he had not been participating particularly actively in religious activities at home either. Non-Christian immigrants encounter mainly secular Nordic societies with a strong Lutheran heritage, which is physically symbolised by church towers in central locations in cities and in villages. Fridolfsson and Elander studied faith and place in Sweden and their study indicated how important it was for the identity of Muslims to have a real mosque and not just rooms in the basement of an industrial building. “Real” mosques have great material and symbolic importance for the heterogeneous Swedish Muslim community (Fridolfsson & Elander: 2013, 319, 331). Similarly, it could be stated that to the young refugees in Lammi, any mosque nearby would have been an important source of social cohesion.

11.8

Tolerance and Diversity

The small-town context presented some difficulties in learning to respect youths coming from outside, especially in the situation of a rapidly increasing number of refugees. Professionals working with youths told us that there had been some intolerance between the local and the immigrant youths: “There was some problems at the youth centre between the general townsfolk and these asylum seekers. And then the youngsters from Lammi reacted a bit by breaking stuff ” (Sofia, leader of a faith community). Matti, a city youth worker, further explained: “We have had to make important calls ... we’ve now got our own warden, a supervisor at the centre every night ... it’s all because it’s a small village, it’s all down to a little nuisance from the locals.” Sofia and Matti, representing the ELCF and the city youth work respectively, were actively involved in supporting the integration of the newcomers into Lammi on various levels. Jaakko (21-year-old male) also shared his experience of the immigrant visitors to his home church: We have been coping ok, no problems. In the beginning it was a bit different, you know, when I have not met such people before, but later it was ok. They can come even every time, I do not care.

Both the Free Church and the small Pentecostal church had received some Christian refugee families who attended their services. Some of the refugees also visited the weekly soup kitchen at the Pentecostal church while there have been refugees attending the Lutheran services as well. These encounters showed the attempts to

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The Church at the Centre of Community?

build ecumenical relations between the Lammi Christians and Christian refugees arriving in Lammi. Another participant in the focus group shared her experience of encounter as follows: The Oasis is a kinda space in the parish gym hall, they did all kinda stuff there ... wasn’t a success … folks didn’t really turn up but at least they tried. Finnish folks are such numpties, they don’t know how to talk to them (Second Focus Group).

The Oasis had been a way for the ELCF to show respect to the newcomers to the community. Many of the immigrants to Lammi were Muslims and the ELCF wanted to host them in the gymnasium, not in a Lutheran Church. According to the above-mentioned young focus group participant, encounters had been challenging without a common language and without a diligently planned programme and focus. This initiative, however, demonstrated an eagerness to build relations and reciprocity. It just did not work out during the first try, at least from the point of view of this interviewed youngster. This example seems to indicate that relationality and reciprocity need time and repeated encounters before they are realised. The asylum seekers themselves addressed issues of tolerance and diversity during their interviews. There were practical examples of the difficulties an outsider faced in getting help in the community, but also feelings of acceptance. In the words of Allen (23-year-old male from southern Africa): “I was looking for directions. I tried to stop one lady, but she just ignored me. This other guy, just pointed from far away at what I am looking for.” Allen was shocked at the reaction of local Finns who either ignored him or wanted to keep their distance from him while giving him directions. Allen said that he had felt that the local people did not respect him and added that it was difficult for them to deal with diversity in their own community. In the stories of the refugees themselves, however, it was not just a question of how they were tolerated and how they were seen to be different. They also had their own stories of facilitating social cohesion through tolerance and diversity among multi-faith asylum seekers from various countries. Allen explained the background of his flatmates at the reception centre: “Gambia they are Muslims, Ivory Coast they are Muslims. I met one Ghana guy; he was a Christian. Most of the time I ask them about their religion.” He himself came from an African country with very few Muslims and, as already mentioned, adhered to the African traditional religious faith. He said that it was interesting to discuss differences and similarities of various religions and he did not regard diversity to be a problem among the immigrants themselves or with the Christians of Lammi, who had visited their apartment as well. From his explanation it seemed that a group of Christians had visited the apartment of immigrants in order to convert them. He had enjoyed this visit during

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which they shared their views of faith. Later, he was similarly very eager to tell the interviewer of his own beliefs and religious traditions. These experiences show how a great increase of refugees in Lammi in a very short time challenged the tolerance of a small village community. The examples of facing diversity were mainly negative, but the interviewees also had positive experiences of encountering the immigrants in the village. The positive encounters took place in situations in which the youngsters and refugees got to know each other personally. The presence of immigrants is, however, so recent in Lammi that there are no long-term examples of living together in a diverse context.

11.9

Conclusion

The results of the Lammi case study show that the youths did not consider themselves to be marginalised or that social cohesion was absent in the community. Some participants had feelings of being excluded from some of the local communities, but most of them were involved in other communities where they felt strongly included. The results from Lammi clearly indicate that youths search for and find help for their everyday problems from school or from city youth work groups, more than from the church. Their examples suggest that a young person has to have a really big problem, such as bereavement, to seek help from the ELCF. The chapter began with a quotation from 16-year-old Anni in which she indicates that she and her family were ELCF members and that they visited the cemetery regularly and attended church sometimes. Her order of places to visit indicates the importance of Lutheran traditions in Lammi; the deceased in the cemetery are an important part of the community and visiting the graves with family is a more important tradition than participating in church activities. Our findings show the reality that, although the church is physically located in the middle of Lammi, youngsters felt that the church doors were closed and the walls around the church too high, at least psychologically. Moreover, youngsters in Lammi seemed to appreciate traditions in many ways, as was evident from the high levels of attendance at confirmation school and in the good experiences from attending it. For most of them, belonging to the majority church, the ELCF, seemed to be natural, although many of them indicated that faith was not particularly important to them. The younger participants especially stressed that they did not know what the church teaches and that it was not important to them. However, the older interviewees seemed to see the importance of the ELCF at least for other youngsters in need, if not for themselves. Our findings therefore suggest that young people had both positive and negative experiences of social cohesion in Lammi. Some liked living in Lammi because it was a small place and everybody knew each other. This positive experience also

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The Church at the Centre of Community?

extended to the ELCF, noticeably young people’s good experiences of participating in confirmation school. Most young people were also open to the values of tolerance and to diversity, even though there were also those who were intolerant of the refugees. On the other hand, however, there were also youngsters who considered Lammi to be such a small place that it was easy to be left out of social networks and get caught up in gossip. Those who were left out of networks had negative experiences of social cohesion. While some young people experienced a general lack of social cohesion, this included negative experiences of the ELCF such as its intolerance toward refugees in Lammi. Very few youths participated actively in the FBOs. These young people, however, contributed vividly to the discussion of tolerance and diversity in Lammi. The experiences of facing diversity were mainly negative, but the interviewees also had positive encounters with immigrants in the village. Moreover, our results show how gender differences in feelings about social cohesion related to the FBOs. Females found social cohesion through the ELCF much more important than the males did. Most male interviewees commented that religion and religious communities have nothing to do with their lives and that they did not consider these communities as helpful in any way to a young person in need. We can conclude that many of our interviewed youths belonged to the ELCF without believing in its teachings or experiencing any social cohesion from it. From the beginning of the study we aimed to report the results to the Lammi community. The research team attended three events for reporting and discussing the results with the community during the autumn of 2017. The first event was organised by the ELCF and most of the parish employees and church council members attended it. During this event, especially the attitudes and experiences of youths towards the ELCF were discussed by around forty attendees. The second event was organised in a youth centre with the title “Dreams of youth in Lammi”, which was attended by around twenty young people and a few youth workers from both the city and the ELCF. The third event in which the results were reported was a big Independence Day celebration on 6 December 2017, when Finland celebrated one hundred years of independence. The celebrations started with a worship service at the medieval stone church of Lammi, followed by a visit to the war heroes’ graves in the graveyard around the church. After this Christian part of the celebration, the festivities continued in a festival hall with an Independence Day feast in which the main speech dealt with the results of the study. The whole celebration event was organised by a local committee in which representatives from schools, Lammi parish and various organisations of the rural community were involved. These feedback sessions showed that the local community was actively interested in the results and wanted to use them for the benefit of young people in Lammi.

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Overall, the feedback sessions strengthened the research team’s sense of social cohesion in the small community of Lammi. Social cohesion, we meaningfully learned, included the forefathers of the community, as evident from the visit to the graveyard during the Independence Day celebration. This also explains the quotation used at the beginning of this chapter – visiting graves was important even to the 16-year-old Anni and her family. Visiting graves demonstrates how important Lutheran traditions are for the identity of the young people in this community. Visiting graves is not only a question of religion; rather it indicates belonging both to the local community and to the wider Lutheran heritage.

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Part III Discussions and Conclusions

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Chapter 12: Youth at the Margins Reflections on Diversities and Similarities Using Intersectionality as a Lens

12.1

Introduction

In this book we focus on youth at the margins by drawing on the views of young research participants whom we met in six locations in three countries. Differences between the three countries – Finland, Norway and South Africa – were described through statistical snapshots (Chapter 3), while the differences between the localities were reflected in each of the related case study chapters. In South Africa we heard participants comment on the general socio-economic environment in an urban setting: “Eish! It is tough living here” (Chapter 6), and when they referred to the perceived apathy among some of their peers in a rural location, they described them as persons “waiting for the sunset” (Chapter 10). We noticed a perception of exclusion and hopelessness that seemed widespread in particular localities. In other cases, such as the one from Oslo, young people may have felt excluded, but still hoped that they could access “a network that they can use to get a job” (Chapter 7). By focusing on some of these observations in the case study chapters, the aim of this chapter is to reflect on various hues of diversity and similarity within and across the case studies. In analysing and comparing these contexts, intersectionality was chosen as a heuristic tool to highlight diverse, but also similar, reported experiences of participants from the different case studies. Using intersectionality to compare case studies from South Africa and two Nordic countries, we have to remark on the varied categories of diversity that are at play in these contexts. For example, while the apartheid racial categories remain important identity markers to this day, and are closely linked with socio-economic status in South Africa today (Chapter 3), the term “race” sits uneasily in the Nordic countries. However, some Nordic researchers argue that a “new racism” or “neo-racism” focusing on culture and religion – and on “immigrants” and Islam in particular – rather than on biological markers of difference has emerged over the last few decades (Bangstad & Døving: 2015; Gullestad: 2002; Gullestad: 2004). We will elaborate on such differences below. The triad of race, gender and class has generally been seen as the most relevant constructs in intersectionality studies, but many theorists argue that other aspects

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such as disabilities, sexual orientation and religion are also relevant, depending on the context (Anthias: 2013, 126; Dhamoon: 2011, 234; Levine-Rasky: 2011, 240). From our case studies it emerged that place of residence (or lack thereof), citizenship status, race, gender, class (although difficult to define across vastly different societies) and religion are of particular importance. In addition, age was crucial as it informed the way in which we sampled potential research participants for this study. The discussion of the NEET concept and the statistical snapshots in Chapters 2 and 3 have already highlighted the focus on youth, and hence also the importance of age as a marker of identity and indicator of inequality in the research project. However, “youth” included people from 16 to 24 years in the case studies (in exceptional cases slightly older people were also interviewed), and already within this age category we noted differences based on the reported experiences of older and younger participants. In order to provide orientation to our focus on diversities and similarities, we present the term “intersectionality” as a heuristic tool in the next section. We then utilise insights derived from this perspective to offer a deeper analysis of the preceding case study chapters. We proceed with reflections on our intersectional positions as researchers and conclude with recommendations for future research.

12.2

Intersectionality as a Heuristic Tool

Kimberlé Crenshaw brought the term intersectionality into vogue when analysing how race and gender intersect in the lives of black women in the United States of America (USA). She used detailed examples to demonstrate that if the single axis of gender is used, the focus is invariably on white women, and in the case of race, the focus is on black men (Crenshaw: 1991, 1244; see also Anthias: 2013, 125; Dhamoon: 2011, 231). Intersectionality thus contributed to an articulation of multiple forms of oppression faced by black women in the USA and highlighted how their plight is easily overlooked if a single classification of either gender or race is employed. Crenshaw developed the premise of intersectionality by focusing on how structural, political and representational intersectionality shape(d) the lives of women of colour in the USA, although she did not regard intersectionality “as some new, totalizing theory of identity” (Crenshaw: 1991, 1244). Intersectionality is not the only concept aiming to better understand how different forms of inequalities impact simultaneously on specific people; various terms such as interlocking systems of oppression, simultaneous oppressions, multiple jeopardy, the matrix of domination and triple oppression were all used in different contexts to achieve the same goal (Anthias: 2013, 126; Collins & Bilge: 2016, 64f, 76; Dhamoon: 2011, 231–232). In South Africa the triple oppression of black women in terms of race, gender and class was repeatedly highlighted, especially during the

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Youth at the Margins

apartheid years. However, the triple oppression discourse was increasingly regarded as limiting, since although it aimed to understand the combined effect of systems of oppression, there was at times still an underlying intention to gauge which is the most oppressive (De la Rey: 1997, 7), a tendency that was also described in other parts of the world (Hancock: 2011; Gouws: 2017). An intersectionality perspective aims to overcome this limitation by highlighting how people experience specific forms of hardship based on their unique positions and showing that the experience of such disadvantages is more than just adding up the different forms of discrimination (Anthias: 2013, 126). In this regard, Levine-Rasky (2011, 240) argues that intersectionality is not a model encompassing different levels of oppression,1 but a way to create a deeper understanding of the complexities in lived realities – an aim we set for ourselves in this chapter and in the project by focusing on the qualitative data. Three decades after the seminal Crenshaw article, the scope of intersectionality has widened considerably. When not only the marginalised are considered from an intersectionality perspective, but also the privileged, then richer understandings of inequality develop (Dhamoon: 2011; Levine-Rasky: 2011). Following this line of thinking, the complexities of different constructed status rankings in specific contexts can be brought to the fore, as can be seen in an article on formerly incarcerated women, where an intersectionality approach reveals how being white in a South African prison can complicate an inmate’s power relations with black warders. In this context it was argued that privilege, social positions and power relations are not fixed but continuously negotiated (Agboola & Rabe: 2018). Such dynamic nuances in various studies have led to a distinction being made between “social position” and “social positioning” when employing the concept of intersectionality. The former refers to a person’s “identity and access to symbolic and material resources”, whereas social positioning is a process where “different groups define, negotiate, and challenge their positions” (Anthias in Levine-Rasky: 2011, 242). The latter is a more active process in identity formation, illuminating an individual’s (or a group’s) agency, and below we highlight such attempts by certain participants of this study (see Section 12.3 and further). In Finland, Karkulehto and her fellow authors (2012) argued for a close observation of the workings of intersectionality in people’s lives and social inequalities at the same time. In their view, recognising different intersectionalities is not enough, since inequalities should be specifically focused on as well. They used the term “performative intersectionality” to integrate intersectionalities and inequalities. In 1 This tendency of adding up different systems of oppression has been referred to as “Oppression Olympics” by Martinez in a magazine article, a term that exposes the desire to cast a particular category of people as the “most oppressed” (Hancock: 2011, 3). This tendency is in fact contrary to the aims of intersectionality theory.

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the Nordic countries, migrants can to some extent be excluded or marginalised on the basis of their citizenship and residence status (e.g. asylum seekers), which has implications for their welfare rights. Moreover, migrants and their descendants also face exclusion based on their names, physical appearance, accents when speaking, or choice of clothing. For example, Arnfinn Midtbøen (2016) sent pairs of equivalent résumés and cover letters – one with a Pakistani name and one with a Norwegian name – in job applications in the Oslo area. His results indicate that applicants with Norwegian names are 25 per cent more likely to receive a call back for a job interview than equally qualified applicants with Pakistani names. In South Africa, more recently, various activist elements have also been analysed through an intersectional lens. Activism embodied in youthful movements such as the 2015 to 2016 #FeesMustFall student protests in South Africa2 that called for “free higher education” and “decolonising universities” has, for example, been analysed through the lens of intersectionality, again showing the links between gender and race in everyday experiences (Gouws: 2017). In our reflections on youth at the margins who were not part of these social movements in South Africa, because the protesters were students at higher education institutions and our focus was on NEET young people, we wanted to consider the different, but also similar, ways in which young people are excluded in the various case study contexts. We also wanted to compare the effect these contexts have on the lived experiences of the research participants. An aspect that is seldom probed in intersectionality approaches, but of importance for our study, is religion. An exception is the theologian Ninna Edgardh, who has included religion as part of a systematic intersectional approach to the research area we may term “welfare and religion”, though in a more indicative way than a comprehensive analysis (Edgardh Beckman: 2007; Edgardh: 2010). Edgardh (2010, 211–212) highlighted the fruitfulness of an intersectionality perspective in a study of religion as a social practice, which was born out of religious responses to what was perceived as marginalisation and oppression. She finds it a problem that, generally, feminist theorists have shown little interest in religion in their studies of intersectionality, as has also been the case internationally (Reimer-Kirkham & Sharma: 2011; Weber: 2015). In the Nordic context, the first to include religion in a reflection on intersectionality was Erica Appelros (2005), who argued for the inclusion of religion as a “variable” in intersectional analyses and developed a way of dealing with this variable in such analyses (cf. Edgardh: 2010, 212). The concept of intersectionality has since been applied in a number of such studies, noticeably on Muslim women in Nordic and other European countries (e.g. Halrynjo & Jonker: 2016; Skjeie & Langvasbråten: 2009; Thun: 2012; Walseth: 2015).

2 An ongoing activist movement.

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Youth at the Margins

Intersectionality is thus applied in different contexts and it has even been contended that it is one the most important theoretical contributions from women’s studies toward understanding inequality (Levine-Rasky: 2011, 240). However, it has also been argued that intersectionality has become a popular buzzword that is advancing neither feminist scholarship nor activism (Knapp in Anthias: 2013, 125; Meer & Müller: 2017, 3). In fact, the concept has been so severely criticised from various quarters that this response has been described as an “intersectionality critique industry” (Gouws: 2017, 22). Despite these criticisms, we agree with Collins and Bilge (2016, 7) that the core dimension of intersectionality is power relations (see also Karkulehto et al.: 2012) and that “power relations are about people’s lives, how people relate to one another, and who is advantaged or disadvantaged within social interactions.” In order to use the concept of intersectionality as a heuristic tool, we understand it as fundamentally relational. We thus refer to how systems of division based on race, citizenship status, class and so forth are interconnected and often reinforce one another. Since intersectionality makes no sense outside of the specific social context of power relations, our aim is to highlight specific case studies in order to show how power relations are operating in diverse contexts. Our hope is that by uncovering such power relations as they operate in the lives of individuals, we will understand social inequality better and move towards a more socially just dispensation (cf. Collins & Bilge: 2016, 194–202). Moreover, we have also indicated that religion has not received due attention in intersectionality approaches. As such, we attempt to incorporate religious affiliation in this analysis, although there is a far more in-depth analysis of religion and faith in the ensuing two chapters. By focusing on agency when illuminating intersectionality, we want to pre-empt and refute the criticism that it simply reiterates victimhood status. In contrast, we see intersectionality as a form of critical praxis. This is to the extent that social movements and academic inquiry may even meet each other through intersectionality as a tool to bring about change, thereby rejecting an artificial division between theory and practice (cf. Collins & Bilge: 2016, 129; Gqola: 2001, 11; Lozano: 2017, 97f). We wanted to use the life worlds of our research participants as our starting point, and it was clear that their physical locations formed an important part of their social contexts. Hence location became an important part of our analytical focus. We return to the issue of physical location after we have considered below how religion and gender are embedded within the participants’ experiences.

12.3

Religious Affiliation as a Node of Intersecting Experience

Many, but not all, religious people are affiliated to Christian churches in South Africa and the Nordic countries. A minority of people in these countries have

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a religious affiliation to Islam, and this minority tends to be active in attending mosques and associated places of worship (Chapter 3). In the case study contexts from Norway and Finland, religion, specifically as it related to the praxis of churches and mosques, played a pivotal role. The Oslo case study took place in a diverse city district where the youth work in the local churches and mosques mostly focused on what the different FBOs saw as “their” youth. Because the main purpose of the FBOs’ engagement with the youth was to pass on religious beliefs, values and identities, the (presumed) religious background or belonging of young people was important in determining which FBOs engaged with them. In Lammi, some of the young people living in the immigrant reception centre would have liked to participate in their own faith communities, if there had been such an FBO nearby. One of the Muslim young men had visited a mosque in another town, but only on occasions when he was nearby for other reasons. For some of the youths in these case studies, in other words, the nearby FBOs did not seem to facilitate the religious practice in which they wished to engage. In Oslo and Lammi, the parishes of the Lutheran national churches similarly saw the rite of confirmation as an opportunity to reach out to young people. On the national level, 85.6 per cent of 15-year-olds in Finland and 64 per cent in Norway were confirmed in the Lutheran national churches in 2012 (Chapter 3), just a few years prior to the research for the case studies in this book. The confirmation preparations and rituals thus brought together the majority of Finnish and Norwegian youths in similar experiences shared across parishes. In other words, the experiences were shared by the majority of youth at the national level and may have contributed to a sense of sameness among this majority (cf. Gullestad: 2002; Chapter 7). However, the share of young people who participated in the confirmation preparations and rituals varied between different localities in the two countries, as for instance reflected in the differences between the case studies from rural Lammi and suburban Søndre Nordstrand in Oslo. In rural Lammi, where a majority of the youths participated in the confirmation preparations and rituals, participants in the case study narrated experiences associated with social cohesion, especially experiences of togetherness, in connection with confirmation training and the confirmation ritual. However, the youths also described confirmation in negative terms, since participating in it was experienced as an obligation. In addition, one had to “resign” from the church if one did not want to be a member, which included paying church taxes. Resigning from the church would mean that a “church wedding”, another rite that some of the participants highlighted as an important future prospect, would not be possible. In this way, some young people problematised the central social role of the Lutheran Church in this case study (Lammi). Furthermore, and for obvious reasons, the young people who were brought together by confirmation preparation and the confirmation ritual were Christians or came from families with a Christian background. In rural Lammi this was an overwhelming majority of the

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Youth at the Margins

youths, and confirmation did not apply to youths from other religious backgrounds in the immigrant reception centre. In suburban Oslo, confirmation likewise did not apply to the many youths who were from other religious backgrounds. However, as the Oslo case study showed, mosques provided different activities and services to Muslim youths. This was not the case to the same extent in Lammi where there were only Christian FBOs. Generally, the rural areas in the Nordic countries have more homogeneous populations than the big cities and a narrower range of religious and other organisations. As we reiterate below, location is an important factor influencing the experiences of young people, especially as it intersects with religious belonging and affiliation but also class and race. In the case study from Oslo there was also talk about “street youths” who gathered outdoors. Street youths were mostly seen as “others” in the FBOs. In one of the Church of Norway parishes both the adult representative and young people spoke of the street youths in terms that evoked ethnic differences and hierarchies of belonging. Religion was not mentioned explicitly in this context, although street youths and marginalised youths in the suburbs of Oslo more generally are often associated with Islam in Norwegian public discourse (Holte: 2018b, 3–4). One of the mosques reached out to the street youths to integrate them into the organisation and help them get off the streets. In this way this FBO acted to bridge a social divide between “us” and “them”, but the activities did not aim to reach beyond the borders of their religious community: the youth group members in this mosque said that they only targeted and “talk[ed] to people we know have Muslim background” (Chapter 7). Although exceptions could be found, family and social background were dominant factors in determining the youths’ religious engagement, and also which FBOs approached which youths with the aim of recruiting or helping them. The Oslo case study showed how Christian and Muslim FBOs dealt with stereotypes about their respective religions, although the stereotypes were different. The youths suggested that being a religious person might be easier in a diverse city district such as Søndre Nordstrand than in more homogeneous Norwegian and Nordic localities, and some youths thought that being a Muslim was more broadly accepted in Oslo compared to being a Christian. On the other hand, the Muslim FBOs in the Oslo case study faced negative stereotypes. Commenting on the same case study findings, Holte (2018b, 78) notes that the Muslim FBO that reached out to “street youths” attracted negative media attention, which may be understood in terms of how Islamophobic discourses have been mainstreamed in Norway, the Nordic countries and in Europe more broadly (Bangstad: 2014). The different positions and relative privileges of the different religions thus appeared to be complex in the Oslo case study. In Lammi, in comparison, the Lutheran national church was conspicuously more dominant as there were far fewer other FBOs around and no FBOs that were not Christian. As there were also fewer people belonging to minority religions in general and Islam in particular, it was harder to assess the

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position of minority religions, such as Islam, in this case study. Across the two Nordic case studies, the distribution of privileges among religions – and more specifically between Christianity and Islam – varied between affiliates and organisations, and they may have depended on intersections with other factors such as age and location. Also, belonging to a minority religion such as Islam did not seem to add a layer of oppression or advantage to youths’ social position in South Africa as it seems to have done in Oslo, since the context is again very different. In Chapter 3 we illuminated the high percentage of people describing themselves as belonging to the Christian faith in South Africa. Unlike the Nordic countries, South Africa is characterised by the presence of multiple Christian churches, as was explained in the South African case studies. It was thus not surprising that the majority of our participants identified themselves as Christians, although the presence of Muslim communities was clearly evident in various ways, for example, through old and new mosques in Riverlea, Emakhazeni and Pretoria Central. Yet, belonging to churches had different meanings for research participants. The Riverlea case study showed how the church contributed to some young people’s ability to overcome adverse conditions. However, it was also shown how churches could marginalise young people further if moral terms dictated social norms. Similarly, participants in the Emakhazeni case study expressed a wish to be respected by the church instead of being judged. An example from the Pretoria case study also illustrated such judging when Solly and Joyce were labelled as “nyaope people” (referring to people who use the illegal addictive substance – Chapter 6) by church members and therefore prevented from accessing resources they desperately needed. “Franschhoek is an overwhelmingly Christian town” (Chapter 9). As such, mainly participants with experiences related to the Christian faith were sampled in Franschhoek. The manner in which marginality was described along with racial, class and spatial dynamics in the experience of the youth participants in the Franschhoek case study was not affected by their religious affiliation. In other words, while religious affiliation, and in particular affiliation to a church, was reported by all but two of the research participants in Franschhoek, their experience of marginality did not appear to be determined by this affiliation. From specific examples in Pretoria, in contrast, it became clear that certain young people were far more able to direct their lives, if they were able to forge relations that revolved around religious affiliation and especially religious activities within specific contexts. Since sampling in the YOMA project focused on potential participants associated with NEET categories, it was thus not surprising that none of the Pretoria participants were formally employed. Although some participants had some form of training or were in school, they did not have good prospects for further studies or stable employment. However, in rare cases sponsors or FBOs were seeking to change

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this dynamic. For example, a few of the female participants who were linked with a particular FBO were studying part-time at institutions of higher learning (tertiary education). The participants in this case study, similar to most of the participants in the South African case studies, were all young black people living in a country with an oversupply of unemployed people with only basic skills (Chapter 2; cf. Ferguson: 2015). These circumstances on their own already created very limited opportunities. Specific age,3 skills level and lack of access to networks or people with resources were intensifying their experiences of marginalisation. Moving from a place such as Emakhazeni or Franschhoek to a city, such as Pretoria, in no way guaranteed employment opportunities, and in some cases people’s circumstances may have even worsened (cf. Rabe et al: 2019). However, a subsample of women in the Pretoria case study lived in foster homes for young women (with a “house mother”) for a number of years. These housing initiatives were sponsored by a local FBO. Some of these women moved to Pretoria when they were young, in some cases because their parents could not look after them any longer (cf. Rabe: 2018). What is distinctive about these women is that although they were not employed, they were often studying part-time and immersed in community and church initiatives and volunteering for projects. The continued involvement and dedication by an FBO thus created some stability in the lives of these women. In the Nordic case studies there were some examples of how FBOs complemented the public welfare services. The Buddhist organisation in the Oslo case study included young people with mental problems in their activities, and a boy who participated in a focus group interview in a mosque spoke of how the mosque had been important in helping him deal with unemployment, being “on the streets” and what he described as being “depressed”. In Lammi, in turn, diaconal work in the parish of the Lutheran Church and the free churches helped those who were financially poor by, for instance, delivering clothes and food. Thus, the importance of different FBOs was evident in the lives of many research participants in all the case studies, even if in different ways. What is particularly noteworthy is the way that the FBOs could play a positive or negative role depending on how they related to other ascribed identity markers such as (presumed) religious background or membership, “street youths” (in Oslo; Chapter 7) or illicit drug-related labels (in Pretoria; Chapter 6). Although some FBOs held influential positions in at least certain sectors within some of the specific localities, their presence did not necessarily benefit all young people at the margins. FBOs were thus acting as institutions of power where benefits and resources could be made available (or not), depending on how people were generally perceived. In everyday life some

3 Only caregivers of people younger than 18 years can qualify for the targeted state-sponsored child grant in South Africa (Ngubane & Maharaj: 2018).

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of our participants thus had to present themselves as people “worthy” of access to resources based on criteria set by FBOs. In the specific spaces where the FBOs were situated, power relations were based on the relationships between members and non-members – the latter often being young people at the margins, although their marginal positions were not a direct consequence of not being member of an FBO. We briefly considered the relation between religion and its unique intersections with other identities or positions above; in the next section we highlight how gender dynamics intersected with other forms of power dynamics in complicated ways in the case study contexts.

12.4

Gendered Experiences through an Intersectional Lens

Collins and Bilge (2016, 103) argue that intersectionality studies are still usually associated with women and gender studies but, as mentioned above, the adoption of the concept of intersectionality in other work is increasing. Here, we focus on how the different positions associated with different genders, not only women, intersect with other areas of life. In the case studies from South Africa, we found that women were most likely to cite pregnancy and men the importance of being a breadwinner as their main concerns. As Cindy from the Riverlea case study candidly explained: “You know, the girls fall pregnant, the guys have to go get a job to look after the kids.” These blunt gendered expectations expressed in South Africa were absent in the Nordic case studies. This absence in the Nordic case studies could partly be explained by the support available when living in a welfare state (Chapter 3), but gender still influenced youths’ experiences. Some of the female participants in Oslo and Lammi specifically mentioned having to endure sexist remarks in public spaces that signalled a lack of respect for them and also made them feel insecure. In the Oslo case study, the participants linked the negative comments with male “refugees” and not with young “Norwegian” men. Here, the “us” and “them” narrative was thus not straightforward masculine or feminine constructions, but was based on the intersection of ethnicity, (assumed) citizenship status and gender – thus underscoring the importance of social context. The street youths focused on in the Oslo case study were generally also seen as “immigrant” boys (Chapter 7). In this case study, young immigrant men in NEET situations on the streets emerged as hyper-visible in the sense that it is unclear whether they existed as individuals or whether they were rather a construction of other people’s social positioning, a point we will return to below.4 The absence of

4 The question implied here is whether the youths visible on the streets were in NEET situations, or whether the street youths and the NEET youths were discrete groups. Other studies in Oslo have

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women in marginal situations in this case study reflects how some marginalised youths attract disproportionate attention, while others go almost unnoticed. The hyper-visibility of the implicitly male, immigrant and NEET street youths entailed the invisibility of other NEET young people, including NEET young women. NEET young women were not interviewed and rarely mentioned in the interviews for the Oslo case study. NEET young men, such as Martin, who did not have an immigrant background and was not on the streets, but lived a quiet life doing “nothing” and spending time online on his computer, were similarly rather invisible (Chapter 7). We hasten to note that visibility in this context can be an advantage, if it means that resources are allocated and initiatives enacted, but also a disadvantage, if it leads to stigmatisation. Gender appeared to be particularly consequential in the experience of young women participants in the Franschhoek case study, as they bore a larger burden of care because of single parenthood. This affected participants’ capacity to both remain in education as well as to find and hold employment, although this did not necessarily apply only to women. One young father also mentioned being forced to choose between the responsibilities of being an employee and a father, and since he chose the latter, he was unemployed. In Franschhoek, rurality without a public transport infrastructure and other amenities served to compound the problems of this young man’s access to employment opportunities when faced with the demands of parenthood. The absence of social services in this town was linked to the rural location characterised by weaker infrastructure. Gender as a construct on its own signals different experiences, but once we focused on gender within a specific social context, an even more varied picture emerged for women and men. Beyond care responsibilities, both young men and women experienced a lack of education, employment and training opportunities which appeared to combine with their spatial, racial and class position and positioning. Location is therefore not only associated with the historical legacy of spatial planning during the apartheid era, but also with the current nature of social service provision in Franschhoek. In Emakhazeni the child support grant from the state was mentioned by some participants, but with the awareness that the grant was not enough to cover basic needs.5 Apart from the grant, the wider implications of sexual health repeatedly came to the fore in this case study because of the large number of people living with HIV (PLWHIV) in the area. Participants also mentioned related aspects such

problematised the way that street youths are assumed to be young immigrant men in NEET situations (e.g. Bydel Grorud: 2016, 11–13). 5 The value of the child support grant was R420 per month from April 2019, less than US$30. Although it is believed by some that poor South African women get pregnant in order to obtain the child support grant, research does not support this perception (Makiwane et al.: 2006; Ngubane & Maharaj: 2018).

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as men having sexual relations with several different women at the same time. This finding resonates with other studies in South Africa showing how men with access to financial resources are often sought after by women (Shefer & Strebel: 2012). This gives rise to very unequal power relations between some men and women, often referred to as the “sugar daddy phenomenon”. Although such relationships leave women vulnerable, this does not necessarily imply that they are only victims. Women may also actively seek such relationships on the basis of a desire for material commodities, status and emotional investments (Shefer & Strebel: 2012). For young people and others at the margins, “relations of dependence” may represent an improvement in their situation (Ferguson: 2015, 141–164). Worthiness of support by FBOs was highlighted in a focus group in Pretoria Central, held with women living on a temporary basis (usually three months) in a shelter run by an FBO. Many of these women lived there with their small children. At the time there was no such shelter catering for adult men and hence many of the participants lived permanently on the street. The women in this case study who lived permanently on the street were drug dependent and/or foreigners, again signalling the importance of not focusing on gender on its own. In these cases the female participants living permanently on the street were not able to forge social relationships that could provide them with better opportunities. Services for pregnant women and women with small children (provided the women were not users of illegal drug substances) were more readily available than for other people living permanently on the street. To illustrate, the couple mentioned above, Solly and Joyce, were stuck in Pretoria and their situation deteriorated rapidly. Joyce then became pregnant and, based on this status, there were social structures in place to help them. In the case of the male participants, some in the Pretoria case study felt enormous pressure to provide for family members, even though they were barely able to support themselves. In one case Luke was tempted to take part in an armed robbery in order to help his family financially. Complicated gendered experiences thus manifested themselves where being a parent or becoming a parent played an important role, albeit that this was experienced differently by men and women. Women were most likely to have their reproductive health needs met and to receive help when they had to take care of small children, while men highlighted the financial support that they felt they should provide to their family members (Chapter 6). From our findings, and not surprisingly, the social constructions of gender were embedded in specific contexts. More surprising was how certain participants in the South African case studies said that relations with FBOs were more easily available for those experiencing potentially heightened vulnerability, for example, by being pregnant, very young or more visibly in need. The FBOs thus seemed to uphold ideas of the deserving and undeserving poor, particularly the idea that working-age

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and able-bodied men (and women) should be able to provide for themselves (cf. Ferguson: 2015).

12.5

Location, Location, Location

From an intersectionality perspective, there are different forms of inequality that prevail simultaneously and have combined effects on individuals’ lives, since they reinforce each other. In this section we thus analyse location in relation to other social positions. Spatial separation goes hand in hand with economic separation, but this is especially true in the case of South Africa with its extreme levels of economic inequality (Chapter 3). From the South African case study research presented in this book, it is almost self-evident that space reinforces inequality. It was, for example, clear that lack of employment was fuelled by aspects such as poor education and skills training (Chapter 2) compounded by seasonally limited employment opportunities in an area such as Franschhoek. This, in turn, could be seen as largely the result of years of racial segregation whereby young people were (and often still are) physically removed and spatially separated from educational, training and employment opportunities. Space and race continue to be a critical intersection that contributes to the way that we may understand and analyse the lived experiences of young people in South Africa. This is well demonstrated in the sample selection of the Franschhoek case study – intentionally sampling NEET youth, none of the participants was either white or residing in the “affluent” centre of Franschhoek. As such, these participants found themselves in a town separated along racial and spatial lines, with much higher population densities and lower incomes in the areas where predominantly coloured and black people lived (Chapter 9). Similarly, Riverlea was established in terms of the policy of forced removals of the National Party government during apartheid. Moreover, unemployment and crime, including illegal drug sales and abuse, were prevalent in Riverlea, as they were in Franschhoek. As one young woman, Lerato, responded to a question about living in Riverlea with an understated comment: “it’s not an ideal place” (Chapter 8). Equally in the Emakhazeni case, the research participants were also situated away from the economic hubs. In addition, unemployment and PLWHIV are rife in these areas. Here young people had to compete for limited positions as waiters and cleaners in the tourism industry, since they had only basic skills and limited access to arable land. Previous employment opportunities in the area were diminishing as a result of the scaling down of mining activities and hence images of youths without agency or hope were reported in this case study (Chapter 10).

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The majority of young people in these three case study contexts thus grew up in a space where there were almost no economic opportunities and their chances of finding or creating such opportunities were slim. These close-up pictures from the case studies resonate with representative quantitative panel studies in South Africa (National Income Dynamics Studies – NIDS), which indicate that persistently poor households “are about twice as reliant on social grants as households in other classes, and much less reliant on income from the labour market.” Moreover, the majority of such households are black, situated in rural areas, excluded from the labour market, and the household heads have a low formal education (Zizzamia et al.: 2019, 24). Intergenerational cycles of poverty are thus perpetuated by spatial separateness, which implies that the political changes in South Africa have not brought about economic changes for specific sectors of people in South Africa. This effect of spatial division is common knowledge in South Africa and in trying to bridge this separateness and access opportunities more easily, many young people in South Africa move to cities, such as Pretoria and Johannesburg (Hall et al.: 2015; Rabe et al.: 2019). This movement of young people clearly demonstrates agency on the part of the youths (which is not to imply that non-migrants are not demonstrating agency in one way or another). It would appear at first as if the urban participants had more access to opportunities and to amenities such as health and transport compared to rural participants. Yet, the pervasive presence of illegal drugs, living apart from family members and a general lack of economic opportunities in Pretoria Central made it extremely difficult for young people to find gainful employment. Unlike the other three South African case studies, Pretoria does not necessarily seem to be an area “stuck” in residential racial segregation. However, on closer inspection, residential racial separation has not disappeared entirely, despite the more fluid nature of movement and migration. In the Pretoria Central case study, two profiles in particular manifested among the research participants, namely young people who lived with family members in the city and young people who moved to the city on their own. Those young participants who migrated came from various places ranging from nearby towns (within the Gauteng province), other provinces and other African countries. In the Pretoria sample, those who lived with family members were often younger than 18 years and the most likely to attend school or some form of training facility. Such participants were thus not strictly within the NEET category, but these participants were included as they were at great risk of becoming part of the NEET category (Chapter 2). Most of the migrants had come to Pretoria with the expectation of better economic opportunities compared to their place of origin. For example, Benjamin, a young male participant who grew up in Pretoria but finished school in a different province of South Africa, returned to Pretoria. He worked for periods as a builder under short-term contract agreements, but he had been unemployed for some time at the time of the interview. Benjamin did not only refer to himself as an unemployed person, but painted a picture of

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general unemployment in the area by referring to his unemployed friends as well. Unlike the rural areas, we thus found more cases in Pretoria of people who fall in and out of absolute poverty; they were employed at times, but not continuously. Among the migrant participants in Pretoria, there were two subsidiary profiles. Firstly, there were participants who, after they had migrated to the city, could not find meaningful opportunities, and became stuck and lost their optimism. As one participant stated: “Ah, I don’t have any hope … It is just I am giving up” (Chapter 6). These participants usually lived on the streets permanently and in some cases they became dependent on illegal substances. The older the participants were and the longer they had lived on the streets, the bleaker they would portray their future. Secondly, those migrants who made meaningful connections with individuals or FBOs were either engaged in informal economic activities or studied further with sponsorship. The research participants in this latter group had managed to forge informal networks in the city with both strong and weak ties (cf. Granovetter: 1973). This latter group consisted mostly of women who moved to the city at a young age and were therefore more likely to have been helped by support agencies, including formal FBOs, as discussed above. People from various countries also cross borders to Nordic countries in search of better opportunities (Chapter 3). They not only shift their locations, but also their legal status, at least until they obtain a new citizenship, which can take a long time. Many of the research participants in Oslo and Lammi were immigrants or the children of immigrants.6 In both contexts young people from immigrant families were subject to certain forms of labelling. In the Oslo case study young people who did not themselves have an immigrant background in one of the Church of Norway parishes used the term “refugees” to describe the “street youth” in their community, as we mentioned above. This term implies that the street youths came from somewhere else; it implies that they were immigrants and not fully “Norwegian” – at least not in the ethnic sense. The street youths were also more generally identified in media and public discourse as “immigrant youths” – a term that is normally understood to include the children and even grandchildren of immigrants, as well as youths who have migrated to Norway themselves (cf. Holte: 2018b, 3–4). This reflects a process of social positioning, where young people and other research participants distanced themselves from positions seen as problematic, such as “street youth” and “NEET”. One result was stigmatisation of youths with immigrant backgrounds.

6 Labour migrants from other EU/EEA countries, who constitute the majority of immigrants in both Norway and Finland, did not feature in these case studies. The immigrants who featured in the case studies were mostly from the Middle East and Africa, and many of them migrated as asylum seekers, refugees, or to be with family members who were already in Norway.

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Similar processes of social positioning were seen in the case study from Lammi. Unlike in Oslo, where migrant families have been arriving from outside Europe since the late 1960s and some are now in their third and fourth generation in Norway, ethnicity intersects with being a refugee or an asylum seeker in Lammi. In fact, without reception centres for asylum seekers, Lammi would have been an almost mono-ethnic community. By referring to themselves as “ethnic Finns”, participants who were not asylum seekers or refugees were positioning themselves by drawing distinctions between immigrants and themselves. The analogous idea of “ethnic Norwegians” was evoked in the Oslo case study. When they used the concept of ethnicity in this way, research participants implied that their claim to belonging and citizenship was stronger than the claims of immigrants and their descendants’ claims to belong in Norway, even when they had residence permits or had become citizens.7 As Gullestad (2002) noted two decades ago, immigrants are sometimes referred to as “guests” in Norway. Evoking the ideas of Finnish or Norwegian ethnicity thus entailed a process whereby the research participants were consciously redefining social positions and positioning themselves in hierarchies of belonging where the implied hosts belonged while the guests did not. Generally, in all the case studies, the research participants were acutely aware of their vulnerabilities and the little economic power they had. Yet many of them believed they could improve their socio-economic position by moving to other locations, sometimes other countries. However, as the case studies from Lammi, Oslo and Pretoria illustrate, the realities of the new spaces seldom entailed rosy opportunities and exposed young people to power dynamics with regards to belonging and citizenship status. This was especially the case for international migration as location intersected with citizenship and ethnic categories (cf. Malkki: 1992). The relevance of social context, power relations and social positioning from an intersectional perspective were thus all demonstrated here. A comparative view of the case studies in this book shows how physical location was important in determining young people’s opportunities for education, training and employment. At the same time, moving between locations – or even being born to parents who had moved between locations – exposed young people to power relations and processes of social positioning that could ultimately limit their ability to realise the opportunities available where they found themselves. Their gender, age, race

7 This restrictive idea of belonging and citizenship is echoed, to some extent, in the Finnish and Norwegian nationality laws, which are based on the legal principle of jus sanguinis (right of blood). Citizenship of these countries is primarily based on the citizenship of a child’s parents. There are exceptions, such as naturalisation, but birth in Finland or Norway does not, in itself, confer citizenship to these countries. The South African nationality law, in contrast, is based on the principle of jus soli (right of soil). A person born in South Africa to South African citizens or permanent residents is automatically granted South African citizenship.

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or ethnicity, and possibly religious background all played a role in shaping the opportunities available to individual young people in given locations.

12.6

Intersectional Reflections on the Researchers

An intersectional lens applied to the researchers who formed part of this study is also of importance, since qualitative research is a dynamic process that requires reflexivity. First, none of the researchers could be classified as NEET, since they were employed or participating as students in research for this book. Age was important, since all the researchers were older than the research participants, although the age differences varied. In Norway, a good number of the youth participants came from Asian and African immigrant families, but the researchers were all Europeans; while some participants identified as Muslims, none of the researchers in Norway did. Furthermore, three of the four researchers in the Oslo case study lived in more privileged areas in western Oslo, while Søndre Nordstrand is part of the poorer eastern part of Oslo (cf. Holte: 2018b). Similarly, none of the Finnish researchers lived in Lammi, and some of the research participants were asylum-seeking youths without their families whose experiences were very different from those of the researchers. While all the case study researchers were affiliated with the Evangelical Lutheran Church, and this was also true of most of the youths interviewed for the Lammi case study, some of the youths were Muslims or had resigned their church membership, and one belonged to an African traditional religion. Furthermore, all the researchers in Finland were female, while both men and women were represented among the research participants. The youths interviewed for the South African case studies were affiliated with Christianity or religiously unaffiliated, and the South African researchers were all, with the exception of one Muslim-affiliated female researcher, affiliated with Christianity. Furthermore, race was paramount in the case studies from South Africa where the salient apartheid racial categories still presented important markers for identity formation. All the research participants were black or coloured, yet the majority of the researchers in this study were white; three of the researchers were coloured and none were black. Initially, there were two black researchers who came from migrant communities, but they exited the research project early on for personal reasons. Black students were identified who could potentially be part of the research team, but they also fell by the wayside over time. Such difficulties in retaining black researchers may be indicative of a scarcity of black researchers in the country, but perhaps also of different life trajectories of black people in South Africa in general that does not facilitate a long-term commitment to a research project of this nature, even amongst the educated. As the racial divisions in South Africa

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gradually change over time, hopefully such skewness will become less pronounced in future. Of course, being from the same racial category does not automatically imply shared identities or experiences in South Africa (or elsewhere), but belonging to different racial categories immediately implies having very different experiences. Being white is associated with privilege in South Africa and research participants from NEET categories would almost unavoidably associate white researchers with positions of privilege. This may to some extent be the case in the Nordic countries as well, where coming from an immigrant family from Asia or Africa can be associated with being underprivileged, while travelling from western to eastern Oslo to conduct research signifies privilege. Regardless of the added complication of race, the power dynamics between researchers and participants are always difficult to manage (cf. Burawoy et al: 1991; Myrdal: 1969), especially in cases where there are huge divisions between the participants and the researchers. In the Franschhoek case study researchers tried to overcome this difficulty to an extent by ensuring that all data were gathered on the “turf ” of the participants. In Lammi and Oslo, younger researchers did most of the interviews with the young people, and in Riverlea, Emakhazeni and Pretoria Central some of the researchers were more invested in the communities because of long-term associations. In Pretoria the dynamics were different because the one researcher with decades of investment in the community would still not know many of the participants, because the community is large and fluid. In cases where he would know the participants, it was decided that he would not do the interviews, since they may then feel more pressured to give answers that they would deem socially acceptable. In short, this research was mainly done by outsiders and hence the findings should be interpreted in the light of this. This does not necessarily make the research less valid, as outsiders reveal aspects that are different from those that insiders highlight. One of the biggest disadvantages of being a researcher from outside is that limited or only specific information is shared by participants because of a lack of trust (Lofland & Lofland: 1995). As a specific case in point, the problems encountered with recruiting NEET young people for interviews in the Oslo case study may to some extent reflect a perception of the researchers as outsiders in the city district who could not be fully trusted. Yet, being an “insider” or an “outsider” is a fluid status, and in the journey towards becoming more of an insider (by spending time with participants), the way one is treated by participants is of importance (Rabe: 2003). Across many of the case studies we have seen the desperation and frustration of certain research participants, but also a certain appreciation of our interest in their lives. A certain optimism among some participants could be detected, exactly because outsiders were interested in their lives and hence they could discuss specific frustrations openly without fear of repercussions. In the Oslo case study,

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for instance, the researchers were able to interview representatives from a mosque generally known for avoiding researchers and the media, because the representatives believed that an international research project would produce more thorough analyses and avoid sensationalist headlines that would attract negative attention to their work. Furthermore, the religious dimension of our research project and its strong base in theological departments may have contributed towards granting the researchers a certain insider status in churches, mosques and other FBOs, regardless of the religious affiliation of the individual researchers. Although the information uncovered may be limited, there is a frankness in some of the findings that we believe to be an important contribution to understanding the lives of youth at the margins and the role of FBOs in their lives across the countries and locations of the case studies. As mentioned above, when not only the marginalised but also the privileged are considered, inequality can sometimes be better understood (Dhamoon: 2011; Levine-Rasky: 2011). In a research setting social positions and power relations are continuously negotiated, and it is impossible to deny the researchers’ access to material resources, especially compared to poor participants. Some participants wanted to engage the researchers beyond the research setting with the aim of gaining a possible link to material and symbolic resources. In other cases participants wished to explain their position of being unemployed in different terms (social positioning), such as a young man in the Pretoria case study who had completed his schooling and described himself as being on a “gap year”. As researchers we did not consider in advance a label such as a gap year as a possibility for our participants, perhaps revealing our own class bias. It is as if young people at the margins are expected to work and if they do not, they are typecast as unemployed or NEET and part of the “unemployment problem”. Yet we accept the term gap year for young people from wealthy families without necessarily linking those young people to the NEET category. As Ferguson (2015, 22) reminds us, the rich are often “idle non-workers” who receive generous cash incomes from various sources, which can include their parents. Young people are therefore easily placed in a position of economic vulnerability and even marginalised as a result of inequality and not unemployment per se. In a similar vein, when analysing the dreams and hopes of our participants, a similar pattern of middle-class stereotypical gendered pictures emerged from all the case studies. Their dreams and hopes included owning a house, being providers to family members, being married, being good parents and eventually watching their children and even grandchildren, grow up. These dreams can of course be read as longing for stable lives free from economic hardships. But, they can also be interpreted as reflecting a desire to be accepted in mainstream society after having faced various forms of rejection and humiliation in their lives. Moreover, the dreams and hopes our participants shared with us indicated ambitions of a

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heterosexual lifestyle, and possibly all of them had heterosexual identities. Although we did not specifically set out to find young people from LGBTIQA+ categories, it was striking that none of our research participants said they identified with such categories, since queer activism is growing rapidly (Shefer: 2019). It may be difficult for participants who seemingly wish to blend in with the hegemonic norms of their communities to declare a non-hegemonic sexual identity such as gay or lesbian. This may be particularly true for those in South Africa agreeing to participate in a research project in which religion is one of the focus areas. This must be understood within the context of certain South African churches promoting heteronormative nuclear families in their sermons and marketing material. Our social positions as researchers thus brought particular dynamics to the research process and the research should be read accordingly. It is our hope that more “insider” research (although the fluidity of this status cannot be denied) will follow our research to compensate for the gaps and shortcomings its approach necessarily entailed.

12.7

Conclusion

We have focused in this chapter on religious affiliation, gender and locality as critical entry points in understanding the life-worlds of youths at the margins. We have unearthed both positive and negative power relations between FBOs and youths at the margins. Furthermore, focusing on gender in relation to specific contexts demonstrated the complexities of parenting, structural unemployment, weak infrastructure and social services, religious affiliation and degrees of visibility. Physical location and movement within and between localities were linked with agency and the ability to redefine one’s social standing within communities (social positioning). By using an intersectional lens, this chapter highlighted such relational aspects of social positioning together with the centrality of power relations that were evident in the multiple positions that people construct and reconstruct in their daily lives (cf. Dhamoon: 2011, 230). This nuanced reflection on the case studies was placed within a broader picture in South Africa, where the after-effects of apartheid and colonialism, as well as the failings of the post-apartheid government, are central to the marginalisation of young people. In the case of Norway and Finland, NEET categories were evident among specified immigrant groupings, such as the asylum seekers in Lammi. Yet, both immigrant and non-immigrant youths engaged in processes of social positioning in which they distanced themselves from the NEET category. NEET was thus not only fluid in terms of external criteria, but also to the extent to which the youth participants accepted it as part of their own identity.

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Youth at the Margins

From our discussion above it is clear that location, displacement and exclusion feed into each other. Many of the research participants, especially in the South African case studies, were not able to make a living in areas far removed from the economic hubs and engaged in different forms of migration, both nationally and transnationally. Yet migrant participants also experienced exclusionary practices in cities and immigration reception centres, as was reflected in the case studies from Oslo, Lammi and Pretoria. Although some participants found that basic health and shelter needs may be met, others had no such luck. Beyond such needs, only young, abused and pregnant women seemed to be able to find further care from the state. Without specific skills, young people were thus mostly focused on a daily struggle for survival. Welfare states, such as Finland and Norway, provide more services to those in need, and problems such as homelessness were not reported in the case studies from Lammi and Oslo. However, the researchers of these case studies found other forms of exclusion, notably from educational, training and employment opportunities and through processes of social positioning in general. The intersectional lens applied in this chapter revealed far more than just an intersection between race and gender. Applying this lens has shown that preconceived ideas of gender, vulnerability and parenting may be misleading and that youths’ religious background, affiliation and belonging can either enhance or limit their advantages or disadvantages, depending on how they intersect with other factors. Furthermore, related to the former insight, the intersectional perspective applied in this chapter has shown how well-placed FBOs could be instrumental in changing the life course of young people at the margins, but also reinforce exclusionary processes that sustain young people’s marginal position. Lastly, our intersectional lens has underscored how disempowering a NEET status can be, but it has also shed light on the agency of certain young people. Although many interviewed young people were despondent about their situation and future prospects, some were rejecting the social position associated with a NEET category. When young people undertake a process of social positioning as agents with dreams that they believe in, we as researchers and communities at large should do the same and assist them in realising those dreams on their terms.

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Chapter 13: A Common Spatial Scene? Young People and Faith-Based Organisations at the Margins

13.1

Introduction

This chapter shifts the focus to one of the overarching questions of the book on the role of faith-based organisations (FBOs) in dealing with the plight of young people at the margins in the selected South African and Nordic localities. The case studies show that FBOs have an important supportive function for many young people living on the margins of society, even though they may play only a limited role in fighting youth marginalisation in their respective local communities. Only few FBO activities were directed pointedly at changing the situation of marginalised young people. This does not mean that the FBOs did not help young people in need; yet how they did this differed considerably between the Nordic and South African contexts – and between metropolitan and rural or more remote areas. FBOs functioned as a spiritual and social resource, or sometimes even as the last safety net, hence meeting the most acute existential needs of young people. At the same time, however, they were not engaged in more systematic attempts to empower marginalised young people. These similarities, differences and tensions evinced in the results from the six case studies demanded deeper analysis and interpretation. We started out our research in the different case study locations by analysing what the young people interviewed revealed about their life experiences and their hopes, the hardships and exclusions they faced, and the role of FBOs amid all of this. The analysis reaffirmed the importance of the local contexts in determining the resources and limitations in the lives of both the young people and FBOs. This in turn drew our attention specifically to the concept of space. Analysing the local contexts with spatial lenses turned out to be a fruitful approach to understanding what was going on – but also not going on – between young people and FBOs in the different localities. Marginalisation and exclusion as concepts and descriptions of social reality can be understood as spatial imagery. One could, for example, say that exclusion takes place when persons or groups find themselves isolated because they cannot get access to what others naturally take for granted. Spatial theory has gained growing attention in the social sciences and humanities; it acknowledges that individuals and groups “are both produced by, and producers of, history and geography” (Warf & Arias: 2009, 4). By applying approaches from spatial theory, the analysis in this

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chapter not only moves beyond a purely instrumental understanding of the role of FBOs; it also enables us to identify dimensions that may broaden and deepen our research focus in this book on the relationship and interaction between FBOs and marginalised young people. This chapter develops a spatial perspective on the case studies in this book in several steps. We begin with an overview of selected theoretical and empirical research that has used space as an analytical tool to analyse and interpret the situation of marginalised young people. This is followed by a short spatial characterisation of the six case study locations and then by our analysis of the case studies. By adopting a spatial lens, we show how spaces impose limitations on the life of young people and what they do to move beyond the confinements. In the concluding reflection, we discuss the possibilities for young people to transcend their limitations and the role that FBOs can play in these processes.

13.2

Using Space and Place as Heuristic Lens

Against the backdrop of growing globalisation, since the late 1980s the social sciences and humanities have taken increasing account of the dimension of space. This “spatial turn” drew attention to (geographical) space as a cultural phenomenon. Warf and Arias put it as follows: “Geography matters, not for the simplistic and overly used reason that everything happens in space, but because where things happen is critical to knowing how and why they happen” (2009, 1; original italics). Scholars in the social sciences and humanities often approach the significance of space as stemming from social relationships, and from the actions and interests of individuals or groups (Fuller & Löw: 2017). The situation of marginalised young people has already been analysed using spatial lenses in studies from different parts of the world. A South African example of this is Hanna Dawson’s (2014) study, where she focuses on youth protests in an informal settlement in the Johannesburg area. The motivation for the uproar was the dissatisfaction of the young people with their marginalisation in society, which materialised as unemployment and material inequality. Her analysis showed that the protests emerged in spaces of “deliberate” waiting and envy. An ethnographic study of the spatial experience of everyday life of NEET (not in education, employment or training) young people in Northern England in turn came to a very different result. It showed how NEET young people felt isolated in the “spheres of residence, education and work”, and how they handled their situation by escaping from the challenging encounters in these spaces, for example, by withdrawing into the shelter their families offered (Thompson et al.: 2014). A third example is Jeffrey and Young’s (2012) research on unemployed young men in Uttar Pradesh, India, which illustrates how seemingly meaningless situations of waiting resulted in new cultural and

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A Common Spatial Scene?

political practices that sometimes even went beyond caste boundaries. These three studies illustrate how different spaces of exclusion can be experienced by young people, but also how they can generate very different types of agency. The spatial approach is not new to the study of religion either. One of the basic features in the observation of religion is the distinction between “sacred” and “profane” spaces. Mircea Eliade, a scholar of the history of religion, has already in the 1950s claimed in this respect that sacred places are places that give religious communities “orientation in the chaos of homogeneity, to ‘found the world’ and to live in a real sense” (1959, 29). The American scholar of religious studies, Thomas Bremer (2006), in turn integrates both discourses from cultural and from religious studies in what he calls a “heuristic distinction between space and place” (2006, 25). He understands space as “an undifferentiated expanse lacking a meaningful content”, while communities or individuals give value and meaning to places, that is, “particular locales”, which “punctuate” the meaningless homogeneity of space (2006, 5). Places are thereby seen as both social and relational, and “it is impossible to think of a particular place without inferring a social dimension” (2006, 26). Bremer’s distinction between space and place is a helpful analytical tool for analysing the situation of young people at the margins and FBOs from a spatial perspective. The ongoing secularisation and changes in the religious landscape have created a new interest in applying spatial categories to research on religion, e.g. the distinction between the public and the private sphere, and the role of religion in each (cf. Casanova: 1992; Molokotos-Liederman et al.: 2017; Manuel & Glatzer: 2019). Scholars in the sociology of religion, anthropology and political science have become preoccupied with locating the new complex position of religion in society and the concomitant recognition that religion and FBOs can be understood as part of both the private and the public spheres (Furseth: 2017; Haynes & Henning: 2012). Moreover, the place of young people is also emphasised along these lines of capturing the changing religious landscape. Nordic studies show that only a minority of young people relate explicitly to Christianity (Lövheim & Bromander: 2012) and that young people who engage actively in Christian churches are relegated to the fringes of Nordic youth society (Zackariasson: 2014). Other research projects highlight that the growing diversity creates new spaces of social engagement and agency where FBOs can collaborate with likeminded individuals from secular civil society (Cloke & Beaumont: 2012; Cloke et al.: 2017). Moreover, empirical studies indicate that FBOs can also become platforms for immigrants to learn about the public (welfare) systems in the new country, where the values of the majority society are explained and related to the values of minority communities (Holte: 2018b). In theological and religious studies within the context of South Africa, space has become a core concept, albeit in a different way. Several recent contributions address the injustices of the apartheid period and how, 25 years after the transition to democracy, those injustices still manifest themselves throughout the country.

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The segmentation of the country into privileged and deprived spaces emerges in different ways in these studies. Delport and Lephakga (2016), for instance, argue that if spaces are expressions of embodied meaning, and if these embodiments differ so greatly between different spaces, the demand for justice is the logical consequence of experiences of spatial alienation and dispossession. Other contributions pressing the churches to fight for justice also use spatial analysis or imagery. Ribbens and De Beer (2017) reflect on how churches could claim their right to rapidly changing urban environments through processes of place-making or spatial innovation. One can understand their article as a response to the challenge from Swart and De Beer (2014), who in an earlier contribution had concluded that South African public theology does not pay enough attention to urban environments and their recent distinctive developments. Similar reflections on the overlaps between space and justice are developed in more explicit attempts to define spatial justice. Eliastam (2016) suggests that the social value of ubuntu should be included in all conceptualisations of spatial justice. By emphasising the interconnectedness of all human lives, the concept of ubuntu complements the understanding of spatial justice with a relational dimension enabling us to move beyond existing spatial configurations. For Meiring, in turn, spatial justice can be described as “embodied sensing of meaning” or as a “sensory experience of the physical environment” (2016, 4) that can be filled with meaning. This definition comes close to Bremer’s distinction between space and place highlighted above, according to which individuals and groups transform undifferentiated expanses of space into significant places by giving them value and meaning. Both Bremer’s distinction and Meiring’s definition provide important perspectives for the following analysis.

13.3

Six Spaces of Youth Marginalisation

This book focuses on six geographical localities. Before commencing with the spatial analysis, let us briefly revisit these different localities. Four case studies were conducted in South Africa: a central part of Pretoria (Chapter 6), a neighbourhood on the outskirts of Johannesburg called Riverlea (Chapter 8), the small town of Franschhoek in the Western Cape province (Chapter 9), and Emakhazeni in Mpumalanga, the most eastern province of South Africa (Chapter 10). The two Nordic areas were situated in Søndre Nordstrand, a suburban district in southeastern Oslo, Norway (Chapter 7); and Lammi, located in the rural area of southern Finland (Chapter 11). There are both similarities and differences between these six localities. The first obvious one lies in the general economic differences between South Africa and the Nordic countries. The economic circumstances differ enormously and this needs to

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A Common Spatial Scene?

be taken into account in any kind of comparison. Adding to economic differences are the significant social, cultural and contextual differences between the localities from the southern and northern hemispheres. When analysing the role and the (spatial) position of FBOs in combating youth marginalisation in South Africa and the two Nordic countries, we should not ignore or trivialise the differences between these two contexts. Our analysis takes into consideration what Chapter 2 in this book reveals about the significant degree to which young people in South Africa are excluded from what the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights defines as basic rights for everybody, including access to education and waged work (United Nations: 1948/2019, Articles 23 and 26). However, even in the highly developed Nordic welfare states some young people experience exclusion and marginalisation. Belonging to the small minority of those excluded from education and working life has strong effects of marginalisation – even though the Nordic welfare states actively seek to realise the basic human rights of NEET young people (Sletten et al.: 2015). A second important factor to consider when comparing the case studies is the size and degree of urbanisation of the respective locality. Three of the localities are part of big cities: Pretoria, Johannesburg and Oslo. Franschhoek, on the other hand, is a small town in the midst of the wine district of the Western Cape that is a popular international tourist destination. Two localities are quite small countryside spaces, namely, Emakhazeni and Lammi. While Lammi has been incorporated in the bigger city of Hämeenlinna, which is well connected to the capital Helsinki, Emakhazeni is situated far more remotely and cut off from larger settlements. The size of a locality implies certain contextual factors related to population, which has a significant impact on the living conditions in the respective geographical space. A higher degree of urbanisation usually implies a higher degree of ethnic, cultural and religious diversity, and at the same time geographically better access to various public or private services. Rural communities, in contrast, are often characterised by longer travel times to potential employers and public service institutions, and by tighter and more manageable social networks. Each of the studied localities has its own special characteristics, as described in the previous case study chapters. Consisting of several residential areas adjacent to its hectic and often congested central business district, Pretoria Central also changes its scenery at night. While many people leave its central business area for home, others return to or remain on the streets. This includes a substantial group of homeless people but also sex workers, people looking for entertainment, drug sellers, police and others. Riverlea in turn is a tough neighbourhood on the outskirts of Johannesburg still by and large dominated by a “coloured” population. This city district still struggles with identity issues and racial divisions emanating from the apartheid era. As in other urban neighbourhoods, drug use and drug dealing have become a growing social problem, and some parts of Riverlea have

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to some extent been taken over by criminal gangs. The Oslo city district, Søndre Nordstrand, is characterised by a diverse multicultural population with 50 per cent inhabitants who have an immigrant background. Public statistics show more social exclusion than in other more homogeneous city districts. Franschhoek is a town segregated along race-class lines with geographical divisions persisting from apartheid times. It projects an attractive and cosy face to tourists and visitors, but is also home to spaces of poverty that tourists never see. Emakhazeni on the Highveld of Mpumalanga is a remote rural municipality, where social differences stand out between poor townships where black people live and more well-off towns with many white inhabitants. Of necessity people in Emakhazeni are more dependent on each other than those in urbanised areas are, since health and social services for the citizens are available only in towns more than 50 kilometres away. Lammi in Finland is the second case study from a rural area. It is a rural incorporation of the city of Hämeenlinna with strong traditions and a very homogenous population that was recently challenged by the arrival of a larger group of asylum seekers from African and Middle East countries. Our analysis of these six localities from a spatial perspective focuses on three overarching questions: (1) How do young people at the margins and FBOs characterise the limitations of the spaces they live in? (2) How do they describe possibilities to move within and beyond those spaces? (3) Why do they remain in spaces that effectively constrain them?

13.4

Understanding Marginalisation through Spatial Lenses

The distinction between spatial expanses with and without any meaning to individuals and groups is a relevant starting point for analysing what young people and FBO representatives have to say about the spaces they live in (cf. Bremer: 2006). Their narratives could also be interpreted with the help of Meiring’s notion of spatial justice as “embodied sensing” (2016, 3) that gives meaning to those who live in those spaces (2016, 4). The following two sections focus on what young people at the margins and FBOs told us about their experiences of being “stuck” in spaces without hope, meaningful activities or any possibilities to realise dreams, and about places providing hope of moving beyond these confines. Experiencing both confinement and hope also concerns the notion of spatial justice or the lack thereof. In our analysis, we will use the concepts of space and place introduced earlier from discourses in the study of religion in general and sociology of religion in particular. Here, space and place are related to the lack or the presence of meaning and hope. Based on this distinction, we will present how the young people talked about spaces where they did not find any meaning or hope, and about places that gave them hope and provided

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A Common Spatial Scene?

possibilities. Even though meaning and hope are not self-explanatory from, for example, a social science perspective, they are helpful to illustrate ambiguities and coherence in the youths’ and adults’ perspectives of young people’s lives and the role that FBOs play in their lives. Ultimately, the spatial analysis is meant to provide a better understanding of the involvement of FBOs in the everyday lives of marginalised young people and their role in strengthening cohesion in both the South African and the Nordic contexts. 13.4.1 Spatial Expanses without Hope and Possibilities The physical location and structure of the case study areas contributed to different problems for young people. As mentioned in Sections 13.2 and 13.3, the South African context largely still reflects the structures established during the apartheid years. Young marginalised people often live far away from the business centres and even from FBOs. The problems created by such distances are exacerbated by not having access to affordable transport. In these cases, the young people described the locations where they lived as spaces of material separation and segregation where they were literally stuck. In Emakhazeni, for example, it was a challenge to access health services, since they were located far from where people were living. In Franschhoek it was difficult for young people to attend church services and to participate in church activities, since churches were located in the centre of the town, at some distance from where most youths interviewed were living. Furthermore, even after 25 years of democracy there was little to no integration between people across racial and class lines in the South African case studies. Such separation signifies more than physical, spatial separation and is also a reflection of the deep inequalities and social separation that still prevail between many communities. As Neil from Franschhoek put it: “Some of the young people there said: ‘Well, we have never ever been to Franschhoek’ and they are literally 10 kilometres outside of town … and then you have people sitting in this town which are some of the richest people in the world probably.” The descriptions by young people of the local communities revealed many elements of segregation in the South African context. Yet elements of segregation were not limited to the South African case studies. In the Finnish case study of Lammi, the young people experienced the village community as small and closed off, and there was a tendency among the residents to want to know everything about everybody and to draw lines of separation between those who have always lived in Lammi and those who were newcomers, such as asylum seekers. Similarly, in the Norwegian case study of Søndre Nordstrand, young people experienced that having grown up in this city district separated them from young people from other city districts, who had many prejudices about what Søndre Nordstrand was like. However, the differences between the Nordic and the South African locations

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showed themselves in the degree of insuperableness that the spatial limitations posed for the young people. FBOs in both South Africa and the two Nordic countries often maintained the existing separation lines, since many of them tended to focus on the needs of their own members instead of working cooperatively across divisions. This parochial attitude resulted in a lack of opportunities for employment and for meeting other young people to socialise with in the separated and marginalised spaces. The desire to get access to employment and finding places for socialising with other young people were two of the most pertinent needs articulated by young people from both South Africa and the Nordic countries. The lack of employment among young people also implied that they were missing out on important social skills and experiences, including being responsible for specific tasks, feeling part of something bigger, and being rewarded for their contributions. Without employment, most young people did not feel part of a community and of sensible working places that would enable them to meet their basic needs or give meaning to their lives. Most towns in South Africa, like Riverlea and Franschhoek, are faced with severe economic and social challenges, such as generational poverty and unemployment. It therefore comes as no surprise that young people experienced these spaces as existentially confining and as unjust because of the lack of opportunities to build a better future for themselves. The negative economic and social conditions also affected how people and the generations related to each other and how the youth perceived themselves in these constricted spaces. In Riverlea young people experienced that they were being stigmatised as lazy. In Emakhazeni, Riverlea and Franschhoek adults attributed the youths’ problems to their irresponsibility, such as risky sexual behaviour, drug abuse and wasting money on drinking. Slater from Emakhazeni summarised the attitude of parents towards the youth as follows: “Parents reject the children because they do not take life seriously.” Views like this had a devastating impact on the relationship between youths and adults and inhibited the agency of young people who felt that they were not being treated with respect. These conflicts with parents and other adult relatives had particularly grave effects, since the family has also been highlighted as a crucial but challenged place in the lives of many young people. In the South African case studies single parenthood was quite common. Mothers were often the only parent present in the house, bearing the main responsibility of caring for the family. The young people talked about how destructive and demotivating the disrespect of family members and other significant people such as teachers was for them. They felt that they did not have a voice, were not included in discussions and decisions about their own lives, and were thereby rendered invisible. Common economic and social challenges and experiences of exclusion did thus not necessarily lead to solidarity and mutual support, but also contributed to tensions and even isolation and separation between people sharing the same already limited geographical space.

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A Common Spatial Scene?

The strong opinions on the behaviour of some young people even affected the relationships among young people themselves. Out of fear of becoming part of destructive behaviour and activities, some young people had decided not to have friends. On the one hand, this could be viewed as a brave and even admirable decision, but on the other hand, it led them to even greater isolation from necessary relationships in the communities where they lived. The vicious circle of negative behaviour patterns resulted not only in more constrictions in the lives of young people, but was also caused by spatial conditions. The Riverlea and the Oslo case studies revealed overcrowded living spaces mentioned as a problem that in turn bred other social ills such as conflicts, mugging, burglaries and exploitation. Some areas in the localities studied could in fact be described as toxic and not conducive to young people developing a meaningful view of life. In overcrowded locations, the lack of places to socialise and meet other young people was identified as a major problem. Previous research on marginalised young people found protest (Dawson: 2014), withdrawal (Thompson et al.: 2014), and new cultural and political practices (Jeffrey & Young: 2012) to be youths’ responses to the situation of being stuck in spaces without meaning for them. However, in our own case studies withdrawal and passivity seemed to be the main responses of young people to meaningless and hopeless situations and limiting spatial surroundings. Some young people, in particular in the South African case studies, even guarded against having any hope for a better future because of their lack of opportunities to have a better life. Their present experiences of being stuck in spaces without possibilities and from which they could not escape made them pessimistic about having any chances in life. In such a state of demoralised passivity, these young people were not open or ready to recognise possible opportunities, thereby finding themselves stuck in the margins geographically and metaphorically. Similarly, the young people described the FBOs as passive and not able to address the geographical spaces of hopelessness faced by the young people. Even though FBOs taught values that young people experienced as helpful, as for example in Riverlea, they neither made a difference to the economic and developmental challenges faced by marginalised youths, nor created new places of hope. Young people perceived FBOs as, on the one hand, places where positive moral and social values could be cultivated but, on the other hand, they also saw FBOs as part of a space without hope. While some young people felt that they were unable to meet the (ethical) standards expected by the FBOs, the FBOs were unable to help the young people to escape the constricted spaces of which they were part. In the Nordic case studies, the youths highlighted the segregation between young people with Nordic roots and those with immigrant backgrounds. Some felt that they were categorised as outsiders, because they were not like the young people with Nordic roots. On the opposite end, a smaller group of the young people with

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Nordic roots experienced their peers with immigrant background as a threat to their safety. As one of the Norwegian young women explained: “There are some refugees in particular who are very aggressive, for example, at the centre, and they look down on girls.” The composition of many youth groups in the FBOs reflected a similar segregation, since the FBOs predominately recruited young members from their own (minority) communities. They thus contributed to duplicating the spaces of segregation instead of becoming a bridge between different communities. As the interviews in Lammi showed, the young asylum seekers who had been placed in Lammi by the authorities had almost no interaction with the local young people, and no platforms for encounters between the groups were available. In some of the South African case studies similar tensions were experienced with respect to immigrant youths, primarily because immigrants increased the competition for the already limited job opportunities, as in Pretoria Central. The lack of integration of immigrants into the different levels of society was emphasised by the youths with immigrant backgrounds, while some of the young people with Nordic or South African roots described immigrants as intruders into what they experienced as already limited spaces. The aspects and examples presented above show that the spaces where the young people lived and the confinements that such spaces imposed on their lives were experienced as a problem. The way in which many of the young people characterised the contexts they lived in echoes Bremer’s characterisation of spaces without meaning alluded to. They described these constraints in diverse ways, for example, as isolating, disrupting, limiting and boring. As such, their accounts mirror different aspects of spatial injustice and represent depictions of an embodied sense of meaninglessness. In many narratives, neither the adults in general nor the families nor the FBOs appeared as places or agents of meaning. Rather, they seemed more to reinforce the limitations rather than helping the young people to overcome them. From the perspective of the young people, the FBOs were part of the problem and confined to limited spaces themselves. 13.4.2 Places of Hope and Meaning Importantly, however, the narratives of the young people focused not only on how they found themselves stuck in restrained spaces; they also told us about how they moved beyond their confinements and what they did to find meaning and a place for themselves in the midst of hopelessness. For example, certain young people depicted the case study locations as places of hope for a better future. Pretoria Central as a synonym for economic vitality was repeatedly mentioned in this respect, since it had become a symbol of better future prospects for many South African young people in contrast to underdeveloped and remote locations offering them little opportunity. Typical reasons for moving to Pretoria Central were to find a job or

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education or both. In contrast, Søndre Nordstrand was also perceived as a place of hope, albeit in a very different respect. For the parents of the young people interviewed, this city district represented hope for creating a place for themselves and an affordable and safe life not too far away from Oslo centre. Many families with a migrant background had moved there in the hope of establishing a good family home in Norway. However, both locations had also become spaces of disappointed hope. A prominent view that emerged from the case study research was that such relocation led to disappointment, hopelessness and in some instances experiences of even greater vulnerability, hardship and social isolation/exclusion, more so because the young people involved had become trapped or stuck in their adopted spaces, seemingly unable to leave those spaces again. Solly and Joyce are examples of this in Pretoria Central; they were a young couple who, despite great efforts, basically found it impossible to return to their hometown in the Eastern Cape province of South Africa. Like the experiences of many other young people reflected in the case studies, they literally remained stuck in their present spaces;1 the only possibility remaining for them was to move between locations within those spaces. In comparison, from the case study findings in Søndre Nordstrand it also emerged that this location had turned into a space that people in Oslo generally associate with social problems and crime instead of being a safe place for families and young people. Some of the young people therefore expressed an explicit desire to move to other parts of the city when they got older. In these narratives, the search for meaningful places led to new experiences of exclusion that made the abandoned locations sometimes appear as places of hope. Nevertheless, many young people evinced a strong sense of belonging to the locality in which they were living, despite the limitations and hopelessness. Young people in Riverlea and in Søndre Nordstrand were eager to defend their city district against the negative image it had acquired among the public. Being brought up in these two locations and belonging to their social networks became part of their identity. In Riverlea the sense of belonging even impeded the police from taking control of drug-related crimes, since the drug dealers were always warned when the police approached the city district. The feeling of belonging to a specific locality was also so strong in Emakhazeni that some of the young people could not even think of a future beyond this space – even though they were bored and frustrated by it. Young people in Lammi experienced the relationship to their village in a similarly ambiguous way. On the one hand, the village was a place they belonged to, often for several generations; on the other hand, they felt socially restricted by

1 Cf. the discussion in Section 12.4 of Chapter 12, where the example of Solly and Joyce is similarly upheld to present an argument about spatial confinement.

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belonging to such a tight community, unable to avoid the gossip. In addition, the close community of Lammi did not manage to include newcomers very well. This ambiguity illustrates that many young people tried to create places of hope in the midst of exclusion and in the light of their search for meaning. Across all case studies the interviews with young people illustrated that there were certain places of meaning and social value within the spaces of hopelessness. FBOs were mentioned as having the potential to be such places, for instance, when they provided the premises and the activities that created meaning for visitors and participants. Jeremy from Riverlea stressed the significance that FBOs had for him: “I want to come again back [to church], you see ma’am. Put myself in line…” Young people both in South Africa and in the Nordic countries described what FBOs offered as alternative places, or places of safety. One example was the FBOs in Pretoria Central that offered food, shelter and showers for homeless people. For some of the young people interviewed, this meant nothing less than those FBOs serving as havens for young people to find temporary relief from their lives of hardship and abandonment – which often played out in a life on the streets. Moreover, young people also appreciated FBOs because they provided safe alternatives to crime, drug abuse, bad friends and risky sexual behaviour. Similarly, in Riverlea, young people depicted the churches as literally “trouble-free zones” that shielded them from the dangers of substance abuse and other ills in their neighbourhood. And in Emakhazeni young people, as well as church leaders, upheld churches both as moral role models and by implication places where young people could experience a sense of purpose and direction away from the hopelessness and destructive existence that defined life in the community. One young focus group participant in Emakhazeni summarised this as follows: “I feel safe in church. I feel more calm in church than outside.” These examples demonstrate the potential of FBOs to create meaningful places and glimpses of hope for young people feeling stuck in spaces they cannot escape. FBO representatives in all the case studies expressed the desire to turn their sites into supportive social places for young people in need. This could, as in Søndre Nordstrand, take on the form of providing activities and meeting places for youths, including those who were not interested in football or other sports. However, the Oslo case study also illustrated that FBOs failed to fill the gap despite good intentions, since the young people interviewed so clearly emphasised that there was a lack of places for social encounter. Being a safe place could even mean being a space of separation, confined from multicultural encounters, as some young people with fearful attitudes towards immigrants explained in Oslo. In certain instances, FBOs therefore did soften the segregation of individual young people and contributed towards creating places of community and inclusion for otherwise totally excluded youths. This is shown in some of the South African case studies. Homeless young people from Pretoria Central, for example, described

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how they participated in church services and church arrangements after the services, which made them feel that they belonged to a community there. Upon being asked why she attended a specific church that was quite far from her home, Phalisa in Pretoria responded, “Because I love it there. When I got there, I got a sense of belonging.” Both in the Nordic and in the South African case studies the young people mentioned the potential social and spiritual resources of the FBOs. For young people in rural Lammi, it was self-evident that the Lutheran majority church contributed to social cohesion in the village. In several case studies young people who engaged with FBOs described them as places of community, where they could develop their faith. They mentioned, for instance, the activities that FBOs offer, as in Riverlea, where young people went to the church to worship, to participate in prayer groups, but also to dance. Young people in Oslo characterised the services of the churches as relieving stress from personal demands and responsibilities. FBOs were also characterised as places where relationships could grow, as an extension of the family, and as a complement to the support structure that the family offered. While some young people highlighted that FBOs cared and listened like supportive family members, others perceived the activities of the FBOs as useful, but superficial, as in Franschhoek. Some informants in the case studies also highlighted that FBOs were places where valuable teaching about religion and communication about moral and social values were taking place. This included teaching young people respect for each other and strengthening them in their understanding of human dignity. A young focus group participant in Emakhazeni underlined this: “According to my opinion, in church they teach you how to treat others with manners or with respect. You must have respect for others so that you can get the respect back.” Thus, FBOs were perceived as having the potential to achieve behavioural change and at the same time to strengthen the religious identity of the young people. In particular in the Norwegian case study young people underlined that FBOs were places where they could receive religious teachings and explore what religion can mean for their everyday life. This was important to them in otherwise secular environments with few possibilities to express their faith. For those young people who were active, FBOs sometimes became platforms where they could contribute and receive positive recognition from adults. Consequently, the adult informants of many FBOs were eager to describe “their” young people as resourceful youth leaders, for example, in the case of Søndre Nordstrand. While the examples above illustrate that FBOs had the potential to create places of meaning and to provide young people with resources, it is important to stress that the young people emphasised much more often the importance of their families in helping them to solve their problems. Family was the most important support structure mentioned by marginalised young people in all locations; FBOs could

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only supplement what families offered to young people. Families also provided role models and gave the young people inspiration for how to live their lives. The young people in the two rural case studies, for instance, pointed out that one of the advantages of living in a rural area was easy access to the extended family. But even in the more urban case studies in South Africa, quite a number of young people seemed to have found comfort and safety in the support structures of their immediate families, examples being Franschhoek and Riverlea. In the case of Lammi and Franschhoek, these were households seemingly dominated by females – mothers but also grandmothers – while in the case of Riverlea, members of the larger extended family also came into play. As such, these families reflected various household arrangements, such as single motherhood and mother-father relationships that have ended. As the authors of the Franschhoek case study qualified, regardless of the family and household arrangements, they “nevertheless played a significant role in young people’s lives.” On the flipside, even though the family could be seen as a place of meaning, it also restricted young people by compelling them to remain in spaces that constricted and isolated them, instead of allowing them to move on. The examples given above illustrate how young people strive for meaning in spaces of hopelessness. Both family and FBOs were mentioned repeatedly as places of safety, support, community and ethical guidance. They helped young people to carry on in contexts of confinement. At the same time, families and FBOs also contributed to the disruption of young people by offering places of refuge with hope but without actively addressing the limitations of local communities to create more permanent inclusive places of justice. While neither families nor FBOs were able to restore spatial justice, they nevertheless provided fragments of “embodied meaning” (Meiring), hence motivating young people to search for greater meaning in their lives besides the immediate comfort that they provided for those young people.

13.5

Spaces of Confinement Restraining Agency

The feeling of being stuck in a space leading to marginalisation appeared to be a defining feature of young people’s lives in all the case studies in this book. From this vantage point, the discussion in this section now continues to identify different ways in which the notion or image of “stuckness” – of being forced to remain in particular spaces – manifested as a condition across the various case studies. Although elaborated upon in different ways in the respective case study chapters, one theme that surfaces prominently is how being stuck in a certain space was depicted as a condition strongly reinforced by a kind of passivity among young people. This was a point of self-criticism often delivered by the young people themselves. According to the response of one young interviewee in Riverlea, this

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was even seen as a collective trademark of the whole community and by implication its youths, who were depicted as “lazy people” passively waiting for things to be done for them. This point of view also reverberated in critical statements from the other South African case studies, such as the one by a young focus group participant in Emakhazeni, that the situation of the youths resulted from their own passivity, lack of agency and idleness. Additionally, young interviewees in Franschhoek expressed the view that young people’s failure at school could be attributed to their laziness to do their schoolwork. Yet there are also deeper explanations for young people’s passivity as expressed in the South African case study results – explanations beyond the description of merely being lazy and lacking a sense of agency. In this respect, it seems worthwhile to relate our own explanation to Dawson’s (2014, 871) description of young South Africans’ frustrated aspirations because of poor living conditions, limited education, poor skills, and lack of agency and control over their futures. A common description that emerges from all the South African case study chapters is that large numbers of young people appear to have become so overwhelmed by their life situations, permanent exclusion from opportunities and resources, and their own persistent failures to improve their life situations that they had effectively succumbed to attitudes of passivity and hopelessness. For some, this translated into a life of mere coping with daily existence, of waiting for something to happen against all the odds; for others, it was a matter of mere survival and basically giving up on life. This reminds us of the words of David, the 23-year-old male from the Pretoria Central case study: “I don’t have any hope … It is just I am giving up.” A comparison between the South African and Nordic case chapters in this book thus hardly seems possible when one takes into account the severity and extent of young South Africans’ sense of exclusion from opportunities as the cause of their passivity, lack of agency and resultant sense of “stuckness” in spaces without meaning and hope for the future. This limitation is not only well explained by the different degrees to which socio-economic deprivation defines the respective South African and Nordic contexts, but also by the differences in young people’s reactions to the different respective life situations in the Nordic countries and South Africa. Nonetheless, these differences do not detract from the fact that the two Nordic case studies do offer some evidence of young people who also suffered from experiences of social exclusion or lack of full integration as well as a concomitant inclination towards inactivity and passivity. This, one could conclude, is pointedly expressed in the description of young people’s experience of boredom in Søndre Nordstrand, for whom football – similar to the youths in the far more deprived South African location of Emakhazeni – appeared to be the only pastime to keep themselves busy with. We have already touched on the fact that there is an indissoluble connection in the various locations between the passive attitudes of young people captured in the case studies and their exclusion from socio-economic opportunities and resources. Yet it

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also remains very difficult in this respect to draw any straightforward comparisons between the degrees of deprivation experienced by young people in the four South African locations and their counterparts in the two Nordic locations. Whereas young people in the latter two locations experienced exclusion from employment and educational opportunities in contexts characterised at most by conditions of relative deprivation, the degree of deprivation and the extent to which resources were lacking to counter such deprivation in the former locations appear to be far more extreme. In all the South African case studies the different locations are depicted as spaces lacking in possibilities for young people to develop themselves and live meaningful lives through participation in educational and employment opportunities. While there were some opportunities for schooling and employment that could at best be described as of a precarious nature, the ultimate destiny of young people in these spaces seems to be one of joining South Africa’s huge cohort of NEET young people (Chapter 2). The direct consequence of their NEET conditions is that they found themselves stuck in spaces of deep isolation that they found impossible to escape from. One could conclude that lack of agency and passivity reflects only one side of the coin in the case studies. In addition, what emerges as perhaps one of the strongest common features in all the case studies is what can be labelled “negative” or “destructive” agency on the part of young people. The case studies describe situations where young people not merely remain inactive, but where their condition of “stuckness” in their respective spaces was further exacerbated by their turning to perilous and self-destructive activities. In the six case studies the problem of drugs and drug abuse are without exception mentioned as a defining element of the everyday lives of young people. This could be understood as a search for diversion, belonging and meaning. Yet, at the same time, in all the South African case studies the reference to perilous and self-destructive activity is given additional content through allusion to the way in which alcohol and drug abuse, dropping out of school and risky sexual behaviour constituted endemic features of the young people’s lives. Taken together, these features complete a disturbing picture of selfdestructive activity that has a severely detrimental effect on young people’s prospects of transcending their spaces of marginalisation. Importantly, however, in at least three of the South African case studies it is easily discernible how it has become unavoidable to also refer to the structural legacy of apartheid as a major prevailing cause for the spatial and social isolation the young people of those communities experience.2 In this respect, the case study discussions

2 In the Pretoria case study context, this structure is more nuanced but nevertheless also present. The central areas are mainly inhabited by black people, as many white people had the opportunity to leave for more wealthy suburban neighbourhoods.

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make clear how the neighbourhood of Riverlea, the townships of Emakhazeni, and the pertinent residential areas of Franschhoek represent remnants of apartheid spatial and social planning. In sharp contrast to the places of privilege and abundance bordering them, these were locations that not only remained deprived of meaningful socio-economic development, but where entire communities remained trapped in cycles of generational poverty. In a very direct way, these were conditions that had an inescapable bearing on the lives of the young people and their prospects of transcending their spaces of constriction

13.6

Concluding Reflection: Meaning Within and Beyond Confined Spaces

The analysis in this chapter necessarily leads us to concern ourselves in conclusion with the question of the extent to which young people in our case studies were in fact able and likely to transcend the confines of their constricted spaces. Our immediate response to this question is that, based on our spatial analysis up to this point, it seems well justified to conclude that the possibilities of young people transcending those spaces appeared to have been severely limited in all the locations. As observed in the previous section, the various case study descriptions reflect young people who found themselves overwhelmingly stuck in confined spaces with little prospect of overcoming their predicament. A closer reading of the different case studies nevertheless suggests that it may also be possible to identify a few exceptions to the overarching condition of “stuckness” in space experienced by young people. And here we find scope to at least advance the idea of young people’s potential for transcending these spaces temporarily and in a limited way. For instance, one might recall the rather negative image of young fathers in the Franschhoek case study who transcended the space of their families and disappeared into the unknown to escape their duties of care. But beyond this negative image, one could also allude to the more positive images projected in a number of case studies of young people finding it possible to transcend the spaces of their immediate locations, at least temporarily, to worship (Lammi, Pretoria Central and Riverlea), meet friends (Riverlea) and attend school elsewhere (Riverlea and Søndre Nordstrand). This said, however, the predominant image that remains in the case study descriptions is one of young people whose mobility had been confined to the spaces of their immediate locations. In this respect, it is from within these local spaces that young people’s mobility was manifested through their lives on the streets of Pretoria Central, their movements between sections of the neighbourhood of Riverlea, their freedom to participate in recreational activities and visit sport facilities, shopping

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centres and fast food stalls in Søndre Nordstrand, and their relocation between places of residence in Lammi. Returning finally to this book’s core concern with the interaction between young people and FBOs, it is indeed no exaggeration to state that the accounts of many young people’s frequent visiting of churches and in some cases mosques represent one of the strongest indicators of their mobility within the various locations and of their endeavours to find places of meaning. Through such mobility, FBOs seemed able, at least to some extent, to function as alternative places for young people within the confines of their exclusionary and hopeless environments. This seems to be the case reflected both in the South African and Nordic case studies, albeit qualified by the fact that the potential of FBOs to provide alternatives was more clearly emphasised in the accounts of South African youths in contexts of more extensive marginalisation and far less advanced secularisation. The spatial lens that we have adopted in this chapter enables us to appreciate FBOs as institutional structures that presented young people in the different case study locations with at least a temporary possibility to experience places of comfort and hope. Importantly, however, this always entailed a transcending of space into place within the confines of the larger environments of marginalisation. The young people were hence compelled to return to those larger spaces of constriction, since the positive role of FBOs in their lives were never culminating in emancipatory action that could offer them more stable places of hope and meaning and lead to their inclusion in larger mainstream society. From this vantage point, what therefore effectively emanates from the various case study descriptions is a two-pronged image of the role of FBOs as change-makers for young people at the margins. On the one hand, it is an image of the greater majority of young people seemingly distancing themselves from any realistic expectation of FBOs becoming a vehicle to a larger world of social inclusion. On the other hand, it is also an image of at least some young people, noticeably in the South African context, who seemed to have kept faith particularly in the Christian churches as a potential, albeit still unfulfilled, gateway to a larger world of educational, employment and other opportunities. In conclusion, the spatial analysis of the role of FBOs inspired by Eliade’s and Bremer’s distinction between large spaces without meaning and places with meaning and Meiring’s concept of spatial justice as “embodied sensing of meaning” (2016, 4) pointed out what FBOs could contribute for young people in marginalised environments. Within the framework of the larger spaces of constriction, our analysis reveals that FBOs have the potential to provide clearly defined albeit temporary places of meaning accessible to both individuals and groups of young people. Yet these places of hope that FBOs offer often appear to be isolated from the wider society and in relation to other organisations and even to other FBOs. This lack of societal integration of FBOs is noticeable in the South African and Norwegian case studies – albeit less so in the Finnish rural community of Lammi, where the

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church had taken on more of an integrative role despite its failure to include the newly arrived asylum seekers into the local community. Consequently, FBOs do not seem to have the possibility or capacity to function as socially integrating and empowering agents in the way they wish to act. FBOs could thereby be described as significant temporary places of meaning in an otherwise overwhelming space without meaningful possibilities and hope – but less so as facilitators of and inspiration for transcending the limitations of marginalisation and establishing more comprehensive places of meaning. The summary results of the six case studies show that FBOs are indisputably important to social cohesion among young people at the local level in South Africa and in the Nordic countries. By providing limited and temporary places of hope they make a noticeable contribution to individuals’ lives and wellbeing, even if they cannot be considered to be efficient driving forces for change in young people’s lives.

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Chapter 14: Whose Cohesion? What Cohesion? Liberative Theological Reflection on Young People and Faith-Based Organisations

14.1

Introduction

This book provides a window into understanding youth marginalisation and how FBOs engage with it in the two vastly different contexts of South Africa and the Nordic countries. The geographical differences are also reflected in our choice of the theologies through which we interrogate the research process and findings in this chapter; we reflect critically on the nature of the whole study process leading to this book as well as on the findings themselves, drawing on the traditions of liberation and diaconal theologies. These traditions were selected because they focus on the marginalised and oppressed in society and also because they represent theological debates in which the authors of this chapter participate. Liberation theologies in general and given diaconal theologies do theology in light of the experience of grassroots communities, and acknowledge the influence of wider societal structures on the lives of individuals and communities. As justified below, in this chapter we use the term “liberative theologies” (De la Torre: 2015) as an umbrella term that covers liberation theologies in general and those diaconal theologies that resonate with the liberationist aims and methods (Nordstokke: 2012). In Chapter 2 the authors pointed out differences between the South African and the Nordic conditions of youth marginalisation. To relate as an FBO to marginalised youths within a developed Nordic welfare state is very different from responding to the same challenge in a context where welfare services and benefits are not as readily available, such as in South Africa. However, both in South Africa and in the Nordic countries theology has a very similar task of understanding, motivating and justifying FBOs’ varying relationships with marginalised youth. In the case study chapters in this book, the focus was on the views and experiences of young people. In this chapter we would like to bring the voices of the youth, or the lack thereof, into critical conversation with predetermined academic discourses. We attend to questions raised in the chapter on social cohesion (Chapter 4), with regard to the relationship between FBOs and marginalised youths: Do FBOs’ interactions with the youth contribute to shaping, maintaining or strengthening mutual trust and youths’ willingness to help and cooperate with other people? Do

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they enhance tolerance, respect for diversity and a shared sense of belonging and identity? From a liberative perspective, we specifically need to interrogate whether the cohesion imagined is co-determined by young people themselves, and so we ask: What cohesion? Whose cohesion? In addition, the liberative perspective that we have opted for considers the nature of the emancipatory elements in the research process itself, or lack thereof, in particular with reference to the social and political participation of the research participants, in this case marginalised youths. Ideally, we would like to begin to imagine a theology that takes its cue from the experience and thinking of marginalised youths. From a liberative theological perspective, as this is defined below, such a theology would give the participation, agency and voices of young people a central place in co-constructing hopeful alternatives for themselves, for FBO engagement and for society at large. This would constitute a shift in power relations between the FBOs and the young people. This does not imply that all the young people the different research teams spoke to were religious or wanted to be actively involved with FBOs: rather a liberative theology would take the experiences of the youths both in and outside of FBOs seriously in reimagining the world.

14.2

Liberative Theological Lens on Social Cohesion and Conviviality

We employ a liberative theological lens in this chapter as the overarching framework within which we discuss both the research process and the findings. De la Torre (2015) leans strongly on the liberation theological tradition in defining what liberative theologies are, but also emphasises that liberative theology is a broader term than liberation theology, the former not being necessarily rooted in Christian faith, unlike the latter. De la Torre’s reasoning behind the choice of the term liberative theologies resonates with other scholars’ choice to speak of liberation theologies in the plural (Cooper: 2013; Phan: 2000) or emphasising the method of doing theology as a key to defining liberation theologies (Frostin: 1988; Phan: 2000; Vellem: 2012; West: 2009). These semantic moves discussed above make space for the inclusion of a variety of theologies under the umbrella of liberative theology, as long as they demonstrate a preferential option for the marginalised. In this chapter we include both diaconal and liberation theologies in liberative theological perspectives. We understand diaconal theology as theological reflections of Christian practice and human encounters in the face of vulnerability. Recent approaches claim an eye-level relationship between receivers and providers of services (Albert: 2010; Dietrich: 2014; Nissen: 2012), envision churches as other, heterotopical, diaconal spaces (Wyller: 2016) or interpret diaconal research and diaconal theology as the development of

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systematic knowledge that is inspired by liberation theology and action research and combines commitment, action and participation (Stålsett et al.: 2018). Simply put, liberative theologies include and are in line with liberation theologies, and this chapter opts for the term in order to further emphasise the same issue that the plural liberation theologies also point to, namely that not all liberative theologies are the same, even if they do share the same method. Liberative theologies opt for “the poor”, broadly understood, or the most vulnerable or marginalised in society (De la Torre: 2015; also see Cooper: 2013; Gutiérrez & Groody: 2014; Frostin: 1988). In our analysis we particularly emphasise two key liberationist aspects that are also shared by liberative theologies: interlocution and action. Interlocution refers to the choice of marginalised or oppressed groups as the dialogue partners (interlocutors) whose questions theology aims to answer (see e.g. Frostin: 1988; Vellem: 2012). This choice translates into an imperative to know the world from the perspective of the interlocutors (Gutiérrez: 2013a, 27–30; Gutiérrez: 2013b, 154–157). In other words, the lived experiences of marginalised people are acknowledged and placed at the centre as valid sources of knowledge and understanding. The rationale for this choice is the need to understand, and undo, unjust power hierarchies in society and communities (Cooper: 2013, 6). Importantly, it is not only the privileged but also the marginalised themselves who are called upon to choose the preferential option for the marginalised as a tool to reach towards an alternative world (Gutiérrez: 2013b, 156–157). The second aspect that we emphasise in defining a liberative perspective – action – is closely related to the choice of the poor/marginalised/oppressed as interlocutors. Liberation theologians understand liberation theology as “both action and reflection that aims to liberate marginalised peoples from oppression, to act” (Cooper: 2013, 1). In the same way, liberative theologies encompass “(j)ustice-based praxis, engaged in transforming society” (De la Torre: 2015, xxii). To recap, the liberative perspective, in concrete terms, means to view and assess society through the lenses of the marginalised and to make space for their voices to be heard. It involves an analysis of the systemic forces that contribute to their marginalisation as well as a deliberate fostering of a critical consciousness in relation to marginalised people’s agency in their own liberation. Moreover, it translates into discerning the appropriate forms of action to be taken in the direction of integral liberation, integral liberation referring to “liberation … as something comprehensive, an integral reality from which nothing is excluded” (Gutiérrez: 1988, xxxviii; also see Castillo: 2017). A liberative approach also requires one to engage critically with social cohesion as a concept, at the same time uncovering whose agenda and terms determine the vision or definition of social cohesion (see Desai: 2015; Fitzpatrick & Jones: 2005). The approach entails exploring the extent to which social cohesion is just a matter of concealing practices and policies that enforce social conformity to the dominant constructs or visions of society, to the detriment of those who are marginal. If we

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adopt the language of social cohesion, it is necessary to ask whether this cohesion is sought through social control, meaning coercion and assimilation, or whether it is sought through social justice, which requires deeper forms of integration, working for equality and equity, and redressing the historical legacies that marginalised certain groups to start with (De Beer: 2014; Fitzpatrick & Jones: 2005). Moreover, this latter approach to social cohesion would allow space within which those who are marginalised could critically engage with the very concept and goals of social cohesion, assessing to what extent it serves to advance their own liberation and inclusion, or to what extent it serves to further marginalise them. This invites an inquiry into whether social cohesion in any given context is a goal contributing to the integral liberation of those who feel excluded. Towards the end of the chapter we tap into the discussion on conviviality to explore what this notion can add to our understanding of social cohesion, in particular in the context of religious diversity. Conviviality was first introduced as a concept into theological discussion in the 1980s by Theo Sundermeier, whose main concern was that people must find new ways of co-existing (Sundermeier: 1986). He formulated a new model called the “hermeneutics of difference”. Indeed, conviviality was first launched as a term to describe what was seen as an ideal situation of co-existence between Jews, Christians and Muslims in medieval Spain (Novikoff: 2005). Conviviality encompasses sentiments associated with the art of coexisting in diversity and focuses on positive encounters with diversity, which is discussed in the Lutheran World Federation document “Seeking Conviviality” (Addy: 2013). This document has provided an important opening for a liberative approach in Europe and has been influential both in grassroots community work and academic discussion (Haugen: 2015; Lapina: 2016; Siirto: 2015; Vähäkangas & Leis Peters: 2018). The concept of conviviality has also raised interest in South Africa, where the discussion focuses on spatial differences (Lategan: 2015; Nyamnjoh: 2015). Hans Morten Haugen, in the context of present-day international diaconia discourse, has recently reformulated the concept of conviviality to encompass the promotion of coexistence in the midst of unequal power relations in a way that resonates with liberationist sentiments. In his analysis of the “Seeking Conviviality” document Haugen states that conviviality is more critical of social power structures than theories of social capital or social cohesion are. He argues that social capital and social cohesion both share rather positive premises on how nations can work towards ending inequalities and combatting poverty (Haugen: 2015). Haugen points out that the stronger the ties that bind local communities, the greater the potential for social, racial or religious conflict between them. He bases his argument on Kearns and Forrest, similarly as was done in Chapter 4, and stresses that social cohesion at the neighbourhood level is not necessarily a good thing, because very close communities may be intolerant of religious diversity (Haugen: 2015; cf. Kearns

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& Forrest: 2000). The neighbourhoods studied in this book varied in terms of the levels of social cohesion and closeness in community. As we reflect in this chapter on how liberative theologies could provide an alternative framework for both researching and understanding/living social cohesion and apply a liberative lens to the research process and findings, we acknowledge that the case study chapters were not formulated in the light of liberative theological work. Hence, the liberative perspective here rather holds a mirror up to the completed study and, in doing so, also offers a self-critical perspective on the broader research project. Against this background, the aim of this chapter is to review the research process and findings through a liberative theological lens. We also reflect self-critically on the potential of the design and methodology of a research project such as this one to be more deliberately emancipatory were it to consider liberative theological assumptions more intentionally upfront.

14.3

Reflection on the Research Process

In this section we consider the actual research process self-reflexively from a liberative perspective. This is important, as the actual research methodologies used with marginal young people, and vulnerable populations at large, need to be constantly scrutinised to determine the extent to which they are facilitating emancipation or freedom, but also the extent to which the methodologies themselves could be more emancipatory in their design (cf. Swartz & Nyamnjoh: 2018). 14.3.1 Interlocution, Power and Representation The aim of the case study chapters in this book is, amongst other things, to gauge the impact of FBOs on social cohesion in their respective neighbourhoods as perceived through the lens of marginalised young people, or NEET youth. One of the aims of qualitative research is to know the world through the eyes of the research participants (Bryman: 2012), a criterion which the researchers consciously strove to meet in the case study chapters. Based on thematic analysis by the researchers, selected verbatim sections from the interviews with research participants were presented and highlighted in the case study chapters. However, from a liberative theological perspective, we also need to interrogate how interlocution, power and representation featured in the research process. In liberative methodology the interlocutor and, in particular, the agency of the interlocutor or local communities in their own liberation are given equal centrality. With regard to the role of the researcher, the liberative idea of action not only implies conversing with the interlocutors and writing about their struggles, but it usually also requires the researcher to be involved in concrete action in one way or

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another as a participant in the struggle for a more just future with the particular interlocutory community. In relation to research practice, this would also entail the possibility that the interlocutor or local community can demand changes to the way in which the research is being done (cf. Browning: 2013; Swartz & Nyamnjoh: 2018). It is in this regard also part of our self-critique to interrogate how far marginalised young people have served as interlocutors in our research. If we assume that an interlocutor should be seen as a co-constructor of knowledge, they would also in many instances, on the basis of mutual trust, have been more than research participants (subjects) and rather have acted as co-researchers in an active sense of the word. Interlocution is then understood as more than a “correct” posture on the side of the researcher, but requires a fundamentally different research methodology. The liberative perspective raises the question about whether the interlocutor should not be a constant participant in the (de)construction of liberating knowledge at different stages of the research process and the researcher a participant in the struggle in ways that go beyond listening, interpreting and writing. In the light of the useful continuum of research approaches as proposed by Swartz and Nyamnjoh (2018), it appears that the research presented in this book is probably based on interactions with marginalised youths, in some cases even allowing them to become research participants. But it is most likely, however, that the research did not incorporate the marginalised youths as emancipated interlocutors. While there may be different ways of answering the question raised above about the joint (de)construction of knowledge, emancipated interlocution would be in line with the liberative outlook. As is obvious by now, in the case studies reported on in this book, as often in academic research, the researchers held power over what was represented and how this was done. Although the actual words of the young people were used, it was the researchers who selected which portions of the interviewees’ words were used and how their words were analysed. This underscores the lack of emancipated interlocution, as described in the previous paragraph, and therefore a reinforcement of societal power dynamics in the context of our research rather than a contribution towards undoing hierarchical power structures. This is not to say that the youths who participated in the research were completely powerless. They exercised power over whether they would agree to participate and what they wanted to tell us and how. In some cases – based on the declared limitations by our research team members about what this research project could realistically deliver – some research participants opted out of the process. In Riverlea, for instance, a young interviewee asked direct and valid questions about what would be done with the research and, in particular, how it might contribute directly to change something in her own life context, therefore calling for accountability from the researchers in that case. This is a good example of a research participant practising agency. In doing so, she no longer assumed the position of a participant,

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but now of a “partially emancipated interlocutor”, to use the terminology of Swartz and Nyamnjoh (2018). Yet even though this young person practised agency in her insistence that the research make a difference in the researched community itself, the ultimate power to ensure the research becomes relevant to the community – or other communities beyond the immediate context of the research – remained largely in the researchers’ hands by virtue of how the research process was designed. In other words, in a way not uncommon in academic research, the overall design of the project did not require the involvement of interlocutors in the data-analysis phase or further stages of the research process. Questions such as the one on accountability above should have prompted us to explore whether our understanding of ethical research needed to be deepened. On the one hand, researchers were mindful not to offer what we could not deliver, not to create false expectations, and to allow research participants the freedom to choose whether they wanted to engage in the process, on the agreed upon terms, or not. As such, the research presented in this book sought to ensure that it was conducted ethically. On the other hand, the question is whether such projects, in their very design, should not deal more deliberately with issues of interlocution, power and representation. The lack of deliberate, upfront reflection on these issues could promote a minimalist understanding of what constitutes ethical research, instead of considering how research contributes to freedom, in a much deeper sense (cf. Swartz & Nyamnjoh: 2018). The Oslo case study (Chapter 7) raises an additional and important question related to interlocution and representation. It forms an exception among the chapters, concerning the pivotal focus on the voices of NEET youth. In that chapter the emphasis was placed on youths on the streets, but the young people who were described as part of this category were not research participants in either the interviews or the focus groups. Instead, young people who were “insiders” in FBOs participated in the research and described young people who are “on the street” – for example, refugees or youths involved in gangs – on the insiders’ own terms. The voices of the youths on the streets remained unheard because of the difficulty of the team getting access to these young people. Overall, the question we need to ask, from a liberative perspective should perhaps be whether the research process contributed to self-critical reflection, new insights and possibly even new practices, on the part of FBOs, (marginalised) young people and/or other audiences, serving as a catalyst for new forms of consciousness, agency and engagement. If there is little evidence of that, the question arises as to whether the greatest beneficiaries of the research were in fact, as often appears to be the case, the researchers themselves and not young people on the margins, or even the participating FBOs, either in the local communities where these FBOs were based or elsewhere.

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14.3.2 Young People’s Views and a Liberative Approach: Aligned or Not? Liberative theologies imagine the undoing of the status quo as it is, and a radically different society, structured in a way that would be inclusive of everyone, displaying high levels of participation, equality and justice. In this regard, we are asking whether the views of young people as they were expressed in the case study chapters were aligned to such a radical, alternative vision of society, or not. From the results it appears that for many of the young people the problem was not firstly with the way society functioned, nor with how society should change, but the problems they expressed were more in terms of their own location – or exclusion – from society. In Franschhoek, Pretoria and Riverlea research participants seemed to have lamented the fact that they could not participate better in society. Thus the emphasis was less on transforming society than on the challenges related to their own ability, as youths from underprivileged contexts, to participate. South African participants, for instance, spoke about the ways in which drugs or having a child at a young age held one back from fulfilling expectations related, for instance, to employment. On the other side of the globe, the Lammi youths’ perception was that the church was for those who had fallen through the cracks, to support them to participate in society. Reviewing the case study chapters in this book suggests that the aim for many research participants seems to have been integrating into mainstream society, that is, the very system that a liberative theological perspective might suggest as the reason for their exclusion or lack of participation to start with. The hopes of young people expressed in the case study chapters revolved around joining society in a more privileged position than their current social and economic location has allowed. In many cases, they deemed this possible through education or employment. In other words, it seems as if young people – represented in the case study chapters – aspired to be included into a society the nature of which was determined by the powerful of society, and in which they as young people had little say themselves. The discussion on alternative spaces (FBOs as providing an alternative to harmful activities) or future alternative stories (FBOs being part of an alternative future trajectory) in the different case study chapters provides a slightly different vision, contrasting with the general trend observed above. Here, alternative spaces and activities were emphasised by the young people as a possible positive contribution by FBOs to address youth marginalisation, and to help prevent involvement in negative youth cultures or destructive behaviours. Moreover, one could argue that such spaces provide a lot of desirable bonding capital, without which young people may come to experience marginality more directly. However, the possible exclusionary nature of such alternative spaces, creating the possibility of “us” and “them” scenarios, was also cautioned against in the Riverlea case study. A form of social cohesion created inside the FBO space, although creating a safe space of

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belonging, at the same time runs the risk of creating social exclusion and social differentiation. While “insiders” participate in something cohesive, “others” may choose to, or feel like they have to, find spaces to belong elsewhere. In the light of the threat of reinforcing exclusionary boundaries, FBOs – generally, but also in the case studies represented here – need to consider, quite deliberately, how to also forge bridges between “insiders” and “others”. When thinking of this, it is furthermore significant to acknowledge that young people on both sides make choices, and, in other words, “others” may not want to participate in the FBO space. Even though many of the young people who participated in the research might not have embodied radical views of an alternative society, or of social justice, their views – because of their social location and marginalisation – provide important knowledge on which to base a liberative theological analysis (cf. Hankela: 2015, 206–207). Regardless of whether their views are aligned with liberative theological visions, they embody an important understanding of what it means to live on the underside of privilege. Additionally, if liberation theology – and by extension liberative theologies – is true to the logic of its own methodology, deep insertion in such social locations should be the starting point of a liberationist praxis, instead of theoretical or dogmatic constructs that want to pass as liberationist. On the one hand, the general views of young people, as we read them from the case studies, challenge the orthodoxies of liberation and liberative theologies, and serve as a sobering reminder that liberationist and liberative methodologies must always start with deep insertion, in which we carefully listen to those experiencing marginalisation. At the same time, however, should the logic of liberative theological methodologies be taken seriously, one should perhaps admit that the research design of the YOMA project itself precluded a more emancipatory research approach, one that would have included: deliberate co-production of knowledge, shifts in power relations, and the co-construction of a theology of youth marginalisation, articulated together between researchers and young people. That was not the purpose of the project, the findings of which are now represented in this book. Nevertheless, a liberative lens would propose a consideration of deepening journeys with youths from underprivileged neighbourhoods in which their agency could transform our knowledge, and our collaborative journeys deepen their agency, in an ever-deepening, ever-widening cycle of becoming free, together.

14.4

Liberative Theological Perspectives on the Roles of FBOs and the Youth in Imagining Social Cohesion

We now move from methodological and research ethical questions to an analytical discussion of the findings that the case chapters produced on the notion of social cohesion. In line with our theoretical lens, the following two questions inform this

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analysis: Whose term is social cohesion, and on whose terms is the meaning of social cohesion defined? Does the claimed goal of social cohesion contribute to the integral liberation of marginalised people? Asking these questions vis-à-vis the case chapters in this book, one senses that perhaps young people from marginal groups lacked agency in creating alternative futures. Or, alternatively, the ways in which interviews were conducted, including the choice of questions, may not have adequately allowed for evidence of young people’s own agency to surface. Placing the emphasis on investigating how FBOs contribute to mediating social cohesion may have meant that not sufficient attention was given to the question of the agency of young people themselves. For instance, there is no evidence in any of the case study chapters of youth-led FBOs or youth movements from below seeking to overcome marginalisation, or of deep solidarity between FBOs and marginal youths – although it should be noted that some young people were clearly active members in their FBOs and/or involved in youth groups within their FBOs (see the chapters on Oslo, Lammi, Riverlea and Pretoria Central). While one acknowledges that this might be a consequence of the researchers’ methodological choices and representation of the data, the case study chapters do indicate that marginal young people and FBOs frequently found themselves not to be on the same side, or even on the same page. The case study chapters suggest that the lived experiences of young people, who found themselves in marginal situations in their cities or towns, did not contribute much to shaping FBOs’ agendas. This may be related to the ways in which some FBOs are structured not actually to invite their agendas to be shaped by those who do not belong. For example, the interaction between FBO youths and street youths discussed in the Oslo case study suggests that this might have been the case. Similarly, in Lammi many of those young people who actively participated in the activities of the local church were secondary school students, while those more critical of the church – from a distance – all belonged to the NEET category. Despite the popularity of confirmation camps in Lammi, like in much of Finland, the authors of this case study conclude that in general the symbolic walls of the local majority church were “too high” for most youths. In these images, marginalised young people seem to be little more than coincidental parts of the contextual décor of FBOs. That said, there were perhaps exceptions as well: the experiences of young people who were active members in their FBOs, such as those young people in Riverlea who had specific responsibilities in their churches, challenge us as researchers to dig deeper as we consider the picture of young people as contextual décor. The seeming lack of agency or ownership by marginalised youths in relation to FBOs could also be related to the young people’s broader context or personal relationship with religion. Some young interlocutors in Emakhazeni addressed a lack of initiative among the youths in general. In Lammi young people indicated an appreciation for the diaconal role, social practices or pastoral counselling that

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the church offered. However, the same young people did not see these services as beneficial to themselves, but rather as potentially helpful to others. One young person in Lammi described the church as the last place where people would seek support or assistance if they did not find it elsewhere. It seems as if when these young people spoke of FBOs, they spoke as “outsiders” or “onlookers” and hardly as agents shaping the agendas, expressions or futures of FBOs. In a similar way, although interaction with young people in Franschhoek suggested a strong FBO presence, the conclusion of the researchers was that there was only a “superficial connection” between the interviewed young people and FBOs. If viewed from the perspective of a liberative epistemology, the limitations discussed immediately above could perhaps, speculatively and partially, be ascribed to FBOs’ failure to place marginal youths at the centre – similar to the failure of our research to position the youths as emancipated interlocutors, discussed earlier in this chapter. We still practised a research methodology that was largely focusing on extracting data from the experiences and insights of young people, without young people helping to make sense of, discerning, assessing and organising the data, and then asserting possible alternative futures based on the emerging understanding of the situation. Similarly, the young people’s perceptions of many of the FBOs featuring in this research did not evince the kind of liberative praxis that would insist on young people’s ownership of the shaping of future agendas, and on understanding the interlocution of marginalised youths as a key for developing liberating local ministry practices. This leads us to the normative questions of what social cohesion in our societies could look like from a liberative perspective and, in particular, what the role of FBOs could be in fostering such social cohesion in the case study settings. Mikko, one of the participants in Lammi, expressed quite an aggressive stance towards the church in different respects, one example being his view on the church tax. This young man said: “There is no need to pay the church tax because I don’t give a shit about the church. It has no meaning to me.” His criticism raises critical questions about (i) whether, and how, young people’s understandings of churches (or FBOs more broadly) are shaped by the dominant discourses in society; (ii) how far churches perpetuate dominant discourses or provide alternative imageries of “church”; and (iii) how churches understand themselves and the role they are to play in a secular(ising) society. A liberative theological posture would listen carefully to this young man’s criticism and others like him, allowing their views to critique the irrelevance of current ecclesial structures in secular(ising) societies – such as seems to be the case in Mikko’s view. From a liberative theological perspective, the discussion on FBOs and marginal youths in this chapter, and in the case study chapters, also shows how the two highlighted aspects of liberative theologies, interlocution and action, raise different questions in different contexts. While Mikko’s views have been reflected upon as one

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perspective on the Nordic realities, a liberative theological stance in South Africa would highlight the critique on the possible complicity of the church in maintaining a status quo that is not on the side of marginal people in general or marginal youths in particular. The importance of targeting structural issues in society in order to strengthen social cohesion among marginalised youths was explicitly articulated in the South African case studies. The authors of the Emakhazeni case study highlight that FBOs did not pay enough attention to the broader societal issues; on the other hand, the municipal Integrated Development Plan did not include FBOs as role players in youth development either. In the Pretoria Central case study chapter, a young man spoke about the church as “somewhere you should go to uplift your faith, that’s all.” He understood this to be the church’s main function and not providing jobs, even though he lamented that they had no jobs. In Riverlea the FBOs were seen to provide alternative spaces, some sort of safe havens, in which youths could stay out of trouble, but as the authors of the chapter indicate, this relates more strongly to the social relations aspect of social cohesion than social justice. Two young people from Riverlea also explicitly urged FBOs to play more concrete roles in relation to accessing educational opportunities. Whether state or church theologies (see Kairos Theologians: 1986) are adequately prepared to engage not only in structural analyses, but also in developing alternative imaginaries of how youth marginalisation can be overcome and what roles FBOs could play, remains an open question. Without a prior “option for the poor” – here expressed as standing with marginal young people wherever they find themselves – structural change that could break cycles of marginalisation will probably remain elusive. Then the social and pastoral work of FBOs, which interviewees in different case study chapters also acknowledged and appreciated, would largely maintain the status quo and provide temporary assistance or relief. In this regard, Natasha from Riverlea was critical of FBOs “spoon-feeding” people instead of working towards longer-term empowerment, and young people in Emakhazeni, while they did express appreciation of the intangible assets provided by FBOs such as hope and respect, portrayed FBOs as irrelevant to meeting their tangible needs. Spoonfeeding cannot integrate young people in ways that are comprehensively liberating – at best it can invite the young person to participate in a society that is defined by others. Following from these sentiments, listening to the young people in the case study communities allows one to identify the various issues that are to feature in a theology of liberation for marginalised youths. One of these issues is socio-spatial justice. In the Riverlea chapter the researchers focused on social cohesion internal to that neighbourhood, but in a striking way also described the disconnect between Riverlea and the resource base of Johannesburg at large. Structurally and spatially, the young people from Riverlea were still looking in from the margins. Likewise, marginalised young people in Pretoria Central were eking out a living in

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the proximity of a concentration of private and public resources and government headquarters, while they themselves could not access any of them. This highlights the reality of socio-spatial structural exclusion that, we argue, prevents deep forms of social cohesion. However, a danger of liberative theological discourse is that it too can get trapped in intellectualising and stereotyping issues of poverty and marginalisation without actualising alternative imaginaries concretely. A liberative approach should not just concentrate on doing critical socio-spatial analyses of society or prophetically naming the structural exclusions or injustices that prevent deep forms of social cohesion. Rather, a liberative approach would also concern itself with mediating concrete forms of access to services and opportunities that could break cycles of poverty and marginalisation more fundamentally. Without that, one can hardly speak of liberation. In Pretoria Central specific young people conveyed their positive experiences of FBOs. But a conclusion the researchers came to, after assessing information from both young people and FBO leaders, was that there was a lack of a central contact point focusing on youth. Such a central contact point could have served to provide bridging capital between where the young people find themselves and the available resources and opportunities of the city. If research such as this could help mediate bridging capital in concrete ways, through the way that research findings are shared and built upon, it would already be more emancipatory. In other words, a liberative research practice – in FBOs or academia – should not become paralysed by analysis but thrust into actions that can embody alternatives to the status quo. In academia the kind of research approach and methodology that can facilitate such action and solidarity does exist, even if it did not inform the way that the research project on which this book is based was conceptualised or operationalised.

14.5

Examining Cohesion through the Lens of Conviviality

Religious diversity is a reality in the lives of youths in various contexts in South Africa and the Nordic countries. In the Nordic context the phenomenon of religious diversity is more recent than in South Africa, which led the Finnish and Norwegian teams to focus more on it. In the following paragraphs we evaluate young people’s experiences of social cohesion using Haugen’s distinction. Haugen identifies three key aspects of conviviality: respect, relationality and reciprocity. Haugen writes: “the three ‘bases’ for conviviality have a certain practical potential for applicability: … the relational nature of human beings; respectful views of others; and reciprocal relationships with others” (2015, 161). All three of these aspects enable the whole community to be more accommodating towards diversity. Conviviality thus emphasises the importance of a community characterised by dynamism. Moreover,

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it emphasises that it is not necessary to group people into insiders and “others”, but rather to continue to live together in spite of differences. Thus, the goal is not that people should become similar, but that they would live together and learn from their differences. In this way, it differs from social cohesion as a goal, which is oriented around the view that people should become somewhat similar in order to live cohesively together. Youths in both the South African and Nordic case study communities seem to have had a basic respect for youths from different faith traditions. When inspecting the results more thoroughly, though, some intolerance of otherness becomes evident. Intolerance was often not explicitly spoken about, but when youths in Lammi were gossiping about others, for instance, it often reflected disrespect for a different faith. These feelings of disrespect related to diversity were not necessarily a question of, for example, Christian youths’ views of Muslim youths, but also involved relations between different Christian denominations, as was seen in Riverlea in Nico’s comment about Christians fighting Christians, or in Franschhoek where Christian churches had difficulties cooperating with each other. Respect thus requires more than mere tolerance. The issue of respect also came up in Emakhazeni, where the young people expected the church to teach people to respect one another. The focus of this discussion was basic respect for differences, without focusing on respecting those of a different faith. The Oslo case study team in turn included an important reflection on social cohesion in Chapter 7 (7.9) when they wrote: “Only one of the FBOs reached out to street youths to help them and integrate them into to the organisation. This FBO acted to bridge the social divide between ‘us’ and ‘them’, even though the activities did not aim to reach beyond the borders of the religious community.” Shaping religious identities was thus seen as a precondition for developing self-respect and respect for diversity, as well as for social trust. This is very important when we discuss the notion or idea of conviviality, the art of living together in spite of differences. Our findings indicate that many of the young people did not know their own faith traditions very well, which made encounters with youths from other faiths more challenging. This was demonstrated, for example, in the difficulties of encounters between Lammi-born youths and asylum-seeker youths in Finland. Reciprocity as a term has already partly been included in the discussion on relations. If something is relational, it should be reciprocal as well. Still, relationships can also be very oppressive and not reciprocal. Actually, reciprocity was harder to find, for example, in the Oslo city district studied (Chapter 7). Even though they knew each other and talked positively about each other, Muslim and Christian young people did not seem to spend much time with each other. It therefore seems that the youth in Oslo did not actually practice conviviality, at least not in its full range, as Haugen describes it. Rather, they lived next to one another without proper

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encounters, were not involved in interreligious dialogue, and did not get to know the religious practices of other youths. Reciprocity often manifested within the parameters of a faith community, as was explained by the youths in Riverlea who, while they spoke of family as the main social support network, also portrayed FBOs as an important additional support structure. This was seen in, for example, the narratives of the four young women who emphasised the nature of their church as a support network for people that they could go to when they needed help, thereby reflecting a strong sense of reciprocity and trust between members of the church. The reciprocal relationships and feelings of belonging to a faith community were seen by these women as important channels of support for young people. The church as a space was furthermore seen by them as assisting youths to survive in a challenging environment as eligible members of a broader society. However, the wider results of our study reveal that very few of the youths had reciprocal experiences with youths from other faiths. This shows that the third “R” of Haugen’s model, reciprocity, seems to be the element that was really lacking from the experiences of youth. This finding indicates that social cohesion was more easily found in small communities where like-minded members of those communities could experience feelings of belonging. The term conviviality was used in situations of unproblematic encounters of diversity (Addy: 2013; Novikoff: 2005). The findings discussed above from the lives of young people reveal that they often experienced religious diversity negatively, that is, not as respect, relationality and reciprocity, but rather as disrespect, isolation and lack of reciprocity. That said, there were some traces of hope as well, but many of those expressions of hope focused on economic prospects for a better life. Those positive experiences of respect, relationality and reciprocity were usually examples of situations where a young person got to know and became friends with someone from a different faith, as was the situation of some of the Lammi-born young people with regard to the migrants in the community. In a situation where people met only once, as in the case of the meeting that was organised by the Lammi Lutheran parish for asylum seekers (Chapter 11), real conviviality was not possible. Meeting only once did not help the local and asylum-seeker youths to get to know each other well enough to build lasting relationships. One challenge of conviviality pertained to competition between churches; this was recounted, for example, in Franschhoek. The authors of Chapter 9 (9.4.4) write: “The majority of young people interviewed were critical of the lack of cohesion and cooperation between FBOs, especially amongst churches … They felt that the churches were in competition with one another and rarely worked together.” This competition between churches meant that they did not work together for the benefit of young people in the community. These experiences show that the goals of conviviality should extend to learning to live in interdenominational as well as interfaith situations.

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Yet the reality of interfaith dynamics was more actively discussed in the Nordic context than in South Africa. The recent multicultural and multi-faith presence of young people in Norway and Finland seemed to promote lively discussion on interfaith issues. However, the presence of youths from diverse religious backgrounds was also a reality in the South African context, especially so in the very diverse community of Pretoria Central, but it was not discussed as much as in the Nordic context. The discussion above has focused on youths living in situations of religious diversity. The results of this research indicate that these youths’ living environments were also spatially divided or segregated, as was found in the results of nearly all case study locations. As these divisions were addressed in Chapter 13, we will not delve further into this aspect here. That said, conviviality, learning to live together, only becomes possible when spatial divisions are at least minimised. Some authors speak of conviviality across differences (e.g. Nyamnjoh: 2015), which would mean that racial and religious divisions might not be such crucial hindrances while trying to learn to live together. The various contexts studied in this book indicate that, in fact, young people lived amid several divisions that made the creation of social cohesion very challenging. Therefore, the early idea of conviviality as the hermeneutics of difference might be more applicable than trying to create cohesion across differences (Sundermeier: 1986). In practice, this would mean, for example, organising possible meeting places where youths from diverse backgrounds could take part in activities together and while doing so, learn to relate to each other with respect and reciprocity.

14.6

Concluding Remarks on Multiple Margins

This chapter has reflected theologically on youth at the margins. We looked critically at the methods and theories adopted in the research for this book. In retrospect, based on our learning experiences from the whole research process and in considering possible future collaborative research with vulnerable young people as the central focus, we would like to conclude our reflection by imagining how such research could be shaped in the future. But before doing this, two further remarks are important. The first has to do with defining social cohesion and marginalisation. Although statistics might show high numbers of NEET young people in South Africa, among migrants in Oslo or among rural youths in Lammi, what we heard when listening to young people themselves often differed. Many young people “labelled” by the research as “marginal” did not necessarily see themselves as such. They might have experienced various hardships and challenges in life, but they did not necessarily feel like outsiders. It is important therefore to interrogate notions such as marginal-

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Whose Cohesion? What Cohesion?

isation, social cohesion and exclusion, and ask critical questions about whose terms they are defined in. The second remark has to do with FBOs seeking to work with young people, their roles and relationships with young people, and, in a sense, their own marginalisation. Both the Lammi and the Oslo case study chapters showed that the majority of young people did not think that FBOs had anything to offer them. Instead, they would rather recommend that “other people” with needs or problems go to the FBOs for help and support. In this sense one could conclude that not only some young people, but also the FBOs seemed marginal from the perspective of the majority of young people. This question of marginalised organisations could perhaps be explored more in future research. Now let us return to considering what similar research could look like in future, should a more emancipatory or liberative research agenda or methodology be adopted. For research to be truly emancipatory or liberative, one should perhaps acknowledge that such a research agenda would already look and feel different in the initial design stage. Without a deliberate agenda – or objective(s) – for the research to contribute to the agency and holistic liberation of the young people being researched, any signs of this would probably be mostly coincidental. In contrast, a deliberately emancipatory research design would be considerably more purposeful about the participation of co-researchers (youths or faith-based organisations) in every phase of the research. Instead of merely acting as research participants, young people would become co-researchers – interlocutors, indeed. The possibility of becoming co-researchers also emphasises the need for the co-production of knowledge and pays attention to the ways in which new knowledge or insights would be disseminated or shared in communities to strengthen an agenda in the interests of vulnerable young people. Lastly, such a design would highlight the envisaged actions, processes or policies that could be informed by the research. In doing collaborative research with such a deliberate agenda and clear objectives from the outset, the likelihood of deepening mutual solidarity between the researchers, vulnerable young people and faithbased practitioners, and of research findings informing on-going actions – projects, processes, strategies or policies – seems to us to be much higher. With our limited involvement in the diverse case studies presented in this book, these goals do not seem to have been reached. However, in as far as the research project reflected in this book reached the goals it set for itself at the inception, it has produced significant findings and raised important questions. The challenge now is how these findings and questions get shared with the host communities and how they can be built upon in the future.

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Appendix 1: YOMA Interview Guide for Individual Interviews with Young People

The Aim of the YOMA Project Is – to study the nature and extent to which faith-based organisations (FBOs) contribute to strengthening or weakening social cohesion in the way they relate to marginalised youths at the local level in South African and Nordic European society; – to compare the function of FBOs and religion for young marginalised people, in South Africa, Finland and Norway; – to fill the gap of knowledge regarding FBOs’ relationship to and involvement with marginalised youth in their everyday living environments. Specific Research Questions about the Youth 1. What specific opportunities and challenges do marginalised youths experience in their daily lives? 2. What attitudes to and expectations of FBOs do marginalised youths have? 3. In what ways do religion and FBOs touch the everyday lives of young people at the margins? Specific Research Questions about FBOs 4. How do FBOs involve marginalised youths in their own activities and which avenues for inclusion are utilised? 5. What are the activities of FBOs and modes of cooperation with other actors in their relations with marginalised young people? 6. How and to what extent are FBOs involved in the public debate on state and municipal youth policy? 7. What are the theological motivations of FBOs in their relations with marginalised young people? 8. In what ways is gender reflected on and taken into account by FBOs? Specific Research Questions about Both the Youth and FBOs 9. To what extent and in which ways do FBOs contribute with their activities to reducing or increasing inequalities between marginalised young people and others?

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10. To what extent and in what ways do FBOs contribute with their activities to strengthening or weakening marginalised youths’ social relations in the sense of bonding, bridging or linking social capital? 11. How do public authorities and other significant groups at local level envisage the role of FBOs in processes of social cohesion, with the emphasis on challenges related to marginalised youths? Questions Related to Research Question 1: What Specific Opportunities and Challenges Do Marginalised Youths Experience in Their Daily Lives? A. What is it like to live in XX? What do you like about this neighbourhood? What are the challenges of living here? What are your experiences of contacts with the local municipality/authority/social services/etc.? B. What is your usual day like now? > If they need help, ask them to describe what they did yesterday: – At what time did you get up? – Did you go anywhere? / Where did you go? – Whom did you talk to at what times? Face to face? On social media? Etc. – How do you arrange to meet your friends? / How do you make appointments with your friends? C. Can you tell me about the schools you’ve attended and the jobs you’ve had? D. Tell me about your friends. Who are they? > If they need help, you can probe with these questions: – Where and how did you meet your friends? – What do you do together with your friends? – Where do you do these things? (Use a copy of a map or a blank sheet of paper to draw a map with the interviewee if that is helpful.) – What is your role among your friends? – Do you have any kind of problems with your friends? E. Have you always lived where you live now or have you moved to different places in your life?

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Appendix 1: YOMA Interview Guide for Individual Interviews with Young People

F.

Tell me about the neighbours where you live now. Who are they? > Are there particular neighbours you like or do not like? Can you describe them? > Are there any kinds of activities that you do together with your neighbours? > Do any of your neighbours need help or support of any kind? Who provides this?

G. Do you give help or support of any kind to anybody? If so, can you tell me about that? > Do you receive any help or support from another person or persons? Can you tell me about that? > Imagine that you are alone in town and do not know anyone around you, but need to borrow a cell phone to make a call. Who would you approach for help? Questions Related to Research Question 2: What Attitudes to and Expectations of FBOs Do Marginalised Youths Have? H. What organisational activities do you know about that take place near where you live? I.

What kind of activities or organisations are you engaged with? / What is your usual week like? (Make a weekly schedule with the interviewee of when he or she attends which activities or organisations).

J.

What are your experiences of contacts with faith-based organisations, like churches, mosques or organisations such as the scouts that are, for example, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or similar?

K. Can you remember any activity or contact with such faith-based organisation(s) that has been especially positive? (If so) Tell more about that occasion? L.

Can you remember any activity or contact with a faith-based organisation that has been especially negative? (If so) Tell more about that occasion?

M. Do you know anything good that faith-based organisations do or have done for young people in your situation?

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N. Can you think of anything that the faith-based organisations in XX could do for you and other young people in your situation? O. Are you more specifically involved in or a member of any faith-based organisation? > If the interviewees need help, specify that you mean a church / mosque / or something similar. > If yes: – Identify the organisation? – When do you attend activities in this faith-based organisation? – What kind of activities do you do there? ◦ What kind of activities do you participate in? ◦ What kind of activities are you not interested in? ◦ Do you have any special role in this faith-based organisation? – Tell me about how you got involved with this organisation? – Tell me about the different people that you meet in this organisation? Who are they? – What do you like about it? – What would you do differently if you were the leader in this faith-based organisation? – Have you ever been a member of any other faith-based organisation? ◦ If yes: Is there a particular reason why you are no longer a member? > If no: – Have you ever been involved in or a member of a faith-based organisation? – Is there a particular reason why you are presently not involved in or a member of a faith-based organisation? Questions Related to Research Question 3: In What Ways Do Religion and FBOs Touch the Everyday Lives of Young People at the Margins? P. Do you belong to any religion? a. (If No) Have you ever been a member of a religion? Q.

Do you believe in God or some kind of higher power?

R.

Do you regard yourself as religious? Spiritual? Christian/Muslim/Hindu/etc.?

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S.

Do your parents belong to any religion? Are they religious? Spiritual?

T.

How did religion feature in your childhood, if it did at all? a. If the young person needs help to get going: Did your parents pray with you when you were a child? Did you attend church or other religious activities as a child?

U.

Do you presently attend church/religious services or other religious activities?

V.

Do you pray sometimes?

W. Does it happen that you read the Bible/Koran or other religious text? X.

Do you think that a religious belief can be of help for young people in your situation?

Y.

Do you think that it can be of help for a young person in your situation to be a member of a religion or a faith-based organisation?

The Future/Wrapping Up Describe what you think your life will be when you are forty years old. Z. AA. Describe what you hope your life will be when you are forty years old. Is there anything you would like to add about the topics that we have discussed? Background Information – Age – Gender – Family members (incl. their line of work, if any?) – Marital status (if context relevant) – Where, how and with whom do you live?

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The Aim of the YOMA Project Is – to study the nature and extent to which faith-based organisations (FBOs) contribute to strengthening or weakening social cohesion in the way they relate to marginalised youths at the local level in South African and Nordic European society; – to compare the function of FBOs and religion for young marginalised people, in South Africa, Finland and Norway; – to fill the gap of knowledge regarding FBOs’ relationship to and involvement with marginalised youth in their everyday living environments. Specific Research Questions 1. What attitudes to and expectations of FBOs do marginalised youths have? 2. In what ways do religion and FBOs touch the everyday lives of young people at the margins? 3. What are the activities of FBOs and modes of cooperation with other actors in their relations with marginalised young people? 4. How do FBOs involve marginalised youths in their own activities and which avenues for inclusion are utilised? 5. How and to what extent are FBOs involved in the public debate on state and municipal youth policy? 6. What are the theological motivations of FBOs in their relations with marginalised young people? 7. In what ways is gender reflected on and taken into account by FBOs? 8. To what extent and in which ways do FBOs contribute with their activities to reducing or increasing inequalities between marginalised young people and others? 9. To what extent and in what ways do FBOs contribute with their activities to strengthening or weakening marginalised youths’ social relations in the sense of bonding, bridging or linking social capital? 10. How do public authorities and other significant groups at local level envisage the role of FBOs in processes of social cohesion, with an emphasis on challenges related to marginalised youths?

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11. What differences and similarities can be found when comparing results from the local areas studied in the four countries? Thematic Interview Guide A. What is it like to live in XX? What do you like about this neighbourhood? What are the challenges living here? B.

What do family, friends, neighbours mean to you? / What significance do they have in your life? / What do they do for you? / What do you do together? (May also be applied to various types of civil society organisations, and public/municipal/district authorities.)

C.

What organisational activities do you know about that take place near where you live?

D.

What are your experiences of contacts with faith-based organisations, such as churches, mosques or organisations such as the scouts that are, for example, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or similar?

E.

Can you remember any activity or contact with such faith-based organisation(s) that has been especially positive?

F.

Can you remember any activity or contact with a faith-based organisation that has been especially negative?

G.

Do you know anything good that faith-based organisations do or have done for young people in your situation?

H.

Can you think of anything that the faith-based organisations in XX could do for you and other young people in your situation?

I.

Do you presently attend church/religious services or other religious activities?

J.

Do you think that a religious belief can be of help for young people in your situation?

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K.

Do you think that it can be of help for a young person in your situation to be a member of a religion or a faith-based organisation?

L.

Describe what you think your life will be when you are forty years old.

M.

Describe what you hope your life will be when you are forty years old.

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2013: 1. SWART, I. (2013), Youth at the Margins: Introducing a New Research Initiative in an Ongoing South–North Collaboration in the Context of International Diaconia, Diaconia 4/1, 2–26. 2014: 2. NEL, R. (2014), Discerning the Role of Faith Communities in Responding to Urban Youth Marginalisation, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 70/3, 147–154. 2015: 3. HANKELA, E. (2015), Ethnographic Research through a Liberationist Lens: Ethical Reflections on Fieldwork, Missionalia 43/2, 195–217. 4. JUNTUNEN, A. (2015), Tarkoituksellinen elämäni: Nuorten toimijuus ulkopuolisuuden kokemuksissa (My Purposeful Life: The Agency of Young People in Experiences of Outsiders), Teologinen Aikakauskirja 120/4, 310–325. 5. VÄHÄKANGAS, A. (2015), Tavoitteena vastuullinen syrjäytymistutkimus: Kriittistä reflektointia Nuoret marginaalissa tutkimushankkeen kokemuksista (Aiming for Responsible Research on Marginalisation: Critical Reflection on the Experiences of the Youth at the Margins Project), Teologinen Aikakauskirja 120/4, 348–354. 2016: A YOMA Special Issue in Diakonian Tutkimus (Journal for the Study of Diakonia) Containing an Editorial and Three Peer Reviewed Articles: 6. VÄHÄKANGAS, A. (2016), Nuoret marginaalissa – tutkimushanke korostaa yhteisöllisyyttä ja yhdessä elämistä (Youth at the Margins – Project Stresses Communality and Art of Living Together), Diakonian tutkimus 13/1, 5–12. 7. JUNTUNEN, E./SIIRTO, U. (2016), Välinpitämättömyyttä, kyselyä ja elämänsisältöä – Nuorten käsityksiä suhteestaan uskontoon (Indifference, Questions and Life Content – Young People’s Conceptions of Their Relationship to Religion), Diakonian tutkimus 13/1, 13–37.

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8.

9.

JUNTUNEN, A. (2016), Ettei kävis niin kuin faijalle’ – Nuorten elämänkulku ja toimijuus koulutuksessa ja ammattillisissa valinnoissa (So I Wouldn’t End Up Like Dad’ – The Agency and Life Course of Youths in Academic and Professional Choices), Diakonian tutkimus 13/1, 38–62. VILJA-MANTERE, J. (2016), Kuva sielunhoidollisena kohtaamispaikkana? Taidetyöskentelyn herättämien merkitysten äärellä nuortenillassa (Art as a Space for Encountering in Pastoral Care? Exploring Meanings Evoked by Art-Making in a Youth Gathering), Diakonian tutkimus 13/1, 63–88.

2017: 10. HANKELA, E. (2017), ‘There Is a Reason’: A Call to Re-Consider the Relationship between Charity and Social Justice, Exchange 46/1, 46–71. 11. KORSLIEN, K. (2017), Felles møteplass – byggestein for robuste lokalsamfunn (Shared Meeting Place – A Cornerstone for Strong Local Communities), Tidsskrift for Praktisk Teologi 34/1, 65–70. 12. LANDMAN, C./YATES, H. (2017), Africanity and Research: A Case Study in Rural South Africa, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 73/4, 1–9. 13. NEL, R. (2017), Everyday Life, Everyday Connections? Theological Reflections on the Relevance of International Youth Studies Research, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 73/4, 1–7. 2018: 14. HOLTE, B.H. (2018), Religion and Social Cohesion: Youth Exclusion and Religious Organisations in a Super-Diverse City District of Oslo, Norway, Doctoral Dissertation No. 11, Oslo: VID Specialized University. 15. HOLTE, B.H. (2018), Counting and Meeting NEET Young People: Methodology, Perspective, and Meaning in Research on Marginalized Youth, YOUNG 26/1, 1–16. 16. JUNTUNEN, A. (2018), ‘Pitää saada itkee ilosta ja surustakin’: Nuoret ja hyvä elämän rakennusaineet (‘You Need to Cry of Joy and Grief ’: Young People and Building Materials of Good Life), Nuorisotutkimus 36/2, 35–54. 17. SAARELAINEN, S–M. (2018), Lack of Belonging as Disrupting the Formation of Meaning and Faith: Experiences of Youth at Risk of Becoming Marginalized, Journal of Youth and Theology 17/2, 127–149. 18. VÄHÄKANGAS, A./LEIS-PETERS, A. (2018), On the Need of Conviviality: Experiences of Religious Diversity of Nordic Youth, Exchange 47/1, 71–89.

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19. VILJA-MANTERE, J. (2018), Kuin kuvastimesta: Sielunhoidollisen kohtaamisen mahdollisuuksia taidelähtöisessä ryhmätoiminnassa (Through the Looking Glass: Potentials for Pastoral Care Encounters in Arts-Based Group Activity), PhD Dissertation, Helsinki: University of Helsinki. ********** 20. SWART, I. (ed.) (2018), Youth Marginalisation as a Faith-Based Concern in Contemporary South African Society, Special Article Collection, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 261–351. 21. SWART, I. (2018), Youth Marginalisation as a Faith-Based Concern in Contemporary South African Society: Introducing a Research Contribution, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 261–268. 22. SWARTZ, S./NYAMNJOH, A. (2018), Research as Freedom: Using a Continuum of Interactive, Participatory and Emancipatory Methods for Addressing Youth Marginality, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 269–279. 23. LE ROUX, E./HANKELA, E./MCDONALD, Z. (2018), Social Justice Required: Youth at the Margins, Churches and Social Cohesion in South Africa, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 280–287. 24. RABE, M. (2018), A Care Deficit? The Roles of Families and Faith-Based Organisations in the Lives of Youth at the Margins in Pretoria Central, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 288–295. 25. LANDMAN, C./YATES, H. (2018), ‘The Church Should Teach Us to Do Respect’: Voices from Rural Youth in Mpumalanga, South Africa, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 296–303. 26. BEUKES, J./VAN DER WESTHUIZEN, M. (2018), Moving from Faith-Based Concerns to Demarginalising Youths Through the Circle of Courage, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 304–312. 27. MKWANANZI, W./WILSON-STRYDOM, M. (2018), Capabilities Expansion for Marginalised Migrant Youths in Johannesburg: The Case of Albert Street School, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 313–322. 28. MCDONALD, Z. (2018), Potentialities of Faith-Based Organisations to Integrate Youths into Society: The Case of the Deobandi Islamic Movement in South Africa, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 323–329.

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29. WEBER, S./BOWERS DU TOIT, N. (2018), Sexual Violence Against Children and Youth: Exploring the Role of Congregations in Addressing the Protection of Young Girls on the Cape Flats, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 330–337. 30. KLAASEN, J. (2018), Youth Ministry at the Margins and/or Centre as Space of the Other: Reflections on the Resolutions of the Anglican Dioceses in the Western Cape 2017, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 338–344. 31. KNOETZE, J. (2018), Marginalised Millennials: Conversation or Conversion Towards a Christian Lifestyle in South Africa?, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 74/3, 345–351. 2019: 32. HOLTE, B.H./SWART, I./HIILAMO, H. (2019), The NEET Concept in Comparative Youth Research: The Nordic Countries and South Africa, Journal of Youth Studies 22/2, 256–272. 33. JUNTUNEN, A. (2019), ‘Minä uskon hyvään elämään’: Nuoret ja elämänkulussa rakentuva toimijuus (‘I Believe in a Good Life’: Young People and the Agency Developed in the Turns of Life), PhD Dissertation, Helsinki: University of Helsinki. 34. RABE, M./SWART, I./DE BEER, S. (2019), Hope for a Better Future: Young People’s (Im)mobility in Pretoria Central, South Africa, in: H. Cuervo/A. Miranda (ed.), Youth, Inequality and Social Change in the Global South, Perspectives on Children and Young People 6, Singapore: Springer, 163–178. 35. SWART, I./RABE, M./DE BEER, S. (2019), Young People at the Margins in Pretoria Central: Are the FBOs Making a Difference? HTS Theological Studies 74/4, 653–664. 2020: 36. JUNTUNEN. A. (2020), Nuoret ja elävä toimijuuden tunto elämänkulun käännekohdissa (Young People and Living Sense of Agency at the Turning Points of Life Course), Janus 28/1, 20–41. 37. VÄHÄKANGAS, A. (2020), Kantahämäläisten ja pakolaisnuorten kokemuksia yhdessä elämisen taidosta (Häme-born and Asylum-Seeking Youths’ Experiences of Conviviality), in: M-A. Auvinen/J. Komulainen (ed.), Näkökulmia ekumeeniseen missiologiaan, Kirkon tutkimuskeskuksen julkaisuja 133, Tampere: Kirkon tutkimuskeskus, 287–301.

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38. HOLTE, B.H. (2020), Religion and Integration: Religious Organisations’ Communication in a Diverse City District of Oslo, Norway, Journal of Contemporary Religion 35/3, 449–468. 2021: 39. HOLTE, B.H. (2021), Aalan’s Story: Waithood, Capital, and Categories of Youth Research and Policy in Young People’s Lives, Journal of Applied Youth Studies 4/2, 185–200.

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Notes on the Editors and Contributors

Ignatius Swart is Professor of Religion and Development in the Department of Religion and Theology at the University of the Western Cape and, until the end of 2019, also held the position of Kjell Nordstokke Visiting Professor of International Diaconia at VID Specialized University in Norway. Swart has initiated and led or co-led several national and international team research projects since the early 2000s, from which emanated anthologies and other forms of academic publications related to his research focus. Publications from these projects include: Religion and Social Development in Post-Apartheid South Africa: Perspectives for Critical Engagement (SUN Press, 2010); Welfare, Religion and Gender in Post-Apartheid South Africa: Constructing a South-North Dialogue (SUN Press, 2012); “Special Collection: Engaging Development: Contributions to a Critical Theological and Religious Debate” (HTS Theological Studies, 2016); “Special Collection: Youth Marginalisation as a Faith-Based Concern in Contemporary South African Society” (HTS Theological Studies, 2018); Bonding in Worship: A Ritual Lens on Social Capital in African Independent Churches in South Africa (Peeters, 2019). Auli Vähäkangas is Professor in Practical Theology at the Faculty of Theology at the University of Helsinki. She is the author of Christian Couples Coping with Childlessness: Narratives from Machame, Kilimajaro. Vähäkangas’s research has focused on those in vulnerable situations: sexual minorities, childless people and HIV-positives in their communities. She co-led the South African–Nordic research project “Youth at the Margins: A Comparative Study of the Contribution of Faith-Based Organisations to Social Cohesion in South Africa and Nordic Europe” (YOMA) (2013–2017). Presently she is leading a Finnish multidisciplinary project “Meaningful Relations: Patient and Family Carer Encountering Death at Home” (2017–2021). Marlize Rabe is Professor of Sociology in the Department of Sociology at the University of the Western Cape. She mainly does qualitative research on family issues relating to gender and intergenerational relationships. More recently, she has published on how family policies can be more inclusive in South Africa, especially as this relates to caregiving. Her most recent research focused on how the state, families and the non-profit sector, including faith-based organisations, are linked to issues of care. She is a former Vice-President of the South African Sociological Association and a former co-editor of the journals South African Review of Sociology and Gender Questions. She currently serves as an associate editor of Journal of Family Issues.

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Annette Leis-Peters is Professor of the Sociology of Religion and Diaconal Studies at VID Specialized University in Norway. She holds a doctoral degree and an associate professorship in the Sociology of Religion from Uppsala University in Sweden. From 2011 to 2019 she acted as Vice-Dean of the Faculty of Theology, Diakonia and Leadership Studies at VID and is currently responsible for the PhD programme in Diakonia, Values and Professional Practice at the same university. Her research interests lie in the intersection between religion, civil society, welfare and migration. Within this broad field she has been involved in several Nordic and European research projects and has published various articles in peer-reviewed journals and books. She is editor-in-chief of the interdisciplinary journal Diaconia: Journal for the Study of Christian Social Practice. Olav Helge Angell is Professor Emeritus of Diakonia and Professional Practice at VID Specialized University in Norway. His PhD in Sociology focused on the religious foundation and secular professionalism of faith-related welfare organisations. His interests include the role of faith-related welfare services in a multi-religious society in relation to the secular welfare state, the organisation and management of social welfare provision, and how faith-related organisations contribute to community cohesion. He has been involved in several international research projects and has published numerous articles in peer-reviewed journals and books. Anita Cloete holds a PhD in Practical Theology from the University of South Africa and is currently Associate Professor in Youth Work in the Department of Practical Theology and Missiology at Stellenbosch University. Prior to this appointment she also worked as a full-time lecturer in Youth Work at Huguenot College (2001–2007). Cloete was head of the Department of Practical Theology and Missiology at Stellenbosch University from 2014–2017 and currently serves as chair of the Winter School Committee of the Faculty of Theology. Her research interests are in the fields of youth culture, spiritual formation, and religion and media. She has published and supervised several postgraduate students in these areas. She recently edited the anthology Interdisciplinary Reflections on the Interplay between Religion, Film and Youth (African Sun Media, 2019). Stephan de Beer is Director of the Centre for Contextual Ministry and Associate Professor in Practical Theology at the University of Pretoria. An urban theologian, his research interests focus on: the interface between faith communities, faith practices and vulnerable urban communities; homelessness, housing and spatial justice; and pedagogies for transforming urban theological education. He is leading transdisciplinary and transnational research projects that fuse theoretical knowledge generation with policy formation and curriculum transformation. Previously he

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Notes on the Editors and Contributors

had worked for 20 years as a faith-based practitioner-theologian, facilitating urban community development and social housing projects in Pretoria’s inner city. Elina Hankela is an Associate Professor in the Department of Religion Studies at the University of Johannesburg. She received her doctorate in Theology (2013) as well as the title of Docent (Social Ethics, 2017) from the University of Helsinki. Questions addressing theology and ethics in the context of migration form an important aspect of Hankela’s research trajectory, as do working with liberation theologies as both theory and method, and interrogating the role of ethnography in theology and ethics. The geographical focus of Hankela’s academic work is on South Africa, where she has now lived for several years. Heikki Hiilamo is a Professor of Social Policy at University of Helsinki and a Research Professor at the Institute for Health and Welfare in Finland. He has been a visiting professor at the University of California San Francisco and VID Specialized University in Oslo. Hiilamo holds the title of Docent from University of Tampere and University of Eastern Finland. His research is focused on inequalities, poverty, family policy, the welfare state and tobacco control. His articles have appeared in leading international journals including American Journal of Public Health and Social Science and Medicine. His latest book Household Debt and Economic Crises: Causes, Consequences and Remedies (2018) was published by Edward Elgar. Bjørn Hallstein Holte is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Social Studies at VID Specialized University in Norway. He holds an MA in Social Anthropology from the University of Oslo and a PhD from VID Specialized University. His contributions in this volume and his other output from the YOMA project formed part of his PhD research. His publications concern the youth, religious organisations, social integration, social exclusion, and socio-economic inequalities in African and Nordic countries. Anna Juntunen defended her doctoral thesis at the University of Helsinki in January 2019. Her research was conducted in the field of Church Sociology and consisted of four sub-publications in which young people’s life-based actions were studied from the perspective of outsourcing, educational and professional choices, good life views, and turning points. The themes of life course and agency constituted the theoretical frame of reference, while the collection of visual material constituted a noticeable component in support of, and as sources of, young people’s storytelling. Juntunen currently works as a student priest in the parish of Kajaani in northern Finland.

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Elina Juntunen obtained the degree of Doctor of Theology from University of Helsinki in 2011. Presently employed as Director of Services at Diaconia University of Applied Sciences in Helsinki, she had previously worked as a postdoctoral researcher in the Faculty of Theology at the University of Helsinki as member of both the “Youth at the Margins” (YOMA) project and the project “Compassion – a key to successful and sustainable business.” Juntunen’s current research focuses on the power of compassion in work life and leadership. Kari Karsrud Korslien currently serves as a deacon of the Church of Norway at Diakonia House in Gjøvik. Until 2019 she was employed as an Associate Professor at VID Specialized University in Norway, where she worked as a lecturer and researcher in diaconal studies. She has contributed as an editor to several textbooks (in Norwegian and English) in her field, while her own research has focused on issues related to relation-based diaconia and voluntary community work. Korslien has contributed to the development of the various master’s programmes specialising in the field of diaconia and Christian social practice at VID. In 2019 she undertook research on diaconal voluntary work in the Church of Norway. Christina Landman is a Professor at the Research Institute for Theology and Religion at the University of South Africa. She specialises in oral history, South African religious history and church polity, as well as in gender studies from an historical perspective. She is the editor of two academic journals: Studia Historiae Ecclesiasticae, the subject journal of the Church History Society of Southern Africa, and the Oral History Journal of South Africa, which is the subject journal of the Oral History Association of Southern Africa. She is the author of several books, including Township Spiritualities and Counselling, and her articles published in accredited and non-accredited journals, as well as chapters in books, number more than a hundred. She is an ordained pastor of the Uniting Reformed Church in Southern Africa, and in 2018 was elected as Actuarius of its General Synod. Elisabet le Roux is Research Director of the interdisciplinary Unit for Religion and Development Research at Stellenbosch University. Le Roux’s empirical research internationally is done with and for governments, global faith-based organisations, and development networks and organisations, and over the last ten years she has secured funding and delivered research projects across 21 countries on four continents. The majority of her work is within the Global South and in conflict-affected settings, and reflects on religion, religious leaders and religious communities as role-players within the international development arena. Le Roux has a particular interest in religion and various forms of social violence, especially gender-based violence, and her recent interfaith work has included Hindu, Islamic and Christian settings.

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Zahraa McDonald is currently a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Johannesburg. She holds a PhD in Sociology from the University of Johannesburg that examined the extent to which Islamic education allows for expressing post-secular citizenship in South Africa. Her current research focuses on teacher education and development in the present-day South African context, while previous publications examined the topical issues of religion and citizenship education as well as school safety in South Africa. She has co-edited a book titled Learning to Teach in Post-Apartheid South Africa (2018, African SUN Media). Reggie Nel is currently the Dean of the Faculty of Theology at Stellenbosch University. He is a Professor in Missiology and completed his doctorate in theology at the University of South Africa on the topic “Discerning an African Missional Ecclesiology in Dialogue with Two Uniting Youth Movements.” Nel was a local minister in Riverlea, Johannesburg for 17 years and served in various national youth work bodies, including the Christian Youth Movement, Uniting Christian Students Association, OASIS and the South African Youth Workers’ Association. He previously served on the Executive Committee of the International Association for the Study of Youth Ministry and presently is a member of the International Association for Mission Studies. Eddie Orsmond holds a DPhil degree in Philosophy and an MTh degree in New Testament Studies from Stellenbosch University. He presently works at the Faculty of Theology at Stellenbosch University as minister in service of the Western Cape Synod of the Dutch Reformed Church (DRC). In this capacity he specifically manages the seminary programme for faith and ministry formation, preparing DRC students for the congregational ministry. Orsmond served as pastor of the DRC Congregation of Simondium (located between Paarl and Franschhoek in the Western Cape province of South Africa) until January 2018. He leads a project which annually develops ministerial material for pastors and congregations based on the Revised Common Lectionary. This project has been running for 23 years already, and at present delivers two publications annually on liturgies and sermon guidelines for pastors, and daily reflections and guidelines for faith formation. Per Pettersson is Senior Professor of the Sociology of Religion at Karlstad University and Director of the research programme, “The Impact of Religion: Challenges for Society, Law and Democracy” at Uppsala University. Pettersson’s research covers a broad range of issues, including religious institutions as service providers, state-religion relationships, the role of religion in crisis and disaster, churches’ confirmation work and theoretical issues such as the problems in defining the concept of “religion”. Recent articles include: “The Problem of Defining Religion in an Increasingly Individualised and Functionally Differentiated Society” (Waxmann,

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2019); “Religion and State: Complexity in Change” (Palgrave Macmillan, 2018); “Is the Swedish State Secular When Religious Service Functions Are Integrated in State Institutions?” (Studia Z Prawa Wyznaniowego, 2015); “The Deregulation of Swedish Welfare and Religion – New Challenges for the Lutheran Majority Church” (Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2015); “Values and Religion in Transition – a Case Study of a Swedish Multicultural Public School” (Ashgate, 2014). Ulla Siirto is an advisor at the National Church Council of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland, where she focuses on issues of multiculturalism and migration. Previously she had worked at Diaconia University of Applied Sciences in Finland for 16 years. Siirto’s research interests concern the intersection between diaconia, power and migration. She has been a board member of the Finnish Association for Research on Diaconia (2010–2017) and the International Society for the Research and Study of Diaconia and Christian Social Practice (2012–2018). Hannelie Yates is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Practical Theology at the North-West University, South Africa. Her academic career has always been steered by her keen interest in children, their spirituality and wellbeing. She received her undergraduate, honours and master’s qualifications in Theology with specialisation in youth work, and then continued to gain international exposure in Sweden and The Netherlands, focusing on the rights and agency of children in their daily living environment. She completed her doctorate in Practical Theology at the University of Stellenbosch (2012) under the guidance of a promoter in the field of Theology and a co-promoter from the Faculty of Law. In recent years her primary research interest has related to the position, role and voice of children in faith communities and relational spaces in civil society. She has supervised several postgraduate students in these inter- and trans-disciplinary areas of research and recently sub-edited the “Special Collection: Doing Theology with Children: Exploring Emancipatory Methodologies” (HTS Theological Studies, 2019). Johanna Vilja-Mantere completed her doctorate in Theology at the University of Helsinki on the topic “Through the Looking Glass – Potentials for Pastoral Care Encounters in Arts-Based Group Activity” (2018). Her cross-disciplinary research examined the effects of encountering youths and young adults in a congregational setting through art-making, especially from the viewpoint of pastoral care. Since then Vilja-Mantere has graduated from Aalto University with a Master of Arts (Art and Design, 2020) majoring in art education, and has written two articles in upcoming Finnish publications in which she explores the connections between her respective fields of specialisation. Besides her cross-disciplinary interests, ViljaMantere has a wide-ranging fascination with researching how people share, express and interpret meaningful life experiences – for example, when becoming a mother

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Notes on the Editors and Contributors

or encountering crises – in relation to their worldview and existential concerns, as well as the possible role the arts can play in post-modern spirituality. These are themes that she also explores vividly in her artistic practice as a painter and photographer.

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339

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Index

 A absenteeism – male 176 abuse – alcohol s. a. alcohol, 105, 145, 176 – bodily 195 – body 194 – drug 117, 152–153, 155, 163, 176, 178, 188, 208, 211, 217, 254, 258, 262 – substance 105–107, 117, 156, 188, 199, 201, 258 action(s) 21, 24, 69, 89, 92, 180, 182, 204, 248, 264, 269, 271, 277–279, 283 activity/activities – destructive 255, 262 – recreational 115 addiction – drug 105, 116, 144 – Nyaope 114 – substance 101, 106–107 adulthood 31, 156 – early 216 – markers of 46 – transitions to 46 affiliation – Christian 85 – church 94 – faith 181 – FBO 191 – religious 49, 60–62, 64, 90–92, 95, 170, 211, 229–232, 243–245 – to/with a church 180, 182, 232 Africanity 186, 192 – concept of 186 – principles of 185, 203

African(s) – black 41, 143, 145, 147–148 – black male 41 – black men 41 agency 24, 148, 192, 204, 227, 229, 237–238, 244–245, 249, 260–261, 268–269, 271, 273, 275–276, 283 – destructive 262 – lack of 193, 261–262, 276 – moral 23 – of marginalised young people 24 – of young people 25, 254, 276 – of youth 49 – practising 272 – religious 20 – role 204 – sense of 157, 201, 261 – types of 249 – young people’s 73 – youths without 237 alcohol s. a. abuse: alcohol, 57, 105, 111, 145, 151, 155, 159, 176, 178–179, 194, 200, 262 alcoholism 144, 178 Allardt, Erik 65 apartheid 44, 52–53, 68, 92, 146–147, 183, 185, 225, 227, 237, 244, 249, 252–253, 262 – demise of 39 – end of 92 – era 41, 53, 100, 235, 251 – heritage of 185 – laws 74, 148 – legislation 74, 168 – planning 168

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342

Index

– racial categories 241 – remnant of 26 – spatial and social planning 263 – spatial legacy of 169 Appelros, Erica 228 asylum seeker(s) s. a. refugees, 52, 90, 207–208, 210, 218–219, 228, 239–240, 244, 252, 256, 265, 281

 B Bangstad, Sindre 138, 225, 231 behaviour(s) – destructive 179, 255, 274 belonging 70, 75, 119, 144, 154, 158, 161, 182, 204–205, 208–209, 214–215, 220, 222, 230–232, 240, 242, 245, 257–258, 262 – and identity 71–73, 77, 152, 169, 268 – experience of 153 – feeling(s) of 66, 75, 78, 257, 281 – hierarchies of 231, 240 – identity and 75 – limits of 89 – safe space of 274–275 – sense of 21, 70–73, 77, 82, 89, 110, 114, 119, 142, 152–154, 157, 164, 169, 257, 259, 268 Berger, Peter L. 67, 82 Berger-Schmitt, Regina 69, 80–81 black people 143, 167–168, 233, 237, 241, 252, 262 boredom 38, 192–193, 261 Bremer, Thomas 249–250, 252, 256, 264 Buddhist organisation 123–124, 133, 233

 C capital – bonding 179, 274 – bridging 179, 279 – forms of 65

– social 44, 65, 69, 80–81, 89, 110, 179, 183, 270 – stocks of 46 care 75, 163, 174–175, 177, 183, 259 – burden of 175, 235 – by families 63 – duties of 263 – foster 104, 108 – from the state 245 – givers 233 – health 103, 186 – of small children 236 – persons 59 – responsibilities s. a. responsibilities: care, caring, 235 – work 45 carers – young 33 case studies s. a. research: case study – Nordic 23, 45, 232–234, 255, 261, 264 – South African 16, 23, 122, 232–233, 236, 238, 241, 245, 253, 255–256, 258–259, 261–262, 264, 278 case study – research strategy s. a. research: case study, 76 Chan, Joseph 67, 69–71, 73, 78 Christian organisation(s) 123–125, 130–131, 136–137, 139 Christianity 92, 124, 137, 142, 145, 169, 199, 232, 241, 249 Christians 62, 95, 136, 161, 219, 230, 232, 270, 280 church – activities 111, 153, 156, 163, 177, 179, 220, 253 – and state 88 – and the world 158, 160 – attend(ing) 109–110, 116, 149, 153–154, 156, 158, 162, 180, 214, 253

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Index

– Church of Norway 60, 93, 123–128, 130, 132, 134–137, 231, 239 – tax(es), 216–217, 230, 277 – youths 164 – community 171 – ELCF s. a. Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland, 93, 207–209, 211, 214–221, 241 – Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland s. a. ELCF, 93, 207–209, 211, 214–221, 241 – Free Church 209–210, 218 – Lutheran Church 90, 93, 219, 230, 233, 241 – organisations 62 – Pentecostal 208–210, 218 – Pentecostal/charismatic 171, 180 – Reformed 173, 176 – state 93–94 – Uniting Reformed Church 146, 189–190 – young people’s expectations of s. a. young people: expectations, 110 – Zion Christian Church 189–190 churches – as alternative spaces s. a. FBO(s): as alternative spaces; space(s): FBO, 155–156 – free 233 – local 114–116, 118, 129, 155, 176, 230 – Lutheran 93–95 – Lutheran national 60–61, 230 – mainline 91–92, 149 – national 94, 123 – Nordic Lutheran 94 – Pentecostal 90–92 – Pentecostal and charismatic 62–63, 102 – Reformed tradition 171

– South African Council of Churches (SACC) 63, 92 – young people’s understandings of 277 – young people’s views of 158 citizens – full 25 – full participation of 80 – good 140, 142 – Nordic 50 – participation 79 – poorer 58 – privileged 56 – productive 35 – South Africa(n) 50, 91, 240 – wealthier 58 – young 53 citizenship 21, 81, 226, 228–229, 234, 239–240 city – African 99 – drug abuse 117 – inner 99, 102–103 – Johannesburg 16, 26, 143–144, 146, 148–149, 151, 238, 248, 250–25 – level(s) 65, 74, 76–78, 164 – Tshwane 17, 99–100 – locality 16 – Oslo 26, 38, 74–75, 79, 121–142, 225, 228, 230–235, 239–242, 245, 250–252, 255, 257–259, 273, 276, 280, 282–283 – Pretoria Central 16, 26, 99–119, 232, 236, 238, 242, 251, 256–258, 261, 263, 276, 278–279, 282 – Søndre Nordstrand 16, 26, 121–142, 230–231, 241, 250, 252–253, 257–259, 261, 263–264 – the city 74, 76–78, 99, 105, 117, 123, 138–139, 146, 148, 150–152, 221, 238–239, 257, 279

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343

344

Index

– the city district 121–126, 128, 135, 137, 141, 242, 257 civil society 70–72, 79–80, 85, 87, 92, 249 – agency 68, 80 – NGO-shaped 86 – organisations 65, 75, 79, 124 – partnership(s) 181 – rise of 85 Clarke, Gerard 20, 86–89, 95, 182 Cloete, Nico 39–44 collaboration – South African–Nordic s. a. research: collaboration, comparative South African-Nordic, South African-Nordic, 11, 15, 20 coloured people 53, 143–144, 146–148, 168 communities – case study 278, 280 – Christian 60, 91 – church 181 – close 270 – coloured 146 – faith s. a. religious communities, 60–61, 63, 86, 88–89, 92, 95, 177, 179, 217, 230 – Emakhazeni 189–190, 203, 242 – Franschhoek 168, 177 – grassroots 267 – Islamic 61 – Lammi 211, 217, 220–221 – local 83, 88–89, 95, 11–123, 126, 141–142, 220, 247, 253, 260, 270–271, 273 – migrant 241 – minority 249, 256 – Muslim 94, 232 – Nordic faith 61 – online 138 – poorer 168 – Pretoria Central 106, 118, 242

– Riverlea 164, 242 – roles of FBOs s. a. FBO(s): role(s) of, 88, 95 – rootedness of FBOs 88, 161 – rural 204, 251 – Søndre Nordstrand 122 community – art 118 – church 159,162 – coloured 147, 171 – divided 183 – Emakhazeni 191 – faith s. a. religious community, 60–61, 89, 181, 217–218, 281 – Franschhoek 173–174, 176, 180, 182–183 – Lammi 90, 207–222, 253, 257–258, 264–265, 281 – moral 81 – poverty-stricken 177 – Riverlea 90, 160 – rural 16, 191, 207–209, 211 – shambolic 178 – theatre 118 confirmation – rite of s. a. ritual(s): confirmation, 230 – school(s) 209, 211, 214–215, 220 – work 209 conviviality s. a. respect: aspect of conviviality; social cohesion: lens of conviviality, 268, 270, 279–282 Crenshaw, Kimberlé 226 crime 105, 107, 121, 124, 127, 134, 150–152, 237, 257–258

 D Dawson, Hanna 31, 63, 248, 255, 261 De La Torre, Miguel 267–269 demographic dividend 19

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Index

dependence – on churches and FBO structures 113–114, 118 – sense of 115 – situation of 115 Desai, Ashwin 65, 68, 72, 80, 269 development – and welfare 89 – community 92, 181 – discourses 20 – discourses of 87 – economic 67 – Integrated Development Plan 169–170, 187–188, 204, 278 – international 20, 87 – National Development Plan 44 – neo-colonial 183 – Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) 79 – plans 204 – programme(s) 128, 188 – projects 88 – role of FBOs 23 – skills 44, 182 – social 18, 23, 88, 103, 171 – socio-economic 263 – social welfare and 20 – vocational 44 – work 62, 161 – youth 21, 169, 175, 188, 204, 278 diaconal work 233 diaconia 215, 270 divide – South-North 26 – spatial 183 drugs 104, 111, 121, 134, 144, 150–156, 159, 161–164, 178–179, 192–195, 199–204, 208, 238, 262, 274 Durkheim, Émile 67

 E economy s. a. skills – global capitalist 31, 46 – high-skills 43 – information 34 – skills 34, 43, 46 – South African 46 Edgardh, Ninna 228 education – and employment 46, 58, 129–130, 157, 172, 174–175, 192 – and training 33–34, 39, 42–44, 46–47, 101, 107, 167, 208 – moral 199 – primary 36, 42–43, 123, 188 – secondary 36–37, 59, 63, 188, 210 – system 42, 45, 47, 81 – tertiary 33, 36, 43–44, 58–60, 63, 173, 188, 196, 233 Eliade, Mircea 249, 264 emancipation 24, 271 – desire for 23 – unfulfilled 24 employment s. a. jobs; labour market – gainful 32, 45, 238 – graduate 33 – lack of 184, 237, 254 – secure 32 – self- 187 – status 32, 45 – youth 44, 49, 58, 63 Esping-Andersen, Gøsta 34, 55–56 ethnicity 68, 124, 234, 240–241 – Norwegian 124, 135, 142, 240 exclusion(s) 25, 32, 49, 63, 65, 67, 69–70, 72–74, 80, 82–83, 88, 101, 142, 144, 154, 158, 193, 203, 217, 228, 245, 247, 251, 257–258, 262, 274, 283 – economic 175, – experiences of 254, 257 – long-term 38

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345

346

Index

– perception of 225 – permanent 261 – social 19, 22, 32–33, 38, 66, 69, 72, 79, 81, 83, 89, 192, 252, 261, 275 – spatial s. a. space(s): of exclusion, 77 – structural 119, 279 existence – destructive 258

 F failure – at school 261 – educational 64 – FBOs 277 – identities of 204 – of governments 19 – of market forces 19 – of post-apartheid policies 53 – research 277 – state s. a. state, the: failure, 44 – to attend church 162 – to include asylum seekers 265 – to integrate young people 40 faith 23, 86–87, 109–110, 114, 155, 160–161, 169, 171, 218, 220, 229, 259, 278, 280–281 – and prayer 155 – Christian 232, 268 – identities 92 – individual 211 – instruction 209 – personal 118, 171 – role of 89 – testimonies 109 – the faith 86, 182 – tradition(s) 20, 280 faith-based organisations s. a. FBOs – definition of 20 – role of 15, 44, 100, 143, 207, 247

families 45, 52, 63, 104, 122–123, 133–134, 140–141, 153, 176–178, 183, 241, 243, 248, 256–257, 259–260, 263 – child-headed 188 – immigrant 239, 241 – migrant 61, 140, 240 – nuclear 244 – refugee 218 – with a Christian background 230 – with a migrant background 257 – young 100 family – broken 176, 200 – commitments 33, 60, 172 – dysfunctional 107, 176 – healthy 200 – lack of 200 – life 107, 211, 124, 142, 176 – love 200 – members 161, 176, 236, 238–239, 243–254, 259 – networks 147, 164 – structure(s) 161, 176, 178, 183, 204 – the family 135, 161, 177, 183–184, 196, 201, 254, 259–260 – tradition(s) 215 father(s) 174, 176–177, 196, 216, 235 – absence of 172 – absent 176–177, 183, 200–201 – mother-father relationships 260 – young 174–175, 235, 263 FBO(s) s. a. faith-based organisations – as alternative places s. a. place(s): of safety, 258, 264 – as alternative spaces s. a. churches: as alternative spaces, 156, 164, 274, 278 – as welfare agents 87 – Christian 190, 231 – churches as 182 – concept of 20, 23, 25

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Index

– development and welfare activities of 89 – leaders 180, 189, 198, 200, 203, 279 – Muslim 231 – networks 92 – NGO-like 86, 95 – NGO-type 102, 149 – religious context of 90 – role(s) of s. a. communities: roles of FBOs, 20, 23–24, 66, 87–89, 94–95, 100, 116, 143, 172, 190, 198, 204, 243, 247–248, 253, 264, 275, 277–278 – sector 92 – term 85–86 – workers 103, 116–117 – young people’s perceptions of s. a. young people: perceptions, 204 – youths 276 – youth groups 125, 132, 134–135, 142 – youth-led 276 – youths’ expectations of s. a. youths: expectations, 196 football s. a. soccer, 121, 128, 133, 141, 258, 261 Forrest, Ray 68–69, 73–77, 270–271 freedom 263, 271, 273 friendship(s) 75, 106, 172, 178–179  G gender – (and) citizenship status 226, 234 – (and) class 225–226 – (and) race 26, 40, 225–226, 228, 240–241, 245 – (and) religion 229 – composition 171 – configurations 177 – constructions of 236 – differences 221 – differentiation 41 – disparities 68

– gendered expectations 234 – gendered experiences 234–237 – inequality 45 – perspective 20 – roles 60 – youth employment figures by 59 Global North 19, 31, 85 Global South 19, 31, 49, 85 God 139, 155, 160, 198–199, 215 – as friend 109 – belief in 23, 109–111, 118, 135 – contact with 114 – criticism of 155 – devoted to 155 – faith in 118 – fellowship with 110 – know(ing) 153 – learning about 154 – praying to s. a. prayer; praying, 109 – relationship with 154 – uplift 110 – worshipping s. a. worship, 110, 154 Gough, Katherine 49 Gullestad, Marianne 124, 135, 141, 225, 230, 240  H hardship(s) 45, 100, 104, 108–109, 118, 227, 257–258 Haugen, Hans Morten 270, 279–281 HIV – disease 56, 199 – infected with 187 – infection 199 – people living with 57, 235 – prevalence 56 – PLWHIV 235, 237 HIV and AIDS 102, 117, 188–189, 202 homeless, the 116–117 homeless – people 109, 117, 251, 258

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347

348

Index

– population 102 – young people 116–117, 258 homelessness 45, 245 hope – ability to hope 176 – against all (the) odds 107, 114 – and despair 100, 104, 118 – and meaning 256, 264 – church(es) s. a. place(s): of hope, 198, 203 – disappointed 257 – expressions of 100, 107, 281 – FBOs s. a. place(s): of hope, 197–198, 202–203, 255, 278 – for a better future 25, 255–256 – for the future 105, 261 – hold onto 160 – of a better future 106 – of building a better life 99 – meaning and 252–253, 261 – place(s) of 196, 252, 255–260, 264–265 – sex s. a. sex, 200, 202, 204 – tempered 16 – traces of 281 – youths without s. a. space(s): without hope; hopelessness, 237 hopelessness 107–108, 176, 192, 225, 237, 239, 253–258, s. a. space(s): without hope; hope: youths without, 260–261 (human) dignity 21, 49, 113, 199, 259  I immigrants s. a. young people: with (an) immigrant background(s); youth(s): immigrant; youth(s): with immigrant backgrounds, 37, 52, 64, 106, 122, 126, 140, 218–221, 225, 239–240, 249, 256, 258 immigration 51–52, 61, 94, 245 immobility s. a. mobility, 179

inclusion 21, 32, 45, 70, 82, 88, 99, 106, 119, 142, 172, 180, 182, 203, 228, 258, 264, 268, 270 – social 65–67, 80–81, 170, 264 inequalities 49–50, 52, 63, 67, 69, 80, 163–164, 183, 205, 226–227, 253, 270 inequality 41–42, 44–45, 50–54, 57, 66–68, 71–74, 164, 167, 226–227, 229, 237, 243, 248 injustice(s) 83, 249, 279 – social 183 – spatial 256 – structural 68–69 integration 65, 73, 80, 82, 169–170, 181, 204, 209, 211, 218, 253, 264, 270 – failed 126 – full 73, 261 – lack of 256 – social 31, 67, 69, 81, 168, 170, 173, 182 interlocution 269, 271–273, 277 interlocutor(s) 269, 271–273, 276–277, 283 intersectionality 225–229, 234, 237 Islam 91, 131, 137–138, 225, 230–232 isolation s. a. separation, 70, 168, 172, 174, 178–180, 184, 254–255, 281 – deep 262 – experiences of 179 – expressions of 192 – social 257, 262, 174–176 – spatial 262, 183 – structural 19 – theme of 178

 J Jeffrey, Craig 31, 248, 255 Jennings, Michael 20, 86–88, 95, 182 jihad 138

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Index

jobs 38–39, 106–107, 112, 115, 117, 140, 147, 152, 158, 187, 192, 194, 200–201, 278 – available to the youths s. a. employment; labour market; underemployment, 187 – casual 107 – non-graduate 34 – part-time 59, 63 – poor-quality 34 – precarious 33 justice – social 24–25, 69, 81, 153, 157, 183, 270, 275, 278 – socio-spatial 278 – spatial 157, 250, 252, 260, 264  K Kearns, Ade 68–69, 73–76, 270 Kraak, André 39, 41–44  L labour market s. a. employment; jobs; labour market; underemployment; unemployment – failure to integrate young people 40 – situation of young people 59 – youth 34 liberation s. a. theologies; theology – from marginalisation 25 – holistic 283 – integral 269–270, 276 – of marginalised people 276 – theological tradition 268 – theologies 267–269 – theology 268–269, 275 – theology of 278  M marginalisation – experiences of 193, 233 – larger environments of 264

– – – – –

of young people 75, 204, 244 of youths 185 permanent 25 young people on 192 youth 19–23, 31–32, 37–38, 45, 47, 247, 250–251, 267, 274–275, 278 marginalised, the s. a. young people: at/on the margins; young people: marginalised; youth(s): at/on the margins; youth(s): marginalised, 227, 243, 267, 269 – lenses of 269 – preferential option for 268–269 – young people 200, 260 – youths 272 marginality 19, 148, 232, 274 margins, the s. a. young people: at/on the margins; youth(s): at/on the margins, 19, 142, 159, 278 – faith-based organisations at 247 – stuck in 19, 24, 255 meaning s. a. place(s): of meaning, with meaning; space(s): without meaning, without meaningful possibilities – and hope 252–253, 261 – embodied 250, 260 – lives without 24 men – black 226 – NEET young 125, 128–129, 235 – rural 207 – young 61, 63, 101, 152, 164, 207, 217, 230, 235, 248 – young black African 41 – young immigrant 234–235 – youth unemployment 59 methodologies – liberative 275 methodology – liberative 271 migrants 106, 228, 238–239, 281–282 – African 148

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349

350

Index

– labour 52, 239 – transnational 101 – waves of 52 – young 101 migration 52, 93–94, 101, 207–208, 238, 240, 245 mobility s. a. immobility, 67, 101, 179, 184, 263–264 mosque(s) 94, 102, 124–126, 129–132, 133–137, 145, 149, 154, 163, 189–190, 217–218, 230–233, 243, 264 motherhood 174 – single 260 mother(s) – single 176 – unemployed 155 – unmarried young 159 – young 159, 174 movements – social 228–229 – youth 228, 276 Muslim organisation(s) 121, 123–126, 129–133, 137–142 Muslims 62, 137, 190, 211, 219, 241, 270 – identity of 218 – in Finland 94 – in Norway 131, 138 – Norwegian 130 – young 137–138

 N Natrass, Nicoli 52, 175 needs – basic 54, 115, 118, 235, 254 – economic 204 – educational 39, 204 – reproductive health 236 – spiritual 116, 196 – survival 100, 113–116, 119

NEET s. a. young people: NEET; youth(s): NEET – categories 232, 242, 244 – category 17, 81, 190, 214, 238, 243–245, 276 – comparative conceptualisation 31–47 – concept 25, 31–32, 37–38, 43–46, 58, 121–122, 124, 226 – concept of 21, 39, 46, 172 – European debate 32, 43 – European discourse 46–47 – Nordic discourse(s) 34, 37–38 – phenomenon in South Africa 39–41 – phenomenon in the Nordic countries 34–37 – situation(s) 26, 36, 122, 182, 234–235 – South African discourse 41–44 neighbourhood(s) – arrival 101 – cohesion 161 – coloured 143, 146, 148 – Franschhoek 178, 183 – level 65, 74–77, 164, 183, 270 – Pretoria Central 104–105, 107 – Riverlea 26, 143–145, 148–154, 159, 161, 163–164, 250–251, 258, 262 – the neighbourhood 74–77, 144–145, 148–154, 159, 161, 163–164, 263, 271 neoliberalism 46, 79 network(s) – informal 239 – lack of access to 233 – social 75, 80, 89, 212, 221, 251, 257 – social capital 44 – support 144 NGO(s) – Christian faith-based 108 – faith-based 115–118 – sector 44

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Index

 O opportunities – education 33, 42, 157, 172, 174–175, 192 – employment 68, 106–107, 157, 172–175, 184, 186, 192, 233, 235, 237, 245, 262 – job 42, 44, 53, 105–106, 188, 256 – labour market 35 – lack of 19, 184, 188, 192, 235, 238, 254–255 – leadership 182 – social 65, 99 – training 33, 235, 237, 245 oppression 25, 226–228, 232, 269

 P parenthood – single 235, 254 parent(s) – single 176, 200 participation – as full citizens 25 – citizenship and 81 – civic 21 – experience(s) of 180, 215 – in care work 45 – in education 65 – in education and employment 58 – in education, employment and training 59 – in faith communities 89 – in mainstream economic activity 167 – lack of 65, 211, 274 – political 70–72, 82, 268 – religious 60 – social 71–73, 142 passivity 192–193, 255, 260–262 Pinnock, Don 146–147

place(s) s. a. FBO(s): as alternative places – as heuristic lens 248–250 – of ethical guidance 260 – of hardship 104 – of hope s. a. hope: church(es), FBOs, 196, 257–258, 264–265 – of justice 260 – of meaning s. a. meaning, 258–260, 264–265 – of safety s. a. FBO(s): as alternative places, 258, 260 – space and 248–250, 252 – with meaning s. a. meaning, 264 poor, the 67, 74, 269 – option for 278 poverty 41, 53, 63–64, 71, 73–74, 175–179, 188, 203, 238–239, 252, 254, 263, 270, 279 power – and representation 271, 273 – dynamics 234, 240, 242, 272–273 – hierarchies 269, 272 – institutions of 233 – relations 146, 227, 229, 234, 236, 240, 243–244, 268, 270, 275 – structures 270, 272 prayer s. a. God: praying to, 23, 61, 110, 134, 153, 155, 196, 259 praying s. a. God: praying to, 109–110, 155, 185, 196, 198 pregnancies 60, 172 – extramarital 183 – teenage 60, 150, 159, 163–164 – unwanted 199 pregnancy 160, 174, 188, 234 – teenage 177, 188, 195, 202  R race 26, 40, 42, 52–53, 59, 74, 147, 170, 186, 225–226, 228–229, 231, 237, 240–242, 245, 252

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351

352

Index

racial categories 52–53, 226, 241–242 racial divisions 241, 251 racial segregation 52–53, 237–238 racism – new 225 refugee(s) s. a. asylum seekers, 52, 127, 135, 207, 218–221, 234, 239–240, 256, 273 relief – FBO spaces 174 – temporary 258, 278 – work 116 religion – and development 88 – in South Africa 85, 88, 90–93 – in the Nordic countries 93–95 – lived 23 – organised 20, 23, 86–87, 90 – sociology of 26–27, 249, 252 – state 93 – study of 228, 249, 252 religious communities s. a. communities: faith, 60, 123, 179, 221, 249 religious community s. a. community: faith, 141, 159, 208, 211, 217, 231, 280 religious identities 61, 136, 139, 141–142, 280 religious leaders 125–126, 129–131, 139 research – action 269 – Africanity-oriented 186, 191 – case study s. a. case studies; case study: research strategy, 25, 44, 76, 182, 237, 257 – collaboration s. a. collaboration: South African-Nordic, 20 – collaborative 15, 282–283 – comparative 22, 31, 45 – comparative South African-Nordic s. a. collaboration: South AfricanNordic, 19

– – – – – – – – – – – –

comparative youth 18, 25 emancipatory 12, 275, 283 empirical 71, 248 ethical 273 inductive 22, 24 interdisciplinary 18 liberative 24, 279, 283 Nordic 37–38 Nordic youth 19 on young people 37 policy-relevant 21 qualitative 45, 71, 82, 144, 146, 241, 271 – religion and welfare 15 – South African-Nordic s. a. collaboration: South African-Nordic, 25 – youth 18, 22 – youth-related 22, 24 resources – access to 104, 124, 187, 227, 233–236, 243, 259, 279 – exclusion from 66, 261, – inability to access 175, 187, 232, 279 – lack of 76, 203, 179–180, 233, 262 – limited 119, 192, 247 – scarcity of 190 – spiritual 259 – without access to 64, 106 respect – aspect of conviviality s. a. conviviality, 279 – experiences of 281 – FBO asset 278 – for diversity 71–73, 82, 141–142, 218, 268, 280–282 – for FBOs 198 – for girls (lack of) 127 – lack of 77, 192–194, 219, 234, 254, 281 – limited 77 – mutual 193, 198–199, 259, 280, 282

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– receive 198 – self- 193, 204, 280 – show 203, 219 – teach(ing) 198–199, 259, 280 – youths from outside 218–219, 281 responsibilities 57, 174, 235, 259 – care s. a. care: responsibilities, 175, 235 – caring s. a. care: responsibilities, 177, 235 – household 45 – in church 154, 276 rights – basic s. a. United Nations: Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 49, 251 – basic human 251 – social 46 – welfare 228 ritual(s) 131 – baptismal 214 – confirmation s. a. confirmation, 61, 132, 230 rural municipality – Emakhazeni s. a. township(s): Emakhazeni, 16, 26, 185–205, 232, 235, 237, 242, 250, 252–254, 257–259, 261, 263, 276, 278, 280  S schooling 41, 105, 172, 174–175, 187–188, 207, 211, 243, 262 secularisation 249, 264 Seekings, Jeremy 52, 175 Sen, Amartya 66, 72 separatedness 167–168, 172–175 separation s. a. isolation – economic 237 – from children and family 107 – from opportunity 25 – lines of 253–254 – material 253

– residential racial 238 – social 253 – space of 258 – spatial 168, 179, 183, 237, 253 sex s. a. hope: sex, 151, 194, 199–200, 202–204 – at a young age 159 – before marriage 202 – meaningless 194 – safe 189 sexual behaviour – risky 254, 258, 262 skills s. a. economy: skills, 33–34, 37, 43–44, 46, 68, 75, 93, 177, 182, 188, 201, 210, 233, 237, 245, 254, 261 – basic 36, 233, 237 – computer 189 – labour market 43 – lack of 41, 187, 192 – low 175 – shortage 188 soccer s. a. football, 105, 156, 178, 189, 192, 201 social cohesion – aspects of 71–72, 76, 82, 164 – city level 74, 76–78, 164 – component(s) 70–72, 82, 118 – conception(s) 70, 80 – concept of 21–22, 25, 66–73, 78, 82, 269 – definition 67, 70–73, 269, 282 – dimension(s) 70–72, 78, 81–82, 153 – discourses 79–80 – European and North-American policy discourses 79 – European political documents 68 – experience(s) of 119, 203, 207–208, 211, 213, 215, 220–221, 230, 279 – FBOs 16, 86, 89, 95, 121–122, 141–144, 164, 168, 181, 183–184,

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353

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204, 215, 218, 221, 259, 265, 267, 271, 274–280 – idea of 65, 67, 69 – lens of conviviality s. a. conviviality, 279–282 – levels 73–80, 271 – liberative approach 279, 274–275 – liberative theological lens 268–271 – liberative theological perspective 275–279 – local level 70, 75, 79, 265 – national level 65, 74, 78–79 – neighbourhood level s. a. neighbourhood(s), 65, 73–77, 164, 183, 270, 278 – North American and European discourses 68 – operationalisation 70–73, 80, 82 – operationalising 25, 67, 71, 82 – political discourse 67–70 – related concepts s. a. capital: social; inclusion: social; integration; trust, 80–81 – role of the state s. a. state, the, 66, 79–80 – sense of 105, 212, 222 – social justice aspect 153, 157 – social science discourse 66–70 – South African debate 80 – South African political discourse 80, 183 social positioning 227, 234, 239–240, 243–245 solidarity 21, 24, 56, 70–73, 279, 283 – deep 276 – relationships 24 space(s) – as heuristic lens 248–250 – concept of 247 – confined 263 – constricted 254–255, 263

– diaconal 268 – FBO s. a. churches: as alternative spaces; FBO(s): as alternative spaces, 157, 274–275 – limited 256 – marginalised 254 – of exclusion s. a. exclusion(s), 249 – of marginalisation 262 – safe s. a. FBO(s): as alternative spaces, 144, 274 – stuck in s. a. stuckness, 252, 255, 258, 262 – stuckness in s. a. stuckness, 261, 263 – without hope s. a. hopelessness; hope: youths without, 252, 255, 261–262 – without meaning s. a. meaning, 255–256, 261, 264 – without meaningful possibilities s. a. meaning, 265 spatial analysis 250, 253, 263–264 spatial expanses s. a. space(s) – without hope 253 – without meaning 252 – without possibilities 253 spatial lens(es) 27, 247–248, 248, 252, 264 spatial theory 247 sport(s) 117, 123, 128, 141, 173, 182, 188, 201, 258, 263 state, the – care 245 – failure s. a. failure: state, 44, 102, 117, 119 – responsibility 57, 93 – role of s. a. social cohesion: role of the state, 66, 79–80 – trust 94–95 streets, the – life on 107–109, 113, 115, 118, 258 – lives on 107–108, 111, 114, 263 – living on 101, 104, 107, 113, 239 – males living on 107

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– of Pretoria Central 108–109, 111, 114, 263 – of the city 99 – speak of 135 – temptations of 131 – view of 135 – young girls on 102 – young immigrant men on 234 – young men and boys 101 – young people from 117, 135 – young people off 136, 231 – young people on 116–117, 233 – youths from 133 – youths on 101, 234, 273 stuckness – condition of 262–263 – image of 260 – sense of 261 sugar daddy phenomenon 236 Sundermeier, Theo 270, 282

 T theology s. a. liberation – diaconal 268 – liberation 268–269, 275 – liberative 268 – of youth marginalisation 275 theologies s. a. liberation – church 278 – diaconal 267 – liberation 267–269 – liberative 267–269, 271, 274–275, 277 Tönnies, Ferdinand 67 town – Christian 169, 232 – Franschhoek 167–184, 235, 237, 250–253 – Lammi 207–222

township(s) – Emakhazeni s. a. rural municipality, 185–205 – Emthonjeni 185–205 – poor black 185 – Sakhelwe 185–205 training – skills 44, 237 – vocational 35–36, 210 trust 69–73, 76–78, 80–82, 89, 94–95, 140–142, 153, 159–160, 162, 179, 186, 198, 212, 242, 267, 272, 280–281 Tshwane Leadership Foundation 86, 102–103  U underemployment s. a. jobs; labour market, 33–34 unemployment s. a. labour market – graduate 43 – youth s. a. young people: unemployed; youth(s): unemployed, 32, 35, 39–42, 46, 54, 58–59, 63–64, 71, 74, 105, 107, 150, 152, 155, 157–159, 162–163, 173, 179, 188, 233, 237, 239, 243–244, 248, 254 United Nations – classification of youths 16 – Universal Declaration of Human Rights s. a.: rights: basic, 251  V Van Wyk, Chris 144 Vogt, Kari 130 volunteering 214, 233 volunteer work 108, 113 vulnerabilities 240 – inner-city 102 vulnerability 268 – economic 243 – youth 21, 33, 108, 174, 236, 245, 257

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 W waithood 31, 46 waiting 31, 46, 192–193, 210, 225, 248, 261 welfare – and religion 228 – dimensions of 65 – social 18, 20 – universal 34 welfare services 139–140, 142, 267 – health and 54 – public 45, 54, 124, 130, 210, 233 welfare state(s) 38, 54, 234, 245 – context 34 – Nordic 34, 36, 55, 251, 267 – social democratic 34, 46–47, 55–56, 64 – sustainability of 45 – typology of 34 women – African young black 226 – black 226 – Muslim 226 – NEET young 235 – Nordic 53 – Norwegian young 256 – pregnant 236, 245 – shelter for 109 – South African 53, 235 – with small children 236 – young 17, 61, 63, 101, 107, 122, 132, 145, 158–161, 174–175, 207, 233, 235, 281 worship s. a. God: worshipping, 110, 123, 131, 259, 263 – activities 118–119 – meetings 110 – participation 123 – place(s) of 110, 169, 179, 217, 230 – practices 180 – service(s) 110, 221

– team 153 WREP project 87 WRIGP project 15, 87  X xenophobia

106

 Y YOMA project 11, 15, 190, 232, 275 young people – at the margins s. a. marginalised, the; margins, the; youth(s): at the margins 23, 121, 175, 184, 233–234, 236, 243, 245, 247, 249, 252, 264 – Christian 280 – despair of 204 – expectations 100, 108–113, 156, 191 – homeless 116–117, 258 – marginalised s. a. marginalised, the, 21, 23–24, 26, 99–100, 116–119, 167, 200, 247–248, 253, 255, 259, 271–273, 276, 278 – Muslim 280 – NEET s. a. NEET, 31–33, 35–38, 40, 45, 47, 58, 121, 124–125, 134, 167, 228, 235, 242, 248, 251, 262, 282 – on the margins 247, 273 – perceptions 22, 26, 100, 108–109, 111, 113, 144, 146, 150, 204, 212, 277 – unemployed s. a. unemployment: youth; youth(s): unemployed, 33, 36, 39 – voices 25, 146, 192, 197, 204, 268 – with (an) immigrant background(s) s. a. immigrants; youth(s): with immigrant backgrounds, 61, 122, 235, 239, 255, 256 – with mental problems 133, 233 Young, Stephen 31, 248, 255 youth(s) – asylum-seeker 90, 280–281 – asylum-seeking 217, 241

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Index

– at risk 38 – at the margins s. a. marginalised, the; margins, the; young people: at the margins, 15–16, 22, 49, 60, 64, 121, 134, 225, 228, 243–244, 282 – black 41 – Christian 280 – concept of 16 – expectations 93, 103, 164, 192, 196, 234, 274 – Finnish 59, 215 – gangs 38, 121, 124, 127 – immigrant s. a. immigrants, 127, 207, 218, 239, 244, 256 – marginalised s. a. marginalised, the, 15–16, 19–20, 22, 49, 64, 103, 116, 200, 207, 231, 235, 255, 267–268, 272, 276–278 – Muslim 138, 141, 231, 280 – NEET s. a. NEET, 18, 39–41, 46, 86, 143, 163, 208, 234, 237, 271, 273 – Norwegian 123, 128, 230

– on the margins 140 – perceptions 17, 103, 137, 141, 143, 164 – post-school 39 – rural 26, 185–186, 204, 207, 282 – South African 19, 59, 93, 101, 264 – street s. a. streets, the, 26, 121–122, 125, 127, 134–136, 140–142, 231–235, 239, 276, 280 – unemployed s. a. unemployment: youth; young people: unemployed, 145, 208, 210 – voices 185, 190–192, 197, 203, 267, 273 – with immigrant backgrounds s. a. immigrants; young people: with (an) immigrant background(s), 239, 256 – work 61–62, 135, 140–141, 210, 214, 218, 220 – worker(s) 103, 116, 209, 214, 218, 221 Youth Employment Accord 44

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357