Gender and Social Capital 0415950228, 0415950236, 9780415950220, 9780415950237, 2005008172

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GENDER AND

SOCIAL

CAPITAL EDITED BY

Brenda O ’ Neill and Elisabeth Gidengil

ROUTLEDGE

Routledge Taylor &Francis Group New York London

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Published in 2006 by Routledge Taylor & Francis Group 270 M adison Avenue New York, NY 10016

Published in Great Britain by Routledge Taylor & Francis Group 2 Park Square Milton Park, Abingdon O xon OX 14 4RN

© 2006 by Taylor & Francis Group, LLC Routledge is an imprint o f Taylor & Francis Group Printed in the United States o f America on acid-free paper 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 International Standard Book N um ber-10: 0-415-95022-8 (Hardcover) 0-415-95023-6 (Softcover) International Standard Book N um ber-13: 978-0-415-95022-0 (Hardcover) 978-0-415-95023-7 (Softcover) Library o f C ongress Card N umber 2005008172 N o part o f this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmitted, or utilized in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product o r corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

L ibrary o f C o n g r e ss C a ta lo g in g -in -P u b lica tio n D ata G ender and social capital / edited by Brenda O'Neill and Elisabeth Gidengil. p. cm. - - (Gender politics, global issues) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-415-95022-8 (hb : a lk. paper) - - ISBN 0-415-95023-6 (pb : a lk. paper) 1. Social capital (Sociology) 2. Sex role. 3. Women political activists. 4. W omen volunteers in social service. I. O ’Neill, Brenda Lee, 1964- II. Gidengil, Elisabeth, 1947- III. Series. HM708.G43 2005 305.42’0 1- d c 2 2

2.005008172

informa Taylor & Francis Group is the Academic Division of Informa pic.

V isit th e T aylor & F r a n c is W eb site at h ttp ://w w w .ta y lo r a n d fr a n c is.co m a n d th e R o u tled g e W eb site at h ttp ://w w w .r o u tle d g e -n y .c o m

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Contents

v

Preface

1

Removing Rose C olored Glasses: Exam ining Theories of Social Capital thro u g h a Gendered Lens

1

E lisabeth G idengil a n d Brenda O ’N eill

2

Just Communities: Social Capital, Gender, and Culture

15

Barbara A rneil

3

The Gender G ap Reversed: Political Consum erism as a W omen-Friendly Form of Civic and Political Engagement

45

D ietlind Stolle a n d M ichele M icheletti

4

Gendering Social Capital: Bowling in W om en’s Leagues?

73

Pippa N orris a n d R o n a ld Inglehart

5

Acting from the Heart: Values, Social Capital, and W om en’s Involvement in Interfaith and Environm ental O rganizations

99

A m y Caiazza and Barbara G ault

6

Conceptualizing Social Capital in Relation to Children and Young People: Is it Different for Girls?

127

Virginia M o rro w

7

Gender, Social Capital, and Politics

151

Virginia Sapiro

8

C anadian W om en’s Religious Volunteerism: Com passion, Connections, and C om parisons

185

Brenda O ’N eill

9

It’s N o t W h a t You’ve Got, But W h a t You Do W ith It: W om en, Social Capital, and Political Participation Vivien L o w n d es

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213

iv

10

C ontents

Gender, Knowledge, an d Social Capital

241

E lisabeth Gidengil, Elizabeth G oodyear-G rant, N e il N evitte, a n d A n d r é Blais

11

Gender-Role O rientations and the Conversion of Social Capital into Political Engagement

273

Joanna Everitt

12

Persuasion an d Perception: N e w M odels of N e tw o rk Effects on Gendered Issues

293

Bonnie H. E rickson

13

C hanging Agendas: The Im pact of Feminism o n American Politics

323

Kristin A . G oss a n d Theda S ko cp o l 14

Are W omen Legislators A ccountable to Women? The C om plem entary Roles of Feminist Identity and W om en’s O rganizations

357

Susan ]. Carroll

15

Gender, Social Capital, an d Political Engagement: Findings an d Future Directions

379

Elisabeth G idengil an d Brenda O ’Neill

Bibliography

391

Index

411

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Preface

The interest in social capital as a concept in the social sciences has grow n exponentially in recent years. As w ith all concepts that help to refocus disciplines, subsequent research has encouraged its refinem ent and enhanced its usefulness by critiquing its original form ulation. This book has as its goal just this— refining and thus enhancing the usefulness of the concept of social capital in the social sciences. M uch of the book focuses on the concept’s application within the study of politics and particularly political engagement, but it extends beyond this. Considering social capital in relation to gender relations and w om en more generally promotes a more nuanced understanding of the larger relationship between trust, norm s of reciprocity, and social netw orks than currently exists. A w orkshop that Brenda organized on the subject of gender and social capital at the Annual Meetings of the Canadian Political Science Association in 2002 was the genesis for this book. The interest generated on the topic there among C anadian researchers and a belief that the subject dem anded greater attention led to the organization of a conference by both editors devoted specifically to the topic in M ay of 2003 at the University of M anitob a in Winnipeg, M a n itoba. The G ender and Social Capital Conference brought together a num ber of the ultimate authors of the book for tw o productive days discussing the application of social capital to gender and w om en in a num ber of contexts. The success of th at conference and the relative absence of the topic in the literature reinforced a belief th at a book devoted to the topic was needed. Moreover, the conference reinforced an understanding that in spite of the wealth of research on various related topics taking place around the globe, researchers continue to some extent to engage within rather n arro w circles. As im portant as inter- and multi-disciplinarity, physically bringing diverse researchers

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together to engage and share research unfortunately remains an im p o rta n t and undervalued goal. A num ber of individuals and organizations should be recognized for their role in bringing the project through to completion. We must recognize a generous grant from the Aid to Occasional Conferences Fund of the Social Sciences and Hum anities Council of C anada (SSHCC) th at was crucial to the m ounting of the G ender and Social Capital Conference in 2003. Thanks are due to those at the University of M anitoba for their financial assistance to w a rd the conference, including the D epartm ents of Political Studies, History, A nthropology and Sociology, the W om en’s Studies Program , the Faculty of G raduate Studies, The Office of the Vice-President (Research), the University Distinguished Visiting Lectureship Com m ittee and the Duff Roblin Professorship. Special thanks are due to the Faculty of Arts and specifically the Dean of Arts at the time, Dr. R obert O ’Kell, for his financial support and encouragement. St. J o h n ’s College at the University of M anitoba provided a w arm and hospitable environm ent for the conference, as did the University Club. A num ber of graduate students provided assistance that was crucial: Delton Daigle and Elizabeth G oodyear-G rant at McGill University helped with the p reparation of the SSHCC application for funding and M arina R o u n tree and Allison Evers at the University of M anitoba were instrum ental in helping to organize and m ount the conference. Allison Evers’ assistance was also indispensable for the timely completion of the m anuscript. We w ould like to extend our thanks to R obert Tempio, Angela C hnapko, and Julie Spadaro at Routledge/Taylor and Francis and Lynn Goeller at EvS C om m unications for their support at every stage in the production of this book. Finally, we wish to thank our families for their constant support, encouragement, and love— a debt too great to repay.

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1 Removing Rose Colored Glasses Examining Theories o f Social Capital through a Gendered Lens ELISABETH GID EN G IL and BRENDA O ’NEILL

R obert P u tn a m ’s B ow ling Alone: The Collapse and Revival o f A m erican C o m m u n ity has been one of the m ost influential contributions to the social sciences in the past decade. The book makes a powerful case that “ our economy, our democracy, and even our health and happiness depend on adequate stocks of social capital.” 1 In P utnam ’s conception, social capital “refers to connections am ong individuals— social netw orks and the norms of reciprocity and trustw orthiness that arise from them .”2 The core idea is that netw orks of formal and informal sociability foster relations of trust and reciprocity. These levels of trust and reciprocity are the capital from which further assets are produced, namely the political engagement of citizens. Putnam argues th at technological and social changes since the mid1970s have led to a decline in social capital. This diminishing stock of social capital has in turn translated into reduced levels of civic engagement, less trust in traditional institutions of governm ent, and an erosion of that spirit of cooperation and m utual tolerance th at is essential to the solution of collective problems. According to Putnam , w om en have played a particularly im portant role in creating and sustaining stocks of social capital. However, gender dynamics have figured in this body of research in only very 1

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limited and partial ways. Feminist scholars have rem arked on the “curious silence” 3 on the subject w ithin the debates over social capital and have noted that m uch of the literature is “gender blind.”4 And yet to date, there has been relatively little sustained critical analysis of the social capital concept as it relates to wom en. Accordingly, this volume brings together leading scholars in the fields of gender, politics, and society to evaluate P u tn a m ’s social capital thesis from a gendered perspective. It sets o ut to answer two key questions: W h a t can a gendered analysis tell us ab o u t social capital and w h at can social capital theory tell us ab o u t gender and politics?

Gendered Critiques o f Social Capital

P u tn a m ’s w o rk has certainly had something to say ab o u t gender, but gender has only been of interest to the extent that it m ight play a role in explaining the decline of social capital or else in replenishing its dwindling stocks. Initially, Putnam suggested that w o m e n ’s entry into the paid w ork force was responsible for the decline of social capital in the United States; “the decline in organizational involvement in recent years is concentrated am ong w om en.”5 As w om en m oved into the paid w ork force, their m em bership in voluntary associations fell off. A lthough entry into the workforce provides greater opportunity for m aking new connections and becoming involved in a larger n u m ber of organizations, at “the same time it decreases tim e available for exploring these opportunities.”6 Less time and energy, it was argued, m eant th at wom en produced smaller stocks of social capital than they had in the past. Putnam has since, however, retreated from th at initial position. In Bow ling A lo n e, he acknowledges th at w om en typically spend m ore time on associational involvements than men, regardless of w hether they w o rk full-time, part-time, or rem ain at home, and he explicitly disclaims any notion that “w orking w om en are ‘to blam e’ for our civic disengagement.” 7 In Britain, m eanwhile, Peter H all argued th at w o m e n ’s increased participation in the paid w ork force, along w ith greater access to higher education and changing gender roles m ore generally, has been responsible for an increase in their associational involvement that has offset the decline in m en’s.8 However, neither Putnam nor H all has been particularly concerned with the distinct organizations that w om en and men join, the roles th at they hold within them , w hether they derive the same benefits

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from their stocks of social capital, and whether differences in the n a ture of their social capital are associated with differences in the uses to which it is put. N otably lacking has been any exploration of the ways in which gender inequalities and asymmetries in pow er affect the accum ulation and investment of social capital. It is not simply th at the social capital literature has been relatively blind to the existence and implications of gender inequalities. G endered critiques reveal that, far from being gender-neutral, there has been a distinct male bias. Vivien Low ndes’s starting point was Peter H a ll’s claim th at it is largely w om en’s growing com m unity involvem ent that has sustained social capital in Britain.9 In restricting his exam ination of gender dynamics to m em bership of associations, she argues, Hall presented only a very partial portrait of w o m e n ’s role in m aintaining Britain’s stock of social capital. H er exam ination of m en’s and w om en’s involvement in voluntary w ork and netw orks of informal sociability reveals clear evidence of gender-specific patterns of activity. M en are m uch m ore likely than w om en to spend their leisure time in sports’ activities and to engage in voluntary w o rk related to sports and recreation. Women, meanwhile, are m ore likely than men to undertake voluntary w ork related to health, social services, and education. They also typically devote m uch more time than men to visiting friends. Lowndes underscores the tendency of social capital analyses to focus on activities th at are typically male-dom inated. H a ll’s analysis is a case in point: he presents detailed inform ation on trends in time spent at the pub, but has virtually nothing to say on trends in time devoted to child care related activities. As Lowndes points out, in contrast to a night o ut at the pub, participation in baby-sitting exchanges and school car pools is characterized by just the sorts of norm s of reciprocity th at are central to P u tn a m ’s conception of social capital. This telling example illustrates a larger point and th at is the general neglect in most treatm ents of social capital, n ot just of informal child care netw orks but also of m ore formal child care activities such as playgroups and after school clubs. She attributes this neglect to the continued influence of the public/private divide which relegates such activities to the domestic sphere and thereby overlooks their potential relevance to the ability of communities to w ork together to resolve collective problems. This prom pts Lowndes to ask about the implications of genderspecific patterns of activity for w om en’s political engagement. O n

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the one hand, consideration of care-based netw orks begs questions ab o u t the conversion of social capital into political engagement and w hether all forms of social capital are equal in this regard. O n the other hand, it pushes us to consider ways of becoming politicized that typically fall under the rad a r screen of conventional political analyses. Lowndes cites the classic British example of the wives of striking m iners.10 She concludes that transcending the public/private divide is “ a vital precondition” for social capital analysis. While Vivien Low ndes’s critique highlights the neglect of w o m e n ’s netw orks in m uch of the literature, M axine M oly n eu x ’s critique u n derlines the problem atic ways in which gender is present.11 M olyneux approaches the social capital debate from the perspective of developm ent studies. H er critique points to the neglect of both gendered inequality and gender politics in the conventional treatm ents of social capital. She shows th at development projects and policies aimed at building social capital often rest on assum ptions that are profoundly gendered. In relying on w o m e n ’s unpaid labor, voluntary self-help schemes for poverty-relief and com m unity-developm ent end up im posing heavy yet hidden burdens on women. She goes on to discuss how gendered processes of inclusion and exclusion function to limit the benefits th at w om en derive from their social capital. Differences in m en’s and w o m e n ’s netw orks do n ot simply reflect gender inequalities, she argues, they serve to perpetuate them. Finally, she points to the “conservative bias” th at characterizes m uch of the literature. This is evident in the neglect of patriarchal structures within the family and in the assum ption th at “w o m e n ’s u n paid w o rk contributes to the stocks of social capital but their paid w ork does not.” 12

W hat Could a Gendered Analysis Tell Us about Social Capital?

As these critiques illustrate, viewing the social capital approach thro u g h a gendered lens can contribute to richer debates ab o u t social capital. A gendered analysis of social capital brings to the fore larger questions about the distribution of social capital, differences in the nature of social capital, and differences in the w ay that social capital is used. Com parisons of the am ount and type of social capital available to men and w om en highlight inequalities in accessing social capital and in the returns to be derived from activities that generate it. Once a gender perspective is applied, it becomes clear

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th at social capital is “imbued with gender inequalities and gendered hierarchies.” 13 This, in turn, raises larger questions ab o u t the ways in which social inequalities in general affect both the accum ulation and the investment of social capital. It becomes clear th at decisions regarding w hether and where to participate are dependent on the resources that one possesses and the time that one has available to devote to such activities. Resources and time availability are but tw o of the m any ways in which social roles shape the nature of social capital accum ulation and use. Indeed, taking gender into account opens up the question of whether “ it makes any sense at all to talk of social capital independently of material wealth or deprivation.” 14 A gendered focus also renders clear the limitations of investigating social capital through the n a rro w lens of choice. In spite of the m any gains m ade by w om en in past decades, especially in terms of participation in the labor force, wom en continue to predom inate in certain groups while being relatively absent in others. This does not simply reflect selective joining on w om en’s part. Gendered patterns of employm ent, the dem ands of combining w ork and family responsibilities, and lack of valued attributes such as financial resources and political contacts all affect the type of associations that wom en join.15 Exam inations of horizontal and vertical gender differentiation in groups and associations, both formal and informal, can thus serve as an im portant rem inder that social netw orks and associations may “ function to exclude as m uch as to include.” 16 A consideration of the nature of w o m e n ’s associational involvements also highlights the im portance of context, the very places in which netw orks and norm s of trust are developed. C ontext m atters, because it affects both the “ use value” and the “ liquidity” of social capital: “The context-dependent nature of social c a p ita l . . . means th at access to social resources is neither brokered equitably nor distributed evenly.” 17 A gendered analysis of social capital necessarily directs our atte n tion to pow er relations. As such, it encourages a consideration of alternative conceptions of social capital. Pierre Bourdieu, in particular, has emphasized the extent to which social capital is rooted in economic capital. H e defines social capital as “the aggregate of the actual or potential resources which are linked to possession of a d u rable netw ork of m ore or less institutionalized relationships of m u tu al acquaintance and recognition— or in other words, to m embership in a group.” 18 His critical insight is that the m aintenance of such a n etw ork requires a substantial investment of time and energy: “The

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reproduction of social capital presupposes an unceasing effort of sociability.” 19 However, people differ in the am ount of time and energy th at they can commit. One of the key determ inants of the availability of the requisite time and energy is the possession of economic capital. This leads Bourdieu to characterize social capital as a “transform ed, disguised form of economic capital.”20 The point is th at by b ro ad ening the purview, a serious consideration of gender dynamics can contribute to a m ore critical vein of theorizing ab o u t social capital, its origins and its consequences. Finally, a gendered lens brings into focus the underdeveloped state of theorizing about the causal mechanisms that link social capital and democratic politics. Surprisingly little attention has been paid to h o w social capital translates into political engagement. A gendered analysis m ay help to flesh out the mechanisms whereby social capital is converted into political resources and to identify the conditions that facilitate or impede th at conversion. The mere existence of significant gender gaps in political interest and political knowledge suggests th at the connection between social capital and political engagement is anything but autom atic. If social capital really does foster political engagement, w o m e n ’s lack of political interest and political inform ation w ould have to be explained by a social capital deficit. However, by P u tn a m ’s ow n account, w om en possess as m uch or m ore social capital than men. The fact that similar stocks of social capital do not necessarily m ake for similar levels of political interest and com parable stores of political knowledge begs an investigation of how social capital does or does not get transform ed into democratic assets.

W hat C ould Social Capital Tell U s about Gender and Politics?

Clearly, a serious consideration of gender dynamics can potentially m ake im portant contributions to ongoing debates ab o u t social capital. At the same time, though, we should not overlook the po ten tial for social capital theory to tell us something about gender and politics. We m ay bemoan the relative neglect of gender in the w ork of P utnam and others, but that should not blind us to w h at Vivien Lowndes (in this volume) has term ed the “natural affinity” between gender and social capital. This affinity is at once epistemological and empirical. At the level of epistemology, Lowndes argues, the social capital school represents a sharp departure from schools of politics

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th at too often treat citizens as atomized individuals. In the social capital approach, the focus is very m uch on social relationships and connections am ong citizens. As such, it represents a determined effort to bring the “ social” back into the study of politics. At the empirical level, social capital expands the boundaries of the “ political” beyond the formal arenas of politics to include the informal dom ains of com munity activism. Bringing social capital into the study of gender and politics may well help to cast fresh light on gendered patterns of political engagement. In Western democracies, wom en may turn o ut to vote in m ore or less the same num bers as men, but they typically have less interest in politics (as conventionally defined), they pay less attention to news about politics, and they know less about w hat is going on.21 A focus on social capital may help us to understand why. Perhaps men and w om en differ in the ways that they build and use social capital as a political resource. W om en’s political resources and involvement could be affected by the types of social interactions in which they engage and by the context in which those interactions take place. And there could be factors th at impede w om en’s ability to convert social capital into political resources and active political engagement. W om en’s associational involvements, the roles that they take on within these associations, and the skills and tasks associated with them, each have implications for the conversion of social capital in the democratic arena. As Lowndes reminds us, for example, wom en are m ore likely to be active in fields devoted to nurturing and supporting children and others. These are arenas that are largely overlooked for their potential to contribute to the democratic polity. The fact that w om en continue to engage in these arenas of “com passion” m ay thus limit the degree to which their investments in social capital develop into democratic assets, while simultaneously reinforcing expectations regarding natural gender roles. W hen social capital is brought into the study of gender and politics in this way, it may well become possible to resolve some of the paradoxes regarding w o m e n ’s political involvement. Social capital may also be able to help us to understand gender gaps in political preferences. We k n o w that there are differences in w o m e n ’s and m en’s attitudes on a range of issues, especially issues having to do with the use of force and with social welfare.22 Recent analyses have highlighted the complexity of these gender gaps: “N o single explanation has been generally accepted, possibly because they

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all contribute a piece of the puzzle.”23 Social capital may well provide another piece of the puzzle. It directs our attention to the possible im pact of w o m e n ’s social netw orks and associational memberships. There are at least tw o reasons to anticipate that the com position of w o m e n ’s netw orks will affect their political opinions. First, Susan Carroll has pointed to the im portance of w o m e n ’s autonom y for the expression of their political difference from m en.24 Psychological independence tends to go hand in hand with economic independence, but even w om en w ho are economically dependent may enjoy enhanced autonom y if they have access to netw orks th a t include a range of w om en w ho enjoy such independence. Second, w om en w ho have ties with a relatively wide range of w om en are m ore likely to get messages reinforcing the kinds of views th at w om en tend to favor. An exam ination of social capital also provides an avenue for better understanding the associational choices m ade by wom en. While the social capital approach emphasizes the public benefits th at derive from investments generating trust and shared norm s, it also identifies the private benefits th at they generate. Understanding these private benefits may provide a m ore nuanced picture of the range of personal considerations th at shape w o m e n ’s decisions regarding associational involvement in a variety of organizations. M oreover, the social capital approach highlights the im portance of the type of capital developed in associational groups, m ost notably in the distinction between bridging and bonding capital. Finally, social capital m ay offer some insights as to w hy w om en are m uch less likely than men to hold elected office. Social netw orks are supposed to be a source of valuable connections and m embership in voluntary associations is argued to foster politically useful skills. Indeed, Putnam has likened such associations to “ schools for dem ocracy.”25 It could be, though, that w o m e n ’s social capital is less efficient than m en’s w hen it comes to getting ahead politically. It could even be th at w om en’s investments in building social capital m ake it harder for them to m ake their way in politics. Debates ab o u t gender and social capital are not simply of academ ic interest. They have very real implications for w o m e n ’s lives. The concept of social capital has had a special appeal for policy-makers w ho see it as a w ay of devolving some of their functions to voluntary organizations at the com m unity level. This is problem atic from a gender perspective because it transfers the burden disproportionately to w om en w ho provide m uch of the unpaid labor for voluntary w ork

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and self-help projects. M oreover, social capital can too easily become a substitute for governm ent action to alleviate poverty.26 At the same time, though, the social capital produced in grassroots organizations and neighborhood netw orks could serve to em pow er the politically marginalized and enable them to pressure governm ents into action. C om m unity involvement can provide the disenfranchised with a way of m aking their needs and wants know n to public officials. W hen people become active in voluntary associations, Putnam argues, “ their individual and otherwise quiet voices multiply and are amplified.”27 This is just one of the reasons why the concept also seems to have had appeal to thinkers on the left.28 As Putnam reminds us, “H istorically social capital has been the m ain w eapon of the have-nots, w ho lacked other forms of capital.”29 Still, it is im portant to recognize that policies aimed at building social capital run a very real risk of reinforcing pow er differentials and perpetuating patterns of inclusion and exclusion in existing netw orks.30 Such policies m ust be informed by an understanding of the specific ways in which w om en build and use social capital.

Outline o f the B ook

The first tw o chapters bring a gender perspective to bear on R obert P u tn a m ’s argum ents regarding the decline of social capital. In the first, Barbara Arneil draw s on Pierre Bourdieu’s critical insights ab o u t the role of social capital in reproducing pow er differentials and historical patterns of inclusion and exclusion. She reexamines both the Progressive Era in the United States and P u tn a m ’s decline of social capital thesis through a gendered and cultural lens. As Arneil makes clear, the decline in participation in w om en’s groups that were “ born of exclusion” signals a positive societal development rather than the m ore negative decline of social capital identified by Putnam: these groups have been losing members because their raison d ’etre is slowly disappearing. Dietlind Stolle and Michelle Micheletti also set out to challenge the notion th at social capital has been declining. D raw ing on a wide variety of cross-national surveys, as well as case study material, they focus on an “ undiscovered” form of civic engagement which they find to be disproportionately practiced by women, namely the buying or boycotting of products and services based on political or ethical values. The exclusive focus on traditional participatory mechanisms

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in the social capital literature, they argue, neglects newer forms of participation resulting from changing lifestyles and leads to incorrect conclusions regarding the health of m odern democracies. A dditionally, both chapters point to im portant differences in the nature of w o m e n ’s social capital. For Arneil, the distinctions found in com paring m aternal and fraternal organizations illustrate the particular expectations m ade of wom en. For Stolle and Micheletti, w o m e n ’s social capital can vary from m en’s in both its form and its focus. The next three chapters present a gendered assessment of the scope and origins of social capital. In the first of these chapters, Pippa N orris and R onald Inglehart provide a systematic assessment of gender differences in associational m emberships and social trust in over fifty countries. D raw ing prim arily on survey data from the 2001 World Values Study, they examine competing explanations for gender differences in associational involvement. Structural explanations suggest th at w om en cannot participate equally because they lack the requisite resources. Cultural explanations, meanwhile, imply that w om en do n ot participate because they lack the values and attitudes th at are conducive to involvement. Finally, agency explanations hold that w om en are less likely to be encouraged to join by friends and colleagues. Their research suggests that agency explanations provide the greatest mileage in understanding gender differences in formal associational memberships. Amy Caiazza and Barbara Gault focus their attention on w o m e n ’s civic engagement in tw o associations in which w om en are especially visible and likely to assume leadership positions: interfaith and environm ental organizations. In line with research identifying gender gaps in values, they find th at the social capital created by wom en in these tw o particular communities embodies connectedness with others, reflecting w o m e n ’s roles and experiences. They point out, however, that even if born of segregation and exclusion, this com m itm ent to others holds the potential for providing w om en with a set of skills and political pow er if acted upon through organizational involvement. Virginia M o rro w asks the im portant question of whether gender differences in social capital exist prior to adulthood. H er findings are based on extensive qualitative research conducted w ith twelve- to thirteen-year-olds and fourteen- to fifteen-year-olds in tw o schools in relatively deprived areas in a tow n in southeast England. H er w o rk identifies the im portance of social context and locale for the

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development of social capital am ong adolescents and the various ways in which this im portance varies by gender. The final and largest set of chapters addresses the political im plications of a gendered exam ination of the social capital concept. Virginia Sapiro’s chapter asks w h at a consideration of gender dynam ics can tell us ab o u t social capital and politics. Using U.S. examples, her discussion draw s primarily on the w ork of James Coleman, conceptualizing social capital as a resource, embedded in the structure of social relationships, that facilitates action. Brenda O ’Neill focuses on religious volunteerism am ong C anadian w om en. W om en’s greater rates of participation in religious organizations are well documented, and so is their relevance for w om en’s political opinions. O ’Neill’s chapter seeks to add to our knowledge of this dimension of w om en’s lives by evaluating the role that religious volunteerism plays, particularly as it relates to questions of social capital, but additionally as it relates to political participation. The chapters by Vivien Lowndes and by Elisabeth Gidengil and her colleagues both focus on the same puzzle: if w om en really are “ m ore avid social capitalists,” 31 how do we explain the gender gaps in political engagement? Vivien Lowndes focuses on local politics and governance in Britain, examining whether social capital can help to account for gender differences in political engagement at this level. She uses a com bination of new survey data and qualitative research findings to answer three questions: Do w om en have as m uch social capital as men? Do w om en have the same types of social capital as men? And do w om en use their social capital in the same way as men? Reinforcing the conclusions draw n by Caiazza and Gault, Lowndes argues th at w o m e n ’s social capital is “m ore strongly embedded in neighborhood-specific netw orks of informal sociability” and is em ployed as a resource to help them simply “get by.” Gidengil and her colleagues focus on the gender gap in political knowledge. Their starting point is the observation that w om en typically know less about politics than men. This calls into question Robert P u tn a m ’s claim that social capital facilitates the spread of inform ation about politics: if Putnam is right, w om en should know at least as m uch ab o u t politics as men, if not more. Using Canadian survey data, the authors examine how associational involvement and netw ork diversity affect the political knowledge gap and find th at the political inform ation returns that w om en derive from their social ties are lower th an those th at men derive from theirs.

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Joanna Everitt examines how gender-role orientations affect the relationship between social capital and political engagement. Using C anadian survey data, she groups w om en into three categories based on their views ab o u t gender roles and traditional family values. She com pares the three groups in terms of their psychological engagem ent in politics and their participation in both traditional and nontraditional political activities. T hen she examines how the various forms of political engagement are affected by involvement in voluntary associations and finds th at this relationship varies w ith w o m e n ’s gender role orientations. Bonnie Erickson brings a m ore sociological perspective to bear on the topic of social capital and gender. She focuses on social capital in the sense of netw ork variety, using C anadian data to examine how the com position of w o m e n ’s social netw orks affects their views on gender-related issues. W here previous research on the relationship between social netw orks and political attitudes has typically been limited to a very few, very close relationships, such as the three people w ith w h o m a person m ost often discusses politics, her approach takes account of the fact that people can get politically relevant inputs from m any m ore of the hundreds of people they typically know. She assesses people’s netw orks by counting the num ber of different occupations in w hich they know a m an or a w om an, selected from a list of occupations th a t vary in terms of prestige and gender com position. These measures are then used to examine whether people w ho know a wide variety of w om en are m ore inclined to support views on gender-related issues th at are favored by wom en, and, conversely, w hether those w ho know a wide variety of men are m ore prone to support views favored by men. Kristin A. Goss and T heda Skocpol raise questions ab o u t the p o litical uses to which w o m e n ’s social capital is put. They address a puzzle: why have w o m e n ’s organizations in the United States played such a w eak role in policy dom ains, such as social welfare and force and violence, where w om en n ot only have different opinions from men, but also feel more strongly? D raw ing on a database of inform ation ab o u t the universe of national-level w om en’s organizations in the early 1960s and the early 1990s, they look for answers in the changing nature of w om en’s organizations and their definition of a “w o m e n ’s issue.” Finally, Susan Carroll switches the focus to w om en w ho have succeeded in getting themselves elected. She draw s on a survey of

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w om en state senators and state representatives conducted in 2001 for the Center for American W omen and Politics (CAWP) to examine w hether their connections with feminist organizations and w o m e n ’s groups m ore generally serve as social capital for w om en legislators and if so, how. Taken together these contributions provide a focused effort on better understanding the interplay between social capital, gender, and political participation. In doing so, they identify the m any ways in which w o m e n ’s social netw orks and organizational connections p r o vide a distinctive set of benefits, both public and private, as well as the m any ways in which they restrict their ability to translate those benefits into political agency. The challenge now is to build on this w o rk and further develop our understanding of the concept. Notes 1. R o b ert P u tn am , B o w ling Alone: T h e C ollapse a n d R evival o f A m erican C o m m u n ity (N ew York: Simon & Schuster, 2 000), 2 7 – 28. 2. Ibid ., 19. 3. Vivien Lowndes, “W om en and Social Capital: A C o m m ent on H a ll’s ‘Social C a p ital in Britain,’” British jo u r n a l o f Political Science, 30 (2000): 533. 4. Irene van Staveren, “ Social Capital: W h a t is in it for Feminist E conom ics?” (Working P aper n o .368, Institute for Social Studies, 2002). 5. P utn am , “ Bowling Alone: A m erica’s Declining Social C a p ita l” Journal o f D e m ocracy 6 (1995): 67. 6. Ibid., 194. Emphasis in original. 7. Ibid., 201. 8. Peter A. Hall, “ Social C apital in Britain,” British Journal o f Political Science 28 (1999): 4 1 7 –461. 9. Lowndes, “W om en an d Social C apital.” 10. A m iners’ strike in 1984/85 in Britain saw w o m e n ’s action groups take responsibility for co m m u n ity kitchens an d o th er welfare functions b ut also fundraising an d cam paigning activities th a t p u t them in the forefront of the national c am paign to su p p o rt the strike. Initially unreceptive, m iners eventually allowed w o m e n ’s action g roups to take p a rt in picketing at the colliery gates given the atten tio n directed to them. Alliances developed between w o m e n ’s action groups an d feminist organizations th a t often breached traditional class and cultural barriers. Despite the ultim ate failure o f the strike, m any w o m en were p e rm a nently politicized by the strike an d a legacy o f w o m e n ’s activism continues in the form er coalfields. See L. Loach, “W e’ll be here right to the e n d . . . a n d after: w o m e n in the m iners’ strike,” in D igging Deeper: Issues in the M iners’ Strike, ed. H . Benyon (London: Verso, 1985). 169-80. 11. M ax in e M o ly n eu x , “ G ender an d the Silences o f Social Capital: Lessons from Latin A merica,” D evelo p m en t an d Change 33, no. 2 (2002): 167– 88 . 12. Ibid., 184.

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13. Van Staveren, “ Social C apital," 22. 14. C atherine C am pbell, “ Putting Social C apital in Perspective: A Case of U nrealistic E xp ectatio n s?” in A n A p p ro p ria te C apitalisation? Q uestio n in g Social C apital, ed. Virginia M o rro w , (The LSE G ender Institute Research in Progress Series, Issue 1, O cto b e r 2001), 5. http://www.lse.ac.uk/collections/genderInstitute/pdf/ A n A p p ro p riateC ap italisatio n .p d f 15. J. M iller M cPherson and Lynn Smith-Lovin, “ W om en and W eak Ties: Differences by Sex in the Size o f Voluntary O rg an izations,” A m erican Journal o f Sociology 87 (1982): 883– 904. 16. M o ly n eu x , “ G ender and the Silences of Social C apital,” 181. 17. M ichael W. Foley an d Bob E dw ards, “ Is It Time to Disinvest in Social C ap ital?” Journal o f Public Policy 1999(19): 146. 18. Pierre Bourdieu, “T he Form s o f C apital,” in H a n d b o o k o f T heory a n d Research fo r the Sociology o f E ducation, ed. J o h n G. R ichardson (N ew York: G reenw ood, 1986), 248. 19. Ibid., 250. 20. Ibid., 253. However, Bourdieu is careful to distance himself from any notion th a t social capital is ultim ately reducible to econom ic capital. 2 1. See for exam ple Sidney Verba, N an cy Burns, and Kay Schlozman, “ K now ing and C aring a b o u t Politics: G ender and Political E ngagem ent,” Journal o f Politics 59 (1997): 1 0 51 – 72; Gidengil et al., C itizens (Vancouver, C anada: UBC Press, 2004). 22. C ynthia Deitch, “ Sex Differences in Su p p o rt for G overnm ent Spending,” in T he Politics o f the G ender Gap: Social C onstructio n o f Political Influence, ed. Carol M . M ueller (N ew bury Park, CA: Sage, 1988), 192–216; Steven P. Erie and M a r tin Rein, “W om en and the Welfare State,” in T he Politics o f the G ender Gap: Social C o nstruction o f Political Influence, ed. C arol M. M ueller (N ew bury Park, CA: Sage, 1988), 173– 91; M a rk Schlesinger and Caroline H eld m an , “ Gender G ap o r G ender Gaps? N ew Perspectives on S upport for G overnm ent Action an d Policies,” T he Journal o f Politics 63, no. 1 (2001): 59– 92; R o b ert Y. Shapiro an d H arp e e t M ah aja n , “ G ender Differences in Policy Preferences: A Sum m ary o f T rends from the 1960s to the 1980s,” Public O p in io n Q uarterly 50, n o .l (1986): 4 2 – 61; Tom W. Smith, “T h e Polls: G ender and A ttitudes to w a rd Violence,” Public O p in io n Q u arterly 48, n o .l (1984): 384– 96. 23. Susan E. H ow ell and Christine L. Day, “ C om plexities of the G ender G a p ,” The Journal o f Politics 62, no. 3 (2000): 859. 24. Susan J. C arroll, “W o m e n ’s A u to n o m y and the Gender G ap: 1980 and 1982,” in T he Politics o f the G ender Gap: Social C onstruction o f Political Influence, ed. C arol M . M ueller (N ew b u ry Park, CA: Sage, 1988), 2 3 6 – 57. 25. P u tn am , B o w lin g A lone, 2 0 0 0 , 338. 26. C am pbell, “ Putting Social C apital in Perspective” ; M olyneux, “ G ender and the Silences o f Social C apital.” 27. P utnam , B o w lin g A lon e, 2 0 0 0 , 338. 28. C am pbell, “ Putting Social C apital in Perspective.” 29. P u tn am , B o w lin g A lo n e, 2 0 0 0 , 359. 30. N a d ia M olenaers, “Associations o r Inform al N etw orks? Social C apital and Local D evelopm ent Practices,” in G enerating Social Capital, ed. M arc H ooghe and Dietlind Stolle (N ew York: Palgrave M acm illan, 2003), 113–32. 31 . P u tn am , B o w ling A lon e, 2 0 0 0 , 95.

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2 Just Communities Social Capital, Gender, and Culture BARBARA ARNEIL

Social capital is a term used by Robert Putnam , in his best selling book, B ow ling Alone: The Collapse and Revival o f Am erican C o m m u n ity .1 Putnam invokes an ideal com m unity or civic society of the past (the Progressive Era) as the model by which to find solutions to American society’s contem porary political and civic ills. This harkening back to a bygone era, when the connections between people were robust, communities strong, and levels of solidarity and trust high is used to th ro w into sharp relief a story of “collapse” or decline in social capital since the 1960s. As one might expect, the promise of civic redem ption lies in the redeployment of civic engagement, through civic participation and com m unity involvement.2 M uch of this analysis is done with little consideration for the gendered and cultural dimensions of either the ideal com m unity of the past, the nature of the decline in the present, or the prescriptions suggested for the future. In the same way th at gender and culture were often invisible but p ro found forces in the construction of the liberal citizen or welfare state, so too this new literature based in the centrality of a civic community, has been shaped by largely hidden gender and cultural dimensions. It is these dimensions that will be made explicit in this analysis of social capital.

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Social Capital

Social capital may be defined in a num ber of ways. Putnam defines it as the “ connections am ong individuals— social netw orks and the norm s of reciprocity and trustw orthiness that arise from th e m ”3 or put another way, “ features of social life— netw orks, norms, and trust— th at enable participants to act together m ore effectively to pursue shared objectives.”4 P u tn a m ’s thesis builds upon a preexisting literature on social capital. This academic context is critical to understanding the m eaning of social capital in the larger sense. James Colem an, for example, defined social capital as “the set of resources that inhere in family relations and in com m unity social organizations and th at are useful for the cognitive or social development of a child or a young person.”5 At the heart of both theories is the notion that civic life in America, once robust and leading to good outcomes in terms of political and social life has declined. This decline has led to negative social effects from bad governm ent, poor neighborhoods, economic ills (Putnam), to increased levels of high school dropouts (Coleman) as well as negative effects on the individual in terms of health and prosperity. Thus, America needs to consider w h at types of measures should be p ut in place to rebuild social capital in the future. The im portant difference between Putnam and C olem an’s thesis and political theories like com m unitarianism is the centrality of the term capital in their theories of civic engagement. The use of capital as a term (as opposed to employing alternatives such as co m m u n ity or civil society) allows social capital theorists to use all of the connotative and norm ative underpinnings of other forms of capital to be deployed in the interests of social capital theory. In the Am erican context, social capital, like other forms of capital, is something one accrues through hard w ork and comm itm ent. It is an investment now, for greater dividends in the future; it is available to anybody w ho w orks hard to get it and w ho makes the right choices in terms of their ow n time and resources. In other words, for Colem an and Putnam , social capital is an unproblem atic, rather instrum ental term, in the same way that one might think about h u m an or physical capital. Social capitalism is an ideology that at its heart believes th at the opportunity to accrue capital is open to all. Social capital is different from other forms of capital, however, because while the proceeds for investment in either hum an or physical capital largely return to the individual w ho does the investing, w ith social capital, it is often others w ho benefit from som ebody else’s time and energy.6

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A different view of social capital is provided by an even earlier form ulation of the term. French critical cultural theorist, Pierre Bourdieu described social capital in different, and far m ore critical, terms in a famous article published in 1986.7 Bourdieu’s view is that capital m ay be classified in three forms: economic capital, cultural capital, and social capital. Two points th at he makes are w orth taking into consideration in our analysis of social capital. The first is th at capital is accumulated. The social w orld is accum ulated history, and if it is n o t to be reduced to a discontinuous series of instantaneous mechanical equilibriums between agents w h o are treated as interchangeable particles, one m ust reintroduce into it the notion of capital and w ith it accum ulation and all its effects.8

Bourdieu believes th at history and pow er are critical factors in u n derstanding the present nature of capital building. Bourdieu’s point is critical, for capital does not simply w ork as a free flowing means of exchange either in the past or the present; it is built up or accum ulated over time in particular ways. O u r history and the ways in which social capital has accum ulated weigh heavily in the types of groups and social activity which both exist and are therefore seen and measured, but also in shaping any future opportunities. Second, and perhaps m ost importantly, this accum ulation of social capital is n ot a purely benign force according to Bourdieu. It is a way of d ra w ing boundaries a round and between people, and through social cohesion reconstructing the same pow er differentials between those w ho belong and those w ho do not. Thus, he concludes th at social capitalism as m uch as economic capitalism is an ideology of inclusion and exclusion: a means by which the powerful m ay protect and further their interests against the less powerful. Exchange transform s the things exchanged into signs of recognition and, thro ug h the m utual recognition and the recognition of group m em bership w hich it implies, re-produces the group. By the same to ken, it reaffirms the limits of the g ro u p .9

Applying Bourdieu’s theory of social capital to the m ore recent (and m ore famous) iterations, will allow us to consider the extent to which the “genesis” for P u tn a m ’s thesis (the early twentieth-century flourishing of civic groups), serving as both a point of origin from which

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to measure the decline of social capital, as well as a model for a future prom ised land, is shaped by these pow er relations. It shall be dem onstrated th at the historical vision of paradise, a mythical com parison point from which the present “ decline” is measured, is constituted by both historical accum ulation of pow er in certain groups and particular com m unity norm s that either exclude or assimilate those defined as beyond the boundaries of the American community. As Bourdieu suggests, we m ust understand all forms of capital, including social capital, in terms of the effect that these pow er relations m ight have on different groups of people in relation to capital accum ulation in the past, present, and future.

Past Paradise: T he Progressive Era

The historical vision of a society replete with social capital, used by Putnam in his penultimate chapter, is the Progressive Era. In chapter 23 of B ow ling Alone, titled “ Lessons of History: The Gilded Age and the Progressive E ra ,” Putnam lays out how America at the turn of the last century (under ostensibly similar conditions to today, namely suffering from the same desperate need, am ongst so much technological change and industrial/corporate developm ent for social connections) began to revitalize its social capital. P utnam suggests that the one “ striking feature of the revitalization of civic life in Am erica” at this time was the “ boom in association building” and their associated projects.10 His underlying thesis is that the shift from the laissez-faire Gilded Age to the socially concerned Progressive Era (as the title of the chapter implies) was a positive developm ent that brought about greater equality between the classes through “ non-political” or civic associations. But, as he describes the nature of these associations and their projects, it is clear th at this social capital accum ulation has p ro found gendered, ethnic, and religious dimensions th at Putnam barely touches on. Recognizing these dimensions provides a different, more negative version of these associations and their projects. Above all, it is clear th at these associations are indeed political, rooted in the very powerful forces of exclusion and assimilation that inscribed individual lives along certain religious, cultural, and gendered lines.11 By applying both a gendered and cultural lens, one gets a m ore com plete picture of this era; one in which both the political and negative aspects of social capital come into clearer focus.

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Maternalism vs. Fraternalism: Gendered Organizations Gender is an im portant organizing principle for the organizations that Putnam discusses in this era. As he points out, alm ost all were segregated by sex and the most prom inent groups during this era were “ fraternal.” He concludes that fraternalism is a positive developm ent that sprang up in the Progressive Era and represented “ a reaction against the individualism and anomie of this era of rapid social change, asylum from a disordered and uncertain world.” 12 However, as Carole Patem an and other feminists have shown, fraternalism stretches back to the beginning of the m odern era, underpinning the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century social contract theories of T hom as H obbes, John Locke, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, as a direct challenge to the prem odern paradigm of patriarchalism as the basis of political authority.13 Authority, it was argued, was rooted not in the hierarchical relation of father to son, king to subject, or God to Adam, but on an equal relationship of brother to brother. As Patem an points out, this transition, while changing the nature of pow er within the group of men classified as citizens, does nothing to change the pow er relations between men and w om en. Thus the fraternalism underpinning m en’s organizations, which Putnam sees as part of the progressive shift from the Gilded Age to the Progressive Era, has actually been with us since the inception of m odern political thought in the seventeenth century. Moreover, fraternalism from its inception is not simply about building social connections between men, but also about excluding wom en, and some racially defined men from “ the brotherhood.” 14 Thus, it is not surprising as it emerges in tw en tieth-century fraternal organizations, th at fraternalism is not simply a positive nonpolitical means to build social capital am ongst men (particularly through the service groups m entioned by Putnam ), but equally it is a negative means to exclude w om en (and racially defined men) from the types of exchanges, netw orking, and business contacts that developed through such organizations. W om en’s organizations of the Progressive Era m ust be viewed in this light, for the root of these organizations is not simple segregation, as Putnam implies, but sex exclusion. Thus, he fails to analyze how the p ow er differential between men and wom en specifically and profoundly impacts the nature and goals of w om en’s organizations. Social capital, w hen you are in a position of power, is largely a positive thing aimed at solidifying trust and cooperation am ongst the

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m em bers of the already powerful group and com m unity at large. If on the other hand, you lack power, than social capital will be used for very different purposes; those excluded from pow er often do not see their goal as solidifying the existing status quo, but challenging the very premises upon which the community, including its b oundaries and m em bership, are defined. Thus, P utnam ’s definition of social capital, as a largely positive and nonpolitical force that will inevitably lead to better political and economic outcomes, is problem atic w hen put into a multifaceted historical perspective. Seen from the perspective of middle-class white men in fraternal organizations, such a view of the purpose and nature of their civic associations is perhaps valid, but for wom en of this era, civic associations took on a more political and divisive character arising from conditions of exclusion and social distrust. As Elisabeth Clemens has show n, the m ain reason why m any w o m e n ’s groups form ed in the first place is exactly because they were denied pow er in a m ore formal w ay.15 Fraternalism created the singular option of political organization for w om en under the rubric of w o m e n ’s clubs. T heda Skocpol and M orris Fiorina argue that Putn a m ’s emphasis on w o m e n ’s associations in the Progressive Era as nonpolitical and builders of social trust, sidesteps the political nature of these groups as vehicles for breaking dow n the accepted boundaries, m em bership, and exclusive nature of the com m unity and society w ithin which they lived.16 W h a t is striking is how these groups sought to change public policy alm ost from the beginning. The three m ajor w o m e n ’s groups form ed at the end of the nineteenth century were the W om en’s Christian Temperance Union in 1874, the General Federation of W om en’s Clubs in 1890, and the N ational Congress of M others (later the PTA) in 1897. These w o m e n ’s associations, if seen through a gendered lens, were n ot simply about building com m unities and social trust but forum s within which w om en could channel their misgivings about the way politics were being run, particularly in the area of social policy. Thus, w o m e n ’s associations were the products of “ organized conflict and distrust.” 17 As such they need to be understood not just as instrumental “ facilitators of individual participation and generalized social tru s t” but as “ sources of p o p u lar for political] leverage.” 18 It is no coincidence that these w o m e n ’s organizations spearheaded the fight for w om en’s right to vote: a goal that was both divisive and political, destabilizing to families, com munities, and American society as a whole.

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Such divisive gender politics required some cultural camouflage to m ake w o m e n ’s political objectives m ore palatable, as m uch to them selves as others. Thus appeals to traditional feminine roles were made to justify the radical platform s adopted. W om en’s organizations often couched their political aims in the language of “ m othering.” 19 While men could appeal to “fraternity” as the underpinning of their organizations, such a reference to “ sisterhood,” with its implications of equality and em pow erm ent, was impossible for w om en of this era. M aternalism , which implied a m otherly concern for oth er’s needs, was at the heart of these organizations rather th an self-interest or em pow erm ent. W om en’s social capital building, from the beginning of the twentieth century through C olem an’s analysis of educational outcomes, has often carried within it this idea that the investment of one’s ow n time and energy is done in order to benefit others.20 This appeal to a m ore feminine instinct softened the bluntly political n a ture of their objectives. This basic gender difference, between m aternal and fraternal social capital during the Progressive Era is w orthy of further analysis. The distinction is telling in terms of gender differences, particularly given th at the second wave of feminism in the latter pa rt of the twentieth century eventually did appeal to an idea of sisterhood (and with it direct reference to the need for w o m e n ’s em pow erm ent). In summary, social capital was created and accumulated by w om en in very gendered and nonthreatening terms (not as wom en but as mothers), in response to their exclusion from other groups in society, and was wielded for very political and divisive purposes which were destabilizing, in the short term, to the existing co m m u nity and its exclusionary norms.

Cultural Exclusion and Assimilation in Progressive Era Civic Organizations The Progressive Era is also m arked by a civic society rooted in racial and cultural discrimination. This is true of both the fraternal and m aternal organizations. It is w orth noting that alm ost all of the tra ditional w o m e n ’s organizations in P utnam ’s analysis were engaged in racial and religious exclusion. Linda G ordon, in her article on w o m e n ’s welfare activities describes the “ usual white w o m e n ’s netw ork civic organizations— YWCA, League of W omen Voters, W om en’s Trade Union League, American Association of University Women

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[and] the Federation of Business and Professional W omen.”21 Anne Firor Scott argues that white w o m e n ’s organizations were deliberately and fundam entally exclusionary during the Progressive Era, resisting any move tow ard inclusion. “ Progressive” white w om en behaved in quite irrational ways w hen even the m ost tentative step to w a rd integration was proposed. The General Federation of W o m e n ’s Clubs, for example was th ro w n into turm oil w hen one highly educated black w o m a n attem pted to represent her club at a national convention. T he Chicago W o m a n ’s Club, which prided itself upon its forw ard looking progressivism, argued for a year before adm itting one black m em ber— the exceedingly respectable Fannie Barrier W illiams.22

Assimilation was also on the agenda of w o m e n ’s groups. As Putnam himself admits, the w o m e n ’s tem perance m ovem ent “ appealed to n a tive-born Protestants fighting against ‘vices’ [which] they saw most clearly in im m igrant cultural traditions.”23 This notion of cultural superiority is m otivated by racial and racist politics. P u tn a m ’s description, therefore, a few pages later of the tem perance m ovem ent as “an early exam ple” of an organization dedicated to the “ nonpolitical purposes” of “ reciprocal responsibility” loses sight of the powerful (and very political) forces of assimilation being unleashed by the W CTU on non-Protestant im m igrant populations.24 Finally, in the American context, as Putnam acknowledges, progress in the Progressive Era was largely encompassed and defined by a religion. “ Religion played a substantial role in the civic revitalization of the period.”25 This “ religion” was Protestant Christianity. The problem with “progression” is both its power to define some as “ b a c k w a rd ” and its tendency, especially when associated with religion, to prom ote a singular and utopian end for all. Consequently, the seemingly neutral “A m erican” that is the model for “Am ericanization,” has a decidedly Protestant Christian character, and the proselytizing nature of m any of these groups and their projects had an enorm ous cultural impact on those defined as religious or ethnic o th ers. Again, P u tn a m ’s framing of the historical shift in terms of class only allows him to see this religious awakening as a positive force for equality over the m arket ideology of the Gilded Age. “The Social Gospel represented a reaction against individualism, laissez-faire and inequality”26 w ithout coming to terms w ith the impact such religious notions had on either w om en or cultural groups.

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There is perhaps no m ore vivid example of the cultural damage than the residential schooling of N ative American men and women. Thus, while im m igrant and African-American populations may have been subject to the forces of N o rth American Protestant acculturation or exclusion respectively, N ative Americans faced the cultural force of assimilation. The education of Native Americans shared the same driving force as m uch of the social capital literature: to foster “ civic virtue,” to “ morally uplift,” and to build “civilization” through the progressive vehicle of education and the social gospel. But as Cole H arris describes this history of assimilation, it m ight be m ore accurately described as cultural warfare: Either they w ould disappear or be remade into Europeans. Virtually everyone assumed s o . . . the missionaries w ho w orked to tu rn natives into one or other European vision of Christian perfection. Reserves, the Indian Act, the Indian residential schools all were bent to the same end: if N atives did n o t die out, they w ould be assimilated.27

Thus, the Progressive E ra’s “ impulse to educate and assimilate” from “kindergarten to high school” 28 has a very different meaning from the perspective of Native American w om en (and men) w ho were subject to these “progressive forces” as students of the residential schooling system. W hat appeared to be well-intentioned social capital building, premised on the idea of creating civil communities with educated citizens, instead caused profound cultural damage and pain, and left the churches in question in a very fragile m oral and financial state.29 This history has come home to roost north of the American border where the Catholic, United, and Anglican churches in C anada have faced potential bankruptcy or financial ruin, as a result of the lawsuits filed by indigenous people seeking redress and com pensation for the damages inflicted.30 In the United States during the Progressive Era, a determined effort was m ade to assimilate the Native Americans in the same kind of residential schooling system introduced in Canada. “T h roughout the Progressive Era, U.S. officials attem pted to assimilate the Indians b y . . . establishing schools to educate young Indians as Americans. . . . by forcibly suppressing Indian culture. The schools prohibited Indian dress, songs, dances, rituals and the use of Indian languages.” 31 While recognizing the existence of exclusion and assimilation in the m ainstream American civic associations, it is also im portant to recognize that cultural minorities were not just victims, but also

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active agents in creating their ow n organizations. Recent historical literature, particularly in the area of African-American w om en’s history, have emphasized the need to analyze the role of subordinated groups as agents as well as victims of any given period in history, including the Progressive Era.32 This historical agency, however, is necessarily shaped by the pow er relations w ithin which it operates. W hile there has been some academic literature on African-American w om en and civic associations, their historical agency and the differences in organization from white w om en have been largely ignored by m ost of the historians of this era.33 Scott comments: “m ost historians of w o m e n . . . [have] concentrated on white w o m e n . . . the histories of black w om en and of their organizations are just now beginning to be reconstructed and the picture em erging . . . . W here ever northern occupation brought freedom, black w om en had begun, with w h a tever meager resources they could gather, to create, first, welfare organizations and then, schools, health centers, orphanages, and m any other institutions.” 34 While both white and black w om en were agents of social capital, it is critical to recognize th at their approach to social problem s was very different. O ne m ajor difference in the orientation of the tw o groups was th a t the whites, well into the G reat Depression, m ore strongly saw themselves as helping others— people w h o were “ o th e r” n o t only socially but also ethnically and religiously . . . the black w o m en were m ore focused on their o w n k i n d . . . there was less distance between helper and helped th a n am ong w hite reform ers. . . . Concentrating their efforts m ore on education and health, an d p ro portionally less on charity or relief, m eant th a t they dealt m ore often w ith universal needs.35

As G ordon demonstrates, the characteristic of projects by white reformers is largely viewed as charity for others. For black reformers, the goal was m ore likely to be em pow erm ent for their ow n com m unity. It is not surprising, therefore, to find th at black and white female reformers differed in their perspective on w om en’s economic role and the projects required as a result. In essence, the further you are from pow er in society, the m ore likely it is th at you will concentrate on your ow n group rather than others, and that you will have a more radical view of the com m unity and its existing norms. It should be noted th at in the conclusion of this chapter, Putnam does recognize a “dark side” to social capital:

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Even more troubling is the fact th a t racial segregation and social exclusion w e r e . . . so central to the public a g e n d a . . . n ot all the “civic in n o v atio n s” of the Progressive Era were beneficent and progressive. Those of us w ho seek inspiration for co ntem porary America in th a t earlier epoch of reform m u st attend to the risk th a t emphasizing com m unity exacerbates division and exclusion.36

The way he describes the problem, and therefore the lessons that we are to ‘learn’, however, is problematic. It is n ot just segregation and exclusion th at is the problem in this period but coercive acculturation and assimilation. Thus for Native and non-Protestant Americans, the risk was and is n ot so m uch one of division and exclusion as cultural integrity and survival. M oreover, he seems to imply that ‘civic innovations’ were largely beneficent and progressive (excepting particular organizations like the KKK) w ithout recognizing the wider and broader ‘dark side’ of social capital, as has been outlined above. In particular, Putnam fails to see the profoundly dam aging impact of both the principle of ‘progress’ and a proselytizing ‘Am ericanizatio n ’ during the Progressive Era on cultural minorities including the forced assimilation of Native Americans, non-Protestant European immigrants in the nam e of American citizenship as well as court sanctioned sterilization of the mentally disabled and hom osexuals in the name of ‘progress’.37 Thus he concludes that the one lesson to be learned about the ‘dark side’ of social capital from the Progressive Era is th at it should not ‘exacerbate division’.38 The lesson, however, m ay in fact be the exact opposite, th at is: it may not be division, but unity at the expense of diversity th at poses the greatest threat to cultural minorities especially when that unified com m unity either segregates or assimilates those w ho are different. This, ultimately, is the question th at the Progressive Era poses for contem porary American society and m ust be tackled as Americans em bark on com m unity building in the future. Can an emphasis on ‘solidarity’, ‘tru st’ and ‘civic unity’ be reconciled with cultural diversity and the im portant values of pluralism and justice? At w h a t price, in terms of diversity, is such a civically cohesive com m unity won? O ne thing is clear, that those w ho support greater civic engagement and com m unity development m ust be extremely careful when they hearken back to a glorious past for their models of the future. Only by acknowledging this past history of exclusion and assimilation will the lessons of the past truly inform any civic society of the future.

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T h e Present Malaise: Empirical and N orm ative D im ensions o f Decline

From this period of American history replete with social capital, P u tn a m ’s m ain focus in B ow ling A lone is on the current malaise, within which he postulates a general decline since the 1960s in social capital accum ulation. As with the historical view of social capital, it is im portant to bring a gendered and ethnic lens to our consideration of his evidence for this decline. In order to focus our discussion of the decline in social capital, I will use the eleven w o m e n ’s civic associations that Putnam uses as one of his central measures for the decline in civic participation (see appendix 3). Using these organizations as a w indow into w o m e n ’s civic activity in America over the course of the twentieth century, this section will address both the empirical and norm ative dimensions of social capital by answering the following questions respectively: Is there really a decline in civic participation and is the decline necessarily a bad thing? These questions become critical w hen we consider the shifting position of subordinated groups in American history during the twentieth century. For w om en and people of color, the actual “civic associations” used by Putnam have a very different m eaning today in the early twenty-first century, than they did at the beginning of the twentieth century because both groups have gained greater levels of equality in relation to white men. Second, if the activities and projects of these organizations were rooted or engaged in either assimilationist or exclusionary practices, as discussed, then is their decline necessarily wholly negative? Putnam lists am ongst his civic associations eleven groups whose m em bership was female during the Progressive Era: American Association of University W omen (AAUW); Business and Professional W omen (BPW); General Federation of W om en’s Clubs (GFWC); the W om en’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU); League of W omen Voters (LWV); Parent-Teachers Association (PTA)39; O rder of the Eastern Star (OES) M oose (Women); H adassah; W om en’s Bowling Congress (WBC), and the Girl Scouts of America.40 O f the eleven, the first six are all associations th at were born, as has been discussed, o ut of the exclusion of w om en from access to formal pathw ays to power. They still exist in some form but are som ew h a t anachronistic to the current context. While each has attem pted to a dapt to the changing circumstances, their foundation and original purpose has been supplanted by w o m e n ’s changing economic and

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political role, including full-time w o rk and direct access to political pow er through m ore formal means, such as being candidates for election or political party officers or delegates respectively.41 If one measured the involvement of w om en in these latter kinds of formal political activities over the same time frame, one w ould find increasing levels of engagement as both form al and informal doors were opened to w om en. It is n ot surprising that w om en w ould choose not to join organizations that provide an indirect avenue to a “m ate rn a l” form of pow er (as discussed in the last section) w hen the direct path, as wom en, is now available. The m ost extreme form of an a n a ch ro nistic organization is the O rder of the Eastern Star. W omen cannot join this organization in their ow n right but may affiliate only if they are related to a male M aster M a so n .42 Needless to say, such a derivative m em bership constituted a formidable barrier to w om en of the latter half of the twentieth century and the early years of the tw entyfirst century, w ho see (and saw) themselves as individuals in their ow n right, rather than people whose status is defined in relation to a male relative. Again the decline of m embership in this type of organization is n ot necessarily negative from the vantage point of w o m e n ’s equality. The other four organizations (Women’s Bowling Congress, H adassah, M oose, and Girl Scouts) may seem like an odd group to use to measure the residual levels of w o m e n ’s declining involvement, but they will provide us with some further insights into the shortcom ings of P u tn a m ’s evidence for a decline in w om en’s civic engagement in the present, as well as some suggestions as to how one m ight m ake civic engagement m ore gender friendly in the future.

Women’s Bowling Congress: Opening a W indow on the World o f Female Sports in America The W om en’s Bowling Congress is P utnam ’s only measure of w o m e n ’s involvement in sporting activities amongst civic associations during the twentieth century. By using this indicator as the measure of participation in w o m e n ’s sports, Putnam misses an extraordinary and dram atic story of exponential grow th in civic engagement since the 1970s in the area of female athletics. Since the passing of Title IX of the Education Am endments of 1972, a federal law that prohibits sex discrimination in any school activity, the participation of girls in sporting activity has grow n exponentially. The American W om en’s

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Sports Foundation estimates th at female participation in high school sports has increased tenfold since the passage of Title IX.43 This increase in w o m e n ’s sporting activity is not only im p o rta n t in terms of gender equity, but simultaneously it represents an im portant source of com m unity activity, from local sports leagues, clubs, and organizations to days celebrating w o m e n ’s participation in sports to national organizations representing female athletes and coaches in specific sporting activities. N one of this civic participation is m easured in Pu tn a m ’s analysis beyond th at of the bowling league. Because m any of these sports did not exist for w om en in the beginning or even the middle of the twentieth century, they do n ot form pa rt of P u tn a m ’s measurements. Participation in sporting activities is also addressed by Putnam in his chapter on informal social connections, where he states that youth sport participation has declined over the last several decades. W hile he states in the text that w om en represent an im p o rtan t “ exception to this general picture” he goes on to dismiss (in a footnote) the im pact of Title IX on w o m e n ’s sports as negligible beyond the 6 to 11 age group.44 P utnam bases this conclusion on a sentence from the first chapter of the 1998 edition of Sporting G oods M anufacturers Association R eport (SGMA), G aining Ground: A Progress R ep o rt on W om en in Sports. His conclusions, however, are contradicted by m any other pieces of evidence, including other parts of the 1998 report, as well as a m ore recent version of the same report, published in 2000. M ultiple sources, from the NCAA, the SGMA, the N ational Federation of State High Schools, and newspaper accounts conclude th at across the board from preadolescence to professional leagues, w o m e n ’s athletics are exploding. Beginning with the 6 to 11 age group: the SGM A found that across the board, girls’ activities in preadolescent sport increased in the 1990s (15% in baseball, 41 % in softball; 20% in soccer).45 But in contrast to P utnam ’s conclusions, this trend also holds true for high school girls as well. As statistics provided by the N ational Federation of State High School Associations dem onstrate, in 2000 to 2001, high school girls were involved in organized sporting activities at record levels (2,746,181). The W om en’s Sports Foundation, using figures supplied by the NFSH A and the D epartm ent of Education estimate th at between 1971 and 2001, the ratio of girls involved in sports expanded from 1 in 27 to 1 in 2.5; while boys rem ained steady th ro u g h o u t these thirty years at 1 in 2. The SGMA 2000 report also

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estimates th at the num ber of female athletes increased by 40 percent on high school varsity teams in the 1990s (the 1998 SGM A report also indicated a 31% increase in the first half of the 1990s). Overall, the num bers of high school girls playing soccer increased 112 percent; softball 55 percent, swimming 51 percent, and cross-country 46 percent. At the college level, participation by w om en in collegiate activities increased 128 percent across all three divisions of the NCAA between 1981 and 1999.46 These statistics are im portant not only to dem onstrate the grow th of w o m e n ’s involvement in sports at all levels, but also to point to a growing source of civic engagement. Because for every one of those athletes at the elementary, secondary, and collegiate level, there is a netw ork of parents, sponsors, clubs, coaches, games, tournam ents, refereeing associations, and specific sporting organizations which grow up alongside the athletic involvement itself. Unlike m any p r o fessional and even college level m en’s sports, w o m e n ’s sports still requiring fund raising, volunteers, and com m unity support. All of this activity (as anybody w ho has spent time chatting w ith fellow parents at a game or w orking the concession stand at a to urnam ent will a ttest) is an im portant form of com m unity building and civic engagem ent. If we accept the W omen Sports Foundation’s conclusion that currently one in tw o high school girls, as opposed to one in twentyseven in 1971, are involved in sports, than female athletics represent a veritable goldmine of social capital th at has been ignored, despite its dram atic expansion since the 1970s. One last point: in the previous section we saw how exclusion both restricted and shaped the nature of social capital accum ulation in the Progressive Era. W om en’s athletics provide us with another lesson: to increase civic engagement of historically subordinated groups, one may need to engage the pow er of the state or courts in order to remove the obstacles and facilitate m ore resources for the full inclusion of all individuals in every aspect of the community. There is no question that Title IX has been the critical factor in opening the w indow of opportunity for both girls in sports and the social capital that forms around them. H adassah, M oose (Women), and the Girl Scouts are the last three organizations in P u tn a m ’s list of w o m e n ’s organizations. They differ from the other eight in that they have not had declines in m em bership similar to the other organizations discussed above. Thus, the graphs in P u tn a m ’s appendix 3 show three organizations which have a very different pattern from the rest as they steadily trend upw ards

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over the last three decades (at least until the mid 1990s), the last two of which are w o m e n ’s organizations: the Optimists, H adassah, and M oose (Women).47 It is a question which Putnam m ight have asked: W h a t is it about these organizations th at results in a different trend from all of the others: one which shows grow th rather th an decline? The reasons for grow th are different in each case and provide us with useful insights as to the im pact of culture and gender on the nature of civic engagement.

Hadassab: Transforming Service into Advocacy Politics The first organization, H adassah, is based on identity politics and p o litical advocacy. It is the W om en’s Z ionist O rganization of America. The grow th in this organization from 1940 to 2000 represents two emerging trends: the first is the rise of identity politics; th at is, politics which are organized less a round com m on ideas that might transcend ethnic or cultural difference and m ore a round an ethnic or religious identity. Such identity politics are closely tied to specific kinds of a d vocacy, for often identity-based associations grow out of a history of discrim ination, subordination, and exclusion. Thus they advocate for the preservation of their group and identity against forces that may seek to eradicate or assimilate them. Needless to say, the history of the Jewish people in the twentieth century speaks very m uch to the idea of a persecuted group. The political nature of this advocacy is found in the com m itm ent to the centrality of Israel and the m em bership is “motivated and inspired to strengthen their partnership w ith Israel.”48 As T heda Skocpol has argued, there is a new kind of civic life in America, one inform ed by advocacy rather than service.49 H adassah represents one example of the grow th in this new form of civic engagement. Unlike Putnam and Skocpol, I w ould argue th at such changes in the nature of civic engagement (tow ard both identity politics and a d vocacy) are n ot necessarily negative, w hen seen from the perspective of those outside the civic com m unity of twentieth- and twenty-first century America. For groups that have been subjected to different form s of exclusion and persecution, advocacy can be seen as a fundam entally healthy and democratic response to specific histories of discrimination. Skocpol and Putnam seem to find missing in America today a “ sense of b rotherhood or sisterhood and shared American

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citizenship” that once anim ated earlier civic organizations;50 but w h a t advocacy groups (particularly those looking for gendered or cultural inclusion and justice) are dem onstrating by their num bers is that such a call for solidarity is prem ature. The terms and conditions of the com m unity are still under negotiation. Thus, advocacy, from the perspective of gender, ethnicity/race, sexual orientation, disability, is rooted in this continuing sense that the American com m unity should n ot fully solidify or unite until the negotiation over these norm s has been w orked through and the discrimination and exclusion of the past has been fully overcome.

The Moose (Women): Transforming Fraternal Quarters into Family Centers The M oose (Women) organization also contradicts the general do w n w a rd trend in grow th. Its m em bership, however, has grow n for very different reasons. M em bership amongst w om en rose from 1940 (with a plateau from 1950 to 1970) until the 1990s. M ale m em bership, on the other hand, increased rapidly from 1940 to 1950; was relatively steady until 1980, and then w ent into a decline, becom ing precipitous after 1990. W h a t led w om en to buck the pattern described by Putnam in B ow ling A lone and continue to join M oose (Women) while men (after 1990 in particular) dropped out? W hy the dram atic gender difference over the last tw o decades? Presumably a survey of members m ight provide a m ore exact answer, particularly w ith respect to w h a t caused the decline amongst men in the 1980s, but there is one im portant change in the organization, described on its ow n website, th at may help to explain the pattern of the 1990s. In the early 1 9 9 0 ’s, the M oose organization decided to rethink the entire idea of w h a t a fraternal facility and its program s need to be a b o u t in the 21st century— de-emphasizing o u r Social Q u arters, and placing greater emphasis on program s designed to appeal to every segment of o u r m em bers’ families in facilities called Family Centers.51

In their vision statement, this transition is articulated as a need to appeal to young families by changing the M oose Lodge into a M oose H ome “ a center of family activity.” In clarifying w h a t a Fam ily Center is, the Director General argues that it should be seen as an

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alternative to “ family eateries” where “ mem bers and their families can relax and enjoy themselves over food and a m odest am ount of drink.” At the same time, the M oose organization reconfigures the old language of fraternalism to include equality in relation to its female members: “ Fraternalism m e a n s . . . a fuller m ore substantive recognition of the W omen of the M oose as o u r equal partners.” The key change here is both the recognition of equality, but m ore im portantly a place where the real time and energy constraints of wom en, w ho are constantly balancing the public and private, family and work, care giving and com m unity activity, are not only recognized but em braced. If w om en can bring their children with them w hen they go to their civic associational activity; and it is fully integrated in the mission and vision of w h a t that organization does, then the energy and time to do com m unity service is freed up for w om en (and parents m ore generally) rather th an stretched still further. In essence, if one is trying to open up m ore space between the public w orld of w ork and the private world of care giving, it will be absolutely essential to provide some physical and m ental space where civic activity can also be undertaken. This is w h at the M oose Fraternity has m anaged to do a nd this new direction may help to explain the contrary pattern of incline in m em bership am ongst M oose (Women) in contrast to most of the other organizations.52

Girl Scouts: A Traditional Organization Adapting to a Diverse Society Finally, the Girl Scouts is a unique organization out of all eleven female civic associations studied. While the previous tw o (Hadassah and M oose) both showed grow th in the 1980’s and into the 1990’s, they tailed off tow ards the beginning of the twenty-first century. The Girl Scouts have continued to grow during this period, reaching their highest m em bership num bers in the m ost recently available data. As of 2002, 3.7 million American females were involved in the Girl Scouts, m ade up of 2.8 million girls and 963,000 adults.53 Everett Ladd docum ented this grow th in his critique of P u tn a m ’s decline thesis in 1996, pointing at th at time to the rebounding num bers of adult m em bers in Girl Scouts from a low of 534,000 in 1980 to a then high of near 900,000 in the early 1990s. Ladd suggests that the drop in adult volunteers in the 1960s and 1970s was due to “ the change

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in w o m e n ’s labor force participation” but provides little evidence to support this conclusion.54 One m ight ask why it w ould rebound in the 1990s, given that wom en were still in the paid labor force (at even higher levels than before)? A m ore convincing argum ent lies in the capacity of the Girl Scouts m ovem ent to a dapt to the changing times and appeal to an evolving American public, m ost particularly a diverse population of girls and their mothers. Like M oose (Women), the Girl Scout m ovem ent had a fundam ental shift in emphasis during the 1980s and 1990s em bracing, in particular, the concepts of gender equality and diversity in very concrete and profound ways. In other w ords, diversity and equality were not simply m arketing tools used to sell the existing organizations but rather principles that changed the Girl Scouts in almost every way imaginable, from their basic oath, to the cover of those fam ous cookies, to their long-standing uniforms, to their program m atic goals. This transform ation stands in stark contrast to the Boy Scouts of America w ho have fought to m aintain a very traditional set of values rooted in a long-standing oath and with an organizational style th at tends to be top-dow n. We shall examine this contrast and the im pact of these differing philosophies on each g ro u p ’s m embership. We will begin by looking in m ore detail at the transform ation of the Girl Scouts in the 1990s. In essence, the Girl Scouts m ovem ent has kept up with a changing America by embracing ethnic diversity, changing mores on sexual orientation, and the em pow erm ent of girls. Perhaps the first key change in the Girl Scouts in the 1990s in relation to religious and cultural diversity was the decision in 1992 to m ake “ G o d ” optional in the Girl Scout promise “w hen M uslim and atheist Scouts balked at reciting the Girl Scout promise.”55 In the latter half of the nineties, the leaders of the Girl Scouts m ovem ent c o n sidered further ways in which diversity could be encouraged within the organization. In 1998, M arsha Johnson Evans was appointed as executive director. As a form er recruiter for the Navy, “she was the m other of the 12-12-5 affirmative action policy, a m andate to m ake the N avy look m ore like America: 12 percent African-American, 12 percent Hispanic, and 5 percent Asian/Pacific.”56 In 2001, the Girl Scouts launched a program “For Every Girl, Everywhere” emphasizing a com m itm ent to greater diversification w ithin the movement. Girl Scouts w anted to increase its m embership am ongst ethnic m inorities, but was particularly concerned about the small percentage of Hispanic Americans within the organization (6.6% of its members com pared to 17% in the general population).

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W h a t is fascinating ab o u t this particular initiative were the means chosen to achieve their ends. R ather than selling the Girl Scouts as a given package to the Hispanic-Am erican population as a whole, the leadership of the Girl Scouts looked at how they could change their ow n ways of doing business to better reflect this cultural milieu, as well as giving greater control to local leaders to tailor Girl Scout groups and m em bership drives to appeal to the specific com m unity in question. As M a rty Evans, national executive director of the Girl Scouts comm ented: “ It’s a grassroots enterprise, and the grass is different in every location.” 57 Examples of modifications in the organization include changing the green Girl Scout uniforms, because “ to a Hispanic mother, they may stir up m em ories . . . of U.S. imm igration officials.” 58 They also looked at ways in which Latin American traditions could be absorbed into the Scouting m ainstream. For example, as of April 2 4 ,2 0 0 1 , Girl Scouts across the United States participated in a national observance of El Dia de los N inos (The Day of the Children), based on a traditional Latin American holiday. The efforts seem to be paying off as the m embership of Hispanic Americans in Girl Scouts has grow n each year. The 2000 A nnual R eport noted that during the preceding year, African-American m em bership increased by 3.2 percent, Asian/Pacific Islander m embership increased by 3.5 percent, “ girls of Spanish/Hispanic origin increased b y . . . 10.3 percent.” 59 In 2001, Asian/Pacific Islander m em bership increased by 6.9 percent and Hispanic m em bership by 4.8 percent. It is w orth noting th at the Girl Scouts is one of the few organizations th at provide a breakdow n of members based on their ethnicity. This allows them not only to set targets for ensuring a m embership that is reflective of the general American population, but perhaps most critically, holds them accountable as well. For social capital theorists, such a breakdow n in num bers is critical for it indicates the degree to which an organization is a force for bridging as well as bonding social capital. Trying to get accurate num bers for bridging capital is a problem which Putnam himself bem oans in the first chapter of Bow ling Alone. Girl Scouting has had to face the issue of lesbian participation, just as its male counterpart had to face the issue of hom osexuality in relation to its membership. In 2000, the U.S. Supreme C ourt upheld the Boy Scouts’ decision to exclude hom osexuals from their organization. It was a divisive battle. Steven Spielberg resigned from the national advisory b oard and several sponsors cut or w ithdrew funding.60While some Americans saw the Boy Scouts as intolerant and discriminatory,

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others saw them as champions of traditional American and C hristian values. Nevertheless the impact on m embership of the decision is clear. Statistics taken from their Annual Reports suggest th at the decline in the m em bership in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts between 1999 and 2001 is 5 percent or in numerical terms, a drop from 3,209,366 to 3,049,070.61 The Girl Scouts have taken a different approach, allowing each of its 300+ local councils decide for themselves rather than imposing a policy from above. Some argue that such a policy sidesteps the issue, a “ kind of Junior League ‘d o n ’t ask, d o n ’t tell,” ’ which could still result in a lesbian counselor being fired.62 Others, including the leadership of the Girl Scouts, sees it as a fundam entally democratic policy that recognizes a diversity of views but leaves it up to the local com m unity to decide. “ Christie Ach [a spokesw om an for the national organization] says th at in a grass-roots organizat io n ... the ‘norm s of each com m unity’ m ust determine whether gays can be excluded.”62 Beyond this policy w ith regard to m embership, however, both specific local councils and the national leadership at different times have been supportive of resources that reflect and em brace diverse kinds of families, including same sex couples.65 Finally, Girl Scouts have also embraced a new emphasis on girls and strength: “ aimed at providing the public a contem porary view of Girl Scoutin g . . . cutting-edge program activities for girls continue to be created and carried out, including GirlSports, Girl Scouting Beyond Bars, Girls at the (Science) Center, Strength in Sharing (a program to teach girls ab o u t philanthropy), and M oney Smarts.”64 In 1996, the Girl Scouts launched the GirlSports initiative, encouraging girls and adults to host sports and fitness events in their local communities. In 1999, 2,300 sporting events were held with 100,000 participants. By 2000, this had grow n to 5,000 different events. In addition, Girl Scouts supports the annual N ational Girls and W omen in Sports Day with a variety of athletic activities.65 This emphasis on female fitness and strength has even had an impact on those fam ous Girl Scout cookies. On the newly designed boxes, consumers will see Girl Scouts playing high-adventure sports, exploring careers as aviators, firefighters, broadcast journalists and veterinarians. The message displayed on each box reads, “You’d be surprised what a Girl Scout Cookie Can Build: Strong Values, Strong Minds, Strong Bodies, Strong Spirit, Strong Friendships, Strong Skills, Strong Leadership, Strong Community.”67

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T hus the Boy Scouts are an example of an organization th at continues to be top-dow n, focused on a singular set of traditional values, exclusionary in principle, and unwilling to bend to an increasingly diverse American community. The Girl Scouts represent the m irror image, embracing a grassroots, multicultural, and diverse but inclusive vision of American society as the basis for both their organization and m em bership drives. There is an im portant, broader lesson to be learned by those w h o seek to build civic associations and through them civic participation in the future. An organization of any kind th at builds itself upon a particular “ bedrock of shared traditional values” which cannot accom m odate, let alone embrace or respect, the increasingly multi cultural plurality of our times will n ot only fail to attract new mem bers but, m ore importantly, it will constitute, as the Boy Scouts do, an obstacle to a fully inclusive, and therefore just, A m erican community. The encouraging news, from the vantage point of America as a whole, is th at this model of community, at least in terms of m em bership, seems to be in decline, while the opposite, as represented by the Girl Scouts organization, is growing.

L ooking into the Future: Lessons from the Past and Present

We began this article by considering the different definitions of social capital. C olem an and Putnam argued that social capital is simply a term for describing the levels of social connectedness w ithin society. The norm ative claim inherent in social capital theory is that investment in social capital will result in higher levels of trust and solidarity w ithin the com m unity and therefore better neighborhoods, greater economic prosperity, m ore health and happiness, and stro n ger democracies. Increasing social capital, in other w ords, is positive. Bourdieu’s m ore critical definition of social capital provided us w ith the theoretical foundation to analyze h o w pow er and history determine w h at kinds of social capital are accum ulated; the degree to which such accum ulations are closed to certain groups of people, and the differential and unequal benefits that derive from such investments. As Bourdieu claimed, social capital should be n ot seen simply as a benign instrum ental force as described above, but as a pow erful tool for reinforcing existing pow er relations and the exclusion of those already outside the bounds of the community. In our exam ination of P u tn a m ’s thesis we have reread this story of lost paradise and

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promised redem ption in the social capital narrative w ith a w ary eye: one which uses the critical approach suggested by Bourdieu w ith the added gender and cultural lenses to allow us to view these specific dimensions of the story as well. M y analysis of the golden Progressive Era, used by Putnam in his penultim ate chapter as the model for the way out of our current m alaise, provided the evidence for the negative and political side of the social capital story. Fraternal organizations, it turns out, were not simply positive builders of brotherly love but powerful venues for the exclusion of wom en. Similarly, w o m e n ’s organizations growing out of these forces of exclusion were n ot the nonpolitical builders of solidarity, shared norm s, and trust suggested by Putnam , but p o litically m inded sources of division, challenging the basic premises of com m unity m em bership and heretofore shared norms. Moreover, the m aternalist m ask used by m any of these organizations to m ake palatable their political aims, reflected w om en’s need to express their motivation for engaging in public life, as a m aternal interest in o th ers rather than direct interest in themselves. Thus, the principle that Putnam and Coleman argued was unique to social capital (a type of investment whose benefits are enjoyed by others) is present in this early model but its specifically gendered nature is also evident in the distinction between the maternalistic nature of w om en’s organizations (capital building for others) and fraternal nature of m en’s organizations (capital building for ourselves). Thus, wom en m ore than men, both historically and in social capital theory, will be called on to engage civically for the benefit of others rather than themselves. Exclusion was also found in the religious, cultural, and ethnic param eters of the m ainstream associations. African Americans, in particular, were subject to the forces of exclusion, n ot just from the groups themselves but the projects w ith which they were engaged, such as settlement houses. But beyond Bourdieu’s analysis of exclusion, we also found in the educational and social welfare thrust of social capital accum ulation in the Progressive Era the insidious force of assimilation to an overarching “A m erican” and by extension Protestan t Christian norm and community. The “ shared n o rm s ” and “dense social n e tw o rk s” of social capitalism in the Progressive Era are deeply problem atic if assumed within them is a particular cultural norm that is to be forcibly “shared” with others through education and social welfare. Schooling (from kindergartens to residential schools) and settlement houses were projects designed to “Am ericanize” those

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w ho were considered cultural “ others.” Finally, it was also recognized th at subordinated groups were agents as well as victims in this history of civic associations, but the pow er relations within society always mediated their agency. Using a gendered and ethnic lens to view A m erica’s shift from the Gilded Age to the Progressive Era ultimately allowed us to see the impact of this shift in values and social capital building n ot only on the w orking class (as P u tn a m ’s analysis dem onstrates) but also on w om en and racial minorities as well. This critical exam ination of the golden age of social capital allowed us to look anew at the so-called decline of social capital and its “ negative” character, as postulated by Putnam in the latter half of the twentieth century. Using the same gendered and cultural lenses adopted for our exam ination of the past, we exam ined the decline of the w o m e n ’s associations chosen by Putnam as his barom eter of civic participation in America, and found that the majority of these organizations, based on the analysis in the first section, were relics of the past: groups born of exclusion when w om en had no other avenue to political power. Their decline was, therefore, a positive development for wom en, as w om en dem anded, and w on, a direct (rather than indirect) path to political power: dem ands based on sisterhood (capital building for themselves) rather than m aternalism (capital building for others). The decline of such organizations can also be seen as positive to the extent th at they were engaged in either exclusionary or assimilationist projects in relation to ethnic minorities. We also discovered that traditional organizations do not have to decline if they adapt to the changing time, m ost particularly respecting (in real and concrete ways) the principles of gender equity or cultural diversity. O u r analysis also questioned whether Putnam had accurately m easured newer kinds of civic activity. Two specific areas of increased engagem ent by w om en in American society overlooked by Putnam are the direct involvement of w om en in politics as candidates, elected representatives, and senior party organizers, and the exploding n u m bers of female athletes in various sporting activities (beyond bow ling). In both cases the levels of netw orks, social contacts, com m unity developm ent, enjoined by each such individual engagement, represents an enorm ous “ incline” in social capital over the latter half of the twentieth century. In light of our analysis of social capital both in the past and present, w h a t can we say ab o u t the future of American civic society? First, it should be m ade clear th at the call by Putnam , along w ith com m uni-

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tarians and third way theorists for a renewed focus on the com m unity and civic engagement is an im portant normative claim; one which clearly resonates in both the theoretical and practical w orlds of liberal democratic politics. In carving o ut a space between the state and individual, social capital theorists are attem pting to create a renewed sense of com m unity and civic spirit. This is an im p o rtan t endeavor, one th at challenges the basic underpinnings of m odern political th eo ry, which has focused either (through liberalism) on the individual or (through socialism) on the state. In creating this new space between the private sphere of the individual and family and the public sphere of the state, care m ust be taken, as has been discussed, to ensure that we pursue not only the goal of com m unity but the equally im portant and rigorous demands of justice. Thus, as we try to create this civic space and fill it with the increased participation of individual citizens, we need to think carefully about the nature of these social connections. M aking the com m unity more connected will not necessarily address other valuable concerns that have been raised through this analysis of social capital in relation to historically subordinated groups. Justice requires that we pay special attention n ot only to the num ber but also the kin d of connections we are building both in terms of particular associations and the com m unity as a whole. The real question is not how do we create community, but how do we create just communities, that neither exclude, nor assimilate; nor put a differential cost on w om en than men; communities th at ultimately seek to em pow er those w ho have been historically marginalized. Ultimately, unless the historical and current implications of the gendered and cultural dimensions of American social capital are acknowledged and countered, the search for a ju st com m unity will be in vain. N otes 1. T h e a u th o r w o u ld like to th a n k the editors of this volum e for their com m ents on an earlier draft. Unless stated otherwise, future references to P u tn am are from B o w ling A lone: T he Collapse a n d R evival o f A m erican C o m m u n ity (N ew York: Simon & Schuster, 2000). 2. P u tn am suggests th a t his w o rk is sometimes interpreted as an exam ple of “ declensionist n arrativ e s” o f “ decline an d fall” endemic to A merican “ letters,” b ut he argues th a t he is also w riting a b o u t the “ revival” of com m unity (B ow ling A lon e, 24). As such, P u tn a m ’s social capital thesis follows m ore closely the Christian three-staged narrative: an ancient paradise, lost th ro u g h hu m a n error (the fall), w ith a prom ised redem ption if h u m a n beings can regain their civic faith. 3. P utnam , B o w lin g A lone, 19.

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4. Ibid., 56. 5. Jam es S. C olem an, “ Social C apital in the C reation of H u m a n C apital,” A m e r ican Journal o f Sociology Suppl. 94 (1988): 300. 6. P u tn am , B o w lin g A lone, 20; C olem an, “ Social C apital,” 116. 7. Pierre Bordieu, “T h e Form s of C apital,” in H a n d b o o k o f T heory a nd Research fo r the Sociology o f E ducation, ed. Jo h n G. R ichardson (N ew York: G reenw ood Press, 1986). 8. Ibid., 241. 9. Ibid., 250. 10. P u tn am , B o w lin g A lon e, 383. 11. T he term political is defined as n o t simply th a t w hich relates to the governm ent o r state, b u t m o re b roadly the exercise of p o w er w ithin society. For a further discussion see B arbara Arneil, Politics a n d Fem inism (O xford, UK and M alden, MS: Blackwell, 1999). 12. P u tn am , B o w lin g A lone, 389. 13. C arole P ate m an , T he Sexua l C ontract (O xford: Polity Press, 1998); Carole P atem an , T he D isorder o f W om en: Democracy, Fem inism a n d Political T heory (Stanford, CA: Stanford Univ. Press, 1989). 14. C harles Mills has show n, in a n analysis similar to P ate m an ’s gendered critique o f social c o n tra c t theory, th a t fraternalism is also shaped by race. See Mills, T he Racial C ontract (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1997). 15. Elisabeth Clemens, “ O rg an izatio n al Repertories and Institutional Change: W o m en ’s G ro u p s and the T ran sfo rm atio n of A merican Politics, 1890– 1920,” in Civic E nga gem ent in A m erican D em ocracy, eds. T heda Skocpol and M o rris P. Fiorina (W ashington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999), 86. 16. T h ed a Skocpol an d M orris P. Fiorina, “ M a k in g Sense of the Civic Engagem ent D eb ate,” in Civic E nga gem ent in A m erican D em ocracy, eds. T h ed a Skocpol and M o rris P. Fiorina (W ashington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999), 14– 17. 17. Ibid., 14. 18. Ibid., 14– 15 19. T h ed a Skocpol, Protecting Soldiers a n d M others: T he Politics o f Social P rovision in the U nited States: 1870s to 1920s (C am bridge, MA: H a rv a rd Univ. Press, 1992); Clemens, “ O rg an izatio n al R epertoires.” 20. C olem an, “ Social C apital,” 116. 21. Linda G o rd o n , “ Black an d W hite Visions o f Welfare: W o m en ’s Welfare Activism, 1 8 9 0 – 1945,” Th e Journal o f A m erican H isto ry 78, no. 2 (September 1991): 576. 22. Anne Firor Scott, “ M o st Invisible of All: Black W o m en ’s V oluntary Associations,” Journal o f Southern H isto ry 56, no. 1 (February 1990): 3–22. 23. P u tn am , B o w lin g A lo ne, 375. 24. Ibid., 396. 25. Ibid., 391. 26. Ibid., 391. 27. Cole H arris, “ Power, M o d e rn ity an d H istorical Geography,” A nnals o f th e A s sociation o f A m erica n G eographers 81, no. 4 (D ecember 1991): 680. 28. P u tn am , B o w lin g A lo n e, 393, 395. 29. T here is an en o rm o u s literature o n the residential school system in C an a d a and its link to the C hristian church. A succinct sum m ary can be found in the R oyal

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31. 32.

33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

38. 39.

40.

41.

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C o m m issio n on A borig inal Peoples, N o . 2, (G overnm ent of C an ad a, C anada C o m m u n icatio n s G ro u p Publishing O tta w a , 1996). Bob Harvey, “ C hurches Fear Financial R uin from Lawsuits: Alleged Abuse at N ative Schools Spaw ns Millions in C laim s,” O tta w a C itizen (April 1999); R ichard Foot, “ United C h u rch Facing M a jo r Cuts to Pay D am ages,” N a tio n a l Post,( N o v em b er 6, 1999): A12; “Anglican Diocese Faces Bankruptcy,” Christian C entury 116, no. 2 7 (O cto b er 13, 1999): 960. Steven Diner, A Very D ifferen t Age: A m ericans o f the Progressive Era (N ew York: Hill & W ang, 1998), 116. Linda G o rd o n , H eroes o f their O w n Lives: T he Politics a n d H isto ry o f Family Violence (N ew York: Viking, 1998); G o rd o n , “Black and W h ite ” ; Seth Koven an d Sonya Michel, “W om anly Duties: M atern alist Politics and the O rigins of Welfare States in France, Germany, G reat Britain, and the US, 1880– 1 920,” A m erica n H istorical R eview 95, no. 4 (O cto b er 1990): 1076– 1108; Scott, “M o st Invisible o f All.” G o rd o n , “ Black an d W h ite ” ; Paula Giddings, W hen a n d W here I Enter: T h e Im p a ct o f Black W o m en on Race and Sex in A m erica (N ew York: M o rro w , 1984); C ynthia N e v erd o n -M o rto n , A fro -A m erica n W om en o f the So u th a n d the A d va n cem en t o f the Race 1895– 1925 (Knoxville, T N : Univ. of Tennessee Press, 1989); Scott, “ M o s t Invisible of All.” Scott, “ M o st Invisible of All,” 4– 5. G o rd o n , “ Black an d W h ite,” 578. P u tn am , B o w lin g A lo n e, 400. Edw in Black, War A g a in st the Weak: Eugenics a n d A m e ric a ’s C am paign to Create a M aster R ace (N ew York: Four Walls Eight W indow s, 2003); N a n c y O rd o ver, A m erica n Eugenics: Race, Q ueer A natom y, a n d the Science o f N ationa lism (M inneapolis: Univ. of M in n e so ta Press, 2003). P u tn am , B o w lin g A lo n e, 400. T he PTA grew o u t o f the Congress of M o th ers, an d is no longer a female exclusive association, but its origins are the same as the other groups, and as Susan C raw fo rd an d Peggy Levitt have dem o n strated , one of the key challenges for the PTA (and o th e r civic associations) is the necessity to a d a p t to c o n tem p o rary c o n ditions. “ O rganizations th a t operate as if their m em bership continues to be the p red o m in an tly w hite, middle-class, stay-at-hom e m others o f previous decades find themselves increasingly irrelevant in to d a y ’s w orld.” See Susan C raw fo rd a n d Peggy Levitt, “ Social C hange an d Civic Engagement: T he Case of the PTA,” in Civic E nga gem ent in A m erican D em ocracy, eds. T heda Skocpol and M orris P. Fiorina (W ashington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999), 250. P u tn am does n o t disaggregate the Girl Scouts from the Boy Scouts, b ut as we shall see in o u r analysis, there are critical norm ative and empirical differences between these tw o g roups in relation to the issue of decline. As R. Darcy, Susan Welch, and Ja n et C lark n ote in W om en, E lections an d R e p resentation (2nd ed.) (Lincoln: Univ. o f N e b ra sk a Press, 1994), the increase in the n u m b e r o f w o m en ru nning for political office since the 1960s has been d ram atic, an d contradicts P u tn a m ’s conclusion th a t there is a universal decline in direct political p articipation over this sam e time period. F or exam ple, in local politics w o m en officeholders have increased fourfold between 1975 and 1988 (31); in state legislatures the percentage o f w o m e n m em bers has increased from

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44. 45.

46. 47.

48. 49.

50. 51. 52.

53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60.

B a rb ara A rneil 13.3 percent in 1981 to 2 1 .2 percent in 1993 (54); and increased to 2.2.3 percent by 2 0 0 1 . T h e percentage of w o m e n m e m bers in the U.S. H o u se of R epresentatives has also inclined progressively from 4.1 percent in 1977 to 13.9 percent in 2 0 0 1 . Perhaps the m ost d ram atic (and recent) story of direct political p o w er is the U.S. Senate. As o f 2 0 0 0 , 13 percent of U.S. Senators were female, com pared to 9 percen t in the previous Congress, an d no m ore th a n tw o w o m en (approximately 2 % ) in any Senate p rio r to 1992. M o s t recent figures taken from: www. caw p.rutgers.edu/Facts/Officeholders/cong. (Center for A m erican W om en and Politics, Rutgers University) W h a t is the O rder o f the E astern S tar? Accessed June 2 004. Available from w w w .easternstar.org. Title I X — Q u estio n s a n d A nsw ers, no. 13. Accessed M a y 15, 2 002. Available from http://w ww .wom enssportsfoundation.org/cgi-bin/iowa/issues/rights/article. htm l?record=888 P u tn a m , B o w lin g A lo n e, 110, foo tn o te 50. SG M A (Sporting G o o d M an u fa c tu re rs Association), G aining G round: A Progress R ep o rt on W o m en in Sports, 1998; SGM A, G aining G round: A Progress R e p o rt on W om en in Sports, 2000. N C A A Participation Statistics R ep o rt (1982–2000). Available from http://w w w . n caa.org/library/rese arch/participation_rates/l 9 8 2 -2 0 0 0 /0 0 5 -0 0 8 .pdf P u tn am , B o w lin g A lo n e, 4 4 0 –44. P u tn am did n o t distinguish between the Boy Scouts an d Girl Scouts of A merica, b u t it w o u ld have been useful to disaggregate these figures because since 2 0 0 0 , the m em bership levels have declined in the form er and g ro w n in the latter. Accessed June 15, 2 0 0 2 . Available fro m h ttp ://w w w .hadassah.org/about/htm T h ed a Skocpol, “A dvocates w ith o u t M em bers: Recent T ransform ations of Civic Life,” in Civic E ngag em ent in A m erican D em ocracy, eds. T heda Skocpol and M o rris P. Fiorina (W ashington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999), 4 6 1 – 510. Skocpol, “A dvocates,” 5 0 0 – 501. W ho A re W e? Accessed June 2002. Available from http://w w w .m ooseintl.org/ p u b lic/w ho_are_w e.aspx O n e should n o t o v erlook th a t there has been a sim ultaneous decline in the m e m bership o f M o o se (men) p erhaps related to the fact th a t previous fraternal d rin k ing areas w ere n o w “ family centers.” G irl Scouts A n n u a l R ep ort, 2 0 0 2 . Available from http://w ww .girlscouts.org Everett L add, “ T he D ata Ju st D o n ’t Show Erosion of A m erica’s ‘Social C apital,’” T h e Public Perspective (June / July 1996): 4, 15. Peg Tyre, “W here the Girls Are,” N e w sw e e k 138, no. 6 (July 6, 2001): 51. K ath ry n Jean Lopez, “T h e C ookie C rum bles,” N ationa l R eview 52, no. 20 (O cto b e r 23, 2000): 30. C ath arin e P. Taylor, “ Girl Scouts E xtend M ulticultural R each,” A dvertising A ge 7 3, no. 3 (January 28, 2002): 19. Taylor, “ Girl Scouts E xtend M ulticu ltu ral R each,” 19. Girl Scouts A nnual R eport, 2 0 0 0 :1 6 . Available from http://w ww .girlscouts.org A n d rew Stephen, “ Boy Scouts Fail the Tolerance Test,” N e w Statesm an 130, no. 4 5 4 9 (July 6 , 2 0 0 1 ) : 16.

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61. For the annual reports o f the Boy Scouts of America see: http://w w w .scouting. o rg /nav/enter.jsp?s=xx& c=ds& term s= annual+report. Figures w ere taken from the 1999 an d 2001 A nnual R ep o rt for m em bership com bined from cub scouts an d boy scouts. T h e figure for 2 0 0 2 is 3 ,0 1 1 ,2 6 9 (a decline of 37,801 from 2001 o r just over 1%). 62. Tyre, “W here the Girls Are,” 51. 63. Tyre, “W here the Girls Are,” 51. 64. Bill Berkowitz, “ Girl Scouts o n the Firing Line,” Lesbian N e w s 27, no 4 (N o vem ber 2001): 5 2 – 54; Lopez. 65. Accessed Ju n e 22, 2 0 0 2 . Available from http://w ww .girlscouts.org 66. N ew s release J a n u ary 31, 2002. Accessed June 22, 2 002. Available from http:// w ww .girlscouts.org 67. N ew s release Jan u a ry 11, 2001. Accessed June 22, 2 002. Available from http:// w ww .girlscouts.org

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3 The Gender Gap Reversed Political Consumerism as a Women-Friendly Form o f Civic and Political Engagement1 D IETLIN D STOLLE and M IC H E L E M IC H EL ETTI

Introduction

A num ber of scholars w orry that our civic and social life is eroding. H a rv a rd political scientist R obert P utnam 2— arguably the m ost vocal p roponent of this view—-claims that reductions of confidence and social ties have n ot been limited to the political sphere, but rather extend into all aspects of society. Citizens in m any countries n ot only refrain from joining political parties, but they also tend to participate less actively in all kinds of voluntary associations and other social activities. However, several criticisms and arguments have emerged to counter the claims of this “ decline thesis.”3 One of the fundam ental lines of critique here is that the prom oters of the decline thesis capture a one-sided social trend because they exclusively focus on the disappearance of traditional participation mechanisms, while at the same time neglecting new participation styles and m ethods th at are rapidly replacing the old.4 These authors argue that political interest and the willingness to participate in political and societal affairs are still as strong as they were a few decades ago, but th at this no longer translates into m em bership in traditional political organizations.5

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Rather, citizens today (especially w om en and those of the younger generation) prefer participation in looser netw orks characterized by informality and nonhierarchical organization, in addition to various lifestyle-related sporadic mobilization efforts. Participation in informal local groups, political consumerism , involvement in advocacy netw orks, the regular signing and forw arding of e-mail petitions, and the spontaneous organization of protests and rallies, are just a few examples of this p h e nom enon.6 In these examples, we see the impact of the processes of globalization and individualization on political participation. Similarly, the doubts raised against the obsessive focus on formal m emberships and organizations as the sole carriers of social capital have been echoed by scholars studying gender relations; the argum ent here is th at the research on formal and informal socializing is misguided as it looks in the w rong places. By focusing exclusively on the decline of formal organizations, the m ainstream literature fails to acknowledge the fact th at w om en have always participated in “ politics” and th at their participation in political and social life has increased constantly thro u g h o u t the past decades. In m any Western societies, w om en have caught up with men with regard to education levels and they are participating increasingly in the labor market; therefore, since we know that both high education and integration into the labor force have positive “ spillover” effects on voluntary participation and political interest,7 we have every reason to believe that w om en’s participation has risen since World W ar II despite the overall limited time budget that is available to w orking women. This fact is seldom acknowledged in the social capital literature because of an often onesided orientation to w ard formal participation structures. Research is beginning to show that w om en and young people in particular tend to prefer less bureaucratic and hierarchical organizations, and favor participation in loose, informal, m ore egalitarian, and local netw orks.8 H orizontal netw orks, which are better adapted to the needs of the postm odern inform ation society, are being substituted for industrial society’s formal umbrella structures. It is argued that valid forms of social engagement can be found in caring netw orks such as baby-sitting circles and other childcare groups.9 Low ndes’s urges us in particular to consider how informal and small-scale care netw orks actually contribute to the m aintenance of social cohesion within a society. A typical example would be that of young m others in the suburbs organizing to jointly take each oth er’s children to and

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from school. These kinds of arrangements are mostly informal and ad hoc, and are therefore not usually registered in survey research on participation. Nevertheless, they are likely to contribute significantly to the m aintenance of social cohesion and the advancem ent of quality of life w ithin these suburbs. Lowndes therefore launches an appeal to include these kinds of activities in the research on participation and social cohesion: “ In order to investigate the links between social capital, political engagement and ‘good governm ent,’ phenom ena such as friendship, caring and neighborliness all have to be recast as legitimate objects of political enquiry.” 10 A num ber of these “ female” participation patterns, which are often neglected in traditional participation and social capital research, have already been examined. Katzenstein, for instance, develops the thesis that feminist activity does not necessarily translate into the form ation of autonom ous political organizations, but rather that it can express itself through feminist netw orks within larger institutions like the military or c h u rc h .11 Political consumerism is another form of political engagement that can be cast in this light. A case study of contem porary green political consumerism in Sweden found, for instance, that the female members of a large environmental association succeeded in forging a netw ork for green shopping that functions differently from other netw orks dom inated by m en .12 Studies of consumer activism in the American Revolution also show th at wom en were active in the organization of gender-specific netw orks formed to support the independence m ovem ent.13 Here it is particularly o b vious that groups of the population, w ho do not typically perform well on various scales of traditional participation, namely wom en and particularly housewives, were and are predom inantly involved in this activity.14 Case-based evidence aside, however, no extensive data sources have successfully captured these new phenom ena of social/ political engagement. In short, a gendered perspective urges us to broaden our view of w hat is considered relevant political and social participation. The overall critique of the decline thesis m aintains that we may have missed recent developments in forms of participation that are n ot as easy to observe, to count or measure. These forms of engagement are m ore fluid, sporadic, and less organized. In addition, we may have looked in the w rong places all along, because w om en in particular have been regularly involved on an everyday basis in social interactions that m ight have wider societal consequences.

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Yet this critique does n ot come w ithout problems. First, we have to establish solid empirical evidence th at convincingly dem onstrates how widespread these new or unobserved forms of civic participation are, and w hether or not w om en are disproportionately draw n to them. Second, we need to ask ab o u t the m otivations behind these forms of political and civic actions. W hy is it, for example, that w om en are particularly interested in political consumerism? Finally, we consider the extent to which these forms of engagement are truly political, in th at they target issues, values, and institutions th at concern the authoritative allocation of values in society. Given these concerns, it seems necessary to combine case study m aterial ab o u t new or “ u n o b served” forms of civic engagement with cross-national survey data.

T heoretical Considerations for the Study o f Political Consum erism

Boycotts and other kinds of consum er actions offer a prim e example of an emerging area of hitherto “ unobserved” citizen involvement. W hen people engage in boycotts they use the m arket as an arena for politics and engage in political consumerism, which can be defined as a consum er’s choice of producers and products based on a variety of ethical and political considerations. Political consumers choose particular producers or products because they w an t to change objectionable institutional or m arket practices. They m ake their choices on the basis of attitudes and values regarding issues of justice, fairness, or noneconom ic m atters that concern personal and family well-being and an ethical or political assessment of favorable and unfavorable business and governm ent practices. Regardless of w hether political consumers act individually or collectively, their m arket choices reflect an understanding of m aterial products as em bedded in a complex social and normative context which may be called the politics behind p ro d u cts.15 This implies th at it is not sufficient th at they buy or boycott certain products; they m ust also know the rationale behind any cam paign or label. Moreover, we also expect th a t they participate in these kinds of acts regularly. Examples of political consum erism are boycott actions against transnational corporations such as Shell, M icrosoft, Nestlé, and N ike (to name a few) as well as “ buycotts” or the use of ecolabeling, organic food labeling, forest and m arine certification schemes, and fair trade labeling systems.16

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However, political consumerism — like political participation and civic engagement in general— comes Janus-faced. O n the one hand, such engagement is truly supportive of and values h u m an rights, corporate ethics, and democratic principles. This is particularly true for campaigns that use a call to buy certain goods and services over others. Labeling schemes for organic food, fair trade products, and environmentally friendly products as well as ethical banking are examples of this positive face of political consum erism .17 M a rk e t studies and opinion polls from Sweden, D enm ark, and Great Britain find th at consumers are increasingly observant of political consumerist labels.18 O n the other hand, boycotts and buycotts can have an ugly face too; for example, such tools have periodically been employed in various campaigns against particular ethnic, religious, or racial groups, and to w ard the advancem ent of nationalistic goals. Probably the m ost infamous example is the “D o n ’t Buy Jew ish” boycotts that began in Europe at the end of the nineteenth century. The m ood of the time allowed anti-Semitic groups and political parties to publicly encourage people to boycott Jewish goods and Jewish m erchants. Boycott activities were particularly intense and violent in G erm any in the 1930s, but they also emerged in m any countries a round the globe. Scholars have called them the “cold pog ro m s” of the interw ar years, events that “ underm ined the livelihood of hundreds of thousands of Jews.” 19 O ther political consumerist activities th at can be questioned on norm ative grounds are the African-American “D o n ’t Buy W here You C a n ’t W o rk ” cam paign used by Black N ationalist groups to p r o m ote anti-white and anti-Semitic attitudes and actions, the N o rth American “ Buy U n io n ” label campaigns that prom ote protectionism and nationalism , and the ongoing boycott of the W alt Disney C o m pany which involves such a diversity of contradictory claims from church groups, racial and ethnic groups, and supporters of fair trade th at it is difficult to understand how they can allow themselves to be represented on the same Internet boycott site. This chapter explores political consumerism as an unobserved but increasingly frequent form of civic or political engagement th at seems particularly attractive to women. The question, first and foremost, is: H o w widespread is the phenom enon of political consumerism am ongst wom en? To answer this question we utilize both case study m aterial and survey data. The problem here, of course, is the difficulty in measuring quantitatively an activity that has n ot yet been well defined. Acts of political consumerism are less organized, less

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structured, and possibly m ore spontaneous than conventional participation, m aking any kind of standard m easurem ent very difficult. Below, we illustrate such issues by dem onstrating the strengths and weaknesses of various measurem ents that are supposed to capture the phenom enon of political consumerism. The second area of inquiry addresses the fact th at wom en are disproportionately draw n into political consum er activity, as show n in our case study materials and survey analyses. Political participation research and social capital research have established a persistent gender gap in political interest, political knowledge, and conventional forms of participation.20 Despite some persistent gender differences, though, w om en at the turn of the twenty-first century were just as likely to vote as their male counterparts, and they were m ore involved in the social interactions th at Putnam calls schmoozing.21 However, w om en have been show n to join fewer clubs or groups, even though they invest m ore time in such group life than men.22 Only in rare cases have w om en been found to be politically m ore active th an men.23 O u r case studies presented below show that, historically, wom en have frequently been involved in political consumerist acts. If our data confirm th at w om en are m ore involved in political consumerism than men, we need to ask why this is the case. Is it a consequence of the historically disproportionate involvement of w om en in shopping for their families? Are w om en m otivated by different considerations than men w hen they m ake purchases? The third and final issue under scrutiny is the question of the p o litical and societal character of this kind of behavior. In other words, is political consumerism a form of civic engagement th at has wider societal consequences? Two academic debates shape these kinds of questions. First, it is im p o rta n t to note that conceptions of social capital differ. Sociological accounts of social capital place m uch more emphasis on the individual character and benefits of a variety of social netw orks.24 By contrast, Putnam and other political scientists tend to stress the civic c o m m u n ity aspects of social capital.25 This civic com m unity approach highlights the im portance of generalized trust as the social “ lubricant” facilitating collective action. There is little attention paid to individualized forms of reciprocity (including tit for ta t obligations), and a great deal more to generalized reciprocity. M oreover, the civic com m unity approach singles out social netw orks th at have the potential to spill over into a societal agenda and politics at large. This adm ittedly n a rro w approach to social capital

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has been criticized, and reveals the original division within the social capital camp between sociological (predom inantly netw ork-based) accounts and political science (often attitudinally based) ones. The civic com m unity approach w ould urge us to ask whether the more frequent, new, or unobserved forms of civic engagement have similar effects to those that are assumed to exist in conventional forms of engagement. Does political consumerism spill over into the political and societal realm?26 The second debate here takes place within the research on political participation. Some scholars argue that we must restrict our definitions of politics and political participation to activities that are directly and explicitly placed in the political realm. According to these authors, any other approach entails the risk of evolving to w a rd a “ theory of everything.”27 O thers, however, argue th at political scientists m ust be open to the fact that people are leaving the traditional political realm and finding new ways of expressing themselves politically.28 We acknowledge both of these claims, and in this chapter we will endeavor to avoid both traps by closely examining the political character of these consum er acts. The challenge is to develop a concept of civic engagement and social capital that distinguishes the political sphere from other spheres of action (and political and civic engagement from other forms of actions), w ithout narrow ing dow n the definitions in such a w ay that they no longer reflect political reality and shut out ways in which wom en engage in politics and society. These areas of inquiry are at the center of the controversy over how social scientists should conceptualize politics, political participation, and civic engagement. They are a good starting point in our effort to study political consumerism as a wom en-friendly form of political participation. We approach a fairly new area of social science inquiry here, so we do not have one ideal data set available that allows us to answer these questions. We therefore utilize a com bination of case studies as well as a large variety of cross-national survey materials th at help to address these issues.

H o w Widespread is Political Consumerism?

Anecdotal evidence suggests that the use of political consumerism has been on the rise since the 1970s and 1980s, partly as a result of globalization processes. Although there is only limited survey material

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on consum er boycotts an d buycotts, scholars have show n th at several less-researched forms of political participation (including boycotts, for example) have increasingly been used as a political tool.29 It has also been claimed that the num ber of boycotts organized worldwide is increasing.30 The various waves of the World Values Survey (WVS) are a prime data source for detecting trends in political participation behavior since the 1970s and 1980s. Unfortunately there is only one relevant question in the W orld Values Surveys on participating in consum er boycotts that can be used longitudinally. We can extend the time series by com paring WVS data w ith the results from the 1974 Political Action Survey.31 Extrem e care should be taken in doing so, since sampling procedures and the wording of various items have changed since the early 1970s. The num bers reported in figures 3.1 to 3.3 therefore, should only be taken to indicate a general trend, and n ot as a precise m easurem ent. In figure 3.1, we com pare trends in boycott participation with trends in the signing of petitions, dem onstrations and occupation of buildings. Clearly, together w ith several other new or emerging forms of political participation, boycotts have increased in frequency in the countries where we can com pare participation trends over time. The signing of petitions was very widespread at the end of the twentieth century, and a large pro p o rtio n of citizens have also participated in dem onstrations. The involvement in boycotts has steadily increased over time as well, and in fact, it is the form of political participation th at has experienced the strongest grow th over time, as the ratios in figure 3.1 indicate. Participation in boycotts was m ore than four times as likely in 1999 com pared to 1974, whereas for all the other forms grow th has been at a lower rate. Political consumerism is particularly visible in Scandinavia, where scholars have studied the phenom enon for decades. The Swedish Study of Power and Dem ocracy found that using boycotts for societal and political purposes (within the past 12 months) had increased from 15 percent in 1987 to 29 percent in 1997.32 Boycotting ranked third as a form of political participation in both the 1987 and 1997 Swedish surveys, m aking it a m ore frequent form of political participation th an contacting civil servants, a civil society association, a politician, or a media actor, and allowing oneself to be represented by w orking in a political party and civil society association. It was outranked by the signing of petitions and financial contributions to a

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1:2.9

60

Percent engaged in political activity

50 Signed Petition Demonstrated Boycotted Occupied Buildings

40

30 1:2.7 20 1:4.4 10 1:2.4

0 1974 Political Action

FIGURE 3.1

1981 WVS

1990 WVS

1999 WVS

T he Rise of N e w Form s of Political Participation.

Notes: Data points are percentages of respondents indicating that they have participated in these acts. Source: 1974 Political Action survey; 1981/1990 and 1999/00 World Values Surveys; only for those countries that were included in both surveys (Finland, Germany, Great Britain, Italy, Netherlands). The political action batteries in both surveys used a similar question wording on political activities. For example, the signing of petitions is nearly three times as likely in 1999 compared to 1974. Survey information: Political Action in Barnes & Kaase (1979), 537– 591; WVS: see www.worldvaluessurvey.org.

cause.33 By 2002, it was found th at 33 percent of Swedes had boycotted a product in the past 12 m onths, and 55 percent of Swedes had deliberately bought a product for political, ethical, or environm ental reasons.34 Given the rise of political consumerism in advanced industrialized democracies, it is quite puzzling th at the phenom enon has been neglected in m ost contem porary discussions of political participation and involvement.35

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Female Political Consumers? O ne obvious group that is mobilized through these unobserved, lessresearched, or seemingly new forms of participation is wom en. If we look at boycotts, for example, we see th at in the 1970s this was still a predom inantly male activity; over subsequent decades, however, we see th at in 10 out of 16 West European countries included in the W orld Value Survey the gender gap for boycotting steadily decreased, and it was even entirely reversed in some Scandinavian countries. In the 2002 ESS survey, we find in 9 o ut of 21 countries a reversed gender gap for boycotts. For the usually unm easured activity of “ buyc o ttin g ” (i.e., deliberately buying products for ethical or political reasons), we find an even stronger reversal: in all countries but Spain and Israel we see m ore w om en than men involved in buycotting. In figure 3.2 we explicitly com pare the seven West European co u n tries th at were included in both the Political Action Survey and the E uropean Social Survey. As figure 3.2 dem onstrates, the acts of sign-

Percent of Women doing it less/ more than men

G ender Inequality in 1974 and 2000

100

100 80 60

Party Membership Protested Signed Petition

Contacted a Politician Voted Political Consumer

80 60

40

40

20

20

0

0 -2 0

-2 0

-4 0

-4 0

-6 0

-6 0 Political Action Survey 1974 excluding the U.S.

FIGURE 3.2

European Social Survey 7 European Countries

G ender D istribu tio n o f all Political Acts in 1974 an d 2002.

Note: Data includes seven countries in the Political Action Survey (excluding the U.S.) and the European Social Survey: Austria, Finland, Germany, Great Britain, Italy, Netherlands, Switzerland.

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ing petitions, boycotting, and participating in dem onstrations started o ut with the typical gender gap in the 1970s, but by the turn of the twenty-first century the gender gap had either declined, been equalized, or reversed entirely. This m eans th at the “ fem inization” of boycott actions can be seen as pa rt of a larger social trend.36 M ost importantly, political consumerism is actually being practiced m ore by w om en now. It is also true that the closing or even reversed gender gap can be found mostly in actions that are on the rise or have rem ained stable between 1974 and 2002. O n the other hand, for acts th at clearly show a dow nw ard trend (political party m embership, contacting a politician, etc.), the traditional gender gap remains present and does not even show a visible sign of being reduced. In other w ords, party m em bership and contacting politicians have n ot only declined in the general population, but they also rem ain predom inantly male activities. Voting is a special case, as the gender gap here had already been overcome in the 1970s (at least in the selected European countries,) and this remained unchanged in 2002. This analysis suggests th at w om en participate predom inantly in new forms of engagement th at are located outside the traditional political b o u n d aries. W om en’s participation in consum er actions, for example, can partially explain the expansion of this form of engagement since the 1970s, but m ore than that, it seems to be a political act favored m ore by w om en than by men. If we look at the cross-national distribution of political consum erism in figure 3.3, we see that it has apparently become a near-routine form of engagement (particularly in Scandinavia); at least 40 and as m any as 63 percent of w om en have chosen a product for political or ethical purposes. However, the use of political consumerism as a p o litical tool is not evenly distributed. In Southern and Eastern Europe, for example, buycotting (as well as boycotting) do n ot belong to the frequent political practice of w om en. These differences are certainly linked to the presence of labelling schemes nationally, the availability of labelled goods in stores and other national factors th at influence this form of transnational activism, which w arrant further investigation.37 M oreover, in countries where political consumerism is m ost widespread, we also see the largest reversed gender gaps, indicating th at w om en are essential in bringing this political tool into m ain stream use. This preliminary analysis shows th at some new forms of participation mobilize and include groups of the population, such as wom en,

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Dietlind Stolle an d M ichele Micheletti Italy Greece Portugal Slovenia Hungary *Poland Spain Israel Women Men

Ireland Netherlands *Czech Republic *Belgium Luxembourg Austria Britain *Norway *Germany *Denmark *Switzerland *Finland *Sweden

0 FIGURE 3.3

10

20 30 40 50 60 Percentage of Those Who Buycott

C ross-N ational D istribution of Buy-Cotting.

Source-. European Social Survey 2002 with all surveyed countries. * Indicates significance of gender difference at p < .05 level.

w ho have been previously excluded, or at least included in an unbalanced way. If we had continued to turn a blind eye to such forms of engagement, this reversal of the gender gap w ould have remained undiscovered. Yet this kind of survey analysis has its limitations. The developm ent of survey items and the im portance of longitudinal and steady measures does n ot easily allow for innovation and therefore does n ot capture particularly well w h at w om en actually do in the political realm. For example, whereas boycotts are only practiced by 17 percent of w om en in the 21 ESS countries, 26 percent actually have purchased a p roduct for ethical or political values. In fact, figure 3.3 dem onstrates th at in nine of all countries in the European Social Survey, the

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reversed gender gap is significant at the p < .05 level. However, m ost surveys do n ot contain a buycott question. This probably m eans that we underestim ate a variety of political and civic activities that might be regularly pursued by w om en. Political consumerism requires and is therefore related to political interest and political informationgathering on products and production practices.38 Similarly, these omissions m ight also lead to the underreporting of w o m e n ’s activities in child care netw orks; as vocal citizens of welfare state services (so-called user democracy) in, for instance, discussions of societal questions in the education process of their children; or other such activities th at are never or rarely measured. We therefore suggest that our results indicate th at we constantly underestimate the extent to which wom en are engaged in politics and civic society because of the lack of appropriate m easurem ents and the narro w concept of political involvement used in survey research. Evidence depicting this reversed gender gap prom pts even more unsolved puzzles. If conventional forms of civic and political involvem ent decline and these other forms (such as political consumerism) rise in their place, we need to examine the consequences of such a transform ation.39 We k n o w that the traditional (and m ale-dom inated) acts can be highly effective to get one’s views across to political decision makers. There is indeed a danger that new types of participation are located mostly outside the traditional political arena. Given that they are usually low-cost activities outside the traditional political system (and not targeted at it either), perhaps they are less effective than the traditional forms. So, in a way, some scholars might still w orry th at this transform ation could actually w eaken the im pact citizens have on the political system— whether it is narrow ly or broadly defined. To them, participating in a boycott action is a case in point: it m ight be an inclusive w ay to practice politics (at least with regard to gender), but it is targeted mostly at companies and it therefore might let politicians off the hook. Putnam at least is concerned ab o u t “the possibility that the rising forms of civic participation m ight be less suited to the pursuit of collective goods than the forms they are replacing.”40 Given the available evidence in our data, we cannot m ake any definitive statements on that possibility; we will, however, examine the political character of this activity below. Before we move to that section, we ask w hy wom en seem particularly draw n to political consumerism.

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W hy Women?

The results discussed above have presented us with a puzzle. Although with m ost conventional forms of participation and civic engagement w om en are less engaged than men, political consumerism has (among a few other types of acts) reversed the classic gender gap. W hy is this the case? In the following section we examine four alternative explanations for this reversed gender gap. An obvious explanation might be th at this phenom enon reveals a legacy of the past: w om en have traditionally been family shoppers and have, on certain historical occasions, used their consum er pow er to change society. Alternatively, w om en m ay still be the gender th at shops m ore today a n d therefore will be better acquainted w ith ethical and political shopping opportunities. A third explanation might be th at w om en m ay base their decisions to shop ethically and politically on different m otivations than men. Finally, as w om en have been found to be m ore postm aterialistic and more attracted to looser forms of political involvement, they may be m ore inclined to view consum er choices as an im portant avenue for their political and civic concerns. We examine these explanations in turn.

Gender and Shopping The first explanation concerns historical patterns of engendered political participation th at m ay still be in place today. It may be the case th at w om en are draw n to forms of civic engagement that involve activities in everyday spheres traditionally dom inated by w om en and th at do not involve high costs of collective action.41 Shopping in grocery and departm ent stores is such a sphere. Historical studies from the United States and Europe show how the m arket has been frequently used by w om en as an arena for politics. This research area is still in its infancy, but we find in history cases where w om en have banded together in neighborhood consum er netw orks to fight socioeconomic injustices (the inability to feed their families properly because of high food prices and poverty, for example) in different countries.42 Scholars of the American experience consider their activities “ far m ore widespread and sustained, encompassing a far wider range of ethnic and racial groups than any tenant or consum er uprising before it.”43 Middle-class w om en have even in the past used their purchasing pow er to help p ut an end to domestic sweatshop labor in

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the United States. In the early part of the twentieth century, the “white label cam paign,” an anti-sweatshop labeling m ovement, appealed to w om en to buy cotton underw ear for themselves and their children th at was certified as “ sweatshop free.” 44 The white label movem ent can be said to have given w om en access to the political com m unity: it gave them an arena for political action, and their purchasing choices became a tool to exercise moral and political pow er at a time w hen men dom inated formal civil society and governm ent settings. African-American w om en have also used the m arket as an arena for racial politics. They repeatedly used boycotting as a tool during the civil rights era, with the role played by w om en in the M ontgom ery Bus Boycott being the best-known case.45 Even with full suffrage rights, w om en continued to play a crucial role in political consumerism. The grape boycott in the 1960s, which began in the United States and spread to other countries, w ould probably not have been successful w ithout w o m e n ’s involvement. The boycott really began to have an impact when the United Farm W orkers Union decided to turn its struggle into an issue of shopping for food for the family. W hen consumers (who m ost probably were wom en shoppers) learned th at the pesticides used on grapes were also hazardous to their families and not just to the health of the farm w orkers, they began to boycott grapes in great num bers.46 Also, an engendered reading of available historical materials shows that the international boycott of Nestle, for its m arketing of infant formula in the T hird W orld, m ost likely w ould neither have taken place nor been so successful and effective w ithout the involvement of female health care professionals and w om en organized into a variety of civic netw orks.47 These patterns were present in m ore recent years. For instance, we find th at w om en initiated the 1995 boycott of French econom ically sensitive goods (wine and cheese).48 They also, in the late 1980s, played a crucial role in establishing green political consumerism as a priority area for the Swedish Society for the Conservation of N ature. W h a t is interesting here is that the association’s interest in green p o litical consumerism was sparked by a w o m a n ’s concern about p u rchasing pesticide-free potatoes for her family.49 Also, several w o m e n ’s groups from different countries are involved in the fair trade cam paigns to improve the working conditions of w om en in the global garm ent industry. The presence of w om en in political consumerist settings is echoed in m arket studies from Sweden, D enm ark, and the United States, and

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in citizen surveys from Sweden and D enm ark. From m arket research we kn o w th at w om en stand out as users of organic food labels, the M a x H avelaar fair trade label, and ecolabels for seafood respectively.50 LUI, a Swedish survey institute specializing in consum er research for the farm ing community, finds th at w om en shoppers also stand o ut on awareness of such aspects as w hether food is guaranteed free of salmonella, or w hether it contains G M O s, grow th horm ones, m edicines, chemical additives, and chemical pesticides.51 The authors of the U.S. study on ecolabeled seafood report that the “gender of the respondent has an impact on choice, w ith w om en m ore likely to choose certified products across all species,” and th at “variables representing age, income, education, and political affiliation are generally insignificant individually and jointly. . . . ”52 Activists involved in political consum erism also confirm the im portance of w om en, and underscore th at middle-class w om en are the focal group for all new consumerist efforts. They are seen as the people w ith the interest and m eans for this kind of political involvement.53 In short, historical and contem p orary case studies confirm th at w om en are predom inantly active in this area of engagement. Are w om en of today still the m ain shoppers?

Today’s Women and Shopping Given these insights, it is entirely possible that w om en score higher on political consumerism because they shop m ore often than men. As the historical examples show, w om en have traditionally taken on boycotts and buycotts because the purchase of products is one of the daily tasks in which they engage. O f course, the regularity of shopping itself does not successfully explain why w om en include ethical and political considerations to a higher degree in their shopping decisions th an men, but it might explain the extent to which issues related to shopping are on people’s minds. So, are to d ay ’s w om en m ore involved in shopping? For the answer we have to examine a Swedish national survey including questions about the frequency of shopping.54 Using Sweden as an example here is n ot just of practical value; it is also a good example because political consumerism there is particularly pronounced and the gender gap is highly significant. O u r survey results reveal th at w om en outdo men in frequency of shopping. For example, 29 percent of w om en indicate that they go grocery shopping every day or alm ost every day, whereas only 25

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percent of men belong in this group. The differences are small, but statistically significant (results not shown). However, do w om en, w ho shop m ore regularly, involve themselves more in political consum erist behavior than men w ho shop regularly? W ithout going into a detailed analysis here, we can conclude that w om en as well as men w ho shop for groceries m ore frequently are also m uch m ore engaged in political consumerism. This relationship is statistically significant, and it is unchanged w hen com paring men or w om en. So the frequency of shopping for groceries makes both men and w om en more interested in labels and political consumerist issues, and since w om en are, to a certain extent, still m ore engaged in shopping, this at least partially explains the reversed gender gap for this kind of civic engagement. However, can we be sure that political consumerism can be understood as an act of civic engagement or as a political act? Before we discuss this issue, we turn to the motivations behind political consumerist acts. They m ight reveal additional reasons w hy this activity is attractive for women.

Gender and M otivations for Political Consumerism In order to solve the puzzle of why m ore w om en are involved in ethical and political shopping, we examine the motivations behind political consumerism. W h a t are some of the reasons and causes for which w om en buy certain products over others, or boycott certain p ro d ucts? It is possible th at the gender differences in political consumerist engagement might result from the fact that w om en have either different or possibly a broader variety of m otivational factors behind their shopping decisions and are therefore m ore actively involved. Since questions ab o u t the m otivation of political consumerism are not readily available, we need to turn to another data set that was collected from samples of university students in three countries.55 The pilot study measures acts of political consumerism and other forms of political participation. The survey was administered to students in the social sciences (and particularly political science) in three countries— Belgium, C anada, and Sweden— in the fall of 2002 and the spring of 2 0 0 3 .56 A total of 1,015 students answered the survey: 179 in Belgium (Brussels), 458 in Canada (M ontreal), and 378 in Sweden (Stockholm). The surveys were either administered during class or (in Canada) as a web-survey.57 Although participation was

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voluntary, few students declined to take pa rt in this pilot study, thus reducing the risk of self-selection of respondents. The survey included 112 questions58 and took approxim ately 25 minutes to complete. It was administered in D utch (Brussels), English (M ontreal), and English or Swedish (Stockholm). It is im p o rta n t to note th at the students were n ot explicitly taught ab o u t the concept of political consumerism before the study. The samples selected for this pilot study are by no m eans representative of the populations in the three countries. We do not, therefore, m ake any claims about the predom inance of political consumerism in these three countries.59 Rather, we have used this exploratory study to ascertain w hether consumerism can be considered as a consistent attitudinal and behavioral pattern and as a form of political participation.60 The following analysis includes only those students w ho indicated th at they acted as political consumers. Surprisingly, the gender differences are minor, and country differences are m uch m ore apparent. We present results for gender differences in figure 3.4 even though the graph hides some im portant national differences. Overall, the assum ption that w om en m ight be m otivated by a wider variety of m otivations for political and ethical shopping is correct. O n all m otivational sources, except corporate issues and “other,” w om en indicate m ore concern— even though this tendency is statistically significant in only one issue area; w om en in all three countries say th a t they are m ore concerned ab o u t issues of animal and children’s rights than men, a gender difference th at is particularly strong in Belgium.61 Clearly, animal and children’s rights offer w om en additional reasons to be involved in political consum erism. Interestingly, in nearly all instances of statistical significance, w om en are m ore m otivated by other-regarding issues beyond their personal well-being. O n the other hand, o n e’s ow n health and wellbeing— m otivations that w ould be labeled as being located in the private realm in the m ainstream literature— do n ot show any gender differences. Finally, the critique of corporate practices is predom inantly used by male students as m otivation, significantly so in Sweden and to a lesser extent in Canada. The cross-national sample also allows the discovery of m uch national variation in m otivational sources for ethical and political shopping— evidence (it w ould seem) th at political consumerism is still strongly em bedded in and influenced by national opportunity structures, campaigns, institutions and regulations. For example,

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Percentage of those Mentioning . . .

50

Women

40

Men 30

20

10

FIGURE 3.4

Other

Corporate practices

Minority rights

Protection of children and animals

Family and personal health

Well-being of other nationals

Environmental concerns

0

M o tiv ation s for Political and Ethical Shopping

Source: Pilot Study of Political Consumers in Belgium, Canada, and Sweden (Stolle, Hooghe, and Micheletti 2004). For this graph, the sample encompasses all respondents w ho indicated that they act as political consumers ( see measurement in Stolle, Hooghe, and Micheletti 2004). The bars represent percentages of those respondents w ho mentioned the particular motivation behind their political consumer actions.

the predom inant m otivation is different in each country. Canadians think of the well-being of other citizens in C anada as their m ain m o tivational source for political consumerism. Swedes are m ost strongly concerned about the environment, which can be explained by the p o litical culture of environm ental awareness th at characterizes Swedish politics and everyday environm ental practice am ong the general p u b lic. Belgians, w hether male or female, are strongly driven by personal and family concerns, and they show the highest tendency of the three

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countries to be m otivated by criticism of corporate practices. N a tional Belgian campaigns on children’s exploitation, animal rights, corporate ethics, and a num ber of specific campaigns against c orporate practices, for example against the Campbell food com pany or the Renault car factory, m ight explain these results. In sum, tw o points of this analysis m atter here. M ore w om en than m en m ention a variety of other-regarding m otivations for political consum erist acts; particularly children’s and animal rights are significantly m ore im portant to w om en than to men in addition to a variety of com m on types of m otivation that are of a postm aterialist nature. Together with the fact th at w om en are m ore frequently those w ho do the shopping, this could partially explain why w om en are m ore active as ethical and political consumers than men. The second point is an im portant lead-in to our final discussion: political consumerism is indeed a political and societal phenom enon. We show th at it is m otivated by a variety of sources and issues, including very personal concerns ab o u t one’s health and larger societal concerns ab o u t the environm ent, the well-being of others, and the protection of m inority groups in society, children, and animals. Although very personal co n cerns and benefits such as one’s personal well-being, one’s personal health, and the family’s health are im p ortant motivations for men and w om en in supporting and mobilizing acts of political consum erism, they are n ot the only motivations, and in tw o countries they have a lower ranking as m otivations after a num ber of other-regarding issues. Yet as we know from case studies of political consum erism, private worries over w anting to feed o n e ’s family a nourishing meal can spill over into political action. Once w om en voice their concerns to others they may find that other people share the same private worries. As their discussions become m ore public, they slip into collective action and become involved in public agenda-setting. Even so, the analysis of these m otivations gives evidence that political consum erism goes beyond o n e’s personal sphere and beyond one’s personal concerns and seeks to influence large-scale societal and p o litical problem s mostly based on postm aterialist value patterns.

Political Consum erism — Any News for Studies on Social Capital and Political Participation? The analysis above shows that political consumerism is disproportionately practiced by wom en, partly because w om en are m ore

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engaged in shopping activities than men (although there are few substantive differences in Sweden), and partly because w om en are particularly m otivated by issues of animal and children’s rights. These findings have im portant consequences and implications for the co n cepts of social capital and participation. First, they reveal a weakness in m ainstream surveys, which generally do not measure certain forms of civic engagement related to the everyday lives of w om en and are very m uch immersed in daily activities like shopping. From case study research, we learn that political consumerism allows w om en to w ork on political issues in a way they find comfortable and natural from the perspective of their interests and roles in society. It makes politics tangible. Political consumerism is also characterized m ore by lowthreshold everyday involvement in a familiar sphere, which implies a m ore netw ork-oriented and individualized form of political participation th at seems to appeal to w om en. W hen com pared to public decision-making arenas, the m arket is less distanced from our daily lives, and it allows w om en and other groups to use their creativity in a m ultitude of m ore individualized ways. This is the case because the looseness and indeterminacy of consum ption appeals to people w ho still tend to find themselves marginalized in formal, institutional settings of the political system. These insights are im portant additions to conceptual form ulations of political participation and civic engagement, and we urge social scientists to open their fram ew orks to include such individualized political activities. A concept th at best describes this kind of involvement has been developed by D anish political scientists, and is called “everyday m a k ing.” It helps us to understand how citizen initiatives can be viewed as hands-on forms of civic and political engagement.62 Everyday makers become involved w ith issues in a local, practical, and specific way. They may w ork alone or in ad hoc netw orks organized outside the formal system of politics and across traditional political and ideological boundaries.63 Danish research shows that everyday-maker issues include local health care, park improvements or locations, and relocations of governm ent services. In line with this, we can view everyday makers as street-level political entrepreneurs w ho seek solutions for very concrete or local problems. It seems clear that issues of globalization, consum ption, and even concrete consum er goods such as coffee, jeans, toilet paper, and tropical w ood should be considered as everyday-maker concerns. They should not get lost in our tallying of im portant citizens activities.

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We started this chapter with the question of whether we could consider political consumerism as a form of political participation and civic engagement. Those w ho argue th at civic engagement is in decline w orry that other forms of political and social involvement are unique, time-limited, too spontaneous, single-issue oriented, and inw ard-oriented and that they cannot, therefore, further develop dem ocratic traditions and society. Is this a correct interpretation or does it just reflect the narrow view of politics and public involvement th at is com m only used in political science research? Can we consider them as political even though they occur outside the traditional political arena? The concept of subpolitics is helpful here because it recognizes th at politics can emerge in places other th an formal politics (the parliam entary arena), the site of the conventional political science definition of politics and political participation. It stands for politics (or civic engagement) emerging from below and from the outside. Subpolitics is related to processes of globalization and to citizens’ perceptions about governm ent’s inability to understand, control and take responsibility for the new uncertainties and risks created by public and corporate policy. Scholars of subpolitics claim th at the responsibility vacuum created by governm ent’s inability to do so is being filled by active subpoliticians,64 that is, citizens w ho take responsibilities in their everyday, perhaps individual-oriented life. As such, subpolitics cuts across the public and private spheres. The point that needs emphasizing, especially in relationship to the debate about the decline in social capital, is th at this development should n ot solely be understood as a flight from politics, cocooning, a retreat from public concerns, or a defense for a purely self-oriented and self-interested private life. Rather, it is quite possible that the self-orientation or individualization apparent in subpolitics is about individuals taking responsibility for the well-being of themselves and others by means th at differ considerably from those of conventional political representation and participation. O u r findings confirm th at political consumerism is now a standard element of political participation repertoires in Western society today. As such we believe this phenom enon should receive m ore explicit attention in future research on political participation and civic engagement. It is quite striking that entire bookshelves have been filled with studies on the political use of the Internet, while political consumerism thus far has been little studied. We m ust rem ember that all less-institutionalized forms of participation are harder to measure

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than conventional ones. A single survey question is sufficient to ascertain whether someone is a member of a political party, but we need a more complex empirical fram ew ork in order to understand w hether someone can be considered a political consumer.65 Questions on boycotts, buycotts, and m otivations behind consum er decisions should be included in future representative surveys on political participation a nd social capital. They help us understand how w om en engage in civic and political life and they help us engender and revitalize our concepts of politics and political action. Notes 1. T he research for this ch ap ter was financed by the Swedish R esearch Council (Vetenskapsrå det) th ro u g h the Political C onsu m p tio n: Politics in a N e w Era a nd A rena project th a t involves M ichele M icheletti and Dietlind Stolle. This c h a p ter w o uld n o t have been possible w ith o u t trem endous su p p o rt from Dr. M arc H oo g h e (Leuven, Brussels); both au thors th a n k him for d ata collection in Belgium an d stim ulating conceptual discussions. We also th a n k M a tth e w W right an d Jean-F rançois C répault for excellent research assistance. 2. R o b ert Putnam , “ Bowling Alone: A m erica’s Declining Social C apital,” Journal o f D em ocracy 6, no. 1 (1995): 65–78; R o bert Putnam , B o w lin g Alone: T he Collapse a n d R evival o f A m erican C o m m u n ity (N ew York: Simon & Schuster, 2000); R o b ert P utnam , ed. D em ocracies in Flux (Oxford: O x fo rd Univ. Press,

2 0 0 2 ). 3. Dietlind Stolle and M a rc H ooghe, “ Inaccurate, Exceptional, O ne-sided o r Irrelevant? The D ebate ab o u t the Alleged Decline of Social C apital and Civic Engagem ent in W estern Societies,” British Journal o f Political Science, 35 n o . l (2005): 149–167. 4. H en rik P. Bang and Eva Sorensen, “T he Everyday M aker: A N e w Challenge to D em ocratic G ov ernance,” A dm inistrative T h eo ry a n d Praxis 21, no. 3 (1999): 3 2 5 -4 2 ; W. Lance Bennett, “T he UnCivic Culture: C o m m un ication, Identity, and the Rise of Lifestyle Politics,” PS: Political Science an d Politics 31, no. 4 (1998): 7 4 1 – 61; N in a Eliasoph, A vo id in g Politics (C am bridge, UK: C am bridge Univ. Press, 1998); Peter G undelach, “Social T ransform ation and N e w Form s of V oluntary A ssociations,” Social Science In fo rm a tio n 23, no. 6 (1984): 1049– 81; Bente Halkier, “ Consequences of the Politicization of C on sum p tio n: T he E x am ple o f E nvironm entally Friendly C onsu m p tio n Practices,” Journal o f E n viro n m en ta l Policy a n d P lanning 1 (1999): 2 5–41. 5. N in a Eliasoph, A void in g Politics; Paul Lichterm an, T he Search fo r Political C o m m u n ity (C am bridge, UK: C am bridge Univ. Press, 1996). 6. Pippa N orris, D em ocratic Phoenix: R ein ven ting Political A ctivism (Cam bridge, UK: C am bridge Univ. Press, 2002); Dietlind Stolle and M ichele M icheletti, “ Forw arding Justice” (unpublished m anuscript, 2005); R o bert W uthnow , L o ose C o nnections: Joining T ogether in A m erica’s Fragm ented C o m m u nities (Cam bridge, MA: H a rv a rd Univ. Press, 1998).

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7. Kristi A ndersen and Elizabeth A. C o o k , “W om en, W ork, an d Political A ttitudes,” A m erica n Journal o f Political Science 29 (1985): 606 –25; Sidney Verba, Kay L ehm an Schlozman and H en ry Brady, Voice a n d Equality: Civic V oluntarism in A m erica n Politics (C am bridge, M A: H a rv a rd Univ. Press, 1995). 8. M an u el C astells, T h e N e tw o rk s Society (O xford: Blackwell, 1997); Joep de H a rt et al., eds. Z e kere Banden: Sociale C oh esie, L eefbaarh eid en Veiligheid (The Hague: SCP, 2002); P. D ekker and M . H oogh e, “ De burger-nachtw aker. Verschuivingen in het participatiegedrag van de N ederlandse en V laam se bevolking,” Sociologische G ids 50, no. 2 (2003): 156– 81; M y ra M a r x Ferree an d Patricia Yancey M a rtin , eds. F em inist O rganizations (Philadelphia: Temple Univ. Press, 1995); M a rc H o o g h e and D ietlind Stolle, “ G o o d Girls G o to the Polling Booth, Bad Boys G o Everywhere: G ender Differences in Anticipated Political Particip atio n A m on g US 14 Year O lds,” W o m en a n d Politics, 26 no. 3 (2004): 1-24; R on ald Inglehart, M o d ern iza tio n a n d P ostm odernization: Cultural, E conom ic, a n d Political Change in 43 Societies (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1997); Vivien L owndes, “W om en and Social C apital: A C o m m en t o n H a ll’s ‘Social C a p ital in Britain,’” British Journal o f Political Science 30, no. 3 (2000): 5 33– 37; P utnam , D em ocracies in Flux; W uthnow , L o ose C onnections. 9. L ow ndes, “ W om en and Social C apital.” 10. Ibid., 537. 11. M a ry K atzenstein, F aithful a n d Fearless: M o v in g Fem inist P rotest Inside the C hurch a n d the M ilitary (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1998). 12. M ichele M icheletti, Political Virtue a n d Shopping: Individuals, C onsum erism , a n d C ollective A ctio n (N ew York: Palgrave, 2003); Michele M icheletti, “W hy M o re W om en? Issues o f G ender and Political C onsum erism ,” in Politics, P ro ducts, a n d M arkets: E xp lo rin g Political C onsu m erism Past a n d Present, eds. M ichele M icheletti, A ndreas Follesdal, an d D ietlind Stolle (N ew Brunswick, NJ: T ransaction Press, 2003), 2 4 5 – 64. 13. T.H. Breen, “N arrativ e of C om m ercial Life: C onsum p tio n, Ideology, and C o m m unity on the Eve of the Am erican R evolution,” in C onsum er Society in A m e r ican H istory: A R eader, ed. Lawrence B. G lickm an (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1999), 100–29. 14. Jo h n Bohstedt, “ Gender, H ouseh o ld and C o m m unity Politics: W om en in English Riots 1790– 1810,” Past a n d P resent 120 (A ugust 1988): 88– 122; Michele M icheletti, “ Global (Sub)Political R epresentation: T he Clean Clothes C am paign a nd N o Sweat M o v e m e n t” (presented at E C P R Join t Sessions, W o rk sh o p 14, E dinburgh, 2003); Annelise O rleck, ‘“ We are th a t M ythical T hing Called the P u b lic’: M ilitan t H ousewives D uring the G reat D epression,” Fem inist Studies 19, no. 1 (Spring 1993): 147– 72; Iris M a rio n Young, “ G ender as Seriality: T hin kin g ab o u t W o m en as a Social Collective,” Sign s: Journal o f W om en in C ulture a n d Society 19 (1994): 713– 38. 15. M ichele M icheletti, A ndreas Follesdal, an d Dietlind Stolle, eds. Politics, P roducts, a n d M arkets: E xp lo rin g Political C onsum erism Past a n d P resent (N ew Brunswick, NJ: T ransaction Press, 2003). 16. F o r m ore info rm atio n see M icheletti, Political Virtue. 17. M icheletti, Political V irtue; M icheletti, “W hy M o re W o m en ?”

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18. Jak o b Klint, M a x H avelaar-m æ rkede p ro d u k ter— en undersøgelse a f forbrugeren og sto rku n d en (Copenhagen: CASA, 1997); R oger C ow e and Simon W illiams, W h o are th e E thical C on su m e rs? (London: T he C ooperative Bank, n.d.). 19. Encyclopæ dia Judaica Jerusalem , B oycott, Anti-Jew ish (Jerusalem: Keter Pu blishing H ouse, 1971), 1279. 20. M a rg aret M . C onway, Political Participation in th e U nited States (Washington, D.C.: C ongressional Q uarterly Press, 1991); M ichael X. Delli C arpini and Scott Keeter, W h a t A m ericans K n o w a b o u t Politics a n d W hy It M atters (N ew H aven, CT: Yale Univ. Press, 1996); Putnam , B o w lin g A lone; Jan van D eth, “ Political Interest and A pathy: T he Decline of the G ender G a p ? ” A cta Politica 35, no. 3 (2000): 2 4 7 – 74. 21. P utnam , B o w lin g A lone. 22. Ibid. 23. See O lof Petersson et al., D em o kra ti och m edborgarskap (Stockholm: SNS, 1998), 80; M a ry A nne E. Steger an d Stephanie L. W itt, “ G ender Differences in E nvironm ental O rientations: A C om p ariso n of Publics and Activists in C anada and the U.S.,” T h e W estern O p in io n Q uarterly 42, no. 4 (1989): 627 –49. See also H o o g h e and Stolle, “ G o o d Girls.” 24. N a n Lin, Social Capital: A T h eo ry o f Social Structure a n d A ctio n (Cam bridge, UK: C am bridge Univ. Press, 2001). 25. R o b ert P utnam , M a kin g D em ocracy W ork: Civic Traditions in M o dern Italy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1993). However, in his new er w o rk , P utn am develops a less n a rro w view of the concept of social capital. In B o w lin g A lo n e , for exam ple, P u tn am applies a kitchen-sink ap p ro ach to w h a t constitutes social capital. His indicators are as far reaching as the c o m m o n dinner at the table, playing cards, to b road forms of political participation. 26. See also Sapiro, ch ap ter 7 this volum e an d L owndes, chapter 9 this volume. 27. Ja n van D eth, “ Studying Political Participation: Tow ards a T heory of Everyth in g?” (presented at the ECPR Jo in t Sessions, G renoble, France, April, 2001). 28. Bang and Sø rensen, “T he Everyday M a k e r ” ; G undelach, “ Social T ran sfo rm atio n ” ; Inglehart, “ M o d e rn iz a tio n ” ; A drienne Sö rbo m , Vart tar po litiken vägen? O m individualisering, reflexivitet och g ö rbarhet i d e t p olitiska engagem anget (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2002). 29. J ø rgen G oul Andersen and M ette Tobiasen, “W h o are These Political C o n su m ers Anyway? Survey Evidence from D e n m a rk ,” in Politics, Products, a n d M arkets: E xp lo rin g Political C onsum erism Past an d Present, eds. M ichele Micheletti, A ndreas Follesdal an d D ietlind Stolle (N ew Brunswick, NJ: T ransaction Press 2003), 2 0 3 – 21; Inglehart, M o d ern izaton , 313; N o rris, D em ocratic P ho enix, 198; Petersson et al., D em o kra ti, 55. 30. M o n ro e F riedm an, C o n su m e r B oycotts: E ffectin g Change th rough the M a rke tplace a n d the M edia (N ew York: Routledge, 1999). 31. Samuel H . Barnes an d M a x Kaase et al., Political A ctio n (Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, 1979). 32. O lo f Petersson, Anders W estholm , and G ö ran Blomberg, M edborgarnas m a k t (S to c k h o lm C : arlssons, 1989); Petersson et al., D em o kra ti, 55. 33. Petersson et al., D em o kra ti, 55.

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34. E uro p ean Social Survey (funded by the E uropean C om m issio n’s 5th F ram ew ork Program m e, w ith supplem entary funds form the Eu rop ean Science F o u ndation, 2002). M o re inform ation can be obtained at http://w w w .europeansocialsurvey. org 35. Russell J. D alton, C itizen Politics (C h atham , UK: C h a th a m H ouse, 2000); P u tnam , B o w lin g A lo n e ; Kay L ehm an Schlozm an, “ Citizen Participation in A m erica,” in Political Science: T h e State o f the D iscipline, eds. Ira Katznelson and Helen M ilner (N ew York: N o rto n , 2002), 4 3 3 – 61; T heda Skocpol and M orris P. Fiorina, eds. C ivic E n ga gm ent in A m erica n D em ocracy (W ashington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999); Verba, Schlozman, an d Brady, Voice a n d E qu ality. 36 Stolle an d H oog he, “Inaccurate.” 37. H owever, see Francesca F orno and Luigi Ceccarini, “ From the Street to the Shops: T he Rise of N e w Form s of Political Action in Italy” (presented at the ECPR Join t Sessions, W o rk sh o p 24, E m ergin g Repertoires o f Political A ction: T o w ard A System atic S tu d y o f P o st-C onventional Forms o f Participation, U p p sala, Sweden, April 2004); M a rio n a Ferrer-Fons, “ C ross-N ational V ariation on Political C onsum erism in Europe: E xploring the Im pact of M icro-level D eterm in ants an d its Political D im e n sio n ” (presented at the ECPR Jo in t Sessions, W o rk sh op 24, E m erging R epertoires o f Political A ction: Tow ard a System atic Stu dy o f P ost-C onventional Form s o f Participation, U ppsala, Sweden, April 2004); Stolle a n d M icheletti, “ F orw arding Justice.” 38. M ichele M icheletti and D ietlind Stolle, “ Politiska konsum enter: M a rk n a d e n som arena för politiska val,” in ]u m er vi är tillsam m ans, eds. Sö ren H o lm b erg and L en nart Weibull (G ö teborg: S O M Institute, 2004), 103– 16. 39. Stolle and H oo ghe, “ Inaccurate.” 40. P utn am , B o w lin g A lon e, 394. 41. See M icheletti, “ Global (Sub)Political R epresentation,” for a discussion. 42. See, for exam ple, O rleck, “We Are th a t M ythical T h in g ” ; Young, “ G ender as Seriality” ; Yvonne H ird m a n , M agfrågan: M a t so m m a l och m edel (Stockholm: R a b én and Sjögren, 1983). 43. O rleck, “We are th a t M ythical T h in g ,” 156. 44. K athryn Kish Sklar, “T he C o n su m ers’ W hite Label C am paign of the N a tio n al C onsu m ers’ League 1898– 1 919,” in G etting a nd Spending: E uropean an d A m erica n C o nsu m er Societies in the 2 0 ,th C entury, eds. Susan Strasser, Charles M cG ov ern, M atth ias Ju d t, D aniel S. M a tte rn , C hristof M a u c h , a n d D avid Lazar (C am bridge, UK: C am bridge Univ. Press, 1998), 17– 36. 45. Cheryl G oldberg, “ D o n ’t Buy W here You C a n ’t W ork,” in C o n su m e r Society in A m erica n H istory: A Reader, ed. Lawrence B. Glickm an (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1999), 2 4 1 – 73; M a ry King, M a h a tm a G an dh i a n d M artin L u th er K ing Jr. T h e Power o f N o n v io le n t A ctio n (Paris: U N E SC O Publishing, 1999); and Friedm an, C on su m e r B oycotts. 46. R o b ert D. Benford and D an n y L. Valadez, “ F rom Blood on the G rapes to Poison on the Grapes: Strategic Fram e C hanges an d R esource M o bilization in the Farm W orker M o v e m e n t” (presented at the A nnual M eeting of the Am erican Sociological Association, San Francisco, A ugust 21, 1998); M icheletti, “W hy M o re W o m en?”

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47. See N a o m i Bromberg Bar-Yam, “T he N estlé Boycott: T he Story of the W H O / U N IC E F C ode for M ark etin g Breastmilk Substitutes,” M o th erin g (W inter 1995): 5 6 -6 3 ; K athryn Sikkink, “ Codes o f C on d u ct for T ran snational C orporatio ns: The Case of the W H O /U N IC E F C od e,” International O rganizatio n 40 (1986): 815 –40. 48. M icheletti, Political Virtue. 49. Ibid. 50. LUI M ark n a d sin fo rm a tio n AB, K o n su m e ntu nd ersö kn in g o m ekologiska p ro d u k te r/K R A V (Stockholm: LUI, unpublished report, 1999), 3: Klint, M a x H avelaar-m oerkede p ro d u kte r, 28; C athy Wessells, H olger D o n ath , and R o bert J. Jo h n sto n , U.S. C o nsum er Preferences fo r E colabeled Seafood: R esults o f a C on su m er Survey (Providence, RI: University of R hode Island, D ep artm en t of E nvironm ental an d N a tu ra l R esource Economics, co m p u ter prin to u t, 1999). 51. LRF/Ekologiska L an tb ru k a rn a , Vägen till m arknaden: E ko log iska prod ukter: E tt underlag fo r k o m m u n ik a tio n o m ekologiska p ro d u k te r m e d konsum enternas ö n skem å l och k u n ska p er som g ru n d (Stockholm: LRF, com p u ter printout, 2001 ), 21 . 52. Wessells, D onath , an d Jo h n sto n , U.S. C o nsu m er Preferences, 51. 53. C had D obso n, head o f the C onsu m er Choice Council, interview by Michele M icheletti, W ashington, D.C., February 22, 2000. 54. S O M Survey, Society O p in io n a n d M edia (Swedish national yearly survey, 2003). M o re in form ation can be found at: http://w w w .som .gu.se/english.htm . 55. Dietlind Stolle, M a rc H o oghe and Michele M icheletti, “Politics in the SuperM a r k e t— Political C onsum erism as a F orm of Political P articipation,” In te rn a tional R evie w o f Political Science 26, no. 3 (2004): 2 4 5 – 69. T he questionnaire for this pilot survey is available from the authors. 56. In C an ad a the survey was adm inistered as a web-survey in an introd ucto ry p o litical science course ta ught by Dietlind Stolle. O f 588 students in the class, 458 filled in the q uestionnaire (response rate 7 7.9% ). In Sweden the survey was adm inistered in the classroom ; of 493 students registered for the classes, 378 filled in the questionnaire (76.7% ). In Belgium too, the survey w as adm inistered in class, with 193 students present, resulting in 179 forms th a t could be used in analysis (9 2.7% ). We w a n t to thank Dr. M arc H oog he for d a ta collection in Belgium; Dr. Jo n as N o rd q v ist and Professors Tomm y M ö ller, N ad ia M olenaers, an d Patrick Stouthuysen for giving us the o pp o rtu n ity to adm inister the survey in their classes, Lisa N evens for designing, form atting, and coding the C an ad ian web-survey, Lucas Pettersson for form attin g and coding the Swedish survey, and Susanna L indberg for translating the questions into Swedish. 57. Access to the website w as restricted to students taking an introductory course in co m p arative political science. Every student could fill in the questionnaire only once. 58. A slightly shorter version of the questionnaire with 104 questions was adm inistered in the C an ad ian setting. 59. However, see Andersen and Tobiasen, “W h o are These Political C onsum ers A nyw ay ?;” M icheletti and Stolle, “ Politiska konsum enter.” 60. Dietlind Stolle, M arc H ooghe, and M ichele Micheletti, “ Politics in the Superm arket.” University students are an ideal sample for this purpose. T he relatively

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61.

62. 63. 64. 65.

D ietlind Stolle and M ichele M icheletti high educational level of the sam ple allows us to assume th a t o u r respondents are aw are of a variety o f political p articipation tools. T heir y o uth also plays to o u r ad vantage, as research is show ing th a t young people seem particularly attracted to this m ode of political action (Jø rgen G oul A ndersen and M ette Tobiasen, Politisk fo rb ru g og p olitiske forbrugere: G lobalixering og p o litik I hverdagslivet (Aarhus: M ag tu d red n in g en A arhu s Universitet, 2001); Johannes A ndersen, “ D em ok ratisk e norm er,” in Vad fo lk e t magter: D em o krati, m a g t og a fm a gt, eds. J ø rgen G oul A ndersen, Lars Torpe, and Jo h an n es A ndersen (Kö penhavn: Jurist-og Ø k o n o m fo rb u n d ts Forlag, 2 0 00), 213; Sö rbom , “V art ta r politiken v äg e n ” ). Young people are also aw are of certain b ran d nam es because they have been the focus o f several political consum erist cam paigns and they have n o t yet developed an ingrained p a ttern o f c onsum er choice (which m akes them o p en to considering label cam paigns, etc.). Better-educated y oung people, such as university students, should therefore potentially be m ore aw are of the m o tivations o f their consum er decisions. In sh ort, w e expect th a t the attitud e and behavior o f political consum ers can be distinguished better in a stu dent sample. In additio n, the fact th a t this pilot survey w as conducted sim ultaneously in three different countries also allows us to single o u t any effects t h a t m ight be the result of a purely national setting. In the three cou ntry sam ples, the im portan ce of the well-being o f o ther n a tio n als (C anadians, Belgians, o r Swedes depending on the country) also exhibits a (traditional) gender gap, particularly in the C a n ad ian sam ple, w hereas environm ental concerns are significantly m ore on w o m e n ’s m inds in Sweden. Bang and Sø rensen, “T he Everyday M aker.” Ibid.; M icheletti, “ G lobal (Sub)Political R epresentation.” Boris H o lzer an d M ad s Sö rensen, Subpolitics a n d Subpoliticians A rbeitspapier 4 des SBF 536 Reflexive M od ern isierun g (M unich: University of M unich, 2001). See Stolle, H oo g h e and M icheletti, “ Politics in the S uperm arket.”

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4 Gendering Social Capital Bowling in Women’s Leagues? PIPPA N O R R IS and R O N A LD IN G L EH A R T

Social capital theories have stimulated renewed interest in the world of voluntary associations and com m unity associations. The core claim of P u tn a m ’s account is th at typical face-to-face deliberative activities and horizontal collaboration within voluntary organizations far removed from the political sphere— exemplified by sports clubs, agricultural cooperatives, and philanthropic groups— prom ote interpersonal trust. In turn, trust is seen as cementing the bonds of social life, as the foundation for building social communities, civil society, and democratic governance. Participation in associational life is thought to generate individual rew ards, such as career opportunities and support netw orks, as well as com m unity goods, by fostering the capacity of people to w ork together on local problems. If associational life carries certain benefits, is m em bership distributed equally across society, including am ong w om en as well as men? We can draw a useful distinction between tw o m ain types of inequality at w o rk here: vertical segmentation refers to differences in the density of associational memberships held by w om en and men; horizontal segmentation means contrasts in the type of associations involving w om en and men. The earliest studies of political behavior in Western Europe and N o rth America established gender as one of the standard variables routinely used to explain the extent of activism 73

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within voluntary organizations and com m unity groups, as well as in political participation.1 H orizontal segmentation is also well-established; for example, in the early 1980s, M cPherson and Smith-Lovin dem onstrated that American men usually belonged to core economic organizations, providing access to inform ation about possible jobs, business opportunities, and chances for professional advancem ent, while American w om en belonged to organizations that focused primarily upon domestic and com m unity affairs, giving them netw orks in the domestic realm.2 M o o re found th at m en’s personal netw orks included m ore coworkers, advisors, and friends while w o m e n ’s netw orks were usually m ore family-related, even after controlling for w ork status, family, and age.3 Given the substantial changes tra n sform ing w o m e n ’s and m en ’s lives in America, gender differences in associational life might be expected to have diminished in recent decades. Yet in fact, as we shall dem onstrate later, organizational m em bership remains segmented by sex in the United States, as well as in most nations.4 The greatest contrast is less in the total num ber of clubs, groups, and organizations th at men and w om en join, but rather in the horizontal divisions within associational life. Today in m any co u n tries certain types of organizations remain disproportionately male, including political parties, sports clubs, the peace movement, professional groups, labor unions, and com m unity associations (see table 4.1). By contrast, w om en continue to predom inate in associations related to traditional female roles, including those concerned with education and the arts, religious and church organizations, and those providing social welfare services for the elderly or handicapped, as well as w o m e n ’s groups. This m atters if horizontal segmentation into same sex-related bonding groups has positive functions for members, and yet may generate negative externalities (reinforcing gender divi­ sions) for society as a whole. In a perfectly sex-segmented society, the problem is not that w om en are not bowling, but rather that they are bowling in w o m e n ’s leagues.5 This study examines alternative explanations for these patterns. Structural accounts stress the way th at the social cleavages of gender, like those of age and class, are closely related to the unequal distribution of the civic resources of time, money, knowledge, and skills, which facilitate participation in voluntary associations. Cultural explanations emphasize the attitudes and values th at m otivate people to join associations, including their interests and ideological beliefs.

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Agency accounts focus upon the role of mobilizing networks and the informal ties generated by family, friends, and colleagues. In short, these explanations suggest that women participate less in associational groups because they can’t (“N o time!” ), because they w on’t (“N ot interested!” ), or because nobody asked them (“Come along to a meeting?” ). The first section of this paper lays out the analytical framework, drawing upon Putnam’s theory. The second section outlines the sources of evidence, with data drawn mainly from the World Values Survey 2001. The third section then tests the core propositions. The conclusion summarizes the main findings and considers their implications for understanding civic engagement and social capital.

Theories o f Gender and Social Capital

A long tradition in sociological theory among writers such as Durkheim, M arx, Weber, Tonnies, and Simmel has been concerned about the loss of community and the weakening of the face-to-face relations of gemeinschaft. M odern theories of social capital originated in the ideas of Pierre Bourdieu and James Coleman, emphasizing the importance of social ties and shared norms for societal well-being and economic efficiency.6 There are multiple alternative understandings of this intellectually fashionable but elusive concept. Here we shall focus on the way that Robert Putnam expanded this notion in M aking Democracies Work (1993) and in Bowling Alone (2000) by linking ideas of social capital to the importance of civic associations and voluntary organizations for political participation and effective governance.7 For Putnam, social capital is defined as “connections among individuals—social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them.”8 M ost importantly, this is understood as both a structural phenomenon (social networks) and a cultural phenomenon (social norms). In this study we focus primarily upon the social networks generated through formal associational participation, acknowledging that this is only one part of social capital. In Bowling Alone Putnam considers how far the impact of gender on the total level of social capital in a society—in particular how far the movement of women into the paid labor force and the related stresses of two-career families—contributed toward any decline in

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civic engagement and social capital in America.9 He acknowledges that the movement of women out of the home is a double-edged sword: it both increases opportunities for them to make new social connections and networks via the workplace, and yet also simultaneously reduces the time available for community involvement. After examining data mainly from the DDB Needham Life Style surveys, and acknowledging gender differences in some common forms of community associations, such as PTAs, churches, and professional organizations, he concludes that since the early 1980s, the movement of women into the paid labor force can account for only a modest amount of the total shrinkage of social capital in America: With fewer educated, dynamic women with enough free time to organize civic activity, plan dinner parties, and the like, the rest of us, too, have gradually disengaged. At the same time, the evidence also suggests that neither time pressures nor financial distress nor the movement of women into the paid labor force is the primary cause of civic disengagement over the last two decades…civic engagement and social connectedness have diminished almost equally for both women and men, working or not, married or single, financially stressed or financially comfortable.10 Yet after examining these trends, Putnam does not go further to consider the consequences for social inequality if typical patterns of associational life are different for women and men. In more recent work, however, he does draw a useful distinction between “bridging” and “ bonding” groups that is relevant to these concerns. In Putnam’s words: Bridging social capital refers to social networks that bring together people of different sorts, and bonding social capital brings together people of a similar sort. This is an important distinction because the externalities of groups that are bridging are likely to be positive, while networks that are bonding (limited within particular social niches) are at greater risk of producing externalities that are negative.11 Heterogeneous bridging local associations (such as the Red Cross) are believed to have beneficial consequences for building social capital and social equality, by generating interpersonal trust and reinforcing community ties. It should be stressed that homogeneous bonding organizations can also serve positive functions, by benefiting members.

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But the danger is that bonding groups can also have dysfunctional consequences for society as a whole by potentially exacerbating and widening existing social inequalities, especially in pluralist societies splintered by deep-rooted ethnic conflict (see figure 4.1). Bonding practices can reinforce the practices of nepotism, ethnic hatred, and sectarianism, as well as sexism. After all, the blood brotherhood of the Mafia, the tight networks of Colombian drug cartels, or the exclusionary and racist views of the Ku Klux Klan, all exemplify close-knit, mutually dependent communities. Tolerance and trust of members within the community does not necessarily mean tolerance of outsiders, sometimes just the opposite.12As Putnam acknowledges, there can be sharp divergences in the functions of social capital, just as financial capital can be used for guns or butter. Putnam argues that the challenge is to channel the positive forces of social capital toward virtuous purposes, and to foster bridging or cross-cutting inclusive networks, exemplified by youth sports clubs in South Africa or the Civic Forum in N orthern Ireland that bring together different parts of the community in a common public space.13 When related to issues of gender equality, bridging groups are essentially inclusive across the sexes, reflecting the composition of the general population by bringing together a fairly even distribution of women and men. By contrast, bonding groups reinforce close-knit networks among people sharing similar backgrounds and beliefs, generating an uneven distribution of women or men. This conceptual distinction should be seen as a continuum rather than a dichotomy, because in practice many groups serve both bridging and bonding functions, but networks can be classified as falling closer to one end of this spectrum or the other. At the most extreme, a male-only

Bridging Networks

Bonding Networks

Socially and ideologically inclusive

Socially and ideologically exclusive

Individual mem ber

Positive

Positive or negative

Groups

Positive

Positive or negative

Society

Positive

Negative

F IG U R E 4.1

M odel o f bridging and bonding functions of social netw orks for

social equality

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bonding group would be the Augusta Golf Club, which excludes any women from membership. A female equivalent would be a battered women’s support group that excluded any male participants, even the victims of domestic violence. This distinction is important if tightknit, closed, and homogeneous sex-related social networks generate negative externalities for society as a whole; for example, if this practice leads to lack of understanding between women and men, or if lack of participation in male networks limit women’s opportunities to learn about jobs or business. This observation leads to the issue at the heart of this study: In particular, does associational life serve to widen social equality between women and men, thereby expanding bridging social capital, or does it serve to reinforce bonding same-sex networks which promote either women’s or men’s interests? W hat we still understand little about are the causes of horizontal segmentation in voluntary organizations in general, and in particular why women and men become active in different types of groups. The broader literature on civic engagement and political activism suggests that gender differences in associational life could be generated by the factors of structure, culture, and agency. Structural accounts stress the way that gender difference in levels and types of civic activism and organizational membership, analogous to those associated with social class, age, and ethnicity, are closely related to the unequal distribution of the civic resources of time, money, knowledge, and skills. Time is often believed to be of the essence for participation in local groups, community events, and voluntary organizations. Flexibility of schedules is also thought to facilitate participation; for example, to attend evening meetings. Many married women face the familiar juggling of dual burdens if they continue to shoulder most of the family responsibilities and care of dependents in traditional households, while also participating in the paid workforce. Dual-career households have experienced a modest adjustment in the division of sex roles within the home and family, but nonetheless women often continue to have primary care of the home.14 The demands that women face are commonly believed to inhibit civic engagement. Nevertheless, although widely assumed, the evidence remains under debate, and recently Burns, Schlozman, and Verba challenged the claim that lack of time restricts female political participation, based on an American survey of married couples.15 A long series of studies have confirmed the role of formal education, and the cognitive, social, and organizational skills associated

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with this, as critical for political participation.16 Becoming a member, active volunteer, or holding office in welfare, labor, or environmental community groups typically makes many demands in terms of the ability to gather and process information, to communicate, to organize events and meetings, and to manage people, all of which are facilitated by the skills and confidence provided by education. If women lag behind men in literacy or education, as well as in the resources of time or income, they can be expected to be less active in civic associations and local voluntary groups. In short, structural explanations emphasize that social and demographic inequalities— based on educational qualifications, socioeconomic status, gender, and age—lead to inequalities in other civic assets, like skills, knowledge, experience, time, and money. Possession of these assets makes some better placed than others to take advantage of the opportunities for participation. Resources are perhaps most obviously useful in fostering more demanding forms of activism, such as the value of social networks in fund-raising, the need for leisure time to volunteer in a community association, the assets of flexible careers for the pursuit of elected office, the advantages of communication skills to produce the local party newsletter, and the organizational abilities that help mobilize social movements. Cultural explanations emphasize the attitudes and values that people bring to civic engagement, social networks, and community activism, including prior motivational interests and ideological beliefs. Ever since Almond and Verba’s Civic Culture, attitudes such as a sense of subjective competence, political efficacy, and interest have generally been found to be closely related to sex differences in political activism, especially the more demanding types such as lobbying, political party activism, and organizing.17Women tend to have lower confidence in their abilities to work within the political arena, and less interest, for example, in following news and public affairs via the media.18 More diffuse support for the political system, including trust and confidence in government, has also been regarded as important for women’s political participation.19 Based on these studies, we could expect that prior interest would influence which local groups and voluntary associations men and women joined, and how actively they maintained their membership. Finally, agency accounts focus attention upon the role of mobilizing networks such as informal social ties generated by family, friends, and colleagues. Rosenstone and Hansen emphasize how people are pulled into activism by party organizations, group networks such as

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churches, voluntary associations, and trade unions, and by informal social networks.20Verba also found that churches and voluntary organizations provide networks of recruitment, so that those drawn into civic life through these associations develop the organizational and communication skills that facilitate further activity.21 Since women and men commonly have different patterns of social networks, based on their location and ties within the local community, workforce, and family, these sex differences could be expected to carry through to shape types and levels of civic engagement as well. Accordingly we can examine how far structural inequalities, motivational attitudes, and informal social networks help to explain levels and types of participation in associational life, for women and for men.

Concepts and M easures

The conceptualization of social capital suggests that any measure needs to take account of both structural and cultural dimensions of social capital simultaneously; that is, the strength of social networks (measured in terms of belonging to a wide range of associational groups), and the cultural norms (measured by feelings of social trust). It also needs to gauge activism as well as formal membership. And since social capital is essentially a relational phenomenon, any consistent linkage between these dimensions can be expected to operate at a societal level. Evidence in this study is drawn from the fourth wave of the World Values Study (WVS) conducted between 1999 and 2001. This wave allows comparison of social capital in fifty societies (listed in appendix A), including a wide range of agrarian, industrialized, and postindustrial societies at different levels of development, as well as different types of states and cultural regions of the world.22 The WVS allows us to compare measures of membership and activism in fifteen types of voluntary associations and also provides a direct measure of social trust.

Measuring Associational Membership The 2001 WVS item measured associational membership as follows:

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P le a se lo o k c a r e f u ll y a t t h e f o l l o w i n g list o f v o l u n t a r y o r g a n i z a t i o n s a n d a c tiv itie s a n d s a y a) W h i c h , if an y , d o y o u b e l o n g to ? b) W h i c h , if any , a r e y o u c u r r e n t l y d o i n g u n p a i d v o l u n t a r y w o r k fo r?

The list included fifteen types of groups, including church or religious organizations, sports or recreational organizations, political parties, art, music, or educational organizations, labor unions, professional associations, charitable organizations, environmental organizations, and any other voluntary organization. The range covers traditional interest groups and mainstream civic associations, as well as including some new social movements. Yet this measure remains limited in an important regard, since it only asks respondents to indicate whether they belong to at least one group within each category. It therefore cannot gauge if someone belongs to several related organizations within each category, such as several different environmental associations. Another restriction is that the question wording has varied slightly in successive waves of the WVS, so this study only analyzes data from the most recent wave, rather than providing comparisons over time.23 Despite these limitations, reported membership and activism is arguably a better indicator of the psychological strength of belonging than payment of official dues, as documented in membership records. The measure allows us to analyze patterns of membership and activism in the most common types of associations. Since there is considerable uncertainty regarding the most appropriate empirical operationalization, several summary variables were constructed from these items for comparison. The first (V O L - A N Y ) summarizes belonging to any of the categories of voluntary organizations (measured as a 0/1 dummy variable). This measure assumes that what matters is belonging to at least one associational category, such as a church-based, sports, or union group, and that it does not much matter which one or how actively people are involved. It can be argued, however, that civic society is denser and stronger if people belong to multiple overlapping categories, such as churches and philanthropic groups, or unions and environmental organizations. Accordingly to test this proposition (VOL-ORG) summed all the categories to estimate the mean number of associational categories that people joined (using a 15-point scale).

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This indicator estimated the range of multiple memberships. Overall, half (50%) were unconnected with any voluntary association. In contrast one quarter (24%) belonged to just one organization, while the remaining quarter belonged to two or more groups.24 Both VOLANY and VOL-ORG are used in this study, to check if the results proved robust irrespective of the particular type of measure that was used.

Social Trust Social trust was gauged in the 2001 WVS by the standard question: “ Generally speaking, would you say that most people can be trusted or that you can’t be too careful in dealing with people?” This measure remains limited for many reasons. It gives respondents the option of a simple dichotomy, whereas most modern survey items today present more subtle continuous scales. The double negative in the latter half of the question may be confusing to respondents. N o social context is presented to respondents, nor can they distinguish between different categories, such as relative levels of trust in friends, colleagues, family, strangers, or compatriots. Nevertheless this item has become accepted as the standard indicator of social or interpersonal trust, following its use in the American GSS since the early 1970s, so it will be adopted here to facilitate replication across different studies.

Gender and Social Capital

In examining the impact of gender on associational life we are concerned to establish whether there are any significant differences in vertical segregation (the total number of associations that women and men join) and in horizontal segregation (the type of associations that women and men join). The comparison in table 4.1 shows how far membership of a wide range of different types of organizations is commonly segmented by sex. In the societies under comparison, membership of some groups is disproportionately male, including political parties, sports clubs, the peace movement, professional associations, unions, and community associations. By contrast, women predominate in other voluntary associations, especially those concerned with education and the arts, religious and church organizations, providing social welfare services for the elderly or handicapped,

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TABLE 4.1

G e n d e r R a t i o in C iv ic A s s o c i a ti o n s , F ifty S o c ie tie s W o r l d w i d e , 2 0 0 1 Percentage of W om en

Sports o r recreation L ab or unions Political parties or groups Professional associations Peace m ovem ent Local c o m m u n ity action groups Y outh w ork (e.g. scouts, guides, yo uth clubs, etc.) C onservation, environm ental, or anim al rights T h ird w orld developm en t or h u m a n rights E ducation, arts, music, or cultural activities Voluntary organizations c oncerned with health Social welfare for the elderly, hand icap ped , o r deprived people Religious o r church organizations W o m e n ’s g rou ps

9 9 4

Percentage o f M en 18 13 7 7

Gap

Significance

–9 –4

*** *** *** *** ***

3 5 5

–3 –2 –1 –1 –1

4

5

–1

***

3

3

0

***

10

10

0

4

4

0

*

7

6

+1

***

17

15

+2

***

6

1

+5

***

5 2 4 4

*** ***

N o te : Q: “ Please look carefully at the following list of voluntary organizations and activities and say which, if any, do you belong to?” The table lists the percentage of women and men in the membership of each type of group, with the gender gap representing the difference between women and men. A negative coefficient denotes that women are less likely to belong than men. A positive coefficient indicates that they are more likely to belong than men. The significance of the difference between groups was estimated using ANOVA. ***p = .01 Source: Pooled World Values Surveys, 2001

as well as w omen’s groups. The comparison provides little support for the popular assumption that more women than men are engaged in peace groups or community action; instead the gender ratio within each type of group varies according to the type of issue concern. The gender gap remains modest in size but it is also usually statistically significant in the large pooled sample. The extent of horizontal sexsegregation in associations means that it is particularly important to include a wide range of groups in any reliable comparison in levels of involvement in associational life.

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For comparison we used similar measures to compare the gender ratio in civic associations using the U.S. Social Capital Community Benchmark Survey, conducted among a representative sample of the American population in August 2000. The U.S. results in table 4.2 confirm the pattern already established, although the horizontal segmentation was less marked than in the cross-national comparison. TABLE 4 . 2

G e n d e r R a t i o in C iv ic A s s o c i a t i o n s , U n i t e d S ta te s , 2 0 0 0

Sports club, league, o r o u td o o r activity club H ob by, investm ent, or garden club V eterans g ro u p T h ird w o rld d e velopm ent or h u m a n rights Professional, trade, or business organization L a b o r union N e ig h b o rh o o d associations Political g ro u p or party co m m ittee Ethnic, nationality, o r civil rights organ izatio n Y outh org anization Service clubs o r fraternity/ so ro rity organ izatio n Self-help pro g ram G r o u p th a t m eets over the Internet Seniors’ groups O rg a n iz a tio n affiliated w ith religion Literary, a r t o r music group Parent association o r other school su p p o r t group C h a rity o r social welfare grou p C h u rc h activities oth er than

Percentage o f W om en

Percentage of M e n

G ap

Signifi cance

16

26

– 10

***

20

30

– 10

***

5 7

14 16

–9 –9

*** ***

21

29

–8

***

16 19 7

7 23 11

–7 –4 –4

*** ***

6

7

–1

22 14

22 14

0 0

17 3

17 3

0 0

***

15 18

13 15

+2

***

+3

***

20

15

***

25

19

+5 +6

35 44

28 35

+6 + 10

*** ***

***

***

service N o te : Q: “N ow I’d like to ask about other kinds of groups and organizations. I’m going to read a list; just answer yes if you have been involved in the past 12 months with this kind of group.” The significance of the difference between groups was estimated using ANOVA. ***p =

.01

Source: The Social Capital Community Benchmark Survey, August 2000 N.3003

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The results confirmed that American groups concerned with religion, charity, and school support were disproportionately female, while by contrast the membership of groups concerned with sports and hobbies, veterans, and the professions, business, and labor unions were all predominately male. At the same time, there are some areas of common ground where gender appears less important, exemplified by youth organizations (although, of course, even here, in practice children are commonly segregated into sex-specific groups such as the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts). The cross-national and the U.S. results confirm that horizontal segregation in associations remains marked, indicating that women and men are, indeed, usually bowling in different leagues. To compare vertical segregation, the alternative scales of VOLORG and VOL-ANY were used to compare the total level of membership of women and men within all types of civic associations as well as levels of social trust. Table 4.3 presents the scores on each of these scales among women and men, broken down by each type of society, based on the 2001 wave of the survey.25 The results demonstrate two main findings: (1) Sex-related vertical segregation exists in levels of associational membership and social trust. The differences are usually modest in size although still statistically significant. (2) The extent of sex segregation in many associations is greatest in agrarian societies and it diminishes in postindustrial societies. Men usually belonged to more civic associations (VOL-ORG), with a modest but consistent gender gap, but the size of this gap was associated with development. The comparison of VOL-ANY showed that men were more likely to join organizations across all types of societies. The comparison of social trust showed that women were slightly less trusting than men, a gender gap that was small but also statistically significant and consistent. The contrasts in levels of civic activism can be broken down further to examine how far they remain significant within different social sectors in postindustrial societies. Table 4.4 shows the simple distribution in levels of belonging to at least one civic organization (VOL-ANY), without any prior controls. The results reveal that the gender gap persists across most social sectors, although it is slightly stronger by age group among the over-sixties and for those in unskilled manual occupations. Moreover the gap is stronger for w om en confined at home, namely those who are not in the paid labor force, those married or cohabiting, and those with children. Putnam

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TABLE 4.3

A s s o c i a t i o n a l M e m b e r s h i p a n d S ocial T r u s t b y G e n d e r a n d T y p e o f S o cie ty , F if ty S o c ie tie s W o r l d w i d e , 2 0 0 1

Type of Society Postindustrial

Gender

Belong to how many associations (Mean VOL-ORG)

Belong to at least one association (Percentage VOL-ANY)

Social trust (Percentage ‘Can trust people most of the time’)

W omen Men Diff.

1.42 1.47 – 0 .05

57.2 62.3 –5.1

35.9 38.5 –2 .6

W om en Men

34.1 4 0.2

19.8 21.1

D iff

.57 .71 – 0.14

– 6.1

– 1.3

A grarian

W om en M en Diff

.82 1.17 – 0.35

33.1 37.7 –4.6

27.0 27.8 – 0.8

Total

Women M en D iff

.91 1.08 – 0 .1 7

4 1.3 46.1 –4.8

2 6.9 28.5 – 1.6

Industrial

N o te : Q: Belong “ Please look carefully at the following list of voluntary organizations and activities and say which, if any, do you belong to ?” This scale includes belonging to the fifteen organizations listed in table 4.1. A negative coefficient denotes that women are less active than men while a positive coefficient indicates that they are more active than men. The classification of societies is based on the UNDP Hum an Development Index, 2000. See Inglehart and Norris (2003)26 for more details. A comparison of group means using ANOVA shows that the difference between women and men is significant at the .001 level in all cases. Source: World Values Surveys, 2001

speculates that as women entered paid employment this could act as a double-edged sword, reducing the time available for community involvement while simultaneously widening workplace networks, and yet the evidence presented here suggests that the latter seems slightly more important. Without multivariate controls for age, overall 51 percent of women in paid work also belonged to at least one civic organization, compared with 42 percent of women not in paid w orkforce. Women who were regular churchgoers were also more likely to be engaged in civic associations than women who were not. Lastly, there was a larger gender gap among those with a “traditionalist” value orientation toward sex equality than among those who were more egalitarian in orientation.

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TABLE 4 . 4

C iv ic A c ti v is m b y G e n d e r in S e v e n te e n P o s t i n d u s t r i a l S o c ie tie s, 2 0 0 1 Pecent belonging to at least one civic organization M en W om en

All E d u c a tio n

Difference

48

52

–4

50

55 55 43

–5 –2 –4

52 54

–4 –4

49

-8 –2 –2

H ig h M o d e rate Low

53 39

U nder 30 3 0 – 5 9 y e a rs old 60+

48 50 41

M a n a g e r /p r o f e s s io n a l L o w e r m id d le Skilled w o r k i n g U n s k illed w o r k i n g

61 54 44 43

63 56 49 50

In p a id w o r k N o t in p a id w o r k

51 42

48

–3 –6

M a r ital s ta tu s

M a r r i e d o r c o h a b itin g Single

47 48

54 52

–7 –4

C h ild re n

N o c h ild r e n H a s a t least o n e ch ild

51 47

54 52

–3 –5

R eligiosity

A tte n d service ev ery w e ek N e v e r a tte n d

59 38

54 47

–5 –9

G e n d e r e q u a lity

T r a d itio n a lis t E g a lita r ia n

40 55

47 57

–7 –2

R e lig io n

C a th o lic P r o te s ta n t

48 49

55 53

–7 –4

Age g r o u p

R ’s o c c u p a ti o n a l class

W o r k s ta tu s

54

–5 –7

N o te : The proportion of women and men who belong to at least one of the fourteen types of civic organizations (VOL-ANY). In the “difference” column, a negative figure represents women less active than men. A positive figure represents women more active than men. Source: World Values Survey 2001

To examine the pattern further controlling for other factors, we used multivariate OLS regression models where VOL-ORG was used as the dependent variable, measuring the breadth of activism in different types of voluntary organizations. These first entered gender (male = 1), along with standard controls for levels of socioeconomic development (the United Nations Development Program measure of

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H um an Development Index, 1998, combining literacy, education, longevity, and per capita income), and for levels of democratization (the reversed 7-point scale from the Freedom House Gastil Index of political rights and civil liberties, 1999–2000). Both socioeconomic and political development were expected to influence associational membership, by increasing the number of organizations in civic society through the expansion of the professional middle classes and through expanding legal freedoms and civil liberties for associations. Structural accounts stress the way that gender difference in levels and types of civic activism and organizational membership, analogous to those associated with social class and ethnicity, are closely related to the unequal distribution of resources, notably of time, money, knowledge, and skills. Therefore the models then entered the standard individual-level structural controls, namely age (in years), educational qualifications, income, status in the paid workforce, strength of religiosity, marital status (married = 1, else = 0), and children. As discussed earlier, ever since Almond and Verba, many studies have commonly found these factors help predict activism in civic organizations, particularly the role of education, which is thought to provide cognitive and organizational skills, as well as reinforcing feelings of political efficacy and confidence. Cultural explanations emphasize the attitudes and values that motivate people to join associations, including their political interests and ideological beliefs. Although often regarded as an important factor, it can be difficult to measure these attitudes directly, without appearing tautological (“Did you join the sports clubs because you were interested in sports?” ). The study therefore adopted a more indirect indicator of cultural attitudes toward sex roles, on the grounds that women who held more egalitarian beliefs are more likely to believe that they should join a wider range of associations that were outside of the traditional roles for women as caregivers in the family and community, including those such as sports clubs, trade unions, or political parties. Men with more egalitarian attitudes might also be interested in joining groups where women have usually predominated in the past, such as parents’ associations or charitable organizations. Cultural factors were therefore assessed by the position of respondents toward sexual equality, using a 5-item 100-point scale employed in other work, monitored by support for gender equality in politics, education, the workforce, and the family. The position of respondents upon a 10-point left-right ideological scale was also

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included, on the grounds that left-wing respondents would be more likely to belong to trade unions, working class cooperatives, and collective associations concerned with matters such as welfare, employment, development, and the environment. And an indicator of the strength of religiosity was included, since there is a long-standing gender gap in religious attitudes and behavior, which could affect membership in churches as well as many charitable organizations related to these organizations.27 Lastly, agency accounts focus attention upon the role of mobilizing networks, notably the strength of informal social ties generated by family, friends, and colleagues. As discussed earlier, although there could be some trade-offs involved, these factors are generally thought to expand social networks and associational engagement, by ‘pulling’ people into associational life. In contrast those who are more isolated and cut off from these informal social networks of friends, colleagues, and family are believed to be less likely to develop formal links with community groups. The role of agency factors was measured by how far people reported spending time with their parents or other relatives, with friends, or with colleagues from work or the professions.28 It was expected that those with richer informal ties would also have stronger formal memberships. The results of the first model, including the structural variables in table 4.5, show that gender remained significant even after introducing a wide range of structural controls. As expected, associational membership was stronger in developed societies and in more democratic states. It was also stronger among older groups, the welleducated, as expected, although being married seemed to dampen associational membership. Model 2 added the cultural variables to the analysis, all of which proved significant positive predictors of associational membership. After controlling for both structural and cultural factors, gender differences in associations remained significant, suggesting that gender differences in organizational membership cannot simply be reduced to either the social background of women and men or their prior cultural attitudes. In the third model, however, gender became insignificant and dropped out of the equation once the role of informal social networks was included, in particular the amount of time spent with friends and work-place colleagues. To explore this further, table 4.6 shows the gender differences in the use of leisure time, including how far women and men spent time weekly with parents and relatives, friends, colleagues, other church-

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A djusted R 2.

C o n s ta n t R

Tim e with family (4-pt scale) Tim e w ith friends (4-pt scale) Tim e w ith colleagues (4-pt scale)

A gency

Sex equality (10 0 -p o in t scale) Religiosity (10 0 -p o in t scale) Left-Right Ideology Scale (10-pt scale)

C ultural Values

Level o f d e velopm ent (H D I 1998) Level of d e m o c ratiza tio n (FH 2000) Age (years) E duca tion (3 categories) Income In paid e m p lo y m e n t (1 Yes/0) M a r rie d -c o h a b itin g (1 Yes/0) W ith children (1/0)

Social Structu re

Gender (Male = 1, Female = 0)

.006

.025

.268 .071

.197

.000 – .006 – .062 .039

.008 .001 .099 .000 .004 .001 .007 .007 .008

.025 .002

SE

B

.001 – .009 – .101 .057

.045 .072 .227

– .146

.042

Beta

Model 1 Gender + structure Sig

***

N/s N/s ***

***

*** ***

***

***

.000 .000 .003

.001 .001 .080

– .477 .362 .130

.000 .004 .001 .007 .007 .008

.028 .003

.006

SE

– .350 .031 .001 .081 .004 .044 – .036 .013

.020

B

.103 .304

.040

.186 .036 .068 – .058 .018

– .194 .183 .049

.032

Beta

***

***

***

N/s

*** *** ***

*** *** ***

***

***

Sig

Model 2 Gender + structure + culture

– .616 .385 .147

.077 .002 .021

.001 .001 .077

– .334 .031 .001 .075 .004 .027 – .032 .014

.010

.003 .003 .003

.000 .000 .003

.008

.028 .003 .000 .004 .001 . 007 . 007

.006

.006 .058 .117

.042 .104 .290

.038 .041 – .051 .020

– .185 .184 .069 .172

.016

N/s *** ***

*** ***

***

*** *** N/s

***

*** *** ***

*** ***

N/s

M odel 3 Gender + structure + culture + agency B SE Beta Sig

The Impact of Gender on Civic Activism, Fifty Societies, 2001

– .264

TABLE 4.5

90 Pippa Norris and Ronald Inglehart

Source: Pooled World Values Surveys 2001.

N o te: The models are based on OLS regression analysis where logged VOL-ORG is the dependent variable. The figures are unstandardized (B) and standardized (Beta) coefficients and the standard error. M odel 1 includes gender w ithout any controls, where a positive coefficient denotes men more active than women. M odel 2 includes gender effects with social controls for level of hum an development (HDI 1998), level of democratization (FH 2000), age, education, religiosity, and dummy variables for respondent’s occupational class (middle = high), work status (full-time, part-time, or self-employment = 1), marital status (married or cohabiting = 1), and the presence of children in the household. M odel 3 includes social and attitudinal controls, the latter including the 100-point gender equality scale, the 100-point religiosity scale, and a left-right ideology 10-point scale. Sig. * .05 * * .01. * * *.001. N/s N o t significant. All models were check by tolerance and V IF statistics to be free of m ulticollinearity problems.

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TABLE 4 . 6

R e p o r t e d U se o f L e is u re T i m e b y W o m e n a n d M e n Percentage of Women

Percentage of Men

Gap

64

65

–1

23

26

–3

***

13

19

–6

***

49 21

56 32

–7 – 11

*** ***

Spend time w ith paren ts or o th e r relatives Spend time w ith people from yo u r church, m osqu e, o r synagogue Spend tim e socially with people a t sports clubs o r vo luntary or service organization Spend time w ith friends Spend time socially w ith colleagues from w o rk o r y o u r profession

Significance *

N o te : Q: “ I’m going to ask how often you do various things. For each activity, would you say you do them every week or nearly every week; once or twice a month; only a few times a year; or not at all?” The table lists the percentage of women and men who spend time weekly with each group, with the gender gap representing the difference between women and men. A negative coefficient denotes that women are less likely to spend time weekly than men. The significance of the difference between groups was estimated using ANOVA. *** p = .001 ** = .01 *p = .05 Source: Pooled World Values Surveys, 2001

goers, or with people in voluntary associations. It might be expected that women with traditional family roles might be closer to care of the elderly and thus maintaining contact with parents and other relatives, and that they might spend more time with friends, such as neighbors in the local community, and with other parishioners, given their stronger religiosity. Yet, in fact, men reported spending more time with each of these groups; the gender gap was often modest in size (although statistically significant) but it was largest, as expected, in the social networks developed among colleagues in the workplace. This reinforces the conclusion that women’s traditional roles in the family and their child-rearing responsibilities, as well as the dual time burdens commonly experienced by working mothers, continue to limit social networks and time spent outside the immediate household. It remains true that the direction of causality in this pattern can be questioned; for example, if membership of social clubs and voluntary organizations led to more friends and awareness of neighbors in the local community, as Putnam suggests. Nevertheless the fact that there is a consistent pattern where women spend less time than men across all the indicators of leisure, whether time spent with churchgoers, parents, friends, or colleagues, suggests that even

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if there is some reciprocity in this relationship, women usually have fewer time resources for leisure activities outside the home.

Conclusions

The burgeoning study of social capital is throwing new light on civic activism and voluntary organizations, and exploring the consequences of these phenomena for cooperation within communities and for opportunities for individuals. Yet beyond looking at how some of the changes transforming women’s lives have contributed toward trends in social capital in America, we still understand remarkably little about how gender interacts with social capital, and w hat implications this has for social inequality. In this study we have examined some of the ways in which associational membership can be vertically and horizontally segmented for women and men, and considered three alternative explanations for these gender differences. As discussed earlier, there are many problems in conceptualizing social capital, as well as in operationalizing summary indicators of this phenomenon. The indicators developed in this study go some way toward measuring this elusive concept although further study is required to establish the reliability and robustness of these indices. Bearing in mind these limitations, the results of the analysis suggest three main findings. First, the analysis confirms the well-known tendency for participation in different types of civic associations to be strongly sex-segregated horizontally, so that some clubs, groups, and organizations are disproportionately male while others are located more within the female sphere. None of the groups under comparison were 100 percent segregated, but only a few groups proved gender-neutral. This finding is not particularly surprising, it confirms popular assumptions, but it does suggest the need for considerable caution in estimating overall patterns of social capital, since the type of group studied may either exacerbate or underestimate the extent of any gender differences. Second, the gender gaps in levels of associational membership and social trust were small but significant, and found in societies at all different levels of development, although the gap in belonging to many associations did diminish in postindustrial societies. Again this largely confirms the conventional wisdom, and it also suggests that studies of social capital need to take explicit account of gender, rather than assuming that this is a gender-neutral phenomenon.

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Lastly, in seeking to explain gender gaps in formal associational membership, the multivariate analysis suggests that this largely reflects the way in which women and men differ in their informal social networks. Time spent with family members and immediate relatives, more common among women, does not necessarily lead people to join formal organizations and community groups. Indeed the simple correlation between the amount of time spent with family and the indicators of associational membership and activism, without any prior controls, was significant and negative. By contrast, time spent informally with workmates and friends was positively correlated with participation in formal associations. Agency explanations suggest the main reason is that extensive networks of friends and w orkplace colleagues draw people into belonging to social organizations, attending meetings, or even becoming active in running groups. The gender gap in associational life appears to be more strongly related to the agency-role of informal social networks and to time resources than to the many well-established structural and cultural differences in women and men’s lives. Does this matter? If an individual’s stock of social capital does indeed affect his or her life chances, as many claim (e.g.,opportunities in professional careers, in public life, and in business), then the gender gap in social capital could well be important as another barrier to women’s equality. And if there are broader consequences for community life that flow from the stock of social capital, then again if women are less effectively networked and less socially trusting then this may have an important negative impact upon society as a whole. On the one hand gender-related bonding groups, where women talk to women and men talk to men, can have positive spin-offs for individual, for groups, and for society. But at the same time gender-based bonding can also have negative externalities; for example, by isolating women from opportunities in the public sphere and reinforcing their role in the private sphere. If this pattern holds for differences in associational activism between the sexes, it seems likely that there will probably be analogous mechanisms at work relating to the other major social cleavages of class, ethnicity, and race. We need to understand far more about the mechanisms at work here and their implications for social equality and for community life.

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APPENDIX 4.A Societies Included in the 1999–2001 Wave of the World Values Survey Society

VOL-ANY percent who belong to at least one association Women Men

Social Trust (Percent trusting) Women Men

Social Capital Index

Women

Men

Postindustrial (17) Austria Belgium Canada Denmark Finland France Germany Iceland Ireland Italy Japan Luxembourg Netherlands Spain Sweden United Kingdom United States

62 60 72 82 82 36 48 93 53 38 41 55 91 26 96 34 88

73 71 76 87 78 43 54 94 62 46 45 62 95 32 95 32 92

29 25 35 64 58 21 29 40 30 30 40 23 58 35 64 26 37

34 31 39 65 54 20 32 39 42 33 40 24 61 35 64 30 34

0.21 0.19 0.27 0.57 0.50 0.10 0.16 0.36 0.19 0.15 0.19 0.13 0.55 0.10 0.62 0.12 0.33

0.26 0.25 0.34 0.57 0.44 0.10 0.18 0.37 0.28 0.20 0.20 0.18 0.59 0.13 0.61 0.12 0.32

44 43 21 49 35 54 33 54 30 31 18 33 46 58 22 24 18 31 62

41 49 26 51 54 67 34 60 31 32 19 52 47 63 28 34 24 32 68

15 39 22 24 18 24 22 20 21 16 22 20 20 9 19 11 9 23 15

16 36 29 21 22 24 23 22 23 17 27 21 23 9 17 13 10 23 16

0.08 0.18 0.06 0.13 0.08 0.14 0.10 0.13 0.09 0.06 0.05 0.09

0.08 0.18 0.09 0.12 0.14 0.17 0.08 0.15 0.08 0.06 0.07 0.13 0.11 0.06 0.06 0.07 0.03 0.09 0.13

Industrial (24) Argentina Belarus Bulgaria Chile Croatia Czech Republic Estonia Greece Hungary Latvia Lithuania Malta Mexico Philippines Poland Portugal Romania Russian Federation Slovakia

0.11

0.05 0.05 0.05 0.02 0.09 0.11

(Continued)

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APPENDIX 4.A Societies Included in the 1999–2001 Wave of the World Values Survey (Continued) Society

Slovenia Turkey Ukraine Venezuela Yugoslavia

V O L-A N Y p ercen t w h o belong to at least one association W om en M en

46

58

34 52 23

36 62 41

28 46 22

45 80 29

66

69

14

22

76 84 71 79 91 41

73 91 90 74 83 46

Social T rust (Percent trusting) W om en M en

Social C apital Index

W om en

M en

20 17 25 14 19

22 21 27 18 18

0.13

0.14

0.09 0.08 0.05

0.10 0.11 0.09

11 23 54 38 13 44 49 25 25 25 12 19 7 37 11 27

11 24 51 37 15 48 50 30 18 26 14 20 8 41 11 28

0.04 0.07 0.13

0.05 0.16 0.16

0.09

0.11

0.04

0.05

0.09 0.18 0.06 0.30 0.10 0.13

0.10 0.19 0.07 0.31 0.09 0.14

Agrarian (15) Algeria Bangladesh China Egypt El Salvador Indonesia Iran Jordan Morocco Nigeria South Africa Tanzania Uganda Viet Nam Zimbabwe Total (56)

Note: The six countries where the battery of questions on voluntary associations was not included in the survey were excluded from the analysis presented in this study.

N otes 1. Gabriel A. Almond and Sidney Verba, The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five N ations (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1963). 2. J. McPherson and Lynn Smith-Lovin, “Women and Weak Ties: Differences by Sex in the Size of Voluntary Organizations,” American Journal o f Sociology 87 (1982): 883–904. 3. Gwen M oore, “Structural Determinants of M en’s and Women’s Personal N etw ork s” American Sociological Review 55 (1990): 726–35. 4. See Ronald Inglehart and Pippa Norris, Rising Tide: Gender Equality and Cultural Change Worldwide (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2003). 5. Look, for a moment, at the illustration chosen to illustrate the back of the jacket of Robert Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival o f American C om m unity (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000).

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6. Pierre Bourdieu, Reproduction in Education, Culture and Society (London: Sage, 1970); James S. Coleman, “Social Capital in the Creation of H um an Capital,” American Journal o f Sociology 94 (1988): S95–S120; James S. Coleman, Foundations o f Social Theory (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 1990). For a discussion of the history of the concept, see also the introduction in Stephen Baron, John Field, and Tom Schuller, eds., Social Capital: Critical Perspectives (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2000). 7. The seminal works are Robert D. Putnam, M aking Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1993); Robert D. Putnam, “The Strange Disappearance of Civic America,” The American Prospect 7, no. 24 (December 1996): 34–38; Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival o f American Com m unity (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000). More recent comparative research is presented in Susan Pharr and Robert Putnam, eds., Disaffected Democracies: W hat’s Troubling the Trilateral Countries? (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 2000); and in Robert D. Putnam, ed., Democracies in Flux (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2002). 8. Putnam, Bowling Alone, 19. Putnam also offers a related definition: “By ‘social capital’ I mean features of social life— networks, norms and trust— that enable participants to act together more effectively to pursue shared objectives” (Putnam, “The Strange Disappearance,” 34). 9. Ib id , 194–203. 10. Ib id , 203. 11. Robert D. Putnam, “Introduction,” in The Dynamics o f Social Capital, ed. Robert D. Putnam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002). 12. Alejandro Portes and Patricia Landholt, “The Downside of Social Capital,” The American Prospect 7, no. 26 (May 1996): 18–21. 13. See Cathal McCall and Arthur Williamson, “Governance and Democracy in N orthern Ireland: The Role of the Voluntary and Community Sector after the Agreement,” Governance, 14, no. 3 (2001): 363– 83. 14. Sue Falter Mennino and April Brayfield, “Job-Family Trade-Offs—The M ultidimensional Effects of Gender,” Work and Occupations 29, no. 2 (2002): 226– 56. 15. Nancy Burns, Key Schlozman, and Sidney Verba, “The Public Consequences of Private Inequality: Family Life and Citizen Participation,” American Political Science Review 91, no. 2 (1997): 373– 89. 16. Sidney Verba, N orm an Nie, and Jae-on Kim, Participation and Political Equality: A Seven-Nation Comparison (New York: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1978). 17. Almond and Verba, The Civic Culture. 18. Almond and Verba, The Civic Culture-, Samuel Barnes and M ax Kaase et a l . Political Action: Mass Participation in Five Western Democracies (Beverley Hills, CA: Sage, 1979). 19. Pippa Norris, e d . Critical Citizens: Global Support for Democratic Governance (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1999). 20. Steven J. Rosenstone and John M ark Hansen, Mobilization, Participation and Democracy in America (New York: Macmillan, 1995). See also Carol A. Cassel, “Voluntary Associations, Churches and Social Participation Theories of Turnout,” Social Science Quarterly 80, no. 3 (September 1999): 504– 17.

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21. Sidney Verba, Kay Lehman Schlozman, and Henry Brady, Voice and Equality: Civic Voluntarism in American Politics (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 1995). 22. For details of the classification see Pippa Norris, Democratic Phoenix: R einventing Political Activism (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2002), appendix A. 23. Unfortunately the questions to monitor membership in voluntary associations th at were used in different waves of the WVS survey were equivalent but not identical, and the wording varied as follows: 1980 WVS: “Please look carefully at the following list of voluntary organizations and activities and say which, if any, do you belong to?” Early-1990 and 2001 WVS: “Please look carefully at the following list of voluntary organizations and activities and say... a) which, if any, do you belong to? b) Which, if any, are you currently doing unpaid voluntary work for?” Mid-1990s WVS “N ow I am going to read off a list of voluntary organizations; for each one, could you tell me whether you are an active member, an inactive member or not a member of that type of organization?” The change in wording makes it difficult to compare activism among all waves, and the wording in 1995 may generate different response rates as well. I am grateful to Ron Inglehart for providing these details. 24. Variations among different sectors, and the reason why people join, are discussed in detail elsewhere; see Norris, Democratic Phoenix. 25. The analysis is limited to the most recent (2001) wave of the WVS because the wording of the items of ’’belonging” and ’’activism” within civic associations changed over successive waves. 26. Ronald Inglehart and Pippa Norris. Rising Tide: Gender Equality and Cultural Change A round the World. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 2003. 27. Pippa N orris and Ronald Inglehart, Sacred and Secular: Religion and Politics Worldwide (New York: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2004). 28. It should be noted that more direct measures, including time spent with people from their church, mosque, or synagogue, or time spent with people at voluntary organizations, were not included in the multivariate model as these factors were judged to be too closely related to the dependent variable, involving potential problems of multicollinearity.

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5 Acting from the Heart Values, Social Capital, and Women’s Involvement in Interfaith and Environmental Organizations AMY CAIAZZA and BARBARA GAULT

Introduction

Recent interest in the concept of social capital has prompted new and creative explorations of why and how citizens become involved in their communities as civic or political activists, including potential links between the two kinds of activism. Some of this research (including some in this volume) suggests that the process of engagement can be different for women and men, in part because of their still quite different roles and experiences in both the public and private spheres, even despite important changes in gender role expectations since the 1950s. Women’s family roles, access to public networks, and economic status might affect their individual experiences with social capital and with how they are motivated and recruited to become active in their communities, to build different kinds of bridging and bonding ties, and to create social trust. This chapter explores dynamics affecting the process of civic engagement among women in two specific types of community activities: (1) religious organizations, including congregations and interfaith community groups, and (2) environmental organizing.

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We are interested in these two areas of activism for several reasons. One, women are relatively visible as activists and, at times, as leaders in both types of organizing. Two, both types of activism are often visible at the grassroots level, and, as we argue later in the paper, this grassroots activism is frequently built on local networks— often wom en’s networks— in settings such as churches and schools. The nature and composition of such networks are very much rooted in the patterns of w omen’s lives, including their traditional and often primary responsibilities for maintaining home and family life. Three, these two areas of political and civic activism are particularly interesting for examining a relatively unexplored set of potential connections between w omen’s social and political values and their experiences with social capital. Research from disparate fields in political science, sociology, and psychology has suggested that women are more likely than men to hold empathic or care-based personal and political values. Arising from gender-specific role expectations, and working in tandem with the different networks that women have access to in social, political, and economic life, w om en’s values may shape their approach to building relationships with others and determine who those “others” are. They may also impact the issues that women prioritize, the groups they join, and the activities they engage in. In other words, as Virginia Sapiro notes in chapter 7 of this volume, w omen’s distinct experiences may influence both their political and social values and their experiences with social capital. As our analysis shows later in the essay, women who are involved in both faith-based activism and in local environmental organizing often explicitly or implicitly evoke values of empathy in that activism; their experiences and motivations provide interesting fodder for understanding the importance of those values.1 In this essay, we explore how values interact with other factors related to women’s civic participation to result in a process of getting involved that carries distinct implications for the visibility of women’s activism by influencing the quality of that involvement: how public it is, whether it is in local, or national settings, whether it is service-oriented or more political, and whether women take leadership roles in their activism in the same ways that men do. We also argue that how women become involved in civic and political life points to potentially powerful ways for women to increase their civic and political engagement based on the patterns and priorities of their lives.

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We first examine research findings on gender differences in w om en’s political attitudes and civic engagement. We go on to discuss factors that might lead to gender differences in attitudes, values, and activism, including gender-role expectations and w om en’s historical exclusion from institutional life and greater economic vulnerability. We then explore how connections between values, social capital, and the patterns of w omen’s lives are evident in women’s involvement in associational life in the United States. These connections are discussed in the context of w omen’s environmental and religious activism. The essay is designed to illustrate the importance of bringing gender into theories, definitions, and the measurement of social capital, in order to augment its usefulness as a concept for understanding the development and health of modern democratic systems. Doing so may serve at least two purposes: to provide a more comprehensive, nuanced, and precise understanding of social capital, its benefits, and its drawbacks as both a concept and a factor shaping U.S. civic and political life; and to more accurately develop methods for improving w omen’s levels of social capital and their civic and political engagement, particularly as leaders in U.S. communities.

Social Capital and Gender Differences in Values and Civic Involvement

As defined by Putnam, social capital is “connections among individuals—social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them.”2 This definition clearly focuses on interconnectedness and building a sense of community. Similarly, in measuring social capital, Putnam focuses on individual involvement in a variety of social, civic, and political institutions, from voting and community organizing to entertaining friends, as well as on levels of social trust.3

Gender and Social Capital Social capital, then, is a broad concept that can be conceived of as both a desirable outcome and a resource for other outcomes. In Bowling Alone and his subsequent work, Putnam takes both tacks, describing the factors causing declines in social capital and the negative

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consequences of those declines. He has considered gender issues to some extent in both types of analysis. In Bowling Alone, Putnam assessed wom en’s increased labor force participation and the pressures of two-career families as potential causes of declines in social capital; he concludes that they are indeed potential causes of declines in this respect, but not among the most profound, because similar patterns of decline are seen among financially comfortable, one-career families and among single individuals, and because a variety of other factors (such as generational change and the rise of television and computers) seem to outweigh the influence of more women working. In other analysis, Caiazza and Putnam explore how levels of social capital correlate with indicators of w omen’s economic and social status and find a relatively strong relationship between the two.4 Putnam does, then, attend to gender in his discussions of social capital. Still, it is outside the scope of his work to consider other ways in which gender differences may be relevant to understanding the importance of social capital, particularly in the process by which women come to value and participate in building networks, connections, and social trust. Yet it seems possible, if not likely, that this process differs for women and men.

Gender Differences in Issues o f Concern A long history of research on women’s political views has established that men’s and women’s attitudes differ, at least at the aggregate level, in the issues they prioritize and the policies they support. This in turn may be linked to their patterns of participation and social capital. In general, women are more sympathetic to policies that benefit economically and socially disadvantaged populations (including themselves). These attitudes might be described as relatively “empathic” in that they tend to suggest a concern for human need and a relatively generous approach to addressing such needs. Although many of these gender differences are in strength more than direction, overall, w om en are more supportive than men of civil rights and affirmative action policies, more interested in issues concerning the education of children, and more supportive of the expansion of policies designed to ease social and economic hardship.5These attitudes sometimes translate into voting preferences; not only has a gender gap existed in U.S. presidential politics since 1980, but as of March 2004, early polling

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about the fall presidential elections found significant gender gaps in the issues likely to sway women’s vote—women were much more likely to cite health care and the state of the economy as important to their planned presidential vote, for example, and were more likely to support Democratic candidate John Kerry over President and Republican candidate George Bush.6 This development follows patterns that have become familiar but also more prominent in recent years.7

Gender Differences in Activism Similarly, based on research over the past few decades, we know that wom en’s activism often focuses on different issues and utilizes different organizing models than activism pursued by men. Historical accounts of women’s organizing in the United States, particularly during the Progressive Era and World War I, have traced w omen’s emphasis on creating and supporting social welfare programs for disadvantaged citizens, particularly for women and children.8 Research on contemporary women’s political activism has found that women are more likely than men to devote political energy and time to issues such as education than are men, who are more motivated by issues such as taxes and foreign policy.9Women and men also tend to choose different types of civic and political engagement. Women are more likely than men to be involved in community groups focused on education and those dedicated to helping the poor, elderly, and homeless.10 Women are more likely than men to know their neighbors, and knowing them is a more important factor related to civic engagement than it is for men—suggesting that informal networks play a more central role in w omen’s civic lives.11 They are also more likely than men to attend and be members of churches. In contrast, while more likely to vote than men, women are less likely to participate in other more formal and visible political institutions—giving money and volunteering for campaigns; protesting; writing letters to representatives;12 and serving in political office.13

Reasons for Gender Differences in Attitudes and Activism A number of factors may affect gender differences in attitudes and activism. Women’s relatively empathic political attitudes and activism

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within neighborhoods and churches may arise from their traditional roles as mothers, caretakers, and managers of the family’s social connections, and from their traditionally disadvantaged economic and social status. Women’s traditional lack of access to civic resources and exclusion from institutionalized positions of power may influence their patterns of social capital development.

Differing Gender Roles Some argue that wom en’s concern for, and willingness to take action on behalf of vulnerable populations stems from expectations that wom en’s social and citizenship roles are rooted in a responsibility to provide nurturing and care to their children, and by extension, to their communities. In the United States, as in many other societies, women are more likely to be primary caretakers, they are expected to play a certain nurturing role in society, and as citizens they are expected to teach a new generation of citizens the importance of community values.14 A “caring” ethic is found implicitly and explicitly in many accounts of women’s activism, both historically and in current movements.15 Contemporary analyses of women’s efforts to change public policy through social movement building, such as Mothers Against Drunk Driving and the Million M om March, show that women often justify their activism (at least publicly) around a desire to protect the vulnerable, in these cases defined explicitly as children.16 Welch and Hibbing summarized writing by a number of political scientists suggesting that “women have been socialized to emphasize values as [sic] cooperation, nurturance, sacrifice, harmony, and moralism, while men are socialized to prize rationalism, competition, and objectivity.” 17 These authors have argued that w om en’s attitudes are more “sociotropic” than men’s—they are more concerned with the impact of policies on society and less concerned with individual benefit.18 Research shows that w omen’s sense of empathy is stronger than that of men,19 and Gault and Sabini find that gender differences in levels of empathy can explain gender differences in willingness to get involved in groups that provide human services.20 Stern and Deitz argue that higher levels of altruism among women are key to their support for environmentalism, and that this value is particularly likely to lead to active support for environmental policies if women link those policies to protecting the health and safety of their communities.21

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While on the face of things, women’s more empathic attitudes and activism choices may appear selfless, it is likely that these patterns emerge from the history of reciprocal gains, and trust, resulting from w omen’s caregiving and local affiliations. For example, in their role as mothers and primary caretakers, exchange of caregiving or sup­ port among neighbors or other churchgoers provide mutual benefit during times of need. M en’s values, like women’s, are probably also related to the roles and expectations that they experience in society and politics. Men are more likely than women to support retributive or punitive policy solutions such as the death penalty22 and aggressive foreign policies, and to let personal economic self-interest define their attitudes toward policies.23 The social connections that men foster focus more on the business relationship, advancement in a community or political hierarchy, or on reciprocal connections in the realms of traditional male responsibilities as breadwinners and protectors. Men more than women are expected to provide for their families, particularly financially, to keep them safe, and to keep the machinery of business and politics running—their own roles as citizens call for a different kind of public-mindedness rooted in their roles as “heads of household.” When embedded in a business or political context, personal reciprocal relationships and trust networks take on a character that is more commonly viewed as self-interested. Of course the concept of selfinterest is never simple, in that even altruism can be reciprocal, and policies or programs that help others might someday help oneself.

Gender Differences in Economic and Social Status Women’s relatively empathic and sociotropic attitudes may result not just from caretaking roles but a greater ability to identify with the disadvantaged due to personal life experience. Women’s relative economic disadvantage and greater exposure to certain forms of discrimination may motivate attitudes and activism preferences. Andersen, for example, argues that w omen’s greater likelihood of contact with the welfare state, either as government workers or recipients of benefits, can explain a large portion of the gender gap in the 1996 presidential elections.25 Women who are economically disadvantaged are more likely to become active on human needs issues compared with women who are economically advantaged.26 Women’s different

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experiences with legal, social, and political inequality likely also influence public opinion.26

Intersections o f Race, Gender, and Social Capital It is important to stress, of course, that the generalizations drawn here mask important differences related to factors such as race and ethnicity, class, education, and religiosity. Some researchers have argued that these factors often trump gender in explaining support for various policies. Greenberg, for example, finds that African-American women are consistently more likely to support the Democratic party in elections, while white women are more divided in their voting patterns, particularly along the lines of religiosity; religious white women are more likely to support the Republican party, while secular white women support the Democratic party.27 At the same time, the analysis described above about w om en’s involvement in social movement activism suggests that there are gender differences that sometimes outweigh these competing explanations. In fact, it is plausible that some of the proposed explanatory factors underlying gender differences in attitudes and associations are also at play in explaining racial/ethnic differences in those measures. Women and members of communities of color have been historically excluded from positions of power and have more direct experience with economic need and with race-based violence and harassment. These experiences may in turn lead to greater empathy for the oppressed. Race, class, and religion are important to political attitudes, civic engagement, social capital, and values, but gender also plays a role in shaping men’s and wom en’s experiences with all of these concepts.

The Importance of Women’s Values to Building and Using Social Capital: Evidence from Research on Women’s Activism in Contemporary Environmental and Faith-Based Movements Women’s relatively empathic attitudes, their care-based trust networks, and the disadvantages they face with regard to social, political, and economic resources may together help point to differences in exactly how men and women build and use social capital. For example, these factors may help explain why women are less visible in more formal types of political organizing, and rather gravitate

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toward local efforts and associations centered around the home and neighborhood. Existing research has explained their lower levels of involvement as related to less access to several types of resources, including civic skills, recruitment networks, and factors such as time and money.28 At the same time that they have been excluded from the political realm, w om en’s connections have been based more in the home and neighborhood, and more rooted in their traditional roles as women, not only as mothers and wives, but also as less public and less political actors. This kind of network, of course, would differ from those traditionally built by men, based on work and their involvement in more visible and formal community institutions— in turn, related to their own social values and expectations as well as the tangible resources available to them. The sorts of social capital that women pursue may also be less threatening to the established gendered social order, whereas incursions into male spheres require a willingness to confront resistance. In other words, w omen’s diminished access to resources such as civic skills, money, time, and to powerful professional networks, may work in tandem with their role expectations and values to shape how and when they participate in building bridging and bonding ties. The rest of this essay explores relationships among gender, values, and social capital as they are evident in two settings: w omen’s involvement in religious organizations and their work in environmental movements. Together, the two examples illustrate how women’s values and networks can be crucial to their experiences with social capital, and how those experiences differ from those of men.

Women’s Experiences as Activists in Congregations and Interfaith Community Organizations: Value Orientations, Religious Approaches to Women’s Roles, and N ew Opportunities to Lead Women’s work as civic activists in faith-based community groups can illustrate how their values may lead them to specific types of experiences with building and using social capital, particularly when contrasting their experiences in two kinds of faith-based groups: those housed by congregations and those working as independent community building organizations with a faith orientation. Generally speaking, both kinds of faith-based groups can provide an opportunity for women to apply their distinct empathic or altruistic values to a

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specific type of associational life: that connected to religion or spirituality and also devoted to addressing issues of community social justice. But their decision to work within one or the other type of faith-based organizing can be crucial to their resulting opportunities to develop civic and political skills, in ways that illustrate the ideological and institutional dynamics that often shape, constrain, or facilitate women’s ability to create social capital. In general, within many congregations, wom en’s roles have traditionally been limited to support and service roles rather than visible leadership positions; although this is changing somewhat, it remains evident in most contemporary religions and congregations. In contrast, in faith-based groups operating outside a specific congregation or denomination, with fewer formal ties to a specific religious tradition, women seem to have an ability to claim more latitude and mobility to serve and to lead. In this context, they seem to develop both civic skills and a new level of comfort, relatively speaking, with taking on leadership and political, religious, and social authority. M any researchers have noted that women are more religious than men. They are more likely to be members of congregations and to regularly attend services.29 They make up over half of the members of mainline Protestant churches.30 Congregations are a fundamental place that Putnam identifies for building social capital; as those filling the pews, women seem to prize this particular type of network more than men do. And their involvement also extends beyond just membership: women are more likely to be active than men within their congregations, and they devote more time to activities within them.31 Importantly, congregations are not the only religious institutions that women join and support in large numbers: they are also well represented among faith-based community organizations, groups that are independent but often linked, either formally or informally, to congregations and other faith institutions; that are locally constituted; and that are devoted to training local leaders to “effectively address pressing issues facing their communities.”32 These groups, which are often ecumenical or even interfaith in their approach, include those affiliated with the Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF) and the Pacific Institute for Community Organizing (PICO), among other networks. One study has found that more than half of all board members and almost half of all organizers (those who recruit and train community leaders to develop and implement campaigns to improve their com-

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munities) in such organizations are women.33 This level of representation, particularly in leadership positions, is unusual for almost any sector of the for-profit or nonprofit world in the United States. And women’s involvement within interfaith social justice organizing is an important development not just for reasons of diversity, but because of the large number of people these groups involve across the United States: a study of the field found 131 local or municipal federations involving 3,500 congregations and 500 public schools, labor union affiliates, and other groups and touching “some two million members of those institutions in all the major urban areas and many secondary cities around the United States.”34 It seems unlikely that women are joining either congregations or faith-based community organizations simply for the sake of social capital, for networks and connections; the specific religious content of the experience is probably much more important than these more distant goals. In fact, it is likely to be one of the most important—if not the most important—reason for joining religious groups of all types. And this is particularly critical for women, who are more likely to say that religion is very important to them35 and, among those who are active in their congregations, more likely to engage in such activism in order to “affirm religious faith” or “further goals of religion.”36 It seems plausible that these justifications might extend to other faith-based groups, so that religious values themselves are a draw for women in both congregations and other faith-based organizations. In other words, these values attract women into a certain kind of associational life, that which is religiously centered. Participating in congregations may both attract women because of and reinforce the empathic value orientations found in women in political and psychological research. Religion and religious institutions do not always but can, in fact, focus on these kinds of values in their central tenets, emphasizing messages of love, individual worth, tolerance, and even social responsibility.37 Of course, religious institutions can serve as places of a restrictive sort of “ bonding” rather than “bridging” social capital, shutting others out of an exclusive group of the “saved.” In these settings, religious organizations can justify and breed intolerance rather than empathy. Still, many congregations work specifically to combat this kind of exclusivity. Instead, they encourage their members to serve others and work for their betterment, either individually or on a more societal level.38 And even in those with less grandiose social goals, religious involvement seems

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closely linked to building interconnectedness, as congregation members are more likely to do things like visit friends, belong to other civic organizations, and attend club meetings than nonmembers.39 As Putnam notes, “connectedness, not merely faith, is responsible for the beneficence of church people. Once again, the evidence does not prove beyond all doubt that churchgoing itself produces generosity, but religious involvement is certainly associated with greater attention to the needs of our brothers and sisters.”40 Notably, Putnam ’s finding is true for both men and women. In fact, Burns, Schlozman, and Verba find that most men and women who are active in their congregations cite a desire to “lend a helping h an d ” as a reason for being active; the difference between them is not statistically significant (at 73% for men vs. 77% for women).41 This might be taken as evidence that there are no differences between men and women in terms of levels of empathy or altruism. At the same time, women are much more likely to be active in their congregations (at 29% vs. 21% of women and men, respectively, claiming to be active members), and it may be that the men who are active are those who are more likely than average to feel the importance of empathic value orientations. In other words, the empathic values espoused by many religions may be particularly attractive to women, helping to explain some of their greater devotion to religion and their involvement in congregations. And this is, in turn, important to their experiences with creating social capital. N o t only is religious activity a way to encourage a sense of interconnectedness, but it is also an important opportunity for women to learn and practice civic skills, including leadership. In fact, Burns, Schlozman, and Verba find that women are more likely than men to practice civic skills within congregations: 22 percent of women and 18 percent of men say they exercise civic skills in church, and women exercise them more often than men do.42 Similarly, Brenda O ’Neill finds elsewhere in this volume that Canadian women who volunteer with religious organizations are involved with more organizations in their communities, including nonreligious ones, than nonreligious women, and they give more time to that volunteer work. At the same time, many congregations have limitations on how welcoming and supportive they are of women’s activism, particularly their leadership. Almost every major religious tradition in the United States has evolved out of a long-standing history of patriarchal religious values and traditions. Even where those values and

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traditions have altered or been downplayed, they remain central to the basic ideas behind the vast majority of U.S. religions.43 Within them, women have generally been granted less authority than men and have, instead, been cast as lacking the moral authority needed to lead. While women in most religious traditions have been given a specific role in promulgating and preserving religious tradition— as mothers and teachers of subsequent generations—they have rarely been granted full and equal authority to interpret or espouse religious values as leaders within their traditions.44 As a result, women hold fewer leadership positions in all of the major denominations represented in the United States; in only a few (such as the Unitarian Universalists) are they nearing equality among trainees for official leadership roles, such as in seminaries. Instead, their roles in most religions are more behind the scenes, less endowed with a sense of their religious authority to lead. Women’s unequal role in religious life is evident in their opportunities for civic and political engagement within congregations. Burns, Schlozman, and Verba find that once controlling for religious affiliation, the advantage women enjoy in practicing civic skills in congregations disappears: “It is their greater religious commitment, rather than any special encouragement from religious institutions, that is responsible for the slightly enhanced level of participatory factors that accompanies their religious activity.”45And in some areas of civic activism, women are quite clearly disadvantaged compared with men: in mainline Protestant churches, for example, men are more likely to be asked to take political action than women. Men are also more likely to be asked to serve in leadership positions in almost all congregations: among the religiously active, 61 percent of men and 49 percent of women were asked to serve on a board or as an officer in the past five years.46 As a result, while the attraction of women to congregational life leads them to an important setting for learning civic skills, building community connections, and acting on empathic values, it may not necessarily serve them as a vehicle for creating social capital that is then applied to positions of leadership, that is, more public roles. Women’s exclusion from leadership within congregations could potentially also hamper their access to civic and political life outside their congregations. As Robert Wuthnow has noted, the visibility and networks that accompany such positions of leadership often lead to recruitment for civic and political activism in the community at

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large.47 Less represented in these positions, women may lose out on potential opportunities for expanded civic involvement in the community, particularly as leaders in civic and political life. The interfaith community organizations described above provide an interesting contrast to congregational life, however. The large proportion of women in such organizations, especially in leadership positions, suggests that there is something special about them that attracts and makes women comfortable as members, activists, and leaders. Part of this is likely to be simply religious: these organizations, of course, share with congregations a devotion to religious language, values, and symbolism. But another part of their message, that related to interfaith understanding, may also appeal to women. Because they operate outside of congregations, generally with a focus on interfaith cooperation to combat problems facing their communities, they often adopt a language of religiosity steeped in a set of common values and goals that are inspiring and deeply spiritual, yet deliberately not divisive among religious traditions.48 While the political goals of interfaith groups often involve concepts such as hunger, economic inequality, workers’ rights, or other tangible issues, most also value the interfaith aspect of their efforts highly, making understanding across denominations or traditions central to their work. For women, the experience of interfaith understanding and a shared worldview, especially when combined with an emphasis on service to the disadvantaged, may work well with their empathic values. Perhaps more importantly, interfaith settings may also offer many women the opportunity to claim roles unavailable to them within their congregations for historical and dogmatic reasons. Because they work outside of congregations, interfaith organizations may erect fewer obstacles (including value-laden ones) to women’s leadership and particularly their authority. With a more general language of spirituality at their core, interfaith groups may provide a space where it is freer for women to practice and articulate religious values on their own terms, without the constant oversight of male authority figures or the weight of traditionally patriarchal traditions and values. By allowing women to practice a new relationship to religious authority, interfaith groups may lead to increased confidence and comfort in their leadership roles. It may inspire them to take a more visible place within interfaith organizing in particular, in their congregations, or even in other civic and political organizations. All of this may be reinforced when women already are in leadership, as

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they seem to be on boards and in organizer positions in many faithbased community organizations—this may provide a role modeling service for women that increases their sense that women can and do have both religious and civic authority. In fact, preliminary work for a research project on women’s involvement in interfaith organizations suggests that for many women they provide this kind of two-tiered, dynamic relationship. Women get involved in interfaith groups specifically because they value the religious content, the interconnectedness, and the opportunity to put both into action, particularly in service-related kinds of work within their communities. Through their experiences as volunteers, and often through their connections with other women, they become politicized in new and more profound ways, pursuing more intense forms of involvement in the work of both interfaith groups and other organizations. This is particularly true in organizations that provide participants with training designed to strengthen members’ political skills: confronting politicians, developing consensus, and public speaking. Through such training, women can become more comfortable critiquing power and authority in a variety of settings (including, by the way, their congregations and religious leaders within them) and often become civic and political leaders in their communities. While men, too, benefit from these experiences, they generally come to them with more confidence and comfort with their political or civic roles; the experience of developing confidence as a leader is more valuable, relatively speaking, for women. Moreover, because so many women and men come to interfaith work through their religious affiliations (rather than, for example, other civic groups), where men most often have opportunities to lead, the specific experience of being groomed for leadership—positions women may not otherwise seek or be recruited for—is often new and empowering.49 Notably, the benefits gained by women are most striking when training is designed to account for women’s experiences with discomfort or external resistance to their efforts to claim public voice, and also when its content and design is shaped by participants themselves—another way to give women experience with power. Importantly, because of the connections among religion, race, and ethnicity in the United States, the experience of creating and using social capital in faith-based groups can differ along racial and ethnic lines. For example, until relatively recently, the political focus of m any historically Black congregations was found to encourage

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political involvement among African-American men and women, and although women still often met profound resistance to their leadership, these congregations were more likely to encourage political and civic activism among members overall than is the case with predominantly white congregations.50 In contrast, the less participatory religious culture of Catholicism is linked to low levels of political and civic participation among Latino/a men and women.51 At the same time, research on the work of interfaith community groups finds that Latinos and Latinas may be particularly likely to be politically empowered by their involvement in such organizing.52 In part, their experiences seem linked to the positive and negative aspects of their roots in the Catholic Church, the most dominant religion among Latinos and Latinas. Catholic churches are often involved in faith-based community organizing due to a doctrinal emphasis on social justice, and so Latinas may be recruited through congregations into the work of interfaith social justice work. In addition, because their congregations are among the least likely to provide women with leadership opportunities, Latinas may find a unique opportunity to lead within faith-based community organizations. Once it is made available to them, they seem to have among the most transformative experiences. The experiences of Latinas— and all women—in interfaith organizing suggest that interfaith organizations may, through the backdoor, provide unique opportunities to build tangible skills and resources for civic engagement through direct training, practice, and confidence building. Again, although both men and women have these opportunities within interfaith social justice groups, for women they may be more important, because women generally have less of a sense of political efficacy and fewer civic skills than men; in addition, some evidence suggests that they simply do not think of political life as a “w om an’s world.”53 Political and civic experiences can help combat those gender disparities in civic and political skills and confidence. Because women are less likely than men to experience leadership within congregations, but are nonetheless attracted to religious settings for a variety of reasons, interfaith groups may provide a neat mix of attractive values and goals and an opportunity to exercise real leadership, with less of a looming sense that they are inappropriately violating men’s religious authority. In contrast, opportunities to practice skills, build networks, and practice authority are all less precious for men, who are more likely

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to be integrated into the leadership of both congregations and other civic and political organizations. M en have fewer institutional and ideological obstacles to activism and leadership than women do, within congregations, the broader spectrum of civic and political organizing, and the rest of their economic and social lives. As noted earlier, men have stronger networks for recruitment into leadership and other civic roles, more civic skills, and more financial resources than women. In addition, men are less in need of the kind of empowering, freeing space that women seem to tap into within interfaith organizations. Overall, the experiences of women in interfaith and congregational life suggest that w omen’s specific value orientations have ramifications vis-à-vis their experiences with building and making use of social capital by encouraging them to seek out specific types of associational life, with their accompanying benefits and drawbacks. Generally, congregational life provides an opportunity for women to be active in their communities but often carries limitations on their involvement, in ways that may account for some of their lower visibility in civic and political life. In contrast, interfaith social justice work, at least relatively speaking, provides a wider array of opportunities to practice leadership and build a more public form of social capital.

Women’s Experiences in Environmental Movements: Thinking Locally, Acting Globally A second example of the links between women’s gendered experiences, values, and civic and political engagement is their involvement in environmental activism, which provides compelling yet relatively common stories of w omen’s activism and leadership. Lois Gibbs, whose experiences with Love Canal made her a leader and hero of the environmental movement, is a prime example of this. Gibbs began her advocacy around toxic waste disposal when her children became extremely sick because of toxins in her community. When she started demanding information and action around the waste created by industry, she was stonewalled, inspiring her to become one of the best known environmental leaders in the country. She eventually transformed her personal political concerns into a broader appreciation of the importance of personal action:

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H ow did I make the leap from caring for my children to caring for all children? I think that it’s a real scary leap. And the reason that I made the leap was because I was so angry at what they did to my life that I hold a grudge. And that helped me make the leap. I think that when I moved from Love Canal to Washington, I was riding a high about the ability to achieve change. And that combination overrode my fear that this would not work.54

Although Gibbs is now a national figure among environmentalists, her story is mirrored repeatedly in locally run environmental groups. In fact, research on w om en’s involvement in environmental organizations finds that while large national environmental organizations are mostly headed by men, almost half of all citizen groups formed to combat local disasters are led by women or have memberships that are predominately women. Men dominate the leadership and membership of approximately one-fifth of these groups, and the rest have mixed leadership and membership. Women are particularly likely to lead and join local groups working in response to technological, as opposed to natural, disasters—in other words, those responding to harmful factory emissions, nuclear incidents, or other manmade disasters, as opposed to natural ones such as earthquakes or volcanoes.55 These patterns could be interpreted to suggest that women’s involvement in activism comes primarily from self-interest, rooted in a recognition of the personal consequences of environmental problems, even if that self-interest is closely tied to concern for their families. In fact, in studies of public opinion, women seem significantly more concerned than men about environmental risks to their personal health and safety.56 This might help explain their interest and involvement in local environmental issues, which may in turn be related to the more easily recognizable health and safety concerns caused by local conditions and policies. Local environmental problems such as hazardous waste repositories or poor water quality may be more easily connected by most women to personal health and safety concerns than are problems such as global warming or acid rain, which seem less changeable and more distant. Still, research into w omen’s support for environmentalism also suggests a broader connection to the values of altruism or empathy described above. Support for environmentalism is often inspired by individuals’ concerns for the negative consequences of poor conditions

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on not only themselves and their families, but also on other people, the ecosystem, and nonhuman life.57 In general, women have higher levels of these “altruistic” values than men specifically in thinking about the environment: their higher levels of environmentalism stem from higher levels of concern about others and “an increased likelihood to make connections between environmental conditions and their [own] values.”58 In other words, women may both join and lead environmental groups because they are concerned for the health and safety of themselves, their families, and their communities at large. In turn, as with their involvement in religious community organizing, w omen’s participation in environmental associational life may allow them to act upon and validate their values and authority in a society where w omen’s authority is often demeaned. Research on wom en’s work in environmental groups finds at least two consequences of their activism. On the one hand, they are often demeaned publicly and specifically as women; analysis of media coverage has found that local women leaders are often dismissed as “a bunch of hysterical housewives” who are “antijob,” unscientific “concerned mothers,” or “neighborhood women,” rather than serious political activists.59 On the other hand, these attacks do not necessarily have the desired effects of quieting the women involved. In fact, for many their experiences seem to bring them new confidence in their ability to act and to lead, along the lines of Lois Gibbs’s transformation described above. Women involved in grassroots environmental organizing have noted that with increased opportunities to practice a variety of skills, from public speaking and media work to petitioning, over time they are more likely to volunteer for more public and highprofile roles.60 Local environmental activism probably also specifically taps into women’s values of empathy due to the nature of the issues it addresses and its roots in communities and neighborhoods. It seems to bring together a sense of concern for the vulnerable—whether children and their health, or the environment itself—with a desire for interconnectedness that local organizing can manifest. Environmental groups often arise out of specific local conditions and are grounded in neighborhoods themselves, where women’s connections seem to be strongest. Because the conditions these groups address are visible and tangible in the health and safety of local citizens, women may be more likely to be recruited by their neighbors and friends, and not just a more removed townsperson.

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But these kinds of local connections might not be simply more effective in involving women in civic or political life. They may also reinforce women’s longer-term involvement and activism on behalf of larger communities. As Gibbs’s story illustrates, and as researchers have found in other contexts, even when very personally motivated, experiences building social capital can lead to a broader sense of a problem and a community, and can inspire movement from activism on behalf of “my family” or “my children” to “all families/all children.” That is, a more universalized sense of the world emerges out of the nexus of wom en’s values and their interaction with others around a community issue or problem.61 But w hat about men? Would we expect anything different from them? As noted above, existing research does find that men are involved in a different kind of environmental group, respond to different issues, and are more likely to take leadership in a bigger, more national type of setting. These patterns do not suggest that men actively reject the importance of interconnectedness or empathic values, but that they are more comfortable with taking on activism in a more visible way and, perhaps, are more strongly influenced by a sense of ambition, separate from any sense of outrage or empathy that they might have. The difference may also be about men’s resources: because men have fewer obstacles to taking leadership, more comfort with their political skills, and better recruitment networks, empathic values may play a less visible role in inspiring their involvement. In contrast, women’s values may step in where those other factors are missing or at least diminished. Finally, men may be in less need of the more supportive and comfortable settings that local environmental organizing likely bring: rooted in local connections, they may provide a source of support that men need less. Race and ethnicity have a particularly interesting place in environmental organizing, especially at the local level. Overall the environmental movement is dominated by whites. At the same time, some of the more successful grassroots environmental groups in the country have battled environmental racism, or the practice of unevenly exposing low-income and minority communities to health hazards related to manufacturing and other industrial processes. These groups are often led by women of color. Following the lead of Gibbs, for example, Patsy Ruth Oliver led a campaign in the 1980s that forced the Environmental Protection Agency to buy out homes in the “Black Love Canal” of Carver Terrace in Texas; her work, which involved

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forming and leading a mother-dominated movement, inspired the environmental justice movement.62 Her lead has been followed by other such movements in areas as diverse as Los Angeles, Detroit, and rural North Carolina and Louisiana. Like Gibbs, the women spearheading such movements describe a process of involvement in environmental issues based on their original concerns for themselves and their families, and a need to protect both: as Oliver states, “I was a nurse and a housewife and a mother. W hat did I know? But suddenly, everything I had worked for in my life was up for grabs—because of toxics.”63 For Oliver, the successful experience of advocating locally then broadened into national and then global roles on behalf environmental justice. Also, as with Gibbs, the experience of being demeaned, not only as a woman, but as an African American, motivated her to continue her fight. Importantly, because women’s involvement in environmental organizing—particularly within environmental justice groups— is more locally based than men’s, their visibility within the environmental movement in general is comparatively lower. At the local level, w om en in environmental movements may actually wield some civic and political influence as a result of their activism. But as the visibility (and the stakes) get higher, for example at the national level, women are less obvious leaders and play a less prominent political role, with some, but not too many, exceptions. Again, the patterns of their involvement, and of building and using social capital, affect their access to power and other resources.

Conclusion: W omen and Social Capital

The research reviewed here on w omen’s roles, values, activism, and experiences with building and using social capital suggests that w om en place a good deal of political stock in values such as community and looking out for others; that is, a communal form of social connectedness, a backbone of social capital. This type of connectedness involves giving and reciprocity in the realm of human needs, and emotional connection with others, without excluding the vulnerable or those who have few resources to give back. At least in the types of activism explored here, women tend to develop social capital at the grassroots level of their lives more than in the public and visible sense captured in most measures of political participation and leadership.

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The research outlined here on w om en’s involvement in two specific associational arenas, religious and environmental groups, illustrates that in their political attitudes and activism, and in their approach to politics and society, women are looking beyond personal or professional self-interest, and many apparently possess a deep appreciation for the more communal bonds and bridges social capital is prized for building. These values may originate from roles and expectations they experience as women— as primary caretakers, as nurturers, and as teachers of community values, as well as from their historically vulnerable social status. These sex-based roles are likely to influence not just activities and attitudes but the sorts of social interactions that they find pleasurable. The research also suggests that values such as empathy, altruism, and a focus on interconnection play a central role for women in building social capital and translating it into civic and political activism. At least in some contexts, the ways that women build and use social capital can serve to relegate them to a less public or politically influential form of civic and political participation, sustaining rather than challenging the status quo that disadvantages women in economics, politics, and society as a whole. This is by no means meant to demean the roles that women play in less public or prominent settings. But their lower visibility can affect both how men and women are perceived as relevant and important civic and political actors and how they are studied in concepts such as social capital and civil society. It may also affect the acceptance of women’s voices and concerns in public political processes. At the same time, although w omen’s attitudes, values, and patterns of social capital may originate in part from segregation and exclusion, in some contexts they have also brought women power, fulfillment, and unique civic skills that could yield tremendous social benefits if they were more widely applied. This seems more likely to occur when women build links with one another and are given room to challenge, or at least avoid, patriarchal restrictions on their leadership and authority. It is important to note that the two areas of activism explored in this essay (faith-based and environmental activism) were chosen in part because they are, in many cases, gendered in unique and relatively explicit ways. Some of this gendering differs between the two cases: for example, religious values, which often ascribe specific and frequently limiting roles to women as activists and leaders, play a unique role in faith-based organizing. In contrast, religious values

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are less frequently obvious in environmental organizing (with some exceptions, because there are a few religious environmentalist organizations in the United States). Women may still run up against assumptions of their own and others concerning the propriety of their activism and their leadership, including the specific form it may take, but these values are less explicitly justified by the institutions themselves that women are working in. On the other hand, some types of gendering overlap between the two areas of activism. For example, both faith-based and environmental activism are often focused on localized issues and are closely tied to networks linked to w omen’s lives. The specific ways that religious and environmental activism are gendered are bound to affect how roles, experiences, and values influence the dynamics of political and civic activism for women within these kinds of organizing. Other areas of activism may reveal different patterns of women’s involvement. For example, w omen’s motivations and experiences would likely differ somewhat where women have an even clearer history of visible leadership advocating for themselves, such as in feminist movements. They would also differ in more distinctly political activism such as partisan work. In general, though, the analysis in this essay underlines a basic contention of this book: that gender differences in social capital should continue to be closely examined to identify where obstacles to equal access remain. This essay is intended to contribute to a new conversation that challenges us to think about the ways that gendered roles and experiences, values, and social capital might be related, in order to refine our understanding of social capital, a central concept to discussions of civic and political engagement in contemporary thought. In turn, the concept of social capital can help us develop strategies for invigorating social and political activism in the United States and elsewhere, among both women and men. Notes 1. As noted in the conclusion of this essay, clearly our choice of “cases” to illustrate and explore these issues shapes our conclusions. Both areas of activism are very gendered, in different if often in overlapping ways. Studying different areas of political and civic activism would potentially result in different conclusions, some of which may contradict our arguments. 2. Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival o f American Com m unity (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000), 19.

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3. Ibid. 4. Amy Caiazza and Robert D. Putnam, 'Women’s Status and Social Capital Across the States (Washington, D.C.: Institute for Women’s Policy Research, 2002). 5. See, for example, Center for Policy Alternatives and Lifetime Television, W om e n ’s Voices 2000 (Washington, D .C .: Center for Policy Alternatives and Lifetime Television, 2000); C.R. Chaney, M. Alvarez, and J. Nagler, Explaining the G ender Gap in U.S. Presidential Elections 1980– 1992 (computer printout, 1996); M argaret M. Conway, Gertrude A. Steuernagel, and David W. Ahern, Women and Political Participation: Cultural Change in the Political Arena (Washington, D.C.: CQ Press, 1997); Susan Welch and John Hibbing, “Financial Conditions, Gender, and Voting in American National Elections,” The journal o f Politics 54 (1992): 197–210. 6. Washington Post/ABC News. 2004. Results of polling data available online at http://w w w .w ashingtonpost.com /ac3/ContentServer?pagenam e=polls& nexts tep= chooseQ uestion& interactive= n& searchPollId= 2004064& pollT ype= N at ional&questCategoryType=n&newsearch=&questCategory=&keyword=&poll D ateRange=&startingRow=l (March 2004). 7. See Susan J. Carroll, “The Disempowerment of the Gender Gap: Soccer Moms and the 1996 Elections,” PS: Political Science and Politics 32, no. 1 (1999): 7– 11; Kathleen Frankovic, “Why the Gender Gap Became News in 1996,” PS: Political Science and Politics 32, no. 1 (1999): 20–22. 8. See Eileen Boris, “Black and White Women Bring the Power of M otherhood to Politics,” in Major Problems in American W om en’s History, eds. Beth N orton and Ruth M. Alexander (Lexington: D.C. Heath,, 1996), 275–82; Seth Koven and Sonya Michel, eds. M others o f a N ew World: Maternalist Politics and the Origins o f Welfare States (New York: Routledge, 1993); Theda Skocpol, Protecting Soldiers and Mothers (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of H arvard, 1992). 9. Nancy Burns, Kay Lehman Schlozman, and Sidney Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action: Gender, Equality, and Political Participation (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 2001). 10. Amy Caiazza and Heidi H artm ann, “Gender and Civic Participation” (presented at symposium on Work, Family, and Democracy, sponsored by the Johnson Family Foundation, Racine, WI, 2001). 11. Ibid. 12. Burns, Schlozman, and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action. 13. Amy Caiazza, ed. The Status o f Women in the States (Washington, D.C.: Institute for W omen’s Policy Research, 2002). 14. Jean Bethke Elshtain, Women and War (New York: Basic Books, 1987); Carole Pateman, The Disorder o f Women (Stanford, CA: Stanford Univ. Press, 1989). 15. Boris, “ Black and White W omen” ; Alexis Jetter, Annelise Orleck, and Diana Taylor, e d s . The Politics o f M otherhood: Activist Voices from L eft to Right (H anover, N H : Univ. Press of New England, 1997); Koven and Michel, M others o f a N ew World; Skocpol, Protecting Soldiers and Mothers. 16. Nina Eliasoph, Avoiding Politics (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1998); Dorothy Lander, “Women’s Ways of Protesting: Activism, Feminism, or Witnessing Across Separate Spheres?” (presented at the 21st Annual Conference of the Canadian Association for the Study of Adult Education, Toronto, Ontario,

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20.

21. 22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

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2002). Available online at http://www.oise.utoronto.ca/CASAF7cnf2002/2002_ Papers/lander2002w.pdf Welch and Hibbing, “Financial Conditions, Gender, and Voting.” Ibid. See Nancy Eisenberg and Randy Lennon, “Sex Differences in Empathy and Re­ lated Capacities,” Psychological Bulletin 94 (1983): 100–31; M.L. Hoffman, “Sex Differences in Empathy and Related Behaviors,” Psychological Bulletin 84 (1977): 712–22. Barbara Gault and John Sabini, “The Roles of Empathy, Anger, and Gender in Predicting Attitudes tow ard Punitive, Reparative, and Preventative Public Policies,” Cognition and Em otion 14, no. 4 (1999): 495–520. Paul C. Stern and Thomas Dietz, “The Value Basis of Environmental Concern,” Journal o f Social Issues 50, no. 3 (1994): 65-84. Phoebe C. Ellsworth and Samuel R. Gross, “ Hardening of the Attitudes: Americans’ Views on the Death Penalty,” Journal o f Social Issues 50, no. 2 (1994): 19–52; Gault and Sabini, “The Roles of Empathy, Anger, and Gender.” Chaney, Alvarez, and Nagler, Explaining the Gender Gap; Welch and Hibbing, “Financial Conditions, Gender, and Voting.” Kristi Andersen, “The Gender Gap and Experiences with the Welfare State,” PS: Political Science and Politics 32, no. 1 (1999): 17– 19. Burns, Schlozman, and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action. Conway, Steuernagel, and Ahern, Women and Political Participation. Anna Greenberg, “Race, Religiosity, and the W omen’s Vote,” W omen & Politics 22, no. 3 (2001): 59– 82. Burns, Schlozman, and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action. Ibid. Robert W uthnow and John H. Evans, The Q uiet H and o f God: Faith-Based Activism and the Public Role o f Mainline Protestantism (Berkeley, CA: Univ. of California Press, 2002). Burns, Schlozman, and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action. M ark R. Warren and Richard L. Wood, Faith-Based C om m unity Organizing: The State o f the Field (Jericho, NY: Interfaith Funders, 2001), 2. Warren and Wood, Faith-Based C om m unity Organizing. Richard Wood, Faith in Action: Religion, Race, and Democratic Organizing in America (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 2002), 6, citing Warren and Wood. Burns, Schlozman, and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action. Ibid. See Kenneth D. Wald, Religion and Politics in the United States (Lanham, MD: Rowman &Littlefield, 2003); W uthnow and Evans, The Q uiet H and o f God. See E.J. Dionne and John J. DiJulio, W hat’s G od G ot to Do with the American E xperim ent? (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 2000); Warren and Wood, Faith-Based C om m unity Organizing; Wood, Faith in Action; W uthnow and Evans, The Q uiet H and o f God. Putnam , Bowling Alone. Ibid., 67. Burns, Schlozman, and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action. Ibid.

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43. Constance Buchanan, Choosing to Lead: Women and the Crisis o f American Values (Boston: Beacon Press, 1996). 44. Ibid. 45. Burns, Schlozman, and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public A ction, 237. 46. Burns, Schlozman and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action. 47. Robert Wuthnow, “Mobilizing Civic Engagement: The Changing Impact of Religious Involvement,” in Civic Engagement in American Democracy, eds. Theda Skocpol and Morris P. Fiorina (Washington D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999). 48. See, for example, Wood, Faith in Action. 49. This is not to say that interfaith groups completely lack patriarchal and sexist institutions, values, or dynamics. They are simply less rigid and more likely to be challenged, implicitly or explicitly. See Amy Caiazza, The Ties That Bind: W om en’s Public Vision for Religion, Politics, and Civil Society (Washington, D.C.: Institute for Women’s Policy Research, 2005). 50. Stephen D. Johnson, “The Role of the Black Church in Black Civil Rights M ove­ ments,” in The Political Role o f Religion in the United States, eds. Stephen D. Johnson and Joseph B. Tamney (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1986); Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham, Righteous Discontent: The W om en’s M ovem ent in the Black Baptist Church, 1880-1920 (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 1993); Aldon Morris, The Origins o f the Civil Rights Movement: Black Communities Organizing for Change (New York: Free Press, 1984); Wuthnow, “Mobilizing Civic Engagement.” 51. Burns, Schlozman, and Verba, The Private Roots o f Public Action. 52. Warren and Wood, Faith-Based C om m unity Organizing; Wood, Faith in A ction. 53. Verba, Schlozman, and Burns, The Private Roots o f Public Action. 54. Lois Gibbs, ‘“ W hat is Your Wife Trying to Do—Shut Down the Chemical Industry?’: The Housewives of Love Canal,” in The Politics o f M otherhood: Activist Voices from L eft to Right, ed. Alexis Jetter, Annelise Orleck, and Diana Taylor (Hanover, NH: Univ. Press of New England, 1997), 28–43. 55. David M. Neal and Brenda D. Phillips, “Social Movement Organizations in Disaster Situations,” in W omen in Protest, ed. Guida West and Rhonda Blumberg (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1990), 243–55. Notably, women are also more likely than men to both volunteer and give money around environmental causes (e.g., Virginia A. Hodgkinson, Heather A. Gorski, Stephen M. Noga, and E.B. Knauft, Giving and Volunteering in the United States, vol. 2: Trends in Giving and Volunteering by Type o f Charity (Washington, D.C.: Independent Sector, 1995). In public opinion, women are consistently more concerned than men about environmental issues at the local level (e.g., T. Jean Blocker and Douglas L. Eckberg, “Environmental Issues as W omen’s Issues: General Concerns and Local Hazards,” Social Science Quarterly 70, no. 3 (1989): 586-93). 56. Debra J. Davidson and William Freudenburg, “Gender and Environmental Risk Concerns: A Review and Analysis of Available Research,” Environm ent and Behavior 28, no. 3 (1996): 302–39; James Flynn, Paul Slovic, and C.K. Mertz, “Gender, Race, and Perception of Environmental Health Risks,” Risk Analysis 14, no. 6 (1994): 1101– 108; T. Jean Blocker and Douglas L. Eckberg, “Gender and Environmentalism: Results from the 1993 General Social Survey,” Social Science Quarterly 78, no. 4 (1997): 841–58.

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57. Stern and Dietz, “The Value Basis of Environmental Concern.” 58. Paul C. Stern, Thomas Dietz, and Linda Kalof, “Value Orientation, Gender, and Environmental Concern,” Environm ent and Behavior 25, no. 3 (1993): 339; see also Thomas Dietz, Linda Kalof, and Paul C. Stern, “Gender, Values, and Environmentalism,” Social Science Quarterly 83, no. 1 (2002): 353–64. 59. Neal and Phillips, “Social Movement Organizations”; Joni Seager, Earth Follies: Coming to Feminist Terms with the Global Environmental Crisis (New York: Routledge, 1993). 60. Sherry Cable, “Women’s Social Movement Involvement: The Role of Structural Availability in Recruitment and Participation Processes,” Sociological Quarterly 33, no. 1 (1992): 33–50. 61. Amy Caiazza, Mothers and Soldiers: Gender, Citizenship and Civil Society in Contemporary Russia (New York Routledge, 2002); Jo Fisher, Mothers o f the Disappeared (Boston: South End Press, 1989); Skocpol, Protecting Soldiers and Mothers. 62. Alixis Jetter, “A M other’s Battle for Environmental Justice,” in The Politics o f M otherhood: Voices from L eft to R ight, ed. Alexis Jetter, Annelise Orleck, and Diana Taylor (Hanover, N H: Univ. Press of New England, 1997), 44-52. 63. Jetter, “A M other’s Battle,” 45.

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6 Conceptualizing Social Capital in Relation to Children and Young People Is it Different for Girls? VIRGINIA MORROW

Background

Since 1998, in the United Kingdom, there has been an explosion of interest in social capital at both the policy and research levels. In the late 1990s, the Health Development Agency (then the HEA, the health promotion arm of the Department of Health in England and Wales) commissioned a series of qualitative and quantitative research projects designed to test, measure, or generally explore the relationship between social capital and health. The definition of social capital in this work was based on Putnam’s early version of social capital, which consisted of: social and community networks; norms of coop­ eration, reciprocity, and trust; community identity and sense of be­ longing to one’s community; and civic engagement or participation.1 This chapter describes an empirical research project, conducted by the author, to investigate the different elements of social capital in relation to children and young people in deprived areas. In an earlier review paper2 drawing on other critiques, I suggested that Putnam ’s conceptualization was problematic for many reasons 127

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but particularly so in relation to children because it ignored the effects of gender, except to portray the consequences of w omen’s employment as negative, both for community cohesion and for their individual children; that w omen’s work in creating or sustaining social networks/social capital was rendered invisible; and that U.S. research, particularly derived from Coleman,3 focused on “family structure effects” on children, took a top-down view of the effects of parents on children, and focused on parents’ ability to invest in their children’s well-being or future.4 As Maxine Molyneux points out, Putnam often endorses “the family” as a prime locus of social capital, to be worked with and strengthened. On the face of it few would disagree, but much depends on how this is interpreted and what is meant by “the family.” In much of this literature the family is treated normatively as a unit in which little or no account is taken of the gendered divisions of labour and the power within it.5

Parents in the social capital literature are often undifferentiated, and this masks the way in which most parenting tends to be done by mothers.6 I argued that a more active conceptualization of children could be used to explore how children themselves actively draw on, generate, or negotiate their own social capital, indeed make links for their parents, or even provide active support for parents (see Arneil, chapter 2 this volume, with reference to children’s sports activities and the connections parents make through these). In other words, children’s agency, constrained though it may be, was downplayed in the U.S. research, and children appear as a passive burden on adults’ time. The focus of some of the U.S. studies was also on the quantity of social capital, not the quality. For example, Coleman (and others) used the number of siblings as an indication of a lack of social capital, the argument being that the more children in a family, the more dilute the amount of adult attention to the individual child, which produces weaker educational outcomes. This ignores how siblings may interact to support each other. Many of the studies that purport to measure social capital seem to assume that individual children are only influenced by family structure and school. They do not give an account of the broader social context, such as friends, social networks, out-of-school activities such as paid work, and children’s activities

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in their communities. N or do they pay much attention to structural constraints and how these impact on social capital, constraints that may be differentiated according to gender, ethnicity, and location. One of the problems for the recent wave of social capital research in the UK is that, as noted, it was based upon Putnam’s initial conceptualization of social capital.7 More recent writings on social capital have recognized that there are plural forms of social capital. In Bowling Alone, Putnam has emphasized the centrality of social networks to his definition of social capital, and played down the other elements.8 He has also suggested that there are two forms of social capital: bonding and bridging. Groups may have high levels of social capital that maintain group solidarity by bonding members together, but show very little of the kind of social capital that bridges other divisions such as gender, social class, ethnicity, or generation. To further complicate the picture, others have suggested a third form, linking social capital; that is, social capital that bridges or links groups to influential others.9 I also suggested that Bourdieu’s more complex and contextualized account of different forms of capital as interrelated could be usefully applied in research that tries to link the social context of children’s everyday lives whether home, school, or neighborhood to health/well-being.10 Somewhat surprisingly, Bourdieu’s notion of social capital is, as others have noted, lamentably overlooked in these accounts.11 Putnam appears to be reluctant to incorporate Bourdieu’s ideas: he cites Bourdieu once, as using social capital “to underline the social and economic resources embodied in social networks.” 12 However, this is a problematic interpretation. In Distinction13 and more explicitly in “Forms of Capital,” 14 Bourdieu distinguishes between cultural capital and social capital. Cultural capital can exist in various forms: institutional cultural capital (i.e., academic qualifications); embodied cultural capital (particular styles, modes of presentation, including use of language, forms of social etiquette and competence, as well as a degree of confidence and self-assurance); and objectified cultural capital (material goods such as writings, paintings, and so on). Social capital for Bourdieu consists of two key elements: first, social networks and connections: “contacts and group memberships which, through the accumulation of exchanges, obligations and shared identities, provide actual or potential support and access to valued resources”15; and second, sociability, in other words, how networks are sustained, which requires necessary

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skill and disposition. Bourdieu is primarily concerned with how economic capital underpins these other “disguised” forms, how these forms of capital interact with wider structures to reproduce social inequalities, and how the day-to-day activities of social actors draw upon and reproduce structural features of wider social systems. For Bourdieu, the outcomes of the possession of various forms of capital (symbolic, cultural, social) are reducible to the economic: but the processes that bring about these alternative forms of capital are not. Each has its own dynamic, the processes of conversion of these different forms of capital are “characterised by less transparency and more uncertainty.” Thus, exchanges involving social capital “tend to be characterised by unspecified obligations, uncertain time horizons, and the possible violation of reciprocity expectations. But, by their very lack of clarity, these transactions can help disguise w hat otherwise would be plain market exchanges.” 16 Elsewhere, Bourdieu suggests that symbolic capital “is the form in which the different forms of capital are perceived and recognised as legitimate.” 17 However, Bourdieu is not noted for his attention to gender relations, and while Bourdieu recognized that women are responsible for maintaining affective/familial relationships,18 he did not develop this aspect of his work. Nowotny, for example, suggests that there may be different rules for the conversion of capital for men and women, which relate to w omen’s (historical) concentration in the private sphere; she developed the concept of emotional capital— “knowledge, contacts, and relations as well as emotionally valued skills and assets, which hold within any social network characterized at least partly by affective ties.19 Emotional capital can be understood as “the stock of emotional resources built up over time within families and which children could draw upon.”20 At any rate, it seemed that the formulations of social capital based on Putnam ’s work have been somewhat silent about gender in relation to adults; or pathologizing to lone parents (90% of whom are mothers) and their children. W hat would the picture look like from the perspectives of children? Do the different elements of social capital operate differently according to gender in childhood? W hat can a gendered analysis tell us about social capital?

C onceptual Frameworks

Two theoretical frameworks informed the research described in this chapter. The first was the emergent sociology of childhood, which Copyrighted Material

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has been developing in the UK and elsewhere in Europe.21 This paradigm suggests that we need to move beyond psychologically based models that construct childhood as a period of development and socialization. Instead, we need to see children as active social agents who, at least at the microlevel, shape the structures and processes around them, and whose social relationships are worthy of study in their own right. The second paradigm was a key strand of “welfare research,”22 which attempts to incorporate social context into health research,23 and to explore the importance of “place” and lay knowledge in theories and research on health inequalities.24 These two paradigms form the basis for the study reported here, which explores children’s subjective experiences of their neighborhoods, their quality of life (and ultimately their well-being/health), the nature of their social networks, their participation in their communities. The research explored the following questions: • Social Networks: W hat is the composition, durability, ease of access to and frequency of use of young people’s social networks? H ow are these networks defined, and w hat do they provide, and how does this differ according to age and gender? W hat does friendship mean to this age group? • Local Identity: Do young people have a sense of belonging and identity with their neighborhoods/communities? • Attitudes to Institutions and Facilities in the Community: W hat physical spaces, such as parks, streets, leisure centers, and clubs used for social interactions, are available to and used by young people? Do children and young people feel safe in their neighborhoods? W hat is the quality of relationships with other groups in their neighborhoods, and do they feel there are people they can trust? • Com munity and Civic Engagement: To w hat extent do children engage in local community activities? To what extent do they feel they participate in community and institutional decision making?

Empirical Example The research was conducted in two schools in relatively deprived wards in a town in southeastern England (disguised as Springtown; the children chose their own pseudonyms; the site was chosen to match another HEA study on adults and social capital). One ward Copyrighted Material

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(West Ward) consisted of suburban sprawl on the outskirts of the town, with postwar housing and factories; the second (Hill Ward) consisted of a mixture of industrial development, and Victorian, interwar, and postwar housing development. The sample was comprised of 101 boys and girls in two age bands: twelve- to thirteen-year-olds and fourteen- to fifteen-year-olds, with a significant proportion from minority ethnic groups.25 A combination of qualitative research methods were utilized to explore children’s subjective experiences of their neighborhoods, their everyday, lived experiences, their quality of life, and the nature of their social networks. These included structured methods, in the form of freely written accounts, to elicit personal information about friendship and social networks. Children also wrote about “W hat I do when I am not at school,” which provided data on opportunities for independence and taking responsibility, membership of clubs and out-of-school activities, involvement in work (family, paid, and domestic), as well as leisure pursuits. They also briefly described their aspirations for the future, and whether they already knew someone doing the kind of work that interested them. One fourteen-year-old boy in Hill Ward was interviewed. Visual methods were also used. Individuals or groups of Year ten students were asked to photograph places that were important to them, using disposable cameras, and then to describe why these places were important (this generated about 100 photos of their environments); Year eight children drew maps. This method was used to produce data relating to use of public space and how they felt about their neighborhood, to facilitate discussion about trust/mistrust, an important component of social capital. Finally, group discussions were used to explore their use of and perceptions about their neighborhoods and town, and their perceptions of news media imagery of their local environments and their age group. They also discussed how their environments might be improved, and whether they felt they have a say in decisions that are taken both in their schools and their neighborhoods (participation). This chapter is structured around the research questions, and explores the salience of gender at each point: social networks; trust and reciprocity; views of local area; civic engagement/participation. Gender differences were very marked in some aspects of social capital, and it was clear that gender intersected with, and interacted with ethnicity and age as salient in children’s accounts of their experiences—each source of identity came to the fore in different ways and was context specific. The chapter concludes that gender is relevant as

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a structuring principle at certain points but not at others, and that it is important to see that children (like adults) have multiple identities that are context-specific.

Social N etw ork s

Familial Networks and the Quality o f Relationships Parents, but especially mothers, were very important to both age groups, and the emotional work that mothers do was very clearly acknowledged and recognized by the children, but particularly the girls. Virtually all the written comments children made about their families (especially their mothers) were positive, and this appeared to be the case regardless of family structure. They weren’t asked a direct question about family structure but sometimes it was described in a matter-of-fact way: The most important people to me are my mother and my best mate. My mother because she always manages to cope with me and can manage to look after me and my brother on her own, my dad got di­ vorced from my mum five or six years ago. I still occasionally see him, but not all the time. (Jody, age 14)

Brenda, age fourteen, described how The most important person in my life is my mum, she has brought me up the way I am. My dad hasn’t brought me up because my mum and dad are divorced, my dad left when I was two years of age, I d on’t see him much.

Cameron, thirteen, wrote: “the most important person in my life is my mum. She understands me the most.” Asa May, thirteen, wrote: “My mum is very important to me at the moment because she is due to have a baby at the start of July. . . .M y dad is important because I don’t live with him and I like to see him as much as I can.” On her map, she had drawn a section and annotated it with the words “Aunty’s, N a n ’s and D ad’s area,” marked separately from “My area” and “N an a’s area.” Safina, age thirteen, described how: “After school, I go to Mosque and then after Mosque I come home and look after my three smaller brothers and I help my mum to clean up and tidy the house. The most important thing is M um.” Berry Mayall, in Copyrighted Material

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research with eight- to twelve-year-olds in London schools, has noted how Muslim girls in her study “had a clear, gendered, understand­ ing of how their life now and in the future should be lived, based on Islamic teaching.”26 Other girls mentioned how their mothers were important for a range of reasons; for example, because “she is the only one I have to talk to, and she is loving, caring, very kind” ; “she does everything for me”; “she...is always there for me when I’m ill and in need”; “she understands me the most.” Shenna, twelve, “My mum is important because she cares for everything I do like if I go out the front with my friends.” One girl summed it up thus: “Well, my mum is the most importantist [sic] thing in my life because you only get one mum. My mum is important to me because I know I can go and speak to her about anything and that she understands what I go through in life in general.” Boys were much less forthcoming about the different roles of mothers and fathers, and tended not to separate them out, though a few boys did specify that their mums were important because “of the things she does for me and family” ; “she helps me a lot” ; another boy described how he does his homework “with mum.” None of them described close emotional support provided by mothers in the same way that girls described it. These examples suggest that the demands for, and the provision of, social and emotional support (one element of social capital) within families across generations may be differentiated according to gender, and of course reflects societal norms about who undertakes child care, who is more likely to live with children following a divorce, and who is more likely to be available to “look o u t” for their children. The accounts from children also are somewhat out of line with prevailing images in social capital research of loneparent families as “problematic” or even deficient in many ways.

Aspirations and Social Networks Previous research has shown that the economic opportunities for (adult) individuals are affected by their membership of a kin group,27 but very little research has examined how young people’s first or subsequent jobs are acquired through informal networks. I asked children to make a note if they knew what they wanted to do when they leave school and whether they already knew someone doing this kind

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of work, to explore children’s social networks and potential sources of information about jobs; n = 78 answered the question, n = 46 knew someone in the kind of work they aspired to. In both schools, these responses were (mostly) differentiated according to gender, and where children did have sources of information, these were almost invariably same-gender. Familial networks appeared to be the main source of information and guidance about jobs and future plans for education (though I recognize that asking children as young as twelve years w hat they want to do when they leave school may be premature). Some examples from girls included the following: “My sister is a nanny and I want to be that as well” (thirteen-yearold girl). “When I leave school I want to be a hairdresser. My auntie owns a hair salon. I also want to be a beautician” (thirteen-year-old girl). “When I leave school I want to go to college for a year to study Nursery Nursing. Then get a job in a nursery or playgroup. I know a lady around the corner from where I live who is a qualified Nursery N urse” (Sandy, fifteen). Sabrina, age thirteen, described in group discussion how she baby-sat for a family over the road: “I just baby-sit, you know, the girl opposite me, her auntie went to Pakistan, you see, and all the family did, apart from her grand dad, so I used to babysit her every single day after school. That was when she was about three.” She also wrote: “I want to be a nurse or a lawyer. The girl who I baby-sit, her m um ’s sister is a nurse. Or a lawyer because my sister’s best friend’s sister is a lawyer and is always getting certificates from her university. She is so clever.” There were some high aspiring girls, particularly in School two who did aspire to “gender neutral” jobs: such as “forensic psychologist,” “vet,” “journalist.” Examples from boys were as follows: “I want to be a builder, my dad is a builder” (twelve-year-old boy); “When I leave school, I hope to work in the field of law, possibly a barrister. My cousin is not a barrister but is a probation officer” (Dave, fourteen). James, fourteen, in West Ward described how: “I would like to do computer p rogramming or do something to do with computers. I know someone who does work with computers and he lives across the road from us and he is a good friend of ours.” Tom, fifteen, wrote “I hope to be a painter and decorator when I leave school. My brother-in-law used to do this so I used to help him, that is why I’m interested in this work.” Ajit, fifteen, described how he hoped to “go to College get an A Level, go to Uni and get a degree in micro-electronics and manage

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a company. My uncle in America has a printer chip company.” Jagu: “When I leave school I hope to go on to College and study, A levels, which ones I don’t know. I know quite a lot of people who go to College like my big brother and his friends and my friends’ brothers.” Other boys mentioned wanting to be pilots, one boy wanted to be a mechanic (“My third oldest brother is, that’s w hy” ). There were no examples of boys wanting to undertake “feminine” occupations. I briefly discussed with the older groups whether they felt school prepared them for life after school, and one girl commented Some people don’t know what they wanna be, they don’t know w h at’s out there,. . . they should teach us like about all different opportunities like, jobs and that, everything, what you need to get them, everything, what they actually entail, cos, if you go, you think you want to be like a Vet or something, and you have no idea what you need to do.

She seems to be aware that the sources of information available to her are quite limited, and it is not surprising that so many children in the study had w hat might be seen as a realistic reflection of the opportunities that existed for them in their localities, or a reflection of the experiences of people close to them. Furthermore, their aspirations also reflected the gendered nature of their work roles if they already had part-time jobs outside school; for example, several girls described baby-sitting for relatives or in their neighborhoods as a way of earning money. In social capital terms, then, the children seemed to be aware of potential sources of information, mostly located in familial networks, and occasionally in their neighborhoods, and these were differentiated along gender lines.

Trust and Reciprocity: Formal and Informal Social N etw orks

Other than familial networks, social networks mostly consisted of informal sets of networks based on groups of friends from school or their neighborhood. Membership of voluntary associations (so central to Putnam’s argument) was quite limited and very genderspecific—six boys mentioned being members of a formal sports team (mostly football [i.e., soccer]; some girls mentioned watching football [soccer]); one girl mentioned attendance at a dance club, one boy mentioned how important his membership of the rugby team at his

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Air Training Corps was to him. He photographed the trophy cabinet and commented that he took the photo because he played rugby for the team and “I don’t want to let down my mates there” ). Ten children mentioned using the local youth clubs; and several Muslim children described their religious activities and commitments at Mosque. Mostly, children described informal social networks: hanging out with friends, or participating in various informal sporting and leisure activities—including skating, swimming, and (even) bowling with their friends. Friends were enormously important for a range of reasons. In many cases, how children felt about where they live seemed to depend on proximity to friends: as Maggie, age fifteen put it: “I love my house and my area, because there are three parks near me, the town is a five-minute walk away, the school is close and I can visit my friends without having to take a bus or walk miles. Most of my friends live in Hill Ward, or my area.” N o t having friends living nearby was a problem, and this seemed to be more marked in West Ward, which, as noted above, was a quiet, sprawling, suburban locality with few facilities for young people. It was also mostly girls who described this, which could reflect constraints on girls’ mobility. For example, Olanda, fourteen, described how “I’m fairly happy with where 1 live but would rather live in my old house...this is because a lot of my close friends live up there. Usually I walk up there most days after school. It would be a lot less hassle if I lived up there near them.” Jade, fourteen, wrote “I’ve known my best friend for about ten years...she is more like my sister.... I live in West Ward and have done so for ten years and [my best friend] lives across the road from me.” Rebecca, (age thirteen) described how she doesn’t like her neighborhood: It’s boring, there’s not many people of my age living round there. Because my best friend moved away she only lives ten minutes away, but it’s too much to walk every day there. I’ve been best friends with her all my life, and I’ve never broken up with her once. We do a lot of things together, she’s coming on holiday with me this year as well, I can’t wait.

Children provided freely written definitions of friendship. These definitions were intended to provide some insight into children’s beliefs and norms about friendship. Seventy children answered the question, and nearly a half of those responses (n = 33) contained the word

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trust as an element of friendship. Other components were: emotional support, providing a sympathetic ear, respect, being there, providing advice, help, caring, sharing, reciprocity, someone to share secrets with, to have fun with. Gender differences in the definitions were not particularly marked, though girls tended to give much more detail. Boys tended to define friendship fairly briefly, and used notions of fun and having someone to go around with, though some boys reflected the importance of having someone to listen to them, who could be trusted; for example: “A friend is a person who you can talk to and listens, and w on’t laugh or tell anyone about it. A friend is a person you can rely o n ” (Peter, twelve). Three boys, two in West Ward and one in Hill Ward, used the phrase “a shoulder to cry o n ” in their written definitions. To some extent, boys are using a different language— of sticking up for each other, having fun together, but they also use the notion of uncritical support, in a similar way to girls. This could be partly related to the methods used. Children were providing freely written responses, and writing is (technically) a private matter. Would boys have described the emotional significance of their friends if the question had been asked in group discussions, where pressures to behave “like boys” might have constrained their responses? Girls tended to categorize their friends as: “close” friends, “very close friends,” “oldest friends,” “ best friends,” even “my most best friend,” rather than groups of friends. The themes of uncritical support, trust, and “ being there” were frequently mentioned in girls’ accounts of why their friends are important to them. Kellie, age twelve, described how “I have known Stacey for two years and she is my most best friend in the world, she is caring, I like her she is very kind and I can talk to her about my problems at school or at home.” Carly, thirteen, wrote: “My best friend Angelina is important to me because I can tell her some secrets and she w on’t tell nobody else.” Isabelle, age fifteen, described how she has friends she hangs around with who had already left school: “They are really important to me because I can talk to them about arguments/things that have upset me in school and they help because they are looking at the problem from the outside. They aren’t all caught up in the situation.” Maggie, age fifteen, described how “Even though all of my friends are important to me, some are much more important than others, my very close friends or my oldest friends are most important because they’ve always been there to help and support me.”

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Friends were also significant at school throughout the school day. For example, Kerry, fourteen, described how: “In school when I am not in my lessons, I hang around with my best friend Sally and my friend, I walk to school with Becky. We normally just walk around having girly chats,” and Isabelle, fifteen: “I have friends in school that are important to me and we talk all the time in school.” Boys were more likely to list names of friends rather than to categorize them as “ best” friends, though there were exceptions to this. The assumption is often made that boys’ friendships fulfill a different function to those of girls, that of active contributions, like sticking up for each other, and doing things together, and there were examples of this in the descriptions of what they do outside school in terms of sports and other leisure activities. For example James, fourteen, wrote, “If I didn’t have friends I wouldn’t be able to do exciting things, like go out to places with them like swimming etc.” However, as noted, some boys described how their friends are important for them because they listened, were loyal, and could be trusted: some of them had known their friends for a long time. Bob, age fourteen, wrote: “My longest known friend is Dave. I have been friends with him since nursery school. He is a good friend and I value his opinion greatly.” Dave (who was in the same class) had written: “My most important thing is family, but in and around school, the most important thing to me is my friends. Some of my friends like Bob and Fred I have known for about nine or ten years. . . . A friend is someone who is there for you, when you need them most. They don’t abandon you in times of need. Friends are for talking to, being there for them, giving them your support.” Joseph, fifteen, described how in the m ornings, he would “call for my friend and go to school”; evenings “go out with my friends and party; weekends: get up in the afternoon and then go out with friends. Mostly parks and down town. My friends and family are the most important people in my life. They’re there for me when I need them. I trust them.” There were very few examples of close supportive mixed-gender friendships, though if children listed names of their friends, these usually included both boys’ and girls’ names. One boy explained that “My friend Heather is important to me because I don’t see any of my other friends at the weekends and I can talk to her about things I don’t have anyone to talk to about. I have known Heather for a long time, for about four years. I know her because her mum is friends

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with my m um ” (Bart, thirteen). This is an example of the close connection between mothers’ and children’s social networks. In summary, informal social networks were central to children’s everyday lives, and seem to work differently for boys and girls, with girls explicitly recognizing friendship as a source of emotional support, while boys on the other hand appeared to value their friends for shared activities and sport. However, it is important not to overstate the difference here as some boys obviously use their friends as a source of belonging and trust. And there is also a downside to friendship, very small numbers of boys and girls mentioned the hurt that had been felt through falling out with friends.

C om m unity Identity, and U se o f Public Space

At first sight, use of public space might seem to have little relevance for social capital, but the quality of relationships and levels of trust experienced in particular neighborhoods are important aspects of a sense of belonging and community identity. Safety and levels of trust out on the street are key issues for women and girls. Previous research has shown that girls tend to have more restricted access to public space due to parents’ fears and stereotypical gender expectations.28 Girls in the study were not confined to their homes, however, and described a great deal of time spent out in parks and on streets. However, as Hugh M atthews29 has also found, girls appeared to be more fearful than boys, and accounts differed by gender, particularly among the older group: threats of sexual assault, anxiety about public spaces, were mostly (but not always) expressed by girls. This was unfortunately not a case of “stranger danger,” as is often claimed in the research literature: at the time of the research, a serial rapist was attacking women and girls in the town. As Natalie, aged twelve, commented: I don’t feel safe where I live, because we’ve got flats near us, and because we’ve heard that people have actually been killed in those flats and stuff, and we have like rapists go round our a re a ...it wasn’t very long ago, and I don’t exactly feel safe round my area.

And in an older age group, Amy, aged fifteen, described how:

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Like someone was assaulted down [in the local park], I mean, that makes you scared to go down there, and that was in broad daylight, so God knows w hat its gonna be like at ten o ’clock at night. . . .I live in like a secluded road, hardly anyone comes down my road, but there’s nothing there, there’s like a little park down the road, but someone was assaulted there, you’re scared to go there. So if I was, like, twenty, and I had two little kids, I’d have nowhere to take them in [this area], that was safe.

Issues of safety are one of the most difficult hurdles women have to overcome to develop trust of others in society as compared to men. If norms of trust are one element of social capital, then by definition it is harder for women to meet this benchmark. Lower levels of trust, as described by Amy, are a completely understandable response to a given reality, but girls and women may be penalized in social capital terms, because their participation in social networks may be restricted by their fears of assault if they do go out. As Sapiro asked (chapter 7 this volume): “W hat type of norms are operating where women in particular have had less ability than men even to trust that they could be safe from harm if they went out in public alone, or at night?” Amy’s comment also shows her thinking about others (relationally).30 Girls were more likely than boys to show a concern for others, often expressing a strong sense of morality in their comments, and very often they showed a particular concern for younger children. For example, one of the themes that recurred were “N o ball games” signs that prevented them from playing near their homes on patches of communal grass. The signs were photographed, depicted on maps, and discussed in groups. Isabelle, fifteen, explained her photo: “This is a sign that is on a piece of greenery on my road. It stops children from playing typical games, but little children need somewhere to play...they may not be allowed to go to the park.” In discussion, another girl described how “ Outside my house, we’ve got this green, and they put a notice up, saying ‘no ball games,’ we had two trees, we used to use it as goal, there was this woman she always complained and she got the council to dig up the trees and put bushes on the grass so we couldn’t play, we used to play rounders [an English form of baseball] and stuff.” Another girl, Katie, age thirteen included the sign on her map, and wrote underneath “not fair.” The fact that girls highlighted this may reflect constraints on their

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mobility: they may w ant to play nearer to home and not at the parks (where soccer predominated). As one twelve-year-old girl said: I have to come in at eight o ’clock, but if I am in my road I can come in at nine o ’clock, something like that, but when I’m somewhere my mum don’t know, kind of thing, when I’m out with my other friends, eight o ’clock.

It was mostly girls who described their parents looking out for them, one girl who had a newspaper round explained that her parents help her with it: “My mum and dad are overprotective, so they do it with me.” Cameron (age twelve) explained, M y mum don’t like me going up [to another part of town] on me own, because you never know what its like, there’s a rapist about at: the moment up our area, so it’s hard. Because you have to watch where you’re walking and you’re not allowed to go anywhere by yourself, you have to be in a group, and if the police would actually do something about the rapist, then we could like go up [the Park].

In one group discussion girls felt strongly that leisure provision in terms of facilities and activities was geared toward boys: “There’s nothing for girls: all they do is play football and basketball, th at’s all they do, so there’s no point going” (Marissa, twelve). Cameron (age twelve) complained about joy riding, and described how: Round my area, there’s these few boys, and they have this car, and they were speeding down the road, putting the brakes on, and swivelling round. I was walking my cousin home, and the car come up onto the pavement, and nearly knocked her over.

She suggested a solution: “M ost of the boys down our area are interested in cars, and motorbikes, if they could learn about mechanics, then maybe they would be off the streets.” There was one example in a group discussion of two girls describing antisocial behavior. Natalie was describing an incident, and admitted “we were vandalising the bridge, I’m honest,” at which point Agnes explained: “Everyone vandalises our bridge.” There was a strong sense that both boys and girls get into trouble because “we’re hanging around on the street because there’s nothing to do.”

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Shortcuts, paths, and routes away from busy roads were very important to children, but these were often experienced as frightening and unpleasant. One girl described how I hate walking through subways [underpasses], I walk through two subways on the way to school, and I think, am I ever going to get to school? Cos you don’t know whether there’s someone hanging around the corner, or whatever, or following you behind,...! hate walking through. Me and my sister just speed through them, but if I’m with like a bigger group, then I don’t care.

Some boys also agreed about these problematic aspects of public space, and there were particular difficulties for young men from black and minority ethnic groups who felt under threat not only from older groups of young people but also queried police impartiality. But overall, the girls’ comments about fear and safety are reflected in the research literature on women and safety in neighborhoods.

Participation

The final set of questions explored the extent to which children participated in school and community decision making and while there was a clear shared experience based on age, gender differences weren’t particularly marked. Putnam’s emphasis on civic participation as a key aspect of social capital is obviously somewhat limited in the case of children, given that they are positioned outside of democratic structures by their very nature as minors, though the “Better Together Report”31 on social capital in the United States devotes a whole chapter to youth; and acknowledges that ten- to twenty-one-year-olds are “too rarely included in American civic life, either in decision-making or contributing roles” and suggests that this group is “old enough to understand civic obligations but still young enough to be forming civic habits.” Participation in community decision making for children in my study was extremely limited. Only one boy felt he could go to his local residents association and make suggestions about his local area. But when he said this, other children in the group whispered, “Ah, but that’s a posh area.” If representatives from the local town council did come and ask about local facilities, they felt that their parents were consulted, not them. Amy said: “They send questionnaires to our parents but it’s not our parents who want to go to

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the Youth Club, it’s us. So they should ask us.” One girl commented that she felt they should have a say in the community, “ because what happens does affect us as well as the adults and they don’t seem to think about that when they’re making decisions.” The town council had recently started a Youth Forum, but children in the study were not aware of it: Gemma: N o one knows about it, if there is one Tamisha: I think there should be one, but ... Miranda: But they’d choose the people who do all the best in school, and everything, and they’re not average people, are they? These data suggest that participation, in the sense of being actively involved in decisions that affect them in their neighborhoods, appeared to be virtually nonexistent for these children. Even where supposedly democratic structures such as school councils were in place, as was the case in one of the schools in the study, children did not seem to feel they were experiencing participation through them, and the exclusion they appear to feel is likely to limit their sense of selfefficacy and control over their environments.52 One of the problems facing this age group is that they have no formal channels through which to communicate, or to convert their energy into a positive resource for their neighborhoods. Youth forums are the most common way of facilitating children’s views, but they do not necessarily work effectively.33 M iranda’s comment, above, suggests that she is well aware of the limits of democratic participation and representation. A sense of participation could be fostered early on by including young people in decision-making processes, whether in schools or neighborhoods. This is recognized in the (U.S.) social capital literature,34 but differences between children and young people are ignored, and a bland, unitary concept of “disaffected youth” is portrayed, and no consideration is given to how these differences may affect willingness or capacity to participate.

D iscussion There are of course many limitations to my small-scale study, not least the question of how general the findings might be. The methods used in the research may also have generated different accounts along

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gender lines, as masculinities and femininities are played out in the research process. Gender was salient at many points in the study. It appeared to mirror or prefigure gender relations and practices in adulthood; for example, in accounts of friendship, the recognition of the emotional work of mothers, in job aspirations, and in safety in neighborhoods. There was clear evidence of caring responsibilities, with girls describing a good deal of baby-sitting and child care activities within their families or neighborhoods. However, when it came to having a say in decisions in schools and neighborhoods, it was young people’s shared social positioning and disadvantage based upon their age/generation that appeared to structure their experiences. So the conclusion is that social capital appears to operate differently for girls in some important respects, but not necessarily in others. The study highlighted how “children” is not a homogeneous category. Social capital needs to be able to accommodate a range of differences; in terms of gender, for girls, personal safety was a crucial issue, and sexual assault was perceived (rightly in this case) as a threat. There were also intersections with ethnicity (not discussed in this chapter): fear of racial harassment may lead to social and emotional exclusion. Overall, the study highlighted how a range of practical, environmental, and economic constraints were felt by this age group; for example, not having safe spaces where they could play, not being able to cross the road because of the traffic, having no place to go except the shopping center, but being regarded with suspicion because of lack of money. The extent to which children were able to move around freely to participate in activities with their friends was constrained by the physical geography of the built environment, issues of community safety and traffic, parental norms about when children may go out. These constraints are likely to differ according to gender. The study also concluded that while social capital may be useful as a tool, or heuristic device, it was also problematic for many reasons, not least around meaning and measurement.

Plural Forms o f Social Capital?

As noted earlier in this chapter, in Bowling Alone, Putnam emphasizes the importance of social networks to his conceptualization of social capital. He suggests that there are several forms of social capital: bonding and bridging, and linking social capital. Bonding social

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capital does not necessarily contribute to social cohesion. For example, the fact that children go round in “gangs” appears to have a negative effect on social cohesion— at least from the perspective of others, whether younger children, or older people.35 But at the individual level, children need both forms of social capital: bridging for the future, to enable them to “escape from disadvantage”; bonding for their social support and emotional well-being. In a way, children have an ambiguous status as existing in the here and now and in the future. The data about aspirations and networks reflect this: if young people see family members (or people in their neighborhoods) as the main source of information about jobs, then this is how social inequalities—not least along the lines of gender— are reproduced (hence Bourdieu’s emphasis on the importance of family as the site of reproduction). Second, social capital resides in friendship relationships and peer groups, which provide a sense of belonging in the here and now. Linking social capital, that is, connecting or bridging groups to influential others, enabling access to power structures, was clearly lacking for the children in Springtown.

Theoretical Problems: Can Bourdieu Help?

Thus there are limitations to Putnam’s community-based conceptualization of social capital. A focus on local community issues in specific neighborhoods may shift attention from broader structural inequalities that impact upon these age groups in general. Bourdieu’s concept of social capital needs to be brought back into these debates for three reasons. First, as this case has shown, Putnam’s version of social capital as it is being operationalized in policy and health research is not broad enough to incorporate a very wide range of factors that impinge on young people’s well-being; this chapter has suggested that this may work differently along the lines of gender. There is a danger that in operationalizing social capital in research based on Putnam ’s conceptualization, the material, economic, and political spheres are overlooked as the social is reified and separated from other forms of capital. It seems unlikely that adding more and more different forms of social capital (bridging, linking, bonding) to the equation will help to address these limitations. Second, Bourdieu’s concept of sociability (the ability and disposition to sustain and use one’s networks) as a component of social capital, must be accounted for: actors need to recognize their net-

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works as a resource in order for these networks to constitute social capital. As noted, children appeared to have a sense of their informal social networks as at the very least a source of support, but they did not appear to see their neighborhoods as a positive resource or indeed a source of identity and belonging. This reflects Bourdieu’s social capital, conceptualized as the property of individual actors, or groups, but not Putnam’s formulation, that is supposedly generalizable to “geographical communities.” It was clear from the study that both bonding and bridging social capital were not confined to the neighborhood. The data relating to aspirations and networks, for example, reflected this. If young people see family members as the main source of information about jobs, then this may be how social inequalities along the lines of gender and ethnicity may be reproduced. Bourdieu’s emphasis on the importance of families as sites of social reproduction is relevant here. Further, bonding social capital resides in friendship relationships and peer groups that provide a sense of belonging in the here and now. Moreover, relationships that give rise to bonding social capital are not necessarily neighborhoodbased. Further, linking social capital (access to influential others and power structures) may be underpinned by the other forms of capital described by Bourdieu (as reflected by M iranda’s comment about the children who do best in school being most likely to be “chosen” to be part of the Youth Forum). Third, there is the problem of the gloss between how researchers use the term, as a tool with which to explore the social world, to how policy-makers use the term, as a buildable, measurable “thing” : Putnam’s version of social capital is being expected to carry a heavy burden as a theoretical basis upon which to develop social policy responses to a range of issues in the United Kingdom, including economic and health-related deprivation, and there is a danger that social capital becomes a kind of deficit theory syndrome, yet another resource that unsuccessful communities or neighborhoods lack. Some have argued that a focus on social capital facilitates a neoliberal withdrawal of the welfare state.36 In Weight o f the World, Bourdieu reminds us that government policy is often the cause of some of these effects,37 and this too is missing in the social capital debates. Rather than seeing social capital as a measurable outcome, it might be more helpful to use it as a heuristic device with which to explore processes and practices that are integral to social capital, and to other forms of capitaldescribed by Bourdieu. Social capital discourses are in danger

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of avoiding tackling inequalities, whether these are based on gender or other structural differences. Acknowledgments This chapter has had a checkered history. In 2000 I was invited by some social capitalists to give a brief feminist critique of Putnam’s Bowling Alone to a Social Capital workshop held at St. John’s College, Cambridge. I was greatly assisted in the production of that paper by Professor Anne Phillips, Director of the LSE Gender Institute; and encouraged by Professor Sheila Riddell and Dr. Eva Gamarnikow (both participants at the workshop), to develop the critique by utilizing data from my own research to explore the salience of gender for social capital in relation to children and young people. I am grateful to Anne, Eva, and Sheila, and to the organizers of the Winnipeg Conference, for encouraging me. Above all though, I must thank the children who participated in my research and their teachers for enabling the research to take place. Notes 1. Robert Putnam, M aking Democracy Work: Civic Traditions In Modern Italy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1993). 2. Virginia Morrow, “ Conceptualising Social Capital in Relation to the Well-Being of Children and Young People: A Critical Review,” The Sociological Review 47 (1999): 744–65. 3. James S. Coleman, “Social Capital in the Creation of H um an Capital,” A m erican Journal o f Sociology 94 (1988): S95–S120. 4. See also Loraine Blaxter and Christina Hughes, “Social Capital: A Critique,” in Stretching the Academy: The Politics and Practice o f Widening Participation in Higher Education, ed. Jane Thompson (Leicester, UK: NIACE, 2000); Rosalind Edwards, Jane Franklin, and Janet Holland, “Families and Social Capital: Exploring the Issues,” Families and Social Capital, Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) Research Group Working Paper, M arch 2003, available online at http://www.lsbu.ac.uk/families/publications/index.shtml 5. Maxine Molyneux, “Gender and the Silences of Social Capital: Lessons from Latin America,” Developm ent and Change 33, no. 2 (2002): 183. 6. This has, of course, long been recognized in feminist research. See Irene Bruegel and Simon Warren, “Family Resources and Community Social Capital as Routes to Valued Employment in the U.K.?” Social Policy and Society 2 (2003): 319–28; Diane Reay, “Gendering Bourdieu’s Concept of Capitals? Emotional Capital, Women and Social Class,” presented at Feminists Evaluate Bourdieu Conference, Manchester University, October 2002. 7. Putnam, M aking Democracy Work.

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8. Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival o f American C om m unity (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000). 9. Michael W. Foley and Bob Edwards, “Is It Time to Disinvest in Social Capital?” Journal o f Public Policy 19 (1999): 141– 73. 10. Pierre Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital, ” in H andbook o f Theory and Research for the Sociology o f Education, ed. J.G. Richardson (New York: Greenwood Press Thompson, 2000), 241–58. 11. Alejandro Portes, “Social Capital: Its Origins and Applications in M odern Sociology,” Annual Review o f Sociology 24 (1998): 1–24. 12. Putnam, Bowling Alone, 19. 13. Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique o f the judgem ent o f Taste (London: Routledge, 1984). 14. Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital.” 15. Pierre Bourdieu, Sociology in Question (London: Sage, 1993), 143. 16. Portes, “Social Capital,” 4. 17. Pierre Bourdieu, “The Social Space and the Genesis of Groups,” Theory and Society 14 (1985): 724. 18. See Reay, “Gendering Bourdieu’s Concept of Capitals?” 19. Helga Nowotny, “Women in Public Life in Austria,” in Access to Power: Cross National Studies o f Women and Elites (London: Sage, 1981), 148. 20. Reay, “ Gendering Bourdieu’s Concept of Capitals?” 6. 21 See, for example, Allison James and Alan Prout, Constructing and Reconstructing Childhood: Contemporary Issues in the Sociological Study o f Childhood (London: Falmer Press, 1990); Berry Mayall, Towards a Sociology for Childhood: Thinking from Children’s Lives (London: Open Univ. Press, 2002); Jens Q vortrup et al., eds., Childhood Matters: Social Theory, Practice and Politics (Aldershot, UK: Avebury, 1994). 22. Fiona Williams, Jennie Popay, and Anne Oakley, “Changing Paradigms of Welfare” in Welfare Research: A Critical Review, eds. Fiona Williams, Jennie Popay, and Ann Oakley (London: UCL Press, 1999), 33–42. 23. S. Macintyre, S. Maclver, and A. Sooman, “Area, Class and Health: Should We Be Focusing on Places or People?” Journal o f Social Policy 22 (1993): 213–34. 24. Jennie Popay, Gareth Williams, Carol Thomas, and Tony Gatrell, “Theorising Inequalities in Health: The Place of Lay Knowledge,” Sociology o f Health and Illness 20 (1998): 619–44. 25. For full details of methodological and ethical considerations, and final report, see Virginia Morrow, “Using Qualitative Methods to Elicit Young People’s Perspectives on Their Environments: Implications For Community Health Promotion Initiatives,” Health Education Research: Theory and Practice 16 (2001a): 255-68; Virginia Morrow, “Networks and Neighbourhoods: Children’s and Young People’s Perspectives.” Social Capital for Health Series (London: Health Development Agency, 2001), available online: http://www.hda-online.org.uk/ downloads/pdfs/netneigh.pdf 26. Mayall, Toivards a Sociology for Childhood, 52. 27. M. Grieco, Keeping It in The Family: Social Networks and E m ploym ent Chance (London: RKP, 1987).

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28. Gill Valentine, “Oh Yes I Can, Oh N o You C an ’t: Children and Parents’ Understandings of Kids’ Competence to Negotiate Public Space Safely,” Antipode 29 (1997): 65– 89. 29. H. Matthews, “The Street as a Liminal Space: The Barbed Spaces of Childhood,” in Children in the City: H ome, Neighbourhood and C o m m u n ity , ed. P. Christensen and M. O ’Brien (London: Falmer Press, 2003), 110–35. 30. Carol Gilligan, In a Different Voice: Psychological Theories and W om en’s D evelopm ent (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 1982); Carol Gilligan, Nona Lyons, and Trudy Hanmer, eds., M aking Connections: The Relational Worlds o f Adolescent Girls (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 1990). 31. Saguaro Seminar on Civic Engagement in America, Better Together Report, 2002, available online at http://www.bettertogether.org/thereport.htm 32. Virginia Morrow, “We Get Played for Fools: Young People’s Accounts of Com munity and Institutional Participation,” in Changing Families, Changing Com munities: Researching Health and Well-being A m ong Children and Young People, eds. J. Bull and H. Ryan (London: Health Education Authority, 2000). 33. See Suzanne Fitzpatrick, Annette Hastings, and Keith Kintrea, Including Young People in Urban Regeneration: A L o t to Learn? (Bristol: Policy Press, 1998). 34. Saguaro Seminar, Better Together Report. 35. See Catherine Campbell, with R. Wood and M. Kelly, Social Capital and Health (London: Health Education Authority, 1999). 36. Ben Fine, Social Capital versus Social Theory: Political Econom y and Social Science at the Turn o f the Millennium (London: Routledge, 2001). 37. Pierre Bourdieu et al., The Weight o f the World: Social Suffering in Contem porary Society (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 1999).

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7 Gender, Social Capital, and Politics1 VIRGINIA SAPIRO

Ladies, you have chosen me as your leader. Well, I have an important piece o f news to give you. Dante is dead. He has been dead for several centuries, and I think it is time that we dropped the study of his Inferno and turned our attention to our own. —Sarah P. Decker in her inaugural address as president of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs in 19042

Bringing Gender In: An Introduction

With great regularity, social commentators and scholars alike collectively seize on a term and ask it to carry great loads of analytical baggage. By the late 1990s, social capital had surely become one of those terms. Robert Putnam’s popular work on social capital3 was especially responsible for capturing and linking this concept together with a set of worries that preoccupied those whose vocation or avocation is analyzing the state of society. These worries focused on the apparent decline of community, civility, and political participation; the rise of television and working mothers; and the view that society and its institutions just didn’t feel as cozy and trustworthy as they once did. In his work on both Italy and the United States, Putnam argues that the more members of a community or society are bound together by the linkages created by participating together in civic associations,

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the more they are also likely to be committed to, trusting in, and engaged in democratic politics, and thus the more the democratic state will function well and efficiently.4 Thus, figuring out how to increase social capital or how to account for and impede its loss is one of the main tasks of this discussion and debate. This theme caught fire across the political spectrum. Wherever discussions of social capital and politics lead, our understanding of the phenomenon will be severely limited if scholars neglect the roles of gender in the creation and distribution of social capital and in the links between social capital and politics. Important aspects of the historically different cultural constructions of male and female in society and politics suggest that disregarding gender in understanding social capital is unwise. Given how different are the structures of women’s and men’s day-to-day lives and the different types and amounts of financial and social resources to which they have access, a “gender-neutral” story of social capital and politics is likely to be a faulty story. Consider a few examples that suggest how fundamental gender might be in understanding the relationship of social capital to politics. In the United States, women have long been regarded as the stereotypical contributors of public-regarding volunteer work to the civic and social organizational life of their communities.5 There, women’s linkages to politics and government have often been drawn specifically through civic and community voluntarism. Scholars of women’s history have been arguing for generations that w omen’s contributions to the creation of communities and even of the public sector has been underrecognized.6 Women are so associated with social and civic activity, that one of Putnam ’s hypotheses offered to explain the decline of social capital— but found of only modest importance—is the entry of women into the labor force and thus their presumed decline in “leisure” available for community participation. In contrast, Peter Hall claims that to the degree that social capital in Britain has been preserved in recent years, it can largely be attributed to wom en’s increasing participation in civic life.7 • Until recently there were remarkably few voluntary organizations that were truly gender- integrated, and probably even fewer in which the activities they gave rise to were not marked by gender-based divisions of labor. Occupational life and therefore organizations related to occupations and

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professions has been highly gender-segregated until recently, including those most likely to feed into community and political leadership. In other words, in the places where we are most likely to search for social capital tend, gender tends to define social activity and connections. • Gender-based divisions of labor help to define how basic elements of social life and social networks work. Women often act as the managers of social relations, even where men are the central actors. Some scholars have explored the special role of women in maintaining the aspects of families that help to configure their place in the larger society by examining “kinw ork”8 or “kinkeeping,”9 the work that preserves extended family ties, culture, and even the sustenance of family members. As central as family relationships are to the nature of the larger society, and as primordial as they may seem, they are in fact constructed relationships that require attention and labor to create and maintain. Empirical research shows that this is largely the work of women, even with respect to family connections drawn through husbands. • In recent years, another thread of feminist scholarship, seemingly relevant to the social capital literature, has dwelt on alleged gender differences in an “ethic of care” and the degree to which w omen’s and men’s personas and styles might be differentially structured by a rationalities based alternatively on individualism or collectivism. Although the empirical evidence is mixed at best on whether men and women differ with respect to the degree to which “care” structures their moral thinking (and virtually no evidence that “individual rights” or related concepts structure men’s and w omen’s thought to different degrees), this line of scholarship is far from finished, and keeps open the question of whether men and women, at least in some cultures, are inclined to enhance or draw on social capital differently.10 If gender shapes these contrasting orientations to any significant degree, and perhaps if people’s expectations about the social behavior of other people depend on the gender of those others, gender should be a crucial element in the overall creation and use of social capital. Even at first glance, focusing on gender raises an intriguing puzzle about the linkage between social capital and politics. The advocates

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of social capital claim that it has beneficial effects on political participation and democratic politics. Focusing on the history of the United States, few could doubt that women have done at least their share in the creation of social capital, while at the same time, their participation and certainly impact in politics has been severely constrained. W hat does this say for the links between social capital and politics in democratic societies? In probing a similar puzzle, Vivien Lowndes concludes, “there is no straightforward causal relationship between social capital and political involvement. Social capital does, or fails to do, its work in particular contexts.” 11 Clearly, not all community organization is equal with respect to its potential for translation into politics. Many of the organizations that most readily create social bonds that become the basis for political action and impact have traditionally excluded women, or else w om en do not receive the same benefits as men from those relationships. Family and family relations may be the foundations of societies, and ultimately, polities, and women may do the bulk of the essential kinkeeping, but family has traditionally segregated women from politics even while it has often served as a form of capital for men’s entry into power and politics. Although social capital does not seem to have translated in conventional political participation and impact for women in the same way as for men, w omen’s social organization and networks have often been the basis of women’s political movements. For this reason, w omen’s political organization may offer a good case study of social capital among social groups with relatively low political standing.12 There are many reasons to believe that gender may provide an important entry to understanding some aspects of social capital and its relation to politics that might otherwise remain obscured. The remainder of this chapter explores the relationship between gender and the creation and application of social capital to politics, emphasizing the development of a theory-driven research agenda. It is framed by the question: W hat can we learn about social capital and politics by bringing in gender?

T he Elements o f Social Capital

The obvious place to begin an exploration of the relationship between gender and social capital is to define social capital, and clarify some of the more general theoretical issues raised by defining this

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concept. This is not an easy task. Unfortunately, as Alejandro Portes has said, Disseminated by a number of policy-oriented journals and general circulation magazines, social capital has evolved into something of a cure-all for the maladies affecting society at home and abroad. Like other sociological concepts that have traveled a similar path, the original meaning of the term and its heuristic value are being put to severe tests by these increasingly diverse applications. As in the case of those earlier concepts, the point is approaching at which social capital comes to be applied to so many events and in so many different contexts as to lose any distinct meaning.13

Scholars and commentators have repeatedly stretched the concept to refer either to a broad and complex phenomenon, variously defined and sometimes containing within it both cause and effect, or to more singular phenomena such as trust in people, trust in institutions, participation in organizations, or the number of organizations in a society. Kenneth Newton observes that the literature on social capital and politics seems to range variously around three different definitions of social capital: norms and values; networks; and consequences, or “voluntarily produced collective facilities and resources.” 14 As with any other new concept, it is crucial not just to define, but to specify the theoretical or empirical purpose the concept serves that is not already being served adequately by other concepts. If social capital is merely a synonym for voluntary organizations or trust in people or social networks, we might do just as well to return to these latter terms, which already form the core of rich literatures. Alternatively, if it is a terminological mechanism for running together disparate ideas, such as organizations and trust without a theoretical framework, we should probably think again about its utility. A growing critical literature on concept, theory, and method in the study of social capital and its political implications reviews the varieties and advocates different solutions as well as research agendas for the future.15 Too often, empirical scholarly work on social capital gestures to a key figure in the debate— usually Putnam— before proceeding to investigate a particular strand, such as trust or organizational participation. It is unlikely that scholars will ever agree on the definitional particulars, just as they haven’t with respect to most other major concepts. Nevertheless, challenging ourselves to clarify these particulars as they frame specific investigations is essential. At the least, it

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may help us resolve whether and how the concept of social capital is useful or, alternatively, whether it is just the flavor of the month in conceptual terminology. James S. Coleman’s introduction of the concept to American social scientists offers a very helpful means to sort through its meaning and utility.16 Allowing that there is no “authoritative” theory of social capital and that the major theorists disagree with each other in some crucial detail at least, examining the overlapping elements of Coleman’s definition of social capital is a useful way to begin, because Coleman was so clear and specific in his exposition of those elements. Although one may prefer a different definition for theoretical reasons,17 working through a clearly laid-out definition allows us to specify the key properties and problems of social capital, and to point toward the aspects that might be illuminated by a focus on gender. W hat was the point of introducing social capital in the first place? W hat analytical gap required a new theory and concept? Coleman explained that he was searching for a means to integrate two different traditions of explaining human behavior, both of which tended to be used in w hat he regarded as counterproductively single-minded ways by different groups of social scientists. On the one hand are the approaches that define human behavior as governed by culturally variable social norms and rules, inculcated by socialization, and further administered through social institutions. On the other hand is the view that human behavior is a function of economic rational actors engaged in pursuing their particular interests. Coleman agreed with both Dennis Wrong and M ark Granovetter that these theories constituted, respectively, an “oversocialized” and “ undersocialized” theory of human action.18 He fashioned social capital theory out of these long-standing traditions of theory and research in order to integrate social and normative embeddedness with individual agency and rationality. In so doing, he hoped to avoid cobbling together a conceptual or theoretical “pastiche,” 19 but rather, to create a coherent theory building on key insights of these different traditions. The point was to employ social capital to import rationality into social organization in such a way as to comprehend human behavior as a function of both social norms and individual rationality (rather than one or the other) for use not just in economic behavior, but in other forms and arenas as well. W hat follows is an inventory of the elements that Coleman in­ corporated into social capital in his original article on the subject,

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elaborated with observations from other writers on the subject, and suggestions of the implications of these elements for the later discussion of gender. 1. Coleman defines social capital functionally. Something is social capital insofar as it is a resource that facilitates or helps to produce certain actions. “Like other forms of capital, social capital is productive, making possible the achievement of certain ends that in its absence would not be possible.”20 “The function identified by the concept of ‘social capital’ is the value of these aspects of social structure to actors as resources that they can use to achieve their interests.”21 Thus, we could say that stable, intense, reciprocated patterns of social exchange among people serve as social capital with respect to political engagement insofar these social relations serve as a resource for political engagement. How exactly that resource is engaged in the service of political engagement or mobilization in particular cases is an important empirical question. If one theorizes that the organization of certain kinds of political engagement or mobilization must be facilitated by social capital in order to occur, identification of the particular forms of social capital and the process by which those forms ended up serving their enabling function are interesting empirical questions. Economist Steve Durlauf argues that some of the most commonly used definitions of social capital in fact mix together functional and causal elements rather than exploring the causal links as an empirical question, which presumably creates theoretical and empirical problems.22 Although some scholars are not comfortable with defining concepts functionally, it is one of many acceptable practices according to philosophers of knowledge; it is, as Coleman points out, a key element in the way we define the term chair, for example.23 2. Social capital is lodged in the structure o f relationships among actors; that is, in social structures. It is not a characteristic of individual actors (for the sake of argument, for example, an individual actor’s level of trust in other people or other attitudes or beliefs) or a characteristic of society that lies outside the relationships among people. It is not a matter of the actions of particular actors, although individual actors can add to the sum of social capital through their actions as these actions are embedded in the larger system or web of actions, interactions, and expectations. Social capital is a resource that exists only because of the mutual or reciprocal relations or

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interactions that exist within a group of people. Putnam emphasized the importance of reciprocity and also highlighted a useful distinction between two kinds of reciprocity that are both important in the concept of social capital.24 Specific, or tit-for-tat reciprocity, as he points out, is well illustrated by Yogi Berra’s comment that “If you don’t go to somebody’s funeral, they w on’t come to yours.” That same comment, in fact, also suggests the importance of generalized reciprocity. In fact, we reinforce the value of each others’ lives not by attending each others’ funerals, but by attending those we can, knowing that someone else will attend ours.25 3. Coleman defines social capital through reference to its facilitation o f action. His examples are various: diamond merchants who regularly hand over diamonds to each other for examination off premises; radical South Korean students who created study circles and engaged in collective political dissent; a mother of six who moves to Jerusalem from Detroit because in the former city people look after each others’ children; price fixing. In each case, people, individually and collectively, are enabled to do certain things because the webs of relationships among people create specific kinds of resources. In the case of the diamond merchants, this resource is a kind of insurance, among the Korean students a code of loyalty and mutual commitment, and in Jerusalem, collective guardianship of children. That social capital was originally, and is usually, defined in terms of facilitating action, is sometimes lost in the political science literature. This seems most true when social capital is redefined as civil society or as social or nongovernmental political organizations as such, and then is discussed more generally in its relationship to the strength of democratic institutions or processes. Understanding social capital as facilitator of action holds promise as a means to probe a crucial question of civil and political society: How can mass level voluntary economic and political action be facilitated in a way that does not implode into the war of all against all, or of the oppression of some groups or factions by others? 4. According to Coleman, the actors may be persons or corporate actors. M ost of the research on social capital thus far, inside and outside political science, has focused on social capital as it is created and used by persons. But we might just as well focus on the level of organizations as creators and users of social capital. Some scholars plausibly raise the possibility of government itself as an actor in the creation and use of social capital.26 It would, however, be worth ex-

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ploring whether and how the type of actor has implications for the development, nature, or use of social capital, especially with respect to who can use its developed reserves, and for what. 5. Given all of the above, social capital “is not a single entity but a variety of different entities, with two elements in common: they all consist of some aspect of social structures, and they facilitate certain actions of actors—whether persons or corporate actors—within the structure.”27 Social capital is the universe of entities, lodged in social structures, through which particular actions occur in a wide range of domains including but not limited to markets and politics. As usual in social science, we should not confuse the indicators of a concept with the concept itself. Although most empirical research on social capital relies on one or perhaps two indicators (e.g., the density of particular types of organizations, or the levels of participation in them), social capital is one of those concepts, like democracy or legitimacy, where the thing itself is not visible to the naked observing eye.28 Different entities might, under the right circumstances, take on the properties of social capital. Among those Coleman identifies directly or by implication are: the relationships among people, perhaps based on shared identity, common fate, or social intimacy, that lead people to be able to draw on those people in the pursuit of goals; the expectations based on obligation (which itself may arise in many different ways), or on recognized track records of action, interaction, and response; the “potential for information that inheres in social relations” that reduces opportunity costs of gaining information; webs of trust among people; and the norm “that one should forgo selfinterest and act in the interests of the collectivity” or of others in the collectivity.29 Coleman further shows the crucial importance this latter norm, of forgoing self-interest in the collective interest, as it reshapes definitions of rational behavior in ways that might be especially crucial during social or political transformation: A norm of this sort, reinforced by social support, status, honor, and other rewards, is the social capital that builds young nations,... strengthens families by leading family members to act selflessly in “the family’s” interest, facilitates the development of nascent social movements through a small group of dedicated, inward-looking, and m utually rewarding members, and in general leads persons to work for the public good. In some of these cases, the norms are internalized; in

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others, they are largely supported through external rewards for selfless actions, and disapproval for selfish actions. But, whether supported by internal or external sanctions, norms of this sort are im portant in overcoming the public goods problem that exists in collectivities.30

Alejandro Portes, among others, emphasizes that another, overlapping form of social capital is social control, the self-regulating, selfpolicing aspects of social interaction and organization that makes the Panopticon w ork.31 Social capital may take many forms, but the underlying social capital that takes these forms shares functionality in offering potential for engaging in action that might not otherwise take place. This view that social capital may take many forms is theoretically rich, but poses great difficulties for empirical research, for it means that the same indicators may not always represent social capital equally well, and that different indicators may do so under different circumstances. But it does open important questions—and ones that are especially instructive in the context of understanding the relationship of social capital to power structures and inequality— about what relationships and circumstances actually do generate social capital under different circumstances and for different groups of people. 6. “Social capital is not completely fungible.”32 Something that may constitute social capital in one context or situation will not constitute social capital in others; it may even be counterproductive. The existence of intense, reciprocated bonds of social exchange that develop over time in particular kinds of social and civic associations may serve better as resources for some kinds of political participation than others.33 They may serve as social capital with respect to political engagement for some groups of people and not others, depending, for example, on the relative political standing of these people, or on the standing of the particular political issues or values at stake, or government actions and policy or a wide variety of other contextual characteristics. Participating as one of the “regulars” at a particular tavern may not seem to contribute to the stock of politically relevant social capital to most contemporary scholars in the field. But in some geographic locations—for example, rural villages or some neighborhoods around government office buildings—participation as a tavern regular may well create politically relevant social capital. Certainly, in colonial America, when newspapers and government documents were distrib-

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uted in taverns, and men went to taverns regularly to share news, the networks developed in these and similar places (e.g., coffee houses) indeed served as resources for political engagement and organization.34 Likewise, the kitchen kaffeeklatsch of homemakers is rarely regarded is a locus for political engagement, but when, in the 1960s, homemakers talked with each other about their reactions to Betty Friedan’s The Feminine M ystique ,35 the political potential of these private networks was transformed. Nevertheless, while forms of social capital are not completely fungible, and social capital cannot simply be reduced to an economic common denominator, “The potential fungibility of diverse sources of capital reduces the distance between the sociological and economic perspectives and simultaneously engages the attention of policy-makers seeking less costly, noneconomic solutions to social problems.”36 7. Social capital is a limited public good. Because social capital is lodged in the structure of relationships among actors, rather than being a characteristic or property of individuals, actors may contribute to social capital without any expectation that they will draw on it, and actors may draw on social capital without having contributed to it. Indeed, Coleman points out that some forms of social capital may be especially fragile because the contributors are likely to be different from those who benefit, which not only creates a collective action problem, but also means that “most forms of social capital are created or destroyed as by-products of other activities. This social capital arises or disappears without anyone’s willing it into or out of being and is thus even less recognized and taken account of in social action than its already intangible character would warrant.”37 As I shall underscore shortly, however, even if social capital is a public good, it is not necessarily a good on which all members of a community can draw. Systematic differences in who may or may not draw on social capital are not minor details in the overall significance of social capital and politics. 8. As the metaphor capital implies, social capital does not facilitate or cause action just because it exists, but like human or financial capital, it m ust be mobilized and transacted to be used. This is a crucial point theoretically. There is a difference between an explanatory model stating, for example, that the presence of reciprocal bonds of trust and interaction among a group of people “causes” particular kinds of action to occur, and one that says these bonds form resources that may be applied to creating particular kinds of action. One

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implication is that under some circumstances, or for some groups of people, it makes sense to explore alternative sources or forms of social capital. As women entered into the arena of formal electoral politics, for example, they were likely to explore sources of support, respect, and human and financial capital that was different from the norm among men who ran for office because of their different sources and types of social capital. 9. Social capital does not have uniformly “g o o d ” effects. This final element, drawn from the larger literature on social capital, has specific bearing on the normative aspects of current debates and discussions. M ost of this literature treats social capital with what Portes labels a “celebratory tone” especially noticeable “in those studies that have stretched the concept from a property of individuals and families to a feature of communities, cities, and even nations.”38 Social capital is about good things, especially in political science: community, trust, bonds among people, caring for and about other people, civil society, political engagement and participation, democracy, and even a smoothly functioning state. Despite this common “treacly sweet, ‘kumbaya’ interpretation,”39 no theory of social capital logically supports the notion that political actions drawing on social capital are necessarily “good” by any standard of evaluation. Social capital enables discrimination, price fixing, collective violence, and a range of other not-so-nice outcomes. On a less dire level, Portes observes that in small towns, the intensity of social capital and its social regulatory function demanding conformity is one of the experiences that often leads young people to leave home.40 Studies of groups dedicated to the politics of violent exclusion sometimes make very clear how central are positive senses of community and family as facilitators of the violence against other groups, and how women, in many cases, are fully a part of this transformation.41 Some scholars have traced the role of social capital in creating or maintaining inequality, exclusion, and hierarchy. Because social capital is lodged in social relationships, the boundaries of its utility are likely to be defined by the boundaries of those relationships. Social capital creates resources for some people that are unavailable to others. Social relationships reflect the inequalities of society, especially because they tend to operate on principles of homophily. As a major review of homophily put it, “similarity breeds connection.”42 People who are similar in status, outlook, or other characteristics tend to associate with each other, thus social networks will tend to

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cluster around particular statuses, outlooks, or other characteristics. A long train of social psychological research shows that people tend to develop more trust and confidence in, liking for, and cooperation with people who are like them or in their group than people who are outside, however defined.43 Organizational and social psychological studies show that this greater trust, confidence, liking—many of the elements of social capital— are not necessarily extended to all members even of relatively intimate working groups if some of the members are seen as “different”; for example, on the basis of race or gender.44 Even in a society densely populated by the types of relationships that create social capital, it is still possible—in the real world it has generally been the case—that some groups of people are systematically excluded from drawing on these resources, even when they might make contributions. These studies expand the horizons of understanding the generation, application, and interpretation of social capital.45

Relationships between Social Capital and Politics Until recently, most writing on social capital, like James Coleman’s, linked it to the production of human capital, especially education, economic behavior, and status attainment. Political scientists, for the most part, were introduced to the concept through Robert Putnam’s work, first in Italy, where he explained the different political cultures found there as a function of historical development of civic associations, then in the United States, where he refined his argument that political engagement and democratic politics generally hinges on the presence of sufficient social capital.46 In the latter he made his wellknown case that social capital declined generation-by-generation over the last half of the twentieth century, which directly caused the decline in voting and other forms of political participation. M ost social capital research that is familiar to political scientists engages with Putnam’s observations, offering alternative evidence and interpretation with respect to whether social capital has indeed declined in the United States, as he specified, or has declined in other places;47 or it pursues his argument that the popular mass media bear a lot of responsibility for these ill effects, assuming they exist;48 or it investigates the conditions that give rise to civic associations which, in turn, are widely seen as the primary source of social capital.49

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These studies and debates are important, but there are some difficult theoretical and empirical questions that have not yet received adequate recognition in the study of politics and social capital. It is remarkably unclear what most scholars think is the likely political significance of social capital, except in the most general terms. There are many reasons for this, and they depend partly on the varying definitions of social capital. As critics such as Portes have pointed out, social capital sometimes appears to be its own cause. This criticism is most commonly launched against Putnam’s study of Italy. It is also at issue in Bowling Alone, where social capital is claimed as a facilitator of political engagement, but political engagement is defined as a part of social capital.50 M ore generally, social capital appears variously as a resource lodged in the relationships among individual (usually) or corporate actors, or as a characteristic of actors, or as a characteristic of societies and communities, it is hard to imagine how these various conceptions can be tied together in a single, simple theory defining social capital’s link to politics. All of these conceptions are plausible, but they must not be confused in analytical discussion. Using the definition outlined above (social capital as a resource embedded in relationships among actors that might be used to facilitate action), what might we theorize as the connections between social capital and politics? Social capital could facilitate political action. It could also facilitate political power; that is, social capital could be a resource that helps to make political action effective.51 Social capital could also facilitate the growth or effectiveness of particular kinds of political structures and processes. Most current research emphasizes the importance of social capital for enhancing democracy broadly conceived, but there are many forms of democracy, which may well be linked to different types of social relations and their embedded resources.52 An increasing number of scholars also examine social capital not as a facilitator of politics, but as caused or facilitated by politics. Wendy Rahn and her colleagues are regularly cited for their evidence that elections can create social capital.53 Certainly, if engaging in social relations can create social capital, it is difficult to imagine why those original interactions cannot take place within political settings. Others, including Theda Skocpol, go further and argue that government itself is a shaper of social capital. There can be no doubt that government at all levels, through a variety of policies, often aims to develop social capital among its citizens, or at least certain kinds of social capital. Each of these connections can and should be examined in terms of gender.

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W hat Can We Learn about Social Capital and Politics by Considering Gender?

W hat do scholars of gender politics or feminist theory have to contribute to the discussion of social capital and politics? The following discussion offers a laundry list of themes that seem fruitful to pursue. In each case, we can go well beyond the questions “And what about women?” or “W hat about gender?” to probe some of the broader theoretical and empirical issues of the linkages between social capital and politics as they link to the elements of social capital discussed above. I argue that focusing on gender offers an especially good entry to expanding our understanding of social capital and politics in general. The point, in almost all of these cases, is not that including women or gender offers the only handle on these questions, but that it offers an especially good one. The questions are overlapping in many cases, but they frame the questions, and therefore potential research projects differently.

H ow is Politics Connected with Social Life? W hat Are the Cultural and Social Roots o f Political Engagement, Power, and Position? Political scientists sometimes speak of the “political” and political activities as though they constitute a domain of life segregated from the rest. M ore and more, however, students of the historical development of political action emphasize the degree to which politics is a cultural activity embedded in and linked to other social domains. Charles Tilly, for example, underscores the degree to which repertoires of political contention grow out of older repertoires of action outside of politics as such.54 In their study of nineteenth-century partisan politics in the United States, Glenn Altschuler and Stuart Blumin argue that the recognition that political engagement is constituted by human action, where people could instead be engaging in other forms of social behavior (as they say, “to read a book rather than a political newspaper, to discuss the weather rather than politics” ) demands that scholars “relate political participation to the whole range of activities that constitutes a given social world, and in some fashion to measure its significance within that world. It requires us also to understand the cultural dimension of political engagement.”55 Theories of social capital offer an avenue to this linkage because it points to one of the ways that politics can be seen to grow out of

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other aspects of social life. But how, exactly, do those social relations and activities produce the resources that facilitate politics? W hat are those resources, and who can use them? These questions suggest the particulars by which politics can be linked to the rest of social life. The gender dimension within these linkages is especially interesting, however. Women and men come from the same families and communities. As we have seen, women are often regarded as the guardians and custodians of social ties. Yet women, specifically, have been conventionally understood to be embedded in the social world “rather th a n ” the political world. In other words, the connections between the social and political would seem at some level to work more for men than women, and this despite women’s position as custodians of social connections. W hat is the line between social networks and relationships that might become resources for political engagement or power and those that would not? W hat types of social relationships potentially become the circuitry that breathes life into political engagement, in any of its various forms? Gender appears to offer one of the definers of the limits.

H ow Are the Lines between Public and Private D raw n? It is a rare feminist analysis of politics that does not discuss the “public-private split” and how these lines have been sharply drawn, presumably since the Enlightenment, in Western political culture, and how women have remained restricted to the private and therefore excluded from the public. But as social capital theory suggests, the lines and relationships between public and private, and the relevance of these for politics has been much more complicated and interesting than that. Social capital theory specifically argues that “private” relationships enable and facilitate public ones. Private relationships provide crucial resources for public engagement and power. It is not good enough to say there is a public-private split and that women are kept in one domain, and men on the other. More useful might be to focus on how the connections and the resources they provide for politics differ, and why, and how these connections vary across circumstances, for different social groups, and historically. Similar social connections and relationships may function differently for different people. Are the differences simple matters of blockages

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caused by social norms? Or are there other aspects of this process worth investigating? Consider the case of family as a source of social capital. For men of some social groups, there is little doubt that family relations have provided social capital that serves political engagement and power. Family connections provide social capital that can be invested in politics in many ways. This is certainly true for men from “leading” families, however defined. I use the term leading families to indicate that it is not necessarily a class-bound term. A leading family may have exerted governmental leadership over time, or it may have controlled wealth or capital, it might be the organized crime family, or the one that can be counted on to provide leadership in organizing workers. Kin, including fictive kin,56 provide many resources: mutually recognized expectations about how members of this family act, or what other resources they draw with them; connections to other individuals who will work on their behalf, support them, or provide tangible or intangible resources; services provided through their connections that enhance their ability to participate in politics. Women, although part of the same family networks, clearly have not benefited by them in the same way as the men in their same families in terms of being able to access resources for politics. We can argue that for men, these private relationships can be transformed into social capital that can be “cashed in” in politics, while for women, in the main, these private relationships have been understood as barriers.57 H ow this occurs, how it differs cross-societally, and whether and how this is changing is an interesting question. Parent-child relationships and their social implications are especially important in distinguishing social capital development as it may be relevant to politics. Men and women both have children, of course, but conventional conceptions of fatherhood versus motherhood create different kinds of social resources for men and women. For women, the bonds of parenthood are traditionally thought to be constructed in a manner that excludes, reduces, or constrains access to politics rather than providing a resource. For men, they have generally been taken as irrelevant to politics, neither an asset nor a deficit. In special cases, however, as when male candidates place their children on display to show they are “good family men,” the relationship with children constitutes politically relevant social capital in that the connection between the men and their children establishes expectations about the m en’s character and likely performance.

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Vivien Lowndes has underscored the tremendous, and often ignored, potential of parent–child, and specifically mother–child relationships: “Such networks are produced and reproduced through a range of familiar activities, some characterized by mutuality, others by reciprocity—for instance, the ‘school run,’ childcare ‘swaps,’ babysitting, shared children’s outings, emergency care, and the taking and fetching and watching of children in their school and club activities.”58 Why are these connections not regularly part of the discussion of social capital and politics? As Lowndes points out, this is a point at which the public-private split is at issue. An underlying pair of distinct questions, however, is whether or under what circumstances child-based connections actually do create politically relevant social capital, and whether or under w hat circumstances social scientists and other commentators recognize the child-based connections that create politically relevant social capital.

Where Are the Boundaries o f Politics? Who Defines Them? One of the most fascinating threads in the modern history of women and politics offers rich opportunity for probing both the boundaries of politics, and the historical processes by which those boundaries are defined. Many students of wom en’s history have investigated the repeated investment of collectivities of women in community action and development, often involving efforts to expand human services provided by the public sector or to alter the values embedded in public sector practices.59 M any others involve efforts that come to be models for such alteration. The critical boundary issue is this: Despite the repeated, extensive efforts and contributions of women in this area, not only are they conventionally understood not to have been active contributors to “politics,” but these activists themselves have often eschewed the term politics to represent their actions, sometimes venturing only as close to a concept of politics as “public affairs.” A simplistic gender-focused approach would say that the reason for this distinction between social or communal engagement on the one hand and political engagement on the other is simply a matter of stereotype. Women are seen as private, domestic creatures, and therefore, their actions have often not been interpreted as political. Some scholars make the case that w omen’s groups have sometimes been strategic in refusing to cloak their activities in “politics” in order

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to proceed under the radar of gender stereotype or even to benefit by it.60 But the linkage between social or communal relationships and action on the one hand and political and even governmental action on the other is more complicated than that. Definitions of politics have changed historically. Earlier in U.S. history, politics had specific meaning referring to the domain of private factional interests and partisan conflict, to be distinguished from public affairs. This was true among men and women. Consider the editorial by a Whig newspaper editor following his party’s 1840 victory: We are heartily glad the contest is over. It is not very agreeable to be compelled to wallow in politics day and night, for months together. There may be some who have no higher appetite than to derive pleasure from the asperities of political controversy; who view with exultation the tattered characters of their opponents, cut in shreds by the keen weapons of party knights who endeavor to win imperishable fame by tilting with and unhorsing the champions who dare oppose them. Such persons, we hope, are not numerous.61

Even for the partisan editor, politics was not a very elevated activity. We have to distinguish social capital from politics in order to look at the relationship between them, but how can we understand the nature of boundaries and relationships between the social and political? There is no essential line between the two because social capital depends on the subjectivities of social and communal relationships, and people’s understanding of their frames of action. H ow and at w hat point do social relationships come to be understood as political relationships? At w hat stage, for example, does mutual welfare become politics and policy? The answer is not obvious. Some studies of women and community action are especially interesting in this regard. Consider the shift Harry Boyte describes in the development of Communities Organized for Public Service (COPS), a political organization in the Mexican barrios of San Antonio in the early 1970s, inspired by the post-Alinsky Industrial Areas Foundation.62 In an area in which COPS political activists had been attempting to organize people around race discrimination and police brutality, problems which profoundly afflicted the community, they found they were having much more difficulty than they expected in their organizing attempts. COPS adopted a technique of using listening sessions,

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inviting not just the mostly male leaders of local political organizations, but women and men from the community more generally, to figure out how to get people involved in politics. COPS found that the most pressing issues according to the local residents, and ultimately, that served better as concerns that could motivate political mobilization were more “social” everyday issues such as housing. As Boyte relates, in discovering this, COPS found not only the issues that were most likely to motivate mobilization into politics, but they also identified the social networks and the people that populated them who could serve as the core of this effort. These were not the more often recognized, mostly male leaders of explicitly political organizations, but the “more invisible tier of leaders, frequently women, who had worked behind the scenes to keep school PTAs going, run day-to-day activities of churches, and the like.”63 The backbone of their political organizing became the more communal and social issues and networks, not those that had conventionally been understood as the motivators and resources for political action. Likewise, Gittell, Ortega-Bustamante, and Steffy found in their study of women, community development organizations, and social capital that women activists tend to push outward on the more narrowly defined infrastructure concerns of conventional community development organizations, responding to what they see as a wider range of social needs and concerns, especially of women and children.64 Their social networks and activism do not just “lead to ” politics, but expand its definitions. Studies of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century w omen’s clubs and organizations often underscore the linkage between w omen’s “social” organization and concerns and their engagement in and influence on “politics,” despite even their unwillingness to define their actions in this manner. Elisabeth Clemens’s work has been important in this regard, especially as she employs the concept of “repertoires” to show how women transformed their social action into political action.65 For her, the significance of women’s organizations lay in their “routine practices and relationships among organizations”66 and the ways these practices and relationships served as resources for a transformation of politics. Their various organizations and networks were so interlinked and overlapped that to see a clear boundary between the social and political hardly makes sense. The moment of boundary breaking within the networks of w om en’s relationships is clearly identified in the quotation that opened

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this paper. Women’s literary clubs might have turned from Dante to politics not because one or another rung of hell specifically reminded them of w omen’s situation in the Gilded Age, but because the practices of confidence and trust the clubwomen built up gave them a resource for that leap when leadership or events precipitated the opportunity.

When and Why is the Creation o f Social Capital a Sometimes Intentional Political Activity? “ Community organizing” traditions of political action explicitly recognize that nurturing and creating what scholars now call social capital, in its various guises, is potentially a powerful path to political engagement and power, especially for social groups with relatively little political standing. The creation of social capital as political activity has arguably been a specialty of many w om en’s organizations, especially during the period of “w omen’s movements,” precisely because social capital may be the main form of capital to which women have access. Many women participate in volunteer and organizational activity for the express purpose of creating community.67 They need nothing more than each other to create it, and the acts of creation of social capital fit well within the conventional framing of women’s social character. Clemens offers powerful arguments and illustrations with regard to the period of the 1880s to 1920s.8 History offers many examples of women’s efforts to create social capital. In some cases, the point was literally to create a “homelike” world. Charlotte Perkins Gilman could be regarded as the premier social theorist to make the case for a political economy of homeyness.69 But women often used the home and domestic life as a template for public life. Dana Frank offers examples from the w omen’s versions of the cooperative movement in the early twentieth century.70 In many other cases, however, women promoted the development of social organizations not just because they believed that the creation of social capital, as we might now call it, would help create better citizenship, democracy, or better public values. Their role in the creation of lyceums and libraries, for example, was aimed at creating an informed public, a mainstay of democracy.71 Jane Croly, in her reflections on the Ladies’ Literary Club in Cedar Rapids in the 1870s noted, “The society of the place was in a state of transition, the

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old and new breaking up into cliques, social, religious, and political, that threatened to annihilate all possibilities of unity. . . . It is not too much to say that the inspiration of the Ladies’ Literary Club arrested this process of disintegration. . . . ”72 Gittell, Ortega-Bustamante, and Steffy offer many more recent examples of this view in their study of women involved in community development organizations.73 A growing number of studies demonstrates the ways in which political engagement develops social capital which, in turn, serves as a resource for further political engagement. The classic study is Rahn, Brehm, and Carlson’s work on elections as a creator of social capital.74 But in research focused on w om en’s political action, specifically through the national women’s movement, Debra Minkoff shows that social movements, often viewed generally as divisive depletions to social capital, in fact can powerfully add to the stock. She argues that national social movement organizations can create “significant change in how collective identities are constructed and collective action is implemented. Local communities and institutions are no longer the sine qua non of mobilization precisely because identity groups transcend parochial boundaries based on communities of residence, religious or ethnic affiliation, and perhaps even class and race.”75 W hat does it mean to feel that there is a national movement acting on one’s behalf, or that there is a strength in numbers, even if not geographically concentrated? Moreover, social movements are often composed of “hybrid” organizations that engage in more direct social capital creation by developing and offering a wide range of services, often based on mutual aid and support models.76 These may be regarded as political organizations creating social capital for the purpose of enhancing political potential. It is especially interesting to consider why women’s organizations so often engage in this task.

H ow Do Groups with M inim al Political Standing M obilize and Exert Influence ? James Coleman noted that, “The organization that makes possible [untolerated political activity] is an especially potent form of social capital.”77 Particular political activity may be “untolerated” in any of four senses. First, a governance system may be marked by only limited democracy, severely constraining political participation at the mass level in general. Second, particular activities may fall outside

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the bounds of w hat is legally or conventionally accepted as political activity, such as violence against persons or property, constraining others’ participation in politics, engaging in labor strikes, or using particular forms of symbolic behavior.78 Third, political activity may be untolerated because the actors lack political standing to engage in the political activity or in the substantive domain of politics in question. The most obvious example of the former is voting among groups of people excluded from voting in an otherwise democratic electoral system. An example of the latter would be women engaging issues that are understood to be strictly within men’s provenance. Finally, political activity may be untolerated because the substantive issue or domain itself lacks political standing. Some issues are not considered appropriate for political consideration in certain times and places, such as the question of rape within marriage. Other examples might include engaging in peace marches during wartime (marches are generally tolerated, but not peace marches during wartime) or engaging in political activities regarding other issues that are regarded as inappropriate for political consideration or offensive, such as speaking out for racial integration in some times and communities, or against affirmative action in others. Expanding Coleman’s observation, then, leads to the hypothesis that social capital may be an especially potent resource for people who lack political standing or human or financial capital either to compensate for this deficit or to leverage an increase in standing. Women’s political history offers many examples, especially among those involved in social movements. But even as women began entering formal arenas of politics, they continued to draw on their social and organizational connections. The early leadership of the small federal Children’s Bureau had come from the women’s club movement, and thousands of clubwomen provided legwork to the Bureau in carrying out its programs.79 The labor movement in which, after all, the term solidarity has long been a token of recognition to the importance of the resources of relationships among people, is a great source of models and examples. One that is intriguing, because it involves cooperation across the lines of gender-segregated work forces, occurred during the labor agitation of the period around 1920 in Seattle. There, as in many cities across the country at the time, kitchenless rooming houses and restaurants had multiplied because they served the exploding force of industrial workers who were mostly single men and therefore, given

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the gender culture of the time, depended on others to provide their meals. Dana Frank discusses the collaborative politics of the male workers and the waitresses: “In Seattle, men who lived in hotels often brought class consciousness to their meals out, boycotting non-union restaurants, loyally patronizing those friendly to labor and displaying the union shop card, and participating in creative job actions in support of union waitresses.” An example of this support came during a waitress strike, when the men flocked to the restaurants at the beginning of what should be a busy lunch hour, ordered a cup of coffee, and sat there drinking coffee until the close of the lunch period, thus denying the owners substantial income.80 The social capital built up between the waitresses and their industrial worker “regulars” created a potential for unusual political strength and collaboration. The politically vulnerable have long been aware of the political value of social capital, and those involved in social movements have often devoted action specifically to figuring out how to develop and use it. In 1961, for example, fifty-two Black beauticians from Tennessee and Alabama traveled to Knoxville to the Highlander Research and Education Center and joined together in a “New Leadership Responsibilities” seminar to explore the ways “they and other women whose jobs left them relatively free of white economic pressure could build upon their extensive contacts in black communities to promote the cause of racial equality.”81 This was one example of many such seminars. That was no doubt one of the residential sessions at the infamous Highlander that convinced the state authorities to shut the school down and confiscate the property soon after that on the grounds that it was a “ Communist training school” that harbored interracial activities. The development and use of social capital is sometimes dangerous.

W hat is the Nature and Significance o f Inequality in Social Capital? N an Lin (2000b) offers a useful distinction between two different forms of inequality relating to social capital.82 The first is capital deficit, referring to inequalities in the amount of social capital to which different social groups have access. The second is return deficit, by which he means the different return or utility people get on their social capital. A similar distinction can be useful in the study of

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financial or hu m an capital and inequality. Race-based inequality in financial capital could be manifested by African Americans having less m oney with which to buy a house, or by realtors and bankers allowing African Americans to buy less house than white people with the same am ount of money. W ith respect to hum an capital, in some fields w om en may have less training than men or they may earn less m oney per hour of training than men earn. In terms of social capital then, if it is relevant to gender differences in political engagement and power, it may be that w om en have less social capital than men, or that they either d o n ’t use their social capital as effectively in politics or th at their social capital is not w orth as much as m en’s in politics. It is theoretically crucial to identify which is true in different circum stances. As we have seen, despite w o m e n ’s traditional com m unal involvem ent and their stereotypical emphasis on interpersonal relationships, there are im portan t issues to pursue with respect to inequality and the linkages between social capital and politics. The first observation to underscore is C olem an’s, that social capital is not fungible. N o t all organizational or interpersonal ties create social capital that is useful for the same purposes, regardless of w ho is involved. If w o m e n ’s clubs and organizations are generally considered irrelevant to politics, or are not directly enough interconnected with the netw orks in which political leaders are embedded, there is relatively less politically relevant social capital to be gained from these organizations. If the types of relationships th at serve as resources for local political leadership are found am ong the people w ho hold elite professional and business positions, and these are male-dominated fields, or am ong the m em bers of particular clubs and organizations, and these are restricted to men, w o m e n ’s social capital will have little value in politics. Furthermore, even in the same organizational networks, the distribution of interpersonal trust and norm s of reciprocity are not necessarily equivalent across the different social groups involved. There are strong tendencies for people in the same w ork groups to favor the participants w ho are m ost like themselves under certain circum stances, especially to trust them more and have more confidence in them .83 Being in the same organizations or netw orks does not necessarily create access to social capital. Trust and reciprocity have been a special problem for wom en in public life, where m uch of politics takes place. W h a t type of norms of social capital are operating where w om en in particular have had less ability than men even to trust that

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they could be safe from harm if they w ent out in public alone, or at night?84 Once again, the family as a source of social capital for pow er and participation offers a good example of how the study of gender reveals the different ways in which the same kinds of connections p r o vide systematically different types and am ounts of politically relevant social capital. Earlier, I discussed some of the ways in which husba n d s’ and wives’ specific relationship to their spouse and children offer different resources or inhibitors for political engagement. But m en’s relationship to w om en has also offered a collective source of politically relevant social capital for men. In recent years, for exam ple, m any historians have studied the im portance of parades, m arches, and other public performances as im portant political acts. These require audiences, often engaged cheering, supportive audiences, to be effective.85 Simon P. N ew m an is one of m any scholars w h o em phasizes how im portant the public festive culture of the United States was in the period of the early Republic in terms of the rise of a mass democracy, and further notes that while w om en generally took no direct p a rt in the performances as such, they were crucial to the whole in their role as spectators.86 T h a t role was circumscribed, but it was n ot trivial. The white men depended on the support of the w om en of their families and communities to legitimize and create m eaning for their actions as performance. Someone had to be the audience, and w om en perform ed that role collectively for the white men developing their mass democracy.87 In fact there has been a wide range of m en’s collective political action th at depended nonreciprocally on the resources garnered from their relationships with w om en. This is certainly true of the vast m a jority of m en’s political actions th at has involved serving food. W om e n ’s w ork in providing food for political events has usually not been seen in itself as political action (perhaps not seen at all by scholars), but as auxiliary w ork th at allows the political action to take place. T h a t men have been able to count on w o m en ’s “ dom estic” labor to support political events m ust fall within the realm of social capital. T h a t expectation, and therefore that resource, has generally not been reciprocal. It is thus an indication of the significance of social capital for inequality. Histories show th at the development of the U.S. electoral democracy depended partly on its performance as spectacle, entertainm ent, and a w ay to engage and draw people together. Social

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capital provided a resource through m en’s ability to draw on the services of disenfranchised women.

So, D o We Need Women? D o We Need Social Capital? Social capital is an analytical concept. It gains its analytical pow er insofar as it allows us to consider aspects of politics th at have rem ained obscured before. The notion of resources em bedded in relationships th at can be brought to bear on politics— depending on the circumstances— is did not receive sufficient attention before the introduction of the concept. Using the analytically pow er construction of social capital can take us to the very boundaries of politics Bringing w om en into the picture forces our attention to some of the richer and m ore difficult questions th at exploring the links between social capital and politics can raise. I have argued th at to understand social capital well in its role in U.S. democracy, at least, is necessarily to look at the usually obscured but central gender dynamics. The point is n ot just th at it “ is im portant to consider wom en, too.” M e n ’s and w om en’s social and political situations have been different historically, so it should not be surprising that bringing gender into the picture provides perspective and detail on the connections between social capital and politics that are otherwise obscured. Certainly, it w ould be possible to investigate most of the questions raised in this essay w ithout the considering gender (although, surely, it is difficult to imagine investigating family connections even adequately w ithout gender), but for m any reasons suggested in the illustrative research cited here, gender politics scholarship tends to force our a ttention to certain im portant considerations beyond gender. This observation raises a final question. Research on social capital and politics w ould be enriched w ith more attention to gender politics outside the com m unity of “w om en and politics” scholarship. But w h a t happens if we turn the question around? W hat is the value a d d ed of the concept of social capital to gender politics scholarship? The answer is less clear. Gender politics scholars in a few disciplines have long been investigating the questions raised by even the m ore subtle and complex definitions of social capital. In this field, the notion of contextually shaped resources for politics and pow er provided by the relationships am ong people is hardly new. But social capital does

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provide a conceptual label th at might help build more bridges into and out of the field of gender politics. T hat, after all, is something. Notes 1. This paper is loosely part of a larger project on the history of political action in the United States. Other pieces of the project can be found at h ttp ://w w w . p o lisci.w isc .ed u /u sers/sa p iro /rese arch /. 2. Theodora Penny Martin, The Sound o f O ur O w n Voices: W om en’s Study Clubs, 1860– 1910 (Boston: Beacon, 1987), 172. 3. Robert D. Putnam, “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital,” Journal o f Democracy 6, no. 1 (1995): 65–78; Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival o f American C om m unity (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000). 4. Putnam, Bowling Alone; Robert D. Putnam, M aking Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1993). 5. The com mon stereotype in the United States is that this social and civic organizational work has been the domain of middle-class white women, a stereotype which has also been one of the sources of trivializing w om en’s communal activity even, occasionally, among feminist scholars. In fact, as numerous histories show, working class and poor women, and women of many different ethnic and racial groups have also been leaders in participation in voluntary communityoriented activities. N ot surprisingly, however, social and civic organizations and activities have usually been class- and race-segregated. 6. M ary Ritter Beard, W om en’s Work in Municipalities (New York: D. Appleton, 1915); Mary Ritter Beard, America Through W om en’s Eyes (New York: M acmillan, 1933); Mary Ritter Beard, W oman as Force in History: A Study in Traditions and Realities (New York: Macmillan, 1946). 7. Peter A. Hall, “Social Capital in Britain,” British Journal o f Political Science 29 (1999): 417– 61. See the further discussion in Vivien Lowndes, “Women and Social Capital: A Comment on Hall’s ‘Social Capital in Britain,’” British Journal of Political Science 30, no. 3 (2000): 533–37. 8. Michaele Di Leonardo, “The Female World of Cards and Holidays: Women, Families and the Work of Kinship,” Signs 12 (1987): 441–53. 9. Carolyn J. Rosenthal, “Kinkeeping in the Familial Division of Labor,” Journal o f Marriage & Family 47 (1985): 965–74. 10. Sara Jaffee and Janet Shibley Hyde, “Gender Differences in Moral Orientation: A Meta-Analysis,” Psychological Bulletin 126 (2000): 703–26. 11. Viven Lowndes, “Getting O n or Getting By? Women, Social Capital, and Political Participation,” British journal o f Politics and International Relations 6, no. 1 (2004): 61. 12. I use the concept of political standing as developed by Judith N. Shklar in American Citizenship: The Q uest for Inclusion (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 1991). Shklar argues that citizenship requires inclusion, a status that puts one in a position to exhibit political agency, to make claims on and through the political system.

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13. Alejandro Portes, “Social Capital: Its Origins and Applications in M odern Sociology,” Annual Review o f Sociology 24 (1998): 1. 14. Kenneth Newton, “Social Capital and Democracy,” The American Behavioral Scientist 40 (1997): 575. 15. James S. Coleman, “Social Capital in the Creation of H um an Capital,” A m erican journal o f Sociology 94 (1988): S95–S120; Portes, “Social Capital;” Michael Woolcock, “Social Capital and Economic Development: Towards a Theoretical Synthesis and Policy Framework,” Theory and Society 27 (1998): 151–208; Alejandro Portes and Patricia Landolt, “Social Capital: Promise and Pitfalls of Its Role in Development,” Journal o f Latin American Studies 32 (2000): 529–47; Pamela Paxton, “Is Social Capital Declining in the United States? A Multiple Indicator Assessment,” The American Journal o f Sociology 105 (1999): 88– 127; Pamela Paxton, “Social Capital and Democracy: An Interdependent Relationship,” American Sociological Review 67 (2002): 254–77; Stephen Baron, John Field, and Tom Schuller, eds. Social Capital: Critical Perspectives (Oxford: O x ford Univ. Press, 2000); Steven N. Durlauf, “On the Empirics of Social Capital,” The Economic Journal 112 (2002): 459–79; James Farr, “Social Capital,” Political Theory 32 (2004): 6–34. 16. Coleman, “Social Capital.” Although genealogies of social capital point out that the first major contemporary introduction of the term was offered by Pierre Bourdieu (1980), his article was not translated into English, and the primary location of the explosion of interest in the concept was in the United States. Of course, further scholarship will continue to push back the “invention” of the concept, as does Farr in “Social Capital.” 17. For example, Barbara Arneil (chapter 2 this volume), prefers Bourdieu’s definition. 18. Dennis Wrong, “The Ovesocialized Conception of M an in M odern Sociology,” American Sociological Review 26 (1961): 183– 93; M ark Granovetter, “Economic Action, Social Structure, and Embeddedness,” American Journal o f Sociology 91 (1985): 481–510. 19. Coleman, “Social Capital,” 98. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid., 101. 22. Durlauf, “ On the Empirics of Social Capital.” Among his examples of these “m ixed” definitions are these: (1) Fukuyama: “Social capital can be defined simply as an instantiated set of informal values or norms shared among members of a group that permits them to cooperate with one another. If members of the group come to expect that others will behave reliably and honestly, then they will come to trust one another. Trust acts like a lubricant that makes any group or organization run more efficiently”; (2) Bowles and Gintis: “Social capital generally refers to trust, concern for one’s associates, a willingness to live by the norms of one’s community and to punish those who do n o t”; and (3) Putnam: “Social capital refers to connections among individuals— social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them. A society of many virtuous but isolated individuals is not necessarily rich in social capital.” For the originals, see Francis Fukuyama, The Great Disruption (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1999), 16; Samuel Bowles and Herbert Gintis, “Social

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33.

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Capital and Community Governance,” Economic Journal 112 (2002): 419; Putnam, Bowling Alone, 19. New ton, “Social Capital and Democracy,” for example, rejects functional definition. For a good introduction to problems of concepts and definition from the point of view of the philosophy of knowledge, see E. D. Klemke, Robert Hollinger, and David Wÿss Rudge, Introductory Readings in the Philosophy o f Science, 3rd ed. (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1998). Putnam, Bowling Alone, 20–21. M any writers define associations themselves as the social capital. See, for example, Putnam, Bowling Alone, 338. Bo Rothstein, “ Social Capital in the Social Democratic Welfare State,” Politics & Society 29 (2001): 207–41. Coleman, “Social Capital,” 98. Ibid., 101– 102. For a good introduction to issues about the observability of concepts, see Klemke, Hollinger, and Rudge, Introductory Readings. Coleman, “Social Capital,” 104. Ibid., 104-05. Portes, “Social Capital.” Coleman, “Social Capital,” 98. Alejandro Portes, in “Social Capital,” says that in Pierre Bourdieu’s conception, defined as “the aggregate of the actual or potential resources which are linked to possession of a durable network of more or less institutionalized relationships of mutual acquaintance or recognition,” social capital is fungible, and basically comes down to economic resources in the end. If this is the case, there is no particular need for a concept of capital other than economic. This is suggested by the differing roots of different kinds of voluntary political action uncovered in Sidney Verba, Kay Lehman Schlozman, and Henry E. Brady, Voice and Equality: Civic Voluntarism in American Politics (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 1995). Richard D. Brown, The Strength o f a People: The Idea o f an Inform ed Citizenry in America, 1650– 1870 (Chapel Hill: University of N orth Carolina Press, 1996), 55– 56. Betty Friedan, The Feminine Mystique (New York: W.W. N orton, 1963). Portes, “Social Capital,” 2–3. Coleman, “ Social Capital,” 118. Portes, “Social Capital,” 3. Putnam, Bowling Alone, 21. Portes, “Social Capital.” Nancy K. MacLean, Behind the M ask o f Chivalry: The M aking o f the Second Ku Klux Klan (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1994). J. Miller McPherson, Lynn Smith-Lovin, and James M. Cook, “ Birds of a Feather: Homophily in Social Networks,” A nnual Review o f Sociology 27 (2001): 415. Miles Hewstone, M ark Rubin, and Hazel Willis, “Intergroup Bias,” Annual Review o f Psychology 53 (2002): 575–604. Francis J. Flynn, Jennifer A. Chatman, and Sandra E. Spataro, “ Getting to Know You: The Influence of Personality on Impressions and Performance of Demo-

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46. 47.

48.

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50. 51.

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graphically Different People in Organizations,” Administrative Science Quarterly 46 (2001): 414–32. For more on social capital and inequality see N an Lin, Social Capital: A Theory o f Social Structure and Action (Cambridge,UK: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2001); Nan Lin, “Inequality in Social Capital,” Contemporary Sociology 29 (2000): 785–95. Putnam, M aking Democracy W ork; Putnam, Bowling Alone. Everett C. Ladd, “The D ata Just D on’t Show Erosion of America’s Social Capital,” Public Perspective 7 (1996): 1–30; H all, “Social Capital in Britain;” Jason Kaufman, “Three Views of Associationalism in 19th-Century America: An Empirical Examination,” American Journal o f Sociology 104 (1999): 1296– 1345; P ax to n , “Is Social Capital Declining?”; Paxton, “Social Capital and Democracy” ; Garry Wills, ’’Putnam ’s America,” The American Prospect 11 (2000): 34–37. Pippa Norris, “Does Television Erode Social Capital? A Reply to Putnam,” PS: Political Science and Politics 29 (1995): 474–79; Dhavan V. Shah, Nojin Kwak, and R. Lance Holbert, “‘Connecting’ and ‘Disconnecting’ with Civic Life: Patterns of Internet Use and the Production of Social Capital,” Political C om m unication 18 (2001): 141– 62. Gerald Gamm and Robert D. Putnam, “Association-Building in America, 1840– 1940,” Journal o f Interdisciplinary History 29 (1999): 511–57; Theda Skocpol, “H ow Americans Became Civic,” in Civic Engagement in American Democracy, eds. Theda Skocpol and Morris P. Fiorina (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999), 27– 80; Theda Skocpol and Morris P. Fiorina, eds., Civic Engagem ent in American Democracy (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999). In fact, with more specification, one can make this case, and shortly will. Because most current discussion about social capital and politics is aimed at its “warm and fuzzy” function— the facilitation of democracy— the concept of power remains remarkably absent from this literature. Research in comparative social psychology, for example, has investigated the systematic differences in the ways members of different cultures use collective or individualistic frames to understand the connections among people. The degree to which a culture rests on collective versus individualistic ethics or styles of social interaction, or on the primacy of influencing others versus making ad justments to them should have some bearing on social capital as a resource embedded in social relationships. See Alan Page Fiske, Shinobu Kitayama, Hazel R. Markus, and Richard E. Nisbett, “The Cultural M atrix of Social Psychology,” in The H andbook o f Social Psychology, eds. D. Gilbert, S. Fiske, and G. Lindzey (San Francisco: McGraw-Hill, 1998), 915–81; Beth Morling, Shinobu Kitayama, and Yuri Miyamoto, “Cultural Practices Emphasize Influence in the United States and Adjustment in Japan,” Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin 28 (2002): 311–23. Wendy M. Rahn, John Brehm, and Neil Carlson, “National Elections as Institutions for Generating Social Capital,” in Civic Engagement in American D em ocracy, eds. Theda Skocpol and Morris P. Fiorina, (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1999), 111– 60. Charles Tilly, Popular Contention in Great Britain, 1758– 1834 (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 1995).

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55. Glenn C. Altschuler and Stuart M . Blumin, Rude Republic: Americans and their Politics in the Nineteenth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 5. 56. Helen Rose Ebaugh and M ary Curry, “ Fictive Kin as Social Capital in New Imm igrant Communities,” Sociological Perspectives 43 (2000): 189–209. 57. There are obvious exceptions. M any female heads of state or government to this point have specifically benefited from family-based social capital in ways that are similar to the men in their families, including women from the Aquino, Bhutto, Gandhi, and Peron families, am ong others. 58. Lowndes, “Women and Social Capital,” 534. 59. One of the best-known recent examples is Theda Skocpol, Protecting Soldiers and Mothers: The Political Origins o f Social Policy in the United States (Cambridge, MA: H arvard Univ. Press, 1992). 60. Temma Kaplan, Crazy for Democracy: W omen in Grassroots M ovem ents (New York: Routledge, 1997); M arilyn Gittell, Isolda Ortega-Bustamante, and Tracy Steffy, “Social Capital and Social Change: Women’s Community Activism,” Urban Affairs Review 36 (2002): 123–47. 61. Altschuler and Blumin, R ude Republic, 33. 62. H arry C. Boyte, C om m o n Wealth: A Return to Citizen Politics (New York: Free Press, 1989). 63. Boyte, C o m m o n Wealth, 9 64. Gittell, Ortega-Bustamenta and Steffy, “Social Capital and Social Change.” 65. Elisabeth S. Clemens, The People’s Lobby: Organizational Innovation and the Rise o f Interest Group Politics in the United States, 1890– 1925 (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1997); Elisabeth S. Clemens, “Organizational Repertoire and Institutional Change: W omen’s Groups and the Transformation of American Politics, 1890– 1920,” in Civic Engagement in American Democracy, ed. Theda Skocpol and Morris P. Fiorina (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1999), 81– 110; Elisabeth S. Clemens, “Securing Political Returns to Social Capital: W omen’s Associations in the United States, 1880s– 1920s,”journal o f Interdisciplinary H istory 29 (1999): 613–38. 66. Clemens, “Securing Political Returns,” 620. 67. Catherine A. Favor, “Rights, Responsibility, and Relationship: M otivations for W omen’s Social Activism,” Affilia 16 (2001): 314– 36. 68. Clemens, “Securing Political Returns.” 69. Charlotte Perkins Gilman, W omen and Economics: A Study o f the Economic Relation Between M en and W omen as a Factor in Social Evolution (New York: H arper & Row, 1898 / 1966). 70. D ana Frank, Purchasing Power: Consumer Organizing, Gender, and the Seattle Labor M ovement, 1919– 1929 (New York: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1994), 56. 71. Brown, The Strength o f a People. 72. Cited in M artin, The Sound o f O ur O w n Voices, 17. 73. Gittell, Ortega-Bustamenta and Steffy, “Social Capital and Social Change.” 74. Rahn, Brehm, and Carlson, “N ational Elections as Institutions.” 75. Debra C. Minkoff, “Producing Social Capital: National Social Movements and Civil Society,” The American Behavioral Scientist 40 (1997): 606.

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76. Minkoff, “Producing Social Capital;” Debra C. Minkoff, “The Emergence of Hybrid Organizational Forms: Combining Identity-based Service Provision and Political Action” Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly 31 (2002): 377– 401. 77. Coleman, “Social Capital,” 99. 78. This category covers what used to be identified as “ unconventional” political behavior in the scholarly literature on political participation. 79. Robyn Muncy, Creating a Female D om inion in American Reform, 1890– 1930 (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1991); Molly Ladd-Taylor, Mother-Work: Women, Child Welfare and the State, 1890-1930 (Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press, 1991). 80. Frank, Purchasing Power, 89. 81. John M. Glen, Highlander: N o Ordinary School, 2nd ed. (Lexington: Univ. of Kentucky Press, 1996). 82. Lin, “Inequality in Social Capital.” 83. For a review, see Virginia Sapiro, “Through a Glass Ceiling Darkly: Developments in the Political Psychology of Gender Stratification” (presented at the 2nd Annual Dilemmas of Democracy Conference: “Getting Men to Get It: W hat Men Really Think about Women in Politics,” Loyola M arym ount University, Los Angeles, February 17 2003). 84. On the relationship of violence against women to norms of democracy, see Virginia Sapiro, ”‘Private’ Coercion and Democratic Theory,” in Reconsidering the Democratic Public, eds. George E. Marcus and Russell Hansen (University Park: Pennsylvania State Univ. Press, 1993), 427–50. 85. Sean Wilentz, Chants Democratic: N ew York City and the Rise o f the A m erican Working Class, 1788– 1859 (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1984); Simon P. Newman, Parades and the Politics o f the Street: Festive Political Culture in the F,arly American Republic (Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press, 1997); M ary P. Ryan, Civic Wars: Democracy and Public Life in the American City during the Nineteenth Century (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1997); David Waldstreicher, In the M idst o f Perpetual Fetes: The Making o f American N ationalism, 1776–1820 (Chapel Hill: Univ. of N orth Carolina Press, 1997). 86. Newman, Parades, 19. 87. See also M ary P. Ryan, Women in Public: Between Banners and Ballots, 1825– 1880 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1992). This is not to say that women never participated directly in public political performances or even that they did not initiate them. But women were excluded very regularly, and men were not as often expected to be cheering and supportive spectators for w om en’s public political performances. This reciprocity was rare indeed.

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8 Canadian Women’s Religious Volunteerism Compassion, Connections, and Comparisons BRENDA O ’NEILL

The explosion of interest in the concept of social capital has refocused attention w ithin the political behavior field of political science on the im portance of the private aspects of life, an emphasis long ago adopted and encouraged by feminist researchers in the a re a .1 One result of this expanded focus is increased interest in religious beliefs and activity and their relevance for political behavior. As such, this paper examines the religious volunteering of w om en as an element of social capital and its relevance for w o m e n ’s political engagement. The im portance of religious beliefs and activity in w om en’s lives has been well docum ented. W om en are m ore likely to report regular religious attendance th an men. Sidney Verba et al., for example, found that 55 percent of American w om en in the Citizen Participation Study (1990) reported th at they attended church services regularly com pared to 43 percent of men.2 While only 20 percent of all C anadians aged fifteen and over in 1999 reported “ some kind of religious activity on a weekly basis,” 23 percent of w om en com pared w ith 17 percent of men did the sam e.3 Elsewhere I report on the greater relevance of religious values in shaping C anadian w om en’s political opinions.4 Thus, religious beliefs play a particularly im portant role in shaping

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w o m e n ’s political opinions and behavior, especially w hen com pared to men, and are deserving of attention. Yet, as noted by Verba et al., “W h a t is s trik in g ... is that arena in which w om en are clearly m ore active th an men is one th at is rarely m entioned in discussions of gender differences in participation: religious institutions.” 5 The im portance of religious volunteering as a source of social capital, and through it political participation, has also been documented. High rates of formal volunteering in N o rth America have been partially explained by religious practice.6 Very little of this w ork, however, focuses exclusively on w om en’s religious volunteering and its im portance for political participation.7 American survey evidence makes clear th at w o m e n ’s religious volunteering continues to account for a large portion of w o m e n ’s total volunteering.8 This paper investigates the relationship between w o m e n ’s participation in religious organizations and the form ation of social capital. It is im p o rta n t also to understand whether, if at all, and how th at social capital is translated into political participation. T h a t m any religious institutions have played an im portant role in perpetuating gender role stereotypes, in restricting w om en to a limited and na rro w set of responsibilities w ithin their hierarchies, and in advancing policies th at tear into the very fabric of the push for w o m e n ’s rights over the past decades is unchallengeable. Yet research has come to identify the various ways in which w om en’s agency allows them to w ork and develop opportunities, albeit often limited, within religious institutions.9 T h at so m any w om en continue to devote their energies and talents to these very organizations dem ands the attention of social scientists to better understand the public and private consequences of th at participation.

Religious Volunteering, Social Capital, and Political Participation According to Putnam , social capital consists of social netw orks and associated norm s of reciprocity.10 Social capital, then, is m ade up of both instrum ental (group involvement and social networks) and affective (norms of reciprocity and trust) com ponents. Two elements of social capital are im portant for our understanding of its role in the political system: the mechanisms by which it is created, and its effects on other processes and institutions. W hile the form er provides insight into the particular sources of social capital, the latter provides it on

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the nature of political participation in m odern democracies. Both can be examined for the degree to which they vary across various groups in m odern societies. Putnam was clear in identifying th at social capital provides both public and private returns, although m uch e m phasis has subsequently been placed on the public side.11 H e was also clear in the distinction between bridging and bonding social capital. Bridging social capital brings people into contact with those w ho are different from themselves, while bonding leads to stronger ties with members of o n e ’s ow n group. The form er has positive benefits for democracy because it is likely to increase levels of trust and strengthen ties across groups. The latter introduces negative externalities in light of the increased tension between members and nonm em bers of the group (i.e., enhances feelings of us vs. them). As he m ade clear, h o w ever, “ bonding and bridging are not ‘either-or’ categories into which social netw orks can be neatly divided, but ‘more-or-less’ dimensions along which we can com pare different forms of social capital.” 12 These concepts provide a fram ew ork for examining w o m e n ’s religious volunteering. W om en’s participation in religious organizations can be examined for both its private and public benefits and for the degree to which it develops bridging and bonding capital. Putnam suggests that faith communities are the single m ost im portant repository of social capital in the United States.13 These organizations supp o rt a wide range of social activities and encourage the development of skills, norms, and interests that encourage civic engagement beyond the congregation. According to Putnam , “ religious people are unusually active social capitalists.” 14 Religious volunteers have more social connections, are involved in m ore organizations, and are more civically and politically engaged.15 Although religious involvement has decreased over the past few decades, largely as a result of a decline am ong younger generations, it remains an im portant source of social capital in m any societies. Research has show n that religious attendance encourages the developm ent of shared com m unity values and, as such, can contribute to the development of social capital and public benefits in turn. Putnam identifies the connection between religious attendance and volunteering, both secular and religious, and to the donation of time and m oney to activities beyond those of religious organizations.16 As identified by H alm an and Pettersson, “religious beliefs are assumed to produce an ethos which is trusting, altruistic and cooperative.... Religion is also considered a m ain reason to refrain from pure self­

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interest.” 17 Coleman similarly identifies religious beliefs as key factors moving individuals aw ay from self-interest and to w a rd increasing attention devoted to the interests of others.18 Secular resources are im p o rtan t for political participation but the church can encourage participation through direct recruitm ent for political activity or indirectly by establishing expectations or a “ social contagion” of political activity.19 Park and Smith suggest that is it less the strength of religious com m itm ent that is a defining factor for volunteering but rather participation in church activities th at leads to church and nonchurch volunteering.20 Additionally A ndré Blais et al. have identified religiosity as a determ inant of voter turnout, either by its emphasis on the im portance of duty or because of its pro m o tio n of comm unity.21 Religiosity increases volunteering in the local com m unity because “ participation in the religious sphere brings w ith it the development of skills and attitudes reflective of helping others.”22 The developm ent of skills am ong religious volunteers highlights the private benefits th at can accrue from such activity. American research has also show n th at m any of these generalizations vary across religious groups— namely Protestants and Catholics versus Evangelicals.23 O thers emphasize differences between C a th o lics and Protestants, showing th at Catholics are less likely to spend time on church-based activity.24 This result stems from the fact that m any Protestant churches are smaller than Catholic churches, that they involve greater lay participation in the liturgy, and because greater authority is vested in the m em bership rather than in the C hurch hierarchy.25 Greeley finds similar results in a com parison of C anadian Catholics and Protestants.26 Differences across denom inations are also to be found in the degree to which participation in wider comm unity-building efforts are encouraged rather th an limited to the religious com m unity itself. In the United States, Putnam identifies evangelical denom inations as distinct for the exclusiveness of their volunteering within the congregation.27 The public benefits, or positive externalities, related to religious volunteering should not be assumed to be consistent across all religious communities.

Gender and Religious Volunteering The rationale for paying particular attention to w om en’s religious volunteering stems from long-standing evidence of w o m e n ’s greater

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religiosity. W omen are m uch m ore likely to belong to a religious or­ ganization, to attend services, m ore likely to volunteer their services to the organization, and to contribute m oney to it although in smaller am ounts than men.28 This pattern holds despite the fact that am ong those w ho are religiously active, men are m ore likely than w om en to hold lay positions of authority within religious organizational hierarchies.29 M u ch religious doctrine has similarly prescribed a clear gender division of labor: “ breadw inner and provider for males, and m oral and religious nurturer for females.”30 M others have traditionally played an im portant role in their children’s religious upbringing. Research suggests that “W hen couples of different religions m arry or cohabit, the w om en tend to raise the children in their ow n tra d ition, including not having any religion.” 31 These differences are also revealed w hen w om en and men are asked about their religious volunteering. While w om en and men are equally likely to provide civic or charitable reasons to explain their volunteering, w om en are more likely to identify religious reasons for their activity. According to such w om en, religious volunteering provides unique opportunities: it allows them to affirm their faith and to further the goals of their religion.32 Strong critiques of w om en’s involvement in religious organizations have nevertheless been m ounted. According to Linda W oodhead, three explanations are often brought forw ard to explain gendered patterns of religious belief and participation: • W om en’s structural locations in society, that is, religious institutions are gendered due to the division of labor. • W omen are differently socialized— the “ ethic of c are” leads to their greater religiosity. • W om en’s religious involvement is a com pensatory response to their material and social deprivation.33 Implicit in such argum ents is the notion that w o m e n ’s religious involvement does little to challenge the gender status quo; participation in this arena reinforces w om en’s traditional roles of caring for the hom e and family, and mitigates w om en’s subordinate position in society and the home. She notes, however, th at very little empirical w ork has tested these hypotheses, and that the sources of the distinctiveness rem ain unclear. N otw ithstanding the dearth of empirical research, religious institutions have been highlighted by m uch feminist

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w ork as the quintessential oppressive patriarchal institutions and as key challenges to the progressive feminist project of freeing w o m en from the binds of the traditional roles they ascribe to wom en as mothers and hom em akers.34 Moreover, the role of m uch organized religion in fighting against reproductive and sexual freedom has necessarily pitched feminists against religious organizations. There are signs, however, that this rejection of religious organizations is softening. W oodhead identifies an im portant shift in third wave feminism thought that challenges a too heavy reliance on p a triarchy as a concept for examining complex organizations such as religious organizations and on a too strong willingness to argue that w om en w ho remain within religious organizations are suffering from “ false consciousness.”35 Similarly M anning has discovered that religious conservative w om en in the United States grapple with feminism in much the same way as nonreligious w om en and w ork to blend m odern and traditional elements in their lives.36 The shift has resulted in a fuller appreciation of the various ways in which w om en can benefit from their religious involvement, and underscores w o m e n ’s individual agency. As an example of such research, O zarak found that w om en tend to emphasize the individual benefits derived from their religiosity w hen queried about their religious involvement. Within Christian churches, she found that w om en emphasized the centrality of caring and community to their religious experience, and remain in the churches because they find such qualities there.... Most of the women in this study recognized that by hierarchical social standards, organized religion does not treat them as well as it might.... But in absolute terms, they do not see themselves as disenfranchised. The power of connection and relationship, most essential to their own views of the faith experience, is available to them in abundance.37 Others highlight that m any wom en in churches are w orking from within to change those elements of the organization that they find problematic, that is, “ defecting in place.” 38 Research suggests th at not all w om en appear to be equally a ttracted to religious volunteering. For example, W u th n o w ’s research identifies a stronger relationship between civic engagement and attendance for married rather than single Catholic w om en and for wom en with children. He concludes that this reflects the traditional division of

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labor in m any Catholic families where “ mothers are more likely to attend church than fathers and to take responsibility for the religious upbringing of children.” 39 Labor force participation also plays a role in shaping w o m e n ’s religious volunteering. According to Roof, Working women obviously have less time to devote to religious activities— a factor that was sometimes mentioned in our interviews. But more is involved than just time considerations. As the first generation of women to work and pursue careers in great numbers, they also find social and psychological benefits from working that individuals in the past often derived from religious involvement .40

Putnam argues th at w o m en ’s entry into the workforce has tw o opposing effects on comm unity involvement in th at “ it increases o p portunity for m aking new connections and getting involved, while at the same time it decreases tim e available for exploring these o p portunities.”41 The family also appears to play an im portant role in shaping w o m e n ’s religious volunteering for as the traditional family unit declines, so too does participation in churches. Single w om en, single professional wom en, and professional w om en are equally unlikely to be attracted to mainline congregations.42 Hertel argues that for w om en the com bination of marriage and w ork creates the single biggest challenge to organized religions.43 The puzzle, then, is this: h o w to reconcile the largely positive benefits identified with religious volunteering in the social capital literature with the largely negative view that dom inates discussion of w o m e n ’s participation in religious organizations in feminist literature. P u tn a m ’s concepts, public versus private benefits and bridging versus bonding social capital, are the tools employed to investigate this puzzle. M ore specifically, the paper seeks to better understand the benefits derived from w om en’s religious volunteering and the n a ture of the social capital that springs from this particular form of volunteering. It is im portant to note, however, that the reference point adopted here for com paring w o m en ’s religious volunteering is w om en w ho volunteer in other types of organizations rather than men w ho volunteer for religious organizations. The comparison between w om en volunteers allows for an assessment of the benefits derived from, and the nature of the capital derived in, various contexts, a necessary step to evaluating the degree to which wom en are effectively limited by

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their choice to volunteer for religious organizations. In this vein, the nature of the private returns to religious volunteering is particularly interesting because it may provide greater understanding of w o m en ’s participation in organizations th at have been historically less than supportive of w o m e n ’s equality generally, and within their ow n organizations specifically. The public benefits of the social capital developed through w o m e n ’s religious volunteering are also im portant; specifically, the distinction between bridging and bonding capital, for it allows for a clearer picture of the degree to which w o m e n ’s religious volunteering limits w o m e n ’s connections w ith others. A final set of questions deals w ith the transference of the social capital created by religious volunteering to political participation. Does w o m e n ’s religious volunteering correspond with levels of political participation equal to th at found am ong w om en w ho volunteer for other organizations? O r put differently, does religious volunteering encourage political engagement to the same degree as other forms of volunteering?

Data and Methods The data come from the 2000 N ational Survey of Giving, Volunteering and Participating (NSGVP).44 The survey provides an investigation into the volunteering activities of Canadians and, although more limited, inform ation on their political activities. The survey includes a sample of 8,302 w om en.45 Survey respondents were asked whether they had undertaken a num ber of volunteer activities in an unpaid capacity for organizations between O ctober 1999 and September 2000 and, if so, the n a ture of those activities. Am ong the w om en included in the survey, 28 percent reported volunteering in some m anner over the past year. O f these, roughly one in four reported th at a share of this volunteering occurred within religious organizations. This level of volunteering ties religious organizations w ith culture and recreation organizations as the second most com m on to which w om en volunteer their time, surpassed only by social services organizations. It also appears that w om en w ho volunteer for religious organizations are significantly m ore likely to volunteer overall; while they report volunteering for 2.0 organizations on average, the rem aining w om en volunteers indicate that they volunteer with 1.6 organizations on average (see table

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TABLE 8.1 Women’s Volunteering

Number of organizations** Number of hours ** N

Religious volunteers

All other volunteers

2.02 182.43 (549)

1.64 146.51 (1787)

Comparison o f nonreligious volunteering Social services Culture and recreation Education and research Health Development and housing Law, advocacy and politics Environment Philanthropic intermediaries and volunteering Business and professional International

24.5% 16.9 24.0 18.7 6.3 2.8 2.3 1.8 2.3 0.1

24.8% 20.3 18.0 17.4 5.8 3.7 3.2 3.2 2.1 1.4

Note: ** differences significant at p < .01. Percentages refer to share of volunteers found within each category (allows up to three organizations per volunteer).

8.1). Given the greater num ber of organizations to which w om en religious volunteers donate their skills and time, they also report a significantly higher num ber of hours devoted to all volunteering than other wom en volunteers: 182 to 147 hours in the last year. O n the surface, then, it w ould appear th at w om en’s religious volunteering forms a key com ponent of w o m e n ’s volunteering, and is associated with higher levels of volunteering overall com pared to other types of volunteering. W omen w ho volunteer for religious organizations devote their time to a wide variety of organizations beyond religious organizations, as show n in table 8.1. W omen in the survey were allowed to provide detailed inform ation on the num ber of events in up to three separate organizations to which they donated their time. The lower half of table 8.1 provides a com parison of this inform ation between n o n religious and religious volunteers net of their religious volunteering. The results suggest that wom en religious volunteers involve them selves in as wide a set of organizations as nonreligious volunteers. If differences are evident, it is in the finding that religious volunteers are m ore attracted to volunteering in the education and research sectors and less to culture and recreation than nonreligious volunteers. This provides some evidence that the social capital generated am ong

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w om en religious volunteers is as m uch bridging as bonding, at least w hen com pared with other w om en volunteers, given that they do not appear to restrict their volunteering activities to religious organizations. An exam ination of the organizations th at w om en volunteers participate in or are members of, a p a rt from their volunteering activities, reinforces this conclusion (results not shown). Respondents were asked ab o u t their participation in a dozen organizations ranging from professional associations to cultural organizations. The data suggest th at there is little difference in the rates of participation for both groups of volunteers. The few th at were apparent were in the lower rate of participation of religious volunteers in sports and recreation groups (21.4% com pared to 2 8 .4 % for all other volunteers) and their higher rate of participation in religious-affiliated groups (65.5% com pared w ith 16.2% for all volunteers). W hen com paring the share in each group that belongs to at least one of the groups examined, however, the results reveal th at a greater share of religious volunteers are “civic participants” : 85 percent of religious volunteers participate in at least one of the listed groups com pared w ith 68 percent of other volunteers. M uch of this result is due, however, to the greater share of religious volunteers w ho participate in religious-affiliated groups. Once this participation is removed, the two groups become indistinguishable in their civic participation. At the very least, the data suggest th at religious volunteers are no less connected to various organizations in the com m unity than other volunteers and that bridging as well as bonding capital has an equal capacity to be created am ongst them. H o w do w om en w ho volunteer for religious organizations differ from w om en w ho volunteer in other types of organizations? Table 8.2 provides a com parison of sociodem ographic characteristics for the tw o groups of w om en. N o t surprisingly, w om en w ho volunteer for religious organizations are significantly older than other w om en volunteers, with a majority falling in the 45 and older category. They are also more likely to be married. The difference in age is likely to be a factor in the finding that w om en religious volunteers are less likely to have children under 18 living in the home. These findings m atch those found elsewhere and correspond w ith findings regarding w o m e n ’s religiosity more generally. Income, both personal and fam ily, appears to m atter little in differentiating the tw o groups of volunteers, although, perhaps som ew hat surprisingly, w om en religious

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TABLE 8.2

Comparing Women Volunteers

Age*** Younger than 45 45 years and older

Religious Volunteers

Other Volunteers

45.9 54.1

61.5 38.5

59.5 81.3

54.2 78.4

18.4 17.9 6.2 57.5

18.5 17.8 11.4 52.4

69.8 17.1 6.9 6.2

62.7 25.0 4.5 7.7

31.5

36.9

59.6 2.6 37.9

63.5 4.5 31.9

38.1

31.7

4.3 27.0 63.0 5.6

26.9 38.8 30.8 3.4

17.7

13.2

18.8 (549)

25.6 (1,787)

Household and personal income Household income less than $60,000 Personal income less than $40,000 Education * * Less than high school High school Some Postsecondary Postsecondary diploma or degree Marital status * * * Married/common law Single/never married Widowed Separated/divorced Children * Children under 18 in the home* Employment status * * Employed Unemployed Not in labor force Full- versus part-time employment* Part-time Religious affiliation * * * No religious affiliation Roman Catholic Protestant Other religious affiliation Immigrant status * * Born outside of Canada Length o f time in community * * New to community (5 years or less ) N

Note: Entries are percentages. ***indicates p < .001; ** indicates p < .01; * indicates p < .05 across all categories.

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volunteers are as educated as other volunteers. Although the num ber of w om en religious volunteers holding a postsecondary degree or diploma is som ew hat higher than the share am ong other w om en volunteers, this difference may reflect the age difference between the tw o groups. W omen w ho volunteer for religious organizations are less likely to be in the labor force than other volunteers, although those w ho are employed outside the hom e are som ew hat more likely to be employed part-time rather th an full-time. This likely reflects the increased importance placed on family, and w o m e n ’s consequent likelihood of staying home to care for children. N o t surprisingly, w om en w ho volunteer for religious organizations are more likely to hold a religious affiliation than other w om en volunteers, and dom inant affiliation am ong the form er group is Protestant by a ratio of m ore than two to one to the next largest group, R om an Catholic. The 2001 C anadian Census indicates th at 43.6 percent of Canadians identify as Catholic, 29.2 percent as Protestant, 10.7 percent indicate an affiliation with other religions, and 16.5 percent have no religious affiliation.46 Thus, the results presented here reinforce those presented elsewhere of the greater propensity for volunteering amongst Protestants com pared to R om an Catholics. Finally, w om en w ho volunteer for religious organizations are m ore likely to have been born outside of Canada, although they are less likely than other w om en volunteers to be new to the community. The next step is to evaluate which of these characteristics play an independent role in shaping the likelihood of volunteering for both groups (see table 8.3). The results suggest that different factors contribute to the likelihood of volunteering between the tw o groups. Religiosity plays a significant role in increasing the likelihood that a w o m an will volunteer for a religious organization. Respondents w ho indicated that religion is “very im portant in their lives” are significantly more likely to volunteer but the positive effects of a high level of religious attendance on volunteering are striking in comparison. Religious attendance dom inates in its relationship with religious volunteering. It w ould seem, then, that m any w om en w ho volunteer for religious organizations do so directly as a result of their involvement with the organization. Increased attendance very likely increases the chances th at the individual will be asked to volunteer within the organization, by the simple fact th at they will be recognized and know n within the religious community. And similar to results obtained in

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TABLE 8.3

Determinants of Women’s Religious Volunteering Religious volunteers

Independent variables Religiosity High attendance Religion very important

Other volunteers

2.399*** .849***

.050 –.091

1.149*** .259 .292

.151* –.339* .205*

.229*** .095 .043 –.253 –.476* –.415* –.053 –.149 –.449*** .041 –.091 .413*** .691** .174 –.314 .413***

.157*** .216*** .019 .202* –.054 .073 .347*** –.235*** –.076 .435*** –.074 .293*** .644*** .353*** –.199* .412***

–3.606*** .318 2959.143 8302

– 1.806*** .084 8180.900 8302

Religious identity Protestant Other No religion Sociodemograpbic characteristics Education Household income Age Single/not married Widowed Separated/divorced Children in the home Immigrant Resident in community 5 years or less Unemployed Not in labor force Employed part-time Student Atlantic Quebec West Intercept Pseudo R2(Nagelkerke) Log likelihood N

Note: Entries are coefficients for logit regression analysis; dependent variable is binary with 1 = religious volunteer and 0 otherwise and 1 = nonreligious volunteer and 0 otherwise. Statistically significant effects are in boldface. *** indicates p < .001; ** indicates p < .01; *indicates p < .05. Comparison groups are Low Attendance (less than once per month), Religion not very important (includes somewhat, not very, and not at all important categories), Catholic, Married, No children under 18 in the home, Born in Canada, More than five years in community, Employed, Nonstudent, and Ontario. Education is coded as a five category interval level variable: less than high school, graduated high school, some postsecondary, postsecondary diploma, and university degree. Age is coded into a six-category interval level variable: 15–24, 25–34, 35–44, 45–54, 55–64, over 65. Household income is coded as a five category interval level variable: less than $20,000, $20 to