The Geography of the Everyday

Toward an Understanding of the Given

Rob Sullivan

• Publisher: University of Georgia Press
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9780820351674, 9780820351681
• eBook ISBN: 9780820351667
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Human Geography
• Index: Social Sciences

Anthropologists, psychologists, feminists, and sociologists have long studied the "everyday," the quotidian, the taken-for-granted; however, geographers have lagged behind in engaging with this slippery aspect of reality. Now, Rob Sullivan makes the case for geography as a powerful conceptual framework for seeing the everyday anew and for pushing back against its "givenness": its capacity to so fade into the background that it controls us in dangerously unexamined ways. Drawing on a number of theorists (Foucault, Goffman, Marx, Lefebvre, Hägerstrand, and others), Sullivan unpacks the concepts and perceived realities that structure everyday life while grounding them in real-world cases, such as Nigeria's troubled oil network, the working poor in the United States, China's urban villages, and ultra-high-end housing in London and Cairo.

In examining the everyday from a geographical perspective, Sullivan ranges widely across time, space, history, geography, Marxian reproduction, the body, and the geographical mind. The everyday, Sullivan suggests, is where change occurs and where resistance to change can begin. By locating the everyday through geography, we can help to make change possible. Whatever the issue, be it struggles over race, LGBT rights, class inequality, or global warming, the transformations required to achieve social justice all begin with transformation of the everyday order.

CHAPTER 1

Starting with Goffman and
Ending with Foucault

In this chapter I examine Goffman’s conception of the situation and Foucault’s conception of the milieu as placeholders for everyday existence. Such an examination can illuminate Hacking’s notion of the power and efficacy of a theoretical combination of a bottom-up Goffman and a top-down Foucault. It also allows us to begin to develop a geographical conception of the everyday, both in the way Goffman and Foucault fulfill the exigencies of geography and the way in which they leave them as mere contingencies.

Goffman’s Place, Goffman’s Time,
Goffman’s Problems

“The key to understanding his [Goffman’s] ethnographies is to see them as ethnographies of concepts rather than of places. They are utopian ideal-types (such as the total institution) existing nowhere” (Manning 1992, 17). So this lack of a place (“existing nowhere”) leaves a dangling question: where is the where in Goffman’s work? Does place exist for him? Are we situated anywhere, somewhere, or nowhere? In short, where is Goffman’s geography?

Typically, Goffman uses the term “situation” to describe the particular nexus under examination. But is the situation situated? In other words, does the situation exist in space, time, and place? Or is it purely abstract? And wouldn’t an ethnography of a concept have to be purely abstract? But wait, doesn’t an ethnography have to be concrete? Or at least be based on the concrete?

And what exactly is a situation anyway? In Frame Analysis, Goffman states, “I assume that definitions of a situation are built up in accordance with principles of organization—which govern events—at least social ones— and our subjective involvement in them: frame is the word I use to refer to such of these basic elements as I am able to identify” (1974, 10–11). Goffman usually frames place as a setting or a stage on which social beings or actors perform their roles, though he does come close to a nice definition of place while elaborating the qualities of what he terms sitedness: “Whenever an individual participates in an activity, he will be situated in regard to it, this entailing exposure over a given range to direct witness, and an opportunity, over much the same range, to acquire direct observations. These latter implications of ‘sitedness,’ in conjunction with his auditing capacities, generate a series of points beyond which he cannot obtain evidence as to what is going on. He will find barriers to his perception, a sort of evidential boundary” (1974, 215; italics, Goffman). Such a description, based on the limits of optical and auditory perceptual capacities and bounded by a series of points beyond which such evidence cannot be obtained, puts conditions of inclusion and exclusion on place. Place, then, is conditioned by what can and cannot be perceived, with a series of points demarcating the border separating these two domains. Except that place is never mentioned; instead, situation and sitedness are the preferred terms.

A somewhat similar definition is provided by Goffman in his aptly named essay “The Neglected Situation.” Here, Goffman performs a lexical apologia as if from a sociological confessional: “Let us face what we have been offhand about: social situations” (Goffman 1972, 63). He then goes on to attempt to clear up the situation about situation, at least in its social manifestation: “I would define a social situation as an environment of mutual monitoring possibilities, anywhere within which an individual will find himself accessible to the naked senses of all others who are ‘present,’ and similarly find them accessible to him. According to this definition, a social situation arises whenever two or more individuals find themselves in one another’s immediate presence, and it lasts until the next-to-last person leaves” (Goffman 1972, 63). Again, situation is tied together by the limits of accessibility to the naked senses, and so a sensorial border is created around its domain. Before moving on, the Foucauldian surveillance hue of that wonderfully dystopian phrase, “mutual monitoring possibilities,” should also be noted, possibilities that must, according to Goffman, be characteristic of any social situation.

And so let me return to Goffman’s assumptions regarding his “definition of a situation.” This definition is “built up in accordance with principles of organization,” those “which govern events—at least social ones—and our subjective involvement in them.” Sitedness, I assume (as Goffman does not supply his own definition), equates with being situated in a situation. But, of course, the situation in which one is sited is abstract, because Goffman is concentrating on the structural components of the definition of the situation and not the definition of the situation itself! No wonder we sometimes feel as if we are navigating through nowhere when we read Goffman.

But if we examine Goffman’s field notes, an argument can be made that the situations described in the notes are, indeed, situated, located, and placed, as it were. The field notes are taken from real incidents happening at actual times and in actual places and so do not proceed from a strictly conceptual apparatus. In other words, they are “grounded,” in the sense that one knows that the places he references, such as a movie theater and or a cafeteria, are based on actual places and not simply categorical universals standing in for particulars.

Now, while this is the case for much of Goffman’s work, frequently Goffman resorts to conceptual places that seem to hover above reality, in a kind of domain of hypothetical suspension. And even in Asylums, based as it is on a year’s study in St. Elizabeth’s, though the book “analyzes the experiences of inmates in a Washington mental institution,” it “by extension” is applicable to “any institution in which the time and space of subordinates are carefully monitored and restricted,” that is, any total institution (Manning 1992, 8). “The result is an ethnography that is less a study of a specific hospital and more an ethnography of the concept of the total institution itself ” (Manning 1992, 9). Manning adds that “Goffman’s major interest [in Asylums] was to understand the ramifications of an analytic framework; understanding inmate culture at St. Elizabeth’s hospital was only a secondary consideration” (1992, 155). So, once again, the concept is primary, not the place.

A similar sense of practicing conceptual ethnographies bleeds into Goffman’s hypothetical examples. For instance, while discussing the ramifications attendant to “the game of surveillance,” Goffman notes, “After a block or two, and well before suspicion is likely to be aroused, one tail can turn off and radio a second to pick up the trail at the next intersection” (1969, 48). Where are these blocks? Where is this intersection? Being that they only exist for hypothetical purposes, that is, to illustrate a point, they exist nowhere, and indeed, to fulfill their purpose, they must not exist anywhere else but nowhere.

So what is the problem? Or, perhaps better, where is the problem? Maybe it is located (if I can be allowed to use that term in this context) in the realization that even Goffman’s hypothetical places are more or less of “our own Anglo-American” variety, but they are seldom, if ever, acknowledged as such. So that even in the example cited above, we somehow know that this intersection and these blocks are taken from an imaginative repository specifically geared to America, or at the least to what used to be called the West.

But is there anything inherently wrong with that? Only that it presumes specificity without enunciating that presumption and then takes that specification as a universal. Let me cite a few examples from Relations in Public that may clarify this point.

A boy taking his girl into an amusement park picture booth, alive to the fact that the booth is seen as a place where couples go to neck, elaborately goes to the change booth for change and holds the necessary quarter up by means of two fingers, so anyone present will see that his intended use of the booth is innocent. A man looking at a girly magazine in a store specializing in this commodity may be careful to leaf through the magazine at a rapid pace, giving the same amount of attention to each page, as if looking for a particular article or wanting to see what in general a magazine like this could be like. (Goffman 1971, 129–130)

While these examples are both hypothetical, or at least appear to be so, they are in fact tightly hinged to time and place, specifically the United States of a distinctly Anglo-American variety, circa 1955, as the references to girly magazines and amusement park picture booths seem to predate 1971, the publication date of Relations in Public. And if they seem dated relative to 1971, as I believe they do, then surely they are doubly or even trebly anachronistic now. But the main point is that Goffman uses these examples as exemplars, that is, as if they transcend both time and space, when they are distinctly situated temporally, spatially, and culturally as well, as who can doubt that these hypothetical people are of “our own Anglo-American variety”? So that, while making a pretense of being outside of time and space, of having universal status, Goffman’s analysis is clearly embedded within both time and space and is, indeed, particular to a certain place at a certain time, the United States of America of the 1950s and 1960s.

But then why have I (as well as others) branded Goffman as both ahistorical and ageographical? If his terms of analysis are embedded in a certain time and place, how can they not be embedded in both history and geography? Perhaps the confusion arises from Goffman’s assumption of a norm without an acknowledgment that he is assuming such a norm, so that “our own Anglo-American society” seems to serve as a stand-in for life itself, as lived anywhere and everywhere.

This is a bit unfair, as Goffman does admit in the preface to Relations in Public that the “full location of the practices considered in this volume” are “the English-speaking world, the Anglo-American community, West European nations, Protestant countries, Christian society, and the West,” and he has confessed that “the reference unit, ‘American society,’ (which I use throughout [Relations in Public]) . . . is something of a conceptual scandal” (1971, xv; italics, Goffman). In further delineating the scope of this “scandal,” Goffman goes on to say: “I can with least lack of confidence make assertions about my ‘own’ cultural group, the one with which I have had the most first-hand experience, but I do not know what to call this grouping, what its full span or distribution is, how far back it goes in time, nor how these dimensions might have to be changed, according to the particular behavior under question” (1971, xv). What is this grouping? Who belongs to it? As a Jewish intellectual and a Canadian immigrant, is Goffman himself a member of this normative group? One is prone to assume (at least I am prone to assume) that this group and “our own Anglo-American society” are equivalent, yet Goffman specifically states that he does not know what to call this group. But then he uses precisely the phrase “our own Anglo-American society” in order to name the group under question. Goffman also confesses to his geographic and demographic ignorance about this group (“I do not know . . . what its full span or distribution is”) as well as to his historical ignorance regarding the group (“I do not know . . . how far back it goes in time”). And he also confesses to a lack of knowledge regarding prognoses about the group’s modes of behavior on both a geographical and a historical front: “I do not know . . . how these dimensions might have to be changed, according to the particular behaviors under question.”

And so one is left with a distinctly sinking feeling in regard to both history and geography, or time and place, in terms of Goffman’s work. On the one hand, things sometimes seem to be tied to particular epochs and specific locations; on the other hand, everything seems to be floating, eradicated conceptual ethnographies in a theoretical void. Assumptions that seem to necessarily depend on a reading implicating a standard brand, even stereotypical, white Protestant Americana culture circa 1955 are sealed with the imprimatur of the universal. “Given their social identities and setting, the participants will sense what sort of conduct ought to be maintained as the appropriate thing, however much they may despair of it actually occurring,” Goffman states in “Embarrassment and Social Organization” (1956, 268; italics, Goffman). Yet this is exactly the problem, as such things as “social identities and settings” are not given but come with their burdens of history and of geography, and, furthermore, they are formed following the rules and codes of specific social orders. What I am suggesting is that some temporal and spatial discipline must be applied to Goffman’s work to make it whole.

But there’s another problem with Goffman’s oeuvre as well. This has to do with the disconnection, or the lack of any attempt to even make a connection, between the tightly circumscribed and highly ritualized interaction order that Goffman so deftly delineates and the larger apparatus of the social world from which such elements derive. Or, rather, from which we assume they derive, this qualifier inserted because Goffman generally offers no rationale as to how such elements are created or whether their derivations can be traced to any sort of provenance, as they seem to appear fully formed from out of a sociological blue. As Tom Burns describes this problem, “There is hardly any discussion in his [Goffman’s] writings of the way in which the traffic of social interaction, which is the stuff of social order, organises itself, or is organised, so as to constitute society, which we ordinarily conceive of as populated by organisations and social institutions, large and small . . . ranging from the U.S. Congress to the corner shop” (1992, 359).

This may be a bit overboard, as, of course, Goffman does place total institutions, such as mental hospitals, convents, orphanages, and the military, within his ambit, but it may not be too much of an exaggeration to claim that Goffman does not pay sufficient attention to how numerous iterations of particular types of social interactions mount up to “the stuff of social order.” But even here, Goffman does at least present some evidence for the processes that constitute such structural formations. For instance, in Asylums, Goffman quotes Ivan Belknap’s Human Problems of a State Mental Hospital to illustrate the pedagogical functions of punishment and humiliation: “This knowledge [of shock therapy among the patients] is based on the fact that some of the patients in Ward 30 have assisted the shock team in the administration of therapy to patients, holding them down, and helping to strap them in bed, or watching them after they have quieted” (Goffman 1961, 33).¹ Here at least the outlines of the dissemination of discipline can be discerned, from the mental hospital’s administrators and physicians to the patients who assist in the spectacle of shock therapy to the patients in general. For the patients this “lesson” of “what may be done to them” is autodidactically absorbed: having seen what happens to those who “misbehave,” they alter their behavior, squeezing it between normative parameters. Such a lesson can lead to what Goffman calls “conversion,” depicted as a “mode of adaptation to the setting of a total institution” in which “the inmate appears to take over the official or staff view of himself and tries to act out the role of the perfect inmate . . . presenting himself as someone whose institutional enthusiasm is always at the disposal of the staff ” (1961, 63). Of course, they must have also reported on the treatments to the other patients, thereby distributing the lesson to a wider audience. There is a trace of a genealogy hinted at here, but Goffman never thoroughly follows up on this, especially when he is describing normative behavior in Anglo-American society. It’s as if such behavior has existed for all time, its genealogical tracings and archeological remains not even mentioned, let alone inspected.

I am deliberately employing Foucauldian terms here, as what I want to suggest is that the Foucauldian methodologies of archeology and genealogy are precisely what is needed to fill out Goffman. He needs history, he needs time, he needs a delineation of the means by which interaction rituals are connected to social orders and institutions. And he needs space and place as well. Goffman himself was not unaware of these shortcomings, as he admits that he never theorized the roles that time and place or history and geography should play in a sociological analysis. In his address to the American Sociological Association in 1982 (the year of his death), Goffman states, “Orderliness is predicated on a large base of shared cognitive presuppositions, if not normative ones, and self-sustained restraints. How a given set of such understandings comes into being historically, spreads and contracts in geographical distribution over time, and how at any one place and time particular individuals acquire these understandings are good questions, but not ones I can address” (1983, 5). I take this to mean that he not only cannot address these issues in this, the presidential address he is delivering, but also that he cannot address them at all, given his focus on microanalysis.

Goffman also needs a more deliberative midlevel analysis of how individual selves and social groups are interrelated, or of how the macro and the micro scales of social analysis can be linked at the meso level so the full range of the social order can be illuminated. But, once again, Goffman was aware of this shortcoming, as during the same address he states, “Insofar as agents of social organizations of any scale, from states to households, can be persuaded, cajoled, flattered, intimidated, or otherwise influenced by effects only achievable in face-to-face dealings, then here, too, the interaction order impinges on macroscopic entities” (1983, 8). Here, Goffman does not so much analyze this midpoint meeting place between the macro and the micro but simply thrusts his way into that realm, shoving his analysis into the breach. In other words, he never truly accomplishes such an analysis in his work but seems to be attempting to patch over this hole by bodily tossing his form of interaction analysis into a vacuum.

Prior to taking a brief respite from Goffman, let me once more iterate that he has set forth a standard that can still stand as the criteria par excellence by which to analyze social interactions through the most minutely performed observations of the slightest bits of behavior, what Giddens, speaking specifically of Goffman, calls “the normatively regulated control of what might seem . . . to be the tiniest, most insignificant details of bodily movement or expression” (1984, 78) that is performed on a “never-to-be-relaxed—monitoring of behavior and its contexts” (Giddens 1990, 37).

Goffman took as his field the “face-to-face domain,” and he has left us with a rich legacy, a legacy that can be used as the first step on the first level of an overall analysis of the everyday (Goffman 1983, 2). The other thing that Goffman has bestowed upon us, albeit it in a negative mode or as a lesson-in-reverse, as it were, is that his narrow construal of “our own Anglo-American society” needs to be widened out so that it includes history and geography as well as other social and ethnic groups, tasks I progressively assume as I continue this investigation.

Foucault’s Milieu

Let me now turn to Foucault’s conception of the milieu. Foucault’s milieu is the ground upon which he positions the relationship between security and risk. Each milieu possesses its own dynamic between these two poles, a dynamic balanced between the limits of security and risk, a sense of equipoise that is sometimes stable, sometimes teetering, and at other times falling into either the mayhem of risk or the ossification of security. “The space in which a series of uncertain elements unfold is, I think, roughly what one calls the milieu,” states Foucault in Security, Territory, Population, the compilation of his lectures at the Collège de France in 1977–78 (2007b, 20). “What is the milieu? It is what is needed for action at a distance of one body on another. It is therefore the medium of an action and the element in which it circulates. It is therefore the problem of circulation and causality that is at stake in this notion of milieu” (Foucault 2007b, 20–21).

There is, then, a striking difference between Goffman’s situation and Foucault’s milieu. The situation à la Goffman is close at hand, intimate, personal, always occurring within the physical propinquity of bodies with one another and in one place, whether that place be an office, a party, an elevator, or a bus. Foucault’s milieu is what animates as well as what controls the situation, but as it is animated and controlled on a distal basis. It is impersonal, distant, alien, yet present through the power of its reach, a reach instigated both by technology and discipline. The milieu is that ground on which a homeostatic tension exists between the abyss of risk and the cove of security.

Here we should also insert a brief exegesis of three other influential uses of the term “milieu” by French thinkers, one descending from the geographer Vidal de la Blanche, one from the critic and historian Hippolyte Taine, and the last from Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari. In de la Blanche, “society and milieu” serve as stand-ins for “sociality and territoriality” (Buttimer 1971, 3). These two elements are construed as the “two scaffolds of human exp...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• Chapter 1 Starting with Goffman and Ending with Foucault
• Chapter 2 The SpaceTimePlace “Thing”
• Chapter 3 Time Goes Vertical; Space Yields In
• Chapter 4 What Marx Brought in from the Cold: Reproduction
• Chapter 5 Bringing in the Body
• Chapter 6 Bring in Geography
• Conclusion
• Notes
• Bibliography
• Index