Stories of Inclusion?: Power, Privilege, and Difference in a Peace and Justice Network

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“This grounded and textured analysis contrasts two models of community organizing.

PIATELLI

SOCIOLOGY • PEACE STUDIES

Deborah A. Piatelli unravels a paradox, showing how and why the ‘inclusive’ model often ends up inadvertently excluding.”

—William A. Gamson, Boston College

across racial and class differences? What are the obstacles and what is being done to overcome them? What type of movement structures, cultures, and practices can best facilitate inter-racial, inter-class solidarity? Stories of Inclusion? explores these questions through an ethnographic study of a predominately white, middle-class contemporary peace and justice network that is working to create a racially and class diverse community of activists. Addressing a very significant and greatly under-researched topic, Stories of

Inclusion? raises important and critical questions for the peace movement as well as larger society. Deborah A. Piatelli is visiting assistant professor in the Department of Sociology at Boston College.

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ISBN-13: 978-0-7391-3147-3 ISBN-10: 0-7391-3147-8

STORIES OF INCLUSION?

Why are some white, middle-class activists experiencing difficulty creating alliances

STORIES OF INCLUSION? POWER, PRIVILEGE, AND DIFFERENCE IN A PEACE AND JUSTICE NETWORK

Deborah A. Piatelli

Stories of Inclusion?

Stories of Inclusion? Power, Privilege, and Difference in a Peace and Justice Network

Deborah A. Piatelli

LEXINGTON BOOKS A division of ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD PUBLISHERS, INC.

Lanham • Boulder • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

LEXINGTON BOOKS A division of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200 Lanham, MD 20706 Estover Road Plymouth PL6 7PY United Kingdom Copyright © 2009 by Lexington Books All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Piatelli, Deborah A., 1959– Stories of inclusion? : power, privilege, and difference in a peace and justice network / Deborah A. Piatelli. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-7391-3147-3 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-7391-3147-8 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978-0-7391-3149-7 (electronic) ISBN-10: 0-7391-3149-4 (electronic) 1. Social justice. 2. Peace movements. 3. Feminist theory. 4. Cultural pluralism. 5. Social groups. 6. Social interaction. I. Title. HM671.P53 2009 327.1'72089—dc22 2008040104 Printed in the United States of America

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Contents

Acknowledgments

vii

1

Introduction

1

2

Through a Gendered Lens: Feminist Ways of Organizing

13

3

Inclusive and Neighborhood-based Organizing Models

41

4

Bringing the Pieces Together: Evaluating the Models

65

5

A Culture of Privilege

89

6

Practical Solutions for Working across Differences

117

7

Conclusion

137

Appendix A The Process of Investigation

159

Appendix B Interview Participants

179

References

183

Index

197

About the Author

201

v

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been completed without the people who allowed me access into their lives. Thank you for sharing your stories and experiences with me before, during, and after this research endeavor. You have transformed my thinking on so many different levels. Your unwavering dedication to creating a better world is commendable and inspirational. Although I cannot mention you by name in order to respect your anonymity, this book is dedicated to you. I would like to thank the many people at Boston College who encouraged and supported me throughout the research and writing of this book: Charlie Derber, Lisa Dodson, Bill Gamson, Julie Schor, Abigail Brooks, Patricia Arend, and Leah Schmalzbauer. Thank you for reading drafts, listening to my evolving theories, encouraging me to find my voice, and supporting me through the entire process. I would also like to thank Susan Ostrander, Margaret Lombe, and Clare Weber for providing invaluable comments on the manuscript, as well as the Department of Sociology and the Graduate School of Arts and Science for their generous financial support. Without the emotional support and encouragement of my family and friends, writing a book would be an impossible task. I would like to especially acknowledge my wonderful husband, Michael. Thank you for your unwavering support, love, and encouragement.

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Chapter One

Introduction

Life is interrelated. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality; tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. —Martin Luther King Jr., 1961 It is only if we pay attention to how we differ that we come to an understanding of what we have in common. —Elizabeth Spellman, 1988 A coalition to end the war is different than an alliance for peace and justice. —Dora, 2004

In a world of rising inequality, excessive militarism, and a growing repression of democratic freedoms, many progressive movements working for social justice are finding that it is impossible to reach one’s goals without allying with others and have begun to take seriously the charge of creating coalitions and alliances across racial and class differences. “Becoming multi-cultural” has become the way of the future—a new politics for social movements (Buechler 2000; Collins 1998; Kurtz 2002). Yet, there continues to be disagreement within both academic and activist circles as to how to create successful coalitions and alliances that work across differences. This book sheds light on how one American social movement network is working to accomplish this task. The research that informs this book enhances the literature on cross-difference organizing by bridging the literatures of social movement theory, critical race studies, and feminist theorizing on intersectionality and community organizing, 1

2

Chapter One

challenging common assumptions about inclusivity and difference. Why are white, middle-class progressives within the United States experiencing difficulty working across racial and class differences? What are the obstacles and what is being done to overcome them? How do these activists approach cross-difference organizing when race, class, and other intersecting identities can often prevent cooperation? What type of movement structures, cultures, and practices can best facilitate building alliances across differences? This book explores these questions through an examination of the practices, beliefs, and social biographies of a predominately white, middle-class peace and justice network1 during the period 2004–2006. After September 11, 2001, many anti-war activists and other activists from a myriad of social justice organizations in the region where this study was conducted came together in an effort to both revive a peace movement that had been in abeyance since the 1991 Gulf War and to respond to the U.S. threat of aggression in Afghanistan. There were many intense discussions and disagreements during the first few months regarding structure and agenda. Eventually a new network was formed with the intent of creating a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network that would integrate “anti-war” work and “justice” work. This book documents and analyzes the organizing efforts of this network in its attempt to create “a new organizing model for the peace movement.” The data provide a greater understanding as to how power and privilege influence the dynamics of cross-difference organizing, as well as what organizing practices may best facilitate inter-racial and inter-class solidarity. This book also calls attention to the continuing importance of race for those collective actors attempting to construct inclusive movements across diverse groups, and raises critical questions for this network as well as the larger community of progressives working for peace and justice. Can a broader definition of peace work be more successful in changing U.S. policies? Is the goal of a creating a unified, multi-racial, multi-class movement feasible and desirable, and if so, what form should it take? Building coalitions and alliances can enhance collective action by increasing the size and political leverage of a movement, but more importantly it can foster deeper understanding of social problems and the development of better social change strategies (Bunch 1990; Bystydzienski and Schacht 2001; Collins 1998). Moreover, building relationships across differences can enlighten movements to how structures of privilege limit both worldviews and success in creating transformative social change (Collins 2000; Frankenberg 1993; Gallagher 2000; McIntosh 1997; Spellman 1988; Thompson 2001). However, building alliances across differences is no easy task. Negotiations of difference need to take place at both the interpersonal and structural levels (Bystydzienski and Schacht 2001; Collins 2000). At the interpersonal

Introduction

3

level, people need to establish trust and break down barriers to create shared spaces (Belenky, Clinchy, Goldberger, and Tarule 1986; Bystydzienski and Schacht 2001; Collins 2000). People must work to respect differences and forge common arguments through shared understandings. At the structural level, people need to build new participatory structures, structures that address the power imbalances that can suppress true collaboration (Acker 1990, 1992, 1995; Britton 2000; Bystydzienski and Schacht 2001; Polletta 2002). This book explores the processes of collective action and examines the context in which members of this network are working, or not working, across differences.

THE MEANING(S) OF INCLUSIVITY The title, Stories of Inclusion?, questions whether this network’s organizing practices are silencing and excluding diverse populations despite its commitment to create an inclusive movement. Within this network, there exist differing definitions of inclusivity, and this results in very differing organizing practices. According to the Institute of Inclusion, inclusion is defined as “engaging the uniqueness of the talents, beliefs, backgrounds, capabilities, and ways of living of individuals and groups when joined in a common endeavor.”2 One interpretation of this definition views attention to difference as divisive to movements working for social justice (Gitlin 1995; Kauffman 1990; Wilson 1999). Striving for diversity within a movement is considered merely a strategy for increasing the base of support. Therefore, the practice of “being inclusive” often resembles the practice of assimilation in American society where engaging the uniqueness of differing individuals and groups translates into assimilating diverse members. Inclusivity becomes measured through representation. Here the interests, experiences, and worldviews of differing groups are not integrated into the movement’s agendas and processes; rather it is the individuals themselves that are assimilated into the movement. According to political philosopher Iris Marion Young, assimilation always implies “coming into the game after it has already begun, after the rules and standards have already been set, and having to prove oneself according to those rules and standards” (1990:164). The aim of assimilation is to unite people around a common good, but the common good is often defined in a way that fulfills the interests and perspectives of the dominant groups. The downside of an inclusivity based on assimilation denies the reality of oppression and blinds privileged groups to their own group specificity, thereby resulting in exclusive versus inclusive

4

Chapter One

environments. Assimilation “perpetuates cultural imperialism by allowing norms expressing the point of view and experience of privileged groups to appear neutral and universal” (Young 1990:165). Another interpretation reflects valuing differences for the unique perspectives they bring upon our worldviews of society (Bystydzienski and Schacht 2001; Collins 1998; Eisenstein 2004; Miller and Katz 2002). “Seeing more inclusively means that a layer of repressed vision is removed” where unity is achieved through the multiplicity of diversity (Eisenstein 2004:44). Inclusivity views difference as “not otherness, exclusive opposition, but specificity, variation, heterogeneity” (Young 1990:171). An inclusive practice is inclusive “not simply by formally including all potentially affected individuals in the same way, but by attending to the social relations that differently position people and condition their experiences, opportunities, and knowledge of the society” (Young 2000:83). Inclusion means that those affected most by the social problem have been included in the analyses and agenda making processes. Within this book, I use the terms “feminism” and “feminist” to describe inclusive organizing practices. Yet, different strands of feminism assign contrasting meanings to inclusivity, and those understandings translate into very different organizing practices. I draw on the latter definition of inclusivity when referring to feminist ways of organizing in this book. The term “feminism” is often associated with the dominant, Western, white, middle-class movement that has historically focused primarily on oppression based on gender inequality. Elizabeth Spellman (1988) in her notable work, Inessential Woman, discusses in great detail how Western, white, middle-class feminism has obscured the heterogeneity of women. This perspective, shaped by the privileged experience of white, middle-class women, is rooted in an understanding that gender identity exists in isolation from other identities such as race or class. By focusing on the relationship of white women to white men and assuming commonality of experience across race and class, this feminism has rendered race and class invisible. Hence inclusivity, or the practice of including different women’s voices, has translated into an additive model that required “looking but not necessarily seeing, hearing but not necessarily listening, adding voices but not changing what has already been said” (Spellman 1988:162). This feminism has been criticized by women of color for universalizing women’s experiences by ignoring how the experience of gender is also raced and classed, thereby privileging the experience of white, middle-class women in both feminist theory and practice (Baca Zinn and Thornton Dill 1994; Collins 1998; 2000; Crenshaw 1991; Giddens 1984; hooks 1981; 1989, 1999; King 1988; Spellman 1988; Walker 1983). “Womanism” became a more fa-

Introduction

5

vored term used by women of color to give visibility to the experience of, and action by, women of color. Hence, these theorists have argued that a feminist movement that takes difference seriously must be committed to changing the lives of all those experiencing oppression. Race and class have to be key issues for feminist theory. As reflected in the introductory quote by Elizabeth Spellman (1988), an inclusive movement should strive to reach commonality from a point of difference. How can movements organize around a commonality from a point of difference? In this book, I examine these differing definitions of inclusivity through two different organizing models operating within this network—an inclusive model that views difference as divisive and a neighborhood-based model that values difference3 and demonstrate how actors within this peace and justice network are working, or not working, to create commonality within the context of difference.

INCLUSION AND “THE PEACE MOVEMENT” Historically, there have been many movements working for peace, but what has been considered and written as “the American peace movement” by mainstream historians has been those white, middle-class efforts that have focused on issues of non-proliferation of nuclear weaponry and U.S. intervention. In her writings, Chicana activist, author, and educator Elizabeth Martinez critiques the mainstream peace movement and its practices of erasing, silencing, and excluding people of color, women, and others. In order to build a nonviolent social change movement, Martinez argues that the current peace movement must begin to address the root causes of war; they must address poverty and power, the racism in the United States, and the Americentrism in the world. As long as we see the struggles of these communities as separate from achieving peace and an end to war, she argues, the goal of peace will elude us. In examining the feminist peace movement during the period of suffrage through the 1990s, Harriet Alonso (1993) recounts the exclusionary history of the American peace movement. During the early formation of American peace movements, women and their definitions of peace work were excluded by organizations led by men, such as the American Peace Society. In order to link issues of structural violence and anti-war work, women were compelled to create their own organizations. However, even these organizations, such as the Women’s Peace Party and Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, created in response to their own exclusion, found themselves excluding women of color by not addressing issues of power and difference

6

Chapter One

between women. Women of color, in turn, created their own organizations within their communities. Although the second wave of feminism created more opportunities for linkages and feminist peace organizations began addressing poverty, sexism, and domestic violence along with militarism, they continued to ignore many of the concerns of the poor and women of color. Organizations such as Women for Racial and Economic Equality were created by women of color and “reflected a clear class- and race-consciousness unparalleled in the history of the women’s rights peace movement” (Alonso 1993:234). The peace movement continues to be criticized for its exclusionary practices particularly, but not only, by people of color. Since the peace movement has historically not been effective in cross-difference organizing or linking with other movements, I was interested in uncovering how a newly formed peace and justice network planned to overcome this exclusionary history (Albert 1992; Alonso 1993; Joseph 1993a, 1993b; Martinez 2003). When utilizing the phrase traditional peace movement in this book, I refer to the white, middle-class movement but at the same time recognize that there are and have been many diverse movements working for peace. Although peace work has historically been dominated by women (Alonso 1993; BrockUtne 1985), it is men who have been featured in peace movement leadership (Marullo and Lofland 1990). Hence, when referring to the traditional peace movement, I also differentiate between the segments of the peace movement that have been dominated by a male hierarchy, and those that have been more feminist in practice. This study questions not only who and what gets written as peace movement history, but also what is and should be considered as “peace work.”

DESCRIPTION OF THE NETWORK The term “network” has become a popular form of discourse among activists. What exactly is a network? Some members within this structure call themselves a “coalition” while others refer to themselves as a “network.” How are networks different from traditional forms of coalition organizing? A coalition consists of groups that are deliberately constructed, independent of their formal structures, to address a particular, single issue and coordinate their resources in order to obtain a specific goal (Hirsch 2000; RobertsDeGennaro 1997). Most often, coalitions are short-term and dissolve upon completion of the goal (Hirsch 2000; Roberts-DeGennaro 1997). Unlike the formal, top-down hierarchical structure of a coalition, networks are more informal and less structured and decision-making tends to be more participatory

Introduction

7

and democratic than the traditional coalition (Diani 2003; Hirsch 2000). Activists working in networks are committed to long-term relationship building and agendas usually are multi-issue focused (Diani 2003; Hirsch 2000). Unlike the structure of a coalition, organizations or individuals within a social movement network share a collective identity or informal shared philosophy that transcends the boundaries of any specific issue, but like coalitions these organizations maintain their own individual identities as well (Diani 2003). The membership base of this network consists of over five hundred actively engaged members4 and spans a fifty-mile radius of a large, metropolitan city on the east coast. Many individuals are former or present members of traditional peace organizations, some have worked with labor unions, antipoverty groups, and feminist organizations, while others are new to activism. The network’s structure consists of a coordinating committee, a community outreach committee, approximately forty community groups, and roughly thirty sponsoring organizations. It is also loosely affiliated with a national peace and justice organization. Figure 1.1 offers a view of the directional flow of communications within the network, whereas figure 1.2 depicts the membership overlap between network nodes.

Figure 1.1.

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Chapter One

Figure 1.2. CC: Coordinating Committee CO: Community Outreach SO: Sponsoring Organizations CG: Community Groups CWG: Campaign Working Groups

The network’s coordinating committee consists of a group of eighteen individuals who meet weekly to discuss and organize network-wide events such as protests and conferences and manage funding, sponsorship, and website design. This committee also provides a central point of contact for members and the media and makes decisions on the admission of new sponsoring organizations and peace and justice community groups. As shown in figure 1.2, many of the coordinating committee members hold other roles within the network. While the coordinating committee has designated itself as the “leadership” of the network, in reality the community groups serve as its foundation, with the community outreach committee serving as the link between the community groups and the coordinating committee. The community outreach committee’s responsibilities primarily are to support the community groups with educational resources. As shown in figures 1.1 and 1.2, the relationships between community outreach, the community groups, and the campaign working groups are strong. The community outreach and coordinating committees are discussed in more detail in chapter 2. A small percentage of the community groups are legacies from the nuclear freeze period primarily staffed with traditional peace movement activists, while the majority are newly formed groups comprised of non-affiliated individuals as well as members of a variety of informal neighborhood groups and formal non-profit organizations. The racial, class, and gendered composition varies among community groups, although the majority of members are women. Groups situated closer to cities are more racially and class diverse

Introduction

9

than those located in suburban areas; however, the majority of community groups, like the network, are populated with white, middle-class members. Community groups are, as one interviewee, Pam, put it, the entry point for many newly mobilized activists who might be less likely to venture into a big downtown meeting . . . events, vigils, and forums present opportunities to communicate with people you know, people you live next to, and people whose kids go to school with your kids. (2004)

The primary focus of the network is anti-war work. Following the agenda of the traditional peace movement, this work involves lobbying politicians on legislative referendums against the Iraq war and its funding; bringing home the national guard; cutting the supply of troops; working to enforce nuclear proliferation agreements, and raising awareness about the United States’s imperialist foreign policy. However, there are a number of community groups that are critical of traditional peace movement work and strive to address injustices in their respective communities, bringing an expanded definition of peace to their work that unites an anti-war agenda with action around issues of social justice. Some of these community groups work on community violence efforts, drawing connections between the militarism of American society and U.S. foreign policy. Others have chosen to build agendas with lowerincome neighborhood association groups supporting their struggles in attaining affordable housing, thereby linking immediate survival issues with U.S. foreign policy. What these efforts have in common is an attempt to understand how people experience war in their everyday lives, and to build agendas in collaboration with others that address those experiences as well as the intersectionality of power that influences (and are influenced by) those experiences. Through the community organizations, the network structure supports a decentralized way of organizing. It is in these extended network relationships where cross-difference organizing primarily occurs. In chapter 3, I outline the varying definitions of peace work within this network. Campaign-working groups arise sporadically. Some campaign-working groups are initiated by members who solely participate within the network as community group members, while others are created through community outreach members or coordinating committee members. Sponsoring organizations typically donate money and are loosely linked, participating on an ad hoc basis. Fifty percent of coordinating committee members hold membership in sponsoring organizations. I have chosen to use the term network to describe this effort, as the intent of this group of activists is to create a long-term, new social movement for peace and justice. The physical structure is extremely loose, informal, and participatory, and the agenda is multi-issue. Do activists within this network

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Chapter One

share a collective identity or common philosophy? This is one of the questions I explore within these chapters.

METHODOLOGICAL APPROACH I am deeply committed to a feminist methodology (Devault 1996; Harding 1986; Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007a, 2007b; Smith 1987). A feminist methodology critiques a hierarchical approach to knowledge building and attempts to “shift the center” (Collins 1998), prioritizing local knowledge and voices from outside privileged, mainstream society. A feminist methodology calls attention to the partiality, fluidity, and situatedness of knowledge and calls for more participatory, reflexive approaches to knowledge construction that involve critical self-reflection, dialogue, and interaction (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007a). This involves an “active and collaborative, rather than passive, role on the part of the researcher” (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007:144). Similar to other “feminist-infused” participatory research (Lykes and Coquillon 2007; Maguire 1987), I view lived experiences as central to producing authentic research, and I have sought to reflexively engage participants throughout the entire research process. However, doing participatory research can be complicated. I assumed that if I was willing to dedicate my time and labor to an issue of importance, people would be receptive to working together. This was not the case, as I found that participatory research required building a foundation of trust, and building trusting relationships was hard work. Upon entering the field, I encountered a good deal of mistrust, as many network members were wary about sharing “insider” information with an “outsider.” It took many, many months of working within a community group, sharing my vulnerabilities, and treating members as knowers rather than “research subjects” before my presence was accepted. Becoming a full, participating member of this network also provided me with the credibility I needed to gain access not only to various individuals and field sites but also knowledge, particularly that which was deliberately being hidden. It required a dialogical approach to sharing and empathizing with others and finding creative ways of shifting power. My research experience convinced me that the more power the researcher relinquishes, the more authority participants are awarded in defining the circumstances of their own lives, the less exploitative and more trustworthy the research process and product. In the appendix, I expand on my methodology further and offer insight into the process of investigation. I hope that by writing reflexively throughout this entire text, the reader can better understand not only what I discovered, but also how and in what context I discovered it.

Introduction

11

PREFACE TO THE CHAPTERS In chapter 2, I view this network through a gendered lens and describe the particular ways in which this network differentiates itself from the traditional peace movement. These characteristics reflect what I call feminist ways of organizing. Although this network has been influenced by feminist principles, I argue that portions of this network have been influenced in more significant ways. In chapter 3, I introduce two different models of organizing, inclusive and neighborhood-based, and argue that the neighborhood-based model fully embraces feminist ways of organizing and holds more potential in building a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network. This chapter operationalizes these two models as I demonstrate how groups of individuals within this network build agendas and construct action campaigns, and build relationships both within their own groups as well as within the larger community. Using actual practices I demonstrate how varying definitions of peace work influence the strategic choices groups make in selecting issues and organizing partners, and ultimately the progress they can potentially achieve in creating a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice movement. Chapter 4 further examines the two models of organizing and evaluates the viability and sustainability of the network. Drawing on two campaigns, the counter–military recruitment campaign and the Fund Justice campaign, I discuss the three major areas of conflict within this network—how peace work is defined; how alliances are built (for what purpose and with whom); and how relationships are built within groups. In chapter 5, I introduce the concepts of social biography and a culture of privilege and discuss how they affect working across differences within this social movement network. While using a gendered lens allowed me to identify the existence of the two organizing models operating within this network, using the lens of intersectionality illuminated the existence of a culture of privilege and furthered my understanding as to why certain individuals were attracted to certain models of organizing. In this chapter, I also discuss the continuing relevance of race within the United States, specifically in its relationship to U.S. foreign policy and cross-difference organizing. Using actual practices, I demonstrate how a culture of privilege that is raced and classed affects work across differences. Drawing from a number of examples from my fieldwork, I show how some of the activists within this network are excluding people across race and class while others are acknowledging privilege, transforming their worldviews, and beginning to establish fruitful relationships across differences. Chapter 6 draws further on examples from the field and offers practical solutions for activists working across differences. I show how some network

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Chapter One

members are examining privilege, transforming worldviews, and transitioning from inclusive to neighborhood-based organizing thereby achieving more success fostering relationships across racial and class boundaries. In chapter 7, I conclude with critical questions this book raises for progressive movements working for peace and justice as well as a framework for building a new agenda for the peace and justice movement. Power and privilege structure our everyday experiences in varying ways depending on our position in a matrix of hierarchical power structures and social movements are shaped by that social experience of power. Central to this research is an analysis of power and the privilege and oppression associated with it. This case study illustrates that even those who have developed a counterhegemonic political consciousness and have pledged to make social change are still embedded in a web of power and privilege, and their worldview, discourse, and practices are shaped by those lived experiences.

NOTES 1. At the request of network members, I have agreed to protect their anonymity. 2. This definition has been taken from the Institute for Inclusion, a nonprofit “think tank” of leaders that promote inclusion mindsets and behaviors not only in organizations, but also in the culture at large. <www.instituteforinclusion.org> (22 Aug 2008) 3. The terminology “Inclusive” and “Neighborhood-based” to describe the models were derived in vivo from the interviews and conversations with network members. 4. Actively engaged members are members who consistently show up to community group meetings.

Chapter Two

Through a Gendered Lens Feminist Ways of Organizing

“It’s interesting the role of gender in all of this.” (Sarah 2004)

I did not enter this work anticipating writing about gender, as my research focus was how this network was reaching out beyond the traditional peace movement1 across racial and class boundaries, not internal gender dynamics. Certainly, I was attentive to the fact that observing the processes of collective action across differences would involve examining the role of intersecting identities that included gender; however I did not foresee the unique view that employing a gendered lens would bring to my analysis. As I began this fieldwork, I conversed with network members about the network’s creation and transition away from the traditional peace movement; its organizing practices; and the challenges they have encountered as they worked to build a multi-racial, multi-class network. These conversations were filled with themes of inequality, silencing, and exclusion across racial and class differences, as well as gender. In this chapter, I argue that feminism has influenced the development of this network, and in some sense has influenced the development of peace and justice movements in general. Although the network’s development has been influenced by feminism, there are portions of the network that have been affected in more significant ways through practices I call feminist ways of organizing. Feminist ways of organizing provide this network with the tools for furthering collaboration across differences.

A GENDERED LENS A gendered lens provides a way of seeing how social processes produce differing experiences for women and men (Acker 1990, 1992, 1995, 2006; 13

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Chapter Two

Harding 1986; Scott 1986, Smith 1987; West and Zimmerman 1987). Not only do we see these gender differences more clearly, but a gendered lens also calls attention to the power and privilege that operates between and among genders. A gendered lens places women (and men) at the center of analysis and examines the structural arrangements that affect them. It calls attention to the social behaviors that are associated with, but not determined by, our biological sex. Applying a gendered lens makes problematic the everyday, takenfor-granted practices women and men perform in their daily lives (Acker 1990, 1992, 1995, 2006; Harding 1986; Scott 1986; Smith 1987, West and Zimmerman 1987). Upon entering the field, I noted that the network’s membership consisted of mostly women (at least 70 percent), and that women held leadership positions within community organizations, campaign-working groups, and committees. Typically, organizations and movements that do peace work are comprised of more women than men and some have even suggested that peace is a women’s issue (Alonso 1993; Brock-Utne 1985). However, simply the presence (or absence) of women does not make an organization gendered. What does it mean to say, then, that an organization is “gendered”? Feminist scholar Joan Acker has written extensively on the “gendered logic of organizations,” which she defines as “the assumptions and practices that construct most contemporary work organizations” (Acker 1990:147). A gendered organization is one where the processes, practices, images, and ideologies of an organization reproduce and sustain gender-based inequality where men profit. A hierarchical organizational structure, particular divisions of labor, and the organization of work processes are some of ways in which an organization may be gendered. It is important to note that while organizations are constituted through the practices of its members these practices are shaped by the social experience of gender, not gender itself (Acker 1990, 1992, 1995, 2006; Hardy-Fanta 1993; Staggenborg 1998b; West and Zimmerman 1987). In other words, the way people interpret and experience their gender within a particular sociopolitical structure will shape how they approach organizing. Sociologists Susan Stall and Randy Stoecker argue that the structure of gender typically produces very different organizing models for men and women. It is not just an understanding of the community organizing work that women or men do to which our analysis contributes but to the kinds of organizational structures that they build, the kinds of leaders they develop, the kinds of tactics they employ, and the integration of these elements into a distinct community organizing model. (Stall and Stoecker 1998:748)

Using a lens of gender, feminist researchers have shown that gendered structures are produced and reproduced within social movements through leader-

Through a Gendered Lens

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ship patterns, mobilization strategies, identity building, issue choice and framing, and alliance building (Bayard de Volo 2000; Barnett 1993; Blee 1996; Ferree and Roth 1998; Hardy-Fanta 1993; Krauss 1994; Martin 1990; Naples 1992; Robnett 1997; Staggenborg 1988, 1998a, 1998b; Taylor 1999; Taylor and Whittier 1992). While this chapter purposely takes a gendered lens, I recognize that race, class, and other differences complicate the category of gender as structural inequality comes in many forms. Acker (2006) most recently has drawn on intersectionality theory2 and expanded her concept of the gendered organization to an analysis of “organizational inequality regimes” (p. 442). “Inequality regimes” are “loosely interrelated practices, processes, actions, and meanings that result in and maintain class, gender, and racial inequalities within particular organizations” (Acker 2006:443). Acker (2006) proposes that we examine the practical activities of organizing that reproduce these complex inequalities at the local level—who has power and control over goals, resources, and work assignments through the lens of intersectionality. Chapter 5 examines this network and its processes through a lens of intersectionality. During the initial phases of this study, my attention was called to the significance of gender in the creation and evolution of this network. By listening closely for gendered reflections and behavior in subsequent interviews and observations, I was able to examine the unique ways in which this network differentiated itself from the traditional peace movement. Although most research on feminist organizing has focused on organizing within women’s organizations or women’s movements (Adamson, Briskin, and McPhail 1988; Albrecht and Brewer 1990; Alonso 1993; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Martin 1990; Mizrahi and Lombe 2006; Scott 2005; Weil 1986), this study offers a glimpse into the impact feminism has had on a mixed gendered organization.3

GENDERED CONVERSATIONS, GENDERED OBSERVATIONS My Initial Exposure to Gender In the beginning, [the] leadership was very male and in the peace movement too for that matter. And from the very beginning there was this understanding that there had to be an equal number of men and women on all the task forces and committees and that sort of thing. And I think it’s happened. If you notice, there are more women than men leading most meetings. And I personally think that’s one of the things that’s going to make a big difference, fundamental change, when women have a full part to play and are appreciated and valued for their experience. (Leah 2004)

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Historically, there were a couple of women’s peace groups and it was difficult to get men to talk about peace. There were some “men’s organizations” at that time too, but also women did need to have their own organizations because they would have been dominated by the men. That was an issue in [the network] at one point. We needed to be sure that there was gender equity, but also we wanted to create something that would allow for more voices to be brought to the table. We were around in the 60s and we know what it feels like to be excluded . . . not listened to. That’s how the community outreach idea came about. Bringing more voices . . . people of color and women . . . to the table. (Freda 2004)

As mentioned in the introduction, women and people of color have historically been excluded from traditional peace movement organizing (Alonso 1993; Martinez 2003; Wise 2003) and ultimately have had to construct their own organizations. Women within this network recount this history as well as their own experiences arguing that exclusionary (gendered) practices still plague the peace movement. These above quotes and others in this section are just a sample of the responses I received when asking network members to reflect on the creation and evolution of the network as a peace and justice network. Many within the network argued that the impetus in creating it was to reverse the exclusive organizing practices of the traditional peace movement by creating a structure that would support and facilitate more participation across gender, racial, and class boundaries. Sarah, Leah, and Freda along with other members, describe the network as “a new model” that is “more participatory and inclusive” and “allowing for more voices” as opposed to the exclusionary nature of the traditional peace movement. Many members, both men and women, some who have been a part of the traditional peace movement and others who have not, described it as “hierarchical,” “exclusionary,” “sexist, racist, classist,” and “undemocratic.” Moreover, many women made a point in stating that “women and gender-sensitive men” (men that are sensitive to their dominant position in society) have played a key role in shaping both the network’s structure and practices. In these conversations, members strongly voiced the need for the network to move away from the traditional peace movement in order to reach its goal of developing a multi-racial, multiclass peace and justice movement. Below network members Leah, and later Peter, reflect on this process: Leah: “Well, we [the network] started out with a top-down organization and since we moved away from [the traditional peace movement] it’s become more democratic and participatory I would say. [The network] is much more democratic and participatory. It’s really a new model for the peace movement. And, that’s what we need if we really want to diversify this movement. The community groups are doing a lot of wonderful work. The community groups are very independent but also participatory with other groups and with each other. You

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know the traditional groups are not calling the shots and making all the decisions by a long shot.” Deb: “And this is different from other phases of the movement you’ve been involved in?” Leah: “Oh yes, [the network] is a coalition, and in this coalition, we have a three-pronged approach to sharing power and allowing for participation . . . the community groups, the brunch, and the coordinating committee all participating together . . . and women are really leading many of the groups. I think, in a coalition, men might not get quite the same satisfaction from working in a coalition unless they’ve had experience working with . . . well, women, women are used to working together and naturally, they are natural at coalitions and . . . well, not all women. We currently have a problem with a woman who doesn’t really have the same respect for, I think that most of us do, she finds that it’s difficult . . . I don’t know. It’s not that I think it [coalition organizing] is a women’s thing, but I do feel that women are often the glue that holds a group together. It may be that working in a coalition may not be as rewarding to the male ego. We [women] understand what it’s like to be silenced and excluded.” (2004)

Throughout this interview, Leah discussed the gendered practices of her experiences with the traditional peace movement and expressed her strong view of how women can and must play a key role in facilitating a more participatory environment within movements and ultimately a more peaceful world. At the same time, Leah recognized that it is not the essentialized form of gender but rather the experience of gender that shapes her worldview and approach to organizing. Peter : “Here’s my faulty memory and impressions on how [the network] got to be the way it is . . . there are the regulars, the people who feel the responsibility for that [peace work] and take on the task for doing that. And this is all white, left stuff . . . I’m not even talking about people of color in [the city]. And the separation of the movement is a story in itself . . . the legacy of racism. There are pretty deep wounds in the community and so working across those is especially hard here and you know . . . So, during the first Gulf War these folks [white left] kind of leaped into the center to form a peace movement and the friction was so intense between these folks and the more neighborhood-based working class folks, some white, some people of color. And, they started butting heads with people, like [people from traditional peace movement] over, ah, you know issues of gender, race, authority, being heard and so forth. Uh, these were real bloody stuff.” Deb: “This is the white left reaching out to these communities. . . .” Peter: [laugh] “No, not reaching out, these people were coming in and [the white left] didn’t want to let go of the control. It’s the same old story . . . it’s

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about if we’re going to have a movement, what is the skin color, the gender, the class of the people. . . . Given the history of the peace movement, a lot of people of color don’t want to join. They have been burnt. They have been ignored, dissed. The issues that matter to them aren’t on the agenda and so we have to overcome that history if we’re going to be able to work with people of color. . . . So, after months of fighting, [the network] finally extracted itself [from the traditional peace movement] . . . and, well, here we are.” (2004)

A number of network members recount a similar story of exclusion and tension as the network attempted to define its identity. Many network members felt that the traditional peace movement had (and has) a history of excluding women, people of color, and the working class by ignoring the issues that affect these populations, but also by not relinquishing power and control. As Leah and Peter suggest, the driving force behind the network’s creation was not only to revive the peace movement, but more so to build a newer version of the movement—one that addressed the mistakes of its past. The intent in creating a new network was: (1) to develop a structure that was nonhierarchical, more democratic and participatory; (2) to diversify a traditionally white male leadership; and (3) to allow space for silenced voices to connect with the movement. Hence, building a newer version of the movement would require a new way of organizing. After September 11, 2001, a number of traditional peace organizations called for a gathering to reflect on the tragic event. At this point, I was told by some traditional peace movement leaders, there was not a conscious effort to create a new structure but rather to reconnect with current peace movement leaders in the city and possibly add a few new voices. So in the beginning there wasn’t an attempt to create an organization. It was really an attempt to bring together some thoughtful, representative, non-sectarian folks for conversation. Like-minded people. (2004) The intent was to create a replication of the old nuclear freeze networking model, but adding in communities of color. We didn’t want to repeat the whites only, middle-class dynamic. (2004)

The nuclear freeze networking model was described by traditional peace movement leaders as “a tightly, knit group of like-minded people who agreed on vision, strategy, goals, and structure.” These “like-minded people” are prior and current peace movement activists, but not part of the newer “sectarian” groups that emerged after the Gulf War. (“Non-sectarian” is a term used by many within the traditional peace movement, as well as some members within this network, when referring to groups considered “on the fringe” specifically groups that do not respect the code of non-violent protest or who

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“use language that will not appeal to the mainstream.”) However, this nuclear freeze model was described by others as a revival of the traditional peace movement model, where a representative from each of the organizations (in this case from each of the traditional peace organizations) would comprise a coordinating committee that would develop goals and strategies for the network which in turn would be carried out through its members—a hierarchical structure with one of the most prominent peace organizations at its center. There was much opposition to this plan. At the same time that the traditional peace movement leaders were attempting to coordinate a network that would encompass traditional peace movement activists and newer additions, a parallel effort was taking place. It was argued that in order to build a multi-racial, multi-class movement that would “bring more voices to the table,” the network needed to adopt a new structure. A number of network members I spoke with felt that women greatly impacted the move away from traditional peace movement organizing. As Leah and Freda suggested, women may have developed a unique view on how to approach organizing differently based on their own experiences of exclusion. Sarah and Pam tell the story of their initial experiences with the network’s creation. Sarah: “So after 9-11, there was the first meeting out of which [the network] formed which was at [location deleted] and I was at those first vigils and those first meetings and decided that I wanted to work in community outreach because it seemed to me that over the years . . . it seemed to me that grassroots efforts were the most neglected in the movement. And I wasn’t really interested in being part of some political leadership of a new anti-war organization. That wasn’t really what I wanted to do, but I sort of thought the skills that I had developed from my work could be useful in working to build local community groups. So, a group of us, from anti-poverty work, women’s movements, and labor union organizing and such . . . oh, and [male network member], he was involved too, got together and we decided that we would try to organize groups where they lived. We didn’t want to just bring people of color into the movement we wanted to create a more solidarity model . . . build relationships and bridges to really understand each other.” (2004) Pam : “The thing that became really clear to me was a lot of people were mobilized after 9-11. A lot of people’s consciousness got raised in a way that I hadn’t seen for a long time. And this movement [traditional peace movement] wasn’t something you could bring new people to. It just felt impossible . . . it wasn’t a place to grow and take that energy . . . so I started meeting with a group of people who were interested in community-based organizing. I can’t remember what we called it, I don’t know if it was outreach or communities, but it was a group of us who had the same, a similar vision of let’s go back into our communities and make that our starting place. Let’s start talking with people that you meet at

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the grocery store, the people you meet at the playground, and you know. It’s got all this potential. Because, when you’re in your neighborhood and you’re out talking to people and stuff you start building these organic ties and you start finding out who the other activists are and how to connect issues. So, we were trying to think about how can we do this . . . how can we replicate this idea of community-based organizing? So, we ended up on a funny thing where we and the rest of the peace movement had parallel tracks. So the coordinating committee [of the network] went through its fights and processes and . . . and we, we called ourselves outreach central.” (2004)

Outreach central, or community outreach as it became later called, originally consisted of six members (five women and one man) three of whom started community groups in their own towns after the initial meeting. Community outreach was connected to the traditional movement effort, but according to the community outreach members, it was really on its own independent course. As Pam said, Outreach central wanted to be more proactive and reach out to the community to help sustain a movement and plan for the longer term. They helped groups start up, get e-mail, websites, and did some skill development workshops.” (2004)

It is significant that community outreach is comprised primarily of women, as those who instigated the move from the traditional peace movement are those who felt their voices were silenced within the peace movement. It is something about their experiences, they tell me, that allow them to more readily see the need for autonomy, participatory democracy, and the importance of not silencing diverse voices. It is the experience of exclusion that has led these individuals away from the traditional peace movement’s approach to organizing. Community outreach believes that this network has the potential to serve as a place for people who have been historically silenced in other renditions of the peace movement in this city and region, to have a voice and be appreciated and valued for their experiences and work. This network holds the potential, these members feel, to alter peace movement history. As community outreach began to build a network of local community organizations, struggles within the coordinating committee of the network over leadership and structure continued. According to several traditional peace movement leaders, these conversations became “unbearable” and many pulled out of leadership positions but still remain affiliated with the network. Others (those challenging the traditional peace movement) tell the story in a slightly different manner. In addition to the internal fighting between coordinating committee members, there were community groups now forming that opposed this centralized, hierarchical structure that wanted autonomy

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over their agendas, strategies, and frames. They wanted to define the issues first and then work on a structure to execute them. These stories were difficult to extract, as people did not want to talk about oppression and silencing occurring within a movement that was working to end it. But when encouraged to talk freely (and anonymously) about how they were feeling during this period of time, accounts of gender, class, and racial conflict were told.4 After several months of conflict between the traditional peace movement leaders and the newer network activists, “there was a rebellion” and the traditional movement leaders “were overthrown.” Since the network left the control of the traditional peace movement, there has been great effort put forth to construct a non-hierarchical structure with local autonomy for the community groups and a central committee providing support. However, several members have expressed concern that the coordinating committee still is not representative of the diverse array of community groups nor does its agenda always serve its base. There is still a need for more diverse voices in positions of power. As one member, Preston, stated, “we need to do a better job of telling the coordinating committee what we want to do. Remember, we are [the network].” Community Outreach as a Gendered Lens As I continued my fieldwork, I began to examine more closely the relationship between the coordinating committee and the community outreach committee and between varying groups. I noted early on that there was much conflict. Below, an excerpt from my field notes. I get the sense from the interviews to date that some members on the coordinating committee may have a different agenda than the community outreach people in terms of how this network should function and what its priorities should be. In other words community outreach sees the coordinating committee as the central point of contact for outside organizations, as representing the network’s principles to the media for instance, for organizing large events to bring people together on major issues, and for acting as information central for the network. They view the role of the community groups as identifying the identity and focus of the network’s work—issues should be grounded in the community. While most of those within the coordinating committee (there are some exceptions) see itself as more of a place where strategy, identity, and agendas should be set—it should determine what the network will work on and how it will carry out those things. There was even a conversation within the coordinating committee about eliminating community outreach. Also, there have been some comments made by some members (on the coordinating committee and in some community groups) that “community work is not political.” In other words, doing anything that is not “anti-war” is not

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considered political work and should be avoided. This obviously hinders cross race/class relationship building. It also complicates identity building within the network and within the community groups. For instance, many members within the network are confused over who they are. Are they anti-war activists? Community activists? When I asked one individual why he was reluctant to participate in a community action against the widening of a main street in a Latino neighborhood, he said, “Aren’t we an anti-war organization? What good is it to do work like that?” Numerous other statements like this have been made by both community members and coordinating committee members I have spoken with or observed. I am not sure what to make of all this right now, but I certainly want to probe these areas in subsequent interviews. (Excerpt from field notes August, 2004)

Although committed to constructing a network that was participatory and inclusive, there clearly were differences in how people within the network conceptualized an organizing model to fulfill those goals. I began to reflect on how closely the philosophy of community outreach drew on feminist principles of collectivism and community building. As I continued observing and interviewing, I noted that members or groups who were more receptive to the ideas of the community outreach committee approached organizing differently than those who did not. Hence, I began to use community outreach as my gendered lens and look more closely at the organizing processes of those individuals and groups that were working closely with community outreach and those that were not. By using this lens, I was able to discern the subtleties of the network’s structure and practices, unveiling two different models of organizing—an inclusive model that constrained work across difference, and a neighborhood-based model that embraced feminist ways of organizing and fostered work across differences. (These models are discussed in detail in chapter 3.) The remaining sections of this chapter define feminist ways of organizing and the network’s physical structure, as well as focus on how community outreach, drawing on feminist ways of organizing, fosters real inclusivity and work across differences. FEMINIST WAYS OF ORGANIZING Collectivist Structures? Within contemporary feminist discourse, there has been much discussion around the definition of a feminist model of organizing (Adamson, Briskin, and McPhail 1988; Alonso 1993; Belenky, Bond, Weinstock 1997; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Martin 1990; Weil 1986). Feminists have long argued that social structures and practices are grounded in patriarchal relations that result

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in gender inequality (Acker 1990, 1992, 1995; Harding 1986; Smith 1987, Scott, 1986; West and Zimmerman 1987). In particular, Acker (1990, 1992, 1995) and others5 call for collectivist organizations that promote participatory, nonhierarchical structures as opposed to the bureaucratic and hierarchical styles of traditional organizational structures. Collectivist organizations are committed to “participation, power sharing, consensus, connection, and empowerment” (Britton 2000:422) where all members have full and equal participation in decision-making, differences are negotiated, and division of labor is rotated. Decision-making can range from consensus to majority vote, but the critical component is that everyone feels their voice has been heard and their position understood (Britton 2000; Polletta 2002; Rothschild-Whitt 1979). “Group unity comes from recognizing the legitimacy of different opinions as well as shared ones” (Polletta 2002:210). However, other feminists such as Jo Freeman (1973), Suzanne Staggenborg (1988), Susan Ostrander (1999), and Ellen Scott (2005) have shown through their respective research that bureaucracy and democracy can coexist and may actually ensure more fairness and effectiveness, as structureless organizations can result in tyranny and greater exploitation especially for minority members. For example, Scott (2005) documented the processes through which two white-dominated feminist organizations struggled to achieve racial diversity and found that a collectivist structure with a consensus decision-making process actually fostered exclusivity and hindered the goal of building a racially diverse organization. Rather, implementing a modified, hierarchical structure with executive directors and staff contributed to the successful achievement of the organizations’ diversity goals. Ostrander (1999) in her study of a mixed-gender, mixed-raced feminist organization reported similar findings. In white-dominated organizations, Scott (2005) and Ostrander (1999) argued that consensus decision-making marginalizes minority members. Even when committed to racial diversity and inclusiveness, “embedded informal hierarchies” (Scott 2005) arise that result in dominance, manipulation, and false consensus. Moreover, individuals who may have the opportunity to devote more hours to the organization (white, middle-class in these contexts) tend to hold more power by default. Conversely, “formal positions of power diminish the role of informal networks” and “allow women of color, often fewer in number in collectives, to occupy positions of power that allow them to begin to have more influence in the organizational context” (Scott 2005:243). These “modified collectives” (Ostrander 1999) are still participatory and egalitarian, but operate within a more formal structure. Describing the physical structure and decision-making processes of this network were extremely difficult for network members. Presenting a diagram

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of my understanding of the network’s structure and processes to a member would most often elicit a chuckle and then a “I’m not really sure how to describe it.” Network members commented on the network’s structure (or lack thereof) as a strength allowing autonomy and the opportunity for collaboration with other organizations and groups both within and outside the network. Although the coordinating committee sits at the hub of the network and oversees the planning of large network-wide events such as protests and annual strategy sessions, it does not make major campaign decisions nor does it dictate issue agendas for the community groups. Campaigns and issues are defined locally and collaboration is voluntarily based on individual community organization interest. Although there is conflict within the coordinating committee over its role and how hierarchical the network structure should be, the coordinating committee does encourage participatory involvement through the network’s monthly community brunches, campaign-working groups, and annual strategy sessions. Additionally, the coordinating committee’s decision-making power is limited by the influence of the community outreach committee and community organizations that demand autonomy in issue definition and strategies. At the same time members were pointing to the strengths of operating within a “loosely structured network,” others such as Peter and Barbara voiced their concerns over its weaknesses. [The network] is a big heart with no skeleton . . . it’s loosely organized . . . your chart, well, that’s the way it should work, but it doesn’t. [The network] is not clear on its organizing model or objectives and its decision-making process is not central or campaign focused. There really isn’t any coordinated action. Is that a bad thing? In some ways it’s working and in other ways it’s not . . . It’s not surprising that a network this loose, whose priorities are local and community-focused rather than central and campaign-focused, has trouble creating and sustaining campaigns. (Peter 2004) [Some of the people’s] attitude is let’s get everybody in the room and then we’ll figure it out. Which sounds . . . there is for me the core of the problem of the conception of organizing in this movement that is um . . . ultra democratic to the point of meaninglessness. (Barbara 2004)

Peter and Barbara point to the common maladies of collectivist organizations— timely decision-making, and balancing autonomy and cooperation that threaten an organization’s ability to act. This is evident in the extremely limited coordinated action that takes place within the network. Although committed to a non-hierarchical, participatory structure, the network’s structure does seem to foster exclusivity, creating tension and hindering work across differences. Michelle and Dora reflect on this point below.

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The network structure is improvised and bizarre. But something is working here, so we have to figure out what. It sure isn’t the structure. The coordinating committee isn’t elected, I mean who do they represent? Some of the members do not even belong to active community groups. They represent who ever shows up. Um, the . . . I think someone said the main qualifying characteristic of those on the coordinating committee is that you are retired. You have retirement and money to do this. (Michelle 2004) Well, the structure is . . . the question should be, are they building a multi-racial, multi-class network? Well, I don’t think they are going about it the right way. Who are the leaders anyway . . . white, middle-class people. That tells you something. (Dora 2004)

Michelle, Dora, and other network members drew my attention to the unconscious ways in which “embedded informal hierarchies” (Scott 2005) functioned within the network. “Leadership” positions such as those of the coordinating committee and community outreach tend to be filled by those who have the time (predominately white, middle class) and those who are closely affiliated with other members through friendships and social networks. This is not intentional, as Sarah and Haley state below, but a result of the realities of a volunteer-based network dominated by white, middle-class activists committed to a collectivist, democratic structure. There was always a real effort to get more people to be on the coordinating committee so that it wasn’t just this group of activists who had an agenda which wasn’t necessarily the base of [the network] who were in the community groups. . . . So, we’ve struggled with that for a long time, at a number of community brunches where we tried to recruit people to the coordinating committee, we talked about rotating so people wouldn’t have to come into [the city]. Our structure document actually calls for electing people but it never really worked because it’s so hard to get people . . . so part of what the coordinating committee decides to do is a function of who is willing to do it and that is true of all of the network. It’s a completely volunteer organization and that’s what happens. (Sarah 2004) [In the beginning] the sense was that we wanted to build a multi-racial, multiclass movement. Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s what this is. There have been a lot of personal attacks on people on the coordinating committee about wanting to be exclusive and wanting to hang onto their power which I don’t think is true. I don’t think it’s the structure that prohibits inclusion; I think it’s the way people are working. (Haley 2005)

Haley touches on an important point when she says, “I think it’s the way people are working.” Although the network’s structure document calls for

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“representation” of people of color in coordinating committee positions, if committee members are not representative of or held accountable by a constituency, nor do they hold any power in decision-making for the network, what is the point? As Scott (2005) and Ostrander (1999) argue, without formal positions of power an informal white-dominated hierarchy will arise. Pauline comments on this in discussing the evolution of her community group. One of the issues was invisible leadership. You need to have visible and accountable leadership or things are going to fall through the cracks and people are going to feel left out. And [in our group] it took awhile to convince people to have a steering committee. So, now we have this new format, elections. And it’s rotating. . . . There aren’t just the same old people running things. (2005)

Since many groups in contemporary society do not function democratically, it is difficult for participants coming to coalitions to know how to build participatory structures that are open and non-hierarchical and promote shared decision-making. Power imbalances can prohibit the building of a democratic organization; however, differences can be bridged if individuals “respond to and identify with one another on the basis of mutuality and reciprocity, without exchanging equal quantities of support, without calculating individual advantages, and above all without compulsion” (Bell and Delaney 2001:73). This network could be considered a collectivist structure. Yet, to describe this network as a collectivist structure would overlook the important intricacies that distinguish the groups within this network. In other words, the sum of the parts does not equal the whole. Some community groups are pure collectives, some are modified collectives, and others more formal organizations with boards of directors and paid staff. It is in the modified collectives where I found more diversity in membership and equality in division of labor. Does one’s ability to work across racial and class boundaries within the community correlate to the group’s structure and diversity? Perhaps, but there are some pure collectivist groups that do not hold a diverse membership or leadership that are beginning to have success working across racial and class differences. Will this work eventually modify the group’s composition and structure? It has for some groups, but it is too early in this network’s development to claim a correlation. However, I did find a relationship with the group’s ability to work across racial and class differences when examining how people work within their group and within the community. Collectivist Processes: How People Work Despite differences in opinion over the physical structure of feminist organizations, there is a shared understanding between feminists on what constitutes

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the “principles of feminist organizing” (Adamson, Briskin, and McPhail 1988; Alonso 1993; Belenky et al. 1997; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Martin 1990; Ostrander 1999; Polletta 2002; Weil 1986). Feminist ways of organizing are grounded in collectivist processes, not structures, processes that are participatory, cooperative and inclusive. Feminists hold a holistic view of society and see all struggles as connected and rooted in everyday lives. They hold a commitment to eliminating power hierarchies that subordinate others by sharing power and resources, respecting and using different knowledges, and empowering individuals through caring and support (Adamson, Briskin, and McPhail 1988; Alonso 1993; Belenky et al. 1997; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Martin 1990; Ostrander 1999; Polletta 2002; Weil 1986). While this network strives for inclusivity, it is the community outreach committee that positively influences the processes of this network. Below, I examine how community outreach’s practice of bridge building promotes inclusivity and is grounded in feminist ways of organizing.

Bridge Building “Organizing people where they live” was at the heart of what differentiated those who intended to revive the traditional peace movement from those who envisioned a newer model. Community outreach’s desire was to create a network that would place community organizing at its center. “Organizing people where they live” was not about engaging communities in an anti-war agenda, but rather developing autonomous, but collaborating community groups that would organically develop both a diverse agenda and structure. Pam and Peter further explain the concept. There’s “organizing” and then there’s “organizing.” We [the peace movement] need to build relationships basically and I think a lot of the problems with the peace movement are that people of color are saying we’ve been at war, where have you been? You know, the war at home, the war right here in our community. There’s a lot of trust that needs to be built. The thing is no one strategy can work alone. Organizing people where they live means you have to show up for other people’s strategies. You’ve got to have a strategy of building personal relationships, like building up personal trust, relationships with other activists, with other organizations. You build a personal relationship and then the political relationship comes. Trust needs to be at the foundation and then you can build a common agenda together. (Peter 2004) Organizing people where they live is about let’s provide solidarity and let’s build relationships. It’s a first step. Ultimately, I think we want a more multiracial movement across all boundaries and stuff, but for now that’s a first step,

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to build relationships and bridges and to really understand each other. . . . Working within the community gives me a lot of chances to talk to people and I learn this lesson over and over again that people have a really good understanding of how the world works. They don’t need me to explain it. We don’t need more academics to explain how the world works. People live it every day and they have it pretty well figured out. So, it’s not about coming into a community and convincing people to be against the war. Many of them already are. . . . When you really listen to people and talk to people you get your eyes get opened and you start to figure out how you can work together. And a lot of times the white antiwar groups have more resources, more fund-raising abilities, more college educated people who can bring more resources to bear. So why not share those resources with people who don’t have access to them rather than what we usually do—why don’t you join me? How about, not even join because they don’t necessarily want us to join, but provide solidarity. (Pam 2004)

Both Peter and Pam stress the importance of building trust by building bridges between both people and issues in order to work across racial and class boundaries. Hence, community outreach committee members are what can be considered “bridge builders” or “bridge leaders” (Robnett 1997; Rose 2000; Stall and Stoecker 1998; Stout 1996). Within the network, community outreach members act as a liaison between the “formal leadership” of the network (the coordinating committee) and the community groups. Community outreach runs a monthly meeting for community group members where ideas from the coordinating committee on potential campaign issues and events can be “tested out” to assess their viability. This meeting also provides community group members the opportunity to share information on local work efforts and propose new campaign ideas and/or areas for collaboration. While community outreach members encourage autonomy within the community groups, they also look for opportunities for coordinated action between the groups. Campaign-working groups are often constructed out of these brainstorming sessions.6 While community outreach provides the bridge between the network leadership and the community groups, it also assists community groups in cultivating their own bridge builders so that they may begin to establish relationships within their respective communities. Several training modules or educationals have been facilitated by community outreach for network members on the topics of cultivating diversity within an organization, alliance building across racial and class differences, as well as interrogating privilege. (These educationals are discussed in subsequent chapters.) Within their own neighborhoods, community outreach members serve as bridge builders between community groups and external neighborhood organizations by ac-

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tively engaging with community members to understand how their lives are differently affected by the war. Pam explains the process of bridge building. Working at a local level, each community group has the opportunity to explore relationships with other neighborhood-based organizations. For example, in one community, the peace and justice group has worked with a grassroots tenant and immigrant organization on their youth march against militarism. In another, peace and justice activists have set up dialogues with the immigrant community in order to better understand how the “war on terrorism” is affecting their civil liberties. Rather than recruiting people away from their work and into the peace movement, these peace and justice groups have instead found ways to lend support. Supporting decentralized, neighborhood-based organizing offers a chance to create alliances with and build understanding among diverse neighborhoodbased groups. (2004)

Bridge building is time-consuming work, especially for a predominately white, middle-class movement with a tarnished history. Bridge builders can help to desegregate social and political networks because they have the ability to cross racial and class cultures (Rose 2000; Stall and Stoecker 1998). This intermediate layer of leadership is fundamental in the network’s ability to work across racial and class boundaries as it is able to initiate contacts and dialogue across issues and movements in order to build the required trust for sustained collective action (Robnett 1997; Rose 2000; Stall and Stoecker 1998; Stout 1996). In his study with several white labor, peace, and environmental activists on the challenges in working across class differences, Fred Rose (2000) identifies five different types of bridge builders: (1) New Left working-class student movement activists; (2) middle-class individuals who entered “blue-collar” jobs; (3) working-class individuals that transitioned into the middle class later in life; (4) middle-class labor supporters; and (5) seasoned activists with experience working across class differences. He states, “Bridge builders inhabit a unique world where they must integrate starkly different experiences . . . they place themselves in positions where they will learn and change, even while playing their roles in their own, unchanged organizations” (Rose 2000:185). Rose (2000) argues that what these bridge builders have in common is that they have crossed the class divide in some way, enabling them to build relationships across class boundaries. Rose (2000) offers many examples of how these bridge builders were able to facilitate collaboration between labor and peace activists and between labor and environmental activists. By drawing on their own personal experiences, bridge builders were able to better understand differing values, attitudes, and worldviews and “teach each movement about each other” (Rose 2000:176).

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At least three of the six community outreach members have experienced a class shift in their own lives and all have worked in diverse settings. Moreover, these members have examined their white privilege and how it affects building relationships across difference. This process has been key in the development of their ability to work across racial boundaries. (I discuss this process in chapter 5). These bridge builders are also able to make the personal political or “cross the boundaries between the public life of a movement organization and the private spheres of adherents and potential constituents” (Robnett 1997:19), thereby making the links that are necessary for grassroots organizing. During the second wave of feminism, the phrase “the personal is political” represented the understanding that women’s oppression is not the result of individual choices, but rather shaped by the way society is structured. Grounded in the reality of living in a society where women were relegated to the “private sphere,” women developed a “bifurcated consciousness” (Smith 1987) that allowed them to see from a different angle of vision and reveal certain aspects of power relations. “The personal is political” enabled women to bring into view how their everyday lives were affected by gendered social institutions. Theorizing on intersectionality arose in the 1980s as feminists of color challenged research that universalized women’s experience, pointing to its failure to acknowledge how women’s experiences were simultaneously structured by race and class (Baca Zinn and Thornton Dill 1994; Collins 1998; Crenshaw 1991; Giddens 1984; hooks 1981; King 1988). Feminist organizations within the United States developed early on led by women in a variety of movements to improve the lives of women and the lives of others living under oppression (Adamson, Briskin, and McPhail 1988; Alonso 1993; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Martin 1990; Weil 1986). These feminist organizations aimed to foster greater social justice and equality for all people; viewed inequality as a result of structural forces rather than individual actions or choices; and understood that “social, political and economic change [was] necessary for that vision to be realized” (Martin 1990:184). In her study of the “feminist” peace movement, Harriet Alonso (1993) recounts the myriad of ways in which women contributed to a broadening of the term “peace work.” For example as early as the late nineteenth century, women’s peace organizations (unlike their male counterparts such as the American Peace Society) were actually peace and justice organizations as they linked forms of institutional violence such as war and personal violence against women under the theme of peace work. Moreover, feminist scholars for decades have reported on the relationship between direct forms of violence such as prostitution, rape, and the battering of women, and structural forms of violence such

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as patriarchy, poverty, and militarism (Birgit Brock-Utne 1985; Eisenstein 2000, 2004; Enloe 1989, 2007; Reardon 1993; Roberts 1983). By embracing an understanding of intersecting oppressions of race, class, and gender, community outreach members reconceptualize the nature of everyday struggles and see how they are connected. By drawing on their own lived experiences and examining their own privilege, these members have developed a different way of seeing. Community outreach members, like their feminist predecessors, bring a holistic view of society to their work that enables them to see the intimate link between everyday struggles and U.S. foreign policy, thereby broadening their definition of peace work. (Differing definitions of peace work are discussed in chapter 3.) As mentioned earlier in this chapter, many individuals within the network do not view community work as political work.7 Community work is viewed as local action that is done by “mothers or women” or “the poor and people of color” that may gain immediate resources for people; whereas, political work like peace work “addresses the power structure,” “effects structural change,” and “serves the greater good.” An explanation for these views may be found in a historical, gendered understanding of the division of labor where “public” work was mostly done by men in the politic or formal economy; while women worked in the “private” sector—the home or the local community (Acker 1992; Collins 2000; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; HardyFanta 1993; Krauss 1994; Naples 1992; Robnett 1997; Stall and Stoecker 1998). This view was criticized by feminist scholars (primarily of color) who argued that the public/private split was an illusion as women worked both inside and outside the home. Moreover, even women who did not work outside the home were still involved in productive labor (Acker 1992; Collins 2000; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Hardy-Fanta 1993; Krauss 1994; Naples 1992; Robnett 1997; Stall and Stoecker 1998). This perceived split has been a powerful ideological tool often used in perpetuating gender inequality and limiting women’s roles in society. In her study on Latino/Latina political participation, Carol Hardy-Fanta (1993) found a gendered difference in how males and females defined political work. Men defined it as electoral representation, and a means to gaining power. Politics was defined as elections and access to government positions. Women defined politics as a more interactive process that involves making connections between people and between “private” and “public” issues, thus creating awareness and action (Hardy-Fanta 1993). Women are involved in more grassroots politics that focuses on “community, collective organization, self-government, and, above all, opportunities for participation of the many, not restricted to the elite few” (Hardy-Fanta 1993:23). For men, political work takes place within the realm of the “public” sector, while community

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work is relegated to the “private” sector or the personal world of everyday life. This renders community work unimportant, unpaid, and invisible. Hardy-Fanta (1993) offers an explanation for these gendered differences. Women, on the whole, are more embedded in (and more aware of their embeddedness in) social relations than are men; women, as a group, are more inclined toward a morality of responsibility and caretaking, while men, as a group, give more allegiance to an ethic of rights and obligations; women’s experience tends to include them toward greater appreciation of the concrete and the relational, while men give greater credence to that which is abstract and disembodied (Hardy-Fanta 1993:24; quoting Ferguson 1987:213).

Community work has always been a key characteristic of feminist organizing and has most often been done by women (Belenky et al. 1997; Collins 2000; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Hardy-Fanta 1993; Krauss 1994; Naples 1992; Robnett 1997; Stall and Stoecker 1998). Women have historically been involved in unpaid work within their churches, schools, and communities providing social services, education, and health care to their neighbors and beyond (Buechler 1990; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Krauss 1994; Naples 1992). Moreover, social movement scholars attentive to gender analyses have found that community work is the foundation of social movement action (Buechler 1990; Robnett 1997; Staggenborg 1998a; Stall and Stoecker 1998; Taylor 1999). While both men and women do contemporary community organizing, Stall and Stoecker (1998) argue that different gender structures influence the way women and men approach it. In their comparison between “Alinsky-style organizing”8 and “women-centered organizing” (or feminist organizing), Stall and Stoecker (1998) found that the Alinsky model reflects the experiences and interests of men emphasizing “self-interest, confrontation, professional organizers, and formal organizations” (Stall and Stoecker 1998:748). Alternatively, women-centered organizing emphasizes “relationship building, coactive power, indigenous organizers, and informal organizational structures” (Stall and Stoecker 1998:748) and that this model of organizing can build “relationships that can sustain a struggle over the long haul” (Stall and Stoecker 1998:749). Building off the work that informs Women’s Ways of Knowing (1986), Mary Belenky, Lynne Bond, and Jacqueline Weinstock (1997) explored several grassroots projects that women have created to bring excluded groups into voice and strengthen traditions of community. These “public homeplaces,” they argue, are places where everyone is expected to participate in developing a community that is more inclusive, nurturing, and responsive to the development of all community members, particularly those who have

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been excluded and silenced. Belenky et al. (1997) argue that women’s leadership practices are in sharp contrast to typical public leaders who organize their leadership around “paternal experiences” and instead emphasize developmental leadership, empowerment, and collaborative learning and action. Community outreach views community work as political and a key component in building a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network. Their bridge-building practices draw on feminist ways of organizing as they emphasize community building, collectivism, empowerment and caring in their work (Adamson, Briskin, and McPhail 1988; Alonso 1993; Belenky et al. 1997; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Martin 1990; Ostrander 1999; Polletta 2002; Weil 1986). Below I explore how community outreach members work in their own communities, illuminating the ways in which these members listen, dialogue, learn, and shift power, thereby opening the space for work across differences. Bringing More Voices to the Table Within this network women have expressed the sentiment that, based on their gendered experiences, they (in comparison to men) can more readily see the need for participatory, inclusive practices. Hence, the impetus behind community outreach’s focus on community organizing was to bring silenced voices into the peace movement—“to bring more voices to the table.” This involved more than just inviting people to meetings. Pam explains: You know we [whites] have this thing we do—we say “we invited them [people of color] but they didn’t come.” Yeah, well maybe it’s because of, a lot of time in meetings, white people dominate and take up too much share of space and they’re not sensitive to listening. If something doesn’t fit the way they think it should be, they just don’t even listen. Probably everyone is guilty of that, but in a racist society it matters even more when white people are doing it to people of color. [And later in the conversation] It’s funny, when we were organizing for [a particular campaign] it was just so hard sometimes, it was so hard talking across all those issues and interests and all the stuff that came up and it was so easy to do the things we were used to doing—let’s have a demo or a protest. It would have been easy, we know how to do that, we’ve done it over and over again. But you know it was really, really important that there was a bunch of people that said, “No, we can’t do that again. We have to do something different.” And so we did something different. And I feel excited about it because it’s a little shift. A shift in what we’re doing as a community, a shift in the way we work, and a shift of power. For once, it wasn’t the white people dictating the agenda. Maybe a model will come out of it and maybe people will notice the model. And that’s how things change. Now we’ve had some experience talking to each other. Maybe it will be a little bit easier next time we get together, and we’ll actually

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feel good about each other. This work is hard and time consuming but it needs to be done. (2004)

Listening. Dialoguing. Learning. Shifting power. Pam’s discussion highlights how feminist ways of organizing works to fracture power imbalances, build greater trust, and enhance the quality of relationships (Belenky et al. 1997; Collins 2000; Devault 1990; Fine, Weis, Weseen, Wong 2000; Mies 1983; Oakley 1998; Smith 1987). In Pam’s community group, she and her colleagues are nurturing relationships within the community by listening and dialoguing with their neighbors, learning about each other’s lives and issues, and seeking ways to collaborate on varying projects with the hope of creating an activist community; one that may consist of many organizations and groups, but all collaborating under a common vision. Feminist ways of organizing creates environments that are open and flexible and allow for a diversity of voices and perspectives to be heard. Dialoguing, Patricia Hill Collins (2000) states, “. . . implies talk between two subjects, not the speech of subject and object” (p. 260). As Pam mentions, there was a shift of power as whites dialogued with people of color, doing the listening instead of the majority of the talking. Dialoguing also involves an “ethic of caring” (Collins 2000) or “connected knowing” (Belenky, Clinchy, Goldberger, Tarule 1986; Belenky et al. 1997). Connected knowing is the understanding that knowledge comes from experience, and that in order to understand another person’s ideas, one must attempt to share the experience. For dialogue to occur, Collins (2000) contends, it is necessary for people to empathize with each other. Empathy begins with taking an interest in the facts of other people’s lives, both as individuals and as groups. If you care about me, you should want to know not only the details of my personal biography, but a sense of how race, class, and gender as categories of analysis created the institutional and symbolic backdrop for my personal biography. (Collins 2003:345)

In order to break down barriers and establish trust, people need to work toward shared understandings by respecting and valuing differences (Belenky et al. 1997; Bystydzienski and Schacht 2001; Collins 2000). Moreover, the process of empathic dialoging not only allows new ideas to develop, but results in “more powerful ways of knowing” (Belenky et al. 1997:8). “When diverse people collaborate on solving common problems, they see each other by looking at the issues from different angles. Individuals begin to realize they have a viewpoint and that their point of view is valuable” (Belenky et al. 1997:274). As Pam mentions, this is no easy task.

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There are many examples from my fieldwork where I witnessed members disregarding, or not considering, other people’s lived experiences, resulting in misunderstandings and the loss of potential relationships with people across class and racial boundaries. There are fewer examples of members who practice empathy in their dialoguing. Below is an example and excerpt of a conversation I was privy to between two community group members regarding the efficacy of protesting. Beth (white): “I’ve been struggling with the whole issue of protests lately. To me, these displays have become a controlled, orchestrated farce that have little effect, but that allow the government to say to the world, “see we have free speech here.” And the media does a lousy job of reporting the message. I don’t plan on going.” Carlita (Latina): “I understand how you feel. But what do we do? Not protest? If we do that then we send the message that we agree with Bush’s policies . . . The other thing is to get involved in individual actions that make a lot of noise but get us nothing. We need to bring more and more people out to demonstrate. If we don’t, we give up the right and THEY win.” Beth: “I’m not suggesting we do nothing. I spend a good deal of my time and energy organizing people to fight for their rights, but focused on a local level where I believe we have a greater chance of effecting change. Hopefully, once people are empowered locally, we will have a stronger movement that will eventually take on established power structures nationally. I’m not ruling out demonstrations. I think that they can be powerful. But I do think that the peace and justice movement needs to rethink its strategy to more effectively challenge not only the Bush regime, but also others that will follow. Organizing protests won’t cut it.” Carlita: “I agree. I not only go to demonstrations, I organize locally too. I speak out—one-to-one and on the radio. I have written letters to newspapers and I have written articles in newspapers. I will do everything to make a better world. I do not expect changes overnight. I know people have been fighting for a long time. I will be patient and I will keep on fighting everywhere and at all levels. Maybe our way of thinking is different because our lives are different. I have only lived in the United States for twenty years and I have only been able to vote since 1996. Before that I wasn’t a citizen. I know that people like me, a black, Latin American woman, did not always have rights. Too many people take rights for granted. I value my rights very, very much.” Beth: “You’re right. Maybe I’m approaching this from the perspective of a white woman. Although I don’t consider myself coming from an economically privileged background, having watched my mother struggle with poverty most of my life, I do understand that I have privileges that I probably take for granted. I appreciate that you want to use your hard-won freedom to protest. This is an issue

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I continue to struggle with. It sounds like you are doing a lot to make this a better world and I appreciate the dedication that this type of commitment takes. I think that we are working for many of the same goals, but that our strategies may be different. So I know that I’m taking a chance looking like a white elitist woman with nothing to lose, but I think that if this group is to thrive we have to be able to challenge each other to rethink our assumptions. I am trying to learn from everyone and I hope that this discussion has helped others to think through some of these issues as well.” Carlita: “I’m sorry. I don’t consider you an elitist. You are my sister in the struggle. I just think we need to fight for a better world at all levels—locally, nationally and globally. I also think we have to struggle in the streets, places of work, schools, and neighborhoods. We have to be involved in street action and in the voting booth. I simply don’t want to lose you from any area of struggle.” (Excerpts from field notes, August 2004)

Beth and Carlita’s conversation is an example of the process of connected knowing. Connected knowers display active listening (Devault 1990), seeking to understand how people build knowledge so one can begin to approximate another’s experience (Belenky et al. 1986, 1997). This process builds empathy and expands knowledge. It allows for the co-construction of meaning, the generation of connectedness, and the possibility of sharing standpoints with those who have different lived experiences. I offer this example because both Beth and Carlita, although not community outreach members, are bridge builders. Like community outreach members, they frequently engage with community members across racial and class differences, and attempt to build bridges between peace and justice groups and neighborhood advocacy groups. For example, Beth individually has forged relationships across racial and class differences, and has begun to have an impact on her community group’s agenda and practices. When I initially visited this community group at the outset of my research project, the majority of its members did not feel membership or issue diversity was important, they did not view community work as political, nor did they have relationships with any neighborhood group. During the course of this research, I began to see a shift taking place as community group members such as Beth began to influence the group’s agenda, practices, and beliefs and eventually establish some relationships across racial and class differences. I attribute this to Beth’s feminist ways of organizing and her efforts to initiate dialogues within the group in order to understand how and why people approach their work a certain way as well as how they understood their own privilege and how that may affect organizing. By focusing on “the problematic of everyday life” (Smith 1987), feminist community organizing can also allow people to begin to see the commonal-

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ity of their experiences within a larger social context (Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Krauss 1994; Naples 1992; Stall and Stoecker 1998). And this, in turn, can lead to the empowerment of individuals in making social change (Belenky et al. 1986, 1997; Collins 2000). Empowerment through consciousness raising is characteristic of feminist organizing efforts. Empowerment is a process of increasing personal, interpersonal, or political power so individuals can take action to improve their lives. Empowerment theory assumes that society consists of separate groups possessing different levels of power and control over resources. Recognizing the way in which power relationships affect daily reality and understanding how individuals can contribute to social change is the process through which empowerment takes place (Gutierrez and Lewis 1998:98–99).

One pertinent example is the way in which a particular community group engaged high school students in a counter–military recruitment campaign. (This campaign is discussed in chapter 4.) By dialoguing with youth in different venues about possible reasons for enlistment and the racialized and classed nature of military recruitment, this community group was able to forge a relationship with a prominent youth empowerment organization that essentially took over the development of the campaign and the task of doing outreach in the city’s high school system. Teams of students entered the school system and distributed flyers and postcards, developed by the community group, that informed youth on how to “opt out” if they did not wish to be contacted by the military. Moreover, the community group was able to link the war with what they called “the community reality.” The reality was that military recruiters were targeting low-income communities of color and making promises they did not intend to keep. Hence, the war was directly impacting the limited choices students felt they had in employment and higher education opportunities.

5 This network has yet to become a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network due to its exclusive practices and its failure to address the life experiences of people of color and the working and lower-income classes. Although the network consists of over five hundred actively engaged members,9 only a small percentage of those members practice feminist ways of organizing, and within those community organizations those members are marginalized. In order to fulfill its goal of creating a multi-racial, multi-class network, the community outreach committee needs more resources, support, and power in order to be more effective in influencing the network’s strategy, agenda, identity, and alliance building processes. Moreover, all members

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need to embrace a broader definition of peace work and must be committed to diversity in all aspects of work—in leadership positions, membership, and agendas. Viewing this network through a gendered lens illuminated the particular ways in which this network differentiates itself from the traditional peace movement, as well as unveiled the existence of two models of organizing operating within this network—an inclusive model and a neighborhood-based model. Although feminism shaped the development of this network, the inclusive model has retained many of the gendered practices of the traditional peace movement. While inclusive model members are attentive to the feminist principle of collectivism and profess a commitment to inclusivity, their ability to work across racial and class boundaries is limited by exclusive, rather than inclusive, organizing practices. Viewing power and privilege solely through a gendered lens can limit one’s ability to see beyond one’s own experience. Feminist ways of organizing embrace a broader understanding of power and privilege that can promote relationship building across racial and class differences. Hence while members of both models proclaim inclusivity, it is the neighborhood-based model that incorporates feminist ways of organizing into its practices. Bridge builders are a crucial component of feminist organizing as they can open segregated networks and lessen the power hierarchies that complicate cross-difference organizing. By acknowledging that community work is political work and the foundation of a sustainable movement, bridge builders broaden their understandings and are able to bridge the race/class divide. Empathic dialoguing, or connected knowing, helps build the understanding and trust required to foster relationships across differences. The following two chapters examine the differing organizing practices of these two models and the impact feminist ways of organizing has on building a multi-racial, multi-class network.

NOTES 1 As mentioned in the introduction, the traditional peace movement signifies the white, middle-class movement that is typically referred to as “the peace movement.” 2. Intersectionality is an “analysis claiming that systems of race, social class, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, nation, and age form mutually constructing features of social organization” (Collins 2000:299). Theorizing on intersectionality arose in the 1980s as feminists of color challenged research that universalized women’s experience, pointing to its failure to acknowledge how women’s experiences were simultaneously structured by race and class (Collins 1998, 2000; Crenshaw 1991; King 1988). 3. Susan Ostrander (1999) has examined a mixed gendered organization that is a self-identified feminist organization.

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4. I have chosen not to include quotes detailing the heated discussions as they were told to me “off the record.” 5. For an extensive review of the literature, see Acker 1990; Martin 1990. 6. Working committees usually consist of one representative from each of the community groups working on a single-issue campaign such the counter–military recruitment campaign. These committees have the autonomy to make decisions regarding collaborative community efforts. The community outreach meeting forum is a place where these working committees usually report their progress. 7. Here, the term community work is different from community organizing as all members within the network value organizing communities, but different groups approach the work differently. How they do so will be clarified in subsequent chapters. 8. Saul Alinsky developed one of the first models for building a base of power by organizing poor people. In 1940, Alinsky founded the Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF) that organizes people in lower-income and working-class neighborhoods. This mode of organizing is rooted in building community organizations that are focused on gaining power and resources for the local community. For an extensive description, see his Rules for Radicals (New York: Vintage Books, 1971) as well as Edward Chambers and Michael A. Cowan, Roots for Radicals: Organizing for Power, Action, and Justice (New York: Continuum, 2003). 9. Actively engaged members are members who consistently show up to community group meetings.

Chapter Three

Inclusive and Neighborhood-based Organizing Models

In this chapter, I operationalize both the inclusive and the neighborhoodbased models of organizing and demonstrate how groups of individuals within this network build agendas, construct action campaigns, and build relationships both within their own groups as well as within the larger community. Using actual practices I demonstrate how varying definitions of peace work influence the strategic choices groups make in selecting issues and organizing partners, and ultimately the progress they can potentially achieve in creating a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice movement. In order to protect the anonymity of individuals within community groups, I have chosen to describe the two models as archetypes bringing in actual practices from a number of community groups I have spent time with over the course of this fieldwork. While some community groups tend to follow the inclusive model and others the neighborhood-based, each group within the network tend to be heterogeneous with respect to its organizing model. This chapter specifically discusses the unique characteristics that differentiate the models: how peace work is defined; how alliances are built (for what purpose and with whom); and how relationships are built within groups.

DEFINING PEACE WORK What is peace work? Traditionally and historically, the West has described peace as an absence of violence; hence a definition of peace work is intimately related to an understanding of what constitutes violence (Rummel 1981). A narrow understanding of violence can be considered a negative peace, as opposed to an extended version or a positive peace—two concepts 41

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developed in the international peace and conflict literature (Galtung 1969). A negative peace defines violence in physical terms in relation to killing and war. A positive peace defines violence as psychological and structural. In discussing the concept of structural violence, Johan Galtung (1969) equates it to a social injustice. Galtung (1969) is explicit in his usage of the term social justice. One expression of what is meant by social justice is found in declarations of human rights, where a number of norms about equality are stated. However, they very often suffer from the deficiency that they are personal more than structural. They refer to what individuals can do or can have, not to who or what decides what they can do or have; they refer to distribution of resources, not to power over the distribution of resources. (p. 188)

Structural violence, he states, is “built into the structure and shows up as unequal power and consequently as unequal life chances” (Galtung 1969:171). Violence permeates our society, from the direct, physical violence of murder, assault and war to the equally perverted structural forms such as poverty and racism. Hence, individuals can experience harm as a result of inequitable social arrangements as well as overt, physical violence. Galtung (1969) argues that if violence is considered both individually and structurally, then a definition of peace should combine both the negative and positive definitions because an “extended concept of violence leads to an extended concept of peace” (p. 183). Hence, a peace and justice movement should structure its agenda around ending the physical violence of war as well as exposing and eradicating the structural oppressions that lie at the roots of war because the positive aspect of peace, or justice, cannot be separated from the negative. By naming themselves a peace and justice network, this network attempts to address both the negative and positive aspects of peace. Understandings of peace work vary along the spectrum from eliminating military intervention and nuclear proliferation programs to eradicating the structural oppressions that both drive war and are the consequences of war. However, as we will see later in this chapter and in chapter 4 conflict within the network on how peace work is conceptualized by different groups and individuals limits its efforts in addressing issues of peace and justice as well as building relationships across racial and class boundaries. Inclusive Organizing: Promoting an Anti-War Agenda Historically, the traditional peace movement has framed its agenda around a negative concept of peace (Chatfield 1992). From its inception in 1815, the movement’s framing of peace as ending warfare and promoting nonviolent

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methods to resolving conflict continued through World War II. With the advent of the Cold War, nuclear proliferation issues were added to the master frame of anti-war and nonviolence. Although the Vietnam War and Central American conflicts introduced a linking of war, human rights, and poverty issues during the 1970s and 1980s, the traditional peace movement’s primary frame was anti-interventionist (Marullo, Pagnucco, and Smith 1996). Today, and since the early 1990s, the traditional peace movement’s agenda primarily remains focused on anti-interventionism, nuclear arms control, and promoting alternative conflict resolution methods and institutions. The peace movement in the area where this study was conducted is rooted in Quakerism. The “Quaker peace testimony” focuses on ending violence by opposing military intervention as well as holding a strong commitment to nonviolence. As early as the seventeenth century, some Quakers worked with abolitionists, though their definition of peace work remained anti-war in nature, involving activities such as refusing to serve in the armed forces, seeking conscientious objector status, and advocating for disarmament and nonpayment of taxes (Brock 1990). Here in this city, the peace movement’s primary work continues to follow this narrow, or negative, definition of peace work. In my conversations with several leaders of the traditional peace movement (some involved in the network and others not) about their definition of peace work, they outlined their agenda as focused on ending U.S. military intervention and eliminating nuclear proliferation programs through legislative as well as nonviolent protest. The Quaker principles of nonviolence were quoted many times in our conversations as an example of bringing peace, ending war, through just means—getting people to adhere to nonviolent protest. When I asked them why this newer network was named a peace and justice network rather than a peace network, they indicated that the network should not call itself a peace and justice network. One leader in particular said, [The network] is really just an anti-war organization. They shouldn’t say they are more than that. Adding justice to its name is just a way to attract more people. (2004)

Similarly, network members practicing an inclusive model of organizing hold a narrow concept of peace and view the network as primarily an anti-war organization concerned with justice. Inclusive model members are primarily either working in traditional peace movement organizations or have had prior history with the traditional peace movement. Inclusive model members defined the concept of a peace and justice movement in three different ways:

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1. “It is a movement to end war and use legal, rather than violent, means to solve conflict therefore achieving justice legally.” (Freda 2004) 2. “It is a movement to end war and bring world peace and justice to those who have been victims.” (George 2004) 3. “It is a movement to end war which in turn will foster social justice here at home.” (Laura 2004) It is apparent that the first two definitions do not encompass Galtung’s definition of a peace and justice movement. The third mentions social justice, but remains rooted in a negative definition of peace work. “Justice on the side” is a term neighborhood-based model members use to describe the inclusive model way of thinking about peace work. In other words they argue that issues such as affordable housing and environmental justice are included on some agendas as a way to attract a more diverse population and are given less priority than anti-war activities. Peace work for inclusive model members is focused on lobbying politicians on legislative referendums against the Iraq war and its funding, bringing home the national guard, cutting the supply of troops, and working to enforce nuclear non-proliferation agreements. When discussing root causes of war, inclusive model members argue that U.S. foreign policy is a tool for maintaining an increasing polarized class system within the United States and around the world—an “us versus them” frame. This frame takes a single oppression approach to defining the roots of war as it posits class as a unifying identity—“we’re all in this together against the ruling class of elites,” and places ending the war against Iraq at the center of its action agenda. Since February 2005, the network has begun to devise a master frame around the concept of “empire building” defined as “U.S. global military and economic control of people and resources.” Interestingly this frame of empire building is similar to the frame utilized during the Vietnam period—“a great powers framework” (Marullo et al. 1996). In the 1960s, this frame attributed the cause of war to the United States, an imperialist nation striving to increase its power around the world; hence the movement’s framing of peace work was arms control and anti-interventionism (Marullo et al. 1996). The network’s frame is similar, but seeks to link issues of war and economic disparity. For inclusive model members this frame is a means for appealing to global justice activists and diverse populations. Inclusive model members use the empire frame to foster a commonality around an imagined class position. However, by promoting an “us versus them” analogy of why people need to join together, it ignores the differences between classes and races that can complicate cross-difference organizing. This issue is discussed further in chapter 5.

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For neighborhood-based model members the empire-building frame is interpreted differently as it has the potential to place social justice work at the center of the agenda and offers the opportunity for cross-difference organizing. However for various reasons, as I discuss in the next chapter, the network has not been able to devise a campaign to address the social justice component of this frame. Neighborhood-based Organizing: Linking Issues of Peace (War) and Justice In addition to Quakerism, this city also has a momentous history in abolitionism, and one peace movement organization that is affiliated with the network has historic ties to this work. As mentioned in the previous chapter, early in the nineteenth century many women began linking direct forms of violence to more structural forms such as patriarchy, poverty, and racism (Alonso 1993; BrockUtne 1985). Grounded in suffrage and abolitionism work, these women went on to build their own peace organizations such as the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF) that addressed both negative and positive definitions of peace. From the early 1900s through the 1960s, these peace activists opposed the traditional peace movement’s agenda and argued that ending war would not be enough to end structural violence against women and all people. By the 1970s women were linking “poverty, sexism, race-hatred, violence against women and children, ecological damage, and a myriad of other social, economic, and political ills with militarism, the nuclear arms race, and Cold War intrusions” (Alonso 1993:227). Although racism was addressed in these predominately white organizations’ mission statements, women of color began creating their own organizations, such as Women for Racial and Economic Equality (WREE), as they felt that the movement failed to address the real concerns of the poor and people of color. WREE “reflected a clear class- and race-consciousness unparalleled in the history of the women’s rights peace movement” (Alonso 1993:234) and linked issues of “racism, sexism, welfare reform, reproductive rights, child care, housing, health care, food and unemployment” all under the frame of peace work (Alonso 1993:234). With the end of the Cold War, many of these organizations disbanded and activists moved into an array of civil liberties, women’s rights, and poverty movements, leaving the peace movement with fewer than 14 percent of its organizations focused on a positive peace agenda (Marullo et al. 1996). Those practicing the neighborhood-based model of organizing exemplify this feminist history as they bring an expanded definition of peace to their work that brings an anti-war agenda together with action around issues of social justice such as hunger, housing, human rights, and education—linking

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both negative and positive peace definitions. For these individuals, a peace and justice movement is focused equally on ending the war in Iraq as well as ending structural oppression at home. Neighborhood-based model members agree with the class components of the empire building frame, but also point to the patriarchal and racist roots of American history that shape our foreign policy. For instance, when asked to describe her view of U.S. foreign policy, Gayle said, The war on Iraq is undoubtedly an attempt to dominate and control the Middle East . . . the world actually . . . to expand American control over the resources, markets, and labor of oppressed people throughout the world. U.S. foreign policy is imperialist . . . it’s striving for empire, but it’s also a direct result of the history of American racism . . . manifest destiny, slavery, and now we’re enslaving labor around the world. If we don’t acknowledge the racist roots of our history and our foreign policy, we will never achieve peace and justice. (2004)

For neighborhood-based model members, war is a result of both the structures of racism and classism; hence if the movement wants to end war, it needs to address both. The neighborhood-based model draws on a feminist holistic view of society and brings race and class analyses together in order to understand how wars abroad are linked with “wars at home.” Their agenda consists of inclusive model issues as well as addressing injustices in their respective communities. Working on justice issues is not viewed solely as a way to build their organizations or the movement, but a necessary step in changing both foreign and national policies. Gayle explains: Justice work is peace work, because ultimately unless the movement deals with oppressive institutional practices at home, there will always be another “justifiable” war. (2004)

In a conversation with two network members, Donna and Helen, I asked if they thought the peace movement, at any point in time, had been able to make structural change. They both answered no. Donna said, Look, if the peace movement just concentrates on cutting troops and cutting money and not address the reasons why we go to war, then we’ll just keep fighting the same battle for the next fifty years. (2005)

Helen agreed and added that, although all those things are important [the anti-war agenda] we need to do more . . . if you address why we don’t have affordable housing—racism, and why we

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don’t have health care—racism, and why people are homeless and starving— racism, and we get to see that racism is tied to how we structure our society and how we act around the world, then maybe war will stop. Calling yourself a peace and justice organization means nothing unless you back it up with work. It matters not just the words you use, but the actions that you do and whether or not you really are working in solidarity on justice issues for the sake of the issue, not just to build your organization. (2005)

Here, Helen is articulating the analysis that the inclusive model neglects. While neighborhood-based model members agree that U.S. foreign policy is shaped by the quest for economic and political power to profit the wealthy, they also acknowledge the role that institutional racism and white privilege play in shaping U.S. foreign policy. Neighborhood-based model members use the frame of empire building but recognize that the “us versus them” framework glosses over the class differences that make working across class difficult as well as how white privilege affects building relationships across racial differences. Moreover, Donna also raises a crucial point in that the network’s credibility rests on not how it frames its work, but rather on the actual work it does. Within the network, there is not a unified agreement on how to build a multi-racial, multi-class network. For those working with an expanded definition of peace, multiculturalism is a result of reaching out to others, diversifying their work, and successful alliance building. Inclusive model members also pursue alliance building, but view multiculturalism as the product of bringing in a diverse group of people to their organizations to support an antiwar agenda.

BUILDING ALLIANCES “We need to find ways to work with the community.” This phrase can typically be heard in any meeting, but what exactly does “work with the community” mean? In the local community group setting, community translates spatially into the immediate neighborhood. For those groups working predominately under the inclusive model, working with the community means engaging others in the neighborhood to join the anti-war agenda. Inclusive model members view themselves as separate from the community and look for ways to bring others into their organization—they call this practice “being inclusive.” Alliance building is a means for enlarging their organization and the anti-war movement, while those working within the neighborhood-based model approach things differently. Working with the community means learning what issues are key to neighborhood survival, and then

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searching for ways to link issues. This often involves “reaching out” to populations across racial and class differences. In communities where the population is 90 percent or more white and upper- to middle-class, “reaching out” often involves reaching across the boundaries of the local community. Working with the community means building alliances with others in order to create a larger activist community and allowing organization and movement building to happen organically. Broadly speaking, community translates spatially into people outside the circle of the white, middle-class peace movement. Inclusive model members look to entice other organizations and movements to work on an anti-war agenda; while neighborhood-based model members attempt to build bridges between organizations, issues, and movements that will sustain over time. In my conversations with network members about their thoughts on alliance building, I heard very different answers based on one’s understanding of peace work. What Is Alliance Building? The literature on community organizing defines coalitions as autonomous groups that come together around a single issue in order to achieve a particular goal; once that goal is reached, they often dissolve and return to their own agendas (Brown 1984; Roberts-DeGennaro 1997; Stevenson, Pearce, and Porter 1985). Alliance building, on the other hand, is “longerstanding and deeper, and built upon more trusting political relationships” (Albrecht and Brewer 1990:4). Feminist scholar Gail Pheterson (1990) defines alliance building as: knowledge of, respect for, and commitment between persons who are in essential ways different but whose interests are in essential ways akin. For dominant groups, alliance is a process of sharing power and resources with others in society in order to create structures equally responsive to the needs and interests of all people. This process requires giving up one’s drive to superiority, giving up one’s prejudices against others, and embracing a more flexible relation to oneself, to others, and to society as a whole. (p. 36)

By bringing together differing experiences and worldviews through alliance building, movements can come to understand how different types of oppression interact and this can lead to greater understandings of the complexity of social change. During the course of this fieldwork, the network held a number of educational (training) sessions for its members. In one particular session on building alliances, the facilitator’s initial question of “what is alliance building?” produced two different definitions.

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Alliance building is adding resources to your group to fulfill immediate needs. It might be with people we already have connections with like other anti-war organizations or it might be with people who can help us get the word out. Alliance building is something that happens naturally when doing work with others, work that is important to the community. It’s working together supporting each other’s objectives and adding resources to other organizations that need them. (Excerpt from field notes from an educational entitled “Building Alliances” February, 2005.)

These two responses represent the division within community groups and within the network as a whole. As the conversation unfolded, “getting the word out” was explained as getting other organizations to promote the network’s anti-war agenda. Conversely, “doing the work” was emphasized as a way to shift the network’s identity—that of a privileged, narrowly focused, peace movement. While those within the network agree that alliance building is vital to movement success and survival, there are disagreements on who to build relationships with and the process one should follow in doing so. This became more evident as the educational session continued. After defining alliance building, the thirty or so of us were asked to divide into small groups of about four to five people. Each group received six cards, each marked with a different action1: 1—contact group leaders 2—invite them to a meeting 3—show up at their meetings/events

4—work on issues that concern them 5—sponsor an event jointly 6—co-sponsor a campaign that’s vital to both groups

We were asked, as a group, to arrange the cards in a sequence that correlated with our idea of “how to build an alliance.” My group consisted of three other people. Two of us argued that we needed another card to begin the sequence: “find out what issues are important in the community” and then arranged the cards 3, 1, 4, 2, 5, 6. The remaining two people ordered the cards 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 4 and argued that we should be focusing our efforts on building alliances with people or groups who support the anti-war agenda. If we have time to work on their issues, then that would be acceptable. There were only a handful of other people in the room that ordered the cards similar to the 3, 1, 4, 2, 5, 6 arrangement. Reconvening as a larger group, we discussed the differences. As the room was heavily weighed with inclusive model members, there was some difficulty in explaining the minority viewpoint on alliance building. Hence, three individuals volunteered to recount their community group’s experiences with

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alliance building to better explain how they view the process and purpose of alliance building. Below is an excerpt from my field notes of one woman’s account; however, all three told similar stories. One thing we had going for us was that in our very first meeting, we said we wanted to be a peace group and we wanted to be multicultural because we live in a community that is multicultural. But we needed to figure out what peace work means in a multi-ethnic community. From the start we focused on the war at home. We asked—how is the war affecting our community? We worked at finding out what the major issues were in the community and who was working on them and then we looked for ways to support it and ways to broaden our agenda. So, our approach is to show solidarity with other groups and not draw energy from them. We support the work they are doing with money and with resources. This builds trust and when you are a predominately white organization, you need to build trust first. And in the following year we did two anti-racism trainings including one where we discussed how to become a more “multicultural competent” organization. These trainings and discussions actually brought more people of color across class into the group because they were interested in the trainings or they trusted us more because we were dealing with racism. (Excerpt from field notes from an educational entitled “Building Alliances” February, 2005.)

Inclusive model members were quick to point out that these three women not only lived in very diverse communities, but they also lived in communities where people of color were “organized.” “Not being organized” is seen as a major obstacle by some whites in building relationships across racial and class boundaries and was mentioned several times in interviews and group meetings. Not only do segregated social and political networks hinder the building of relationships across racial and class differences, but also the belief that people of color are not involved in political work. The neighborhood-based approach acknowledges that community work is political work and supports the strategy of bringing people together, not going into neighborhoods and “organizing people,” but rather sharing ideas so both groups can build stronger organizations and better networks. Respecting each other’s space is important in building trust and successful alliances. Many inclusive model members such as Gloria and Laura state that it is the job of the movement to “educate and organize the poor” because “they don’t have the time and we have to do the work for them” or “they don’t know what to do about these issues.” These patriarchal, racist, and classist beliefs are rooted in a very narrow view of both peace and political work shaped by privilege. In chapter 5, I discuss how a culture of privilege greatly affects the possibility of building alliances across differences.

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Inclusive Organizing: “Bringing In” and Building the Organization “We’re being inclusive.” Those practicing the inclusive model call for diversifying the peace movement by “bringing in” people of color and workingclass and lower-income populations. As suggested above, many inclusive model members see alliance building with working-class/lower income populations and people of color as the politically correct thing to do. The goal for inclusive model members is to build a diverse, unified peace organization of “like-minded” people focused on anti-war issues. When asked what “likeminded” meant, similar responses were given: “people who have worked or are working in the peace movement,” “people who are committed to nonviolence,” “people who are doing political work like us,” and “people that think like us.” These groups typically build their agendas in isolation from other groups and then bring the campaigns to the community in the hopes of attracting a more diverse membership. Inclusive model members define alliance building as a process that involves: “contacting groups that are already doing similar peace work and joining forces,” “contacting groups that may not be doing peace work and convincing them to join you,” and “organizing people of color and working-class and lower income people who are not active around anti-war issues.” “Like-minded people” then are people who subscribe to a negative definition of peace and who are willing to assimilate into the organization. The process of alliance building may involve going to other groups’ meetings or events, cosponsoring an event, or donating money, but all for the purpose of bringing in more people to your organization. As evidenced in the training session, inclusive model members such as Gloria argued that the movement “should be focusing our efforts on building alliances with people or groups who support the anti-war agenda in order to build our organizations and the movement.” Neighborhood-based Organizing: Building Community, Building a Movement “We need to reach out.” Those practicing the neighborhood-based model feel strongly that working across racial and class boundaries is the only way to

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achieve peace and justice and that “reaching out and crossing movements and issues is the only way to do it.” Neighborhood-based model members are aware that in order to end war, the roots of war must be addressed and war, they argue, is rooted in patriarchy and racism, as well as classism. Diversity is seen as a necessity in not only enlarging the peace and justice movement, but also, as the woman from the educational stated, a critical component in providing different filters from which to view your work, your goals, strategies, and tactics. We’re more clearly able to see how to link issues about war and social justice issues now and we approach our work differently. (2005)

The neighborhood-based model values the feminist principle of community building and calls for the building of activist communities, not solely an organization. Its definition of alliance building is to work with both those involved in anti-war work as well as with others outside traditional peace work. Neighborhood-based model members have an understanding of peace work as intertwined with justice work and continue to look for ways to broaden agendas. Building alliances requires “reaching out and understanding your neighbors and their issues;” “building bridges by doing work together;” “sharing power and resources;” “taking leadership from others,” but also “respecting each other’s space in wanting to retain one’s own organization.” The community is viewed as a resource to be appreciated, not something to be harvested. They place an importance on developing relationships as a means to building trust and sustained collective action. They ask: “what are other groups doing and how can we support them?” When considering actions, they ask: “does this serve the goal of building alliances across racial and class differences?” If the answer is no, they rethink it. The building of a diverse organization becomes the product of successful alliance building. In another conversation with Helen, she explained, [Diversity] is not just about diversifying your organization [to have people of color in it] but also to do work that is important in the community. Only then will there be a joining of efforts . . . we can’t expect people of color to come and work in our organization or on our issues. Let’s try working on their issues and not just to get more diverse people in our organization. That’s not the point . . . to make our organization diverse. The point is to do the work . . . make the work all of our work and do the work that addresses the issues people are fighting for and then people will join together. Most people in this [movement] just don’t get that there’s a war at home right here and bringing the troops home from Iraq isn’t going to change a damn thing. (2005)

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The neighborhood-based model’s understanding of building community resonates with the idea of a social movement community (Buechler 1990; Staggenborg 1998; Taylor and Whittier 1992), a concept utilized by some social movement theorists when examining the structure and culture of a movement. Steven Buechler (1990) defines a social movement community as “consisting of informal networks of activists with fluid boundaries, flexible leadership structures, and malleable divisions of labor” (p. 42). Movement communities can consist of both formal and informal organizations as well as individuals and cultural groups. Community is not territorial in a fixed location as much as it is about social networks that are connected to each other in various ways. Individuals practicing neighborhood-based organizing view community as both fixed and fluid. When stepping out of the community group setting and into a larger venue such as a community brunch or conference, discourse around community takes on a broader meaning moving from the fixed, spatial location of a neighborhood to a more fluid narrative. While inclusive model members view working with the community as working with “likeminded people” such as across community groups within the network or across the peace movement, neighborhood-based model members refer to alliance building as working across diverse movements and diverse populations, thereby creating an increasingly, larger, networked activist community—a social movement community. Those practicing the inclusive model believe in the possibility of creating a unified activist community around an anti-war agenda. This may involve working with people already under the anti-war agenda or bringing people into the framework. Neighborhood-based model members question the simplicity of this thinking as it can potentially ignore differences like racism and classism within communities and alienate potential allies. Building a multi-racial, multi-class movement involves letting groups express autonomy and, as the woman from the educational said, by showing “solidarity with other groups and not draw energy from them.” Gina elaborates: In our work and our desire to work with others we always make sure we know what’s going on there first. What I mean is we want to make sure what we do complements or adds to what they are already doing. We don’t want to mess up their agenda or counter it or try to change it. Our job is to go in there and offer our resources and people power. What are they doing? Do they need something we have? That’s how we approach things. (2005)

An interesting question was posed to me during an interpretive focus group2 where I was presenting some of my data concerning the two models.

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One woman asked, “what if you’re working in a community that is not diverse by race or class? In other words, if the population of the community is all white and all upper to middle class, does that mean we’re considered inclusive model?” I honestly had not considered that dynamic (and I said so), as I had been focusing on groups and individuals that had the opportunity to work across racial and class differences. I posed the question to the group, which provoked some interesting discussion about the models. In particular, one woman from a predominately wealthy, white neighborhood offered her understanding of how her group worked within the neighborhood-based model. An excerpt from my field notes: Diane’s understanding of how the neighborhood-based model applies to [her group] is interesting. She considers most of her group neighborhood-based because they seek out different organizations within their community to partner with on peace issues. She gave an example. The community is very environmentally aware and active. This community has a history of toxic pollution both in the land and in the water. The cause—the production of weapons for the military. Diane’s community group [in her words] “has reached out to these environmental groups” and forged a relationship that addresses the community’s concerns about the environment with the larger issue of U.S. intervention—“broadening the definition of peace work and building alliances across issues.” So, the environmental group frames their work to include the war and the “peace” group frames their work to include the environment. This reminds me of the collaborations Fred Rose speaks about between labor and environmental groups. How does this further or complicate my thinking about the model? Do you need to be working across racial and class differences in order to be considered neighborhood-based organizing? (Excerpt from field notes, interpretive focus group, February, 2005)

This type of organizing does embrace the principles of the neighborhood-based organizing model. It does broaden the definition of peace work and it does build relationships across issues and movements. Moreover, this community group is linking local and global concerns. While this type of organizing does not build relationships across racial and class differences, it does offer diverse communities an example of the process entailed in building an activist community. Building a multi-racial, multi-class movement requires, as Pam stated, “developing a shared vision and goals, but differences need to be acknowledged and worked through in order to reach that vision and achieve those goals.” I am not convinced that the network shares a vision. Although it is attempting to create unity through its membership principles, its empire-building frame, and the Iraq campaign, the network’s unity building efforts have been criticized by neighborhood-based model members for working to create a commonality without acknowledging the differences that keep people apart.

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WHO ARE WE? Collective Identity/ies Collective identity is an important theme in the social movement literature as it represents the glue that holds a social movement together (Gamson 1991, 1992; Melucci 1989, 1994, 1995; Taylor and Whittier 1992). On the collective level, identity work involves determining what it means to be a member of a particular group. For movement theorist Alberto Melucci (1995), collective identity is, “an interactive and shared definition produced by a number of individuals concerning the orientations of their action and the field of opportunities and constraints in which such action is to take place” (p. 44). By interactive and shared, Melucci (1995) means that collective identity is constructed and negotiated through a relational process that involves communication and emotional investment. People need to feel a bond with others in order to make sense of what they are doing. Melucci (1995) states that in order to be successful a group must define itself and develop shared views, goals, and opinions about the possibilities and limitations of collective action. Without collective identity, a group cannot accomplish any collective action. William Gamson (1992) adds that collective identity concerns, “how an individual’s sense of who they are becomes engaged with a definition shared by co-participants in some effort at social change—that is, with who we are” (p. 55). Furthermore, the construction of collective identity can occur on three layers: organization, movement, and at the solidarity level, constructed around a common social experience for instance (Gamson 1991). Gamson (1991) suggests that not only must a movement make the construction of collective identity one of its central tasks if it hopes to sustain commitment, but also that activists must make that collective identity part of their personal identity. “The most powerful enduring collective identities link solidarity, movement, and organizational layers in the participant’s sense of self” (Gamson 1991:41). Social movement theorists argue that essentialist notions of identity are no longer valid in today’s world, and view identity as rooted in alternative community rather than location in a structural system of oppression (Buechler 2000; Castells 1983; Melucci 1994; Tarrow 1998). “The main actors within the system are no longer groups defined by class consciousness, religious affiliation, or ethnicity, but potentially individuals who strive to individuate themselves by participation in, and giving meaning to, various forms of social action” (Melucci 1989:185). Differences, they argue, can be overcome by participating in a movement defined by its alternative culture, with an emphasis on democracy, anti-hierarchical structures, and direct participation (Buechler 2000; Castells 1983; Melucci 1994; Tarrow 1998).

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Feminist standpoint theorists3 agree with social movement theorists on their view of essentialism, but add that identity and experience varies along the dimensions of gender, race, and class and that the interconnectedness of these structures act as multiple sources of oppression that can affect movement participation and dynamics (Baca Zinn and Thornton Dill 1994; Collins 2000; Crenshaw 1991; Giddens 1984; King 1988). It is this multiplicity of intersecting identities that has led these theorists to question the viability of a unified collective identity. Standpoint theorists ask us to move beyond the notion of a unified actor, and examine the multiplicity of intersecting identities and how this affects the micro dynamics of social movements. Paula Moya (1997) builds on standpoint theory and calls for a realist theory of identity to help alleviate conflicting loyalties and intra-group tensions. Moya (1997) defines a realist identity as one that links social location, history, and experience and argues that the multiplicity of one’s identity is mediated through the interpretation of one’s experience (Moya 1997). In other words, a realist theory of identity claims that our social location is causally linked to how we experience life and that this experience is relational and grounded in historically produced relations of domination. Our experiences within this structure influence the formation of our identity, and this identity may shift over time and place as we mediate our experiences (Moya 1997). Hence, it is not the experience of social location alone that will be a catalyst for organizing, but the interpretation of experience within a collective context that will both empower and unite people toward collection action. This process of interpreting experience in a collective context is what many feminist theorists define as developing a “shared standpoint” (Collins 2000; Harding 1991; Smith 1987). Moreover, a realist theory of identity makes it possible for individuals with different histories and social locations to create shared standpoints. Melucci (1995) also stresses that building a collective identity is a process, not a reified thing, as it is continually constructed and reconstructed through interaction. Therefore in order to understand collective identity, one must investigate not just the content of such an identity, but the processes through which it is constituted. Disengaging itself from under the direct supervision of the traditional peace movement, this network began its journey in creating a newer version of the peace movement. However, defining the “we” has become problematic for the network due to differing views on peace work and alliance building. I spent many hours observing “identity talk” (Hunt and Benford 1994) among network members in various sites from member-wide conferences, local community group settings, listserv conversations, public forums, and interpretive focus groups in order to learn how people were making meaning and constructing definitions of their work and themselves. Drawing on the insights

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from both movement and feminist theorists, I was attentive to the variety of “identity practices”4 (Kurtz 2002) differing groups engaged in to make sense of their work and the relationships with each other. Inclusive Organizing: Unity, Then Diversity “Unity, then diversity” was a theme that arose quite often in various settings. Inclusive model members value unity over diversity and support guidelines that define who’s in and who’s out; an exclusive way of defining an organization, but a way to build strong ties between existing homogeneous members. For instance, several members I spoke with indicated that only individuals or groups that were willing to accept the code of nonviolent protest would be allowed to join. Some mentioned that they would only consider working with people that shared their political viewpoint on issues such as the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. Others avoided contacting groups unless those groups were already involved in anti-war work. As Gary states below, expanding the agenda to include a diversity of issues is not a consideration unless it is necessary to entice new members and enlarge one’s organization. I agree that diversity is a good goal . . . but my idea for the membership committee would be first to just “get organized” so we can communicate better with the people we’re already in touch with, and then eventually figure out some general ways to do some outreach to increase participation in our activities and enlarge our group. (2005)

Community groups publicize their identity in written form through newsletters, websites, and/or brochures often detailing a mission statement, “what we’re for” principles, as well as campaigns. Many groups hold open houses or educationals where the group’s identity is presented in presentations and informal conversations. One group has formal business cards. Hence, the process of building a collective identity for inclusive model members is an additive model—new members are expected to assimilate into the existing organization’s values, beliefs, and agenda. This process works nicely for those who share a similar worldview. But for those who may have different lived experiences, the process can be extremely exclusionary. The following are reflections from Louisa about her experiences working in a community group that is a predominately inclusive model. I’m just so frustrated because people don’t talk about issues, they just take a firm political stance on an issue and won’t talk about it. They need to stop quibbling about minor things like how to run a meeting and the structure and focus on what really matters. But I guess, I think they don’t really care why other people

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think differently, they just want to know do you agree or not. And if you don’t, well . . . When I see their resistance to accept different views it doesn’t leave me too much hope. That’s why if I stay in some capacity, I won’t throw my heart and soul into it. I’ll suggest things and bring things up, but I need to take a step back. (2004)

Louisa’s comments mirror the alienation neighborhood-based model members have expressed in working within groups that are predominately inclusive model. Additionally, as inclusive model members represent the majority of the activists within this network, they hold more decision-making power both within community groups and within the larger network. Thus, many neighborhood-based model members expressed feelings of marginalization. This obviously causes conflict, but also ambiguity about the network’s identity. There is also much time and effort placed upon discussing the structure of the group. This is true for community groups across models, but in inclusive model groups the discussion often dominates the agenda in every meeting. For instance, in a sampling of thirty documents of meeting minutes for a community group where inclusive model members are the majority, a discussion on structure appeared in each one. Moreover, the structure discussions differ depending on the organizing model. Inclusive model members converse about documenting processes for how to plan an event; how to take minutes; and whether or not to have separate meetings for “organizing” and “recruiting.” Neighborhood-based model members prefer to raise issues about how the committee will work (who will serve and whose needs will it serve); how decision-making positions can be rotated; and how to format meetings so they are more participatory and welcoming to community members. Gary, an inclusive model member, and Wendell, a neighborhood-based model member, share their differing views on how to do the latter. In my opinion, our work can be separated into two categories—action and education. My feeling is that we need to have two separate meetings. One where we conduct business and get things done and another where new people can come and get educated. So, we can have speakers and such talking about the war. The more we educate, the more we can get people to participate in the action side of our work. Some people need to learn more about the issues or are looking for a place to connect with like-minded people. The educationals can also be a place for announcements and project reports but most importantly a place to find people to help with these things. (Gary 2005) When people show up to your meetings, they have to understand, they have to see themselves in your meetings. What that means is that sometimes peace activists talk about their own process, their business, and every organization goes

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through this, and that’s a very internal sort of process. That’s not something an outsider is going to be able to just walk in and see themselves as a part of. . . . But if you have a meeting where you’re talking about the community and trying to find out what the issues are, that’s like an explicit thing and people who are interested can show up and immediately feel like part of the action. So, you have to make meetings more inviting and more open to people. We want people to come in and say wow, I like this group and want to be a part of it. (Wendell 2005)

Many community groups practicing an inclusive model of organizing reaffirm their identity through weekly vigiling and participating in mass protests with other network community groups. Below Olivia remarks on the role of vigiling in her group. Vigiling is a shared experience. It’s important to connect with people passing by, but more importantly it’s a time to be quiet and think about why you are here, and why you [the people in this group] stay together. It’s a shared experience for all of us. The solidarity we have created goes beyond anything I ever could have imagined. (2004)

Others voice similar reflections and the importance of vigiling weekly to strengthen their commitment to the movement and each other. While vigiling is a means to increase the visibility of the group within the community, it is more about building bonds between group members. Neighborhood-based Organizing: Negotiating Identity While an alternative culture can foster a sense of belonging and empowerment for some, attempting to construct a collective identity (or shared standpoint) across racial and class differences requires much more. When working across differences, the process of building a collective identity shifts. Because the neighborhood-based model has an expanded definition of peace and works to build community, it allows for a more flexible identity. Collective identity shifts with membership and principles are defined broadly to accommodate new issues and frames that are often negotiated and revised as new members join and new alliances are made. Rather than defining a collective identity to which members are expected to adhere, neighborhood-based model members draw on their agenda as “a jumping-off point” and negotiate both an agenda and an identity. What is more is that the process of building a collective identity often translates into the building of collective identities. In other words, some community groups provide the space for members to create sub-groups. These groups organize around common definitions of peace work and are able to

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build campaigns, but also have the opportunity to feel part of a larger group and a larger movement. The creation of these sub-groups alleviates some of the tension between inclusive and neighborhood-based model members, and still fosters the building of organizational, movement, and solidarity levels of identity (Gamson 1991). Within these sub-groups, collective identity is still negotiated, especially within diverse groups. Shared standpoints are also created within the community group between sub-groups that provide avenues for convergence around various issues. Here, we can see how a network structure can provide similar opportunities for various forms of identity building. I discuss this further in the conclusion of this book. Vigiling is also practiced by neighborhood-based model members, but members offer a different reasoning for doing so. Vigiling is a way to get to know the community. When you are out there in the neighborhood talking to people, you know, you start building organic ties. You start finding out who people are and what they are doing. And if you really listen to their views and why they think a certain way, you can begin to see how to link your issues together. Vigiling is a great way to get to know your community. (Gina 2004)

Other practices involve learning the languages and histories of the varying groups in the community; attending other groups’ meetings, celebrations, events, and actions; and developing a shared language by “dialoguing” about issues to find common ground. Dialoguing is a common theme raised by all those practicing the neighborhood-based model. As mentioned in chapter 2, dialoguing about people’s lives and differences and addressing concerns are seen as key to building trust and deeper bonds. Dialoguing occurs both on the street while vigiling, in meetings, and in one-on-one informal conversations. Unlike the inclusive model that prefers to shelve issues that divide groups, neighborhood-based model members listen in order to understand and gain insight into the beliefs and concerns of others. By embracing different experiences, frames, and issues, members are able to create shared understandings that allow for negotiation of commonality. For instance, in one community group meeting I attended there was a discussion around the impending draft. The majority of members (inclusive model) argued that the group must oppose the draft; while a minority of members (neighborhood-based model) argued that the group should support it. Helen recounted the meeting in a subsequent interview. instead of debating whether the group should oppose or support the draft, the group should have dialogued about how the draft might affect different people in the room and in the community. We should have asked questions like:

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“what implications would a draft have on these populations and what goals might opposing or supporting the draft achieve?” No, instead we argue and get nowhere. To me, dialogue is much more useful than debate. We should be looking to shift communication and relationships not beliefs by constructively dialoguing and collaborating. Dialoguing can reveal new ways of thinking about things, reveal new information about the complexity of an issue. (2004)

Louisa furthered my understanding of how neighborhood-based model members build common ground on such a divisive issue as the draft. Louisa: “We need to work out our differences, but remember we have the same goal and then figure out what we can do to achieve that goal but at the same time . . . at the same time we are okay with the fact that people have different positions.” Deb: “So how did you handle that example you gave me?” [the polarization on the draft] Louisa: “We took the time to actually listen to why some people were all about taking action [against the draft] and why others didn’t want to before we decided what the group position would be. And we ended up agreeing that the draft was something we should oppose because it removes choice from people but we also agreed that we would discuss the racist and classist implications of it at the same time. This seemed to bring people together and it also . . . personally, it also opened my eyes to a different way of thinking about the issue.” (2004)

Another common theme related to dialoguing is “bringing it to the table.” This practice involves encouraging open dialogue about a multiplicity of issues whether it seems to “fit the agenda” or not. By discussing every member’s interest, this provides support and encouragement for leadership and consideration of diverse issues and opportunities for linkages. An example is a poverty march one community group participated in that enabled them to not only build a relationship with a large, local community organization, but also provided an avenue for linkage later in a protest against the Iraq war. Donna tells it like this: So, one of our members brought this to our attention and thought it was something she wanted to do. She wanted to take the lead on it and we supported her and got people up there. That’s sort of how we work. (2005)

Two years later, the bonds between this community group and the poverty group continue to strengthen as they have collaborated on an affordable housing campaign that links military spending with decreasing community resources.

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By having personal conversations about racism, classism, and sexism and sharing life stories and cultures, members are able to build deeper trust. Pam recounts an episode which if left ignored could have destroyed a potentially successful alliance with a community of color. Yeah, there’s hard moments. I remember one meeting, I had written up this whole thing and I used the words, I said something like I want our [deleted identifier] organizing to forward a peace and justice agenda. Sounds fair enough doesn’t it? Peace and justice. That’s what white people say, so we had to stop the meeting. I’m there going, okay, you’re saying I can’t use the word peace? And I felt irritated, like come on, we can’t use the word peace? But basically the point was that’s a flag for people. It just means lots of white people and that’s what they do. And so we really had to stop. And I had to just shut up and really listen to what this person was saying. This person was saying, what I just said that this was a flag and you shouldn’t frame it that way. And I said well how do we frame it then? And then we came up with a whole different frame thing, and we didn’t use the word peace . . . and really, that’s just a minor example. It really matters the words you use, but also whether or not you really are working in solidarity on justice issues . . . So clearly anti-racism work is a huge component [of multicultural organizing] and we need to do better. We need to integrate anti-racism in everything we do. (2004)

While doing work across differences is time consuming, members feel it is worth it. We struggle with how to do things and build linkages with the community. Trying to come up with creative ways to create those linkages . . . I think that the multicultural . . . I think looking at our actions through that lens [looking at the issues you’re working on and seeing if they are building relationships and serving the needs of the community] is really important and helpful to us. (Wendell 2005)

One community group in particular draws on the concept of “multicultural competence” (Kivel 2002) to evaluate their effectiveness in working across difference. Multicultural competency is “the ability to understand another culture well enough to be able to communicate and work with people from that culture” (Kivel 2002:226). [It’s] “looking at competence not the color of your skin of your members. It’s knowledge, understanding and, you know, acceptance and interest in other cultural groups. (Pauline 2005)

Members who become multicultural competent have a broader and more accurate view of the world and they are able to really work with others on an equal level (Kivel 2002). Cultural competency is:

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a process of learning about and becoming allies with people from other cultures, thereby broadening our own understanding and ability to participate in a multicultural process. The key element to becoming more culturally competent is respect for the ways that others live in and organize the world and an openness to learn from them. (Kivel 2002:227)

Inclusivity becomes not “tokenism” or “assimilation,” but rather true cooperation and equal participation. This requires constant negotiation of the group’s identity.

5 Although both models differ from the gendered model of organizing of the traditional peace movement, the inclusive model continues to exclude experiences that differ from the white, middle-class perspective. While the inclusive model supports a participatory, non-hierarchical structure, its definition of peace work remains narrow and its approach to alliance building excludes differing racial and class experiences. Although both models claim a commitment to inclusivity, the process of building an inclusive environment differs for inclusive and neighborhood-based model members. Inclusive model members view difference as divisive; hence, building a collective identity becomes a process of assimilation. Commonality is not achieved, but rather pre-defined based on the life experiences and worldviews of the dominant members—white, middle class. This process results in a strong collective identity between homogeneous members, but is problematic for groups striving to “become diverse.” In many of my interviews and conversations, I asked members to reflect on the relationships they were building with others in the network. One member, Donna, said, We come together every week, but really what do we know about each other. We came here to work on peace issues, but what does that mean exactly? Stop the Iraq war? Is it more than that? What do people here think about different political issues? We don’t even know each other. Where have we come from and where are we going? (2005)

Neighborhood-based model members, on the other hand, value difference and attempt to construct a commonality from a point of difference. Through its feminist ways of organizing, a sense of commonality is constantly negotiated. While the process is more time-consuming, it results in deeper bonds and trust building. Rather than one unified collective identity, the neighborhoodbased model builds many collective identities that link across shared standpoints within and between groups.

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Varying definitions of peace work influence the strategic choices groups make in selecting issues and organizing partners, how relationships are built within groups, and ultimately the progress this network can potentially achieve in creating a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network. The existence of two differing models of organizing creates conflict within community groups, within leadership structures, and generally within the network. One prime example of how these two models differently approach peace work, alliance building, and identity construction is exemplified in the network’s counter–military recruitment campaign. The following chapter further examines the two models of organizing through the lens of this campaign (as well as the Fund Justice campaign) and evaluates the viability and sustainability of the network as a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network.

NOTES 1. The facilitator was a neighborhood-based model member. 2. For more information on interpretive focus groups, see appendix 1 as well as Dodson and Schmalzbauer 2005; Dodson, Piatelli, and Schmalzbauer 2006, 2007. 3. Feminist standpoint theory is a unique philosophy of knowledge building that challenges us to see and understand the world through the experiences of the oppressed and apply that vision and knowledge to social change. 4. Kurtz (2002) defines identity practices as “a range of social practices by movements which can have significant collective identity implications.” These practices include issue formulation, framing of the issues and the movement, the nature of alliances, and organizational structures and practices.

Chapter Four

Bringing the Pieces Together Evaluating the Models

When you’re a neighborhood peace group there is always going to be this tension between the kind of people who want to focus on the issues related to war . . . what people see as sort of a peace agenda and what other people see as more of a peace and justice agenda. (Peter 2005)

This chapter further examines the inclusive and neighborhood-based models of organizing and evaluates the viability and sustainability of the network as a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network. There are three major areas of conflict within the current membership—how peace work is defined; how alliances are built (for what purpose and with whom); and how relationships are built within groups. These conflicts occur on various levels within the network: within and between the leadership structures; between community groups and the leadership structures; and within and between community groups. While the inclusive model’s strength is its ability to build unity among homogeneous groups and reach a number of short-term goals around an anti-war agenda, it is an impediment to creating a multi-racial, multi-class network due to its inability to build long lasting relationships across diverse populations and movements. In a network that aims to create a multi-racial, multi-class movement, one would expect race and class to be at the forefront of its agendas and discussions and addressed in its organizing practices. As my field notes illustrate below, this most often is not the case. In a diverse inner-city neighborhood, a group of peace and justice activists gather on a rainy Monday evening in a local community center to talk about ending the war in Iraq. Although predominately white and middle-class, the group has gradually become more diverse as has its agenda since its inception a 65

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year ago. Tonight, there is talk of creating a multi-cultural competence committee to evaluate the effectiveness in working across racial and class boundaries. An outsider venturing into this meeting may think he/she wandered into the wrong room as conversations about finding youth summer employment and helping out the local teen center with its annual conference on youth empowerment dominate the discussions. However, if one were to linger more than a few minutes, he/she would quickly learn that the group is crafting a campaign to counter military recruiting in its local high schools. Race and class are clearly visible in the conversations as they debate how best to support efforts to address the inequalities evident in their neighborhood that push youth into choosing military service. Forty miles northwest of this metropolitan city, another group of peace and justice activists within the same network meet on a Sunday afternoon in a conference room of a community development organization within their city. The group’s majority members are also white and middle-class; yet unlike its innercity counterpart, the membership is not becoming representative of the community’s diverse population. They too are working on a counter–military recruiting campaign, but the discussions differ. Conversations center on cutting the supply of troops by raising awareness about the immorality of U.S. intervention and the accelerating polarization of class within the United States and around the world. Building alliances with school administrators to gain equal access to local high schools to protest military recruiting and enlighten youth about the myths of military service are the focus of this campaign. Here, race and class are invisible both in how they define the work and goals, as well as how and with whom to build alliances. (Excerpts from field notes, February, 2005)

The above excerpts illustrate how varying levels of discourse about race and class among groups within this network affect how this counter–military recruitment campaign is defined and run. In the first section of this chapter, I introduce the network’s counter–military recruitment campaign and detail how these two community groups (with similar community demographics) differently approach their organizing under one campaign. By focusing on a single campaign rather than comparing agendas of the two community groups, I was better able to view the distinct differences in how the two models operate. Through the lens of one campaign, I was able to observe how differing definitions of peace work affect how each group approaches framing the issue, defining the goals, building alliances, and forging relationships across differences (Keck and Sikkink 1998). In the second section, I draw on the Fund Justice1 campaign to illustrate the broader impact model conflict has on the network. In the concluding section, I argue that despite its critics, the neighborhood-based model holds the most potential for broadening the peace movement and creating a peace and justice movement that works across racial and class differences.

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THE COUNTER–MILITARY RECRUITMENT CAMPAIGN “Campaigns are sets of strategically linked activities in which members of a diffuse principled network develop explicit, visible ties and mutually recognized roles in pursuit of a common goal” (Keck and Sikkink 1998:7). In order for an issue to become a campaign within a social movement network, there must be a core group of individuals who will take the responsibility of mobilizing groups, connecting groups to each other, providing resources and materials, conducting public relations, and consciously seeking to develop a common frame of meaning (Keck and Sikkink 1998). The network’s counter–military recruitment working group serves these functions and consists of individuals representing each of the community groups working on the campaign as well as representatives from American Friends Service Committee (AFSC) and Military Families Speak Out (MFSO). The working group consists of both inclusive and neighborhood-based model members; however, the core group that is responsible for directing and coordinating the campaign is heavily inclusive model based. Report-back meetings are held monthly and serve as a means to share ideas, materials, successes, and failures, as well as solicit input from community groups on strategies and tactics. The working group is responsible for planning, mobilizing, and supporting efforts to “challenge the growing presence and aggressive tactics of military recruiters in our schools and towns” (Listserv message posted to counter_recruiting group, March 30, 2005). This purpose statement was the result of intense debate between community groups. Although somewhat vague, this agreed-upon broad frame allows each community group to tailor strategies and tactics to fit its own community needs and organizing approach. Constructing an account of the origination of the campaign involved interviewing a number of those involved early on in the work. I also attended several of the initial working group meetings, participated in the core group for several months building a database of materials and resources, and reviewed listserv data over a period of at least fifteen months. Work on counter–military recruitment occurred sporadically throughout the network from the summer of 2004 until early 2005. In February 2005, one community group, desiring to become involved in the work, initiated a working group meeting with representatives from six community groups to develop an action plan for a network-wide campaign, initially called “the anti-recruitment campaign.” Staff members from AFSC and MFSO were in attendance as well. This campaign became a key focus of the annual network-wide strategy conference in 2006. To date over a dozen community groups within the network are actively involved in counter–military recruitment work.

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Much debate between the two model orientations ensued during the initial working group session on how to frame this work, define the goals, strategies and tactics as well as define when and how the campaign would build alliances across racial and class boundaries. Excerpts from my field notes of the first working group meeting (names deleted) recount this debate: Everyone in the room agreed that one common goal was to cut the supply of troops for the Iraq war. However, a number of people felt the group needed to also focus on exposing the myths of the military, educating youth and letting them make their own informed choices. Also, the importance of working on finding alternative resources for youth other than military service was raised as being a key component. These individuals felt that their success with this work was dependent on addressing these issues. Without offering youth alternatives, it would be difficult to engage youth across racial and class differences, they said. Others in the room felt the group needed to focus on a critique of the war and the role of the military and not get sidetracked on other issues. Exposing the injustice of the war was a good way to show kids that the military is a wrong choice, they argued. One person said, “aren’t we just being patriarchal? I don’t want to. . . . I mean I’m a white woman and I’m gonna walk into a high school where the majority of students are of color and I’m gonna say hey, don’t join the military because it’s wrong? Yeah, that will work. A lot of these kids don’t have a choice. We need to show them there are other choices.” The discussion continued for about ten minutes and when brought to a conclusion the goals for the campaign were recorded on the flip chart as: cut the supply of troops to Iraq and raise awareness of the occupation. At this point, I felt the room becoming polarized as the individuals voicing a concern for youth education and alternative opportunities sighed and pushed back in their chairs. Then another person raised the question—“when, then, should we bring youth into the campaign?” The majority of people argued that the campaign needed to be set before youth could be brought in. That way, “we can let them know how they can help us.” Again, others emphasized that “working with local community and youth groups is critical . . .” and that “ . . . youth of color should be in on the ground floor in building this campaign if we expect to engage them in working with us. This can help promote youth leadership, but also help make the campaign stronger in terms of how we frame our message, what language we choose, and what contacts we are able to make. And, building relationships across racial and class differences—I mean isn’t that our long-term objective? Getting youth into leadership positions is a good way to do that.” At this point, the facilitator added another goal to the flip chart—expose the myths of military service. (Excerpt from field notes, counter–military recruitment working group February, 2005)

This issue of when to bring in youth was tabled and never revisited. It was decided at the close of the meeting, due to disagreements, that local groups would act autonomously doing local assessments, choosing the focus and ex-

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ecution of their campaigns, but will be part of a regional campaign. To date, the regional campaign has included mass protests at military recruiting stations and an agreement to work on the “OPT-OUT program.” The OPT-OUT program is a means of countering the federal 2002 No Child Left Behind Act. This act states that high schools are required to provide lists of students’ names, telephone numbers, and addresses to military recruiters who ask for them, as well as colleges and potential employers. The OPT OUT campaign’s objective is to encourage youth to notify their schools in writing if they do not wish to be contacted—to “opt out of contact.” The campaign also directs its efforts toward schools, raising awareness and encouraging school officials to modify handbooks and communications to parents and students. The following sections outline the ways in which the two organizing models approach this campaign. The first example is a community group that primarily practices the neighborhood-based model; the second takes an inclusive model approach. However, it is important to note that community groups within the network contain both inclusive and neighborhood-based model members and this causes conflict within groups. Neighborhood-based Organizing: “We Need to Provide Alternative Options to the Military” Defining the Work Those in the working group who argued that counter–military recruitment work is not only about cutting the troops for the war, but also about educating youth about their choices follow a neighborhood-based approach to their organizing efforts. A member from this particular community group, Pauline, told me, Yeah, I think it’s a bigger agenda here and the agenda of supporting communities of color in [community] and their needs and working against the exploitation of youth of color who don’t have, who don’t feel like they have the options as kids in the suburbs where the recruiters don’t spend much of their energy. So yeah I think people see it as a broader social justice issue and it’s not just motivated by wanting to cut troops. But that’s why it’s a great issue. . . . I think it’s the most important thing to do, but not everybody sees it that way. (2005)

In Pauline’s view, the campaign is a way of bringing peace and justice issues together under one campaign. She said, The campaign is a natural in building relationships and trust and mutual support we think is essential if we’re going to have type of anti-war and social justice movement. (2005)

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The manner in which this group defines its work and carries out its goals in relation to this campaign is shaped by its expanded definition of peace work. Moreover, the way in which this issue became part of its agenda represents the group’s orientation to building alliances. Neighborhood-based model members find out what issues are important in the community before building their agendas. Wendell recounts how the group became involved in counter–military recruitment work: The campaign for counter recruitment began during a retreat that we had in 2003 in November and a woman who attended the retreat . . . we had done some outreach to people to come in and talk so that we could reflect on our work over that year and one woman came in who happened to have a son who was in [high school]. And she mentioned that the military was actually recruiting . . . that the No Child Left Behind Act required schools to submit the names of young people, high schoolers, as a provision of the Act. And that she felt that there was something that needed to be done, something had to be done about that. (2005)

From there, the process of alliance building began as community group members sought neighborhood youth organizations and together began to construct an understanding of the work that needed to be done as well as what the community group’s role would be. Building Alliances By defining peace work as both anti-war and justice oriented, this community group immediately began to frame the issue as both a way to oppose war, but also as a way to address vital youth and community concerns. The group discussed the racial and classed bias of military recruiting and how this process was primarily affecting people of color and working class communities. They decided to contact and consult with neighborhood organizations, specifically youth groups, before plotting their agenda. Reaching out to the community and learning more was essential in constructing an action plan. Hence, two community members visited a number of youth-centered organizations and with community leaders discussed possible ways that the peace agenda could link with and support their efforts. The first collaboration was a youth conference. After several weeks of conversation, it was decided by the youth that they would lead the conference and that the network community group would support their efforts by making contact with other groups and distributing leaflets. Wendell told me: They said, we’ll take it from here and you guys don’t have to be involved. And so that was a little hard. . . . it was a strange thing, but we respected that. (2005)

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This conference led to another collaboration and so on until the group had made connections with one of the most prominent youth empowerment organizations in the area. By relinquishing power and control over the work and the agenda, this community group has been able to broaden both its agenda as well as the youth groups’ agendas. Moreover, the group felt they had been able to foster youth leadership building and bring a number of organizations together in its local community around a common understanding of the issue. After many months of work, youth groups within the community and surrounding areas have taken leadership roles and initiated their own campaigns to expose the myths of war and military service as well as offer alternative opportunities for high school youth. Defining the “We” Do these relationships extend beyond the counter–military recruitment work? Do these groups share a bond or are the relationships simply utilitarian? How does this community group define its identity? In response to my questions, members of this community group view the campaign as one way to join with others across lines of culture, race, class, and age for a common purpose. Although some of its inclusive members critique the work for not dealing with the politics of war directly and feel that the group is straying from its anti-war work, the majority of its members believe that the campaign is addressing the war and most importantly contributing to the creation of a peace and justice activist community across racial differences and across class boundaries. By broadening the agenda and linking the issues of peace and justice, they address concerns that have a direct impact on the lives of people in the community. One member, Peter, offered some thoughts in defense of the group’s approach to the work: We know that war is happening on many fronts—in Iraq, against immigrant communities, and in local neighborhoods where youth violence is increasing because of a lack of resources and the political will to deal with these issues. Our agenda for peace outlines things that citizens can do to stem this tide. These proposals call for resources where we need them, correct the injustices that are emerging against our neighbors, and stop the supply of soldiers who are to be deployed to support this war. For all these reasons, I think it is easier to mobilize and engage people in this work. (2005)

By linking issues of peace and justice, this community group has seen more people of color across class participating regularly in the group’s meetings and volunteering to serve on the steering committee. Peter continued: So I don’t think we are straying from our anti-war message. I think we are learning how to do what we set out to do—be a peace group in [community]. I think

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our disagreement about including the social costs of military spending is about that—how do you define “peace.” It’s not about convincing people to oppose the war. If it were, I would agree that we could drop the social-cost stuff because most of the people who support the war won’t care about its costs. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about defining our peace movement in a way that invites more folks to participate. (2005)

Building a peace and justice agenda requires constant negotiation. This community group attempts to resolve conflict between the two organizing approaches by encouraging and supporting the development of sub-groups within the larger group. These sub-groups like the “Anti-war Committee” provide opportunities for members to create small enclaves around their common definitions of peace work, but also serve as a way for group members to feel part of a larger group within a movement where they can come together on common projects. Here, organizational, movement, and solidarity layers of identity can be constructed (Gamson 1991). Through the sub-groups, individuals can build strong collective identities; and through dialoguing with others in the larger group, shared standpoints are developed that provide opportunities for convergence around various issues. This process of developing identities and shared standpoints extends outward from the organization and into the community. There are a number of groups working on the counter–military recruitment issue in this local neighborhood—all with varying agendas and actions, but under the common cause of educating youth and the public about the war, the military, and the suppression of choice. Campaigns are structured to encourage critical thinking, provide choices, and empower. Relationships have been developed between the group and other community organizations by acting together, but more so by acknowledging differences, lending support, building trust, and relinquishing power. Sustained collective action will not come from joining the same organization and building a unified identity, but rather finding commonality in a diverse community of sharing and acting. Inclusive Organizing: “We Need to Cut the Supply of Troops” Defining the Work Oriented toward an anti-war agenda, inclusive model members define the purpose of this work as cutting the supply of troops for the Iraq war and raising awareness about the United States’ imperialist foreign policy. They view exposing the myths of military service as a means of convincing youth not to join the services, hence bankrupting the government’s efforts to staff the war. Providing youth with choices and alternatives is seen as important work;

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however, it is viewed as auxiliary to the group’s mission. Conversations around counter–military recruitment emerged in late 2004 within this community group, provoked by rumors of a draft and later in response to the No Child Left Behind Act. One member, Gloria, described the group’s work in this way: such a campaign provides an important forum to raise issues of America’s current path of war and imperialism . . . to build a movement against imperialism. All of our campaigns focus on recruiting new members and building political analysis consensus . . . this campaign might attract a more diverse population, but most importantly its goal is to cut the supply of troops to Iraq and the military in general. (2005)

There was much heated discussion within this group around opposing the draft and this factored into the decision on whether or not to work on countermilitary recruitment work. Draft supporters argued that opposing the draft would only contribute to the racial and class bias of military service, while others made a case for opposing the draft on moral grounds. The issue became moot as the draft rumors faded and the work became focused on encouraging high school youth to OPT OUT from recruiter contact, protesting at military recruiting sites and attending high school recruiting events. The only members working on this campaign from this community group are inclusive model members—the majority of the membership. Building Alliances Bringing people into the organization around a ready-made agenda is primarily this group’s definition of alliance building. Although they have been able to gain access to two high schools in their community and make gains in the OPT OUT program, there has been no further diversification in membership, and there have been very few alliances built between this group and the community. Alliance building efforts have focused on targeting those who can help them get the word out about the OPT OUT program. Rather than contacting youth groups in the community as some of its neighborhood-based model members suggested, this group approached school officials in an effort to gain access to recruiting events and to have input into school communications with parents. Progress was slow, but eventually, one school allowed access for flyering and another become interested in the OPT OUT program. In discussing their progress, a member, Mark, told me: We’ve been working with high school principals and the superintendent and they have been very sympathetic. It’s been tough to get into the schools . . . but we’ve been able to leaflet in the parking lots and recently we’ve learned that one

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of the high schools is going to include the opt-out information in the student handbook for next year. (2005)

More recently, in spring 2006 members from this group were allowed to attend a high school career fair and were successful in engaging youth in discussions around the war and the misnomers of military service. What is most interesting is that this group has been able to build stronger relationships with a number of community groups within the network through supporting each other’s protests and forums. Prior to this campaign work, this community group was alienated from the network, as it was difficult for members to travel into the city for the monthly meetings. However by engaging in this campaign work, this group has been able to establish strong ties with other community groups within the network and gain support and resources for local protests and events. This community group has also played a significant role in leading the regional campaign and building liaisons with AFSC and MFSO. Although not building relationships within their own community, they are cultivating strong relationships with other anti-war organizations and coalitions in the region as well as with other inclusive model members within the network. Defining the “We” Building unity is of crucial importance to this group. There have been many discussions over the past two years on the need to build unity within the group, the network, and the movement more generally. Striving for unity is important, but not at the price of ignoring differences the neighborhood-based model, members argue. As is the case with the neighborhood-based model community group and the network in general, conflict creates divisions that often result in the inability to collaborate on projects or worse contributes to attrition. The group focuses much of its attention on examining its structure, ensuring that it is welcoming, democratic, and participatory, but in its efforts to create unity by defining precise guidelines as to what it means to be a member and promoting an anti-war agenda, it alienates those populations it wishes to attract. In the summer of 2005, the group created a “membership committee” that was tasked with, as Gary stated, “galvanizing our current members and seeking new members to diversify our membership.” Identity building in any organization is difficult as there are always differences that arise around political issues, tactics, and goals. Strong bonds are developed between inclusive model members through their vigiling, educationals, and work on the campaign; however this community group has not grown or diversified its membership. Most recently Gary remarked on this:

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We are not growing. We have a shrinking core of people who come to meetings and do the work. . . . is there something about our structure or our process or our basic assumptions that keep us from growing? (2006)

There is realization by some members that this organizing model is not working to build a larger, more diverse movement; however the proposed solution by the majority is to accept its small size and limit its agenda. Is the Campaign a Possibility for Model Coexistence? From the time of its creation, the network has been working to distinguish itself from its predecessors. Through its various identity practices, it continues to work on transforming its identity from a white, middle-class peace movement to a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network. However, identity is not constructed in a vacuum. Identity construction is “filtered and reproduced through organizational bodies” (Gamson, J. 1996) within a “multiorganizational field” (Klandermans 1997) and across many “identity fields” (Hunt, Benford, and Snow 1994). “Hence people make collective identities, but not in conditions of their own making” (Gamson, J. 1996:235). Within this greater metropolitan area, this network battles the racist, classist, and sexist history of the traditional peace movement as it attempts to portray itself as “a new model for the peace movement.” Yet, as it appeals to its various audiences, its external identity is defined not only by how it defines itself, but more so in how its actions are interpreted and evaluated within the larger community. In his study with two grassroots environmental movements, Paul Lichterman (1995, 1996) set out to illuminate the difficulties in building multicultural alliances within the larger U.S. environmental movement. Through his examination of the United States Greens, a primarily white movement, and the antitoxins movement, mainly an activist of color movement, Lichterman (1995, 1996) found that the two groups experienced difficulty in working together due to the different ways in which they formed group bonds. The Greens practiced a “personalized” approach to identity building that emphasized an identity as individual agents of social change, rather than part of a particular community (Lichterman 1995). The Greens were empowered as autonomous individuals working within and across geographical communities, but united under a larger community of people who practiced a Left politics. Conversely in the anti-toxins group, these “communitarian” activists viewed themselves as rooted in their commitments to their local communities (Lichterman 1995). Bonds were built around a group identity as low-tomoderate income people and emphasized the collective effort of a united

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membership. Despite the Greens’ multicultural ideology and their support of the environmental justice ideology upheld by activists of color, their multicultural alliance building efforts were limited due to their personalized practices. Because Greens were empowered as individuals, an autonomous task force was created and assigned the duty of building an alliance with the antitoxin group. However, Greens were viewed by the anti-toxins as representing themselves, not the larger organization, and therefore their actions were not interpreted as speaking for the larger group of Greens. Hence, by not incorporating multicultural alliance building into the institutional practices of the entire organization, the Greens failed at building an alliance with the anti-toxins group. Lichterman’s study (1995, 1996) is useful in understanding why model coexistence within the network can complicate work across difference. Although the network’s counter–military recruitment campaign has been successful in generating media coverage, making progress toward cutting the supply of potential recruits, and building relationships across some community groups within the network, it has been limited in its ability to build partnerships across differences. While it appears that this campaign can provide an avenue for model coexistence, the examples above illustrate how the inclusive model can potentially negate the progress the neighborhood-based model makes in building alliances across difference. Unless the entire network population adopts the expanded definition of peace and encourages community groups to reorient their work, it risks irreparable damage to its external identity and its ability to forge relationships across racial and class differences as well as possibly threaten its growth and sustainability. As Lichterman’s (1995, 1996) work suggests, the limited neighborhood-based organizing that does occur within the network is not substantial enough to transform its external identity. The network must embrace more neighborhood-based model organizing practices network-wide in order to gain credibility, build trust, and transform its white, middle-class, peace movement identity. One member, advocating for the neighborhood-based model approach, argued that the counter–military recruitment work may be a way to unite the network members but at the same time force groups to work differently. Peter commented: This campaign is a way to bring the anti-war folks together with the justice folks, but it’s also a way to force people to reach out and work with their communities. Look, most people in [the network] want to do something to end the occupation, so focusing on Iraq is a way to rally people on a unified issue. At the same time, this campaign can encourage good race and class organizing. For those community groups working in the neighborhood-based model, this is a natural fit. They approach this campaign by assessing their communities and see

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what’s going on and who might be working on youth education and try to support that work. Those community groups working in an inclusive model would approach this organizing a different way, but would find out that to be effective they are going to have to go more with the neighborhood-based model. In other words, working on this campaign might force inclusive groups to change how they work because if not they might not succeed. (2006)

Peter’s comments raise an interesting point. While the campaign has the potential to address both peace and justice issues, can it change how inclusive model members approach this work? The differing ways in which inclusive and neighborhood-based organizers measure their success with this campaign and evaluate their work overall suggests not. In my conversations with network members, I asked them to comment on how well their group was doing in relation to its goals. In terms of the counter–military recruitment work Mark (an inclusive model member), said: The military needs people to fight the war and this campaign [OPT OUT] attempts to starve the “war machine.” The more people we can convince to not join the military, the more strides we make in ending war. We’ve already been able to reach over a dozen schools statewide and we’ve only just begun this work. Kids need to know that when they sign up for the military, they’re signing their death warrant. (2006)

Here, Mark defines the campaign’s success as simply decreasing the military’s capability to attract recruits, thereby preventing the United States from going to war. In evaluating their work more generally, inclusive model members refer to the number of protests and educationals they hold as well as the amount of endorsements or co-sponsorships they provide. Olivia stated: if we want to grow, we need to have actions once a month like forums, teachins, or concerts. Only by educating people will we attract more people to work with us. (2006)

Organizational growth, of course, is a key concern. When asked if their work was contributing to the building of a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice movement, Gary said: We need to accept that we’re a small group and that if we are all white, that’s okay. I mean if people of color want to be involved and they’re worried about the war, they’ll join us. Why do we have to think about . . . worry about that we’re just white. Why can’t we just work on the issue and see who wants to join us? We need to measure our success not by the color of our group, but by the work we are doing and if we can stop the war in Iraq and get people thinking about U.S. foreign policy, then I say we’re successful. (2006)

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Neighborhood-based model members agree that doing the work will attract more diverse people to the movement; however, it is the definition of work that differs between the two groups. Simply working on an anti-war agenda will just reproduce the white, middle-class peace movement of the past and that counters the original impetus for creating this network. For most network members, there is a conscious effort not to repeat the mistakes of the past. Several members commented: From the start, [the network] has tried to create a new definition that integrates economic justice, racial justice, and local organizing into peace activists’ practice. It is extremely healthy for the peace movement to overcome its history of isolation in terms of class, race, and self-definition and recognize that we can’t do it alone. (Peter 2004) We have to look at that and go—what’s wrong with that. We cannot win without figuring out the racial divide. We cannot win. So I would just say that too . . . it doesn’t matter if you get a million people out and it’s all white people. You have a big problem on your hands. You’re not building a movement that’s going to win. You’re building a movement of people that are enough like you and enough already agree with you. That’s all you did. So, there’s no point doing the same old thing. (Pauline 2004) Alliance building is not about working with people that are working on the same anti-war issues. That’s the old peace movement. If we’re really talking about a new way of doing things, then alliance building is working with different people, different issues, and different movements. It’s going out and meeting people and seeing what’s important and then making the connections. That’s exactly what I think when I think of alliance building. (Helen 2005)

Neighborhood-based model members use the tool of multicultural competence, as discussed in chapter 3, to evaluate their work. How are we viewed within the community? What does our work say about us? Are we contributing to leadership building in our organization and in the community? Although people aren’t joining [our organization] in big numbers, I think they know who we are from what we do. We’re beginning to gain credibility in the community as people who want to do something around peace and equality. It’s funny our ranks are not swelling, but on the other hand I think our connections with different parts of the community are growing and getting stronger . . . ultimately, you cannot create a movement unless you deal with the issues that affect people where they live. (Wendell 2005)

It should be clear from the examples above that while an inclusive model approach to the counter–military recruitment campaign does contribute to the

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short-term goal of cutting the supply of troops and raising awareness of U.S. militarism, it does not build alliances across racial and class boundaries. Although taking more time and energy to foster relationships within the community around this work, the neighborhood-based model is just as successful in achieving its short-term goals as well as cultivating long-term relationship building. As we saw in the examples above, community groups engaging in countermilitary recruitment work are divided within their groups and across the network on how to approach this work. This has long-term implications in creating effective cross-community campaigns as the coexistence of these two models causes divisive conflict that often results in attrition or paralyzes groups from taking action or collaborating. While seemingly not a major concern to some because short-term goals do get accomplished, the inclusive model has a negative impact on the network’s external identity and long-term objectives by alienating potential alliances and members. The damage to the network’s external identity is no more evident than in the limited work the network’s membership does on the Fund Justice campaign.

FUND JUSTICE There are two campaigns that sit at the center of the network’s agenda in addition to counter–military recruitment—one to bring the National Guard home and the other is Fund Justice. All three campaigns are situated under the umbrella of the network’s major focus—ending the occupation of Iraq. It is not surprising in a network dominated by inclusive model members that the Fund Justice campaign remains in the development stages after many iterations. At the urging of a city councilor of color, members of the network’s coordinating committee have been in consultation with the councilor and his advisory committee (which consists of representatives from one of the poorest and most culturally diverse districts in the city) since early on in the network’s development. For the past few years, this city councilor has been urging the network leadership and the larger peace movement in general to reframe its work from ending occupation and intervention to include a focus on cutting the military budget; advocating for a progressive tax policy; and addressing government policies that support racial disparities. This vision draws from Dr. Martin Luther King’s 1968 call to “break the silence” (Washington 1986) on the costs of the war at home and abroad. In this speech, Dr. King urged the mass movement for civil rights and the anti-war movement to realize their common struggle against the triple evils of war—militarism, economic exploitation, and racism—and join together in a multi-racial, multi-class movement for peace

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and social justice that linked increased military spending to persistent poverty and racist violence. This relationship building process, I was told by one network member, is going slowly due to bad blood between the peace movement and communities of color. The network’s Fund Justice campaign is a result of many attempts by the city councilor and various members of the network to develop a campaign that represents Dr. King’s vision. Initial conversations resulted in the development of a network committee that was charged with the task of developing a network-wide campaign with the larger goal of building alliances and relationships primarily within communities of color. During its two years of existence, the network’s Fund Justice committee2 encouraged several community groups to adopt local campaigns around budget cuts in their neighborhoods; however, a network-wide campaign was never developed due to limited interest by the majority of its members. Moreover, the city councilor has criticized the work of this committee many times for not taking the three-pronged approach to a campaign for justice. As the Fund Justice committee unraveled, the network’s community outreach committee continued to work with those community groups who expressed an interest in addressing military spending and attempted to entice other groups by collaborating on a “cut funding postcard campaign” focused on protesting Bush’s request for $82 billion more for the Iraq conflict. While there was a flurry of activity around this short-term goal, a longer-term campaign never developed. At the same time the Fund Justice committee was collapsing, the city councilor prompted another initiative with the network leadership that led to the development of an anti-racism committee. In April 2005 the city councilor and members from the city’s neighborhood groups along with a number of network leaders and community group representatives attended a weekend retreat to discuss the issues within the movement as well as begin to construct an action plan for a Fund Justice campaign. I spoke with two attendees from the network following the retreat about their experiences. Deb: “So, how did you feel about the retreat? Did you feel like some progress was made?” Donna: “The session was tough. I think a lot of the [network] people felt that they were set up. The conversations . . . they seemed to try to make us feel guilty for being white. . . .” Deb: “How so?” [At this point Donna became very uncomfortable]. “Do you not feel comfortable talking about this?” Donna: “Not really.” [long silence]

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Deb: “We don’t have to talk about this.” Donna: “No, it’s okay. . . . People cried a lot. The sessions were very intense, people got really upset and . . . exhausted after the first long day.” [We went on to talk about white culture, racism, and more private reflections on the weekend.] Helen: “One of the things I really learned was if you don’t work the issue, the issue will work you. If you don’t take the issue on seriously as something important and not just to build your organization, then that issue is going to come back and bite you. You can’t just do stuff to attract people . . . you need to do the work because it makes sense, because it matters.” Deb: “Do you mean like how a group will attend an affordable housing protest for the purposes of enticing people to the group?” [An example from her community group.] Helen: “Yes, exactly.” Donna: “People just don’t get it and people in this meeting were just fed up with it. It’s so frustrating. Working on issues like that, poverty issues, isn’t going to bring the troops home. But guess what? Bring the troops home and we’ll just go to war in another country, and another country, and another country. And that’s the problem. I have yet to see anyone in [the network] really work the issues. Nobody can figure out how to make that issue [Fund Justice] an action that people can actually rally around and do something.” Deb: “And why do you think that is?” Donna: “Well, I think it’s like you said in the educational . . . people have different agendas . . . different ways of defining their work and different ways of thinking about how to build relationships. But, I think that as long as we [neighborhood-based organizers] keep pushing Fund Justice theoretically, eventually we’ll get there.” Helen: “That’s possibly true, but in order to get there we have to radically change our thinking and that’s what the people of color in the retreat we’re saying. We need to think about war and poverty and racism differently and define our work differently. And we need to build relationships for the long term. And it’s all tied up in white privilege. Once we work through that privilege, we’ll see the world differently. Unless we do that, we’ll never get there.” (2005)

This conversation, and subsequent others, was very enlightening for me and provoked new lines of questioning as I proceeded with this work which I will reflect on further in the following chapter. The point I want to emphasize here is that the campaign to link racism, militarism, and economic exploitation still struggles to become a reality despite the good intentions of a number of network members. Moreover, the councilor’s advisory committee continues to

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refuse to endorse or participate in any anti-war/peace movement activities unless the movement addresses militarism, racism, and poverty/economic exploitation in its work. The problem is that while people can recognize the links in a theoretical fashion, they cannot figure out a way to turn that theory into an action program. And, as Helen and Donna suggest, unless members are willing to alter their views, they will be unable to build a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network. As with the counter–military recruitment campaign, conflict emerges within and between community groups over this type of work. The following excerpts from a network-wide community meeting highlight the conflict that ensues when inclusive and neighborhood-based model members attempt to dialogue about setting an agenda for the network. One woman from an area north of the city where the majority of community members are working class said, “our work needs to talk to people where they are. It’s not about just getting out of war, it’s about social costs . . . social needs.” A man from an affluent suburb west of the city argued, “but we need to focus on the morality of war. We can talk about issues of war and money, but the focus has to be on ending the war, not taking on side issues like housing and health care.” The woman went on, “What good will it do to just talk about these issues? We need to do something about it. Will people think it will really do any good to lobby Congress to vote against the $82 billion? Shouldn’t we be focusing on the long term and addressing what’s going on in our local communities and then figuring out a way to collaborate across communities?” (Excerpts from field notes, network community meeting April, 2005)

As in other community meetings, these conversations go nowhere and work around Fund Justice is stymied due to conflicting views on peace work. The detrimental nature of this conflict was even more evident in an annual strategy conference in 2005 where I attended a session on how to build a broad peace and justice movement. Members from various community groups as well as representatives from organizations such as a tenant rights group, a poverty group, and a member from Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom were in attendance, facilitated by two network leaders. Prior to the breakout session, the network’s leadership had already outlined the primary focus for 2005/2006—ending the war in Iraq. This session was an effort to discuss how to build a multi-racial, multi-class movement while focusing on Iraq. The facilitators asked, “so how can we broaden our movement and focus on Iraq? How can we keep working on justice issues while doing Iraq work?” This

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seems backward to me and many people in the room did not like this framing. As I looked around the room, many in attendance were people I had spoken with or observed in other meetings—neighborhood-based model members. For instance, [one facilitator] said “we need to convince justice groups to be part of this agenda, so we can focus on anti-war work. We need to make alliances, we show up for you, you show up for us.” They asked people who would work on this and that. At this point the members from the outside organizations and two of the community group members voiced concern. One woman said, “Well, I can’t really speak for the people not in this room . . . how can we put agendas forward, if we don’t have the community people in the room with us to make this agenda? We don’t need and can’t build an action agenda for peace and justice because all the people aren’t here in the room. We need a process campaign versus a planned-out campaign. How can we sit here and define the issues without talking to our communities first? We need to go out and dialogue with groups and see what they are doing. Ask what can we do to support your work?” Another community member said, “That’s right. We need to go out and talk to people and ask them how they think about the war and get them on board.” Some shook their heads in agreement, while others in the room sighed. This led into a heated discussion over what the work should be and why and how we should be making connections ending with one woman stating, “the peace movement is stuck in one way of doing things and can’t see their way out of it.” The facilitators kept trying to bring the conversation back to ending the war in Iraq and asked the group, “what is our summary recommendation from this group?” Some said, “educating ourselves,” while others said, “taking leadership from others and relinquishing our power over this agenda.” (Excerpt from field notes, strategy conference 2005).

Needless to say, nothing fruitful emerged from this conversation, only disagreement. It was curious to me and others I spoke with after the session that the facilitators did not ask if this group felt the Iraq agenda could fulfill the goal of making this movement broader across racial and class boundaries. Perhaps they did not want to know the answer. As the conference concluded, the two agenda items for moving forward with campaign work were “cutting funding and cutting the supply of troops for war.” While certainly contributing to the divisiveness within the network, the greater implication of not doing justice work is on its external identity. The network’s sponsoring organizations have not increased or diversified since its inception, nor have community groups significantly increased their diversity in membership or networks. By not engaging in real justice work and instead emphasizing ending the war in Iraq as its main focus, the network’s external identity remains a white, middle-class, peace organization focusing on an anti-war agenda. This, I am told by people like Dora and Peter, is a major

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roadblock in appealing to both the white working- and lower-income classes as well as people of color across class differences. Let me tell you something about that [working with the peace movement]. [The network] is just another perverse form of affirmative action for the white peace movement. When they need a black voice they come looking but they don’t care what the black voice has to say. [We discussed previous contacts with the white peace movement over the past twenty years.] The “peace movement” they come and ask us to join their peace movement. Why should we? We’ve been fighting for peace all along. Why haven’t they joined us? Instead, they come looking for some diverse voices so they can say they are working with communities of color . . . and then when they get what they want, they leave. They don’t stay around when we’re fighting to get our community cleaned up or fighting to keep some green space. No they are not. So why should we join “their” peace movement? That’s the thing with the peace movement. They rise up when there’s a war, do a little protest and then they fade away. While we [communities of color] are fighting issues every day. We don’t need a war to rally us up. And where’s the peace movement then? The peace movement is always saying they want to include more people of color, but when it comes down to it, they don’t want to give up control and they really don’t care about issues of justice. (Dora 2004) The white branch of the peace movement, and there’s really multiple peace movements, not just the white movement, doesn’t want to do anything . . . doesn’t want to talk with people of color. There’s a lack of experience working across race . . . but it’s about sharing power and control. But it’s also about not knowing how to link issues. Until the movement begins addressing poverty and racism and seeing the struggles as linked to achieving an end to war, we’ll never have a multicultural movement and we’ll never succeed. It’s a movement of amateurs. At least from my perspective. (Peter 2004)

In an open letter to the leadership of this national organization, Mobilization for Global Justice (the national organization based in Washington, D.C.) critiqued the peace and justice movement for not addressing economic exploitation and racism in its work. Excerpts from this letter: the movement needs to develop and internalize an understanding of the motivations for and the roots of war and occupation . . . a peace and justice movement that has a strategic goal of not merely ending this latest war but undermining the U.S. war machine in the longer term, needs to build this understanding into its actions. . . . What is more, these linkages are common sense across much of the world. In most countries, the organizations fighting neoliberal economic policies and the organizations resisting U.S. military aggression are the very same organizations. . . . We believe there is a connection between the failures of political analysis on the part of [this movement] and this connection lies in an elit-

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ist mode of organizing that treats the grassroots as a resource to exploit rather than as a source of leadership. (Listserv message posted December 1, 2005).3

Likewise, the network’s affiliation with a national peace and justice organization further plagues its identity within the larger progressive community.

5 The network in this study battles internal conflict within and across community groups in identifying a common agenda, what some argue should be a “peace agenda” or “anti-war” while others cry out for “a peace and justice agenda” that links the war at home with wars abroad. While the inclusive model’s strengths may be in creating a homogeneous network that can take coordinated collective action around a narrow definition of peace and create a collective identity that sustains collective action, its weakness lies in building a movement across racial and class differences. While achieving significant results such as passing resolutions against the Iraq war, cutting the supply of troops, and raising awareness about the reality of U.S. foreign policy, it risks failing to create structural changes to U.S. policies. For this network, the inclusive model fails in creating a larger, more diverse movement because of its narrow definition of peace and its inability to connect across difference. While the neighborhood-based model’s strengths are in making these connections, it can run the risk of becoming too locally focused, thus failing to build wider alliances across communities. Critics of similar organizing models argue that they can be “too focused on the neighborhood, too little emphasis on building wider alliances or taking on issues that could not be resolved or challenged at the local level” (Fisher and Shragge 2000:4) and are “self-interested actions” that fail “to go beyond a single-issue focus” (Krauss 1994). Community organizing must also combine national and local issues (Stout 1996) and be tied to a social movement that transcends the local and unites people in a greater struggle in order to effect national social change (Fisher and Shragge 2000). In her book Bridging the Class Divide: Grassroots Organizing, Linda Stout (1996) shares insights from her work with the Piedmont Peace Project. Stout (1996) argues that if progressive groups want to build alliances with lowerincome people across racial and class differences, then they must “connect national issues with the things that matter in people’s everyday lives” (Stout 1996). Stout argues that by making the connections between local community issues and military spending for instance, people can begin to understand the structural constraints on their lives and become more empowered to make radical change on the national level. Although peace activists criticized her approach, Stout (1996) says that working on multiple issues strengthens,

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rather than weakens an organization as it builds a “local base of power from which to hold elected officials accountable” (Stout 1996:74). Neighborhood-based model members argue that their work does connect national and local issues and it is connected to larger struggles outside the neighborhood. I asked several members how they would respond to a criticism I received from a traditional peace movement organizer that “this model of organizing is never going to get out of the neighborhood and you can’t create a movement that way.” How do you create large-scale change? Well, I think you create it two ways. One is making an influence in local level politics and in statewide politics. And one example is the election of progressive candidates in the city in the last eighteen months. I mean, I’m not going to say we’re it because there are a number of organizations doing this work. In a way that is a neighborhood politics, but if you want to get people into office you have do that kind of work. And I think for my money, and I’m still thinking about this—how you create large-scale change, but I think creating a movement is ultimately about people and where they live. And you cannot create a movement unless you deal with those issues and if you don’t you’re going to be easily undermined by people who are going to talk about, who are going to interpret the street in other ways as the Republican party has effectively done. Most people at least have some leanings toward the more progressive agenda, they may not agree with everything, but they agree with some of it. And what Republicans do, they’re on the ground, they’re organizing people, and they prevail. We want to sit back and meditate about whatever and not get involved in that. We need to get involved in that street-level action. So if you’re going to create a broad based movement, you need to get out into the streets and do the work. You need to connect every day lives to national issues and global issues in order to mobilize people. You also need to connect local action across communities. Just talking about the immorality of war isn’t going to cut it. (Wendell 2005) Working within a network . . . well, if we were just out there by ourselves working in our community then I think I would agree with that critique. But in a network, you are able to connect with others both within and beyond the community on issues we all care about. And that is a good thing. So it’s not just I’m doing this and you’re doing that. We’re all doing something similar, but different based on our community needs. You know what I mean? (Diane 2005) So for me the whole process of building community relationships is about movement building. Too much we [the peace movement] operate in crisis mode. We’re not going to stop war with this kind of movement, this divided, this distrustful . . . we’re just not going to be able to do it. Getting thousands of people out to a protest a few times a year is not building a movement. You can’t just do that and think we have a movement. You have to think, wow that was one tiny

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step forward. Now we have to replicate that over and over and over again at a hundred times the size in every city. Okay? Now how are we going to do that? We can only do that by going back to the grassroots, back to the neighborhoods, back to talking to people. (Pam 2005)

Viewing this network through different lenses offered a unique angle of vision into its collective action processes. Using a gendered lens uncovered how feminist principles shaped the creation and evolution of this network, and its desire to represent a new model for the peace movement. Although a gendered lens brought into view the existence of these two organizing models operating within this network, it did not offer an explanation as to why certain individuals were drawn to each of these models. In the following chapter, I use the lens of intersectionality in order to document how a culture of privilege affects model adherence and working across racial and class differences within this network.

NOTES 1. I have altered the name of the campaign to protect anonymity. 2. The network’s Fund Justice committee originally consisted of a number of coordinating committee members. Currently, the Fund Justice campaign is loosely coordinated by three members of the community outreach committee, but action on this campaign is limited. 3. The global justice movement has been similarly critiqued. See Starr (2004).

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When [our group] started, during its first year, folks were really influenced by a speech that Tim Wise1 gave in [city]. And one of the things that Tim Wise talked about was . . . he was sort of speaking about a letter that came from black activists about the anti-war efforts. It was basically a critique. And it also happened in [this city]. In organizing for the war, really a lot of black organizers were pretty dissed, they were totally dissed. They weren’t involved in any initial planning; they weren’t asked what they could they do in terms of organizing. It was sort of like the peace movement came up and said, “war is bad, come and join us ’cause we know that you think the war is bad too.” I think that it’s probably a valid criticism of the peace movement in general. I came to the peace movement ’cause I felt like yeah there’s something to be active about it, you know, when they started . . . but the peace movement even from my own perception was that it was primarily white people who were trying to do good and may or may not have a realistic view of the world or whose worldview I may or may not share as a black man. So, it was after 9-11, after . . . when Bush was deciding about Iraq, that’s when I got involved. And part of me even when we decided . . . well we had a lot of conversations about race and multiculturalism and how it manifested itself in our organization. It’s been an ongoing sort of thing. But one thing that was clear and something that Tim Wise said, is that as a group we need to be open to other people’s issues. But, yeah, understand that we’re constantly revisiting what we need to do because we’re still primarily a white organization. Although there are people of color in leadership roles within the organization, we’re still majority white, majority middle class. And we struggle with how we’re trying to do this work. We struggle with how to do things and build linkages with the community.” (Wendell 2005) 89

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SOCIAL BIOGRAPHY When Wendell says that his view of the world may differ from that of others in this movement, in this instance whites, he is suggesting that his social biography has shaped how he defines peace work and this in turn affects how he approaches his activism around the war. Living in the United States, Wendell states that race is the most salient feature of his social biography and has had a major impact on his life experiences. However in our conversation, Wendell also referred many times to the effect the intersection of race and class has on people of color living in America. In the United States, it is a culture of privilege, rooted in whiteness, wealth, and patriarchy, that shapes lived experiences. In The Sociological Imagination, C. Wright Mills (1959) wrote that in order to understand society, one must consider “the interplay of man and society, of biography and history, of self and world” (p. 4). As mentioned in earlier chapters, feminists of color such as Deborah King (1988), Kimberlee Crenshaw (1991), and Patricia Hill Collins (1998) have called our attention to intersectionality, arguing that our lived experiences are shaped by a matrix of hierarchical power structures that are historically and socially constituted. It is the interlocking nature of these structures that influence our lives in varying ways. For instance, although people of color in the United States share a commonality of experience in relation to whites due to the constructed racial hierarchy in the United States, they do not all have the same lived experience due to other intersecting identities. Thus, intersectionality theory enriches our understanding of how privilege and oppression operate, how one’s social biography is constituted, and how it can shift depending on the social context (Collins 1998, 2002; Moya 1997). Thus, social biography is lived experience within a social, historical context—an intersection of history, structure, and biography that is multi-faceted and variable. Two studies in particular illustrate how differing social biographies can affect collective action. In her research with women’s grassroots environmental activists, Celene Krauss (1994) uncovers how the lived experiences of women shaped their definition of environmental justice differently than the white, male, middle-class leadership of “mainstream” environmental organizations by addressing the broader issues of inequality underlying environmental hazards. Moreover, Krauss (1994) found that these women also revealed much diversity in their definitions, which reflected different experiences of class, race, and ethnicity. For example, white working-class women placed an emphasis upon class inequality and attributed environmental injustice to “big money” and its influence on government policies;

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whereas African American, working-class women viewed environmental injustice as rooted in racist policies and linked with other issues such as housing and crime. Yet, despite their differing lived experiences and worldviews, these women were able to construct an understanding of a shared group experience of injustice living in a racialized and classed social structure and worked together to resolve the environmental injustice placed upon their community and in larger society. Hence, environmental injustice became seen as a result of both a racist and classist social structure. Similarly, in a study of two feminist women’s organizations—one composed of lower-income women of color and the other of upper-class, white women—Winifred Poster (1995) found that differing experiences of gender inequality shaped these women’s worldviews and approaches to organizing. Upper-class white women drew on their lived experiences of gender inequality in the workplace and in the home and defined the work of feminism as achieving individual empowerment around issues of work and body. Lowerincome women of color defined their work more broadly, drawing on their lived experiences of intersecting oppressions of gender, race, and class equality, and the goals of their organizations were to transform societal institutions as well as attain basic needs for their families. These differing interpretations of gender inequality translated into very different organizing strategies and practices that ultimately prohibited collaboration. While in Krauss’s (1994) study the women were able to construct a shared standpoint from which to act by acknowledging the multiplicity of lived experience; in Poster’s (1995) research, the white women were unable to find the common ground that is necessary for alliance building due to their single oppression analysis. What these two studies suggest is that one’s social biography impacts the way in which people define issues and approach organizing. Moreover, these studies show that sharing an identity such as gender or class does not automatically unify people, and that individuals with different histories and social locations can create shared identities or “shared standpoints” (Collins 2000; Harding 1991; Ross 1997; Smith 1987) through the process of dialoguing and negotiation. By embracing a multi-oppression analysis and reflecting upon one’s social biography, one can, as Wendell said, be “open to other people’s issues.” During the course of my study, I found that the way people define peace work and approach collective action is very much related to their social biography. Race, class, and gender interact in shaping one’s lived experience and worldview and this in turn affects model adherence. As discussed in chapters 3 and 4 there is a clear difference in how members from the two different organizing models define peace work. In a society where race plays a significant role in shaping lived experience, we might expect that people of

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color would hold a different definition than whites on what a peace agenda should be, and nearly all people of color (with very few exceptions) within this network define peace work broadly and follow a neighborhood-based model of organizing. However, race alone does not determine model preference, nor does class or gender. For instance while inclusive model members support a narrow definition of peace work and are primarily whites, there are also some whites that align themselves with the neighborhood-based model. I have found that what differentiates these whites is an understanding (or lack thereof) of one’s privilege, particularly white privilege. Acknowledging and addressing white privilege influences whites’ worldviews and in turn their definition of peace work and approach to organizing. In chapter 6 I discuss the ways in which white activists within this network are altering their worldviews by acknowledging and addressing privilege. In the pages below, I offer a glimpse into the ways in which white, middleclass members’ social biographies shaped by a culture of privilege influence decisions around organizing in this network that excludes, rather than includes, people of color and working/lower-income class populations. The following section discusses how a culture of privilege shapes U.S. foreign policy and cross-difference organizing as well as organizing within this network.

A CULTURE OF PRIVILEGE A Culture of Privilege and U.S. Foreign Policy The concept culture of privilege captures the complicated ways in which race, class, and gender operate within the United States and within this network. As mentioned in earlier chapters, this network draws on the concept of empire building in framing its understanding of U.S. foreign policy. The majority of members within this network take a single-oppression approach to defining the roots of war—class exploitation—and use the empire building frame in order to attempt to unify members around a shared (or imagined) class identity. This neoMarxist frame draws on concepts from world systems theory (Arrighi and Silver 1999; Wallerstein 1974) and theories of global class relations (Derber 2002; Sklair 2001) to emphasize the dominant role of the United States in an international economic system that distributes wealth, power, and resources to a chosen few (the wealthy class) through government/military coercion. Hence, an “us versus them” understanding of empire building highlights the commonality between classes and races against a governing wealthy elite. While viewing globalization and U.S. foreign policy as an elite-dominated, exploitative, and resource-dominated economic system certainly rings true for everyone within the network, this approach to creating commonality is

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difficult for many people to identify with because it ignores subtle and not so subtle racial and class differences. Moreover, these theories neglect the role that patriarchy and racism play in shaping U.S. foreign policy and legitimizing force and exploitation between nations and within nations (Eisenstein 2000; 2004; Nash 1988; Ward 1993; Wright 1997). This color-blind understanding of capitalist development and globalization ignores the racist ideology rooted in American policies and in the very foundation of America itself (Bell 1992; Du Bois 1920; Horsman 1981; Singh 2004; West 2004; Winant 2004, 2006). To say that American national and foreign policy is racist does not simply mean that America discriminates against people of color, but rather that American ideals are rooted in a history of racist ideology or “cultural racism” (Bell 1992; Du Bois 1920; Horsman 1981; Singh 2004; West 2004; Winant, 2004, 2006). A cultural racism framework acknowledges that U.S. foreign policy aims to achieve economic and political power to profit the wealthy, but argues that it is also shaped by a white privilege. Cultural racism goes beyond the biological justification for racial oppression and includes prejudice against people based on certain cultural attributes—attributes that are not “Western” or “white.” Donna, a member of the network, explains: The U.S. decides who is okay to dominate and who we can take resources from and is it just a coincidence that these people happen to be people of color? No. Yes, they are poor, but who are the majority of the poor of the world . . . people of color. Race and class . . . it’s all tied up together. And, you know we [the U.S. government] say we have to liberate and civilize the world . . . you know bring them around to our way of thinking—the right way because “they” are culturally backward. And they say that takes force because that’s all they know. That’s what a racist war means. (2005)

Cultural racism is racism “ingrained deep into the souls of our founding fathers” (West 2004:41) as they destroyed Native Americans, embraced the ideology of Manifest Destiny, and stole lands from people of color, enslaved Africans, and later enslaved “third world” labor (Du Bois 1920; Eisenstein 2000, 2004; Horsman 1981; Singh 2004; West 2004). America’s origins lie in the history of self-claimed whiteness by early Anglo-Saxon settlers; a whiteness that was considered culturally and intellectually superior; a whiteness that justified colonial expansion by force and named the “brown-skinned other” as inferior and disposable (Du Bois 1920; Eisenstein 2000, 2004; Horsman 1981; Singh 2004; West 2004). As W. E. B. Du Bois so eloquently wrote in his 1920 essay, “The Souls of White Folk”: The discovery of personal whiteness among the world’s peoples is a very modern thing—a nineteenth and twentieth century matter, indeed. The ancient world

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would have laughed at such a distinction. The Middle Age regarded skin color with mild curiosity, and even up into the eighteenth century we were hammering our national manikins into one, great, Universal Man, with fine frenzy, which ignored color and race even more than birth. Today we have changed all that, and the world in a sudden, emotional conversion has discovered that it is white and by that token, wonderful! The assumption that of all the hues of God, whiteness alone is inherently and obviously better than brownness or tan leads to curious acts . . . Instead of standing as a great example of the success of democracy and the possibility of human brotherhood America has taken her place as an awful example of its pitfalls and failures, so far as black and brown and yellow peoples are concerned. (p. 17, 28)

Today, the world still experiences the cultural racism of the United States. From Manifest Destiny, to the era of Communism, the War on Drugs, the War on Terror, to the intervention in Iraq, America justifies military intervention, economic exploitation and political domination through its cultural racist framework. Statements such as “they only understand force”; “we need to liberate and bring democracy to those people”; and “these radical extremists do not value life like we do” demonstrate how deeply racism is embedded within American culture. We need to bring racism, classism, and patriarchy together in order to understand America’s culture of privilege and how it shapes policies at home and abroad. If we continue to refuse to acknowledge the racist roots of our history, we will never become a democratic and just nation nor will we ever change the imperialist, interventionist policies of the United States (Horsman 1981; Singh 2004; West 2004). Those who practice a neighborhood-based model of organizing utilize the empire building frame, but add this deeper understanding of American history—those who stand to gain from “empire” are wealthy and white. We must recognize that U.S. foreign policy is rooted in a history of white supremacy that shapes its desire for hegemonic economic, military, and political power. Hence, peace work must also address cultural racism. Thus, using an “us versus them” framework not only glosses over the class differences that make working across class difficult, but by ignoring the role of racism it creates barriers to collaborations across racial differences as well. The Continuing Relevance of Race and Cross-Difference Organizing Sociologists such as William Julius Wilson (1978, 1999) and Todd Gitlin (1995) argue that we need to move beyond race and focus on the common economic challenges facing both whites and people of color across class differences. Pointing to the successful work of the Industrial Area Foundation2

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and efforts such as living wage campaigns that bring whites and people of color together around a common economic agenda, Wilson (1999) argues that focusing on racial differences only fuels divisions, reduces the effectiveness of people, and thwarts efforts to realize a common condition. “Racism,” he states, “is not an overwhelming or insurmountable obstacle to multiracial coalition building” (Wilson 1999:14). While certainly not dismissing the impact of racism on the plight of people of color in this country, Wilson stresses that it is important “not to pretend we are all the same” and that “acknowledging differences is essential to collaborating around common interests,” yet he dismisses calls for organizing around political issues that relate specifically to the racial experiences of people of color (Guinier and Torres 2002). He argues that “race-neutral factors” (similar to the class-based empire building frame) have affected economic decline and points to the many axes of commonality including the increase in income and wage inequality and the slow growth in real wages (Wilson 1978, 1999). If we really want to end inequality and change social policy, Wilson (1999) states, then class is what matters more than race in cross-difference organizing. Gitlin (1995) agrees and states that the only hope of uniting progressive movements for social change is to abandon those “single-identity groups” such as those focusing on racial commonality and instead rally around a broader vision of a class commonality. Gitlin’s critique of the effectiveness of progressive movements is related to a fractured past—the problem of identity movements—and asks “why are so many people attached to their marginality and why is difference versus commonality so important?” (1995:32). Gitlin further argues that “if there is not to be irresolvable conflict, then people have to agree to limit the severity of their differences—they have to share a framework in which differences exist amid what does not differ, the common element, the shared way of seeing” (1995:209). For Gitlin, like Wilson, this is a commonality based on class. Although some people of color have experienced an increase in their political and economic status over the past fifty years (Wilson, 1978, 1999), many researchers have shown that people of color still have not reached equality with whites and experience discrimination and racism regardless of class status (Bonilla-Silva 2001, 2006; Feagin 1991; Guinier and Torres 2002; Muhammad, Davis, Lui, and Leondar-Wright 2004; Singh 2004; Wellman 1993). While drawing attention to the importance of class relations in understanding poverty, Wilson’s thesis minimizes racism and leaves little room for “explaining the different ways blacks and whites are treated when they occupy common structural turf” (Wellman 1993:6). In his discussion on what he classifies as “the liberal racial project” Howard Winant (2004) criticizes class reductionist approaches like Wilson’s

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and Gitlin’s in creating multi-racial coalitions. While liberals recognize “the dynamics of race- and class-based forms of subordination” and seek to “narrow the differences that divide working- and middle-class people,” Winant argues that they privilege class over race in an attempt to “woo [the] white middle-class” into working across racial differences (2004:60). Patricia Hill Collins (2003) reinforces this argument in stating that: White feminists routinely point with confidence to their oppression as women but resist seeing how much their white skin privileges them. African-Americans who possess eloquent analyses of racism often persist in viewing poor White women as symbols of white power. The radical left fares little better. “If only people of color and women could see their true class interests,” they argue, “class solidarity would eliminate racism and sexism.” (p. 331)

This thinking encourages the subversion of race under a class-based agenda in order that whites can see their mutual interests and be able to join across racial boundaries (Bonilla-Silva 2001, 2006; Collins 2003; Guinier and Torres 2002; Kurtz 2002; Winant 2004). Although class commonality has proven viable in a number of multi-racial networks, organizations, and movements (Hirsch 2000; Puildo 1996; Stout 1996)3 attempting to create a class commonality among people across racial and class differences can be problematic. Some movement theorists agree with Winant’s and Collins’s assessment that a class-only framework can be detrimental in the long term (Buechler 2000; Kurtz 2002; Melucci 1995). In her study with the Columbia University clerical workers’ multi-racial union, Sharon Kurtz (2002) suggested that the union incurred costs for not making race more explicit in its analyses and agenda. While claiming a class identity rallied workers around a unioncontract campaign that gained increases in wages and health benefits, the union did not address the structural inequalities around comparable worth, wage structures, and job classifications. Thus, this class reductionist approach failed in the long term because it did not address racism. By ignoring racism, we are left with movements that may acquire short-term gains around economic equality, but leave “deep-seated structural racial conflicts endemic to U.S. society” untouched (Kurtz 2002; Winant 2004:62). While developing a shared vision and striving for a “culture of commonality” (Gitlin 1995) is certainly vital to the success of sustained collective action, movements cannot ignore or gloss over differences, but need to name them, claim them, and work through them in order to build a shared vision of commonality. In order for diverse individuals to create alliances, “they need to establish shared spaces that can facilitate the crossing over into the experiential world of the other” (Bystydzienski and Schacht 2001). These shared spaces can be achieved by recognizing that our differing experiences with oppression can

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constrain our ability to work together. While Wilson’s and Gitlin’s arguments do help us envision the possibility of creating movements across difference by striving for commonality, Winant (2004, 2006) and Kurtz (2002) suggest that multi-racial, multi-class movements that are looking to create change beyond short-term gains need to acknowledge and address race as well as class. Understanding a Culture of Privilege within this Network As a culture of privilege shapes American foreign policy so too does it shape this network’s micromobilization processes. The primary roadblock in forming relations across differences within this network is a privilege that is white and middle class. In the initial stages of this research as I listened to people speak about the difficulty in working across differences, I continuously asked myself—is it race or class that is erecting barriers to cooperation? In some conversations, race was explicitly stated as an obstacle, and in other instances class. Most often, it was difficult to distinguish if the conflict was racial or class-based. As the research progressed, I came to the realization that it was futile (and detrimental) to segregate race and class, and more important to consider how one’s shifting position of privilege affected interactions with others. Focusing solely on race or class would miss the complexity of lived experience, as the structures of race, class and gender are always present in one’s life even if one seems to be more salient than another. In order to grasp the complexity of the interactions across race and class, I reviewed conversations with participants through a multi-staged process of reflection on their social biographies (Cuadraz and Uttal 1999). Gloria Cuadraz and Lynet Uttal (1999) explain the rationale for this process: We contend that it is unrealistic to expect that every interviewee will explicitly articulate all categories of social existence and we suggest that it is the responsibility of the researcher to learn about the context and relate it to the individual views presented in the interviews. Even if the interviewer does not directly ask the interviewees about those categories during data collection or the interviewees do not explicitly mention them, the data can be interrogated to see how different social categories may shape the individual accounts. (Cuadraz and Uttal 1999:171)

First, I examined individual accounts without considering the social location of the individual and simply asked, “what are the circumstances and experiences of this individual in working across racial and class differences?” This allowed for the generation of themes concerning peace work and alliance building. Next, accounts were reviewed by considering the intersectionality of various social categories. I asked, “what is it about this person’s lived

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experiences that influence their organizing practices? How are these experiences possibly shaped by one’s social biography? Is there a relationship between race and class in how this account is told and how experiences are interpreted?” And, “are there commonalities in lived experiences across individual accounts?” In my fieldwork and analysis, when I examined accounts across class differences4 I found no apparent patterns in terms of model adherence. When examining accounts across racial differences, I found that while people of color5 were drawn to neighborhood-based organizing, model adherence varied among whites. Both the inclusive and neighborhood-based models are mixed in terms of gender and class. Inclusive model members are white and typically have little or no direct experience working on “justice” issues or living and working in proximity to people of color. I did come across a few men of color who seem to advocate for the inclusive model style of organizing. These men are unique cases. They are college educated, but otherwise correspond to the category of working class. They live in diverse neighborhoods, have participated in traditional peace movement organizations, and do not have direct ties to any network sponsored community group. These men declined my requests for interviews,6 but based on my observations of them in larger group meetings I would venture to say that representation in the network is a powerful motivator for these men to align themselves with an inclusive style of organizing.7 It is notable that I did not encounter any women of color who practiced the inclusive model, nor did any women of color identify themselves as prior traditional peace movement members. Other than the small number of exceptions noted above, people of color across class differences within the network practice a neighborhood-based model of organizing. However, there are a number of white men and women who practice neighborhood-based organizing, and some have had history with the traditional peace movement and its narrow definition of peace work. These whites have worked or lived in diverse environments, but they have also acknowledged and addressed their privilege. Chapter 6 offers a discussion on the process of addressing privilege. Upon further fieldwork and analysis, I found contradictions when examining the data. In some instances, people would tell me they were doing everything they possibly could do to be inclusive, yet my observations revealed extremely exclusive practices. In other instances, people would draw on color-blind discourse8 in one aspect of the interview in order to appear nonracist, yet later use racial stereotypes to explain the failure in building alliances. Triangulating interviews, informal conversations, and observations as well as sharing transcripts with participants sometimes was useful to unravel these inconsistencies. Other times I needed to take a different approach in my

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analysis. I turned to a method of interpretive focus groups9 that uncovered a hidden discourse of the privileged population of this network, a racialized discourse that was affecting organizing. Uncovering racialized discourse in a predominately white, middle-class progressive network was, needless to say, difficult. Many whites just did not want to discuss race and privilege in their interviews. As one member, Ken, put it, white people don’t want to get into political conversations because they don’t want to have to address racism and classism; racism particularly . . . white people just don’t want to go there. . . . I don’t think they even see it. (2005)

Some members felt that by acknowledging their privilege, their motives around doing political work were called into question and in general this discredited the work of progressives in the larger community. Others felt that it would be divisive to the existing network of members to raise issues of privilege. They argued that people would become more sensitive and aware of racialized discourse in meetings, and this in turn would prompt confrontations and disagreements over both process and content of the community group’s work. Initially, I only met with those whites willing to discuss race and privilege on an individual basis. Later, encouraged by the fruitful dialogue from these conversations, I began to introduce the topic of privilege in larger settings such as interpretive focus groups. Through these groups, people were able to talk in general terms about white privilege and in some instances come to terms with their own racial identities and views on race. I found that it was the process of acknowledging, confronting, and working with white privilege that differentiated neighborhood-based model whites from those whites who practiced an inclusive model of organizing. It is not solely white privilege or class privilege that prevents working across differences; it is a web of white, middle-class privilege that affects the micro-dynamics of organizing within this network. It is a culture of privilege that is shaped by a U.S. history of wealth and whiteness, and this privilege is exercised through unconscious beliefs and assumptions that become translated into conscious practices. Although inclusive model whites address class privilege to some degree, white privilege is ignored and this affects how the work is defined and how alliances are built. Hence, it is the topic of whiteness to which I now turn. Whiteness What is whiteness? Sociologist Ruth Frankenberg (1993) defines whiteness as “. . . a location of structural advantage, of race privilege . . . a place from

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which white people look at ourselves, at others, and at society . . . a set of cultural practices that are usually unmarked and unnamed.” (p. 1) As a predominately white social movement network, there is an unspoken “whiteness” associated with its identity and practices. “White culture” is the term many of the individuals I spoke with used when discussing why the network may be having difficulty working across racial and class boundaries. White culture was described by some network members as “the assumptions that white people make about the poor and people of color” and the “ways that white people work that pushes people away.” Moreover, white culture was characterized as “unconscious beliefs and practices” held by whites that worked to “reaffirm privileges” and “divide rather than unite” people across race and class differences. But is there such a thing as “white culture”? Categorizing whiteness as a cultural form can run the risk of homogenizing whiteness, and ignore the ways in which it is mediated by class, gender, and a host of other identities. The heterogeneity of whiteness, or “the social geography of race” (Frankenberg 1993) influences the way in which whiteness is understood and experienced (Frankenberg 1993; Gallagher 2000; Hartigan 1999; Roediger 1999). In her study with white women, Frankenberg (1993) states that the heterogeneity of whiteness is “the physical landscape—the home, the street, the neighborhood, the school, parts of town visited or driven through rarely or regularly, places visited on vacation” (p. 43). Through these women’s stories, Frankenberg documents how their lived experiences shaped their view of whiteness in differing ways. Borrowing Frankenberg’s concept, Charles Gallagher (2000) illustrates the ways in which his sample of whites reflected on whiteness that varied across “class, geography, education, political ideology, sexuality, religion, age, gender, and local culture” (p. 209). In other words, there is not just one experience of being white. However, while there are numerous versions of whiteness, there are common understandings and practices that can be attributed to “living white” in the United States (Frankenberg 1993; Gallagher 2000; McIntosh 1997; Roediger 1999; Wellman 1993) as whiteness dominates in common class and common gender positions. To be white is to be raced and, in the United States, to be white is to experience privilege. White privilege is a historical, institutional system of exploitation of people of color by white people for the purpose of maintaining a system of wealth, power, and privilege (Bell 1992; Bonilla-Silva 2001, 2006; Delgado and Stefancic 1997; Frankenberg 1993; Horsman 1981; Singh 2004; Wellman 1993; West 2004; Winant 2004, 2006). Whiteness becomes racist when whites act as if their values, ideals, and customs are the normative where everything and everyone is judged by those white standards (Bell 1992; Bonilla-Silva 2001, 2006; Delgado and Stefancic 2001; Frankenberg

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1993; McIntosh 1997). Hence, racism is not simply prejudice, but rather a defense of racial privilege. In her well-cited essay on white privilege, Peggy McIntosh (1997) has identified forty-six advantages available to her as a white individual. McIntosh (1997) argues that in a society that defines whiteness as normative, whites can easily experience a sense of belonging and reap not only economic, but also social and cultural advantages. On white privilege, McIntosh writes: I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets, which I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was “meant” to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, assurances, tools, maps, guides, codebooks, passports, visas, clothes, compass, emergency gear, and blank checks. (McIntosh 1997:291)

Sociologist David Wellman (1993) documents the many ways that race still counts in shaping one’s lived experiences in American society. Wellman (1993) counters arguments that “privilege” class over race in explaining the socio-economic situation of blacks in American society. Wellman (1993) argues that if class position was the major explanatory factor for one’s life chances, then whites and blacks of the same class position would share the same economic and medical difficulties, and be treated equally by the criminal justice system. Instead, blacks hold lower life expectancy rates due to inequality in the quality of health care; are arrested and incarcerated more often than whites for similar crimes; and are denied mortgages and employment and earn less than their white counterparts (Wellman 1993). McIntosh (1997) and Wellman (1993) are two of the many critical theorists who have articulated the numerous economic, social, and cultural advantages whites receive in a society that privileges whiteness. Thus white culture is a racialized, structural process that reproduces white privilege and racism (Frankenberg 1993). In multi-racial organizing where whites dominate either in leadership positions or in number, whiteness can become problematic in how issues are identified and framed, tactics are chosen, leadership and decision making power are distributed, and in a host of other practices (Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Krauss 1994; Ostrander 1999; Scott 2005). Within the network, white members who do not acknowledge or address their white privilege are drawn to the inclusive model of organizing where definitions of peace work are narrowly defined and strategies for alliance building are limited. On the other hand, white neighborhood-based model members who have acknowledged how their privilege affects their worldviews have transformed their definitions of peace work and have been able to

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build relationships across racial and class boundaries. It is through an analysis of “white talk” that I was able to uncover the ways in which whites consciously or unconsciously view race. “White talk” (Simpson 1996) is a term used to describe how many whites use racialized language sometimes without even realizing it. “White talk” is unconscious talk, that is “easy, loose . . . words unleashed easily, effortlessly, thoughtlessly” (Simpson 1996:374). “White talk” is also learned talk. From a very early age regardless of race, our lives are constructed around a racial hierarchy (Frankenberg 1993; Gallagher 2000; Simpson 1996; Van Ausdale and Feagin 2002). As whites progress through life in a largely segregated, unequal social structure that privileges white skin, they develop ideas about people of color and these unquestioned assumptions continue to be “written, rewritten, and internalized” (Gallagher 2000:204) throughout our everyday lives. “White talk” is not always blatant racist talk; it is more often subtle colorblind discourse that is often used to appear non-racist. Critical race theorist Eduardo Bonilla-Silva defines color-blind discourse as “a racial ideology, a loosely organized set of ideas, phrases, and stories that help whites justify contemporary white supremacy; they are the collective representations whites have developed to explain, and ultimately justify, contemporary racial inequality” (2006:208). Bonilla-Silva (2001, 2006) identifies four master frames used by whites to explain or justify the racial status quo: abstract liberalism, naturalization, cultural racism, and the minimization of racism. Abstract liberalism draws on the idea of equal opportunity and the belief in meritocracy and is often used in statements opposing policies such as affirmative action. “People should be judged on their merits, not their skin color.” The naturalization frame suggests that racial differences are natural occurrences. For instance, neighborhoods are segregated because “people naturally like to live with other people who are like them.” Cultural racism builds on the naturalization frame, but focuses on culturally based arguments that differentiate whites and people of color. Hence, segregation is explained as “African Americans choose to live in those neighborhoods. They are the ones who do not want to live with us.” Lastly, the minimization of racism frame views episodes of discrimination as “isolated incidents” or “individual acts” and is used to reinforce the idea that institutional racism does not exist. Many of the excerpts from network members offered below draw on these frames to justify organizing practices. Engaging in subtle “white talk,” or color-blind discourse, avoids examining the way in which whiteness and privilege influence worldviews and relationships. Color-blindness reinforces racism as it negates the experiences of “the other” while maintaining and reinforcing whiteness as the norm (Frankenberg 1993; Gallagher 2003; hooks 1989; Myers 2005) leaving “hierarchies intact”

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(Frankenberg 1993:143). Ruth Frankenberg calls this practice “dodging difference” or practicing “color-evasiveness” (1993:142). Being color-evasive, Frankenberg argues, is “a mode of thinking about race organized around an effort not to ‘see,’ or at any rate not to acknowledge, race differences” (1993:42). To engage in color-blind discourse is to promote ideologies of integration and assimilation or the “illusion of inclusion” (Myers 2005:25) evident in the inclusive model. Moreover, because “white talk” is so deeply ingrained in our culture it is less likely to be experienced at a conscious level (Frankenberg 1993; Lawrence 1995; McIntosh 1997; Rasmussen, Klinenberg, Nexica, and Wray 2001). Hence, “white talk” is often unconscious talk that can translate into exploitative practices (Feagin 2000; Frankenberg 1993; Wellman 1993). In the sections below, I draw from a number of examples from my fieldwork and examine “white talk,” showing how the invisibility of race (and class) privilege translates into exclusionary organizing practices. THE INVISIBILITY OF RACE AND CLASS Making Assumptions “People of color are too busy working on their issues.” “People of color are unorganized.” These phrases appeared numerous times in interview transcripts and field notes as many inclusive model whites across class differences discussed obstacles to alliance building. When I asked people to elaborate on what “their issues” meant, what was consistently described was work that is often categorized as “justice work” or “community work.” “Community work is what people of color do and not what peace activists do.” The assumption made by these inclusive model, white members is that people of color are “too busy” working on issues that address their own immediate needs—affordable housing, community violence, etc. and that these issues will not bring about the structural change needed to stop military intervention. Work by people of color became classified as “self-serving,” while the work being done by peace activists was viewed as “for the greater good.” As discussed in chapter 2, for those living in the world of privilege, peace work becomes a form of altruism, thereby “more important work” as it provides benefits for everyone, not just oneself. This attitude was voiced in many community group discussions I attended. For those fighting for survival on a daily basis community work is peace work as it is viewed as a means to addressing the larger struggle for peace, justice, and equality. Dora, a network member, explains: in my opinion peace work is justice work and justice work is peace work. It’s just another name for the same thing. When I get together with my neighbors

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and try to fight for more affordable housing, I’m working for justice and for peace. We look beyond the community to see how money is doled out, where’s it’s going and where it’s not going. Why? You make the connections. You can’t ignore the bigger picture and so you have to fight here [in the local community] and you have to fight at the higher levels to change the institutions. You need both actions, but everyone needs to have the understanding that it’s a linked fight. You know what I’m saying? If we don’t, then we won’t support each other. The reason why we go to war has to do with our actions here at home. . . . It’s not about you joining my group, or me joining your group, it’s about us having the same understanding of the problems, the same vision of the change, and then working in our own ways, but always supporting each other. Everyone benefits in the long run. (2004)

Some neighborhood-based model members voiced the opinion that most white, middle-class peace work was in itself self-serving, or what some called “feel-good work.” They [white, middle-class] work on [passing town resolutions]. That’s great, but that can’t be it. I mean, what does that do? Okay, it creates awareness, but then what? Everyone gets a pat on the back. We need to take that a step further. But that’s a middle-class action and I don’t particularly care for that. (Deidre 2005) I need to work on issues that matter to people of color and lower-income people. That’s my idea of doing peace and justice work. I refuse to work on ‘white, middle class issues’ which is typically the work the peace movement does or work that the [community group] has been doing. It’s “feel-good work” and it doesn’t amount to anything. (Donna 2005)

In Deidre’s and Donna’s view, race and class interact as they see most of the white middle-class joining movements so that they can feel good about themselves, and the work they do typically does not alter power structures nor does it “affect the inequality in people’s lives.” As community work is overlooked, people of color are viewed as nonpolitical and “unorganized.” In his discussion specifically on the white, middle-class peace movement, sociologist David Croteau (1995) states, “Certain strains of the peace movement are notorious for blindly arguing for the primacy of the peace issue since nuclear war would mean the destruction of us all. Such callous disregard for the day-to-day struggles of working and poor people is clearly alienating to people dealing with less hypothetical and more immediate threats” (p. 144). An excerpt from my field notes of an interpretive focus group highlights the invisibility of race and community work:

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Many people felt that building a peace organization was more important than building a community of activism, and others disagreed. I think it’s because many here don’t view community work as political work nor do they see how to link social justice and anti-war work. They give the definition, but they say they just want to work on anti-war issues. That’s an issue, how people define peace work but also the divisions around how and what type of movement to build. Some people here don’t even think we need a diverse organization or movement. Where the difficulty and divisions began is when I took the peace and justice definitions we created and started talking about alliance building across differences. Practically everyone in the room said, “I don’t know people of color,” but [one woman] kept bringing up names of the people they do. [There were many stories told about the people they knew and why they either left the group or never joined.] Olivia said, “I feel uncomfortable.” And Gloria said, “It’s impossible. Those people are so unorganized.” Many members nodded their heads in agreement. Donna asked what that meant, and the woman replied, “Well, there are no people of color working in organizations. We need to get out there and raise awareness [about the war] and get them organized, get them coming to our meetings.” Beth (a woman very active in affordable housing issues within the community) drew attention to the lack of interest in working with [community development group] of which she is a member. “That’s not political work” someone said. It’s pretty clear that the many community organizations and people of color active on issues in this city are being overlooked. (April, 2005)

Thus, important work being done by people of color within the community remains invisible and irrelevant to a peace and justice agenda. Another assumption made by inclusive model whites is that people of color are in need of leadership and need to be educated. “We need to educate them” makes the assumption that people of color are uneducated about the war and once they “become educated” they will join to oppose it. Alliance building becomes a means of coaxing people of color into the movement around a narrow definition of peace work—an anti-war agenda. As discussed in chapter 4, this line of discourse is prominent in how counter–military recruitment work is primarily viewed by these members. The view is that these white, middleclass peace activists need to educate youth of color as they are choosing to enter the military because they do not have parental guidance, education, or an understanding that the war is wrong. They need to be “enlightened” and “shown the way to the right choice.” “Saving these kids” (as one member described it) is certainly good work and exposing the myths of the military is an important component of counter–military recruitment work. Many youth, both privileged and underprivileged, are not fully aware of the implications of their choices and can be swayed by suave military recruiters with empty promises.

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However, neighborhood-based model members argue that approaching youth with “this patriarchal attitude that you know their world better than they do will not work.” False assumptions about why youth are making the military choice, as well as ignoring the factors that push them toward that decision, cause problems in working across racial boundaries. As Wendell stated, Part of me feels like you can’t just come up to somebody who’s poor and doesn’t have a lot of options and say you can’t join the military cause it’s wrong. That doesn’t make any sense. You don’t know what choices this person has had to make or what choices this person has available to them and why they want to go into the military. So how can you assume you know what they should do? You don’t know what their life is like. That’s disrespecting someone. Just because you’re in a community, a relatively poor community with young people of color you can’t assume that all of them are downtrodden. . . . Many whites do not have a realistic view of the world. (2005)

This discourse reveals how the experience of “living white” prohibits whites from experiencing the same repercussions of U.S. policies as people of color. Thus, their worldviews and definitions of peace work become shaped by an experience of privilege. When discussing the difficulty in engaging the white, working-class in an anti-war agenda, middle-class inclusive model members also utilized the phrase “we need to educate them.” An excerpt from my field notes documents a discussion one community group had concerning educationals: This idea of holding monthly educationals is good, but it was a little troubling to hear some of the discourse today. Most of the members, but especially [name deleted] are pushing an agenda to entice more people into the organization by educating them on the politics of the war; while a few others [names deleted] seem to be encouraging people to consider this as a way to learn more about others. For instance, [name deleted] said, “We need to reach more people so we can grow. How can we reach out to these people? I think we need to educate them. I mean most of the working-class around here are so gung ho about the war, and they aren’t even educated on the politics of it. We need to educate them about why the war is wrong and how it’s affecting their lives. They don’t even see it.” (Excerpt from field notes, community group meeting, November 2004)

In several instances, I observed inclusive model, middle-class members asking, “How do we make this issue [stopping the Iraq war] real for workingclass people?” Or, “how can we reframe this issue so that the working class can understand it?” I had a conversation with one white, working-class member after a meeting about these statements. She said it made her angry that

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people were making assumptions that the working class did not care about the war or issues of morality and that she wanted to say “What makes it real for you?” She talked about the luxury the middle class has to choose the issues they want to work on “because so many issues aren’t affecting them.” Moreover, she said, “We don’t need to be educated by the middle class. We know the war is wrong.” Here, race and class interact as “we need to educate them” makes the assumption that people of color and the white, working and lowerincome classes lack the appropriate knowledge about their own lives. Knowledge and language are key obstacles that have been well documented by researchers examining cross-class interactions (Croteau 1995; Rose 2000; Stout 1996). Many middle-class members tend not to acknowledge that there are different types of knowledge that shape political awareness (Croteau 1995; Gamson 1992). In his study with a number of working-class people across racial differences, William Gamson (1992) found that people generally had a good foundation of knowledge on a variety of political issues and that this knowledge was shaped not only by media discourse, but also through experiential knowledge and what he called “popular wisdom” or shared group knowledge. Within this network, there is often an assumption made by middle-class members that all members share a common base of knowledge about the war, politics, and alternative views. Middle-class members often use jargon and refer to authors, activists, and readings during meetings and one-on-one interactions that can be rather off-putting to individuals new to the movement. Sociologist Fred Rose (2000) argues that common lived experiences affect a movement’s culture as “socially homogeneous membership inevitably results in movements that reflect the practices, lifestyles, language, thought processes, and values—that is, the culture of that social group” (p. 15). Activist Linda Stout (1996) has stated “language creates probably the biggest barrier to building an inclusive movement” (p. 118). Finding a common language is a key ingredient to building relationships across difference. Middle-class members often assume that because someone speaks differently or if they have not attended college, they are uneducated, misinformed and cannot communicate with public officials, the media, or other external audiences. This clearly is not the case. There are many working-class and lower-income people both within and outside the United States who are making and have made significant social change. It is obvious these false assumptions create barriers in organizing. An excerpt from my field notes illustrates the inadequacy often felt by white working-class members in a meeting dominated by middle-class members where their knowledge and language are questioned: I was really happy to see that [two white, working-class members] came to the meeting today. [Both of them] had some very interesting points to add about

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how the meetings are run. I think the suggestion to split the meetings into an educational portion and an action portion is a good one and will alleviate some of the tensions between members. What was really disappointing was the way in which [the moderator] and [a few others] kept correcting [a working-class man] each time he attempted to articulate his understanding of how the counter– military recruitment campaign should be framed. They kept rearticulating their positions in movement jargon and referring to an obscure author until he finally just shut down and didn’t say anything the rest of the meeting. And he had some good things to say! (June, 2005)

In my experiences inside and outside this network with middle-class activists, I have found that this behavior is pretty typical and this has certainly placed me in a position of feeling inferior and uneducated and to some degree not prepared to engage in collective action work. Within this network, both race and class privilege operate often interactively to exclude varying populations. Moreover, based on the context of interaction, race or class can play a larger role in erecting barriers to cooperation across racial and class differences. Avoidance When asking people across models to talk about the challenges in working across differences, the conversations almost always focused on the difficulty working across race. Class was usually not addressed unless specifically probed and often times the conversations reverted back to race. Pam, a neighborhoodbased model member, reflected on the avoidance of class within this network: the class part is really key too. We don’t even talk about that. We talk about race all the time. That is a big divide. But class is potentially bigger and we don’t even talk about that. We get away with really classist statements on the Left a lot. We talk about Joe Six-Pack. Who the hell is Joe Six-Pack? Like rich people don’t drink beer? And, oh, so, somebody who carries a gun is working class identified but a rich person who has a whole case of hunting rifles doesn’t count? We ignore those people and that’s a huge cost for movement building, I think. We often play to the [middle class]. Instead, why don’t we think about why we aren’t attractive to working-class people? One time someone sent out an e-mail saying please dress nicely for this anti-war demo. What do you mean nicely? According to whose standards? Nicely, Gap clothes, like a foo foo hairdo? I thought that was classist among other things. Anyway, so class is another whole thing. (2004)

Here, Pam draws attention to the way in which classism is often overlooked, and how false assumptions about the white working class may alienate this population.

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When asking whites to talk about the challenges they face working across racial differences, many inclusive model whites, in addition to the false assumptions made above, drew on color-blind discourse in order to appear nonracist or attempted to divert the conversation away from race. However, there were notable differences in the degree of color-blind talk and the exclusionary effect on organizing practices. Direct usage of color-blind language such as “I don’t even notice people’s skin color” clearly influenced organizing. The invisibility of race provided a justification for an approach to organizing that was rooted in an imagined class commonality. By promoting an “us versus them” analogy of why people need to join together, it ignored the differences between races, as well as classes, that can complicate cross-difference organizing. By not acknowledging the role race and class play in U.S. intervention as well as shaping people’s lives, the white experience became the normative and the lived experiences of people of color remained invisible. Moreover, these inclusive model whites were unable to see how their own racial experiences influenced their worldviews and subsequently the way they defined peace work. By not seeing race or themselves as raced, these whites were unable to see the connections between race and class, and how to link peace and justice work. As discussed in chapter 4, this was most evident in the Fund Justice campaign. Other inclusive model whites that used more subtle color-blind discourse such as “I judge people by the work they do, not the color of their skin” had begun to recognize the link between race and class and U.S. policy, but did not necessarily know how to translate this understanding into action around peace and justice. Race and class were visible when explaining the roots of war, yet race became less visible when discussing definitions of peace work or approaches to alliance building. For instance, those who were fully “racecognizant”10 (Frankenberg 1993) advocated “reaching out” and “taking leadership from people of color” in an effort to reduce power and privilege, whereas those retaining some color-blind discourse struggled with how to initiate and sustain relationships across racial boundaries or, as one white member put it, “move out of a place of comfortability.” When probing further and asking members to explain how they made decisions on who and how to build alliances with, members responded by saying “contacting groups that are already doing similar peace work like us,” or “contacting groups that might not be doing peace work, but think like us.” Although these members had begun to embrace a race-class analysis of U.S. policy, they had yet to move beyond the idea of inclusivity as assimilation and continued to be perplexed as to why their organizations, the network, and the movement remained predominately white. “Judging people by the work they do” still rendered race invisible as valued work was still viewed as anti-war.

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Both racism and classism, or a culture of privilege, are barriers to organizing within this network. Lived experiences shaped by a culture of privilege affect how members of this network view the world, define peace work, and ultimately who and how they choose to build relationships across difference. Some theorists argue that embracing a class commonality can subdue the differences attributed to race (Gitlin 1995; Wilson 1978, 1999), while others argue that movements need to address the classism inherent in their practices (Croteau 1995; Rose 2000) in order to build relationships across differences. While creating commonality based on shared class interests and addressing classist practices within movements are essential in fostering collaboration among diverse populations and members, addressing class is not enough to create a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice movement. The inclusive model practices an “illusionary inclusiveness” (Myers 2005). This is evident in the way in which inclusive model members view their approach to alliance building and develop relationships within their community groups. “Being inclusive” is defined as inviting those outside the population of the white, middle-class to meetings, asking people to join a pre-determined agenda, and avoiding conflict in discussions. These are the ways in which inclusive model members feel they are “doing everything they possibly can to be inclusive.” In actuality, avoiding racial and class differences and making false assumptions lead to exclusionary practices. By not including people of varying populations in the planning stages of campaigns or by not taking leadership from others in defining issues and agendas, the process of building a diverse network becomes an assimilation model—new members are expected to assimilate into the existing agenda. By ignoring race and class, whites discount the impact whiteness and class status has on interpersonal relationships and organizing practices that gloss over differences. White inclusive model members across class differences define peace work as anti-war whether the work is being framed as a moral outcry against war or as a way to increase social spending. The focus is on stopping U.S. intervention as the belief is that ending war will redirect spending on social needs. Alternatively, neighborhood-based model members argue that since it is the intersecting structures of racism and classism that push the United States toward war, peace work must involve addressing those structures if the movement hopes to make long-term change in U.S. foreign policy. What differentiates these two views is the degree in which whites have acknowledged their race privilege and shifted their worldviews. Although classism certainly plays a key role in the way that people within this network work, white privilege also has a significant affect on the building of a multi-racial, multi-class network. Making assumptions about people of color shape how peace work is defined and how agendas and alliances are

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built. Making false assumptions about the reality of underprivileged youth of color translates into missed opportunities for building alliances across differences. Color-blind discourse diverts attention away from the way in which whiteness and privilege influence worldviews and relationships. Thus, unconscious “white talk” translates into conscious decisions about the many facets of collective organizing. When whites embrace a race consciousness where whiteness and privilege are acknowledged, they have more potential in overcoming boundaries across differences. Not dealing with race in this way has a significant impact on this network’s goal in building a multi-racial movement. UNITY OR DIVERSITY? “Unity then diversity” and “Unity with diversity” were two themes that arose in multiple locations and conversations when discussing agendas and strategies with inclusive model members. As mentioned in chapter 3, inclusive model members prioritize unity over diversity meaning that the identity and agenda need to be defined prior to recruiting new members. “Unity then diversity” views expanding the agenda to include a diversity of issues and working to diversify membership as auxiliary to the central focus of the peace movement. “Unity with diversity” is slightly different in that efforts to recruit people of color are viewed as a key task in order to build both the organization/network and the movement. The following are excerpts from my field notes of a community group meeting illustrating these two views: Interesting discussion today. There are clearly several different views on whether or not the group should try to recruit across racial and class differences and how to go about it. Some people don’t think it’s important to diversify issues or people. Others want to have diversity in the group, but only those people willing to work on the established agenda. And in the minority are the few people that argue that the group needs to diversify its work before it can even think about working across racial and class differences. For instance Gary proposed that the group create a membership committee. Mark: “Do we even want to make building the size and diversity of our group a major project?” Jane: “Diversity is important. It can’t be all white, middle-class people. We need to get more people working to stop the war.” Gary: “I agree that diversity is a good goal, but what I’m proposing is to do some outreach to increase participation in our activities, not specifically targeting people of color, just people in general.”

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Beth: “What we really need to be thinking about is how to build a structure to accommodate race and class. We not only need to build our group, but it’s also important to build relationships and connections.” Donna: “Exactly. But first we need to learn more about what’s going on in the community so we can diversify our work in order to attract more people.” Mark: “Well, that’s no way to build a movement. You don’t understand how social movements work. You need to build organizations to get things done. We need to stop the war. We can work on everything else like race and class after we do that. We can get diversity later.” Gayle: [under her breath] “Well, we can’t stop war without addressing race and class.” At this point things got pretty heated. . . . Donna and Gayle were horrified and approached me after the meeting. (Excerpt from field notes, community group meeting, January, 2005)

Mark, Gary, and Jane follow an inclusive model of organizing. They are white and middle class. Peace work is defined as anti-war; and diversity, if accepted as an important goal (which Mark clearly does not), is considered a method to increasing the size of the organization/movement through assimilation into a pre-existing anti-war agenda. It is not surprising that these activists, based on their social biographies, view assimilation as a mean toward integrating others into the movement as assimilation is a product of privilege. On assimilation, bell hooks (1989), writes, “It is a strategy deeply rooted in the ideology of white supremacy and its advocates urge black people to negate blackness, to imitate racist white people so as to better absorb their values, their way of life” (p. 113). Hence, assimilation is simply a means of reinforcing and maintaining power and privilege (Feagin 1991; hooks 1989). In the above conversation, Jane’s comment, “It can’t be all white, middleclass people” reflects the view that diversity is also a way to claim representation. Later in that meeting (and subsequent meetings), Jane pointed to the importance of having people of different races and classes in the group in order to represent the demographics of the city. In a conversation with Jane, she referred to this theme of representation in speaking about alliance building: Jane: “Well, we’ve been trying to reach out more to minorities because we tend to be pretty much white women. That’s the basic demographic of the group.” Deb: “How so?” Jane: “We invite them to our meetings. Sometimes they come, but they never come back. We did have a few Hispanic women, um, they weren’t core members because they had a lot of things going on in their lives. So, yeah, we’re try-

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ing to figure out how we can reach other groups and in my mind for a lot of the immigrant groups, they all work, they all have very busy lives trying to stay on top of things. I’m not sure we should be faulted for not being able to attract those people. It would be nice to open up our demographics though, be more representative of [the city].” (2004)

Representation is often a cover for “tokenism” by engaging with people of color in order to claim diversity, but not necessarily placing them in positions of leadership or power. This is evident, not only in the demographics of many of the community groups, but of the network as a whole. As mentioned in chapter 2, while there are “diversity goals” established by the coordinating committee for the network’s leadership positions, these positions do not really hold much power nor have they been filled. “Unity in diversity”11 reflects the position taken by Donna and Beth. These two women, along with a few others, represent the minority of membership within this community group advocating for a neighborhood-based model of organizing. Beth, also a member of a local community development organization led by a person of color, is a vocal supporter of diversifying the group’s agenda and alliances. Similarly, Donna spends much of her time working with communities of color. Both are white and middle class. For Beth and Donna and many other neighborhood-based model members, diversity must be the primary focus for a multi-racial, multi-class movement, where unity becomes the byproduct of successful alliance building. In other words, achieving unity is an organic process that occurs by acting together. Unity cannot be based on an “imagined” or “forced” uniformity; instead “it must be expressed through the multiplicities of diversity” (Eisenstein 2004:55). Unity does not mean homogeneity. Unity is created by dialoguing about differences and building common understandings while not erasing the importance of differences. Moreover, diversity allows you to see better and differently, adding depth to the analysis and development of solutions. In an e-mail to her community group following the meeting where creating a membership committee was discussed, Donna expressed her views on diversity: If I remember correctly, it was proposed that this committee [membership committee] work to diversify our group. I believe that diversifying the group will be a huge and necessary chore that needs a commitment from the group. This needs to be a priority agenda item and we need to acknowledge the problems within our organization and within the network for that matter. It’s too white and too middle class. We need to be more inclusive of people of color and folks with lower incomes. How can we not attempt to do this? I’m not talking about just bringing people in. I’m talking about diversifying the work and diversifying our

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views. This will bring an enormous perspective on the issue of peace and justice, making all of us more aware of issues and understand how oppression impacts folks living it. Diversity also brings up many difficulties, yet to me it’s worth it. (2005)

Members of this network hold differing definitions of inclusivity and opinions on diversity and this creates tension with the network and ultimately impacts collective action as it polarizes members within community groups. Although some inclusive model members feel that diversity is important, they still ascribe to an assimilation model—diversity is a means to increasing their organization under an anti-war agenda. For neighborhood-based model members, numbers are not enough. They feel that merely enticing people of color and working/lower-income populations into a predominately white, middleclass movement without relinquishing power is just a form of tokenism. Achieving racial and class diversity means moving beyond representation and making a commitment to sharing the base of power, but also viewing diversity as a means for enriching the work.

5 Patricia Hill Collins (1998, 2000) emphasizes the importance of seeing race, class, and gender as structural power systems that affect building relationships, coalitions, and alliances across differences. For this network, intersections of race, class, and gender produce complex experiences of privilege that in turn shape worldviews and organizing practices. A culture of privilege continues to plague “the peace movement.” In an open letter authored by several peace and justice activists of color that was broadcast on multiple peace movement listservs, the anti-war movement was criticized for embracing an elitist model of organizing that reproduces “the white supremacy that permeates U.S. society,” “marginalizes working people,” and “creates unfavorable conditions for women’s equal participation.”12 Although acknowledging the gendered and classed nature of the movement’s practices, this letter focused intently on white privilege. This research suggests that race continues to matter in organizing across differences because white privilege affects how peace work is defined and alliances are built. White privilege influences how whites view the world, how they view “the other” and how they consciously and unconsciously exclude people of color in order to preserve power and privilege. Not dealing with race prevents whites from seeing how their privilege excludes people of color’s work from movement agendas as well as how privilege operates in greater society. If white activists want to work in multi-racial movements then they need to acknowledge how white privilege shapes society and their worldview, because race, class, and gender matter when organizing across

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differences. Assuming class (or gender) commonality cannot subdue the issue of race. By not acknowledging the continuing relevance and role of race in movement building, activists may miss important opportunities to create alliances across differences as well as enhance analyses and ultimately the ability to make greater transformative social change. If the contemporary peace and justice movement truly wants to build a broader movement across racial and class differences, it needs to address its culture of privilege. When liberal whites fail to understand how they can and/or do embody whitesupremacist values and beliefs even though they may not embrace racism as prejudice or domination (especially domination that involves coercive control), they cannot recognize the ways their actions support and affirm the very structure of racist domination and oppression that they profess to wish to see eradicated. (hooks 1989:113)

Becoming race cognizant is a process that can lead to new understandings and definitions of whiteness. Documenting this process has provided valuable insight as to how white activists can build stronger relationships and movements across difference. The next chapter provides examples from my fieldwork illustrating how activists within this network are acknowledging and addressing privilege and forging relationships across racial and class differences.

NOTES 1. Tim Wise is among the most prominent anti-racist writers and activists within the United States. 2. The Industrial Areas Foundation is a Chicago-based community organization established in 1940 by Saul Alinsky. There are many affiliates across the United States. The IAF has been heavily involved in the success of living wage campaigns in several U.S. cities. For an extensive description, see Alinsky’s Rules for Radicals (New York: Vintage Books, 1971) as well as Edward Chambers and Michael A. Cowan, Roots for Radicals: Organizing for Power, Action, and Justice (New York: Continuum, 2003). 3. Many successful multi-racial movements have either not included whites (Puildo 1996) or have been focused on narrowly defined material gains (Hirsch 2000). 4. See appendix A for a clarification of class categories. 5. See appendix A for a clarification on the use of the term “people of color.” 6. As did many others within the coordinating committee. 7. It is notable that over time I have witnessed one of these men begin to shift his vision of organizing.

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8. I define color-blind discourse below. For a full discussion on color-blind ideology, see Eduardo Bonilla-Silva 2001, 2006. 9. The method of interpretive focus groups is discussed further in appendix 1 as well as in Dodson and Schmalzbauer 2005; Dodson, Piatelli, and Schmalzbauer 2006, 2007. 10. By race cognizant, Frankenberg (1993) means that individuals acknowledge that “race makes a difference in people’s lives and that racism makes a difference in U.S. society” (p. 159). Neighborhood-model members are race cognizant. 11. I borrow this term from Eisenstein (2004). 12. Listserv message posted to network, February 21, 2003.

Chapter Six

Practical Solutions for Working across Differences

In chapter 2, I described the particular ways in which this network differentiates itself from the traditional peace movement, and how some portions of the network have been more influenced by feminist ways of organizing. In chapters 3 and 4 I described two different models of organizing, inclusive and neighborhood-based, and argued that the neighborhood-based model fully embraces feminist ways of organizing and holds more potential in building a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice network. In chapter 5, I offered examples of how a culture of privilege affects organizing across differences, specifically how privilege affects the definition of peace work and how alliances are built. In this chapter, I draw on examples from the field and offer practical solutions for activists working across differences. I show how some network members are examining privilege, transforming worldviews, and transitioning from inclusive to neighborhood-based organizing, thereby achieving more success fostering relationships across racial and class boundaries.

EXAMPLES FROM THE FIELD “Why do you think your group is successful in working across racial and class differences?” When I posed this question to neighborhood-based model members, I received a variety of responses that can be sorted into six major categories of action1: (1) know and recognize work being done within the community; (2) use various lenses to understand issues and craft solutions; (3) address issues facing different populations; (4) build a sense of community; (5) ensure a diverse leadership; and (6) address power and privilege. The first five practices have been discussed in previous chapters and are reviewed 117

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below. The latter category, which is related to all five practices, is the primary focus of this chapter. Know and Recognize Work Being Done within the Community We have seen in previous chapters how ignoring or discounting “community work” can have a significant impact on a group’s ability to forge relationships across racial and class differences. The neighborhood-based approach to organizing “learns what action is already taking place in the community” by “reaching out” to organizations and groups within the community, as it seeks ways to “link issues” and “take leadership from others.” Members also state that “learning about different histories and struggles other than the ‘white’ story” is a necessary step in broadening one’s field of vision and ability to empathize with other people’s lives. Chapter 4 provided an example of how neighborhood-based model members approach counter–military recruitment work using these practices. By finding out what issues were important in the neighborhood and what groups within the community were already active, they were able to link issues and negotiate a relationship across racial and class differences. Use Various Lenses to Understand Issues and Craft Solutions The neighborhood-based model embraces a holistic view of society that offers the ability to see the intimate link between everyday struggles and U.S. foreign policy. Agendas are defined by “listening to how different people talk about peace,” and “remaining open to new ideas by looking at issues from different viewpoints.” Hence, neighborhood-based model members acknowledge and value differing lived experiences, and draw on these views in crafting agendas and action plans. For neighborhood-based model members, seeking diversity within the movement is “a critical component in providing different filters from which to view your work, your goals, strategies, and tactics.” Diversity is not only about increasing numbers, rather it is valued for how it enriches the work by bringing depth to worldviews making them more accurate and complete, thereby enhancing and broadening the peace and justice movement. In chapter 3, I offered a glimpse into the practices of one community group that uses the tool of multicultural competence to evaluate their work. When considering agendas, they ask: “have I considered this issue from different life experiences?” and “does this agenda serve the goal of building alliances across racial and class differences?” If the answers are no, they rethink it.

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Address Issues Facing Different Populations A holistic view of society broadens the definition of peace work. Neighborhood-based model members bring an expanded definition of peace to their work that brings an anti-war agenda together with action around issues of social justice such as hunger, housing, human rights, and education. Taking on “justice issues” is not viewed solely as a way to build organizations or a movement, but seen as a necessary step in “building relationships by doing the work” and in changing both foreign and national policies. While neighborhood-based model members agree that U.S. foreign policy is shaped by the quest for economic and political power to profit the wealthy, they also acknowledge the role that institutional racism and white privilege play. Hence if the movement wants to end war, it needs to address America’s culture of privilege that is rooted in wealth, whiteness, and patriarchy. In chapters 3 and 4, I discussed how this broader definition of peace work influences how and with whom one builds alliances, and ultimately the success one can achieve working across racial and class boundaries. Build a Sense of Community Building a sense of community is key in sustaining collective action. Individuals practicing neighborhood-based organizing view community as both fixed and fluid. In other words, building community should occur within the community group and within the neighborhood, but also reach beyond the boundaries of the local community in order to create a larger, networked activist community full of social networks that are connected to each other in various ways. Community building requires collectivist practices and empathic dialoging in order to build understanding and trust across differences. Neighborhood-based model members negotiate commonality, or create shared standpoints, by listening, dialoguing, and learning about each other’s lives and issues. Assuming commonality without acknowledging differences can further alienate or exclude populations. In chapters 3 and 4, I offered a number of examples of how neighborhood-based model members create the space for developing common definitions of peace work and alliance building across different populations. Ensure a Diverse Leadership In chapter 2, I presented the argument that a pure collectivist structure does not necessarily guarantee the building of a diverse organization that is egalitarian.

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For instance in white-dominated, mixed-raced, pure collectivities, informal power structures often arise that dominate decision-making processes and roles, marginalizing minority members (Ostrander 1999; Scott 2005). Hence, diversity becomes mere representation rather than true participatory collaboration. For instance, in order to reach “real diversity”2 in a multi-racial organization, people of color must serve in positions of power; hence some formal structure is required. Structures must also be paired with collectivist processes that are participatory, cooperative and inclusive. Moreover, an organization must make a full commitment to diversity—real diversity. Real diversity moves beyond representation and assimilation and engages in sharing power. “Taking leadership from others” was a key theme raised by neighborhood-based model members when discussing ways in which they attempt to lessen power imbalances. In chapter 2, I offered the example of how one community group took leadership from students of color in counter–military recruitment work. Address Power and Privilege Due to the interconnectedness of gender, race, and class, boundaries can be created that affect movement participation and dynamics. All of the above practices require attention to how power operates in cross-difference relationships. In order to build trustworthy, sustainable relationships, an examination of privilege is required as “differences in power constrain our ability to connect with one another even when we think we are engaged in dialogue across differences” (Collins 2003:341). In chapter 5, I argued it is not solely differences in race or class that prevent working across differences, but rather a web of white, middle-class privilege—a culture of privilege that is shaped by a history of wealth and whiteness. In that chapter, I demonstrated how this privilege is exercised through unconscious beliefs and assumptions that translate into conscious practices that exclude, rather than include, people of color and working- and lower-income populations. Although class privilege certainly plays a key role in the way people within this network work, I argued that white privilege is also a barrier to cross-difference organizing because it too affects how the work is defined and how alliances are built. Patricia Hill Collins (2003) in her discussion on building coalitions across differences argues that we all have been affected by race, class, and gender, and that in order to create the space for collaboration we must not only develop empathy for each other but “each of us must come to terms with the multiple ways in which race, class, and gender as categories of analysis frame our individual biographies” and “create problems in the relationships among us” (p. 341). Thus, addressing white privilege cannot be done in a vacuum as

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the experience of our class, gender, and other aspects of our identities also shape our social biography. To understand one’s positionality, we must articulate and take responsibility for our own historical and social identities and we must interrogate how our identity and position have helped share our particular world views. . . . The better we are able to understand the power relationships that exist within our work, the more effectively we will be able to work within diverse communities and in our mutual struggle for social justice. (Gutierrez, Lewis, Nagda, Wernick, and Shore 2005:347)

For whites in a society where whiteness is privileged this can be a difficult, painful process. White racial identity development typically occurs along several stages: (1) lack of awareness of institutional racism and one’s own privilege; (2) guilt over or avoidance about one’s privilege; (3) disengagement from whiteness; (4) acknowledgment of one’s privilege; and (5) redefining what it means to be white (Helms 1990; Tatum 1992; Thompson 2003). It is in these latter two stages that race cognizance (Frankenberg 1993) is fully achieved. Stage five can also be considered the stage where a “positive white identity” is built (Flagg 1993). Developing a positive identity is not about glorifying whiteness, nor is it about abolishing it, but rather re-defining a white identity that is not based on oppressing others (Flagg 1993, Tatum 1992; Thompson 2003; Winant 2004).3 A positive white identity can, “energize the person’s efforts to confront racism and oppression in his or her daily life. Alliances with people of color can be more easily forged [at this stage of development than previously] because the person’s antiracist behavior and attitudes will be more consistently expressed” (Tatum 1992:17). Making whiteness visible unveils how privilege operates within society in an effort to open doors for collaborative relationships across racial differences. Individuals within this network fall along the continuum with most inclusive model members situated between stages one and three, whereas neighborhood-based model members tend to fall into the latter two stages. Acknowledging and dealing with one’s privilege is a process, and over the course of this research I witnessed organizing practices change as whites began to acknowledge privilege and shift from an inclusive to a neighborhood-based style of organizing. There are a few groups within the network that are in the process of moving away from an inclusive model to a neighborhood-based model of organizing. The following sections provide examples from the field illustrating how activists within this network are acknowledging and addressing white privilege. In the first section, both Pauline and Peter had already developed a positive white identity before becoming active in this community group and played key roles, along with other members within their organizations, in

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facilitating the transition away from an inclusive model of organizing. They offer their reflections on this process. In the second section, I recount the experiences of another community group as they struggle to address privilege. In this group, middle-class members welcome conversation that challenges classist practices; however as the majority of whites are either experiencing guilt or denial about their whiteness, broaching the topic of race is risky. Thus, model transition is proving to be much more difficult.

MORE EXAMPLES FROM THE FIELD The Move from Inclusive to Neighborhood-based Organizing In an interview with Pauline, I asked her to reflect on the process members in her group went through that moved them along the continuum from an inclusive to a neighborhood-based model of organizing. Pauline: “Early on, when we got started there were one or two people that were very vocal about not just staying within our white, middle-class cocoon and there were a few people of color when we started and have been all along. And there’s been people more focused on the war and people more focused on social justice right here and problems with people here. And with people that are a lot less privileged and denied what they need by all the budget cuts and all that kind of stuff in our community. And wanting to relate to them and figure out ways to work constructively on those issues and with those groups. And to find out what those groups are working on and take leadership from those groups and work together. So, there’s always been a back and forth and disagreement and it hasn’t been loud dissension but there’s been different focuses and emphases and we’ve gradually come toward more unity on a lot of that stuff but there are still differences in the group and different ideas about what we’re really trying to do.” Deb: “It was interesting what you said . . . that some people came to the group to stop the war and you had other people that were working on more of these social justice issues. It sounds like you might still have that separation, but there’s a common understanding—you said there’s more unity—Is that right and if so what is it and how did you get to that point?” Pauline: “Well, we had a couple of anti-racism trainings and discussions in meetings. We didn’t have a systematic [process] . . . okay we’re going to talk about this until we come to agreement. It was sort of starting and stopping and all over the place because we were doing a lot of stuff . . . so, we’re [the whites in the group] talking about relating to people across class and race and that we need to do anti-racism work, meaning looking at ourselves and our attitudes and our position in this society of privilege and stuff like that. And there were some people that really didn’t want to do that. . . . [As a group] we’ve had to come to

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a shared understanding that first of all that racism, as well as classism, is part of the war. The war is racist and social injustice here and the war is all part of the same political culture—whatever you want to call it in this country. It’s all part of a system that favors and prioritizes wealthy whites over everybody else whether they are at home or abroad. And it doesn’t matter that we kill 100,000 Iraqis and that we cut programs that people here need and depend on and that people of color and lower-income people don’t have health care and all that kind of stuff. And that took a lot of work talking about our experiences as whites— our role in that. So, what we’ve, I think what we’ve come to in terms of in operating that everyone pretty much accepts and agrees with is that a lot of our attention goes to social justice needs here like youth summer jobs, fighting the budget cuts, section 8 housing cuts . . . it’s a way to fight against the war . . . both wars . . . there and here. It’s supporting, not leading, the lower-income groups, the people of color, and the immigrant groups that are most affected by war. So, seeing the links is the first step . . . it’s seeing beyond the Iraq war and looking at people’s lives right here, but also how we [whites] are a part of the problem.” (2005)

Pauline’s reflections mirror other white members’ views that have come to the understanding that U.S. intervention is shaped by both racism and classism. Moreover, in order to “see the links” between racism and classism and the war abroad and at home, whites needed to examine their own location within a system that privileges whiteness and wealth. Only then were whites able to alter their worldview, expand their definition of peace work, and foster relationships across racial differences. Pauline states it was critical that this group make a unified commitment to achieving real diversity in terms of membership and issues in order to build a successful peace and justice organization. However, there are still disagreements over how to meld the differing definitions of peace work into the agenda. Although the group has found creative ways to support a multi-issue agenda by creating subcommittees, these disagreements do continue to create tension in the group. Peter reflects further on this. We’re not taking on issues in order to lure in people of color. We’re doing it as a way of catching up with ways they see the world. It’s more like learning a deeper analysis and joining in support instead of putting a false front on our real intentions for organizing for peace. And, that is actually a point of contention in the group. A good friend of mine in the group sent me an e-mail note saying that he really objected to framing this [the war] in terms of budget cuts. And, he said we were not being honest, that our real agenda was peace and this was diluting the purity of our issue, which I thought was a pretty loaded issue in race terms. And, that’s a defense opposition whites use. We still have a lot to work through if we [whites] want to work across race and class. . . . Whites need to understand their position as whites—white supremacy—before they even start building

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alliances or else they will blow it. People of color have been burnt by the peace movement. They have been ignored, dissed. We need to build trust. People of color are saying we’ve been at war where have you been? You have to show up, you have to be real. You have to work the issues, the root of what’s driving the U.S. to war and the root of what’s oppressing the majority of people here. Trust needs to be the foundation and in order to build that you need to let go of your power trip and build a common agenda together. (2004)

Peter reiterates the need for whites to relinquish control in setting agendas and strategies and instead “reach out to communities and share power and resources.” Building alliances across racial differences requires that “whites take leadership from people of color, show solidarity with other groups rather than drawing energy away from important work.” In doing so, whites can build trust and begin to see opportunities for “building bridges” between racial differences, but also between issues thereby broadening the peace agenda. Pauline and Peter’s statements represent the views of other whites that have worked with their own privilege, and have come to a neighborhoodbased model of organizing. A common sentiment from white neighborhoodbased model members was that inclusive whites did not want to acknowledge race and address racism because “that way they don’t have to look in the mirror at themselves” nor do they want to “give up control.” More importantly, their views resonate with arguments made by people of color in this network—that although many whites may be “trying to do good” they “may not have a realistic view of the world.” Simply stated, “White people don’t want to go there.” For Pauline and Peter, the process of engaging community group members in this process was not as difficult as in other groups as they had a full commitment from the group that achieving real diversity was a priority. Since they had gone through the process of addressing privilege themselves, they were able to bring that experience to bear upon their relations with other whites. Moreover, Peter and Pauline had pre-existing relationships with both people of color and working-class individuals and organizations that enabled them to desegregate the group’s networks. What about groups that do not have these resources? While anti-racist training programs have been shown to have a major impact on disrupting white identity (Katz 2003; Kivel 2002; Luft 2004), what factors might motivate whites to attend these sessions? Researchers investigating the motivation behind anti-racist involvement have argued that whites can be stimulated through organizational ties and social networks, through relationships with people of color, or by a pivotal event in one’s life where whites come to understand race experientially (McAdam 1988; O’Brien

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2001; O’Brien and Korgen 2007; Thompson 2001). But what of those whites who are segregated from people of color or who have not had a pivotal experience? How does a movement encourage whites to interrogate their privilege? Many people within this network are taking the initiative, or in some cases are being forced by peer pressure, to interrogate their whiteness. Others remain resistant or reluctant to do so. However (as one member put it), work like counter–military recruitment might eventually force people to work differently if they want to effect change, and that in turn, might compel them to examine their whiteness and how it shapes their definition of peace work and approach to organizing. Another catalyst may be for activists to adapt a method of interpretive focus groups.4 As an alternative to the anti-racist trainings offered by the community outreach committee and various organizations within the area, the interpretive focus group method may be a more comfortable approach and a first step in getting those reluctant members to reflect on how their social biography is shaped by privilege. Using Interpretive Focus Groups as a Method of Interrogating Privilege Eight months into this research, I was invited by a community group to facilitate an educational session on my research to date. Educational sessions are viewed as non-confrontational, learning experiences where people can learn about different topics. This particular group consists of about twenty-five active members5 and is predominately white and middle class. When I first visited this group during the beginning stages of my fieldwork, the majority of the members, similar to the majority of the community groups, practiced an inclusive model of organizing. Over time, I observed a shift in a number of individual members’ views and to some degree in the group’s overall agenda. On this date, there were ten white individuals in attendance; all middle class.6 I began by writing three questions on the board: 1. Is it important for the peace movement to work across racial and class differences? 2. What do you consider “peace work?” 3. What is “organizing?” I gave an overview of what I had learned about the network to date including the history of the peace movement in this city, and my overall findings on the characteristics of two different models of organizing. This produced good discussion that addressed the three questions I had posed. During this conversation, one white woman said, “the problem with the network is that there is no

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common analysis of why we go to war.” Her comments provoked more discussion that highlighted conflict within the group around the roots of war, the definition of peace work, and how and with whom the group should build alliances. Conversations continued organically drawing the connections between definitions of diversity, peace work, and alliance building. Members then began asking the very question I had asked after documenting the two models: what draws people to the different models? This dialogue provided me with insight as members began to construct possible reasons as to why some members were attracted to the different models. “They’re used to controlling the agenda,” “they want to be the leaders,” and “they don’t have any experience being around people of color” were some of the various reasons offered as to why some whites might be attracted to a more inclusive way of organizing. I saw this as an opportunity to use the educational session as an interpretive focus group and introduce an emergent theme in my analysis—privilege—to see how the conversation unfolded. I presented my observations and excerpts from conversations I had with members from other groups about working across racial and class boundaries. The atmosphere in the focus group was much more comfortable than in the personal interviews, as people were more open in speaking about privilege when interpreting other people’s actions and words as opposed to their own. As I mentioned in chapter 5, many whites just did not want to discuss privilege, specifically white privilege, in their interviews. However, there was a distancing from the privilege that provided a safe environment within the focus group setting. As the conversation turned to the group’s specific practices, however, the atmosphere shifted. Discussion about what were considered “classist” practices such as the time and place meetings are held, the way in which meetings were conducted, the language that was used in meetings and on e-mail, and so on, was unproblematic.7 However when race entered the dialogue, some whites retreated into defensive, color-blind discourse in order to avoid any accusations that they were a part of the problems being raised by the rest of the group that had begun to interrogate their own white privilege. One white man said, “I am not a racist, I have nothing against people of color. Why do we have to think about people as white and non-white anyway?” Other whites became defensive. One white woman asked me, “why are you making me apologize for being a white, middle-class activist? Why aren’t people of color reaching out to us? Why do we have to do the reaching out? Maybe they’re racist.” And another, a white male, said, “let’s just do ‘our’ work and then see who wants to join us. If we end up being white, so what? I think actively trying to diversify your group is racist.”

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For these members, it was clear that racism was synonymous with prejudice as they defined it as a personal action that they did not engage in. Moreover, they indicated that racism was not unique to whiteness as “people of color can be racist as well.” Even when acknowledging that racism was a systemic problem (that institutional racism exists), these members did not (or would not) acknowledge that their whiteness contributed to the problem nor did they think they were responsible for taking any action to reverse it. As one white woman commented to another, “I understand we have institutional racism here in this country, but come on, I wasn’t even born in the United States. How am I responsible for institutional racism?” It became quite clear to people in the room that there were differing definitions and awareness of racism. Later, after the meeting, I had a conversation with a white woman who was fully race cognizant. She expressed her concerns about remaining active within a group where whites were “so blind to racism and their whiteness.” She said, To get this group to organize around class and race is going to be a huge chore. A long road. One would need to attend every meeting and gently push that mantra. I don’t know if I have the energy to do it. If there is a group of people that keep pushing it, it will change. Or if they [the group] stays together long enough to see the war in Iraq end, whatever that means, I hope they will see that more needs to be done.8

Through this interpretive focus group and others, I learned how volatile and difficult it is to acknowledge and address privilege. Following the interpretive focus group, this woman and another decided to organize an educational on racism and white privilege using film and discussion. This was extremely helpful in negotiating a common definition of racism among members as well as learning about the history of whiteness and privilege within the United States and its implications on cross-race relationships. Within several months, I began to see more items on the agenda for consideration that addressed local community needs, and much later I noted a shift in the process of issue formulation and meeting structure as many members began to reach out and support the agendas of people of color in their community and develop educational sessions around community-centered issues. Although not as far along the continuum as the previous community group example, this community group has begun the difficult transition from a majority inclusive model membership to a more neighborhood-based model of organizing.

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Transforming Worldviews and the Definition of Peace Work Throughout this book, I have suggested that worldviews can be altered by acknowledging and addressing privilege and that this process has implications on how peace work is defined and alliance building approached. Thus far in this chapter I have shown how whites who have acknowledged white privilege have begun the transition to the neighborhood-based model. In this section, I offer the reflections of three individuals: Theresa and Donna, who have acknowledged their white privilege and transformed their worldviews and definition of peace work, and Gloria, who struggles with her white identity and hovers on the line between inclusive and neighborhood-based organizing. Theresa Theresa is under forty years of age (the average age of activists within this network), middle class, and a woman who is multi-racial.9 Despite her inexperience working in social change organizations, I have learned much from Theresa about the obstacles activists face as they work across differences, but also the emotional journey one experiences as they become aware of and begin to address their privilege. When I first met Theresa, I made a note that she was “white.” Typically, when observing or engaging in informal conversations, I would note whether a person was visibly “white” or “of color.” As the relationship matured, I would clarify particular demographics such as age, class, and race/ethnicity. It was not until much later in this research during an interview that I learned that Theresa was multi-racial. In fact, Theresa herself told me that she had not acknowledged her non-white identity in public until now. I have always “passed for white.” Always treated as white. Going through this process [examining privilege] was really emotional. I really have never told anyone, well anyone I work with and stuff, that I wasn’t white. But, now I feel like I have to. I mean it’s part of me and it affects my relationships with other people whether I realize it or they realize it or not. (2005)

Theresa attended a few educationals and trainings on racism while a member of the network. She said she always had a strong commitment to equality and justice, and so when she heard of the anti-racist trainings, she decided to go. What she learned most from the sessions, she said, was that she never really thought about what it meant to be white. [In the session], when we [whites] were asked to describe our culture we had nothing to say unlike the African Americans who had lots to say about food,

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dress, music, struggle, etc. When pressed for things, we [whites] said things that sounded like “professionalism.” You know everything that had to do with work, getting ahead, stuff like that. It was pitiful. I guess because I’m treated white, I think white. . . . The other thing is how dehumanizing it can be to be white in a racist society unless you deal with it because no matter how anti-racist we are, we are white and we benefit from being white. That makes me feel like shit! I can never escape my whiteness unless I deal with it. (2005)

“Dealing with it” means acknowledging it and confronting it, but also it means, changing our own thinking but also getting people one-on-one to see their white privilege and once people understand it, they will see everything in another light and that will lead to linking issues together. If we acknowledge that racism exists and we [whites] are part of that system, then that will naturally lead us to ways to undo racism. You need to admit it first. Many whites are so blind to privilege that they can’t even see how it prohibits them from working with others. (2005)

During our conversation, Theresa reflected further on what it now meant to think of herself as multi-racial and the effect this had on how she thought about the work she was doing. Theresa had always been one of the community group members who reflected on her middle-class status and encouraged others to “dialogue, rather than debate” issues, and to “listen more, talk less” in order to really understand why someone felt or thought differently about an issue. But Theresa said she really did not consider how the white privilege she had been awarded affected how she viewed peace work and alliance building until she confronted her own social biography. I joined this group because the war in Iraq is wrong and I felt people needed to stand up and say so. I wanted to be part of that. But now, I see that there’s more to be done. Issues needs to be linked because they drive us to war. Racism, classism, all that. It’s the reason why we go to war . . . if we can’t have peace in our own country then how can we expect to be peaceful with people outside the country? I feel that if we fight for peace and justice here in this country, then we are forced to look at how we, as white people, contribute to that injustice. And when we do that, we bring a depth to our analysis on issues of war and peace. (2005)

Theresa still retains some “guilt” about her whiteness. Although she is still working with the multiple aspects of her identity, she clearly has begun the process of rearticulating what it means to be white and this has affected how she approaches her work with this network.

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Donna Donna is over forty, middle class, and a white woman. I have had many conversations with Donna over the course of this fieldwork about the ways in which privilege operates within American society, and specifically within social change organizations. Donna has been politically active most of her life and has worked in organizations led by people of color. She tells me that she has become aware of her privilege (both as a white and middle-class individual) by working with others across racial and class differences. Only by working with others, did I really see things from a different perspective. In a meeting or something, I would say things that were. . . . I was so blind until I heard them repeated by someone from a different lifestyle. (2005)

Donna feels that by not working with different people, whites will continue to blindly practice racism and classism. Hence, the peace movement, she feels, needs to diversify itself in order to see how war is affecting people other than white, middle-class people. We really need to diversify our group. Only by working with others will we be able to open the eyes of the whites in the group. Bringing in people of color to teach us isn’t what I’m talking about. Some people in the group think that’s the answer. Invite them here so we can learn from them. I’m talking about doing some “real” work, work that is important in the community. Only then will there be a joining of efforts. We can’t expect people of color to come and work in “our” organization on “our” issues. Diversifying the group is important because we need people other than white, middle-class people defining the work. (2005)

When I asked Donna what prompted her to work in an organization led by people of color, she reflected back upon her experiences working with an African American political candidate. Later in the interview, we returned to this topic and Donna ruminated more: When I was a teenager, I remember people saying they’re lazy [people of color], they don’t want to work and it just didn’t feel right to me. I couldn’t imagine that people didn’t want to work and better their lives. And, the people of color that I knew in the neighborhood did work, so. . . . I didn’t get it. I didn’t really understand the reasons behind poverty until college. I learned a new way of looking at these issues and I knew that after college I would want to do something about it. But even then, I didn’t really think about the connection with being white. . . . It wasn’t until I went to a four-week series on racism at church and the reason they offered it was because there was an African American family that was having real trouble . . . people at the church weren’t accepting them. So I went and I heard this African American man talk about his experiences and I thought

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why is he being treated this way in a church? And when we went around the room and were asked, “How are you feeling?” I said I’m feeling ashamed and I don’t know why. And, so I guess that was it. I kept going to the sessions and thinking about these issues. (2005)

Donna’s motivation for examining her own privilege was shaped by a variety of experiences. Her awareness of racism early on in her teen years, her college education, her experience with racism in her church, and then later the social networks she made working with people of color. Donna has clearly reached stage five, where she has not only acknowledged and confronted white privilege, but she has also reformulated her white identity. All the work that I have done with people of different classes and races has been the most rewarding experience of my life. I have learned so much that I am truly amazed. If you really listen, if you really care what people are saying and what they are experiencing you will grow from it. You will be challenged in ways you never though you could be challenged. It will make you examine your own life more deeply and you’ll begin to question why you think a certain way. In the end, I am okay with saying I’m white and I’m a racist, because I am an active, anti-racist, racist. (2005)

In an earlier conversation, I asked Donna to talk about what drew her to this network. Like Theresa, Donna was struck by the urgency of September 11, but more so, by the desire of this network to create a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice movement. I thought here’s a perfect opportunity for the movement to put forth a different face, a different approach. It’s an opportunity to bring movements and issues and people together and really create a more democratic, just society. And I wanted to be a part of that. (2005)

Although Donna feels this network “has a long way to go” before she would consider it successful as a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice movement, she is hopeful. While her community group has not yet transitioned to a neighborhood-based model of organizing, Donna feels more and more members are questioning their views and becoming receptive to considering alternative ways of thinking. Gloria Gloria is a white woman, over forty years old, who was raised in a middle-class family, but her employment history, living situation, and lack of accumulated wealth places her in the category of working class. Gloria self-identifies as a

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working-class individual. For many months during this research, Gloria (and others like her) was an enigma to me. In some instances Gloria would speak about organizing that resembled neighborhood-based organizing, and other times she would be advocating for an inclusive model approach. Excerpts from my field notes of two different meetings occurring within weeks of each other reveal these contradictions. During the meeting today, Gloria said, “this group has been unable to make relationships with other people. Some of you just don’t want to think about anything besides stopping the war.” She went on to explain that stopping war was important, but that the group needed to look hard at why it was predominately white and middle class. If they wanted to grow and diversify the movement, they needed to start building relationships and making the connections between what people are experiencing here at home and the war in Iraq because they are connected. “We need to take on issues that matter to people in [the city],” she said, “and not only to build our group, that’s important obviously to get work done, but because it’s the right thing to do.” (Excerpts from field notes, community group meeting, January 2005) We had a great conversation in the car ride home after the training today. . . . Gloria made some really good points, but I think she is advocating that the [community group] take on different issues for the purposes of attracting diverse people into the group. Two weeks ago, she was saying something different (I think!). For example, Donna, Helen, and Michelle were commenting on the different definitions of alliance building and how they felt they were all in the minority in calling for people to do more reaching out before setting agendas. Gloria said, “I’m not so sure I agree with you. I agree that our group needs to be more diverse, and that we need to address more issues in order to attract people. But building the group is more important than diversifying the work. We need to stay focused on our goal—ending the war in Iraq.” I was glad I was driving because I must have had a look of confusion on my face. I glanced over at Donna, who gave me puzzled look. (Excerpts from field notes, network training session, January, 2005)

Later in a subsequent interview with Gloria, I explored these seemingly contradictory statements. Even in the interview, I felt Gloria contradicted herself. What I came to understand was that Gloria was in the process of coming to terms with her white identity. Through her church and spirituality groups, Gloria has attended several anti-racist training sessions focusing on racism at the personal level. Although she makes statements about the existence of institutional racism, she has chosen to address racism only on the personal level both in her work and in her personal life. While she states that working across racial and class differences is important, she also feels it is impossible. I be-

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lieve this stems from her experience in interracial relationships, witnessing and experiencing racism on a personal level. Gloria spoke much about her own racial prejudices and the difficulty she has experienced working through them. Yet even though she feels she has “overcome her racist attitudes,” her white privilege still influences her views. This is evident in her reflections on the difficulty working across racial boundaries when she says,” they [people of color] are unorganized” and “they need our help.” Gloria advocates for working against racism and classism, yet her work is anti-war focused and she continues to view “the work people of color do” as non-political and not relevant to the peace agenda. When Gloria attended an interpretive focus group session, I was surprised by her insights on whiteness and privilege. In this session, she advocated for the movement to reach out, broaden the peace agenda, and acknowledge that U.S. foreign policy was driven by both racism and classism. However, later in a counter–military recruitment meeting she reverted back to a narrow definition of peace work and categorized the work as a means to “enlighten youth and save lives” and “cripple the military and stop the war.” Gloria also expressed a feeling of comfort being in an all-white movement. We shouldn’t feel like failures if we don’t diversify the movement. It’s great to have a diverse bunch of people, but if we’re all white and doing good work, so what? At least we’re doing something. (2005)

Gloria is conflicted about what “good work” entails. She is also conflicted about her white identity. Perhaps confronting white privilege is more difficult for Gloria than for other white members due to her personal experiences witnessing racism. As she feels it is unrealistic that whites will be able to develop trustworthy relationships across racial differences, she may be reluctant to engage with other whites in this work. Also, Gloria expresses feelings of guilt in reflecting on her past racist attitudes, and she seems to be more comfortable distancing herself from her whiteness. For instance, unlike Theresa and Gloria, she preferred to use the term “they” or “whites” rather than “we” when discussing white privilege. By not viewing herself as raced, she has difficulty making the connections between race and class, and linking peace and justice work. Gloria’s class identity may also complicate her ability to see herself as privileged as she has expressed feelings of inferiority based on her class experiences (Frankenberg 1993; Gallagher 2000; Hartigan 1999; Roediger 1999). Gloria seems to be moving between stage one, two, and three. While she has an awareness of racism, it is not clear if she has acknowledged her own privilege or if she has and prefers to avoid it.

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I do think working across race and class is important, but you need to get along in order to work together. This is the most racist city I’ve ever been in. White people can’t even talk to non-whites or even understand or want to understand what their lives are like. . . . So how am I supposed to work in that environment? (2005)

During the year after our formal interview, I noted that Gloria was developing closer relationships with some of the neighborhood-based model members and becoming more and more frustrated with the network and the community group. In one informal conversation, she said, I just can’t continue to work with people that have such a narrow focus. We aren’t going to stop the war in Iraq, or the next one for that matter. What we can do is stop what’s happening in our country . . . all the violence, inequality, and infringement on civil liberties. That’s where we can make a difference, but people here aren’t interested in that. (2005)

Gloria has since left the network and the peace movement. Network members such as Theresa and Donna who have acknowledged their white privilege have developed a different way of seeing and have begun to advocate for an anti-racist agenda within the peace and justice movement. By reflecting on how white privilege shapes their own lives as well as U.S. policies, they are able to broaden their single-oppression analysis of war and see the intimate links between everyday struggles and U.S. foreign policy. This understanding of the intersectionality of power and privilege results in a broader definition of peace work as well how one approaches alliance building.

5 This chapter has offered practical solutions for activists seeking to work across differences, and discussed the ways in which some white activists within this network are altering their worldviews by examining and addressing their privilege. While these accounts have primarily focused on white privilege, these members also continue to be attentive of how the multiplicity of their identities such as class, gender, and age also affect their worldviews and interactions with others. Some activists I have spoken with have critiqued the anti-racist agenda for being too ideological and exclusionary or for not addressing the intersectionality of privilege and oppression. These are valid criticisms. Activists who operate exclusively within an anti-racist framework, just as those who focus only on class or gender, can become trapped into using a framework that does not reflect the complicated nature of reality and organizing. Hence any anti-racist trainings must be designed to explore the in-

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tersection of racism with other forms of oppression. I return to a discussion of these ideological models in the conclusion.

NOTES 1. Other researchers examining cross-difference organizing have documented similar practices. In particular, see Anner 1996; Gutierrez and Lewis 1998; Gutierrez, Lewis, Nagda, Wernick, Shore 2005; Hirsch 2000; Rose 2000; Weil 2005. 2. Real diversity is another way of stating true participatory collaboration or “unity in diversity.” Real diversity goals move beyond representation and assimilation. 3. Some critical race theorists such as Noel Ignatieff and John Harvey (1996) argue that white identity needs to be abolished in order to end racism. Whether one feels whiteness needs to be rearticulated or abolished, it is argued that whites need to see themselves as raced and address the privilege associated with it. 4. The method of interpretive focus groups is discussed further in appendix 1 as well as in Dodson and Schmalzbauer 2005; Dodson, Piatelli, and Schmalzbauer 2006, 2007. 5. Active members are members who consistently show up to community group meetings. Membership typically shifts from year to year, but eight to ten core members remain. 6. It is notable that the two white working-class members left after the “business” portion of the meeting and before the educational began. I was told by one woman (I had interviewed) that these two members “don’t have a clue about racism nor do they want to talk about.” 7. Typically when asked to comment on the obstacles to working across race and class, the conversations almost always reverted to people of color—hence the invisibility of working-class and lower-income whites. 8. This woman has discontinued her membership with this community group. 9. I have chosen not to reveal Theresa’s racial identities (other than her Caucasian identity) in order to further protect her anonymity.

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How do we work across race and class? Why is the movement getting smaller? Why aren’t we more diverse?

These questions continue to appear on the agenda of this movement network, yet remain unanswered. This research has offered some insight into addressing these questions. I have shown that while the inclusive model of organizing possesses strength in its ability to build unity among generally homogenous groups and reach a number of short-term goals, it is an impediment to creating a multi-racial, multi-class network due to its narrow definition of peace and its exclusionary practices. Through its feminist ways of organizing (that is feminist organizing that is coupled with an understanding of how a culture of privilege shapes both worldviews and interactions across differences), the neighborhood-based model’s holistic understanding of society leads to a broader definition of peace work that addresses the multiplicity of people’s lives in relation to U.S. policies; thereby developing the groundwork needed to build the understanding and trust required to foster relationships across differences. However, as the examples have illustrated, unless the entire network population adopts an expanded definition of peace and reorients its organizing practices, it risks irreparable damage to its external identity and its ability to forge relationships across racial and class differences. DIFFERENCE MATTERS How can one develop a unifying politics if one does not fully understand how power is organized? More importantly, how can one work across differences 137

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without seeing “how their thoughts and actions uphold someone else’s subordination” (Collins 2000:287)? I have argued throughout this book that an understanding of the intersectionality of power is crucial in formulating social change analyses and strategies particularly in cross-difference organizing. Intersectionality theory argues that, as systems of race, social class, gender, etc. depend upon each other in complex ways, it is ultimately futile to attempt to address one system without simultaneously addressing others. For instance, an analysis of gender relations is incomplete without considering the ways in which it is both raced and classed. We have seen historically how single identity movements, while they have been effective in achieving individuallybased gains, have often resulted in either addressing the issues of the more privileged population within the movement; failing to address the structural conditions affecting a population; or reproducing other forms of oppression (Breines 2006; Collins 2000; Kurtz 2002; Robnett 1997; Thompson 2001). Hence, difference matters in how one experiences and views the world, how one defines peace work, and how one approaches alliance building. This research has illustrated how the invisibility of race and class prevents crossdifference collaboration, and specifically how white privilege affects how whites view the world, how they view “the other” and how they consciously and unconsciously exclude people of color in order to preserve power. Not dealing with race prevents whites from seeing how their privilege excludes people of color’s work from movement agendas as well as how privilege operates in greater society. However, to say that race matters does not mean that social class does not. The multiplicity of our identities are always present and influencing our worldviews and interactions. I have argued throughout this writing that subduing race in favor of a class commonality ignores the intimate relationship between race and class as well as how differences can complicate crossdifference organizing. While some may argue that focusing on differences can be divisive (Gitlin 1995; Kauffman 1990; Wilson 1999), this research suggests that difference matters and that not dealing with the multiplicity of people’s identities can be problematic as a denial of difference can contribute to social group oppression and distorted worldviews (Collins 2000; Frankenberg 1993; Gallagher 2000; Haraway 1988; Harding 1991; McIntosh 1997; Smith 1987; Young 1990, 2000). Theorists advocating for class-based solidarity should heed the warnings of critical race theorists and acknowledge the continuing relevance and role of race and racism both in society and in movement building or they may miss important opportunities to create alliances (Singh 2004; Winant 2006). If white activists want to work in multi-racial, multi-class movements then they need to acknowledge how white privilege

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shapes society and their worldviews, because race and class matter when organizing across differences. Building Inclusive Environments “Twenty-one years ago we struggled with the recognition of difference within the context of commonality. Today we grapple with the recognition of commonality within the context of difference” (Anzaldua and Keating 2002:2). How does one create commonality within the context of difference? In the introduction, I discussed two differing views on inclusivity—inclusivity as assimilation and inclusivity that places value on difference. Within this network, how one defines inclusivity impacts how one views diversity and approaches organizing. Hence, the process of creating commonality shifts with the definition of inclusivity. As discussed in chapter 3, the process of building a collective identity plays an important role in creating bonds among collective actors and sustaining collective action (Gamson 1991, 1992; Melucci 1989, 1994, 1995, 1996; Taylor and Whittier 1992). Within an inclusive model of organizing, collective identity is more affirmed than it is constructed. In other words, new members are expected to assimilate into a pre-constructed identity and agenda that reflects a white middle-class perspective. For those who share similar worldviews, this process can create a sense of belonging and commitment, but for those who may have different viewpoints, the experience can be exclusionary. The process of constructing a collective identity across racial and class differences requires a different approach. This research has shown that feminist models of organizing that are attentive to how the intersectionality of privilege operates within society and movements can be effective in forging cross-difference relationships. Rather than beginning from a preconceived point of commonality, the neighborhoodbased model begins from a point of difference. This requires constantly negotiating the group’s identity and agenda as new members join. Through dialogue and negotiation, members embrace different experiences, frames, and issues in order to develop shared understandings that allow for negotiation of commonality. By acknowledging differences and agreeing that all views are partial views, groups can collectively create a more meaningful place of commonality. This process, discussed in chapters 2 and 3, often translates into the building of collective identities that allow space for social groups to bond and join together on common goals. “In order to act collectively at any given time, it is necessary to define a conception of a we; however this definition is not likely to be set once and for

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all, and it has to be agreed upon over and over again in a continual negotiation process” (Melucci 1996:189). Movement theorists who have integrated feminist theorizing into their work, such as Myra Marx Ferree and Silke Roth (1998) argue that traditionally social movements have developed an “exclusive solidarity,” one that promotes a unitary identity based on the common life experiences and viewpoints of the dominant group and uses a single oppression politics to frame its work. Since multiple identities and forms of oppression exist, Ferree and Roth (1998) argue that creating a “common identity is a political fiction” (p. 629). In contrast, movements that embrace a multi-oppression politics and coalition organizing develop an “inclusive solidarity” (Ferree and Roth 1998). An inclusive solidarity “does not place one movement, organization, or social group in the position of defining the issues or identities that matter” (Ferree and Roth 1998:629). The nature of collective identity shifts from a unitary, exclusionary identity to a number of strong collective identities that link across shared standpoints within and between groups. Acknowledging the intersectionality of power and oppression can assist activists in questioning their own unearned disadvantage and advantages. It can alert activists to how one’s position of privilege or disadvantage interacts with an assessment of issues and interactions with others. Patricia Hill-Collins (2000) states that this process can move us toward “an understanding of how our personal lives have been fundamentally shaped by intersecting oppressions of race, gender, and class” and how we can be “in a position of power in one instance and in the role of the oppressed in another” (p. 114). Those who reflect on the intersection of privilege can better understand exclusion, develop empathy, and be open to differing views. Shared interests are not enough to overcome relations of domination within movements, as these relations obstruct the development of shared identities. In order to create inclusive environments, privilege and oppression must be acknowledged and addressed. Privilege and the Definition of Peace Work Attempting to unite around a perceived common class location without acknowledging how different social groups stand in relationship to U.S. foreign policy erects barriers to collaboration, but it also can limit the impact of social change efforts. As I argued in chapter 5, a critique of the root of U.S. foreign policy that relies solely on an analysis of class exploitation is incomplete without considering the ways in which racism and patriarchy continue to shape global political, economic, and social relations and American ideology (Omi and Winant 1994; Winant 2004, 2006). A major criticism of the tradi-

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tional peace movement has been its failure to integrate racism into its analyses, as well as failing to consider the life experiences of people of color and the working- and lower-income classes within a definition of peace work. In this book, I have argued that in order to fulfill its goal of creating a multiracial, multi-class network, this network must embrace a broader definition of peace work and more inclusive organizing practices. Although this network was created with the intent of creating a more inclusive movement, it remains plagued by the exclusive practices of the inclusive model shaped by a white, middle-class experience. Many white anti-war activists during the Vietnam period linked the war and economic disparity by attributing the cause to a U.S. imperialist agenda—the quest for political and economic power around the world through military aggression (Joseph 1993a; 1993b; Marullo, Pagnucco, and Smith 1996; Thompson 2001). In the 1980s during the heightened Central American interventions, white anti-war activists again drew on the anti-imperialist frame, but this time reached across national and racial boundaries in solidarity with Salvadorians (Joseph 1993b; Thompson 2001). Although an analysis of racism was integrated into the anti-imperialist framework, the movements did not link issues of racism abroad with issues of racism here at home (Joseph 1993a, 1993b; Martinez 2003; Thompson 2001; Weber 2006; Wise 2003). The anti-imperialist language presented the victimized people of color as living “over there” in a foreign country. The people of color that white antiwar protesters held themselves accountable to were far more distant than were the Black people that white [activists] interacted with on a daily basis. (Thompson 2001:86)

Historically, the peace movement has failed to connect with the local struggles of people of color, and missed opportunities to broaden both its base and potential to create long-term, structural change (Albert 1992; Joseph 1993a, 1993b; Martinez 2003; Thompson 2001; Weber 2006; Wise 2003). Today, people of color continue to call for the anti-war movement1 to recognize that there is a war at home, that this war at home is intimately linked with wars abroad, and that both are rooted in racism (Martinez 2003; Wise 2003).2 In a letter on movement building authored by several peace and justice activists in New York City raising multiple issues of racism in the anti-war movement, this message was made clear. We have urgent tasks before us: stopping a war against Iraq and others around the world, as well as preventing further attacks on people within the United States. To do this work in a principled way, in ways that address the roots causes of oppression requires that we acknowledge the connection between the forms

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and institutions of white supremacy embedded in U.S. society and the practice of white supremacy within our movement.3

These sentiments were voiced in a number of the conversations I had with people of color over the course of this research. As evidenced in this study, not recognizing and addressing the intersectionality of privilege and oppression creates boundaries in cross-difference relationships, but it also limits one’s worldview (Collins 2000; Frankenberg 1993; Gallagher 2000; McIntosh 1997; Thompson 2001). If we view knowledge as constructed in a particular social historical context, then one’s worldview can only be a partial perspective at any given time. Moreover, because whiteness is the dominant norm it is easy to forget that it is not the only perspective. In discussing the issue of white people’s positions in multi-racial organizing, author and longtime anti-racist activist Ann Braden states: The way society is white people have a limited view of the world. We have to. Our experience is different. We are just incomplete. . . . A bunch of white people sitting in a room are likely to be 90 percent wrong on 90 percent of the questions 90 percent of the time. Not because we are stupid but because our life experience is not the key life experience in this society.4

As a dominant group within American society, whites also have the luxury of not seeing themselves as raced. However not seeing whiteness blinds whites to both their “unearned privilege” (McIntosh 1997) and its consequences. Hence, whites’ worldviews can be considered distorted. In order to develop a more inclusive, less distorted reality, standpoints must be considered from every group (Anzaldua 1987; Collins 2000; Haraway 1988; Harding 1991; Smith 1987). Becky Thompson (2001) argues that the peace movement’s analysis of the root cause(s) of U.S. foreign policy is limited by a white perspective— a worldview blinded by privilege. Other critical race theorists make a similar argument when discussing the white perspective on globalization and economic processes within the United States arguing that it has “yet to generate an adequate account of the connections between racial power and political economy” and that “while that domination may be essentially constituted by economic power, it is essentially legitimized by racial power” (Crenshaw, Gotanda, Peller, and Thomas 1995:xxx). Critical race theorists raise two key points. First, by rallying around a common class position in opposition to an elite “other,” whites are able to easily avoid examining their own participation in a racial hierarchy (Mahoney 1995; Wellman 1993). This is problematic as “social and economic problems do not exist outside the process of the construction of race” (Mahoney 1995:655).

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Hence, class-consciousness must be coupled with a race consciousness, they argue, in order to properly address social inequalities. Second, subduing race in favor of class-consciousness ignores how race interacts with class, but also how the power of a racist ideology legitimizes and justifies both institutional and interpersonal racism. Whether viewed through the lens of a single system of power, or through that of intersecting oppressions, any particular matrix of domination is organized via four interrelated domains of power, namely, the structural, disciplinary, hegemonic, and interpersonal domains. Each domain serves a particular purpose. The structural domain organizes oppression, whereas the disciplinary domain manages it. The hegemonic domain justifies oppression, and the interpersonal domain influences everyday lived experience and the individual consciousness that ensues. (Collins 2000:276)

Thus, activists must challenge racist ideology and culture (along with other hegemonic ideologies) in order to disrupt the everyday commonsense ideas that support violence and exploitation of subjugated groups with “counterhegemonic” knowledge (Collins 2000). Within this network inclusive model whites draw on the U.S. imperialist framework from previous eras, and argue that U.S. intervention is a tool for obtaining “global military and economic control of people and resources” around the world. U.S. intervention is viewed as global class exploitation and a cause of economic disparity within the United States. It is argued that ending U.S. intervention will create a more peaceful and equitable world as U.S. intervention thwarts democratic processes. Moreover, ending U.S. intervention will improve the quality of life for all Americans, as funding, previously allotted to the military, will be redirected toward urgent social needs. Hence, for the inclusive model, peace work is defined as anti-war. Neighborhood-based model members agree with this position, but argue that without an analysis of race it is incomplete. While ending U.S. intervention is vital to a peace and justice agenda, they view it as a symptom of America’s culture of privilege rooted in racism, classism, and patriarchy rather than simply a means of furthering the global economic agenda. They believe that the only way to stop U.S. intervention is to address the structural issues that drive the United States to war. In other words, unless the movement addresses the cultural racism and classism that shape U.S. policies, there will always be another war. Moreover, while possibly improving the quality of life of some social groups within the United States, simply redistributing funds will not alleviate the structures of power that affect our everyday lives. Eliminating the causes and justification for war will have more effect in changing U.S. policies and creating a better world, they argue. These different political analyses

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of U.S. foreign policy result in different definitions of peace work and collective action strategies. If we examine these two views in the context in which they were formulated we can see how they are rooted in different understandings of the structures of power and one’s relationship within it. The inclusive model view is based on white members’ reflections on their class experiences within a globalized world system that favors the wealthy. As I mentioned in chapter 3, this understanding of class is simplified as an “us versus them,” positing class as a unifying identity. Race, whiteness specifically, remains invisible as well as the layered nature of class. The neighborhoodbased model position, on the other hand, brings race and the diversity of class positions into full view. For whites, this requires reflecting on one’s whiteness and how the privilege awarded to it can distort one’s worldview. Within this network, how one interprets the privilege associated with living white affects how people view peace work and approach relationships across differences.5 White privilege, Thompson (2001) writes, was a major hindrance to white women’s ability in not only seeing the complexity of privilege and oppression, but also in developing cross-race relationships during the second wave of feminism. Within this study, inclusive model white men and women who are sensitive to gender inequality do not acknowledge the privilege they hold as whites in this society and this is reflected in their analysis of U.S. foreign policy and definition of peace work. On the contrary, neighborhood-based model white men and women acknowledge the intersectionality of privilege and oppression and their place within it. This results in a broader analysis of U.S. foreign policy and definition of peace work. Simply, these different views are rooted in different interpretations of structural oppression and privilege (Krauss 1994; Mizrahi and Lombe 2006; Naples 1998; Poster 1995). Nancy Naples (1998), in her analysis of the divisions within the women’s movement, explains: [Their] socialization and social networks are shaped by their structural positions as women with specific racial-ethnic and class backgrounds as they are embedded in different regional and shifting cultural contexts. How activists come to identify themselves as part of varying communities that shape their “coming of age” and their daily lives is one important key to understanding how and why certain women become aware of the relations of domination that shape their lives and subsequently form a commitment to fight injustice and inequality. . . . While self-reflection opens one avenue for discovering how personal problems or discrimination is organized by processes that go beyond particular encounters or experiences, activists are more likely to develop a deeper understanding of these processes in dialogue with others who may be experiencing similar trou-

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bles or who have otherwise developed a broadened analysis of specific problems. (p. 332)

Hence, inclusive model women such as Leah and Freda draw on their social experience and interpretation of gender inequality when critiquing traditional peace movement organizing. Developing a more inclusive movement translates into ensuring equality in leadership, voice, and division of labor. Neighborhood-based model women such as Sarah and Pam also draw on their social experience and interpretation of gender inequality, but shift their worldview by acknowledging how that experience is raced and classed. Hence, their definition of inclusivity shifts from one of representation to true participation and collaboration in all facets of organizing. This view of inclusivity questions normalized assumptions and the perspectives from which agendas are built and strategies defined.

ORGANIZING MODELS FOR CHANGE Millions of Americans are coming to see that we are fighting an immoral war that costs nearly thirty billion dollars a year, that we are perpetuating racism, that we are tolerating almost forty million poor during an overflowing material abundance. Yet they remain helpless to end the war, to feed the hungry, to make brotherhood a reality; this has to shake our faith in ourselves. If we look honestly at the realities of our national life, it is clear that we are not marching forward; we are groping and stumbling; we are divided and confused. Our moral values and our spiritual confidence sink, even as our material wealth ascends. . . . It is forcing America to face all its interrelated flaws—racism, poverty, militarism, and materialism. It is exposing evils that are rooted deeply in the whole structure of our society. It reveals systemic rather than superficial flaws and suggests that radical reconstruction of society itself is the real issue to be faced. It is time that we stopped our blithe lip service to the guarantees of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. —Martin Luther King Jr., 1967

Dr. King’s words still ring today. While this research offers a greater understanding as to how power and privilege influence the dynamics of crossdifference organizing, as well as what organizing practices may best facilitate inter-racial and inter-class solidarity, it does not empirically investigate the effectiveness of anti-war movements in ending U.S. intervention.6 This research does however suggest that a broader definition of peace work that addresses the roots of U.S. intervention has not only the potential to create

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profound transformational social change within the United States, but to greater effect change in U.S. foreign policy. Many academics and activists have put forth proposals for national movements that address issues of peace and justice. Below, I discuss a sampling of the most prominent proposals being considered in the field of social movements, grouping them into three different categories: distributive models, ideological models, and feminist models. Distributive Models Distributive models are concerned with the fair allocation of resources among diverse members of a community. These models can vary from focusing on the distribution of material goods to the distribution of power. Proponents of these models argue that redistribution can help remedy injustices, relieve despondent living conditions, and foster a more peaceful world. Calls for national civic movements and movements focused on economic issues are examples of distributive models (Gitlin 1995; Sirianni and Friedland 2001; Wilson 1999). As discussed in chapter 5, William Julius Wilson’s (1999) vision calls for a multi-racial national movement that focuses on the common economic challenges facing both whites and people of color. This multi-racial coalition would be bipartisan, and include a multitude of civic groups “representative of various racial and ethnic groups, and organized in interconnected local, regional, and national networks” (Wilson 1999:8). Wilson (1999) draws on the successes of Living Wage Campaigns and the community networks of the Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF) to illustrate how grassroots networks can connect local communities across racial and class boundaries. Where Living Wage Campaigns have been successful in securing higher minimum wages and health benefit allocations, IAF networks have influenced local government politics on issues such as obtaining improvements in public services such as streets, lighting, housing, and schools. Wilson (1999) argues that the key to the success of this type of organizing is that it avoids explicit racial issues and instead focuses on common economic problems. While Wilson (1999) recognizes that the problems facing communities of color are a product of racial and class inequality, his recommendation continues to focus on a mass-economic agenda as he argues that addressing racial issues would alienate the white population. Carmen Sirianni and Lewis Friedland (2001) advocate for the creation of “a civic renewal movement” to help revitalize American democracy in order to improve the lives of all Americans. Sirianni and Friedland (2001) argue that civil society has “eroded and contracted over a long period of time as a

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result of the enormous growth of corporate and government actors and the spread of narrow professional ideologies and practices in these two sectors, as well as among nonprofit organizations within the third sector itself” (p. 241). A civic renewal movement promotes active citizen involvement to “reclaim responsibility for and power over our nation’s public affairs” (Sirianni and Friedland 2001:237). Although social movements have been successful in winning rights of recognition and participation for groups previously excluded from social life, they argue, they have become too morally focused, thereby contributing to self-marginalization. Like Wilson’s (1999) multi-racial movement, the civil renewal movement would be bipartisan and not view government as “the enemy,” but rather “a ‘catalyst’ for citizen problem solving and a ‘partner’ in multisided collaborative efforts” (Sirianni and Friedland 2001:242). Organizations such as the Center for Democracy and Citizenship, the National Civic League, and the Kettering Foundation that work to strengthen citizen democracy are offered as key possible leaders of this new movement. Hence, Sirianni and Friedland’s (2001) movement would strive to increase citizen participation within the existing structure. If we return for a moment to the two differing positions taken by inclusive and neighborhood-based model members on the roots of war discussed above, we can see how the inclusive viewpoint resembles that of a distributive model. As mentioned in chapter 3, inclusive model members define justice as ending war, which in turn will “foster social justice here at home.” Inclusive model members argue that ending the war in Iraq will result in a redistribution of monies from military spending to serving social needs. A narrow definition of peace work (anti-war) links with a narrow definition of justice (redistribution). While a redistribution of funds certainly may alleviate dire living conditions, this model does not address the institutional structures that determine unequal distributive patterns, nor does it address the structures of power that justify and drive the United States to war. Even models, like the civic renewal movement, that focus on increasing participatory democracy will be ineffective if they remain content to work within the current power structure (Fisher and Shragge 2000; Young 1990). Distributive models also assume a homogenous public and ignore how difference matters. As demands are framed solely in terms of material needs, broad support is easier to gain and quick victories easier to claim (Albert 1992; Fisher and Schragge 2000; Kurtz 2002; Young 1990). Yet, while they may be able to build a broad coalition around a material need in the short term, they fail to address systemic change in the longer term (Fisher and Schragge 2000; Kurtz 2002; Young 1990). For distributive models to become more effective they must recognize the relationship between privilege and

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oppression and bring under scrutiny social structures and the ideologies that support them. Ideological Models There are a number of proposals that call for movements to focus on cultural or ideological change, what have historically been termed “identity movements” (Buechler 2000). These movements have traditionally been grounded in single-oppression analyses such as race, sexuality, or gender.7 In this section, I discuss those single-oppression models that focus on race, or more specifically, white privilege. In his provocative writings, critical race theorist Eduardo Bonilla Silva (2001, 2006) challenges those who minimize the prevalence and impact of racism in American society. Bonilla-Silva (2001, 2006) argues that the contemporary structure of racism in America is no less destructive than the racism of the slavery and Jim Crow eras. Drawing on his empirical research, Bonilla-Silva (2001, 2006) explores the components of a post–civil rights racial ideology, which he terms color-blind racism. This new racial ideology, Bonilla-Silva (2001) argues, includes: (1) the increasing covert nature of racial discourse and practice; (2) the avoidance of racial terminology and the ever growing claim by whites that they experience “reverse racism”; (3) the elaboration of a racial agenda over political matters that eschews direct racial references; (4) the invisibility of most mechanisms to reproduce racial inequality; and (5) the rearticulation of some racial practices characteristic of the Jim Crow period of race relations. (Bonilla-Silva 2001:90)

In chapter 5, I presented Bonilla-Silva’s four color-blind discourse frames and illustrated how a color-blind ideology plays out in cross-difference organizing, preventing collaboration and limiting definitions of peace work. In order to combat this “new racism,” Bonilla-Silva (2001, 2006) calls for a multi-racial, multi-class “new civil rights movement” led by people of color. He argues that although segregation is illegal, racial inequality and discrimination still persist; hence the agenda for this new movement must struggle for “equality of status among the races” and “the extension of the substantive benefits of citizenship” (2001:205). Completing the struggle for equality will take more than “workshops on racism” and instead require a massive effort to dismantle racist institutions that maintain white privilege and power. bell hooks similarly argues, “The notion that differences of skin color, class background, and cultural heritage must be erased for justice and equality to prevail is a brand of popular false consciousness that helps keep racist thinking and action intact” (1995:265).

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“The new abolitionist racial project” (Winant 2004) is a proposal that fits nicely with Bonilla-Silva’s (2001, 2006) call for a new civil rights movement. Abolitionists, or “race traitors” (Ignatiev and Garvey 1996), argue that unless whiteness is abolished, the racist foundations of American politics will never be changed. The core of the abolitionist project is a call for whites to negate one’s white identity and white privilege (Ignatiev and Garvey 1996). In order to end racism, whites must “break the rules of whiteness” (Ignatiev and Garvey 1996; Roediger 2002), reject privilege, and oppose all institutional agreements that reproduce racial inequality. Critical race theorists such as Michael Omi and Howard Winant (1994) argue that while erasing whiteness is impossible, striving for a “rearticulation of whiteness” is not (Winant 2004:63). Projects that unveil how racial privilege operates within society are a primary component in achieving “substantive social equality and racial justice” (Winant 2004:65) as “wealth and poverty, crime and punishment, gender and sexuality, nationality and citizenship, culture and power are all articulated in the United States primarily through race” (Winant 2004:65-66). Unlike distributive models, ideological models focus on consciousnessraising in order to challenge the inscription of structural and institutional practices on everyday life (Buechler 2000; Melucci 1994). While aiming to change institutional oppression by exposing structures of privilege and oppression, ideological models can often discount the importance of gaining immediate material resources. Furthermore, these single oppression analyses are often limited as they fail to address the intersectionality of privilege and oppression. Feminist Models While a gendered lens identified the particular ways in which this network differentiates itself from the traditional peace movement, it also shed light on the limitations of feminist organizing models that do not address the intersectionality of privilege and oppression. While this network’s creation was influenced by feminist principles of collectivism, this research suggests that even a feminist approach to organizing can be constrained by various forms of power and privilege. As evidenced in the many studies detailing the divisions within women’s movements, even when committed to equality and inclusion, privilege can interfere with those goals and practices (Brienes 2006; Buechler 1990; Ferree and Hess 2000; Gluck 1998; Mizrahi and Lombe 2006; Naples 1998; Ostrander 1999; Poster 1995; Scott 2005; Spellman 1988; Thompson 2001). Feminist organizing has a rich history dating back to the period of abolitionism and suffrage, but even then that history was wrought with divisiveness

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(Alonso 1993). While many white, upper- and middle-class women focused on their experiences of gender inequality in relation to men and devised movement agendas focusing on gaining individual rights, women of color considered the intersectionality of their oppression and constructed their work to address structural change. Divisions among women based on class and race resulted in the formation of many movements within “the women’s movement” based on their differing experiences with oppression (Alonso 1993; Bookman and Morgan 1988; Breines 2006; Thompson 2001). The second wave of women’s movements continued to be plagued by these divisions as many white, middle-class women did not integrate race and class into the center of their analyses (Alonso 1993; Bookman and Morgan 1988; Breines 2006; Thompson 2001). Wini Breines (2006), in her account of women’s movements from this period, recounts the many instances where well-intended white, upper- and middle-class women, committed to building bridges across race and class, did not succeed due to their inability to see beyond their own experiences and expand their analyses of oppression to include the experiences of women across race and class. In her writing on women’s movements, Thompson (2001) argues that universalizing the feminist movement as racist and exclusionary excludes the many different forms of women’s movements as well as the good work of those white feminists who were able to forge cross-difference relationships by integrating an intersectionality analysis into their work. Both Breines (2006) and Thompson (2001) acknowledge the moments where alliances between white women and women of color did occur when white women, influenced by the writings and actions of women of color or “multiracial feminism” (Zinn and Dill 1996), embraced intersectionality and integrated the multiplicity of women’s lives into the work. [Women of color] challenged white feminists to examine and understand their racism and convert the movement into one in which women of all races and ethnicities were recognized, were affirmed, and could operate fully; they demanded an analysis and a movement that confirmed the importance of race and class as well as gender. (Breines 2006:151)

Moreover, these white women, they argue, “did not center themselves in the political action” (Breines 2006:168), but rather supported women of color by serving as allies. These white women held themselves responsible to raise issues of racism within their own communities as well as provide resources and support to communities of color (Breines 2006:168). Their organizing approach was similar to the neighborhood-based model described in this study. [They] supported the strategy of not going into other people’s neighborhoods to organize but, rather, people coming together and then bringing ideas back to

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their own groups and neighborhoods so they could build strong networks there. Respecting each other’s turf was central to their politics. (Breines 2006:170)

Due to the integration of race and class into their analyses, this feminism (or what was termed “womanism” by women of color [Walker 1983]), differed from that defined by those who identified with the “mainstream” women’s movement (Breines 2006; Naples 1998; Spellman 1988; Thompson 2001). This feminism bridged anti-racist, anti-sexist, and anti-classist struggles by including the perspective and experiences of women of color. The peace and justice movement can learn much from these women’s movements. The neighborhood-based model focuses on both distributive and ideological goals. It is an ideological model in that it focuses on changing the culture of privilege that drives the United States to war, but it is also distributive in that its work is materially grounded in the lives of community members. The neighborhood-based model differs from single-oppression models in that it addresses the intersectionality of privilege and oppression. Both its multioppression politics and its feminist ways of organizing foster deeper analyses of social issues and more opportunities for cross-difference organizing. Within this network, the neighborhood-based model works to counter the practices of the inclusive model as it fully embraces a feminist way of organizing by recognizing and addressing the intersection of privilege and oppression, thereby fostering more participatory and collaborative practices. This model stresses consciousness-raising as a necessary step in changing institutional structures of power. Feminist ways of organizing emphasize collectivism, empowerment, and caring, and work to build sustainable relationships through listening, dialoguing, and collaborative learning. Hence, a sense of commonality is achieved through dialogue and negotiation, where difference is not ignored, but rather viewed as a strength that adds depth to the analysis and development of solutions. By acknowledging and addressing privilege, feminist ways of organizing work to fracture power imbalances and build trust and greater understanding, thereby enhancing the quality of relationships.

LISTENING TO ALTERNATIVE VOICES Recently, I attended an event sponsored by a local peace and justice community group entitled “Racism and the Peace Movement.” The evening consisted of testimonies, poetry, and political analyses primarily by people of color. The common thread among all the presentations and discussions was the necessity for peace and justice movements to link issues of violence here at home with efforts to end U.S. intervention. Moreover, this gathering was a

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call for white progressives to begin supporting the work of communities of color in their ongoing struggle for peace and justice. These organizers of color discussed how supporting work such as resisting community violence and inequality within the criminal justice system would benefit the fight against war. Powerful accounts of the limited options facing many youth of color as they “choose” to enter military service or struggle to obtain quality education or employment were shared by the participants. Only by addressing the root causes of war, it was argued, can we hope to end war and create a more just and equitable society. The resounding message of the evening came from a city councilor of color: There can be no peace unless we lay a foundation of prosperity for all. Prosperity is not to be gained through redistribution alone. It will only come when we change the structure of opportunity and restore hope. (2007)

At the end of the evening, I turned to one of my white friends and asked, “how can whites come out of this forum and not think differently?” He laughed and said, “You’d be surprised.” Just then two white women walked by us and I overheard one say to the other, “This seems like a way for them to just get us to work on their issues.” I thought long and hard about this comment on the drive home. Are Gitlin and Wilson correct in stating that race needs to be subdued in order to attract the white population? If so, this is a sad commentary on white progressives. Yet, this research has given me hope that white progressives can deal with race, and in doing so enable them to participate in creating the collaborative movements we desperately need to radically alter the culture of privilege in America and end the violence that perpetuates throughout our society and the world beyond. I have argued that if this network wishes to build a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice movement, it must address the culture of privilege within its own organizations. I have also argued that if this movement’s goals are to end U.S. intervention beyond the war in Iraq as well as “create a better society for everyone,” it must consider how the web of whiteness, wealth, and patriarchy influences and legitimizes U.S. policies when redefining the peace movement agenda. The movement must be anti-racist and anti-imperialist, as well as anti-war. What exactly should the movement’s agenda entail? When I posed this question to neighborhood-based model members of this network, they asked—do you mean an agenda for an anti-war movement or a peace and justice movement? Recall in chapter 3 I discussed how the inclusive model and neighborhood-based model members define the goals of a peace and justice movement differently, and this translates into very different definitions of

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peace work. While ending war may be a common goal across models, members differ on the analysis and agenda. Neighborhood-based model members also responded by stating that a detailed agenda with concrete issues cannot be defined until people have come together and built the necessary, trustworthy relationships that are required to sustain this type of movement. Recall from chapter 4 this opinion was voiced at the network’s annual strategy session—“How can we put agendas forward, if we don’t have the community people in the room with us to make this agenda?” Instead, neighborhood-based model members have articulated both a process for building relationships (detailed in chapter 6) as well as a framework for building a new agenda for the peace and justice movement.

A NEW PEACE AND JUSTICE MOVEMENT: REDEFINED GOALS, AGENDAS, AND RELATIONSHIPS Neighborhood-based model members argue that the movement must take a three-pronged approach to its agenda that addresses the roots, rather than symptoms, of U.S. intervention with the roots being defined as: militarism, “savage” materialism, and racism. This framework is drawn from the philosophy behind Dr. King’s Fund the Dream that brings together an anti-war agenda with a justice agenda. Hence, a peace and justice agenda must include attention to: Demilitarizing all facets of American society. Ending “war” requires attention to both physical and structural forms of violence. Calls to end the war in Iraq must be coupled with calls for ending the ever-increasing social control of communities and encroachment on civil rights. Ending economic exploitation. Calls to significantly reduce the military budget must be coupled with calls to rescind corporate tax cuts and tax breaks to the wealthy. Funds must be made available for the rehabilitation of our schools, the production of affordable housing, and the support of a social safety net. Dismantling institutional racism by examining the history, institutions, and social practices that support racial disparities in institutions such as schools, housing, medical care, and the ever expanding prison industrial complex. As discussed in chapter 4, Fund the Dream calls for actions that address the intersectionality of power and privilege that organizes, manages, and justifies the culture of privilege within American society. The key to implementing this framework is an understanding that all aims are interconnected.

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I have argued that a neighborhood-based model is more successful than an inclusive model of organizing in fostering relationships across differences. In this book, I have shown how neighborhood-based model members have cultivated relationships across racial and class differences primarily through counter–military recruitment work. Some of these community groups have also begun to expand their work into community violence efforts, attempting to draw connections between the militarism of American society and U.S. foreign policy. Others have chosen to build agendas with lower-income neighborhood association groups supporting their struggles in attaining affordable housing, thereby linking immediate survival issues with U.S. foreign policy. What all these efforts have in common is an attempt to understand how people experience war in their everyday lives, and to build agendas in collaboration with others that address those experiences as well as the intersectionality of power that influence (and are influenced by) those experiences. But, how successful are these relationships? Despite the work of neighborhood-based model members, the network’s base membership remains predominately white and middle class. Its extended networks are few, existing only in those communities where neighborhood-based model members dominate. Issues with the network’s external identity, conflicting definitions of inclusivity and peace work, and failure to address privilege and integrate racism into its work contribute to the network’s inability in reaching its goal of developing a multi-racial, multi-class network. While this book provides insight into the challenges white, middle-class progressives face as they attempt to work across racial and class differences and the organizing processes that can facilitate inter-racial and inter-class solidarity, it also raises other important questions for both academics and activists to consider and investigate. What is the nature and quality of the relationships being developed within the community? Are these relationships sustainable over the longer-term? Is an inclusive activist community being nurtured through neighborhood-based organizing? Moreover, is this model of organizing capable of moving beyond the physical boundaries of its own locale? Although further research is needed in order to evaluate how effective a neighborhood-based model of organizing can be in building a sustainable, multi-racial, multi-class social justice movement, my experience with my own form of “neighborhood-based methods” in conducting this study tells me that this model of organizing can foster the trustworthy relationships needed to build a diverse movement. The inclusive model follows, in what Michael Albert (1992) terms, an “apocalyptic” mode of organizing. Albert has criticized traditional peace movement organizing as being reactive and achieving only “short-term results with limited staying power and impact” (1992:392). Longer-view, more

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proactive organizing, he argues, produces a movement that sends a more powerful message to elites (Albert 1992). Although multi-issue organizing can risk alienating some people, he argues that it holds more potential in fostering diverse participation, reducing fragmentation, and challenging “society’s domestic class, race, political, and gender inequalities” (Albert 1992:392). While the neighborhood-based model falls into this latter category of organizing, its members are attentive to the need to address crises such as the situation in Iraq. They argue, however, that a movement for peace and justice must place the longer-term issues at the center versus the periphery of its work. A new model for the “anti-war” movement is a peace and justice movement that embraces inclusive organizing practices and a collective commitment to a multi-oppression analysis coupled with a multi-issue agenda that addresses both distributive and ideological goals. One Unified, Multi-racial, Multi-class Movement? While it is necessary that activists find ways to collaborate, is creating one unified, multi-racial, multi-class movement feasible or desirable? Neighborhood-based model members have stated that their intent is not to create one movement but rather “linked movements,” and “activist communities” that consist of various groups, but all collaborating under a common understanding of the problems and a common vision of social change. Network structures can facilitate the building of these activist communities and can provide the structural framework for both autonomy and coordination. For instance, locally based peace and justice groups can work with a diversity of other organizations within their communities, building extended networks and agendas that address community needs. At the same time, these locally based peace and justice groups can be networked across communities with other groups to collaborate on common issues. Since a network structure can support the existence of collective identities, it can practice a multioppression politics. The network structure can also provide the opportunity to create “safe spaces” (Belenky, Bond, and Weinstock 1997; Collins 1998; Gamson, W. 1996) where groups can develop a sense of self and group identity. Creating safe spaces within a network for groups to develop a selfdefined standpoint can further a sense of belonging which is vital to movement development, mobilization and sustainment. As discussed in chapters 3 and 4, these safe spaces (or sub-groups) allow members to organize around common definitions of peace work, but also to build shared standpoints across differences. Sustained collective action will not come from joining the same organization and building a unified identity, but rather finding commonality in a diverse community of sharing and acting.

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The network under study is attempting to create this type of framework. Yet, as argued in chapter 4, without developing strong locally based diverse, community networks that address a broader definition of peace work this network will continue to struggle to achieve its goals. Critics within the traditional peace movement argue that focusing on community-based action will never lead to a national movement, but neighborhood-based model members argue that without building a strong base of support there cannot be the national movement or movements that traditional peace movement leaders envision. Instead focusing on locally based networks enables the cultivating of social movement communities that train and empower leaders and develop effective, trustworthy alliances (Albert 1992; Anner 1996; Fisher and Shragge 2000; Stout 1996).

A CLOSING WORD ON PRIVILEGE Moving traditional “anti-war” activists to this type of platform will take time. Some progressive, middle-class whites have stated that they do not see a need to work across differences. They have told me that a movement of white, middle-class activists can do much to effect social change. However, I join with those academics and activists who have argued that to not do so will only reinforce the very privilege and oppression these movements are trying to eliminate. Why? While these efforts may change lives incrementally, it is doubtful that an all-white, middle-class movement will change the privileged hierarchy that fosters, supports, and legitimizes oppression. Most progressive white, middle-class activists, such as those within this network, are good people with good intentions. However, despite these good intentions they are caught in a web of privilege that affects their lives and distorts their worldviews. White, middle-class activists must be willing to go beyond their place of comfort and challenge how privilege is oppressing others and limiting their social change efforts. During the “Racism and the Peace Movement” event, I chose to participate in a working group on “how to build a multi-racial peace movement,” where several participants (whites and people of color) shared their successful experiences working across race. Our discussion centered on why they felt these relationships were working, and this resulted in an agenda we presented to the larger group—an agenda for white progressives. It stated that in order to build a multi-racial peace and justice movement, whites must: 1. examine why “their” movements continue to be segregated from people of color; 2. acknowledge their privilege and use it to support versus lead movements;

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3. venture out of one’s place of comfort and learn about other people’s lives; 4. examine why you are not willing to take on issues of racism; and 5. see the connection between violence at home and violence abroad As long as whites continue to define issues as “ours” versus “theirs,” there can be no hope of creating collaborative movements for change. The peace and justice movement will be unable to redefine its agenda until it redefines its relationships. A colleague recently stated that listening, dialoguing, and building relationships are not political actions. I beg to differ. Building trustworthy, collaborative relationships are political acts and are the foundation of building transformative social change.

NOTES 1. Many people of color in their writings tend to refer to the “anti-war movement” versus “the peace movement” for reasons mentioned in the introduction. 2. An “Open Letter on Movement Building” authored by several activists of color on February 13, 2003 forwarded to national peace and justice organizations across the country. 3. “Open Letter on Movement Building” 4. Thompson (2001:309) quoting Ann Braden in an interview. 5. As there is little diversity in class demographics within this network, class appears to matter to a lesser degree. Research that has examined cross-class interactions among progressive whites has found that differing class cultures (middle class vs. working class/labor) do affect how issues are defined and how organizing partners selected (Croteau 1993; Rose 2000). The fact that this network is primarily comprised of predominately white, middle-class people suggests that both race and class privilege are factors in why more people of color and the working- and lower-class populations are not participants within this network or affiliated with its work. 6. For a discussion on the effectiveness of the U.S. anti-war movement, see Chatfield 1992; Joseph 1993a, 1993b; Meyer 1990; Peace 1991; Rochon and Meyer 1997. 7. Distributive models, in some sense, can be considered single oppression as they focus on economic (or class) inequality while ignoring other oppressions like race and gender that interact with class (Kurtz 2002). However, these movements have not been considered “identity” movements as they have focused on material versus “cultural” or “ideological” goals.

Appendix A

The Process of Investigation

A FEMINIST, REFLEXIVE METHODOLOGY A feminist, reflexivity methodology exposes the exercise of power throughout the entire research process from the formulation of the research problem, to the shifting positionalities of the researcher and participants, through interpretation and writing (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b). As I subscribe to a feminist, reflexive methodology, I paid particular attention to the practice of reflexivity, ensuring that I was critically self-reflexive of my own personal and cultural biases and how they may influence the research questions, as well as how and what data I chose to collect, interpret and represent as the final research product. But reflexivity is more than critical self-reflection. It also involves consideration of how the personal, social and cultural contexts in which both research and participant are situated affect the research process and product (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b). Practicing “reflexivity in the moment” during all stages of the research revealed new directions in the research; fostered collaborative, trustworthy relationships; and produced research that was relevant and useful to participants and potentially others seeking to collaborate across differences in their social change efforts. During this study, I was a full, participating member of a community group, and for a shorter period of time a member of a campaign-working group as well as a community outreach committee member. I also visited a number of other community groups and attended monthly scheduled network meetings, as well as network-wide public conferences, forums, educationals, and protests. More than ninety people were involved in interviews or interpretive focus groups. The following sections outline the process of my investigation. 159

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THE CONTEXT OF DISCOVERY Formulating the Research Question and Choosing the Site It was important to me that my research questions be grounded in the lives of activists and that the work contribute not only to the furthering of knowledge and debate within academia, but most importantly serve those out on the streets working for social change. Thus, prior to embarking on this work, I spent a year in the field working and speaking with global justice activists1 to learn how this research could respond to a critical issue they were facing. A common theme was raised in these conversations. They felt that cooperation was necessary due to a lack of resources, as well as the growing awareness that peace and economic justice issues were intimately connected. Yet, they were experiencing difficulty building bridges across organizations, issues, and movements as class and racial differences frequently prevented cooperation. They asked: how can activists (particularly white, middle-class activists) overcome these obstacles? What type of movement structures and cultures would facilitate building alliances across racial and class differences? In the months following September 11, 2001, many global justice activists were transitioning into “anti-war work” and a new peace and justice network was formed. In a region that had a strong history of peace movement activity as well as a legacy of racial strife, its mission was to build a newer version of the peace movement. Specifically, its aim was to stop war generally and the war in Iraq specifically; to change the political direction and leadership of the country; and to build a multi-racial, multi-class peace and justice movement. Since working across race and class had been historically problematic for the white, middle-class peace movement, I was interested in uncovering how this newly formed network planned to overcome this history. What lessons might be learned? How are people within this network working to create a multiracial, multi-class movement? How and to what extent are individuals and organizations within this network building relationships, goals, and strategies together? What might be uniting these actors and sustaining collective action? As a reflexive researcher begins the process of reflexivity prior to entering the field, I critically reflected upon my own social biography and theoretical positions about these research questions. I asked myself—How has my personal history led to my interest in these questions? What theoretical knowledge about these issues do I bring to bear on these questions and why? How might my race, class, and gender affect my relationships with these activists and the knowledge building process? However, what I failed to interrogate was how I defined peace work (and why), and how this might affect the research.2 Moreover, while I reflected on how my whiteness, gender, and class

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may influence interactions with participants, I made assumptions that my activist identity would overcome any barriers that may arise due to my positionality as a researcher. Below, I discuss how this false assumption affected my access to some portions of this network. Gaining Access Upon entering this research, I considered myself both an insider and outsider3 to this community of activists. While I anticipated sharing the perspectives, values and experiences of many of the activists, I also realized that as a researcher I would always stand somewhat outside the boundaries of the community. Despite this reflexive work, my access into particular areas of the network was problematic. Some members responded negatively to my attendance at meetings and requests for interviews. My activist identity and the desire to collaborate and produce a useful product for this network did not seem to be enough to gain the trust of these members. I began to take refusals to meet for interviews and the distancing at meetings personally until I attended a workshop as part of a forum that this network and other progressive groups in the area co-sponsored. The purpose of the workshop was to bring academics and activists in conversation with each other. What transpired within the first twenty minutes of that session revealed to me the invisible barrier I was facing in gaining access. I had failed to reflect on how these activists defined my status as an outsider based on my researcher identity. Being an activist was clearly not enough to overcome my researcher identity and gain their trust. Excerpts from my field notes on this forum summarize this revelation. The session was facilitated by two academics, names I recognize from literature I’ve read. We went around the room and introduced ourselves. There were about forty people in the room. Eight people identified themselves as activists; the rest identified as academics first, activists second. On the second round, we were asked by the two academics to identify an issue plaguing the Left. . . . As we offered our insights, several academics began constructing “research questions” appropriate for academics to undertake in order “to help activists.” At this point, one woman (an activist) raised her hand and said, “these questions are great, but if you really want to help us, come do the work.” One of the academics, a facilitator, responded by saying “well, that’s what we’re trying to do. We [academics] have the intellectual skills and the resources, and so our time is best spent researching these issues and telling you how to solve them.” In response to that comment, the eight activists walked out of the session. The academics looked puzzled for a moment and then continued on with the conversation. I was horrified and left shortly thereafter. . . . Is this the way I am being perceived and

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identified in the network, as a disconnected, intellectual not willing to do the dirty work of organizing and suggesting that I have the answers to their issues? (Excerpts from field notes, July, 2004)

While my access to members of community groups I visited was for the most part unproblematic, I did experience difficulty in gaining access to those within the coordinating committee. A few weeks following this session, I contacted a staff member for the network in an attempt to arrange a meeting with the members of the coordinating committee. I was told that my request to attend would be reviewed at the next scheduled meeting. The following week, I received an e-mail from a coordinating committee member stating that I was placed on the committee’s listserv, and that I was welcome to come to the next meeting. However before that meeting, I viewed a discussion on the committee’s listserv regarding my attendance. An excerpt from my field notes offers my reaction to this discussion. I just viewed an e-mail discussion on the listserv by a few coordinating committee members and I have a pit in my stomach. There are people that don’t want me there. They have major issues with my presence at meetings. So, why the ok ayto come then? Now I feel that I am going to a meeting where I am really not wanted. I feel right now, forget it. Can I do this work without them? But the more I think about it, I can see their viewpoint. Why do they want someone around observing and writing about them? Hopefully I can address their concerns and see if they think what I am proposing is important and if so, see if they want to work together. If they are uncomfortable with my observing, then I’ll just have to work around that. (Excerpt from field notes, August, 2004)

Needless to say, I was apprehensive about attending the meeting. I also wondered whether those members expressing their opposition to my attendance would be there, and also were they aware I saw their comments? Below are excerpts from my field notes on this meeting that reflect further on issues of access. On Wednesday evening, I attended the coordinating committee meeting. Ten of the eighteen members were present. . . . The meeting was a bit tense. It was clear from the body language that a few people were opposed to my attendance. . . . Some did not offer to shake my hand when I introduced myself. Others bypassed me when handing out materials. A couple of individuals displayed raised eyebrows and impatient sighs as I discussed my commitment to confidentiality, desire to be as non-intrusive as possible, but also participate as a contributing member of the network. I also emphasized the desire to produce something useful for this network. I discussed my project, how I developed my research questions, and the reasons why I chose this network. Some of the members seemed interested and one offered some research advice. But based on the body lan-

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guage during the meeting and questions posed at the end of my presentation, I have a hunch that I will not be allowed to attend meetings. . . . There is just too much discomfort about “being researched.” There seems to be a lot of paranoia as well. (Excerpt from field notes, September, 2004)

A month later, I received an e-mail stating that I would be notified via e-mail which meetings I would be allowed to attend. I attended one more meeting. Only two individuals from this group agreed to be interviewed. The rest either refused or never responded to my multiple requests. In hindsight, I should have shared my experiences from the forum with people in the initial meeting. In my interviews with network members, we dialogued about my experience in the workshop and I listened to their interpretations of that experience. Through these conversations themes of mistrust and vulnerability emerged, and I learned more about the concerns activists have with academics entering activist communities. Although this network consists of members who are considered to hold privilege in society (white and middle class), as a progressive group of activists their voices are marginalized from mainstream society. Hence, many network members were wary about sharing “insider” information with an “outsider.” Although I spent much time reflecting about my social location, the power I held as a researcher and how I presented myself in the field, I failed to consider the power others had in defining who I am, why I was there, and how much access I was allowed (Acker 2000; Kondo 1990; Marx 2000). Interrogating oneself is more than just examining social location and its effect on the field; rather this reflexive process also involves negotiating positionality and recognizing the shifting nature of power relations from site to site (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b). We can only come to understand our positionality and the impact it has on the field, the self, and one’s relationships by examining the shifting nature of our role through the lens of reflexivity. By extending reflexivity outward (Haney 2002), in other words reversing the internal gaze of critical selfreflection, I was able to reflect back upon myself through the eyes of these network members, thereby illuminating yet another dimension of positionality and power. Through this process, I was better able to understand the barriers to my access and what I needed to do in order to gain trust in various field settings. I needed to become a full, participating member. In this research, the boundaries of the field continuously shifted between the virtual and the physical, the visible and the hidden, and between the active self and the inner self (Coffey 1999; Ely, Vinz, Downing, Anzul 1997; Mann and Stewart 2000). The field existed in the confined areas of meeting places and the open spaces of protests and events to the virtual spaces where I conversed through listservs and personal e-mail accounts. It existed in observable speech, actions, and expressions as well as in members’ concealed

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thoughts and silences. The field, like my positionality, was fluid and continuously under construction and negotiation.

OBSERVING ACTION As the process of collective action often happens unconsciously through movement practices, it was important that I gather detailed, rich accounts of experiences through both the spoken and written word as well as observation. Participant observation can offer a different angle of vision on how activists work that differs from the data obtained through in-depth interviews (Lichterman 1998, 2002). While the interviews revealed participants’ reflections on what they do, observation offered a glimpse into how activists are actually working in the moment. Through this triangulation of methods, I was able to illuminate the contradictions between what individuals said they do and what they actually did. Furthermore, by presenting these contradictions in interpretive focus groups, I was able to better understand why people act the way they do. Participant observation created a richer account of individual experiences and movement dynamics. I did participant observation continuously throughout the entire research process, and was always transparent about my researcher status. During the first few months, I was more observer than participant as I became acclimated to the network. As observer, I engaged in informal conversations with individuals from various groups conversing about the network’s history, structure, agendas, and vision and kept extensive field notes documenting all interactions and observations including how people communicate and relate to one another across difference. I also used observation as a means to identify possible participants and themes for the in-depth interviews. After several months of observation, I moved along the continuum from observer to full participant observer. In addition to observing at network-wide meetings, working group sessions, community group meetings, protest events, and educationals, I also observed at least one day per week in a community group where I was a full, participating member. Becoming a full, participating member provided me credibility within the network and granted me access to more individuals. Acting with a community group, rather than just observing, also gave me better insight as “movements look quite different when viewed from the perspective of subordinates rather than those at the top” (Thorne 1983:234). In this phase I paid particular attention to not only what was said, but also how it was said. I noted how people created shared understandings and with whom; how issues were framed, agendas developed, and work defined; but also how power operated within the various settings.

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Also at this stage, listserv communications became additional field sites requiring observation and analysis. Many ethical issues arose in regard to observing and analyzing listserv data that required consideration. For example, although I was awarded membership to a number of network listservs by the respective moderators and introduced myself on the listserv as a researcher as well as a member of the network, there were many moments where I questioned whether people had failed to remember that I was indeed listening in, taking notes, and analyzing their conversations. Was I responsible for continuously reminding them? Does the definition of public and private space change when engaging in the virtual environment?4 Feminist researchers have written about the many challenges informed consent presents to the qualitative researcher (Fine, Weis, Weseen, and Wong 2000; Lykes 1989; Thorne 1980). In particular, Barrie Thorne (1980) discusses the challenges in fieldwork, and raises issues around knowledgeability and voluntary choice. On knowledgeability, she states: “To meet the ethical requirement that consent should be informed, researchers may need to reassess their activity and provide fresh communications along the way. Informed consent may need renewing through another kind of effort: reminding those one is studying about the research purpose, if it seems to have slipped from awareness” (Thorne 1980:290). Following Thorne’s advice, I was diligent about introducing myself as both researcher and network member in the physical environment and always offered to have a conversation about the research with anyone in the room. Moreover, I never entered a private field site without prior permission of the facilitator, and it was assumed (based on our prior conversation) that consent was gained from everyone planning to attend the meeting. However, this process became more complicated in the virtual environment, in particular with listserv data as membership shifts and the researcher’s physical and virtual presence is not visible at all times. How does one ensure consent? Although I initially introduced myself and the purpose of the research, should I have periodically sent reminders to the listserv? This practice seemed to be extremely intrusive (as people were always complaining about flooding the listserv), as well as a way to exert my power as a researcher by dominating the listserv. But I wondered, was I not exerting my power as researcher by not renewing consent? Moreover, as in the physical environment, how would I confirm that consent was voluntary? Does non-response equate to acceptance (Thorne 1980)? Even when consent is requested and confirmed by the “gatekeeper” of the meeting or listserv, should consent be required from each individual member? Herein lie the dilemmas with informed consent for researchers engaging in observation. Thorne states: “. . . the method of participant-observation does not in itself lead to moments of announcement

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and choice, unless one must formally request access to a setting, is asked to justify one’s presence, or asks subjects for interviews” (1980:291). I treated the listserv environment as a semi-private field site5 (Mann and Kelly 2000). I felt that there was an assumption of privacy (only people allowed to subscribe to the listserv had access), but there was also an acknowledgment that members could forward the message to others outside the network. Moreover, I felt communications posted via the listserv were intended to be viewed by the membership even if comments were directed at one member. Hence, I did not send reminders to the listserv of my researcher status. Although I did take field notes of the listserv data and integrated this material into my analysis, I protected confidentiality using the same methods as in a semi-private physical environment. Thorne (1983) states that in order to do fieldwork, a researcher needs a double consciousness. As participant and activist, one acts within the everyday reality of members, but as an observer and researcher one is required to record, compare, and theorize about the things one sees (Thorne 1983). “Participant observation, it has often been noted, involves a problematic balance, a dialectic between being an insider, a participant in the world one studies, and an outsider, observing and reporting on that world” (Thorne 1983:216). Although participatory, collaborative relationships can build the trust needed to allow participants to feel comfortable sharing intimate and confidential details of their lives, they can also place participants in situations where they can be manipulated, betrayed, and exploited (Behar 1993; Dodson et al. 2007; Gorelick 1991; Kirsch 1999; Lal 1996; Pini 2004; Stacey 1991; Wasserfall 1993). My role of participant and observer, of activist and researcher, particularly within the community group I joined, required much reflexivity as I documented and critiqued those with whom I acted. Moreover, managing the multiplicity of roles within the network was at times contentious. Conflicting loyalties bounded forth, and my biases continuously plagued my “objectivity” as a researcher. A year into the research, I reflected deeply on these concerns. I’m beginning to feel an allegiance with neighborhood-based model members, and a few of these members have asked me to help them push their agenda. In other words, convince the inclusive model members that “they have it all wrong.” I’m also having a difficult time maneuvering between the different field sites and roles—community group member, community outreach committee volunteer, researcher, and activist. As an outreach member, I am tasked with guiding and supporting community groups, but also encouraging them to collaborate on particular campaigns. As a community group member, I tend to want to fight for the autonomy of the group’s agenda and not influence their planning. Also, within this group I am torn between pushing the agenda of the neighbor-

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hood-based model members and just letting the process unfold. As an activist, I see the benefit of moving this network toward a more neighborhood-based model of organizing, but as a researcher I have to ask—how much should the researcher really influence the group’s decisions on how they organize themselves? And, have I already influenced individuals within this group? Are these ideas theirs or mine? Is there such a thing as too much collaboration in that the research becomes a fulfillment of the researcher’s own agenda? But, if I sit back and let the group struggle, am I exploiting that struggle for my research purposes? (Excerpt from personal journal, summer 2005)

Reflexivity cannot totally eliminate the power difference between researcher and participant, nor can it eliminate our biases (Stacey 1991). However, “practicing reflexivity in the moment” can unmask these differences in power by alerting the researcher to examine “unconscious feelings or practices” and “to make immediate changes in the conduct of the research or the wording of questions or help to anticipate or address ethical dilemmas that inevitably arise without warning” (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b). How did I resolve my conflicting roles? I continued to reflect on how I was influencing the research, but also how the research was influencing me, and I worked harder to bring participants’ voices into other stages of the research process.

GENERATING A SAMPLE The sampling design for this study was based on both purposive and theoretical methods. Some individuals were selected for interviews based on their role within the network (and the larger peace movement), while many others were chosen based on their particular experiences. Initially, I relied on participant observation to identify possible participants. Later, as data collection and analysis proceeded and gaps/conflicts in the data arose, I chose participants who were best able to shed light on the emerging theory. Using a constructivist approach to sampling also allowed me to build my sample based on emerging theoretical findings rather than being concerned with the size and representation of the sample (Charmaz 2000; Cuadraz and Uttal 1999). Table A.1 represents an aggregate picture of the sample of interview participants (it does not include focus group participants or ethnographic conversations). A detailed description of the sample can be found in appendix 2. Field sites were also determined through theoretical sampling. For example, as my theory began to develop around the two organizing models, I chose to visit community groups where I knew both models were operating in order to examine more closely the conflict between the two styles. Over the course of the research, I visited sixteen out of the approximately forty community

168 Table A.1.

Appendix A In-depth Interview Sample

People of Women Men White Color 23

7

21

9

Upperand Middle- Working Class Class 27

3

Inclusive Model

Neighborhood-based Model

10

20

* For a definition of “class,” see “Clarifying Terminology” in this appendix.

groups within the network at least once and in some cases more than once; dozens of network-wide protests, meetings, educationals, and campaign working group sessions, as well as several community outreach committee meetings. Of particular note is the large number of neighborhood-based model members chosen for interviews. As the network consists of more inclusive model members than neighborhood-model members, I was more able to observe the inclusive style of organizing. Thus, I oversampled the neighborhood-based model membership in order to fully comprehend this style of organizing.

CO-CONSTRUCTING KNOWLEDGE In order to minimize power differentials in knowledge construction, the researcher must acknowledge difference. Acknowledging difference not only involves acknowledging one’s positionality in a complicated shifting matrix of social locations but also conversing openly with participants about those differences (Collins 2000; Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b). By reflexively interrogating one’s own privilege and acknowledging how it influences research relationships, the researcher is able to build more trust and understanding across differences (Anderson 1998; Edwards 1990; Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b). Moreover, by reflexively engaging in dialogical relationships, the researcher is able to bring her presuppositions into view and find common experiential ground while still acknowledging the differences in experience, thereby radically changing the way we know and what we know by creating a common space for knowledge building (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b). In reflexive relationships, the researcher experiences a moment or moments during the conversation where an exchanging of roles occurs—the researcher as participant, the participant as researcher. This fluidity of roles in the process of constructing knowledge occurs when the researcher is reflexive about the interview relationship and the social conditions that affect the conversation. Since we carry our biographies and presumptions into the interview setting, we must problematize all

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positions whether shared or not in order to create a non-hierarchical environment conducive to sharing. (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b:503)

Some of the ways in which the reflexive researcher attempts to deconstruct power imbalances, build trust, and produce more authentic research is through sustained engagement in the field, active listening, disclosure on the part of the researcher, contextualizing discourse, and by awarding interpretive authority to participants (Collins 1998; Devault 1990; Dodson et al. 2007; Lykes and Coquillon 2007; Smith 1987; Stage and Mattson 2003). Interviewing As mentioned previously, interviewing and observations occurred simultaneously in this study. Thirty in-depth interviews were conducted for two hours on average; some lasted more than three hours, and several participants were interviewed multiple times. Conversations touched on themes derived from the literature on collective identity and cross-difference organizing, as well as those emerging from the fieldwork and analysis. In the initial interviews, I asked for lengthy narrative descriptions of the history of the organization, as each member understood it, and their experiences working within the network in various settings. The interviews were more exploratory than structured. In follow-up interviews and with subsequent participants later in the research process as I reflected theoretically on the data, interviews became more semistructured, but questions remained open-ended, allowing individuals the opportunity to fully describe their experiences, but also “generate, challenge, clarify, elaborate, or recontextualize” (Blee and Taylor 2002) their interpretations. In addition to formal interviewing, I did extensive ethnographic interviewing during my hours of observation using the same methodology. Researchers who have practiced a participatory approach to interviewing state that they have been able to learn not just what happened, but why and how certain phenomena happen (Blee and Taylor 2002). While observation offered one angle of vision on the process of collection action, interviewing allowed me to delve deeper into participants’ reflections on what they do and in many instances why they do it. Moreover, interviewing offered me the opportunity to explore theoretical ideas about the data with participants. For instance, data from the interviews fleshed out the characteristics of the two models of organizing. Ethnographic interviewing also added rich detail to the accounts. This form of interviewing occurred during meeting and educational session breaks, car rides, over dinner, and many times via e-mail. Sometimes these conversations were extensions of in-depth interviews where participants clarified comments and provided more examples. Other times, participants

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raised issues about the research questions and data for my consideration and further probing with other participants. These were thought-provoking conversations, and were extremely helpful in navigating the challenges in interpreting others’ lives, as well as building trust and rapport. Observation and interviewing served as an interactive process of data collection, interpretation, and analysis. Although I anticipated sharing many cultural and structural experiences of the majority of the activists who were white, middle-class women, I realized assuming commonality could lead to false assumptions, asking the wrong questions, or a lack of critical examination of viewpoints. I also realized there would be a number of activists with whom I would not find an apparent commonality. Equipped with the insights from feminist researchers, I entered the field acknowledging that there would be differences in our lived experiences and that I would openly share my research interests, my background, and my commitment and work through any power imbalances that arose during the research process in order to establish trust. When interviewing network members who practiced feminist ways of organizing,6 the process of sharing, dialoguing, and empathizing came naturally and egalitarian relationships were easy to develop. More effort was needed to establish trust and engage in dialogue with members unfamiliar with these practices. For example, in one of my preliminary interviews with a white, middle-class woman, she was extremely uncomfortable with the open nature of the interview and continuously asked me to revert back to a question-and-answer format. While this format provided the space for information gathering, the atmosphere was tense, rapport was very difficult to build, probing felt intrusive, and responses were adequate but vague. Although I learned about the challenges facing her attempts to work across race and class, I was unable to gather her interpretations of those experiences as well as verify my interpretations of what was being said. Moreover, those members familiar with and practicing feminist ways of organizing were more likely to examine their own positionality during the interview, thereby contextualizing the interview data as they constructed it. This process provided greater depth to the data and validity to my analysis. Acknowledging difference can always be difficult, but it became surprisingly complicated when interviewing within race, as some participants assumed commonality where none existed. For instance, some white, middle-class women made the assumption that we shared similar experiences and perspectives on the world and the topics at hand. These assumptions made it more difficult for me to share my perspectives, particularly on whiteness, as they were clearly different, for fear of shutting down the interview and damaging any rapport that had been built. However, as understanding and dismantling power and privilege became the key focus of this study, I was compelled to generate a counternarrative

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in order to give participants the opportunity to rethink what Charles Gallagher (2000) calls those unquestioned assumptions about race that are constantly being written, rewritten, and internalized. In the interviews, I had to tread lightly in making my position known, as I wanted to preserve a safe space for constructive dialogue. Sometimes challenging participants to consider how their whiteness (and class) influenced their worldviews blew up in my face and I had to find more creative ways of unearthing this discourse. More often than not, though, it encouraged open reflection. In chapters 5 and 6, I discussed the difficulty in eliciting information from whites about race and privilege, and how I used the innovative method of interpretive focus groups to excavate this discourse. Below, I discuss this method in relation to reflexivity and a feminist methodology. As the intent of the feminist methodologist is to shift power, this process became no more evident than in interpretive focus groups. Interpretive Focus Groups “From the moment the researcher engages in the research project, to the probing and asking of questions, through the transcription of field notes, the voices of the participants have already been interpreted. Even when employing participatory methods, the researcher ultimately holds authority over the interpretation and writing of the final research product” (Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b:504). Among feminist methodologists there is a common concern with the researcher’s authority in interpretation and representation; however the practice of sharing interpretive authority with participants is not common practice, as it is often not encouraged or supported by the discipline (Dodson et al. 2007). But involving participants in the interpretive process can shift power and produce more accurate representations of people’s lives. I have already discussed how participatory, reflexive interviews and conversations can shift power and provide participants the opportunities for clarifying and challenging the researcher’s interpretations. But what of things that are not said and kept deliberately hidden? How does that alter our interpretations and representations of people’s lives? As I mentioned, simply raising the issue of white privilege often shut down the conversation, as some white participants were unwilling to discuss it or preferred to retreat into color-blind discourse. And understandably so. There are great risks in exposing one’s vulnerability and engaging in the act of telling.7 I needed to find more innovative methods to understand the meaning behind what was being said and not said and I needed to find a way to diminish the risk in telling. I used a reflexive method of “interpretive focus groups (IFGs)” (Dodson 1998, Dodson and Schmalzbauer 2005, Dodson et

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al. 2006, 2007) to uncover the racialized discourse operating within this network. An IFG is: an analytical method in which people who live in a similar immediate socioeconomic context as those people under study become interpreters of the data the researcher has already gathered. IFGs have two central intents. One is the inclusion of “local meaning” and members’ presence through to the final stage of a study. The other is the inclusion of a critical appraisal of the researcher’s translation of meaning, integrated into the stage of research in which data are transformed into findings and knowledge is asserted. (Dodson et al. 2007:826)

As I mentioned previously, I struggled for many months before gaining the respect and trust needed to prove that I was dedicated to producing useful research with and for participants, not just about them. I adapted the IFG method and used it both in the early and latter stages of the research process. IFGs pointed to new lines of inquiry as well as provided an avenue for engaging participants in the research process and highlighting important ways this research might be integrated into their work. These focus groups opened the door for building participatory relationships and fostered greater trust and acceptance of my presence within the network. IFGs also provided a way for people to examine their own processes and beliefs. During this research project, I conducted seven IFGs involving a total of sixty-four people. Sessions ranged from three and four people to twelve and fifteen. In the early stages of the research, IFGs were used for making sense of the contradictions I found when comparing field notes from my observations and interview transcripts. IFGs were a valuable source in explicating the unique characteristics of the two organizing models, and prompted new lines of inquiry around definitions of peace work, and the meaning of alliance building and community. Later in the research process, I drew on the IFG method to shed light on why some whites were acknowledging privilege while others were not and how this might affect their approach to organizing. IFGs were helpful in uncovering how hidden cultures of privilege shaped definitions of peace and community as well as the selection of issues and organizing partners. Chapters 3, 5, and particularly chapter 6 offered examples of how IFGs were invaluable to this research. Sharing interpretive authority is reflexive because it allows research participants to challenge and critique the researcher’s interpretations in a collective, safe environment. IFGs resonate with a feminist methodology that “prioritizes local knowledge, fosters voices from outside privileged and mainstream society, and integrates a commitment to social justice” (Dodson et al. 2007:823) by capturing knowledge that often is omitted in traditional social inquiry. IFGs push reflexivity further, asking the researcher to reveal

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one’s vulnerability by acknowledging that our understanding is limited, that we may “have it wrong,” and that research participants have knowledge that we consider very valuable (Dodson et al. 2007). IFGs keep the research and the researcher accountable. Data Analysis It was not until I read Kathy Charmaz’s work (2000) and began the process of constructing my research proposal that I came to my own understanding that grounded theory is both a method of inquiry and a method of analysis. For me, grounded theory goes hand in hand with inductive inquiry. As a method of inquiry, a grounded theory approach resonated with the principles of my constructivist and feminist epistemology and shaped how I approached the research process, from developing a research question, collecting data, and theoretically sampling participants, to analyzing data. As a method of analysis, grounded theory demanded the continuous interplay of data collection, analysis, and reflection that in turn allowed for emerging lines of inquiry and themes that may have gone unnoticed in a deductive or objectivist approach to data collection and analysis. I transcribed all interviews personally and analyzed transcripts, archival data, and field notes using a “constructivist” grounded theory approach, moving from open coding to focused coding, then conceptual categories and themes (Charmaz 2000). Unlike an objectivist approach, a constructivist grounded theory encourages interaction with and reflection on the data (Charmaz 2000). This entails asking questions of the data, listening to the voices and silences, and using active codes versus pre-determined codes to preserve the experiences of the participants. This process also demands reflexivity of one’s own positionality and consideration of how it “shapes what he or she will define, measure, and analyze” (Charmaz 2000:524). Hence, a constructivist grounded theory seeks to incorporate both participants’ meanings and researchers’ meanings (Charmaz 2000). In order to preserve the voices and experiences of participants, I used literal codes and reserved my own interpretations for memo writing and latter stages of analysis. Moreover, I continuously reflected back upon the entire context in which the text was created. In these analytic memos I searched for tacit meanings in order to clarify participants’ experiences. Analytic memo writing and code mapping allowed me to continuously reflect on the data, emerging themes, and patterns, as well as the research process itself (Charmaz 2000). By the time my analysis was complete, I had read each interview and field note dozens of times. As I proceeded in writing the drafts of this book, the analysis continued. As I wrote, I went back and forth between the

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data and the drafts multiple times, asking new questions and confirming that I had not strayed too far into my own interpretive bubble. As this study was focused on examining the complexity of working across differences, I reviewed conversations with participants through a multistaged process (Cuadraz and Uttal 1999). Using intersectionality as an interpretive tool, conversations with participants in this study were contextualized through a process of reflection on their social biographies. (See chapter 5, section “Understanding a Culture of Privilege” for more detail.) Protecting Anonymity and Confidentiality The most common method used to protect a participant’s anonymity and confidentiality is the use of pseudonyms. Some researchers have discussed the pitfalls a researcher may encounter when relying on this practice in fieldwork (Ellis 1995; Warren 2000). Carol Warren (2000) argues that participants are at risk the moment the researcher begins to write field notes, as it is often difficult to entirely disguise a research setting; hence readers may be able to speculate on participants’ identities. Although pseudonyms may disguise the identities and location of participants to outsiders, Carolyn Ellis (1995) asks us to read the text through the eyes of the participants and consider possible exposure by community insiders. Moreover, Warren (2000) raises the issue of altering the field site or social location of the participants as it may distort the meaning of people’s lived experiences. It was determined late in this study that this network wished to remain anonymous in the writing. Although issues of power and privilege exist in most progressive (if not all) organizations, network members felt that revealing their points of vulnerability in public might damage their external identity and discredit the work of progressives in the larger community. Though names were changed and locations removed, I also negotiated with participants on what and how to reveal sensitive information when possible.8 There were also instances when I used two different names for the same person in order to further protect an individual’s privacy. Not only were transcripts shared, but I also shared drafts of the writing or had conversations about the writing with those who were willing to do so.

CLARIFYING TERMINOLOGY “Whites” and “People of color” In this research, I used the category “white” to represent those individuals who either self-identified as Caucasian, or whose skin color appeared “white”

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in field observation. Those individuals who self-identified as a racial category other than Caucasian or whose skin color appeared a shade of black or brown in field observation were categorized as such. In the analysis of this data, I was careful to consider the differing racial categories and ethnicities when considering what and how things were said. It was only until I discovered patterns in the data that I began to group people into these categories. Based on the analysis, it became important to make comparisons between “whites” and “people of color.” Moreover, in our conversations most often African Americans, Latinos, and Asians used the term “people of color” to describe the commonality of lived experiences of these social groups as opposed to the “white” experience. However, by choosing to use the categories “whites” and “people of color” I by no means wish to universalize these lived experiences. Class Categorizing an individual into one particular class is often difficult. For the purposes of my sample, I attempted to draw on common measures of class such as income, wealth, education, occupation, and living situation to distinguish between middle-class and working-class individuals. Appendix 2 clarifies each individual’s class position. Although individuals within this network predominately self-identify as middle class, there exists some stratification based on education, employment, living situation, and hidden wealth. For instance, there are “middle-class” individuals who have a college education, but do manual labor. Others stand to gain significant inheritance, but currently are renting apartments and working several jobs. Despite the ambiguity in class identification, those self-identifying as “middle class” did share similar characteristics that differentiated them from their working-class counterparts— they had earned at least a four-year college degree that provided them with a choice in the type of work they chose to do, and they had more control over their hours and work environment.

INTERROGATING PRIVILEGE Coming to an understanding of how privilege has shaped one’s life and worldview can be a painful process, and voicing this realization in public discourse exposes one’s vulnerability. However, one’s willingness to address privilege can transform vulnerability into a tool for facilitating relationships across differences. A reflexive methodology that is attentive to the risk participants take in sharing their vulnerabilities can help ease this process (Dodson et al. 2007).

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A reflexive methodology can be a transformative process not only for participants, but for the researcher as well (Gorelick 1991; Hesse-Biber and Piatelli 2007b; Myers 2005; Wasserfall 1993). In hindsight, I recognize that I approached this research with a blind eye to varied meanings of peace work and social change efforts taking place outside the realm of the traditional peace movement. In other words, I narrowly defined peace work as anti-war work, and considered only those groups working on this agenda to comprise “the peace movement.” As this research progressed and I challenged network members to reflect on how privilege influenced their work, I too was challenged to reflect deeply on how my race and class shaped my worldview, my definition of peace work, and this research. Through these reflexive relationships, I began to construct a broader definition of peace work.9 By not considering alternative definitions of peace work at the outset of this research, I feel that I may have overlooked important cues by not listening more critically to what was being said and by not probing conversations more deeply. Moreover, not choosing to interview individuals outside the network working in non-traditional peace organizations limited my analysis. Examining my own privilege as a white middle-class woman facilitated an expansion of my research questions, sending me into new, unanticipated directions, adding more depth and breadth to the research. I not only focused on organizational practices that could hinder or foster work across difference, but also considered the broader structural and cultural forces shaping differing worldviews and efforts to build relationships and alliances across differences. Acknowledging how my own privilege influenced my worldview also transformed the way I define peace work and the actions that can potentially foster structural change in U.S. foreign policy.

NOTES 1. At the time of this pilot study, I was an active member of a global justice group on campus that had established ties with other global justice activists in the area. As I had a prior relationship with some of these activists, access was unproblematic. 2. I discuss the implications of this further in the latter section of this appendix. 3. A number of researchers discuss the shifting nature of the positionality of the researcher in the field in terms of the insider/outsider dilemma. Some of the most influential in my work: Acker 2000; Collins 1998, Cook and Fonow 1986, Griffith 1998, Naples 1986, Reinharz 1992, and Stanley and Wise 1993. 4. On research in the virtual environment, the public or private nature of mailing lists and newsgroups continues to be debated within the field. See Mann and Stewart 2004.

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5. For instance, a private field site was a community group meeting or a chat group; a semi-private field site was a network sponsored meetings where nonmembers were welcome by invitation such as monthly information meeting or a listserv; and a public site was a network sponsored conference or protest or website. In a private field site I would not use individual information without further conversation with that individual. In the semi-private field site, I may use individual information, but not directly quote unless I gained permission from that individual. In the public field site, I may directly quote from that site. 6. See chapter 2 for a full description of feminist ways of organizing. 7. For a discussion on the risk and vulnerability experienced by participants, see Dodson, Piatelli, and Schmalzbauer 2007. 8. Some members declined receiving or reviewing transcripts or draft writing. 9. Different definitions of peace work were outlined in chapter 2.

Appendix B

Interview Participants

Barbara is a white female, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a professional position. Beth is a white female, under forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. Beth is middle class. She has a college degree, rents an apartment, and is employed as a manager in a nonprofit organization. Carlita is a woman of color, over forty, and is a neighborhood-based model member. She considers herself working class. She has a high school education, owns a home, and is employed as an organizer in a non-profit neighborhood organization. Deidre is a white female, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and is retired from a professional position. Diane is a white female, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She self-identifies as upper middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and is retired from a professional position. Donna is a white female, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and works in a non-profit organization. Dora is a woman of color, under forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She self-identifies as middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a non-profit organization.

I chose “over” and “under” forty to categorize people by age for two reasons. One, the average age of participants within this network is forty; and two, in order to protect anonymity.

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Appendix B

Freda is a white female, over forty, and an inclusive model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and works in a nonprofit organization. Gary is a white male, under forty, and an inclusive model member. He is middle class. He has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a professional position. Gayle is a woman of color, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She self-identifies as working class. She has a two-year college degree, rents her home, and is currently unemployed. She formerly worked as a staff assistant in a non-profit, religious organization. Gloria is a white female, over forty, and an inclusive model member. She considers herself working class. She has a high school education, rents her home, and is employed in a service position. George is a white male, over forty, and is a former member of the network. I classified him as an inclusive model member during his time in the network. He considers himself middle class. He has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a non-profit organization. Gina is a white female, over forty, and is a neighborhood-based model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a non-profit organization. Haley is a white female, over forty, and is a former member of the network. I classified her as an inclusive model member during her time in the network, but her organizing practices may be considered neighborhood-based in her current work. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a professional position. Helen is a woman of color, under forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She considers herself middle class. She has a college degree, rents an apartment, and is employed in a professional position. Jane is a white female, over forty, and an inclusive model member. She considers herself middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and works within the home. Ken is a man of color, under forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. He is middle class. He has a college degree, rents an apartment, and is employed in a professional position. Laura is a white female, under forty, and an inclusive model member. She self-identifies as middle class. She has a college degree, rents an apartment, and is self-employed in a professional position. During the research project, Laura began to transition to a neighborhood-based model. Leah is a white female, over forty, and an inclusive model member. She selfidentifies as upper middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a clerical position.

Appendix B

181

Louisa is a woman of color, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and works within the home. Mark is a white male, under forty, and an inclusive model member. He is middle class. He has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a professional position. Michelle is a white woman, under forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, rents an apartment, and is employed in a professional position. Olivia is a white woman, over forty, and an inclusive model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and works within the home. Pam is a white female, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and works in a professional position for a labor organization. Pauline is a white female, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She considers herself middle class. She has a college degree, owns a home, and works in a labor position. Peter is a white male, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. He considers himself middle class. He has a college degree, owns a home, and works two jobs. He is employed in both a professional position and a labor position. Preston is a man of color, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. He is middle class. He has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a professional position. Sarah is a white female, over forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She is middle class. She has a college degree, owns her home, and is employed in a professional position. Theresa is a woman of color, under forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. She considers herself middle class. She has a college degree, rents an apartment, and is employed in a professional position. Wendall is a man of color, under forty, and a neighborhood-based model member. He is middle class. He has a college degree, owns a home, and is employed in a non-profit organization.

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Index

Acker, Joan, 14–15, 23 Albert, Michael, 154 Alinsky, Saul, 32, 39n8. See also Industrial Areas Foundation alliance building, 48–49 Alonso, Harriett, 5, 30 anti-war agenda. See peace work assimilation, 3, 4, 51, 54, 110, 112. See also inclusive model

community work, 27, 118; feminist organizing, 32; as not political, 21–22, 31 connected knowing, 34, 36 counter-military recruitment, 37, 67, 94 Crenshaw, Kimberlee, 90 Croteau, David, 104 culture of privilege, 92–94, 97–99, 110, 120

Belenky, Mary Field, 32 Bonilla-Silva, Eduardo, 102, 148–49 Braden, Anne, 142 Breines, Winifred, 150 bridge building, 27–30, 36 Buechler, Steven M., 53

Du Bois, W. E. B., 93–94

classism, 50, 105, 106–8, 123, 126 class privilege, 99, 107 coalition, definition of, 2, 6–7, 48 collective identity, 55–57, 63, 75–76, 139–40 Collins, Patricia Hill, 96, 114, 120, 140 color-blind discourse, 102–3, 107, 126 community building, 22, 52, 119 community outreach, 21–22, 27–28, 50, 103–5

exclusivity, 3, 16, 52, 57, 110; feminism, 4, 149–50; peace movement, 5, 16, 18, 141 expanded definition of peace. See peace work feminism, exclusion in, 4 feminist methodology, 10, 159–76 feminist model of organizing, 22–23, 27, 32. See also feminist ways of organizing feminist peace movement, 5–6, 30–31, 45 feminist ways of organizing, 4, 11, 23–37, 27; collectivist structures, 22–26, 119; collectivist processes,

197

198

Index

26–37; standpoint, 56, 59, 64n3, 91. See also feminist model of organizing Ferree, Myra Marx, 140 Frankenberg, Ruth, 99–100, 103 Fund Justice, 79–83 Gallagher, Charles A., 100 Galtung, Johan, 42 Gamson, William, 55, 107 gendered organization, 14–15 Gitlin, Todd, 94–95 Hardy-Fanta, Carol, 31 hooks, bell, 112, 148 inclusive model: building alliances, 51; counter military recruitment, 72–75; definition of peace work, 42–44, 143; identity, 57–59, 139; privilege, 101. See also assimilation inclusivity, 3, 16; feminism, 150; organizing practices, 3, 139; peace movement, 5 Industrial Area Foundation, 94, 115n2, 146. See also Alinsky, Saul intersectionality, 15, 38n2, 30–31, 90, 118, 120, 138, 150 King, Deborah, 90 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 1, 79, 145, 153 Krauss, Celene, 90–91 Kurtz, Sharon, 96, 97 Lichterman, Paul, 75–76 Martinez, Elizabeth, 5 McIntosh, Peggy, 101 Melucci, Alberto, 55, 56 Mills, C. Wright, 90 Moya, Paula, 56 Naples, Nancy, 144 negative peace, 41

neighborhood-based model: building alliances, 50–54; counter military recruitment, 69–72; definition of peace work, 45–47, 143; identity, 59–62, 139; privilege, 101 network, definition of, 6–7, 9, 155–56 nuclear freeze model, 19 Omi, Michael, 149 Ostrander, Susan, 23, 26, 38n3 peace movement: new model 2, 16, 18, 33–34. See also neighborhood-based model; traditional definition 6, 9 peace work, definition of, 9, 30–31, 41–42, 119, 140–41; anti-war, 4, 42–44; expanded definition of peace, 9, 30–31, 45–47, 119 ; social biography, 91 Pheterson, Gail, 48 positive peace, 41 Poster, Winifred, 91 Quaker peace testimony, 43 race, as divisive, 94–97 racism, 45–47, 50, 80, 93–95, 102, 105, 123 Rose, Fred, 29, 54, 107 Scott, Ellen, 23, 26 Sirianni, Carmen, 146 social biography, 90–92 social movement community, 53, 156 Spellman, Elizabeth V., 1, 4, 5 Staggenborg, Suzanne, 23 Stall, Susan, 14, 32 Stoecker, Randy, 14, 32 Stout, Linda, 85, 107 Thompson, Becky, 142, 144, 150

Index

unity: as exclusive, 57–59, 111–14; as inclusive, 4, 20, 23–24, 59–63, 111–14, 118 Wellman, David, 101 whiteness, 93–94, 99–103, 121, 129, 143; identity development, 121, 124–25, 127, 129; peace work, 123–24, 129–30; white culture,

199

100–101; white privilege, 99–101, 122–23, 138, 142, 144; white talk, 102–3 Wilson, William Julius, 94–95, 146 Winant, Howard, 95–97, 149 Wise, Tim, 89, 115n1 womanism, 4–5, 151 Young, Iris Marion, 3

About the Author

Deborah A. Piatelli is an activist and visiting assistant professor of sociology at Boston College, where she teaches courses in research methodology and race relations.

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