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To Pierre and Chloe

INTRODUCTION: The Power of Recognition

1. THE VIEW FROM ABOVE: The Upper-Middle Class and the Failures of the American Dream

2. THE VIEW FROM BELOW: The Working Class and the Marginalized

3. MEETING THE MOMENT: How We Fight for a More Inclusive World

4. BEING THE CHANGE WE WISH TO SEE: Change Agents and the Quest for Dignity and Recognition.

5. CHANGING HEARTS AND MINDS: How Recognition Chains Amplify the Cultural

7. THE NEXT GENERATION: How Gen Z Fights for the Future

8. DIFFERENT YET THE SAME: Solutions for Building an Inclusive Society

SEEING OTHERS

INTRODUCTION

THE POWER OF RECOGNITION

In June 2020, I talked with the Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist and historian Nikole Hannah-Jones, just as massive Black Lives Matter protests were spreading across the United States following the murder of George Floyd. During our interview, she described how her endeavor, the 1619 Project, took shape and grew. Originally a special issue of the New York Times Magazine published in August 2019, this series of essays marked the four hundredth anniversary of the first enslaved Africans arriving in Jamestown, Virginia. Hannah-Jones’s opening essay pointedly challenged white readers, starting with its title, “America Wasn’t a Democracy, Until Black Americans Made It One.” The project provided an alternative vision of American history, covering the era of slavery, the promise of equality, and the formation of the American dream. It also exposed the harms caused by a national narrative that sidelines Black history and suggested that a better society is possible if we can replace that narrative with a more inclusive one—a narrative that recognizes the value and dignity of Black people’s experiences.

In her work as a journalist, Hannah-Jones strives to show what she calls “the intentional architecture of inequality of American society.” Though she has often found herself searching for hope, she

recognizes that the 1619 Project gave hope to others. As she puts it, seeing how America’s system of racial domination was created helps us see “that it can be uncreated.” This optimism explains in part why the 2019 special magazine issue immediately ran out of print and why the book that eventually arose from the project became an instant hit, staying at the top of the New York Times bestsellers list for months on end.

With support from the Pulitzer Foundation, the project was also developed into a set of history curricula that came to be taught in over 3,500 US classrooms in 2020 alone. As the project became more prominent, it ignited passionate debates around the country. That same year, then-president Donald Trump hastily assembled a “1776 Commission” to write a different version of history that he felt would better fit within a “patriotic education”—an account that downplayed the significance of slavery and racism in America’s past and included no input from professional historians. In several states, conservative lawmakers attempted to bar teachers from any 1619 Project–based teaching and worked to ban many other books addressing racism from school libraries and curricula.

At the heart of all this were deep questions about who matters not only in the United States, but also far beyond. And the fight over the 1619 Project is just one of many intensely polarizing debates that have played out across the US and around the world in recent years, on topics ranging from Black Lives Matter, MeToo, and abortion to the minimum wage and the fight for workers’ dignity. Marginalized groups have always struggled to find acceptance and justice, but in recent years a new wave of energy and activism has forced an important shift. It may be that this search for recognition calls for an entirely new frame of understanding our social world, and for entirely new ways of envisioning a more equitable society.

For almost forty years, I have studied the impact of culture on inequality with the goal of deepening our understanding of how the world works. In particular, I am interested in how groups gain recognition from one another, how they come to be seen as valuable, and what that recognition does for their quality of life. To answer these questions, we need to understand how people conceive of their own worth and how they assess that of others—whether in moral, economic, professional, or cultural terms. Part of this task, for example, has involved learning about how people of color experience racism differently in different countries. Another part has involved understanding some of the factors driving the growing influence of the far right and white nationalism. Ultimately, these insights can help us combat narrow and hateful conceptions of who matters, and find ways of encouraging a more expansive means of understanding people’s worth.

As we approach this task, we need to understand not only the material circumstances that drive people’s decisions, but also how they make sense of their own lives. This is why I feel it is important to share my perspective as a sociologist. When it comes to understanding how we determine who matters, other prominent disciplines can have troublesome blind spots. To simplify, psychologists tend to focus on what is happening inside the minds of individuals, while economists focus on material circumstances and the distribution of resources. But there is a more intangible, collective, cultural dimension of worth that both frequently overlook. This will be our focus in the chapters ahead. Instead of adding to the growing library of books that tell us why we’re divided and how we fail, I decided to write a book about people who make hope possible and accessible,

a book that seeks to understand how we can broaden the circle of people who matter.

In order to take on this task, my research team and I have, since 2019, spoken with a long list of change agents, ranging from Hollywood creatives to activists and thinkers, as well as a substantial number of young people from the American Midwest and the East Coast. Both groups we interviewed have helped us see how new ideas about worth are taking shape. These interviews, together with my decades of experience as a sociologist, have led me to an inescapable conclusion: dignity affects quality of life just as much as material resources do. When we think about how to improve society, then, we cannot ignore worth any more than we can poverty or inequality. We need to focus on the extent to which different groups are “seen” by others, whether they have a seat at the table, and whether they feel welcomed, valued, and listened to. We know it is possible to do all this because worth is socially determined. That is to say, it is not handed down from above based on neutral criteria. Rather, we decide who matters—all of us, every day, by creating, supporting, and spreading new narratives about the worth of all groups. This is why worth should be factored in explicitly—in every social interaction on the street, as well as every legal and policy decision that our elected officials make.

This is not to say that money and power do not matter. But whether groups are recognized and afforded dignity is just as important to their flourishing as human beings, just as vital to their drive to be all they can be. This is a radical idea, far from accepted in our materialist, individualist, and achievement-oriented societies. Bolstering this claim, economists recently found that 60 percent of what makes work meaningful to people comes from factors other than money, such as having autonomy, feeling a sense of competence or mastery, and forming connections with others.

Key to understanding the power of recognition, dignity, and worth are the narratives we tell ourselves about why and how our world works. Consider, for instance, the narrative of meritocracy, which explains success as the inevitable result of hard work and little else. Such a narrative not only encourages people to blame themselves for their failures and financial hardships, it also conceals the deeper structural obstacles that have long held back entire groups because of their race, gender, or sexual orientation. Developing grit (or personal resilience) is often offered as the path to success by psychologists, governments, and policy makers without regard for the different types of support to which people have access. But grit is not determined by individual will; it is facilitated by material resources and social networks, and by narratives and institutions (such as schools) that empower people and recognize the value of their identity and experiences. To counter such misleading and harmful narratives, we need new ones—narratives that empower people and recognize the value of their experiences. By allowing people to live their lives with dignity, such narratives can also help mobilize them to engage in civic life.

Changing the story in this way can have a dramatic effect on all manner of social problems. Much attention in public life today is devoted to division and tribalism—that is, to our tendency to identify with people who share our characteristics and affiliations. But the lines that divide us are not immutable. By transforming the narratives we tell ourselves about different groups, and extending recognition and dignity to others, we can erode the lines of division and create more opportunities for understanding between class and racial groups. We know this is possible because it has happened frequently throughout history. In 1973, for instance, 90 percent of Americans disapproved of homosexual relations, but by 2019 that number had fallen to 21 percent. Another study

showed that, from 2002 to 2019, the percentage of Americans who believed homosexuality should be accepted by society rose by 21 points, from 51 percent to 72 percent. Many people contributed to this rising level of acceptance, especially participants in social movements, as well as journalists, social scientists, and medical and legal experts. Together, they pushed us as a society to tell a new story about who matters, and to acknowledge the dignity and worth of gay people.

Why does this matter? What we stand to gain is a more meaningful, just, and fair society, for the largest number, and hopefully for our children and our children’s children. After all, justice and fairness are not only about who gets what, but also about dignity, respect, and the ability to be valued for who we are, free from discrimination. This holds not only for the United States but also for other advanced societies. Adopting diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives has become enormously popular in many countries—and has become almost a requirement for some organizations. But they are clearly not enough.

I propose that we shift perspectives to make sense of the role that recognition plays in our lives. When I say “recognition,” I am not talking about mere identification, as when you recognize someone you know on the street; rather, I mean “seeing others” and acknowledging people’s existence and positive worth, actively making them visible and valued, reducing their marginalization, and openly integrating them into a group. In the aftermath of the 2008 US presidential election, for instance, many observers noted a building sense of hope about race relations in America. With the historic election of Barack Obama, the country’s first Black president, pictures of his family started circulating in the media. Many white Americans lived in isolated, largely segregated communities, and understood Black people largely through crude depictions

in the media and racist stereotypes. Seeing images of this Black middle-class family challenged many preconceptions about African Americans. At the same time, many Black families reported feeling “seen” for who they really are, at long last. Of course, there was also racist backlash to this phenomenon, which psychologists came to call the “Obama effect.”

The term “worth,” too, can be misunderstood. When I use it, I mean something other than “social status,” or the place of individuals in hierarchies based on competence, authority, or money. Rather, I am referring to a vast range of criteria that people use to determine personal and collective value, from altruism and creativity to professional success. However, worth and social status can be intimately linked, but the way they are linked often differs based on class. My past work has shown that professionals and managers (the roughly top 20 percent of the college-educated population whom I will call the upper-middle class) believe their worth comes mostly from their education and expertise, their occupational and economic success, and their expensive lifestyles. For them, worth stems from social status. But this is not necessarily so for the working class, whose low social status is often in tension with their conception of worth, which is shaped more by their contributions to their family, friends, and community, and generally their sense of morality and dignity, or what they believe they deserve in terms of respect. This, they share with many other groups that face discrimination, including people of color, queer people, and different religious groups. Recognizing the common struggles of these groups is one of the most essential steps for fixing our divided world. Having one’s sense of worth affirmed is not a luxury but a universal need that is central to our identity as human beings and our quality of life.

Without the validation of social status that elites enjoy, workers and other marginalized groups must look for other means of

bolstering their sense of worth. Right-wing populists have often successfully addressed the working class’s need for such validation in campaign speeches and other public fora. In the last decade, the Republican Party has been more successful than the Democratic Party at attracting the non–college educated, in particular. Instead of depicting “everyday Americans” as “deplorables” as Hillary Clinton was perceived to do in the 2016 presidential campaign, her opponent Donald Trump affirmed their worth in his various electoral speeches, explaining their loss of social status as a result of globalization and immigration. Liberals and progressive professionals must fully understand the ways in which they alienate many workers and prioritize affirming their worth, recognizing what we can gain from increasing recognition for all.

Again, I am motivated by hope, because we urgently need new ways to dissuade people from the appeal of right-wing extremism that is fed by cynicism and a desire to “buck the system.” However, important as these marginal ideologies and groups are, they will not be a central focus of this book, given the plethora of recent studies on them. We will touch briefly, however, upon the non–college educated and the downwardly mobile middle and working classes, exploring why they may find populist ideologies attractive. I also ask how we can change our collective thinking so that we can influence their perceptions and expectations.

If we aim to truly recognize all groups, we have to question negative portrayals or stigmas. We also have to change how we evaluate people and stress what is common, as well as what is different. We have to reconsider how we rank the sufferings of various groups. This is essential to our collective future, and particularly urgent after decades of growing inequality, which has worsened during the pandemic. Better understanding how recognition—“seeing others”—works will help us capture where it happens, how it could

happen more, and how we can all contribute to it through the choices we make in our daily lives.

Some have argued that social change should not focus on racial, ethnic, or gender discrimination, because these identity issues, they say, divert us from more pressing matters like economic inequality and poverty. This is wrong. If certain neighborhoods, schools, professions, and social circles are inaccessible for marginalized groups due to racism, for example, poverty cannot be addressed without addressing racism as well. For such groups, economic stability can be nearly impossible to achieve while living under extreme social stigmas. The latter affect their access to jobs and countless other valued resources. In other words, when it comes to economics and identity, it is impossible to say which is more important. Forty years of research and having written several books that touch on both class and race lead me to firmly believe that we have to consider both!

Before going any further, it is worth saying a bit more about the many inspiring people who were kind enough to be interviewed for this book and whose words and perspectives helped guide my analysis. This book will include learnings from over 180 people on how we can reshape our societies to make them more equitable by promoting recognition. I call these interviewees change agents, just as many of them call themselves. They play an important role in shaping how we see one another. Just like Nikole Hannah-Jones, these change agents give us the fresh perspective that allows us to see our environment in a new light. The change agents we interviewed included labor and community organizers, philanthropists, public policy experts, corporate types who promote a more equitable economy, LGBTQ+ advocates, Black Lives Matter activists, socialists, and feminists, as well as artists, thinkers, and seventy-five popular stand-up comics

and Hollywood creatives (see Appendix A for a full list). All are in the business of producing intentional cultural change, and their works include cultural touchstones as commonplace as a hit song on the radio, a New York Times bestseller, or a blockbuster film.

Of course, being a change agent does not imply any specific ideological leaning. Change agents can shift our perspective in both positive and harmful ways, and many are nativists, racists, or far-right extremists. Think of popular commentators such as Tucker Carlson, Joe Rogan, and Ben Shapiro, who so often use their platforms to deny certain groups recognition and to restrict who is considered worthy. Although I do not focus on these harmful change agents here, they do play an important role in our political landscape, and they will come up from time to time.

I listen to another group of cultural innovators, as well—young people. To better understand their perspectives, my research team spoke with eighty middle-class and working-class American college students in the Midwest and on the East Coast. Although not representative of everyone in their age group (about 50 percent of Americans their age attend college), these young people do offer important insight into the obstacles standing in their generation’s way, their goals, and what motivates them. Like the professional change agents, they, too, are cultural producers, actively shaping the road ahead even as they begin to drive upon it themselves. They differ from the change agents in that they are younger, have yet to fully enter their work lives, and are not involved professionally in the creation of new narratives. They are often influenced by change agents when they reflect about the kind of society they would like to live in.

When discussing young people, the media often use the label “Gen Z,” referring to those born between 1997 and 2012. I focus specifically on a subset of that group who were at the start of their

adult lives when we conducted our interviews, college students, or those born between 1997 and 2003. A large part of my interest in this narrower group is related to the unique circumstances of their early adulthood. Just as they were setting out to find a partner, a vocation, or a purpose that would flip the light switch and lend meaning to it all, navigating adulthood became much more of a challenge, as profound, society-wide problems emerged, including growing inequality, social polarization, new threats to American democracy, and a global pandemic. All of this pulled the rug from under their feet just as they were preparing to start off on their own. Some among them wonder: What is the point of living with purpose anyway?

We are in the midst of a conflict over where we are heading as a society. And the stakes are high for today’s young Americans, who belong to one of the first generations less likely to do better than their grandparents. So many are frustrated to find that the narrow but well-worn paths to success used by previous generations now lead to dead ends. They are asking boomers (born between 1946 and 1964) and Gen Xers (born between 1965 and 1980) to move aside. They are forging ahead, and some are leading the change “from the bottom up.” This is why we all have to pay heed. Many are inventing their own narratives, which often differ from those of their parents. How can we use these narratives to see the way forward?

Many change agents and young people we talked to have important new ideas about who matters and what our society should be about. They want the coming years to be guided by new principles—we should not allow ourselves, they say, to be silent in the face of inequity, the denigration of marginalized groups, police violence, and many other glaring societal problems. They develop, adopt, and diffuse what sociologists call “scripts of self,” or narratives

about what kind of people we should be. While some embrace the traditional narrative that wealth on its own creates personal worth, many place great importance on authenticity, sustainability, inclusion, meaning, and connection. And many feel that our society’s unrelenting focus on success does not move them.

Throughout our history, many groups have been stigmatized and assigned various negative traits: women (especially older women), people of color, queer people, undocumented immigrants, Muslims, the Roma, Indigenous people, incarcerated populations, people with disabilities, those who did not go to college, and others. Time and again, more privileged and influential groups have defined these people as inconsequential, unintelligent, invisible, “less than”—in other words, as deserving of indifference or scorn. And too many of us sit complacently on the sidelines, buying into the narrative that marginalized groups “deserve” their stigma. Recognition cuts against this tendency by celebrating the plurality of our paths, by broadening how we think about worth, and by valuing people for their identities and differences—not in spite of them.

There are three main avenues for building recognition: through political activism and the law, through culture and media, and through our own interpersonal experiences and networks. Of course, these tools are not new, and they have frequently been deployed simultaneously. Since the 1960s, a new wave of political activism succeeded in expanding rights for some marginalized groups, primarily women and Black people. Those shifts were accomplished not only through political and legal means, but also through changes in the culture and in ordinary people’s lives; they were about challenging stereotypes, being heard and seen, and expanding constricting roles.

To understand the power of political and legal activism, consider the efforts to legalize same-sex marriage over the past few decades, which have been correlated with a rapid decline in the number of attempted suicides among LGBTQ+ high school students. Even though marriage is often far from high schoolers’ minds, these laws and court rulings sent a message to LGBTQ+ youth that they matter and are deserving of the same dignity afforded to everyone else. Of course, the legalization of same sex marriage did not end homophobia, solve discrimination, or even stop bigoted politicians from continuing to push antigay legislation. But these legalization efforts did serve an important function, broadening the definition of the mainstream and saying, even to young people uninterested in marriage: “We see you; we value you, and we invite you to take a seat at the table alongside us.” Importantly, this monumental accomplishment was made possible not only through political and legal advocacy, but with the support of massive social movements and the diffusion of new narratives, which frequently took the form of slogans like “love is love” and “we’re just like you.”

One difficulty with efforts to fight for recognition in political and legal spheres is that they often come up against a reactionary backlash. We all know that progress is not linear. This has been perhaps most clearly exemplified in recent times by the American Supreme Court’s June 2022 decision reversing its nearly fifty-yearold ruling in Roe v. Wade, which had declared reproductive rights to be constitutionally protected and which still has the support of a significant majority of the US population. At the same time, many LGBTQ rights, and particularly trans rights, have been threatened by conservative lawmakers. Backlashes like these may slow down social progress, but they have not stopped the forward march of human rights over the last decades.

Political and legal advocacy are some of the most powerful ways of extending recognition to a marginalized group and allowing them to gain formal social acceptance at the national level. But cultural industries and the narratives they popularize can be just as powerful. Screenwriter Joe Robert Cole described to me how he saw the film he cowrote, Black Panther, the first Marvel movie with a predominantly Black cast, and how he understood the blockbuster’s cultural impact. His film touched so many, he said, because “the audience could feel what it feels like to be seen, to be viewed as great ”—a powerful experience “for people who are not used to [being] viewed as important.” Many viewers—not only in the US, but around the globe—celebrated seeing Black superheroes represented on such a massive scale and in such a mainstream context.

Examples of popular culture’s ability to expand recognition abound. Popular TV shows such as Glee, Will & Grace, and Modern Family have all contributed to normalizing gay people. Transparent played a similar role for trans people. Hollywood creative Joey Soloway explained their intent in the making of this award-winning show that features a trans woman who transitions later in life. The story opens as she comes to embrace her new identity and works to redefine her relationships with her adult children. Soloway explained how the show used storytelling to make the reality of trans people “more understandable, and less aberrant” for mainstream audiences. While recognition plays out collectively in politics and culture, it also operates on a more intimate, interpersonal level. This happens through face-to-face relationships, as when those close to us acknowledge and support who we are, validate our priorities, and support our struggles—regardless of whether our identities and choices conform to mainstream expectations. This interpersonal form of recognition also happens when we make decisions about whom to befriend, what matters to us, and how to lead our lives.

As I will show toward the end of the book, we can all contribute to including more people around the table. This kind of everyday recognition has an impact not only on our well-being, but also on social solidarity and inclusion.

As we work to achieve a more equitable society, we need to interrogate how we evaluate worth in ourselves and in others. Many people are already pushing in this direction, and the quest for recognition is becoming a powerful movement of its own. Broadening recognition could very well be an alternative source of collective hope. By the end of this book, we will understand more deeply how recognition can redefine the status quo. Once we reduce stigma, celebrate difference, and embrace the diversity of what humans are and can do, we can perhaps experience the promises of dignity for all.

Before we dive in, it is worth saying a bit more about how my personal experiences have shaped my views on worth, recognition, and dignity. These topics first became important to me when I encountered sexism growing up. It manifested even in matters as ordinary as the division of chores in my otherwise-loving family: my older brother mowed the lawn, and I did the dishes. But mowing the lawn happened only once every three weeks—doing the dishes happened almost every day. As a feminist—even back then—I would not have it. Whenever I was silenced, which happened again and again, it only strengthened my determination to claim my space.

These and other early experiences put me on a path of working to understand recognition and inequality. I was born and grew up in Canada, which has a long colonial history of marginalizing the French-speaking, culturally and ethnically distinct Québécois—my people. I came of age in the seventies, at the apex of the fight to affirm our cultural distinctiveness and gain our political independence

from English-speaking Canada. Like the American Civil Rights Movement, this movement involved public displays of cultural pride in the form of songs, plays, and other creative expressions. These celebrations worked hand in hand with protests and denunciations of economic exploitation, political subjugation, linguistic subordination, and social injustice. This cultural revolution, my first experience of collective mobilization, convinced me that recognition is central to our societies—and just as necessary as economic equality in our struggle to build a more just world. It also showed me that those who condemn so-called identity politics as a narcissistic dead end are missing something essential about what motivates people.

My geographic location played an important role in this education, as well. I grew up as a monolingual francophone near the Outaouais (or Ottawa) River, which separates the provinces of Ontario and Québec and serves as an important symbolic divide between French-speaking and English-speaking worlds. As I developed my first friendships with English-Canadian students in college while discovering Monty Python, I began thinking about how boundaries between groups take shape, when and how they can be crossed and weakened, and at what cost. As I grew as a researcher, this concern extended beyond boundaries between ethnic groups to groups with different cultural and moral orientations, different social classes, and different intellectual fields.

As a twenty-year-old graduate student in late-seventies Paris, I experienced the aftermath of the insurgent and often anarchistic student protest movement of May 1968, which partly succeeded in upturning the traditional social order, with slogans such as “it is forbidden to forbid” and “all power to the imagination.” This taught me that profound change is possible. I also found myself drawn to a growing postcolonial and anti-imperialist sentiment that I shared with friends who hailed from all corners of the earth—including

9780141993225

Seeing Others Michèle Lamont

SEEING OTHERS

SEEING OTHERS

How to Rede ne Worth in a Divided World

MICHÈLE LAMONT

PENGUIN BOOKS

To Pierre and Chloe

SEEING OTHERS

INTRODUCTION

THE POWER OF RECOGNITION