Adults Only a Genealogy of the Politics of (Not)Adult

Adults Only A genealogy of the politics of (not)Adult

Michael Coffey

Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences University of Technology, Sydney

Dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

April 2014

Certificate of Authorship/Originality

I certify that the work in this thesis has not previously been submitted for a degree nor has it been submitted as part of requirements for a degree except as fully acknowledged within the text.

I also certify that the thesis has been written by me. Any help that I have received in my research work and the preparation of the thesis itself has been acknowledged. In addition, I certify that all information sources and literature used are indicated in the thesis.

Signature of Candidate

Acknowledgement

The job of producing myself as a “Doctor of Philosophy” and the physical task of assembling and completing this thesis has been possible thanks to the input and support of many people for well over a decade.

First and foremost, I need to thank Sallie Saunders for her supervision, humour, encouragement and support throughout the construction of my honours thesis and for giving me the confidence that such an academic pathway was even possible. I was fortunate to have Clive Chappell as my supervisor throughout the difficult years of shaping my “untamed” conceptual thesis from its early factor-critical stage into something coherent and orthodox. Clive was generous with his enormous patience, discipline and clarity. He helped me to contain something that started off “very big” and abstract, into the focused and carefully streamlined text of the final thesis. In the final 24 months of my thesis, Nicky Solomon helped me to wrap it all up, fine tune its impact and make sure I kept all of the promises that I had made within the text. Nicky also brought a great enthusiasm to the proceedings that inspired me to charge over the finishing line – so to speak.

Thank you to all of my Foucault-buddies: Sallie, Clive, Nicky, Carolyn Williams, Donna Rooney and Donna Curtis who in various ways all helped me to apply Foucault to my ongoing considerations of the relations of power/knowledge, whether that be in text, in teaching or in my everyday life and work practice.

This has been a significant piece of life work and so special acknowledgement goes to Fiona and “our” sons Liam and Tom for their support, encouragement and patience and for allowing a space for me to explore, when at times we had a lot on. Also special thanks to Ivy and Pat Coffey and Francis Dell for their genes, dreams and canny mischief.

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Table of Contents

Certificate of Authorship/Originality ...... ii Acknowledgement ...... iii Table of Contents ...... iv List of Figures ...... vi Abstract ...... vii Chapter One: Introduction ...... 1 Why (not)Adult? ...... 3 Foucault and Lyotard versus “commonsense” ...... 4 How this thesis is structured and what to expect ...... 10 An overview of the content ...... 12 Chapter Two: Methodology ...... 15 Genealogy versus commonsense? ...... 16 Why discourse? ...... 22 Governmentality: politics and (not)Adults ...... 23 Subjectivity, shape shifters and bodies without organs ...... 27 Imagined histories and metanarratives ...... 29 A reflexive note about the method … the empirical method strikes back … positioning the author as an “academic” ...... 31 What ever happened to the revolution … why does the author choose to disrupt? ...... 34 Chapter Three: Stories of “Moral Panic” ...... 36 The story of Morgan Featherstone … moral panic in 2003 AD ...... 39 The story of the Boy Soldiers of the Sierra Leone ...... 44 The story of the “murder of innocence” in a shopping mall ...... 48 An enclosure ...... 51 Chapter Four: In Practice ...... 53 Elizabeth “(not)Adults (not)@home” Circa 2008 ...... 55 Whatever happened to the revolution? ...... 61 Field studies from Northern NSW ...... 70 Youth workers versus the “system” ...... 71 Perspectives of Homeless and Unemployed Kids (PHUK)” ...... 76 The “Youth Worker Factory” in the 1980s ...... 80 Sex and professional boundaries ...... 85 Misrule in the 1980s, when youth workers role play as young people ...... 89 … the dream is over ...... 95 What about all of this mess and what should we do with it? ...... 99 Chapter Five: Property ...... 100 The Code of Hammurabi ...... 100 (not)Adults as property … according to Aristotle and Plato ...... 104 … other stories of (not)Adults – as the property of the father ...... 108 Stories of (not)Adults as the property of many symbolic fathers ...... 110 Governmentality … and the battles for control, protection and regulation ...... 113 (not)Adults as a burden … the shift from an asset into a liability ...... 117 Rethinking “protection” ...... 118

Chapter Six: Growth ...... 122 Ashrams, Aesop and stages of life...... 124 The contribution of Pythagoras, Aristotle and Plato ...... 125 Philippe Aries and the “invention” of childhood as a stage of life ...... 127 “Childhood” considered as a space that opens up between the world of adults and infants 130 The effect of pedagogy in affirming a distinct period of childhood as childhood in turn affirms the need for pedagogy ...... 132 The discursive effects of the discipline of medicine on the family and (not)Adults ...... 135 The emergence of “youth” and “adolescence” as a stage in life ...... 136 Some key texts and ideas underpinning Hall’s version of the modern adolescent ...... 140 After Hall : benchmarking (not)Adults ...... 144 A shift towards developing “identity” and acquiring “adult skills” instead of “nurturing adults” ...... 146 Is it possible to be a “grown up”? ...... 149 Chapter Seven: Innocence ...... 152 Forbidden fruit and the tree of knowledge...... 154 St Augustine and others make some “executive decisions” about heaven and hell...... 156 The cults of virginity and of the Baby Jesus ...... 159 The protection of innocence or the prevention from premature entry into the adult world? 163 Innocence, temptation and wickedness ...... 167 Chapter Eight: Untamed Youth ...... 171 A reflexive note from the “untamed” academic ...... 172 The spectre of youth out of control ...... 173 Misrule and Carnivale ...... 176 What do we do with our pauper children? ...... 181 Untamed youth as an innate wildness and original sin ...... 185 Rethinking: “out on the street” ...... 190 Untamed youth and pop culture ...... 193 Youth studies and “activism” in Australia ...... 196 Spare the rod and spoil the child … ...... 198 Chapter Nine: Enclosure ...... 202 Positioning this thesis within the existing knowledge landscape and practice ...... 202 Developing discursive literacies ...... 204 Developing and applying discursive literacies of (not)Adult subjectivity ...... 206 “Rethinking” … It is not just an academic concern ...... 213 Rethinking (not)Adults – holding spaces and exclusion ...... 214 Bibliography ...... 217

List of Figures

Figure 1: “Sitting by a fence”, by Elizabeth, “More than Just Numbers Exhibition” (YAA 2008) ...... 57 Figure 2: “Alone” by Elizabeth, “More than Just Numbers Exhibition” (YAA 2008) ...... 58 Figure 3: “Home”, Anon, “More than Just Numbers Exhibition” (YAA, 2008) ...... 59 Figure 4: YAA March the Streets, from “25 Years of YAA”, Coffey, October 2005 ...... 62 Figure 5: 1980s YAA Logo (YAA Archives) ...... 68 Figure 6: Cartoon (anon.), Youth Affairs Journal 4(1), p. 17 ...... 72 Figure 7: “Working with young people in Coffs Harbour”, drawings by workers, October 2000 ...... 75 Figure 8: “The Perfect Youth Worker”, YAA Youth Worker Factory, October 1987 (YAA Archives) ...... 82 Figure 9: Rules mind map “Altered perception of coat hangers”, Workshop December 1986 (YAA Archives) ...... 88 Figure 10: “Resos” on parents, Austinmer, October 1986 (YAA Archives) ...... 91 Figure 11: “Resos” on Boredom, Austinmer, October 1986 (YAA Archives) ...... 92 Figure 12: “Resos” on Authority, Austinmer, October 1986 (YAA Archives) ...... 93 Figure 13: “Resos” on The Reason For Life, Austinmer, October 1986 (YAA Archives) ...... 94 Figure 14: Young Homeless Person, YRAA, September, 1984, p. 24 (YAA Archives) ...... 97

Abstract

The problem of policing the discursive boundaries of what I describe as “(not)Adults” has been the subject of significant analysis in public policy and research since G. Stanley Hall (1904) first coined the term “adolescent” at the turn of the twentieth century. Much of the theorising of youth within youth studies and public policy on youth that have followed Hall has assumed unchallenged commonsense notions around what it is to be an authentic young person and what it is to be an authentic adult. These assumptions have contributed to the co-construction of particular, limited and often pathologised versions of young people.

However, in more recent times within the field of youth studies, following on from the work of Foucault on power/knowledge, these assumptions have begun to be challenged. This thesis takes up this challenge and contributes to this new thinking by drawing on Foucault’s governmentality, discourse and subjectivity to consider the conduct of conduct, in relation to the practices of working youth and the work of positioning young people as (not)Adults. To do this, a method of genealogy is utilised to explore the history of four discourses that contribute to the politics of the formation of (not)Adult subjectivity. These discourses are examined in relation to a range of historical texts and artefacts, philosophical texts, the narrative of the history of childhood, 19th century self help manuals and advice pamphlets for good parenting, research on adolescent development and media articles. The discourses are then examined in relation to the practical world of youth work, against texts such as minutes, training manuals, reports, photographs, workshop notes, email, written correspondence and reflections by youth workers. The purpose of this genealogical exploration is to open up the notion of “discursive literacies” and also to contribute to the ever-growing body of Foucauldian work in the field of youth work. The task is not to define what is the right way to do youth work or to be captured by the politics of exclusion, but instead it is to open up the discourses in order to consider what other ways of working (not)Adults are possible.

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Chapter One: Introduction

This thesis presents a method for an interrogation and rethinking of “youth work” practice by examining historically constructed discourses which have contributed to contemporary understandings of “youth”. It also investigates how youth and youth worker subjectivities are co-produced and positioned within the ontological politics (Mol 1999) of these understandings.

Similar examples of this interrogation and rethinking as an “approach” can be found in the recent Australian and International youth and adult studies of Besley (2005), Bessant (2004a, 2004b), Bessant, Sercombe and Watts (1998), Blatterer (2007a, 2007b), Crawford (2006), Dwyer and Wyn (2001), Giroux (2000), Holdsworth and Morgan (2005), Melton (1983), Pilcher (1995), Sercombe et al. (2002), Tait (2000), Wyn (2004), Wyn and White (1997).

In my particular contribution to this body of work, my innovation is to focus on applying a Foucauldian genealogy as a process for my methodology and investigation. It is inspired by Foucault’s desire to search for “instances of discursive production … of the production of power … of the propagation of knowledge” (1991b p. 12) where the purpose is not to find the absolute answer but instead to continue to open up further possibilities for theorising (not)Adult subjectivity. It seeks to continue to encourage youth workers and public policy makers to rethink how it is possible to “work” youth and perhaps for considering new ways of thinking, being and acting in the world.

When I first ventured into the world of “youth work” in 1987 initially I had presumed that I was entering into a thoroughly theorised, youth focused, neo-Marxist social movement. I was ready to join the “revolution”. Yet, after two decades of professional experience of working in youth work and youth public policy, this revolution did not eventuate. It was a chimera. And the chimera of the “revolution” and of a “youth movement” was exposed the more I was exposed to and inspired by the ideas within texts such as Foucault (1961, 1975, 1977a, 1985, 1986, 1988, 1991a, 1991b, 1998, 2003a, 2003b, 2006, 2007), Lyotard (1984, 1985, 1989) and Bauman (1992, 2000, 2001a, 2001b, 2001c). Instead, I realised there were opportunities for

revolutions and multiple sites for resistance and action, rather than a single idealised revolution.

Consequently I have developed a disquiet towards how youth is generally politicised, theorised and understood within everyday youth work practice and policy – at the coalface and at the public policy level. It began with a discomfort around the frequency and unconscious use within the discourse of youth advocacy of concepts such as “empowerment” and of youth “finding a voice”. This eventually led me to be suspicious regarding the “holy canon” of critical theory and altruism that appeared to drive most youth work rhetoric. This rhetoric is exemplified by “liberatory” educators such as Paulo Freire in his Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970b) and Myles Horton and Paulo Freire’s We make the road by walking (1990), by left wing radicals such as Tomlinson Is Band Aid Social Work Enough? (1977) or the indirect influence of secondary texts of modernist philosophers such as Habermas’s Modernity: An Incomplete Project (1980) and Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit (1977). I also began to distrust the more professional or therapeutic spin on the liberatory educator as typified in Australia by Peter Slattery’s Youth Works (2001).

Significantly, I began to apply Lyotard’s (1984) concept of “incredulity” towards the holy canons and commonsense notions of youth work. I understood and used his approach of incredulity, similar to Burbules (1995a, 1995b, 1996), to be not as an absolute, but rather as a failure to totally believe, or to be wholly convinced. Lyotard’s incredulity allows the researcher to be like the “Heckler”, as described by Burbules:

[the heckler] … who sits in the front row of a magician’s routine, shouting out for the audience every slight of hand, every palmed card, every feint, in the expectation that once the mechanisms of illusion are revealed, they will lose the capacity to captivate and deceive us.

Burbules (1995, p. 59)

As I began to “heckle” and understand youth work and advocacy less as a homogenous social movement and more as discursive spaces (plural) of contested knowledges, the focus of my gaze shifted. The aforementioned revolution was not possible, as we did not have solidarity. I began to see the role of youth work in terms of

as often counterintuitive arrays of practices and knowledges, that worked within a discursive process of the social formation of adult selfhoods. I became aware of what Foucault (1982) describes as the conduct of conduct or the problem of management, in which government and society assert the sovereignty of the free individual, yet also require that individual behaviour be regulated and modified. For Foucault this conduct of conduct was one of the central problems of modern governments – of how to organise large groups of people. As Gordon (1991) notes, in his analysis on governmentality, the conduct of conduct is entwined with the notion of obedience or the “manner in which ‘governed’ individuals are willing to exist as ‘subjects’” (Gordon 1991, p. 48).

From this I began to ask questions about what sort of youth and youth worker identities were being fashioned by the various discourses at play as part of organising and governing society. What was the “work” of youth work? I wondered what sort of exclusions, inclusions and assumptions were in operation within these discourses and what assumptions might contribute to the positioning of youth as the other of adult, as the (not)Adult. I began to speculate that by becoming aware of such assumptions and being more aware of the discourses at play there might be opportunities to open up possibilities for practice and to rethink youth work, rather than arrive at a definitive best youth work practice.

Why (not)Adult?

The use of the expression “(not)Adult” as the “other” of adult as the title of this thesis is purposefully considered. It is aligned with a postmodern approach to wordplay that enables the invention of new and uncomfortable (hybrid) words and meanings (Katz 2000). It is my intention that the central subject of this thesis, the (not)Adult, is clumsy, awkward and untidy. This clumsiness is used as a rhetorical device invented for this thesis, because other words did not fit. (not)Adult is an open term designed not as a definition but as enclosure, as an area of operation. It acknowledges a difficulty in reaching a settlement on any one definitive word or term that could neatly describe the period of life that precedes adulthood, because there are many ways of conceptualising this period of life, each with loaded assumptions.

Resisting the notion of a single fixed conceptual exterior surface, I also borrow from Deleuze & Guattari (1987) and Sarup’s (1996) thinking on multiple surfaces of identity and subjectivity. It is understood here that multiple social texts are written and overlaid on the surface of (not)Adult bodies.

I refrain from the desire to look for authentic identity, overarching metanarratives and truths, or natural essences. I resist the desire for seeking origins and authenticity as found in the previously cited works of Paulo Freire (1970a), Myles Horton and Paulo Freire (1990), Tomlinson (1977), Habermas (1980) and Hegel (1977). I use the metaphor of palimpsests, of multiple surfaces, ad hoc messiness, layers, overwrites and erasure and have constructed the term (not)Adult to capture such thinking.

As a binary term, (not)Adult also points towards the continued troubles with finding a settled meaning for the word outside of the parenthesis of the title, the “adult”, as identified in the recent work of Blatterer (2008). As illustrated in contemporary examples in pop culture where there is significant blurring between adult/(not)Adult, such as the notions in the twenty-first century of “middle-youth”, “suspended adolescence” or perhaps “young at heart” (Evans 2001; France 1998). It is impossible to consider what it is to be a (not)Adult without also considering the context of adult. In terms of the “other” or of Derrida’s ideas of difference of meaning (Derrida 1974), they are tagged here as “not adults” as they are excluded from the group we call adults. As a concept it infers that the usual boundaries that distinguish a threshold between (not) and adult are provisional and unsettled. These boundaries are dependent on a range of discursive rules and politics and this genealogy examines these ontological politics (Mol 1999).

Foucault and Lyotard versus “commonsense”

One commonsense view of the formation of adult selfhoods, at least in the Eurocentric version of the world, presents “adulthood” as the end point, as “grown up”. It suggests a linear and hierarchical storyline of life stages with a beginning (childhood), a middle (youth) and an end (adult). In this view, adults enjoy a privileged superior desired status, perhaps as what Blatterer (2008) questions, as the final life stage “destination”.

Yet if we apply the ideas of Foucault and Lyotard to this commonsense view, the idea of the formation of adult selfhoods appears to be not quite so natural and requires discursive work to make it happen.

For instance, the formation of adult selfhoods requires the work of benchmarking and encoding by expert knowledge across a number of discursive fields (such as Erikson 1950; Fleming 1963; Hall 1904; Heaven 2001; Lovell 1935; Piaget 1965; Savage 2007), using such concepts as “infancy”, “childhood”, “adolescence” and “adulthood”. Interim selfhoods are described along the way as “babies”, “toddlers”, “infants”, “children”, “kids”, “teenagers”, “young people”, “juveniles”, “tweenies” etc. The storyline begins with an exterior body space, albeit with biological dispositions, on which over time such knowledges have a dynamic normalising self-regulating effect (Foucault 1975, 1998, 2003a).

The judges of normality are everywhere. We are in the society of the teacher-judge, the doctor-judge, the educator-judge, the social worker-judge; it is on them that the universal reign of the normative is based; and each individual, wherever he may find himself, subjects to it his body, his gestures, his behaviour, his aptitudes, his achievements.

Foucault cited in Owen (1994, p. 181)

For Foucault (1975) this normalisation involves a physical and biological effect of discourses and their inscription on the human body as exterior subjectivity. To paraphrase Jeanette Winterson (1994), the formations of subjectivity are written or enscribed on the body; it is all about a surface reading, rather than seeking a hidden authentic depth.

Linking Bauman’s ideas of “liquid modernity” (2001a, 2001b, 2001c) with Foucault’s “technologies of the self” (1988), it is also understood here that in the Western version of the world, individual (not)Adults actively fashion their own exterior selfhoods using the available resources. Such formations are also reiterated by a number of significant individuals and institutions, all part of what I understand as a team of experts who contribute to the formation of grown-up adult subjectivity. Thus, along the

way they are worked on and fashioned into adults by themselves, their parents, teachers, sports coaches, state institutions, legislation, media and a cast of thousands.

Significantly, with regards to notions of authentic selfhood, Foucault (2006) also challenges assumptions around the formation of an adult selfhood being linked with the concern of getting to know one’s true self. He questions whether it is possible to have a singular true self. Foucault’s question resonates through this thesis.

Applied here, this contested idea of “true selfhood” presumes that a fully formed adult is the desired outcome, having overcome the folly of childhood and youth. As an adult they realise their true selfhood. At the right time, when they are ripe, they are grown up and have reached their full potential, they are no longer excluded from the adult world and they are finally allowed to come of age, to become adults, to enter adulthood.

Yet, even the idea of “true adult selfhood” is contested in recent research by Blatterer (2008) (as Foucault questioned whether it is possible to arrive at knowing one’s authentic self). His work questions whether adulthood is still the desired destination of growing up. Similarly, the work of Besley (2005), Bessant (2004a, 2004b), Bessant, Sercombe and Watts (1998), Blatterer (2007 a &b), Crawford (2006), Dwyer & Wyn (2001), Giroux (2000), Holdsworth and Morgan (2005), Sercombe et al. (2002), Melton (1983), Pilcher (1995), Tait (2000), Wyn (2004), and Wyn and White (1997) to various degrees begin to also contest the commonsense of adulthood as the desired destination.

But I also acknowledge that the story of growing up into adulthood is a powerful and convincing “truth” in the Western World. As theorised in the work of Hall (1904), Piaget (1965) and Erikson (1950), it infers only one direction, that of growing upwards and outwards. It is also typically a one-way journey where the expectation is that once they become adults they are no longer allowed to behave like children. Commonsense statements such as “why don’t you act your age?” reinforce a “truth” that individuals are expected to maintain each level of maturity they attain.

There are a number of ways this “truth” is both produced and regulated. As examined by the Foucauldian approach of Rose (1989) and Donzelot (1979), a wide

range of regulation and normalisation governs a staged process of growing up. An array of checks, balances and warning signs are located within various discursive knowledges and disciplines. If the checks and balances indicate that a child or young person strays too far away from the normal progression, or there is a perception of risk, or of deviance, then a range of support services and professionals might come to the rescue. In contrast to the non-professional parents, support services such as remedial education programs, school counsellors, child psychologists, adolescent counsellors and the youth worker continue a pragmatic imperative to nurture, support and perhaps offer adjustment, correction or salvation. They work to get young people back on track, to correct deviance and manage risk or perhaps protect the asset.

Youth work is one such activity that is called upon when the process of monitoring the formation of adult selfhoods identifies a warning sign, of youth transitions / adult development gone wrong. Youth work in its various forms, despite its rhetoric of youth rights, empowerment and self-determination as typified by youth development models such as those of Pittman & Fleming (1991), or even older traditional versions such as Powell’s Boy Scouting (1904), can also be considered as a project of exclusion. As part of their normalising effect with fixed ideas of ab/normal, these practices privilege certain groups of people and exclude others. In this thesis they are not assumed to be “innocent” practices that deal with the (not) innocent pathological problem of (not)Adults.

Thus, youth work is loaded with many commonsense assumptions about what is both a normal (not)Adult and what is a normal adult. It is proposed here that many youth workers (and teachers, parents and others), consciously and unconsciously, endorse this inclusive/exclusive storyline. They often pathologise the (not)Adults as problems or as broken. With altruistic intent, these people come to the rescue to do work for and on behalf of (not)Adults towards solving the problem.

In its key foundational texts, such as Hall’s Adolescence: It’s psychology and it’s relations to physiology, anthropology, sociology, sex crime, religion and education (1904), youth work evokes a mesh of multiple concepts such as altruism, social justice, social duty, embedding morality, civilising, human rights, social inclusion, social responsibility, empowerment, building a civil society, and with practices legitimated by

a myriad of disciplines (such as medicine, education and law and order) and related social norms.

However, the idea of “normal” youth becomes a problem concept for (not)adults experiencing homelessness, or for indigenous youth or GLB (Gay, Lesbian or Bisexual) youth, or transsexual/intergender youth, or when the traditional family unit has broken down. Likewise, the idea of normal is unsettled when considered in other, non- Eurocentric contexts, such as Afghanistan where there are perhaps very different expectations of adults, if indeed the term (not)Adult is even appropriate in such cultures. For example, if the capacity to be able to “look after one’s self” is a marker of adulthood, as is evident in the literature, this capacity for independence is a contested space in the situation of youth homelessness (Burdekin 1989). In the youth homelessness “space”, questions arise as to what happens when adults themselves are unable to look after themselves, let alone their children. What happens when no one is looking after the (not)Adults? As homeless (not)Adults they are forced to look after themselves and the question is by default do they in fact enter into a premature transition into adulthood? As they are fashioned/positioned into “(not)Adults(not)@home” are they still (not)Adults or are they something else?

This idea is extended in Blatterer’s work on contesting the life stages where he describes the traditional view of shift from (not)Adult to adult as a process replacing “idealism with realism” or “lifestyle experimentation with career orientation” (2008, p. 2). Blatterer wonders whether this traditional transitional view is so clear and defined.

The actual professional work of looking after (not)Adults and the conduct of conduct of the formation of adult subjectivity is a key interest for this thesis.

In Australia, in the field of welfare policy, policy tools and documents generally support the presumption that practitioners (those that work with (not)Adults) should seek a continuous development of a reflexive and reflective practice. In order to better understand and develop how they work with, on and on behalf of (not)Adults, it is assumed here that they need to regularly interrogate the social truths of the dominant discourses that fashion their taken-for-granted assumptions and practices. If indeed (not)Adults do need looking after, there is a need to continually problematise the

assumptions which frame the work of looking after. It is important to critically interrogate the assumptions (discursive knowledge) and the practices that are used to fashion these (not)Adults into adults.

Such interrogation might ask questions about what other work is being done by the work of looking after (not)Adults. What sort of world making is being done by this work? What sort of subjectivity is fashioned by this work? Who gets in and who gets left out of the worlds and subjectivities that are made up? What are the assumptions and taken-for-granted truths of this world?

The taken-for-granted words within the lexicon of youth work (as typified later in this text in the examples drawn from the YAA Archives discussed in Chapter Four), such as “good work”, “ethics”, “passion”, “commitment”, “integrity”, “social justice”, “social responsibility”, are loaded and slippery terms that can be used in a number ways to justify and legitimate a range of practices and truths. Terms that are idealised and cherished by youth workers such as “passion” are often slippery and subjective. It is important to interrogate the words used, the assumptions, language, methods and a priori rationale for performing this work in the first place. Otherwise, perhaps, the “performance” will not be useful or convincing. At worst it might be damaging and of unintended consequences for those that are looked after.

The expert knowledge and practices that relate to the fields of working youth and childhood, considered in this thesis, are approached with incredulity as being both situated and provisional. They are not given, are not absolute facts, but come from a world of ideas. As persuasive fiction/myths they find a settlement, as a part of a process of persuasion and agreement within the social world, within specific fields of practice and institutions. Through persuasion and agreement, some fictions are regarded more highly than others, as a truth, a science, a discipline, as rules and as Foucault (1975) theorises power/knowledge, these rules normalise and call into being the subjects of which they speak even as they are also legitimated by the subjects which they speak.

For example, (not)Adults are called into being as “homeless youth” when they enter the homeless system by youth workers who work with (not)Adults who are homeless.

By framing (not)Adults in terms of “not at home” or being “abnormal”, do they actually produce a youth homelessness subjectivity?

Perhaps in a sense they are creating the problem as they try to solve the problem. Another problem concerns the ontological politics of what constitutes homelessness and what (not)homeless might look like, where homelessness may just be understood as “houselessness”.

Reiterating the aforementioned inspiration of Foucault’s desire to search for “instances of discursive production … of the production of power … of the propagation of knowledge” (Foucault 1991a, p. 12), it is the aim here to unpack and unearth a selection of these discursive myths using a genealogical method, to disrupt the certainty of privileged discourses that constitute a singular understanding of the discourse of (not)Adult. This genealogical method is used to open up possibilities of multiple knowledges, positioning and practices within such discourse. It does not seek to expose a false ideology or distortion of the ruling hegemony, because it does not assume that the absolute truth is out there to be distorted or to be considered false. It seeks awareness of multiple truths.

As there are multiple truths, we need to seriously and continuously interrogate the policy and practice of looking after and working with (not)Adults, if only to work out which truths we are working under, and consider what sort of worlds and selfhoods are being made up. Or we can wonder like Blatterer (2008) about the truths of life stages, is it really possible to grow up? If not, then we could reconsider what does happen instead.

How this thesis is structured and what to expect

The methodology for this thesis takes on a poststructuralist stance using a genealogy that primarily borrows from the work of Foucault but also that of Nietzsche, Lyotard, Derrida, Bauman, Deleuze and Guattari.

In taking up this approach to research, I am mindful of Usher (1997a) who describes all research as “storytelling”, as an ontological act of world making. It is the business of the active production of knowledge and positioning subjects and an investigation of

(not)Adult subjectivities, multiple ontologies, selfhoods and an array of contested knowledges and disciplines. These contested knowledges, disciplines and ontologies are described throughout this text in terms of being discourses and storylines. As discourse, they are texts that can be read and interpreted.

It is also understood here then that the process and method of producing this thesis is an activity that includes both the reader and the author, each of whom bring different histories, interests and understandings to the text. It follows that an acknowledgement of this reflexivity is critical to the methodology. My understanding of reflexivity is similar the artist Cézanne’s perspective, where the viewer is always in the picture, or Escher’s 1948 painting “Drawing Hands”, where the hand can be seen to be drawing a hand, which in turn is drawing the hand that draws it. And so I, as the author, am in the text, like the hands in Escher’s painting.

Since the emergence of “post-theory” it has been more acceptable in academic genres to include the author in the text. It is assumed here that is impossible to observe from a totally objective perspective. And so I am not invisible in this text; I am no innocent bystander; my autobiography leaks into the text. As Covino (1998) suggests, the author also brings a special narrowmindedness to the text. There is purpose and research choice at play that effects the particular research choices, which texts are included, what questions are asked, what words are used and what argument is constructed. This is also apparent in my choice of the topic and subject of this research, as I trouble over issues of (not)Adult subjectivity that have been problematic in my twenty years’ work experience with (not)Adults@(not)home.

This is also a textual performance that has a specific purpose in mind, that being the production of a Doctor of Philosophy. Accordingly, the author, as a doctoral candidate, as a professional in training, who approaches the topic with a postmodern stance, is encouraged by convention to openly declare the reflexive impulse, to be explicit as to the reason why choices are made and acknowledge the effects of the author’s biography on the text. It is also in part a public meditation on my own practice as a youth advocate/worker, parent and my own subjectivity as an adult. As an academic activity it is also part of what constitutes a rite of passage for a doctoral candidate, into the academic guild. Yet outside of the academy it comes with a degree of exposure and risk,

whilst the author is an apprentice doctor of philosophy I am also a CEO working in the field of (not)Adult(not)@ home and have to be strategically mindful of my position and reputation. It is careful of how it speaks of the youth workers and agencies that work with (not)Adults who are homeless.

My biography impacts on the language and research choices made within this text, as does the conscious project of this text to persuade the reader to be convinced by its academic presentmindedness.

It is purposefully aligned with the work of Foucault and works that are “after” Foucault, intended to contribute to and be situated and accredited within the ever- expanding scholarship that has followed in his wake. It seeks to recruit and enlist such work, it asks to be included within such a body of work, and it seeks to be legitimated by the academy. This is, a doctoral thesis, a genre that is bounded by particular traditions, rules and conventions. Which is why, in contrast with a reflexive desire to be post-theoretical rhizomatic, anti-foundational rhetoric, and an iconoclastic desire to misrule (and to be naughty), it is still bound by a fairly traditional arborescent logical structure of proposition, methodology, evidence, experiment, observation and a conclusion of sorts.

An overview of the content

The range of material used in this thesis is not confined to contemporary texts. Foucault’s (1977a) view was that in the course of its exploration a genealogy casts a wide scope. Similarly the material of this thesis is drawn from texts which range from contemporary youth work documents such as minutes of meetings, annual reports, youth studies and research papers; contemporary poststructural and postmodern theory; classic youth texts such as G Stanley Hall’s Adolescence … (1904) or Powell’s Boy Scouting (1904); through to pamphlets, manuscripts and self help manuals on the “problem of youth” from the nineteenth century. It also traces commonsense notions of (not)Adults that thread throughout the classic modern philosophy such as Rousseau, back to the primary sources of Aristotle, Plato and the Bible, and from ancient historical texts such as the Code of Hammurabi in ancient Mesopotamia. The scope of material

draws from many different sorts of artefacts such as newspaper articles, academic texts, pulp fiction, personal notes, technical texts, email communications, classic fiction, classic philosophical texts, art, music etc.

In my analysis of this material, in Chapters Three to Seven, I use genealogy as a method to consider a set of four (not)Adult discourses and their relation to particular power/knowledge relations and discursive practices.

Chapter Three uses examples of moral panic to introduce and provide evidence that the four discourses are still in circulation in contemporary times. The moral panics serve to demonstrate their capacity to shape the lives of those people of whom they speak and highlight the enormous investment these discourses have in the order of things in a Western European version of the world.

Chapter Four presents some evidence in practice where the four discourses are examined against an exploration of professional conversations and texts of organisations that I have been involved with in my professional career in youth homelessness policy and advocacy.

Chapters Five to Eight unpack the four discourses demonstrated in Chapters Three and Four. The four discourses that have been selected and considered in my genealogical approach are: the discourse of (not)Adults as property where (not)Adults are imagined in terms of being the property of the father, or the family, or of the state and other institutions; the discourse of a growth that imagines (not)Adults as subject to benchmarking in terms of the disciplines of adult and adolescent development; the discourse of innocence that imagines (not)Adults rendered as being born naïve, weak, innocent, not fully formed, incomplete; the discourse of the (not)Adult as untamed youth that imagines: the savage, the problem child, the juvenile delinquent, the moral panic/carnivalesque of skinheads, punks and misrule. In the discourse of untamed youth, in contrast to the assumptions of innocence, (not)Adults are assumed as born with wild desires that need to be controlled.

In Chapter Nine I present a conclusion of sorts, but more as an enclosure – as a place to consider the tools and concepts and a method of developing discursive

literacies as modelled in this thesis for rethinking youth work practice and (not)adult subjectivity.

Following on from this introduction and overview the next chapter presents the methodology and theoretical approach of this thesis.

Chapter Two: Methodology

This chapter outlines the methodology, key theoretical stances and assumptions that are in operation throughout this study. It begins with a discussion as to why I have chosen to investigate the topic of (not)Adult using genealogy and it explains my understanding of how this work takes a Foucauldian stance on relations of power and knowledge. Further to this, I unpack what I mean when I use ordinary words such as “commonsense” and Foucauldian concepts such as “governmentality”, “discourse” and “subjectivity”.

In my research stance, I aim to create “openings” rather than “closure” with this work. I recall a recent interview with pop artist and popular thinker Brian Eno, who offered the view that his idea of an artist “… is someone who starts things, not someone who finishes things” (Eno, 2009). I attempt to approach this research in much the same way as Eno’s “artist”, where the application of my methodology is intended to produce the start of something, rather than produce a finished work, or the definitive article. This way of working agrees with educational researchers Stronach and MacLure, who invite us to consider research as an opportunity to create “openings” (Stronach & MacLure 1997) rather than finding closure to its questions and inquiry. I seek to open up possibilities for what I describe as a multiplicity of “discursive literacies” (which will be explained later in the text) rather than ensuring certainty. The aim is to develop an awareness of the range of discourses that are at play in any given situation and what particular subjectivities and discursive knowledges are being made up. It is assumed that developing discursive literacies contributes towards a broader scope of practice, as it should enable a wider choice and control as to whether it is useful to choose to agree, resist or perhaps call up alternative discourses in practice.

The flipside of discursive literacy is to be “discursively illiterate” or to be unaware of the multiple discourses at play, to be limited in control, scope and vision. Perhaps it means to be blindly obedient to tradition, to single-mindedness, to dogma, to the cause, to the commonsense and to unknowingly engage in practices of exclusion.

Genealogy versus commonsense?

Treating the child as “little” (as well as in its literal and metaphorical meaning), developing, incompetent, non-social and vulnerable has been in accordance with common sense.

Rautiainen (1997, p. 1)

The “commonsense” calls on us to accept what are considered to be natural and essential knowledge and practices. As with all commonsense, its construction masks its hidden formation. Its truth claims defy any dispute. Such commonsense is contested here as the nemesis of genealogy. Commonsense is disputed here as another word for “knowledge that is taken-for-granted” or the “commonly accepted wisdom”. It is always based on a persuasive narrative that comes to us through some historically constructed discourse of obscured origins.

The methodology used here takes up the genealogical approach to dispute this commonsense. My method is derived from the work of Michel Foucault (1977 a & b) and of others such as Donzelot’s The Policing of Families (1979), Rose’s Governing the Soul (1989), Jervis’s Transgressing the Modern (1999) and recently Tait’s Youth, Sex, and Government (2000), Popkewitz’s Reform as the social administration of the child: Globalization of knowledge and power (2000b), Curtis’s The Politics of Population: Statistics, State Formation, and the Census of Canada, 1840–1875 (2001) and McCallum’s The Social Production of Merit: Education, Psychology and Politics in Australia 1900-1950 (1990). The task of genealogy is to disrupt and dispute commonsense and find dispute with that which is taken for granted, towards opening up possibilities of other understandings. By choosing the method of genealogy, I have strategically resisted an approach that leads to a linear explanation of cause and effect.

In “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History” (Foucault 1977a), Foucault argued that the traditional view of history was flawed; that there was no neat historical path or linear continuity that linked origins in the past to today.

Genealogy does not pretend to go back in time to restore an unbroken continuity … does not resemble the evolution of a species and does not map the destiny of a people.

Foucault (1977a, p. 146)

While Foucault was not very prescriptive in describing or schematising his genealogical method, genealogy as a research approach rather than a prescribed method, it has generated considerable discussion and debate, but has become acknowledged as an established methodology within academia (Meadmore, Hatcher & McWilliam 2000; Rasche & Chia 2009; Tamboukou & Ball 2003). My intentions here remain consistent with Foucault’s work as I intend to explore relations of power and meaning, and histories of the present, rather than seeking origins, truths and neat linear explanations.

Foucault’s work was extensive and scholarly (1970, 1973, 1975, 1998, 2003a, 2003b, 2006, 2007). In his published work he found dispute with the commonsense of madness, sexuality and discipline, as active social texts that co-constructed the rules and conditions for the worlds and subjects that they spoke of – as the texts themselves were iterated by those subjects. In my analysis, a consistent theme in these works was Foucault’s concern that the story of history was far too convenient and comforting, that it reinforced the self-serving myths of progress, the Enlightenment subject and the political economy. He aimed to disrupt the notion of a history that is transcendent, linear or teleological. He disputed the metaphysical history that had plotted a course of cause and effect, all of which were heading in a single direction and never wavering from their pre-set course. Foucault was unconvinced by the notion that everything in the past lead to the events and understandings of today, or justified the order of things as they stand in the present. Similarly, Lyotard in his text The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge (1984) invited us to be suspicious of such narratives, to develop a stance of incredulity. Furthermore, Derrida’s (1974) concept of “deconstruction” resonates here alongside Foucault’s “genealogies” and Lyotard’s “incredulity” to open the doors for multiple instead of single readings of the social text of the past and present.

Genealogy can be useful considered as a study of the “present” by investigating past practices, showing them to be either strange (Meadmore, Hatcher & McWilliam 2000)

or nearly familiar. In this way the commonsense of the present can be undercut by the strangeness of the past, which opens up the present for review.

I would like to write a history of this prison, with all the political investments of the body that it gathers together in its closed architecture. Why? Simply because I am interested in the past? No, if one means by that writing a history of the past in terms of the present. Yes, if one means writing a history of the present.

Foucault (1977a, pp. 30-31)

Accordingly, everything that is social or cultural is treated here as a text … a “social text”.

There are many examples of genealogy. Nietzsche (1967) unpacked the taken-for- granted social text of Christian morals and ethics. For Foucault (1970, 1973, 1975, 1998, 2003a, 2003b, 2006, 2007) the social texts were madness, the clinic, discipline, government, the political economy, sexuality, etc. For those that came after, such as Rose (1989) and Donzelot (1979), it was the social texts of family and the civilising project. In Canada, Curtis (2001) explored the discursive shift from populousness to population. In Australia, Tait (2000) has attempted a genealogical approach to youth as a problem of management of sex by government, while Morris (1998) amongst other interests, considered the dynamics of how cultural products such as icons of film or literature both produce and are produced by the culture in which they are situated.

Foucault described his genealogical work, in broad terms, as the creation of a history of the different modes by which, within culture, “human beings are made into subjects” (1984, p. 7). Likewise, with regard to (not)Adult subjectivity, I create a history (but not “the” only history) of how (not)Adults are constructed/constructing in various social texts and practices. It is about investigating and unravelling the commonsense, what Mol (1999) describes as an “ontological politics”, that is, the politics of “becoming” and “being” (not)Adult, in the world as described by adults. It seeks to unveil some of the commonsense of (not)Adult, by cultivating some incredulity and variation regarding some of the assumptions embedded within the politics of (not)Adults.

This genealogical method also closely resembles the recent and emergent movement of “New Historicism” as led by the work of Greenblatt (1980, 2005). The work that has followed on from Greenblatt’s Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare (1980), such as Stephen Orgel (2002), has been on understanding Shakespeare less as an inspired great author in the modern sense and more as clue to the conjunction of the world of renaissance theatre (a collaborative and largely anonymous free-for-all) and the complex social politics of the time. In this sense, Shakespeare’s plays and iconic figures such as Hamlet are seen as inseparable from the context in which he wrote. Such analysis allows the text of the world to enter the text of fiction and drama. If we take up Usher’s (1996, 1997a) postmodern idea that research is storytelling, then Greenblatt and Orgel’s ideas would also constitute social texts. The essence of Greenblatt’s (1980) version of new historicism argues that all literature is historical and not only the record of one individual mind’s need to find something to say (Myers 1989). It is a social and cultural construct shaped by more than one consciousness. Like works of literature, the “author” is a social construct, as a palimpsest of multiple discourses.

Similar to Foucault, it suggests that there is no such thing as a human nature that transcends history, e.g. the “Renaissance man” belongs inescapably and irretrievably to the Renaissance. There is no continuity between him and us; instead history is a series of ruptures between ages and men. As a consequence, the new historian is trapped within his or her own historicity. No one can escape such social formations in order to understand the past on its terms. A modern reader can never experience a text as its contemporaries experienced it. But the “social text” gives us clues about the society in which it was produced, the society it produced, and also about how the author’s/readers’ response to the text is located reflexively in the present society. For instance, in “Murdering Peasants: Status, Genre, and the Representation of Rebellion” Greenblatt (1983) interprets a sketch by Dürer in 1525 for a monument that commemorates a victory over rebellious peasants, which depicts a peasant being stabbed in the back, as ironic and subversive. Greenblatt goes on to admit, though, that:

[t]he bitter irony we initially perceived [in Dürer’s sketch] was constituted less by concrete evidence of Dürer’s subversiveness than by our own sympathy for the

peasants, sympathy conditioned by our century’s ideology, by recent historical scholarship, and no doubt above all, by our safe distance from the fear and loathing of 1525.

Greenblatt (1983, p. 9)

And so, in genealogy or new historicism, in broad terms the reader and the author bring “narrowmindedness” (Covino 1989) and a priori assumptions to the text. As Carl Rapp suggests, the new historicists often appear to be saying that they are the only ones who are willing to admit that all knowledge is contaminated, including even their own (Rapp quoted in Myers 1989). Acknowledgement of such explicit reflexivity is important, but not confined to the method of new historicism, and is a key element of the method used here. I choose to focus more on Foucault’s genealogy than Greenblatt’s new historicism as the vehicle for my method.

Foucault has described his version of genealogy as “grey, meticulous, and patently documentary” (1977a, p. 139). I understand this to mean that genealogy looks at the mundane, day-to-day “little” things, rather than looking for spectacular histories, such as big events, wars and revolutions, and the truth. My method finds value in the “little things”, insidious and mundane items such as minutes of meetings, the language used in workshops, titles of articles, the assumptions which underpin youth worker practice, rather than big things such as major changes in policy and society. Similar to Foucault’s (1991a) archaeological digs in his early texts, as investigated in my exploration of dusty boxes of the YAA Archives in Chapter Four, I am interested here in how the sets of discursive practices and rules at a particular period and for a particular society define four discursive rules or limits of what is possible:

1. The limits of “what is sayable” (Foucault, 1991a, p. 59) within any discourse.

2. Which utterances are conserved as part of a canon, and in circulation, while others are repressed or censored. He called this the “limits and forms of conservation” (Foucault, 1991a, p. 60).

3. What type of relations are established between existing utterances / knowledge / discourses and the past ones? What work is done to them and how are they

transformed or adapted? He called this the “limits and forms of memory” and of “reactivation” with regards to their transformation (Foucault, 1991a, p. 60).

4. The “limits of appropriation” (Foucault, 1991a, p. 61) or who has access to the discourse and how is the relationship institutionalised between the speaker, the discourse and the destined audience.

In my understanding of Foucault’s approach, his version of genealogy was to observe how these discursive rules were applied, what transformations they effected, rather than theorise as a static proposition on their sense and meaning:

To relate the discourse not to a single thought, mind or subject which engendered it, but to the practical field in which it was deployed.

Foucault (1991a, p. 61)

By this line of inquiry he observed that discursive practices produce effects of what Foucault (1991a) technically referred to as transformations, bio-politics, power/knowledge and governmentality. In my application of Foucault here, I refrain from using the detail of these technical concepts; instead I prefer to cluster them all within his broader concept of governmentality, which I explore in more detail below in this chapter.

For instance, the age old adage that “children should be seen and not heard” is a statement that appears to have been commonsense in the early to mid-twentieth century, in the Western European version of the world. Yet, despite its status as a commonsense statement, it does not really agree with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of the Child (1989) as a declaration that gives voice to children having the right to voice and participate. An exploration of the differences between considering what is sayable between the old commonsense and the UN Declaration tell us a lot about the assumptions and drivers or the discursive practices at play. The two ideas each position (not)Adults and adults very differently. It is also important to question whether the former has never really gone away. While it has passed out of fashion in some circles, it is arguable as to whether is it still part of the palimpsest fuzzy, messy, mixed up and often contradictory understandings we hold around (not)Adult subjectivity.

While it can be argued that the saying “children should be seen and not heard” is a relic from a by-gone era, yet this saying does not entirely pass out of circulation, it is not forgotten and perhaps is called on or appropriated for specific occasions, often disconnected from the original context and meaning. For example, perhaps the idea that “children should be seen but not heard” is called up on occasions when patience is tested in the practice of a working (not)Adult or when a performance of adult authority is called on, or perhaps it is refashioned into the concept of “time out” where children are told to go into another room and be quiet and think of ways to be obedient?

Why discourse?

When I refer to the term “discourse” in this text I have used Foucault’s (1969, 1975, 1982, 1983, 1998, 2003b, 2006, 2007) version, which means discourse “does” as it “says”, and “says” as it is given authority, as its authority positions the “sayer”. Discourses do not just simply describe, they “make up” subjectivity, power/knowledge and ontology. Discourses in turn are “made up” or co-produced by that of which they speak. This idea of co-production is further described by Butler (1990) as “performativity” where the power/knowledge of discourse has the capacity to produce (and be produced by) the phenomena that it regulates and constrains.

To explain my understanding, I use an analogy for Foucault’s discourse (with a nod to Wittgenstein and Harré) where discourse is similar to the idea of a game of the conduct of conduct. By no means a frivolous game for fun, it is a game that can be a matter of life or death and of access to resources. In this game there are interdependent rules, purposes, knowledges and positions. In its active “positioning” (Harré & Langenhove 1999), the game either includes or excludes players; players can actively or passively take up or refuse particular positions. With its specific rules and knowledge the game is played for particular purposes. There are consequences for breaking rules and rewards for playing well. Players can take up different positions depending on how they play and what resources are available. The rules also change depending on how the game is played. The game is played only because the players agree to play and agree to the rules. There are other games being played at the same time, so it is not the only

game. Sometimes the games agree with each other. Sometimes the games are incommensurate and work at cross-purposes.

With this in mind the four (not)Adult discourses that are explored in this thesis are not the only key “games”. However, they are arguably the most obvious and familiar. There are many other discourses that are not explored here, such as the “rites of passage”, “gendered youth”, “hetero-normative youth”, “youth as a practice of managing sex”, “youth as a brand” or “youth as the cult of the new”. The limits and rules of this thesis do not allow space for further exploration of these discourses and so I have made a choice to delimit its scope. It is also understood here that every discourse is mixed up with other discourses, everything is intertextual, part of and referential, as a subject of and to other social texts. Sometimes parallel (i.e. the emergence of the invention of childhood and modern society), sometimes imbricated (i.e. original sin or innocence), sometimes metaphoric (i.e. anthropology), sometimes fuzzy and mixed up (i.e. childhood/teen-dom). The governmentality of (not)Adults is entangled within an untidy network of what Deleuze & Guattari (1983) describe as rhizomatic relations.

Governmentality: politics and (not)Adults

The method here does not search for the truth of what really may have happened in the past, or of its chronological sequence, but is interested more in what is thought to have happened and how this has shaped understandings of youth subjectivities and discursive knowledge and practices, of what Foucault called “transformations” (Foucault 2007). It wonders how certain historical narratives are encoded, prioritised and included, while others are not. Or who gets in, who gets out and whose knowledge counted in such narratives? What would it look like if other (not)knowledge were counted? What other sorts of truths are possible or useful?

In the wake of Foucault’s (1975, 1982, 1991b, 2007) investigations, knowledge and power are understood here as always entwined. Knowledge always has a political and active dimension. For example, in the case of the conundrum of “glass half empty or half full”, we can measure the volume, but it is “political” or an “act of power” which determines as to whether the glass is understood as empty or full. Similarly there is a

political dimension as to whether the subject is understood as (not)Adult or Adult, or what distinguishes the conundrum of too old to be young and too young to be old. Politics and agency are always within these decisions. There is power, there is power to act, there is power to resist, there is power to shape reality. Together this constitutes part of what Foucault calls Power/Knowledge. For instance, the concept of “half empty” or “half full” is not certain. Thus it requires an act of Power/Knowledge of action as a truth claim, to validate the truth of either its “emptiness” or “fullness”.

In his text Discipline and Punishment (1975) Foucault used Bentham’s Panopticon to illustrate the normalising and self-regulatory effects of surveillance and its relation with disciplines of power and knowledge where subjects are obedient and compliant because they think they are being watched. These relations of obedience and power/knowledge are a contributor of governmentality (Foucault 1991a, 1991b, 2003a, 2003b, 2006, 2007) and of addressing the problem of managing the conduct of conduct (Foucault 1982). Foucault suggested that the “state” should be considered almost as a mythical abstraction or a composite reality and ultimately perhaps not as important as we would think.

… at once internal and external to the state, since it is the tactics of government which make possible the continual definition and redefinition of what is within the competence of the state and what is not, the public versus the private, and so on; thus the state can only be understood in its survival and its limits on the basis of the general tactics of governmentality

Foucault (1991a, p. 103)

It is understood here that when Foucault talks of governmentality or the “mentality” (being) of being “governed/governing”, he is not just speaking of the formal structures of the state or government. Governmentality is not something that is the activity only of Government. It is part of much broader system of governance of population, territory and security and a much broader array of power relations. Foucault’s interest was not the idea of the state’s takeover of society, but more what he called the “governmentalisation” of the state, society and of individual subjects (Foucault 2007, p. 109). However, it is easy to overread Foucault’s use of Bentley’s Panopticon to interpret his view of the world as a dark place, as a monolithic leviathan, where the huge

nebulous powers that be over-determined people’s lives, where people had (not)power and were as pieces of meat under the constant surveillance and control of the state or the nightmarish over-determination portrayed by Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty Four (1987), where the fear of God was replaced by the fear of Big Brother or Nietzsche’s “cold monster”:

A state is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth it also; and this lie creepeth from its mouth: “I, the state, am the people.”

Nietzsche (1969, p. 75)

The spectre of the Nietzschean, Marxist or Orwell’s over-determination is evident in the notions of the “state” or the “system” that emerge in the later chapters of this text. These ideas are held by youth workers, which appear to hold the system in contempt, portrayed as a cruel “Big Brother” (Orwell 1987) oppressing the young people. The “system” or the “bureaucracy” is always at fault for the youth workers; this fosters a sense of resistance and rebellion from the sector and the possibility of heroic figures of youth work. There is also a belief that the system infers that the individual (not)Adult is usually to blame for their problems. This belief in turn enables the invention of individual (not)Adult pathologies and problems.

In my understanding Foucault’s ideas of governmentality evoke an interdependent network or a rhizomatic web of relations of power/knowledge and subjectivities, less like a coherent totalitarian state. This is one of the distinct points of separation between Foucault and Marx.

In his text History of Sexuality Vol 1 Foucault (1998) considered power to be a productive, rather than a negative force. Where there is power, there is also opportunity for resistance. Power has both positive and negative qualities. Yet, as a point of departure from Marx, he also proposed that power was not something external, that one could have or (not)have. In his later work Foucault, in texts on the “technologies of the self” (1988) and the notes from lectures held in the 1970s and 1980s at the Collège De France (2003a, 2003b, 2006, 2007), offered some thoughts about resistance and agency. Derived from Aristotle’s ideas of “knowing oneself” he proposed an alternative strategy of “taking care of oneself” in contrast to knowing oneself, using what he called

“technologies of the self” (1988). These technologies are the art and ontological politics (Mol 1999) of producing oneself and reshaping oneself within a field of discourses. He suggested that one is always an actor (i.e. “with agency”) within a system of power; one is never powerless. This exposes the idea of getting to know a true inner self as a chimera.

Foucault’s idea of the productive power of governmentality, in application, invites a rethink of the concepts of empowerment and self-determination (concepts that figure highly in the general rhetoric of youth work in the twenty-first century) and instead towards recognising how one is already “positioned” within power. It leads us to question what is really meant by terms such as “freedom”, “empowerment”, “authentic voice” and getting to know one’s true self. The thinking here is that “young people” and “children” are positioned by the various discourses of (not)Adult and in the process they validate “youth culture” and the idea of “childhood”. Within this positioning they obey the rules which are part of a conscious and unconscious obligation to the classic proposition of formal and informal social contract, as explored in different ways through the thinking from Plato’s Republic through to Hobbes (1999), Locke (1965) and Rousseau (2002). It is a social contract where subjects give up individual freedom to belong to the collective group. This idea of social contract is understood here, in a broader sense, to include the unwritten law of commonsense, customs and obedience and not delimited by a social contract between the individual and the state. So it is understood that (not)Adults and adults behave in certain ways, according to custom, commonsense and legislation, in order to be members of our society and that by doing so they affirm those same customs and commonsense.

In the seventeenth century Hobbes (1999) described his notion of the state as a leviathan, where as part of a social contract individuals ceded their individual rights in order to create a sovereignty (which is retained by the state) in return for security, protection and therefore out of a pragmatic self-interest. Hobbes thought that without society and a social contract, individuals would resort back to an anarchic and savage self-interest or wage a war against all (aka “law of the jungle”). Foucault’s governmentality suggests a similar notion, and similar impulse. Applying a notion of an overt and covert discursive contract to both a collective society and multiple discourses

and governmentalities, individuals cede their imagined rights or desires to create a discursive normalised coherence, meaning and agreed practices and knowledges, in return for security and protection (Foucault 2003b, 2007).

However, as has been suggested above, the state/society or game is not an immovable monster – it is a shapeshifting liquid mash-up, as there is always scope for resistance, repositioning and shifting the rules. Yet the work of breaking the rules and radically repositioning oneself has significant life consequences. Using the game metaphor breaking the rules can position oneself outside the game, outside the protection of the game and outside the opportunities and resources of the game. This idea of consequence is further explored in the examples of moral panic discussed in Chapter Three.

Subjectivity, shape shifters and bodies without organs

What am I referring to when I say the word “I”? … Where does my sense of self come from? … Was it made for me or did it arise spontaneously? … Am I different when I present myself in different ways to my boss, my family, my friends, social security, someone I’m in love with or a stranger in the street? Do I really know myself?

Mansfield (2000, p. 1)

In considering the concept of identity in relation to Foucault’s governmentality I use the questions by Mansfield in the above quotation to disrupt the idea of a singular authentic identity. This continues the ideas from the previous section of taking care of oneself (or enabling) rather than getting to know oneself. So, in a response to Mansfield’s questions, taking a Foucauldian approach I assume that instead of an essential singular selfhood or identity (or “I”) there is such a thing that we can call “subjectivity” (Butler 1990, 1997; Foucault 1977b, 1984; Mansfield 2000; Sarup 1996). Subjectivity is understood as multiple, provisional and a mutable “effect” of discourse that is produced in an interdependence and performativity (Butler 1990) within a field of discursive knowledge and practices. In other words, subjectivity is not a fixed identity or a singular true selfhood; as provisional social constructions of selfhoods they

are located in time and space; they are made up within particular and provisional power/knowledge relations.

the rather weak identity, which we attempt to support and to unify under a mask, is in itself only a parody: it is plural; countless spirits dispute its possession; numerous systems intersect and compete.”

Foucault (1977a, p. 94)

Such selfhoods are not an essential internal self “… but a complex system of distinct and multiple elements, unable to be mastered by the powers of synthesis” (Foucault 1984, p. 94). Foucault uses ideas such as “discourse”, “bio-power”, “governmentality” and “technologies of the self” to describe these effects in relation to discursive knowledges and practice.

As a remedy to the traps of being captured by the Marxist concepts of over- determination, Harré (1998) and Harré & Langengrove (1999) extends this thinking to suggest that as we are positioned by discourse, we are not passive and so we can also take up positions as well as being positioned.

As a method of focusing his arguments in his work, Foucault tends to focus on particular discourses, for instance the discourse of sexuality, rather than the effects of multiple discourses. So, as Mansfield (2000) suggests, as we operate in multiple discourses, we also have multiple selfhoods that always involve other people, networks and exterior discourse. In this way selfhoods, as subjects, are always linked to something outside of itself: ideas, theories, overlapping discourses or a society of other subjects. The etymology of the word “subject” is important, as to be subject means to be “placed under”. It also implies the act of subjecting others. One is always subject “to” or “of” or “-ing” something. Therefore this “subject” is not really a separate, isolated and contained entity (Mansfield 2000). It is understood here as relational, part of a network. Mansfield (2000) suggests that, in contrast to psychoanalytic theory of inner depth, when the work of Foucault’s governmentality is considered, the subject can no longer be considered as an essential thing, but more as an effect or a performance. Thus we can say that (not)Adult subjectivity is an effect, as Foucault offers: “[the subject] is not a substance. It is a form” (Foucault 1998, p. 290).

Further to this, Sarup’s (1996) assertion that “an identity is not an object which stands by itself and offers the same face to each observer in each instance” (Sarup 1996 p. 25) is useful here as it suggests that rather than thinking of the “self” as having deep authentic interiors, that in fact a coherent singular identity or selfhood is not possible. Selfhood is not fixed, instead “selfhoods” are shapeshifters and surface dwellers, where the appearances of identity are as exterior projections or performances. There is no authentic and uniform depth. Instead of authentic and essential identity we are subjects of / subjected to / subjecting on with regards to multiple imbricated and incommensurate discursive knowledge and practices. Any notion of identity could be seen as an effect of these knowledges and practices. Therefore instead of identity, we have “subject”-ivity.

Other more poetic ways of describing this evoke images of subjectivity being written on the skin of the body or of Deleuze and Guattari’s (1987) “body without organs” or being mediated through technology and networks as “posthuman” (Hayles 1999), a “cyborg” (Haraway 1991) or as an “actant” (Latour 1999a, 2005). The net effect of all these discourses is that the subject could also be considered as a palimpsest of incoherent and conflicting selfhoods.

Imagined histories and metanarratives

The idea of (not)Adult is mediated through a range of discourses that have been called on throughout the history of the Western European version of the world; they can be found as narratives in research on the history of childhood and youth such as Aries (1973), Cunningham (1990, 1998, 2005, 2006), Gillis (1974, 1975), Hebdige (1979), Heywood (2001), Holmes (1969), Humphries (1985), Kessen (1981), Laslet (1971), Savage (2007), Shahar (1990), Springhall (1977) or Zemon-Davis (1987), and the Australian youth studies of Burdekin (1989), Carrington (1993), Connell, Stroobant, Sinclair, Connell & Rogers (1975), Finch (1993), Irving, Maunders & Sherington (1987), McLeod & Malone (2000), as part of “speculative” or “imagined” histories of youth. These historical narratives construct variations on anthropological versions of youth such as the “workhouse kid”, “the street Arab” or “the juvenile delinquent” to the contemporary versions of young persons such as punks, homeboys, goths and chavs.

For instance, in Cunningham’s (2005, 2006) hands, the history of youth becomes a tidy narrative that constructs a persuasive “evolution of childhood” as it evolved from the middle ages to present times. This is the antithesis of genealogy.

According to a popular view in the literature as neatly captured in Cunningham’s (2005, 2006) evolution of childhood, in the Western European version of the world childhood appears to have been separated from the adult world into a distinct not-adult space at around the time of the industrial revolution and the emergence of accessible schools. From there it shifted from myths of commonsense and became a subject of the disciplines of medicine and pedagogy in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Similar to Cunningham, Savage (2007) constructs a history of contemporary British youth culture, as if everything that happened before could be aligned in a linear narrative leading up to today. According to Savage (2007), this storyline culminates with the “invention” of the adolescent by G Stanley Hall (1904); the invention of the teenager in the 1940s and the tweenies in the 1990s are also significant events in this storyline. As teens and tweenies became “markets”, it can be argued that in the late twentieth century it became less life stage related, but perhaps more commodified or branded as tribes, an attitude, a state of mind, a “look” and as pop culture.

The emergence of a distinct category of both childhood and youth, as a product of the modern state, are considered here as effects of a huge array of networks and relations, as messy co-constructions. This is in contrast to the work of Cunningham or Savage, which suggests a neat linear progression. It is questionable whether most of the old “versions”, the old stories of youth, ever really go away. They might go out of fashion but they are never extinct; they continue to have currency. They are clumsily (and perhaps accidentally) imbricated (overwritten) over each other, hence the metaphor of palimpsest prevails over the surface reading of subjectivity.

Following this thinking, the category “youth” is not considered here to be “big enough” to contain all these multiple iterations, that the concept of youth has its own particular back-story and context. Following Foucault’s ideas of subjectivity, governmentality and technologies of the self, the category of “youth” and notions of “youth development” can also be viewed to be part of a grand Enlightenment project, as a meta-narrative of self-actualisation and individualisation (Lyotard 1984). As an effect

of governmentality, in Western society everything has its place and is normalised, encoded, positioned and self-regulated. The emergence of and emphasis on distinct categories of childhood, adolescence and adulthood is linked by some researchers (Rautiainen 1997) as a symbolic achievement of the modern Western notions of state, citizenship and modern political thought. So too, Foucault linked the project of managing childhood and pedagogy with the emergence of the modern political economy as a problem of “conduction” (Foucault 2007, p. 231) or obedience and as one of the key interests of the Western European version of the world. For Foucault the politics of conduct in relation to (not)Adults is a performance indicator for how the society as a whole is tracking.

The problem of how to conduct children … so they are useful to the city … so that they will be able to conduct themselves – was probably surcharged and over-determined by this explosion of the problem of conduct in the sixteenth century. The education of children was the fundamental utopia, crystal and prism through which problems of conduction were perceived.

Foucault (2007, p. 231)

A reflexive note about the method … the empirical method strikes back … positioning the author as an “academic”

As discussed in the Chapter One, a doctoral thesis and the performance of positioning myself as an academic, this work is bound by the traditions of the academy and ultimately has to be persuasive as an empirical/logical study and in the “craft” of academia, as well as contributing to an accepted body of research methodology. I would describe the methodology used here as research with a postmodern stance. This stance is supported by an abundance of literature which backs up the postmodern / genealogical approach with work ranging from Derrida (1974), Foucault (1977a), Lyotard (1984), Wittgenstein (1965) to Bauman (2000), Burbules (1996), Stronach & MacLure (1997) and Usher (1997a) right back to Gorgias in Ancient Greece.

It is also an empirical(ish) study, approached with a postmodern stance. In terms of empirical data and method, this thesis utilises a wide range of texts and narratives as

evidence to construct and test a research story. Behind these words over 800 texts ranging from articles, audio visual material, books, reports, letters, web pages and minutes / records were consulted. It also draws from the narrative and personal biography of my twenty plus years experience working in the youth part of the community sector in Australia, both in direct community education and at the policy level.

During this period I have worked for an organisation called the Youth Accommodation Association (in 2010 renamed “Yfoundations”). It was self-described as a state peak body that was established in 1979, to both represent the youth homelessness sector and to advocate for broad systemic change to end youth homelessness, or in commentaries on the history of youth organisations in Australia as a “radical organisation” as described by Irving, Maunders and Sherington (1984). It is a not-for-profit organisation with a governance model of community-based representation, which means I am accountable to a board comprised only of members of the organisation. For the last eleven years I have been the Chief Executive Officer and have privileged access to decades of archives. There are numerous exclusive texts which come from the YAA Archives such as minutes, reflections, training programs and discussion papers, and some of these texts are utilised and explored in Chapter Four.

It is impossible to collect all of the facts so specific tactics, choices and exclusions are made by researchers as to what does and does not get included or said. Decisions have been made regarding the visibility of the researcher within the text. This is always done for a reason as part of conforming to an a priori intention, academic tradition or research paradigm. Thus texts are not passive but have agency. Searle has described this agency as utterances and acts (Searle 1969, 1979). Wittgenstein (1965) observed language as “games” where a speech act was a move. As Covino (1998) suggests, a text, whether it be a research, historical or everyday text, seeks to persuade and do something. If, as Usher suggests, research is storytelling, then following Searle, Wittgenstein and Covino it is a story that aims to persuade the reader into believing that the story told is the truth, perhaps what Harman playfully describes as a seductive text (Harman 2003).

In empirical research approaches, the gap between the “proposed truth” and the “absolute truth” is the space of Cartesian doubt, where the evidence leads to the proposition that this truth is a theory, but perhaps more evidence and more accurate data will challenge this theory. This is a powerful and persuasive academic tradition where an argument drawn from solid evidence and sound logic is then further tested, legitimated and accepted as a “truth” by a scientific community.

Applying Foucault’s (1991a) ideas on the limits of what is sayable, applied from an empirical perspective, when I considered texts for inclusion in this study the bottom line genealogical questions which informed my inquiry were along the lines of: “What work is being done by this text?”; “How is this work being done?”; “Who is included or excluded by these texts?”; “What positions are available within these texts?” and “What relations of power are at play?” The concern here is not the truth or authenticity of the empirical data or argument, but how these truths were used, what they “did” and what they did not “do”. As suggested above, perhaps in terms of genealogy, what also matters is not what actually happened, but what we think might have happened and what has been the discursive effect of this.

To explain what I mean by this, I use an example drawn from recent pop culture. In reference to the “mythology” of the UK pop band the Beatles, whether it is true or not that Yoko Ono was supposed to have broken up the Beatles is not as interesting as the reason why this truth claim may have been convincing in relations to discourses of gender, military conflict and nationality in 1969, when this story was fashioned. The empirical method may evaluate the truth claim that Yoko split up the Beatles, while the genealogical approach might consider what conditions enabled this truth claim to be convincing or to consider what other “readings” might be possible.

The notion of reality or ontology as a “text” that can be written and read is an important dynamic of the genealogical process. Importantly, as has been suggested in this text, it brings the author and the reader into the picture as well as the objects of the text. As reality is written, reality is read and reality is enacted, retold, reiterated and remembered as the practices and histories of everyday life (De Certeau 1975, 1984, 1986, 2000). This dynamic connects to the “linguistic turn” of Wittgenstein’s (1965) language games, through the work of Barthes (1975), De Certeau (1984) and Foucault

(1969), and Derrida’s (1991) arguments that everything is text and that nothing exists outside the text.

What ever happened to the revolution … why does the author choose to disrupt?

In conclusion, it is acknowledged here that my version of genealogy is explicitly political; as Flax (1992) comments, it is not innocent. It is an act of world (un)making and (un)meaning making constructed by an “apprentice academic” looking at the subject of (not)Adult, whilst taking a particular research stance. As it seeks to disrupt commonsense and to create openings and start-up thinking, this stance is also an act of revolution while at the same time conforming to convention and tradition and producing a traditional doctoral text.

It is understood here that Nietzsche and Foucault had particular revolutionary purposes in mind for their work. They had worlds and meanings that they both worked to make and (un)make. While these two people figure prominently in my thinking (though Nietzsche figures more implicitly, via Foucault), they each approach reflexivity very differently. Nietzsche was open to explicitly positioning himself within the text, writing unashamedly and interpretively in the first person with great humour and rhetoric. In contrast, in the English translations of Foucault’s written work and lectures that I have read, Foucault feigns a traditional academic “invisible stance” and underplays his reflexivity. Foucault’s revolution is perhaps more subtle and ultimately more empirically persuasive. Foucault commented that he wrote in order to have no face and refused to be contained by identity.

In reflexive terms the purpose of the methodology here is not as subtle as Foucault, but not as blatant as Nietzsche. It is imagined as the start of a process, as suggested by Brian Eno (2009), referred to at the beginning of this chapter, as an invitation to disruption, action, to shape shift, re-position, adapt, re-imagine, reactivate. As process, it aims to reach a conception of fluid ontology, where a sense of being in the world is always changing, shifting and never solid or fixed. This means to consider what conditions allow certain (not)Adult discourses to emerge, what work is being done by

these discourses, and also to consider or enable the reflexive positioning of the reader within this text, and what possibilities are available for alternate positions (Usher 1996, 1997a).

The next chapter uses genealogy to unpack the four discourses of Property, Growth, Innocence and Untamed Youth, as the embedded truths that enable and effect a selection of moral panics drawn from recent news media and autobiographies. Following this, the four chapters that follow Chapter Three present a more detailed genealogy of each of these four discourses.

Chapter Three: Stories of “Moral Panic”

In this chapter an analysis of three contemporary moral panics is undertaken to foreground some hidden assumptions, to disrupt commonsense and to introduce the four (not)Adult discourses that are the focus of this thesis. Each of the three moral panics illustrate where the normalised rules of (not)Adult subjectivity can be seen to fracture. As the rules break down the subjects of these moral panics are positioned as deviants similar to Foucault’s (2003a) “abnormals” and “monsters”; they are deemed significantly (not)normal and are perceived as a threat to the social order and the reader is in a sense called on to be recruited into to the moral panic to affirm the normalised rules of the social order.

In his study of 1960s youth culture, Folk Devils and Moral Panics (1972), UK sociologist Stanley Cohen introduced and popularised the term “moral panic”. Cohen used moral panic to describe the disproportionate levels of public anxiety and rumours of youth gone wild that were generated by reports in the UK media, following several episodes of what appeared to be public misrule by young people. As Goode and Ben- Yehuda explain:

[A moral panic]… sets the stage and provides a context for rumour mongering; when rumours take place, they provide the justification for fears, exaggeration and a sense of threat. Rumor is a vital element in the moral panic. It is one of the reasons why the moral panic must be regarded as a form of collective behaviour.

Goode & Ben-Yehuda (1994, p. 108)

One such moral panic began with events at Clacton (UK) on the holiday weekend of Easter Sunday 1964 where the Clacton riot (Daily Mirror, May 14th 1964) was a perspective offered by the media on a territorial scuffle over beach huts between two rival youth groups, the Mods and Rockers. This resulted in some antisocial behaviour and a few broken deckchairs and windows. This scuffle was elevated to a horror story by the UK media; both the Mods and Rockers were demonised as folk devils, as wild ones (Daily Mirror, March 30th 1964); the weekend was dramatically described as Days of Terror by Scooter Groups (Daily Telegraph, March 30th 1964). Through the lens of the media events became amplified. It quickly escalated from an isolated instance of a

local scuffle, into a cluster of related riots, into a public law and order issue that prompted calls to action. The riots gained so much prominence in the media that it attracted some attention from within higher levels of Government; the UK Home Secretary was urged by the media to take control of the situation (Cohen 1972, Goode & Ben-Yehuda 1994). These events set the pattern for a series of further Mod verses Rocker incidents, all of which have been well documented (Cohen 1972, Savage, 1991) and later romantically aligned and reimagined as a 1960s Mod “youth movement” in British pop culture, amplified in films such as Quadrophenia (1979). What initially began as a minor squabble on the Clacton seafront became a national horror story of problem youth. It became a persuasive story of collective moral panic that was based on imagined threats by the latest youth movement to the social order and to the shared values and principles that underpin social cohesion.

Moral panics do not just naturally occur by themselves, they require some work to be done. This particular “horror story” had multiple contributors. Like other such stories of moral panic, it required an initial trigger, or a public event. However, as Cohen’s work reveals, this particular trigger i.e. “squabbling young people” was insufficient to create the story of moral panic. It also required some media amplification that was designed to be persuasive, to reframe the minor squabble, attract broader social interest and to recruit concern. Thus, headlines such as “Wild Ones Invade Seaside …” (Daily Mirror, March 30th 1964) portray the possibility of a serious and credible threat from “untamed youth”. The other contributors to the moral panic were the various State institutions that are charged with protecting the social order and are drawn into validating concern over a serious threat to social order. Confronted with the merging story of moral panic these institutions responded by calling up a range of expert advice in order to determine what steps need to be taken to manage and contain any perceived threat to the established social norms and stability. These institutions responded according to an imperative of the State, as articulated by Foucault, that society must be defended (Foucault 2003). In my analysis of Cohen’s work on moral panics I observe that they consist of at least three key elements: an initial trigger event, followed by amplification through media (or propaganda) and finally responses of the State through its institutions as it makes moves to defend the perceptions of threat to the social order.

Such moral panics concerning young people are not confined to the 1960s. In the middle of the nineteenth century, activist Mary Carpenter’s public campaigns regarding the problem of pauper children and juvenile delinquents are examples of a Victorian era version of moral panic. The trigger for Carpenter’s panic was the visible problem of pauper children living on the streets. Pauper children were make up in this story, as a threat to Victorian principles and aspirations of progress, society, decency and civilised life in the public space. Carpenter’s call to action and her campaign to get them off the streets, set up a chain of events contributing to the Institutions of the State establishment of orphanages, work houses and schools. Carpenter created her own media amplification. In 1852 she published her book Juvenile Delinquents, their Condition and Treatment (Carpenter, 1852), which was considered to be an important contributor to the process of the passing of the Juvenile Offenders Act (UK) in 1854 (Manton, J. 1976). She also published widely distributed printed booklets, as persuasive texts designed to influence a general public readership, such as the booklet adapted from her speech to the Social Science Association in Dublin, August 1861, where she asked “What shall we do with our pauper children?” (Carpenter, 1861).

In his cultural history of the teenager, Teenage (Savage, 2007), pop-historian Jon Savage traced a sequence of such moral panics around (not)Adults leading from the late nineteenth century onwards. His work illustrated how these moral panics inputted into the development of broad youth identity and to the invention of the western version of the teenager in the 1940s. He also linked the emergence of other (not)Adult identities, cultures and styles to particular moral panics and to the management of the “problem of (not)Adults” by expert knowledge and State institutions. For example, Savage (2007) affirms G Stanley Hall, as the “inventor” of the adolescent, as an example of the State institutions providing an answer with an expert knowledge towards addressing the problem of juvenile delinquency, where the State using Halls work and his useful concept of the “adolescent”, explained it as just being a temporary phase of life, as something which could be overcome and fixed up.

The work of Cohen (1972), Carpenter (1861) and Savage (2007) provide examples of how often related moral panics around the discourse of (not)Adults, appear to be a major preoccupation of western society. Savage argues that this preoccupation

continues to the present day. While the work of these commentators reveals common elements they say less about the conditions and assumptions that allow the panic to take place. For instance, Cohen uses the moral panic, to find a truth that supports his perspective of critical theory while Savage uses the panic to set up ideas of intergeneration conflict and youth rebellion; the idea of teenager is just a rebellion stage that all (not)Adults go through.

In my application of genealogy and Foucault’s (1991a) governmentality, in terms of moral panic, there are multiple opportunities for asking discursive questions such as: what work is being done by these panics? How are some groups of (not)Adults socially constructed by this process? What assumptions are called up and enacted as part of this project of construction? And why are (not)Adults frequently constructed in these panics as the other of adults? These moral panics, can be used to expose where the edges and boundaries of category of (not)Adult become unsettled and fragmented, to reveal the hidden discourses at play within its construction. Interestingly, while at the same time as they also disrupt the commonsense, as they are codified as deviant they contribute to its formation.

The story of Morgan Featherstone … moral panic in 2003 AD

In August 2003 the Daily Telegraph, a Sydney tabloid newspaper, ran a sensational expose that explored the story of eight year old fashion model, Morgan Featherstone, who did a fashion shoot in which it was said that she was sexualised and “made to look beyond her years” (Daily Telegraph 9th August 2003). At the time, Morgan was working for her father’s modelling agency, where, her father claimed, there was a strong interest in her “Lolita image” (Daily Telegraph 9th August 2003) from “other countries”. Despite the concern of the experts and competitors, her father and mother reported no problem with their eight-year-old daughter dressing up as an adult or of attracting any unwanted sexualised attention. The Daily Telegraph journalists, Tsavdardis and Clifton, described Morgan as “blonde, seductive … and eight years old” (Daily Telegraph 9th August 2003), as illustrated in a sexualised style photo shot attached to the story. Morgan is a classic example of Foucault’s “abnormal” – as a monster, a deviant (Foucault 2003), where her public story plays out at an interesting

edge of the multiple boundaries and discourses that distinguish an adult from the (not)Adult in Western European version of the world. Her situation breaks many of the rules. It transgresses many of those boundaries. Hence Morgan, as a monster, a deviant, is at the centre of a moral panic in the same way that the earlier example of the Mods and Rockers were the monstrous wild ones at the centre of that particular panic. Using Cohen’s analysis, as would be expected, the three contributors are present: the photo shot as a trigger; the amplification of the media generated public story and call to action and the response to the problem by experts and institutions to come in and defend the social order. However, by scratching the surface of the text, mixed up and overlaid discourses can be observed at play, as they call on expert knowledge, police the boundaries and keep order with hidden “commonsense”.

One such commonsense notion here at play within the text is that children are not “sexual” and that they are innocent. Therefore the sexualised version of child is a monster. So an obvious transgression in the story of Morgan, relates to a perception that she is inappropriately sexualised, she is a monster and that her parents are also monsters. This disrupts a discourse of innocence, where in contrast to the sexualised adult self; the assumption is that childhood is constructed as non-sexual, free from the complexities of sexual politics, similar to natural conditions of the biblical Garden of Eden. By her appearance, Morgan therefore is deemed by the commentary as no longer innocent and ultimately in danger of being damaged by her premature exposure. Thus another dimension of this discourse of innocence is that of perceived association with weakness, where according to the commonsense, the innocent child is smaller, weaker and therefore incapable of protecting themselves. In the Daily Telegraph story, there are some strong warnings by the experts and authorities, such as child psychologists and police, that exposure to this adult world is dangerous.

They remind us that out there in the adult world, there is danger of that other monster as a transgressor of boundaries, i.e. the ubiquitous sexual predator. Here, in another dimension of the discourse of innocence, it follows that children are weak and need to be protected from danger. It is the duty of adults to uphold and protect the innocence of children and young people, to protect them from the external adult world that is represented by the sexual predator. The discourse of innocence then has

implications for both (not)Adults as innocents and adults as the protectors. In this particular situation, this duty to protect is a task in which the father has failed. There is a pejorative doubt over his moral ethics. He stands accused of being both morally corrupt and of being negligent of this duty to protect. In this way the father is aligned with the spectre of the sexual predator, or at least of being the calibre of person who would offer his children to sexual predators.

Whilst the notions of protection and responsibility, evoke the idea of protection of innocence, they also allude to another discourse as illustrated in the commonsense idea which allows us to claim and call (not)Adults “our kids”, “our children”, “this nation’s youth” etc.… It is my analysis here that in this discourse (not)Adults can be imagined within a discourse of property, having a value as an asset that might be subject to different contests of ownership between themselves, their family or by the state. It follows that such contested ownership is not without responsibility, as the value of the property must be maintained. In as much as Morgan as a (not)Adult, is owned as property by her parents, in turn they are expected to look after their “property” or their “own(ed) children” in the excepted way. Otherwise, there are others who are ready to claim ownership of Morgan, such as the State and youth welfare organisations. It is implied within the text, by experts such as the child psychologists, that her parents have failed in this area.

“Expert” knowledge such as that of Hall (1904), Fleming (1963), Heaven (2001), Lovell (1935), Erikson (1950), Piaget (1965), tells us that there is a staged process of biological markers and social rituals that a discourse of growing up and there is a staged entry into the adult world. The discourse of growth, affirms the expert knowledge that enables commentary to be said about the progress and status of Morgan’s development. Experts such as Dr Irvine, as a psychologist are called into the text for their expert opinion. Dr Irvine argues that it was not healthy for a child such as Morgan to be consistently projected in a way beyond her years. In his opinion:

“[it] can cause confusion . . . see what happens to the Hollywood child stars, they’ve all said they have trouble adjusting,” Dr Irvine said. “When you’re older your ego is developed and you can take on roles. Children are what the world tells them they are.”

Dr Irvine said children placed in such a high-pressure world often exhibit signs of confusion, loneliness and alienation from their peers.

Dr Irvine quoted in the Daily Telegraph 9th August 2003, p. 9

Dr Irvine is placed in this discussion, according to his medical perspective, policing the discourse of growing up, with the professional view that children and young people are not ready, not fully formed. They are a construction site that is still undergoing development. In his expert opinion, premature exposure to adult concepts could affect healthy development and connection with peers, maybe lead to confusion, loneliness and the unsaid spectre of suicide. In this thinking it is the duty of care for parents and adults to assist the development of children, through youth, to achieve adulthood. We have to look after the young, like the farmer tends the fields, to help them grow. Again in the case of Morgan this is another area where the parents have failed and subsequently, through her parent’s negligence, Morgan herself becomes something else entirely, again as was suggested earlier, like a monster that transgresses the boundaries between (not)Adult and adulthood. In this way she perhaps becomes a symbolic threat to this order.

This evokes another familiar discourse explored in this thesis, which is the flip side of the discourse of innocence that of discourse of untamed youth, of the (not)Adult, that has fallen to the wild desires of adulthood and broken the spell of innocence. The discourse of untamed youth suggests that it is part of the job of adults to protect (not)Adults from innate primitive desires and comes from the commonsense notion that children are born out of control and need discipline and structure, or to be tamed. Without this discipline, Morgan like the Mods and Rockers, present a potential or symbolic threat to law and order.

Four years later, in February 2007, after several follow up stories in the Woman’s Day and Who Magazine, the story was again recycled by the Daily Telegraph, in a piece written by Michelle Cazzulino titled “The end of innocents” (Daily Telegraph, 10th February 2007). This second story is of interest here, in that it presents some resolution and restoration. As a good news update we are told that Morgan is now 12 years old, that she is wearing dental braces and concentrating on her studies, the father has obviously learnt the error of his ways and listened to the experts and commonsense.

The momentum of the moral panic around Morgan continued beyond the specifics of her particular story, as with the panic around the Mods and Rockers, belatedly involving the State institutions to respond and act. In the Sydney Morning Herald Pearlman, after a series of other related panics in the wake of Morgan’s story, noted that the federal Minister for Communications, Helen Coonan had agreed to order an inquiry into the sexual exploitation of children in advertising and the media. The inquiry, to be conducted by the television and radio industries, would consider the “sources and beneficiaries of sexualisation of children” (Pearlman, SMH August 15th 2007). Another politician responded to say:

“We’re pushing children into being sexual beings much younger than they are ready,” she said. “I find it sickening to see a 12-year-old girl with a pouty look on her face advertising sexy clothing. We’re talking about children at the age of nine worrying whether they look sexy or not, and bras being targeted at four- to six-year-olds.”

Democrat’s leader, Lyn Allison, quoted in Pearlman 2007, p 7

While the moral panic around Morgan’s story enacts a messy overlay and partial erasures of the four historical discourses, it also highlights a common theme across these discourses, that of protection and duty of care. However, it is always unclear and ambiguous as to what exactly is being protected, and from whom, who is doing the protection, why they are protecting and how (not)Adults are positioned as the recipients of this protection? Is it about property, value or ownership; is it about growth, preservation of innocence or protection from untamed youth out of control … or bits and pieces of all of these ideas? In considering this ambiguity, Morgan’s story supports the claim in this thesis, that there are multiple discourses in circulation, impacting and interacting on Morgan. It can also be suggested that due to any lack of settlement afforded by a master discourse, we can at least describe Morgan as a (not)Adult, as a palimpsest that is overwritten with traces and ghosts of these multiple historical discourses. The net effect is that of a surface appearance of (not)Adult. The only thing we nearly know is that she is not an adult. We can see that for the (not)Adult the discourses are revealed in precarious moments of moral panic and transgression, when the rules of these discourses break down, such as the sexualisation of Morgan in her photos. Furthermore, how this (not)Adult palimpsest appears, would perhaps be

dependent on the perspective of the observer, whether that be parent, doctor, or perhaps another (not)Adult. Each of these observers would bring their own versions of these and other discourses into their gaze.

Hence commentary from a concerned parent or a concerned expert of adult development or even a paedophile would read very differently to what is expressed within the text you are reading, expressing different overlays and erasure of the discourses and assumptions in accordance with their position.

The story of the Boy Soldiers of the Sierra Leone

In Armies of the Young (Rosen 2005) David Rosen speaks out loudly as a human rights campaigner. He builds a persuasive human rights argument focused on three cultural studies of: child soldiers of the Sierra Leone; contemporary Palestinian youth and Jewish resistance fighters in World War II. He used these examples to expose and draw attention to the “child soldier” as a significant worldwide problem. Similar to the work of Mary Carpenter, in the nineteenth century, his work is designed to stir up a moral panic and announce a call to action. The images presented by Rosen (2005) and by CBS News (2002) sit on the edges of Western conceptions of normalised (not)Adult and adulthood. This illustrates that in other non-Western cultures, (not)Adults are often exposed to the adult world much earlier in their lives. In such cultures often the Western conceptions of the boundaries between the (not)Adult and adulthood do not hold. They portray a very different sort of conception of childhood experienced by children in war torn Sierra Leone. Of (not so) innocent children in war torn Sierra Leone, brandishing AK-47 machine guns, killing their parents and family and committing awful acts of violence.

The images are burned into our minds: a young boy, dressed in a tee shirt, shorts, flip flops, holding a AK-47 … a child with sticks of dynamite strapped to his chest … a tough talking twelve year old in camouflage.

Rosen (2005, p. 1)

The changing nature of conflict, in Africa in particular, is the reason why children are still recruited as “four-foot killing (machines)” …. Emmanuel Jal, a hip-hop artist and a former child soldier … was enlisted at the age of seven to fight in south Sudan’s 21- year war: “When most kids were playing soccer, watching cartoons and learning how to read and write, I was learning how to fight. I left my home when I was seven after I saw a close relative raped and people’s heads cut off by the government bombers... For years I was wielding an AK47, taller than myself.”

Brenjo, N. Reuters News 2nd May 2007

Similar stories to that of Emmanual Jal, are graphically captured in the autobiography of Ishmael Beah (2007) and the story of his life as a boy soldier in Sienna Leone. Ishmael’s story recounted how he was recruited as a child soldier at the age of thirteen and forced to work under a brutal discipline for adult soldiers with descriptive names like “Sgt Hands Chop Off”. He was forced to commit terrible and bloody acts. UNICEF eventually rescued him at the age of sixteen. From a Western perspective it is easy to take the high moral ground on such atrocity and child abuse. The idea of boy soldiers in Sierra Leone behaving as adult “soldiers”, presented by Rosen and the brutality of life of Ishmael Baeh, are disturbing because again they disrupt those historical discourses, most obviously that of innocence and its nemesis of untamed youth and the related imperative for safety and protection.

The United Nations “Convention on the Rights of the Child”, Article 38, (1989) proclaims that: “State parties shall take all feasible measures to ensure that persons who have not attained the age of 15 years do not take a direct part in hostilities.” This agrees with the commonsense according to a discourse of innocence which would tell us that in contemporary Western view, it would be assumed that war is the work of adults and is not the work of (not)Adults, and that also war is wicked and as children are innocent, they should be protected from such wickedness. The idea of (not)Adults being consciously responsible for acting cruel and killing other people is such an inconceivable idea, that even in the legal system, different laws apply to (not)Adults for crimes such as murder. Until recent times murder has always been portrayed an adult crime, part of the adult world. The extension of this narrative, when applied to the practices of war, presents a noble “his”-torical myth, which positions adult man as the brave hero who either wins a war or dies in battle and women (and children) as innocent

victims of war. Men are positioned as “strong / active / (not) innocent” and women and children as “weak / passive / innocent and in need of protection”. Thus, men build worlds, destroy worlds, make the rules and women and children populate them and obey. War is not supposed to be the place for women and children. The discourse of innocence, here, then, also does other work similar to the discourse of property around gender and patriarchy.

With regards to exactly where this traditional boundary should be, Rosen defers to the United Nations “Straight 18” position that has been adopted by the international humanitarian groups in their advocacy. The Straight 18 rule states that any soldier who is under 18 years of age is defined as a “child soldier” (Rosen 2005, pg3). The rationale behind the Straight 18 position has little to do with a full spectrum of adolescent and adult development, but more about a commonsense understanding of physical power, body mass and biological/physical development and notions of (not)Adults as “weak” and “powerless”. This definition provides Rosen, and the international groups, with a solid basis for human rights and action. It also strongly iterates how the discourse of innocence is also related and imbricated with the discourse of growing up.

The other discourses are in circulation here too, in that these children kill their own parents disrupts the discourse that children as “property” owned by their parents. Children as property, as inferior, should not raise a hand to harm their owners. It is inconceivable in Western European version of the world that ones “own” children would kill one. In this example the discourse of property starts to break down.

These stories also evoke the spectre of the discourse of “untamed youth” of children unleashing their innate and cruel desires, to the wildness that is usually managed and control by a responsible adult looking after their health and wellbeing. Another panic which is unleashed in the story of the boy soldiers is around the notion of containing the untamed wild desires and of the dangers of “unleashing the beast” within youth. In the story of Ishmael, in retrospect he expressed great remorse at all of the terrible things that he did, as the boy soldiers went out of control, as untamed youth without any conscience. The discourse of untamed youth, describes a condition where society seeks to protect itself against these wild untamed desires and in the western world it has become the job of parents, teachers and youth workers to tame and control these “wild

desires” to help (not)Adults conform to acceptable behaviours. Instead the story of the boy soldiers tells the tale of what happens when adults instead break down the space of innocence and unleash the beast from within.

While this is initially presented as a horror story about the third world, as the story unfolds, Rosen (2005) reminds us that even in recent times the armies of Western European version of the world were also filled up with “boy soldiers”. He observes, for example, that the American Civil war could have been called the “boys war” because of the estimated 2.7 million soldiers who went to fight, over a million were under the age of eighteen and about one hundred thousand were younger than fifteen. Similar for World War One where at critical stage of the war the British government urgently needed another 500,000 soldiers and were forced to lower the recruitment age to fourteen (Holmes 2004). Also, in his reflection on the Spanish Civil War author George Orwell (2003) had observed boy soldiers in action as an untrained mob mostly of boys in their teens.

Again ambiguity is at play within this horror story and there is no master discourse, which tells us what the rules should be. In different times in different contexts (not)Adults shape shift and continue to be within a contingent subjectivity. The boy soldiers of WW1 or Sierra Leone, the centuria of Spanish Civil Wars, American boy soldiers of the Civil Wars illustrate (not)Adults who inhabit a grey fuzzy zone, where the usual rules of innocence are in suspension, perhaps only a luxury of times of peaceful accord. (not)Adults have to shape shift according to this context. It appears then, that when conflict breaks out, and available resources are mobilised, it is convenient that the usual discourse of innocence break down and the discourse of property is enacted. Where (not)Adults are considered as property of the father and of the state, and used as resources that can be sent off to war, re-branded as neither youth nor children, instead as “our” brave young men and women.

The story of the “murder of innocence” in a shopping mall

The third (not)Adult moral panic examined here, is a striking example of the anxieties and tensions within the discourse of untamed youth and what happens when the story breaks down and youth run out of control ?

This particular moral panic comes from the response to the horror story of the abduction and murder of James Bulger in 1993. Unlike the stories of the Boy Soldiers of Sierra Leone where adults can be seen to corrupt innocence and to encourage untamed youth, in this horror story the children seemingly acted of their own accord, acting from their innate desires. This event would haunt the public imagination for decades to come, as captured in commentary ten years later in the UK Guardian.

It came to symbolise a moral panic about children – the threat of other people’s, the defencelessness of our own.

Blake Morrison, The Guardian, Thursday February 6th 2003, p. 4

The actual moment of abduction was captured on video for all to see. On February 12th 1993, CCTV in a shopping centre on Merseyside captured images of Robert Thompson and Jon Venables, both aged 10, taking James Bulger, aged 2, by the hand. In this video footage, a young boy is seen holding James by the hand, a few paces ahead, another boy leads. James’s mother Denise was inside the butcher’s shop and had let go off him for just two minutes. As they walk through the mall, they appear to be family. Passers-by are seemingly unaware a tragic murder was unfolding right before their eyes. They walked two and a half miles to a railway line where the two boys brutally murdered James. At first the authorities had assumed that the killer was an adult, until the discovery of the CCTV video footage. It was shocking enough that the murder had occurred, but then even more shocking those 10-year-old boys had committed the murder. The video was shown across the world on news programs and created a significant media furore, which became a trigger for another moral panic.

Liverpool is now terrified for her children. In the Mother care shop on the Strand, children’s reins popular in the 1960s are back in demand. Another anxious mother asks

the assistant to put her name on the order list. There are already 70 orders for children’s reins from this one branch of the store.

Phillips and Kettle, The Guardian, Thursday February 12th 2003, p. 3

The UK Guardian journalists Phillips and Kettle described the event as the “Murder of innocence” and where “the most tragic of thefts – something priceless was stolen” (Philips & Kettle 1993). The UK Guardian has maintained extensive on-line press archives on the James Bulger case. These archives tell us that amidst tabloid frenzy the two murderers were compared to Myra Hingley and Saddam Hussein. Some parts of the media also seemed to be trying shift some of the responsibility and blame away from Thompson and Venables, towards the society that allowed such events to occur. For example, the passers by who saw the boys take James away but failed to act were dubbed the “Liverpool 38” (Philips & Kettle 1993). The commentary by Phillips and Kettle is very interesting as an explicit example of the discourses at play and of youth out of control. They call on strong images of untamed youth from classic literature, such as to suggest that William Golding’s fictional universe of juvenile savagery in Lord of the Flies (Golding 1999) was all around us in our housing estates and shopping malls. They raised the public concern emerging that such young people appear to be thumbing their noses at a criminal justice system reluctant to lock them up; and constructing (not)Adults as the perpetrators, rather than the victims, of a culture of moral degeneracy. This shifts the horror story from that of the discourse of untamed youth towards the discourse of property and innocence. They asked what the parents and authorities could have done to protect “our children” to protect their innocence and to look after their children, by shifting the blame away from the young murderers:

The antisocial, delinquent child is – almost always – the abused, damaged or neglected child. The links between the child as victim and the child as victimiser are devastatingly obvious.

Phillips & Kettle, The Guardian, Thursday February 12th 2003, pg 3

Phillips and Kettle recruited the views of experts such as social workers, probation officers, psychologists and psychiatrists, prison governors to validate that these young criminals overwhelmingly come from backgrounds of family breakdown or poor

parenting. They described the murder of James Bulger as being symptomatic of a wider breakdown of the social order where parents are not looking after their own children, where the institutions are failing to look after our kids, where innocence is murdered and the wild desires of untamed youth run amok. Following the moral panic and furore, the authorities and institutions needed to make an example. There was contention over the length of sentence following the trial where again the Home Secretary was called in to act. After appeals, Home Secretary Michael Howard increased their sentence to 15 years. However, the court later ruled that Mr Howard had acted unlawfully when he raised the boys’ tariff. The Guardian (15 March 1999) reported that the European commission of human rights concluded that the trial of James Bulger’s killers had been held in a “highly charged” atmosphere that led to an unfair judgment.

A juror from the 1993 trial said that instead of being found guilty of murder, the boys should have been found “guilty as frightened and largely unaware children who made a terrible mistake and who are now in urgent need of psychiatric and social help”.

Meade, UK Guardian March 1999, p. 4

In December 1999, the European court of human rights argued that the killers of Jamie Bulger had not received a fair trial (Meade 1999). And so, after all of this, Venerable and Thompson were eventually released from jail having served their sentence in 2002. Amidst another media furore and moral panic and a concern that vigilante groups may pursue them, they were given new identities and relocated. Speculation at the time was that they were eventually despatched to Australia in Adelaide.

What is interesting about this case is that it is situated in a similar space to the boy soldiers of the Sierra Leone, where children are not supposed to do these awful adult things. It is the job of parents and institutions to make sure that they do not do these things. As it rests on the edges of what is acceptable, it disrupts the boundary of (not)Adult / adult as a fragile and arbitrary boundary and also demonstrates that the four discourses are still in circulation. The difference is that in Sierra Leone the adults had violated (not)Adult space, but in this instance it had come from within (not)Adult space.

In the discourse of “property” we could ask where were the parents of these awful children? Why weren’t they looking after their own (property)? They are responsible for their children’s actions? It is no surprise that the Guardian archives tell us that the families of Venerable and Thompson were getting death threats, as the vigilantes began to blame the parents.

In the discourse of “growing up” we could suggest, in the absence of appropriate adult support and nurturing from the parents and lack of proper tutelage on adolescent development from the authorities these children had not grown up properly.

In the discourse of “innocence” lies the horror that these children could do something so adult as murder, when they should be playing with toys and children’s games and learning at the right pace at school.

In the discourse of “untamed youth” lies a stark warning of “see what happens if you let them out of control” where they become ruled by wild desires and where adults don’t police innocence and pace the development of growing up. The only solution to the problem is that of the last resort, that of the discipline of the criminal legal system, untamed youth become objects of law and justice is called in to both punish and separate the juvenile criminals and protect society.

An enclosure

In this chapter I have used three examples of Cohen’s version of moral panic to demonstrate that the four discourses of (not)Adult are still in circulation and that they significantly impact on the formation of (not)Adult subjectivity. The moral panics expose the effects of the work that is being done by each discourse, of how both (not)Adults and adults are normalised and made up within systems of what Foucault described as power/knowledge. They set up boundaries, expectations, assumptions and rules and make up the subjects of which they speak. They also begin to expose the range of expert knowledge and disciplines such as medicine and law, which make up and police the boundaries of (not)Adults. They demonstrate the “sayable” and the “unsayable”. All of these discourses can be observed as discourses that exclude (not)Adults as the other from the “adults only” adult world. The discourses validate the

“(not)” in (not)Adult. When the boundaries are broken, abnormals and monsters are created and panic arises, and there are consequences. Where the discourses begin to fray and break down at the edges, the emotional investment in the normality of (not)Adult and adult selfhood calls on an anxiety and fear that the social might break down, that both society and subjectivity are fragile and temporal. A problem is created. And as Foucault (2003) notes, the “idea” of “society” must be preserved, it must defend itself and solve the problem. No one discourse appears to have a particular precedence another, as we can see overlays of the discourses at play. In each of the three examples of moral panic we can see (not)Adult subjectivity as a palimpsest, with each of the four discourses in action. They are unsettled, obscuring, contradicting, agreeing with each other, never totally erasing each other and never totally coherent. In each case, as has been suggested earlier, the appearances of (not)Adult also depends on the position, within the story, taken by the adult. With such contingence and unsettlement, all that can be said is that they are not adults. Having used the moral panics to expose elements of the discourses that contribute to the appearance of this (not)Adult palimpsest, it is also suggested here that the boundary between (not)Adult and adult is fragile and contingent. These discourses are not essential facts and truths but are social and historical constructions. They have particular histories.

The next chapter takes up an account drawn from practice. This “in practice” chapter will highlight how the other three discourses are in operation and how the four discourses work together in an imbricated and messy way, sometimes at cross purposes, other times in complementary ways. Accordingly youth workers and (not)Adults are positioned and made up in different ways depending on the mix and overlay of discourse.

Chapter Four: In Practice

This chapter narrows its focus onto the problem of youth homelessness in Australia and it draws specifically from my personal biography of over twenty years experience in youth affairs, public policy and a focus on the politics of the problem of youth homelessness.

In earlier chapters I was positioned within the text as a researcher / narrator producing a genealogy fashioned from available historical resources and texts. However, both in this chapter and in Chapter Nine, my personal biography is purposefully allowed to leak into the narrative of the text. This leakage is a discursive device that allows me to take up multiple positions within the text, such as a reflexive practitioner and learner as well as the aforementioned researcher/narrator. While the previous chapters looked to the past, this chapter is located more in recent times, to show that the four discourses are still very much alive within the discursive practices of working the problem of youth homelessness in Australia. In this chapter I will examine how the discourses play out in practice using the archived resources that are available to me as the CEO of the Youth Accommodation Association. These resources include personal emails, minutes, reports, notes, photos and diagrams; these resources are considered out of chronological order as I seek to explore threads and patterns, rather than linear progression. The photos and diagrams are included in this text, such as the artwork by workers, for the value they contribute to the richness of the narrative of this text.

In real practice, the four discourses are called up into a discursive mess that is imbricated onto that equally messy palimpsest of (not)Adult. So too, the professional identities and practices of youth workers are also seen here as a messy and provisional palimpsest of contradictory and unsettled discourse. In this field there is always a struggle for coherence for both (not)Adults and workers as positions and subjectivities continuously switch and shift and the boundaries leak. I also make the observation that despite the abundance of contemporary literature on youth studies such as Pilcher (1995); Dwyer & Wyn (2001); Pilcher et al. (2003); Wyn (2004); Holdsworth & Morgan (2005); Crawford (2006); Blatterer (2007), Sercombe, Omaji, Cooper & Love (2002); Bessant, Sercombe and Watts (1998); Melton (1983); Besley (2005), Giroux

(2000); recent theory on youth work practice such as Slattery (2001); and all the secondary references to classic texts that leak through the four discourses into youth work practice; that youth work in Australia is generally “under-theorised” at the day to day practice level. There is significant resistance, particularly from the aging youth workforce, to anything that is written by non-practitioners or academics. The sector places great value on its own experiential learning and its critical impasse on commonsense. I make the observation, drawn from years of experience, that for the youth workers who inhabit this chapter, that bureaucrats, politicians and academics are held in contempt, as they “do not work at the coalface”. On many occasions expert academics have been sidelined by the sector and dismissed as not living in the real world, in preference to people who work at the coalface. Perhaps this is why the great Australian and overseas literature, such as (Pilcher 1995; Dwyer & Wyn 2001; Pilcher et al. 2003; Wyn 2004; Holdsworth & Morgan 2005; Crawford 2006; Blatterer 2007; Sercombe, Omaji, Cooper and Love (2002), Bessant, Sercombe and Watts 1998; Melton 1983; Besley 2005; Giroux 2000) has been largely overlooked, outside of the academy despite the best efforts of Youth Studies Australia to establish itself as the youth studies journal.

From my observations in the field over the last five years, working professionally at the national and state level around the politics of youth homelessness, I conclude that things are slowly changing. As the larger church-based and not for profit organisations reclaim the smaller community based organisation and up the ante on professionalism, and the current rhetoric of evidence based practice and policy that has emerged from the Australian Government, empirical evidence of outcomes has become important. For instance recently the independent work of Chamberlain and Mackenzie (2008), Dr Guy Johnson and Dr Shelley Mallett (2010) has gained currency in day-to-day practice. Whilst, the research by the Australian Housing and Urban Research Institute and Australian Bureau of Statistics and a myriad of contracted consultants is treated with some suspicion by the sector as “policy-based evidence”, where the evidence is perceived to be constructed to support the priori assumption of those whom are paying for the research.

The interface and edges between my biography and the discursive work of this thesis and the story of “(not)Adults@(not)home” presents a symbolic space from which to explore the dynamics of the politic of (not)Adult subjectivity. The idea of “home” is significant in terms of (not)Adults, as it is generally assumed that (not)Adults are at home with their parents until they are ready to leave home as adults. The condition of homelessness for (not)Adults, then, becomes a space where the four discourses breakdown, as (not)Adults are positioned as unwelcome outsiders of both the (not)Adult and adult worlds. “(not)Adults(not)@home” is another deliberately “awkward” word that I use in this chapter to signify an awkward condition where boundaries and rules have been breached and leaked. (not)Adults(not)@home are (not)Adults who is not allowed to be an adult or (not)Adults.

To set the scene for this investigation, I begin with a story from the here and now. I draw attention to the story of Elizabeth Duck.

Elizabeth “(not)Adults (not)@home” Circa 2008

At the time of this study, Elizabeth was a sixteen year old who had a recent lived experience of homelessness in Australia. In April 2008, Elizabeth agreed to share parts of her story in public both in image (see colour and monochrome photos on the adjacent page) and as a text that she presented verbally for a youth homelessness campaign event that I convened at the NSW Parliament House. The photo images by Elizabeth, were also part of a larger photo-exhibition titled More than Just Numbers where (not)Adults had been asked to depict their experience of homelessness either in text or as photos. The result was a striking and emotive exhibition that served a purpose of drawing political and public attention to the stories behind the high numbers of youth homelessness in Australia. According to our own assessment, we were of the opinion that previous campaigns had overused the moral panic of the big numbers of the homelessness count. So by 2008, the large numbers of homeless people in Australia of over 43,000, on any night in 2008 (Chamberlain and MacKenzie 2008, National Youth Commission 2008) had begun to less significance in its impact on public policy. It was time to tell a storyline which sat underneath the “big numbers”.

In her speech at the launch, Elizabeth took up the position of “homeless youth” and shared her personal experiences for an audience, which included her peers, the NSW Minister for Youth, youth workers, advocates and the general public. She recounted a story of her previous 18 months where she had been to various refuges and had lived with seven families for short amounts of time. She spoke of the disruption to her life due to constant moving, never in one place for more than 3 months. Once she had become homeless Elizabeth had dropped out of school, while she had attempted to complete further education (TAFE), but had never completed the course.

Being homeless doesn’t make you any less of a person. People sometimes see you in a different way to the way they see others who have a home to go to. This is one way our society copes with the fact we have people living on the streets.

Elizabeth Duck, Speech at Parliament House (April 2008)

Her story was a sombre account of the experience of homelessness, emphasising the loneliness and disconnection. It was carefully crafted without the sensational storyline of street kid, survival sex or drug problems that often underpin such stories. For the purpose of the event, her story had been tailored to avoid a tragic storyline. It was an attempt to re-story the usual story of homelessness, minus the hopelessness. Elizabeth did not want to stay homeless; she did not want to take the position of homeless young person. She wanted to belong and to have equity of opportunity. She wanted the position of “normal young person”.

Figure 1: “Sitting by a fence”, by Elizabeth, “More than Just Numbers Exhibition” (YAA 2008)

Yet, despite her desires to be seen as normal, her story emphasised her sense of feeling not normal, of being treated differently and being in a position where all discursive expectations begin to fail. For Elizabeth the idea of (not)Adult began to fall apart as the boundaries between adult and (not)Adult began to leak. She spoke of being alone, living in-between the dependent world of children and the independent world of adults, of being exposed to risks, positioned as one of the abnormal homeless untamed youths, both not (not)Adult and not Adult. Sadly, as a participatory action research event, for Elizabeth the whole campaign launch and self-imaging was a failure. Despite some successful attempts towards repositioning herself, Elizabeth’s homeless experience continued. Elizabeth disappeared off the radar shortly after the launch and dropped out of a photographic course at TAFE, yet again.

Elizabeth’s story takes up many different positions and invites a variety of responses. Along the way she is made up by both herself and youth workers and other institutions such as Centrelink, in a variety of ways as a street kid, vagrant, runaway,

throwaway, refuge hopper, hopeless youth, no hoper or a juvenile delinquent. Elizabeth’s story calls on the attention and intervention of a number of discursive practices and knowledge such as that of the child protection system, youth homelessness workers, education and police/juvenile justice.

Figure 2: “Alone” by Elizabeth, “More than Just Numbers Exhibition” (YAA 2008)

Other images and texts from the exhibition reiterated Elizabeth’s reflections of being alone and abandoned, such as the anonymous poem (below), which accompanied a cold stark picture submitted for the exhibition, of rough sleeping in a dark space underneath a concrete staircase. The poem captured a moment where all the discourses of (not)Adult are not working, of a lonely space where the rules and boundaries between (not)Adult and adult have broken down, of feeling non-human, of being an outsider:

My home could be everywhere or no where. My daily meal consists of anything or nothing. I am being, I am human, I am homeless. If only people could see me for whom I am. And help me through this all. Does anyone care? Will this loneliness ever end? How many stairs do I have to climb?

Anon, “More than just numbers exhibition” (YAA 2008)

It is apparent that public space significantly changes for these outsiders. And so, other images in the exhibition reframed commonplace objects and revealed public locations to have different meanings and utility for homeless people. Thus, as part of this transformation, a football stand, children’s play equipment and a bus stand became a place to sleep sheltered from the rain. A garbage bin became a source for uneaten food. And an innocuous public park became an unsafe space, a killing field where a homeless person had been murdered.

Figure 3: “Home”, Anon, “More than Just Numbers Exhibition” (YAA, 2008)

From my professional experience, I have observed that the child protection authorities, the legal system, the welfare workers and families, positioned in the discourse of property, are generally in dispute as to who actually owns or is responsible for these (not)Adults. Ownership, rather than being contested, is actually “not” being contested, as the “property” is being abandoned. For example, as part of an economic argument, there has been an ongoing dispute in NSW as to whether younger (not)Adults, such as Elizabeth, are actually objects of child protection regulation (more expensive) or youth homelessness projects (less expensive) (YAA 2003). There is the perception in the sector that in order to cost shift, that (not)adults such as Elizabeth are

diverted into the cheaper option of homelessness as the State defers its obligation to take up control and responsibility of (not)Adults as property. The contention is that (not)Adults such as Elizabeth are described as abandoned by their parents, or not owned. They are an asset without management and a liability or risk in need of management. In the US these (not)Adults are pragmatically described as throwaways (NCFY 2009) or push outs (US Government 1980).

This policy issue and the question of ownership and responsibility were the focus of YAA General Meetings 2005-2007, where over a period of time, participants developed an Unaccompanied Children in SAAP Policy, where “SAAP” was a homelessness funding program in Australia.

YAA members are of the firm opinion that it is DoC’s responsibility to contact the parents and to determine parental responsibility accordingly. The reason being that if YSAAP have the responsibility of establishing parental responsibility it raises potential conflict for the service. This conflict arises between building a relationship with the child whilst liaising with parents or guardians. An example of this conflict is represented in the scenario whereby the child has expressed the wish for the service not to contact the parents and as a consequence of this DoC's policy, the service must then go against the wishes of the child and liaise with the parents. This situation would jeopardise the relationship and trust between the service and the child.

Coffey, Kemp & Malone (2006, p. 3)

The minutes and discussion papers of the YAA General meetings document a call by advocates who might call up the discourse of innocence depict youth homelessness as an injustice against the very nature of childhood and call out for immediate rescue and protection from premature exposure to the adult world, particularly for (not)Adults under 16 years of age. That (not)Adults have rights to the safety and security of a quarantined innocence. In this view there is sympathy towards Elizabeth and antipathy to the “bad” parents who have exposed Elizabeth to the adult world.

Alternatively, to the view of the YAA advocates, as Elizabeth is already out of home, where being at home and in quarantine from the adult world is a social indicator of being (not)Adult, this might also position her as untamed. In this view Elizabeth becomes a threat. And so, authorities might consider her to be dangerous, beyond

salvation, a future criminal, or a potential drug addict and respond to protect society from imagined threats. Often in Australia the juvenile justice institution is another form of youth refuge. Some might also argue that the very same people who rush in to help her, in a sense, create youth homeless for Elizabeth in their interaction, as she becomes positioned subject within the discursive practices of (not)Adult(not)@home.

There are other professionals such as psychologists, youth workers and social workers, who utilise techniques of counselling, case management and adult development to call on the discourse of growth, to get these (not)Adults back on track onto the normalised pathways to adulthood and to regulate proper growth. And so homelessness positions these (not)Adults outside the “norm” exposed to the lack of settlement of the discursive practices and knowledges of the four discourses, working together and at cross purposes, apportioning blame, responsibility and claiming authority.

Whatever happened to the revolution?

Throughout the history of YAA, the concepts of “rights”, “activism” and “advocacy” have positioned YAA (and its membership) as a youth advocacy movement, which took the moral high ground in its work, with youth homelessness as “the cause” (Coffey 2009, Maunders 1984). At various times YAA has even been perceived as a radical organisation (Irving and Maunders 1987) by positioning itself within a dispute around the discourse of property. The activism of YAA operated in ways of resistance to both the imagined spectre of the “system”, the institution of the family and contested the family or State’s control and ownership of (not)Adults. YAA has often lobbied for a “youth rights” and “social justice framework” and stood up for the rights of (not)Adults@(not)home to own themselves and calling for them to be independent (van Ryk 1984). Within this context youth homelessness is understood here as a fragile story that exists in a tension with the discourses of growth, innocence and untamed youth.

There appears to have been an unusual growth of participation in activism and community advocacy in Australia in the late 1970s. This idea is supported by evidence in the material in the YAA archives and in broader research on youth studies. For

instance, Maunders (1984) tells us that, in the seventies, coinciding with a heightened sense of youth culture, there was a huge awakening in the area of government policy and social awareness around the issue of homelessness, unemployment, and disadvantage for young people. We can see evidence of this activism in the YAA photo archives of a YAA street march in the early 1980s:

Figure 4: YAA March the Streets, from “25 Years of YAA”, Coffey, October 2005

The public noise and moral panic about youth homelessness, coincided with the establishment of a number of initiatives such as the Community Employment Program (1983), Community Youth Support Scheme (1976), Special Youth Employment Training Program (1976) and newly established “youth focused” government departments such as the NSW Department of Youth and Community Services (1972). In 1979 the Commonwealth established the Youth Services Scheme to fund emergency youth homeless services, targeting (not)Adults up to age of 18.

In 1988 Youth workers Sue Gibbons and Peter Cronau, were commissioned by YAA, to write a history of youth homelessness in NSW. While they only produced a first draft of this text as YAA’s resources and attention were diverted elsewhere, fortunately it was distributed in its unfinished form. As with most under-resourced and

overstretched NGO organisations the YAA archives are full of undated drafts and unfinished projects. There are also many papers and notes that reflect an opinion, rather than a genuine policy position that had been developed in consultation and collaboration with the sector. In my experience, as their origins become more obscured as time passes, often these opinions get used as makeshift policy positions or are embedded in organisational narratives.

In their analysis, Cronau and Gibbons (1989), attribute an increase in youth homelessness in the 1970s to an entrenchment of youth unemployment, increased poverty and “changes to the nature of the family” (Cronau Gibbons 1989, p. 3). With Parson’s (1955) notions of families as adult making factories and the discourse of protection and property in mind (and perhaps Plato), Cronau and Gibbons suggest, in the pejorative sense, that the changes to the modern family have led to a failure in its obligation to protect (not)Adults, to help them become members of the society and stabilise adult personalities. With assumptions aligned with the discourse of property they blame the parents for abandoning their children, for not looking after their own and contributing to their homelessness. Homeless is taken literally as a lack of home, a failure of the family and is a call for the State to take control.

The first youth refuge established in Australia, as a home away from home, Kedron Lodge was established in Queensland in 1972, by Father Wally Defres. The first secular youth refuge in NSW was imaginatively named the “Young Peoples Refuge” (YPR). YPR opened in February 1975 in Chippendale, as a temporary alternative environment for young people, as a home away from home. It later moved to hip suburb of Annandale. Soon after, other youth refuges opened in Doonside “Wanbinga”, North Sydney “Taldemunde” and the Eastern Suburbs “Caretakers Cottage” (Cronau 1989). In 1979, these youth refuges began to form networks and were quick to establish into a coalition. From the minutes of the first official meeting of this coalition, held on 19th September 1979, it became known as Youth Refuge Action Group (YRAG). The minutes tell us that the first meeting was thrown open to discuss whether there should be a YRAG and to establish terms of reference. Without much ado, they quickly arrived at the affirmative. As another organisation the Combined Refuges Fundraising Committee, was already working on attracting funding for youth refuges, YRAG

decided that its scope would be limited to developing data arguments for lobbying (for better worker conditions), information and practice exchange and developing new practices. The formation of a YAA as a peak body set the stage for some action. Around this time in the archives, the heroic figure of the youth homelessness “activist” emerges, offering a strong critique of the system. As someone who was there in the early days of YRAG, and taking up the position as an activist yet also casting aspersions on the (not)Adults in the homelessness “circuit”, Peter Cronau noted that:

The early days of youth refuges were in the days before the “circuit” had developed. Most kids attending refuges then came directly from the “family home”, unlike these days. By the end of the ‘70s deinstitutionalisation was underway and increasingly kids were coming from foster homes and ward hostels. The few refuges in NSW at this time struggled with the extent of demand and the lack of funding. It should be noted that along with this move to “deinstitutionalisation”, came a preparedness of government funding departments to go along with these changes – but sadly not to provide the necessary funding. This is the main reason that the Youth Refuge Action Group first started, which I was part of. It battled the funding department during the early 80s until a proper funding model was established.

Peter Cronau – (email 27th February 2007)

Paul Van Ryk (2005) recounted some further revolutionary banter, to say that:

Many of us also had very strong critiques of the family as it was then socially constructed and again recognized the need to conduct work in questioning and challenging this construction, which at times put us at odds with other children’s and youth services, and certainly continually made us less than popular with governments and funders.

Paul Van Ryk, (email 14th September 2005)

The early youth refuges were not purpose built. Instead they were usually neglected properties with three or four bedrooms, as a rejection of an institutional model they configured to resemble the “normal home”. Young people would share bedrooms. In these early days the workforce was mainly volunteer and unprofessional. The early heroes of this story were a mixture of hip young adults, faith based do-gooders and

rescue workers. They were engaged in an altruistic project of working with the practical problem of (not)Adults abandoned by their parents and living outside the home. However, despite the espoused political rhetoric about the family unit by Van Ryk (Van Ryk 2005), at day to day the practice level, most of these people attempted to replicate the family unit often positioning themselves as de facto house parents (Cronau 2007)

Many of the workers services tried to further disrupt understandings of the traditional nuclear family. An example of this early family model can be found in a youth refuge in Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs. According to a History of Caretakers written by youth workers Matthews, P., Maler, D., Fulford, M. & Coulter, D. in 1984, the youth refuge in Paddington, “Caretakers Cottage”, was linked to a volunteer “extended family group” at Eastern House, which was next door to the refuge. By appearances it was very close the scenario that was idealised in the popular Australian TV soap opera “Home and Away”. The members of the family were two parents (including a Reverend), a 15- year-old sister, 18-year-old brother and a female and male university student.

This group is able to provide a family atmosphere … this involves sharing meals together, watching television, participating in family events …. and helping with the daily chores … enables the cottage residents to form friendships. Consequently these friendships bring the children at the Cottage even closer to the extended family, so much so that many of the friendships formed still continue.

Matthews, P., Maler, D., Fulford, M. & Coulter, D, (1984, p. 3)

In their attempt to replicate home and family they tried to restore the simple law and order calling up the discourse of property, with the parents in charge of “their” kids with simple rules and the obligation for obedience. The workers also observed that as a result of their condition of homelessness and abandonment many of the young people at the service had low self esteem and were angry, confused and afraid and that the condition of homelessness had damaged the natural progression and growth of these (not)Adults. Therefore the worker’s job was to help them get back on the right path, to fix them up … within the discourse of growth, calling up an early version of the case management professional.

According to Caretakers’ philosophy statement in 1984:

… kids are OK and they have a place in our society. We attempt to tap into their energy and spirit and make them feel positive about themselves

Matthews, P., Maler, D., Fulford, M. & Coulter, D, (1984, p.1)

Yet as suggested earlier, it was not an “unconditional welcome”, as the young people who stayed at Caretakers had to abide by house rules which included the usual directives of no sex, no drugs, no violence or alcohol, 11pm and 1am curfews, board, compulsory attendance at house meetings and respect of private space.

There also comes a time with every refuge when the needs of the individual clash with those of the service where is impossible to compromise, the service is withdrawn and the young person is asked to find accommodation elsewhere.

Matthews, P., Maler, D., Fulford, M. & Coulter, D, (1984, p.1)

Tracking the lexical chains within the Caretakers Cottage documents there is evidence of multiple shifting modes of operation at play. Within the altruistic youth worker “love-in mode” as a biblical good shepherd within the discourse of property, young people are called “kids” and the workers are positioned as owners and advocates and the site is called a “home”. But when problems are mentioned and the case management worker steps in the “kids” become “young people” and the mode shifts from advocate to youth worker and the young people are within a service. It is not their home anymore and workers are not their family. This is a “service” that can be withdrawn which can then be given to someone more deserving, whereas the term “kids” suggests an ownership (i.e. “our kids”), property and a more solid responsibility. Elsewhere, the workers at Caretakers appear to have held some of the other classic discourse and themes in their heads. For example, the altruistic approach is not held where the young people were also seen as wild beasts, in need of taming, recalling a heroic “rescue worker/lion tamer”. There was a concern that if they were left to their own devices they would resort to their wild desires of sex, drugs and rock n roll. G Stanley Hall’s (1904) adolescent sturm and stress also figures strongly. From the notes on the staff-training program, Matthews noted that the job of taming these powerless wild beasts was quite hard …

One of our hardest tasks is getting a young person to look at their situation in real terms without being consumed with a sense of powerlessness and drop back into the ever near state of escapism whether it be the latest romance, being pregnant, constant street battles, anger, depression tripping, getting drunk, getting stoned. Life is tough if you’re young and as youth workers we often feel overwhelmed by the inadequacy of long-term prospects and resources.

Matthews, P., Maler, D., Fulford, M. & Coulter, D, (1984 p.1)

According to Cronau and Gibbons (1989), in those first few years of refuges in NSW, there was a rapid turnover of volunteer houseparents. Further to this, there was difficulty in recruiting and retaining suitably experienced house parents. So, the house parents phase did not last very long, but the desire to create a home for the homeless continued. By natural attrition, this model phased out over the years to be replaced by the paid “youth worker” model. In this time, funding for 24/7 youth refuges suddenly got more expensive and the tension between the impact paid employment and the cause became increasingly more obvious. An interesting impact of Government funding and paid and unionised workers, was an decreased status of volunteer workers as opposed to paid workers (Cronau and Gibbons 1989). Eventually the purpose of YRAG (as the Youth Refuge Association) shifted from being about “working conditions”, “reflection” and “support”, moving towards “action” and structural “advocacy” for both young people and workers, calling on a stronger reiteration of the “activist” hero. David Annis Brown was one such activist hero and early leader in the late 1970s to late 1980s. He has left behind a large body of reflective text that captures his version (opinion) of these early days through the eyes of an activist hero. In his own words YRA:

… decided that things needed changing outside of our services, that just talking about it amongst ourselves wasn’t going to do much and that we needed a base from which to work for change

YAA Archives David Annis-Brown (1984, p.2)

The feel of movement and protest is represented in the iconography of the first YAA logo (see below) from 1985. It provides a good visual image, and an obvious attempt to begin to challenge exclusion. Left to right, in the logo, we have the youth homelessness

movement supported by the “square” male, liberated female (wearing pants), the groovy guy, the professional woman, the old bloke and the pregnant woman.

Figure 5: 1980s YAA Logo (YAA Archives)

By the time I joined the staff of YAA in 1988, the network of youth refuges across Australia and YAA had well been established and I was quickly swept up into the activist storyline. Along the way the heroic stance of Van Ryk, Cronau, David Annis Brown, Janet Ryan and Monica Wolf had attained an almost mythical status. It seemed that they had done all of the theorising, politicising and reference to the literature on behalf of everyone else and everyone accepted their views in good faith. Yet, from the beginning there were embedded tensions, as a discursive battle over property, growth and innocence verses untamed youth, played out in the heads of youth workers, as well as the ethical dilemma of the “cause” versus the interests of the “workforce industry”.

In terms of radical politics and activism, as soon as services received funding their stance outside the “system” was compromised as YAA took up a position within the discourse of property. Well aware of this, yet taking the moral high ground of leadership, David spoke of an altruistic agenda of structural advocacy. Yet at the same time this existed in a tension with the youth workers unaware of their status as disguised agents of the state or as youth workers indulged in more pastoral fantasies of “looking after their flock”. Or even “professional” youth workers looking after their own employment conditions. The question could always remain open, especially from a Government perspective, as to whether the advocacy and call for systemic change is for the benefit of the young people or for the worker’s employment conditions. In recent times, from my own “behind the scenes” experience, advocacy by the sector has often been perceived by the Government sector as being opaque rather than transparent. Often

the sector has been accused of arguing for the preservation of jobs rather than addressing issues or systemic design and change to stop homelessness. This continues to be the great youth worker paradox. Some of this tension is echoed by Paul Van Ryk (1982) in his report as the YRA Executive Officer at the Annual General Meeting in 1982, where he noted the problem of YRA’s role in advocacy in balancing the:

Commitment to support and development of services at an individual level, and that of working for fundamental change at the level of economic and social structures.

Paul Van Ryk (1982, p.2)

Despite the decision to focus on structural advocacy, at least in the eyes of the funding bodies, YRA perhaps was still positioned as an industry body, perceived as looking after the workers/organisations in the eyes of its members. Yet also as an advocacy policy body advocating for (not)Adult@(not)home. This assumes that the “asks” of the workers agree with the “asks” of their management committees and (not)Adults@(not)home. Two years later, Van Ryk warned the sector to be cautious, (perhaps with faint recall of the long standing dispute between Plato and Aristotle on the discourse of property). Just as the sector was about to receive substantial funding with the commencement of Supported Accommodation Assistance Program (SAAP) funding, Van Ryk was concerned that some serious rethinking was needed, to ensure that they didn’t repeat the institutional welfare practices, from which they were supposed to be providing an alternative. He was worried that the authenticity of the advocacy and activism in their work was under threat, under the control of the obligation of managerialism, accountability and professionalism, which comes hand in hand with government funding. While Van Ryk’s concerns about the “sector” as an “institution” remain contentious, YAA would also spend some considerable time over the next twenty years navel gazing on its relationship to this concern, seeking a resolution on whether it was: a worker organisation; youth advocacy peak; a network; a regulatory body; or, an “industry body” similar to a union for members services. The navel gazing was temporarily resolved in 2005, when after following some tactical prompts by myself as the CEO, the YAA Board of Management wrote a vision / purpose statement and strategic plan which prioritised working for young people and working with services to improve their capacity to work with young people. Under this

design, it was possible to reconcile that services or workers jobs, might or could be collateral damage, if it meant better outcomes for young people.

Yet in 2011, as jobs and services come under threat as the service system is pressured yet again to reform, YAA is increasingly called on as an industry body by the sector and this continued to undermine YAA’s credibility as an advocacy body. While the discussion at YAA meetings talked up young people’s rights, systemic advocacy and the “system”, youth workers also referred to the young people as “our kids” and claimed exclusivity of the issue of youth homelessness in their field of expertise. In a sense then, “youth homelessness” was their turf, and they claimed some ownership of the young people, after all, their parents and the system had abandoned them. This idea became a huge concern for workers in 2008 when the Australian Governments homelessness “The Road Home” aka “White Paper” (Australian Government 2008) suggested that homelessness was everybody’s business and started to challenge the sector’s “ownership” and began talking about reform.

At the heart of this matter lies the historical unsettlement around (not)Adults as property and the ownership and management of that property which, despite the rhetoric of empowerment and rights, is something that youth workers struggle to reconcile. The issue of ownership came into the foreground in 2008, as the Australian Government’s vision for ending homelessness in its White Paper on homelessness The Road Home (2008), attempted to mainstream the responsibility of homelessness to the whole of government and community. Services began to get increasingly more anxious about protecting their turf and protecting their jobs.

Field studies from Northern NSW

From a statement of philosophy from a youth homelessness refuge in Byron Bay in Northern NSW in 1986:

… we are committed to understanding how young people are oppressed in our society and as a result of this understanding, taking action to ensure that all young people we come in contact with are treated as fully human, equal and much respected members of society … in reality young people are intelligent, zestful, powerful cooperative vital to

the world and loving toward each other … any appearance to the contrary are merely the effects of past mistreatment and unresolved pain … as a united force, let’s break the chain of pain and uncover the reality!

YAA Archives (1986, p.1)

This text exemplifies the way that workers at this refuge really believed they were doing good activism and youth advocacy. Within the discourse of property, they are positioned as a “good shepherd” who claims to be looking after the best interests of the sheep and creating opportunity to relocate to those greener pastures. However, it is questionable as to whether either collectively or individually, they really thought about activism as much of the time as their leaders (such as Van Ryk) would have us believe. The practices suggest that this is not the case. Maybe it’s a bit more about keeping up appearances. At the practical day to day level, in contrast to Van Ryk’s notion of a broad commitment to social justice and counterculture, the rhetoric wears thin and the pragmatic job of looking after (not)Adult(not)@home takes hold. And so, with these words, in their effort to work on the (not)Adults, they couch their work with the heroic liberatory activist and distance themselves from both families and state. Free the young people.

They underemphasise the discourse of property; the professionalism of the case management worker and the spectre of untamed youth and cherish the innocence. However, still the discourse of growth manifests as in the ideal that (not)Adults need the “refuge” of their service in order to be able to naturally move from that idealised state of childhood innocence into adulthood, their “rescue work” is sublime, branded in the moral high ground as a rights based approach. And the discourse of property is embedded in their desire to claim ownership of the (not)Adults as their kids from the either the State or the family.

Youth workers versus the “system”

In most of my early years working in the sector, the words “activism”, “advocacy”, “empowerment” and “social justice” have been prominent concepts in general sector chatter. Over time this has decreased. There was also a clear sense in the early days of

who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. The good guys (aka “the sector”) worked against the system while the bad guys (aka the suits or academics) worked for the system. This is captured in the following illustration, in the 1980s. It was an image that appeared in countless newsletters and publications, strongly supporting the idea of the youth worker as the activist hero and as a rescue worker.

Figure 6: Cartoon (anon.), Youth Affairs Journal 4(1), p. 17

The work of John Tomlinson, a 1970s Australian activist, is scattered around in the YAA archive boxes. He appears to have been something of an activist folk hero in the early days. His work is relevant in constructing understandings of the ideological drivers for the “activist” hero and how they make up (not)Adult subjectivity in their day-to-day practice. Tomlinson proposed an orthodox Marxist/psychoanalytic dichotomy, as a schema for social worker activism in the seventies, as captured in his text “Is Band Aid Social Work Enough?” (1977). According to Tomlinson, social work could be distinguished into two different “ideologies” and different approaches, that being:

• Conflict Ideology which leads to a “Marxian sociology” and community work and social action which works on society, so that society will be changed to meet the needs of the client groups, and;

• Consensus ideology, which leads to functional sociology, individual social case work which works on the ego, so the individual is moulded to fit into the society.

In 1984, in a strong call to action at a conference in Launceston on social work, Tomlinson asked participants why people became social workers or youth workers. His comments dramatically emphasise the dilemma of youth workers as “agents of the state dressed in Levis”.

I would like you just to spend a minute thinking about why we are engaged in the process of training students in social welfare. Are we training them to become: soft cops; activists; ideological purists; future tutors; husbands and wives of the bourgeois; malcontents; helpers; departmental operators; administrators; cool out caseworkers … hopefully others are training them to become: empowerers; whistle blowers; urban guerillas; or at least urbane social critics.

Tomlinson (1984, no page numbers)

The principles of Tomlinson’s conflict ideology, of not blaming the individual, of speaking out for young people’s rights to participate, agree with the central counter hegemonic ethos of YAA’s early days. This thinking also resonates with the civil rights movements in the United States in the fifties and sixties and especially the counter hegemonic work of Myles Horton and his “Highlander School” (Horton & Freire 1990). Tomlinson’s conflict ideology assumes that there is such a thing as the “system” (like Nietzsche’s cold monster) and that workers and young people were outside that system. Tomlinson appears to think he is outside discourse and outside the system and boldly resists the discourse of (not)Adults as property, as a heroic activist, to suggest that (not)Adults are able to be their own owners. He seeks to rescue the (not)Adults from the corruption of capitalism and materialism, to think collectively and participatory, instead of individualistic. Tomlinson ideas were the recipe for another attempt at a heroic youth revolution.

The ongoing theme of working with young people against the system was still in operation in 2000, in some fieldwork that I did with a group of twenty workers in the Mid North Coast of NSW (Coffey 2001). Having had a sense that the group had been put to sleep by too many verbal presentations, for variation I asked the participants to use some images and stories in order to present to me (as the outsider) what it was like as a youth worker working with young people in Coffs Harbour. The workers were then invited to talk through their artworks. Drawing from these two examples and from my records on the commentary from the workers, there is some evidence of the sort of assumptions that are embedded in their practice and understanding. These people demonstrated the pastoral impulse and the call to rescue to protect the innocent babes. In both drawings the young people are portrayed as innocent, natural and essential. As victims they are oppressed by the system.

Figure 7: “Working with young people in Coffs Harbour”, drawings by workers, October 2000

As the adult educator (and activist) Mike Newman (1994) or Paulo Freire (1986) might have hoped, they have clearly Defined the Enemy (Newman 1994) or named the oppressor. They have named what and whom they are dealing with; who the good and bad guys are and they have announced whose side they are on. They are positioned as advocates for a civil society and are the local chapter for social responsibility. The workers answer a call to rescue, to work to beat the system and to give these young people a fair go. In discussion, as part of the workshop they spoke to their drawings. They tended to speak of their “client group” as a homogenous group and that they knew their client group. In the drawings the worker is positioned (either visibly or invisibly) as an objective observer, separate to the system. The oppressive version of Coffs Harbour is perceived by the workers to be experienced by the young people, the workers are outside this tension as well. The drawings suggested that they have the vision and are able to see all of the problems. They know who is to blame, not themselves, not the young people. They talked the big talk, of wanting big answers to the big problems. They thought that they were up for the job; they were the best people because they weren’t part of the system. They considered themselves as ideally positioned as to be able to do some vital community development, capacity building, and empowerment for the young people and on a broader level to build social capital and work towards a civil society, which sees the power taken away from the system.

Having said that, they also felt isolated and defeated, eager to blame the system for not giving them enough resources to do any of this work. Their language reveals a

number of the discourses that were at work on that day, often working at cross- purposes. In these workshops there was an emphasis on words such as workers and clients, which evoke the discursive practices of case management, where the word “worker” denotes a professional distance. That it is just a job of case managing the discourse of growth and that (not)Adults are clients. Yet the activist is there too, on one hand resisting the discourse of property, yet at the same time claiming them as their own and hoping to rescue the innocent (not)Adults from the evil of the system. Like the workers in Caretakers they appear to be working in multiple discourses, but are unaware of this.

Perspectives of Homeless and Unemployed Kids (PHUK)”

Despite an abundance of rhetoric of young people’s rights within the YAA archives, surprisingly there is not much evidence of an actual (not)Adult voice and participation in the policy history of YAA. If anything, there appears to be reluctance for (not)Adults getting involved in the adult-world of youth affairs politics. It is very much the case of youth worker’s speaking on behalf of the interests of their charges, of “our kids” … again unconsciously working within the discourse of property. (not)Adults remain the object of the work, but do not appear to participate in the immediate decision making processes that frame their lives. To the (not)Adult@(not)home, the world of youth work, youth organisations and the politics of funding might be something that they only have to tolerate and consider as part of the process of their day to day lived existence and for overcoming the conditions of homelessness. My analysis here is that a presumption of many youth workers, that young people are not interested in the politics of youth affairs or in the governance of youth refuges. It is also assumed that they are not yet mature enough (discourse of growth) to be able to deal with the complexities of youth affairs or governance. The exception to this is the occasional young person who is interested in a career as a youth worker or the concession of the occasional focus group session. In contrast, when the independent national enquiries into youth homelessness occurred in 1982, 1989 and 2007, the voices of (not)Adults were considered paramount.

Similarly, in the Green Paper/White Paper process conducted by the Federal Government in 2008 government, ironically taking a high moral ground with regards to

self interest, wanted to hear from the consumers (i.e. “young people”) rather than just the providers or advocates. From my experience and perspective looking from behind the scenes, again there was a significant (and convenient) suspicion and lack of respect from government suggesting that the community sector was like a fraternal guild or a closed shop, throwing up smoke and mirrors and that it was mainly about preserving jobs couched as youth activism.

A presumption by workers that young people find the world of youth advocacy work and organisations to be boring, has a precedent in a report commissioned by YAA in early 1982, where young people who had been invited to YAA monthly network meetings described them as too long, too boring and mainly about worker related issues. The young people had said that there was not enough talk about issues for young people. Following this, YAA organising a specific youth gathering at the Careforce Charlton Centre Ashfield on the 3rd April 1983, to facilitate youth participation and discussion, as an alternative to the monthly network meetings. A report titled Perspectives of Homeless and Unemployed Kids, abbreviated as “PHUK” (Elwin 1983), documents the gathering. A working committee of young people was set up for the event, though in my analysis closer scrutiny raises doubt as to whether so called “young people” were actually young youth workers or young people in homeless services or ex- residents. For my own experience this often happens in the concessional focus groups, when the “young people” are typically future youth workers or youth workers making up the numbers. After securing funding, they convened a whole day youth forum, followed by the ubiquitous carrot of the ceremonial barbeque and disco. The NSW Minister for Family and Community Services, Frank Walker, who in 1983 also appears to have been generally sympathetic and supportive of YAA, opened the event and facilitated an open forum with young people.

The recommendations that arose from the forum, argued that the youth consultation event should be held regularly (Elwin 1983). At the forum day, as with all community forums, the opinions of the young people were captured on texta pen and butchers paper, prompted by trigger questions. Participants at the forum responded to the open ended trigger question, which asked what was needed, with a range of gripes, such as: “We want better facilities” … “Curfews should be more flexible” … “Kids feel

pressured to get a job” … “There should be dole for under 16s” … “Rules in refuges were just like prison” … “We are not scum” (Elwin 1983, p. 27). When asked an opinion about the youth workers, the responses were mostly critical: “Workers don’t know what to do … Couldn’t help a girl who slashed her wrists because she was depressed” … (they) “don’t understand us” … “good intentions but don’t know what is going on” … “we ask for more dedication from workers” … “we want more say in rules” (Elwin 1983, 28).

Away from the gaze of youth workers, and perhaps with less pressure to perform as a young person as recipient of youth work or welfare, the mythical discourses that the youth workers tell themselves about being at one with the young people or as a alternative to the family unit, do not hold. Many of the comments from young people suggest children in clichéd generational conflict with their parents, they suggest young people feeling excluded and they threaten with untamed youth. The butcher paper record of the conversation, captured in the report (Elwin 1983, p. 27-29) reads as a story of children complaining about family rules, testing the limits or mythologising the generation gap, where the “oldies” (that is, the youth workers) don’t really understand what the young people are going through. There is a complete absence of any discussion of any bigger picture topics around social action or youth rights, such as poverty, exclusion or rights to housing. It is all small picture issues and personal gripes. This suggests that in this instance, perhaps, separated from the influence of youth workers, oppression, social action and activism is more in the minds of the workers than the young people. The heroic figure of the “activist” working outside of the system does not hold here, the young people understand the workers as being part of and within the system, as another authority which controls them (evoking the discourse of property) and as a repair and maintenance professional providing a service within the discourse of growth.

The event attracted the attention of the media. Yet the coverage disappointed the organisers as it failed to pick up that young people had organised the event. The Sydney Morning Herald on April 5th 1983, ran photos of Minister Walker standing with two young people with Mohawk hairstyles with the patronising caption “Pow Wow Time

for Big Chief of Welfare”. It described the event as a gathering designed for young people to talk to the Minister about their problems.

“Yeah, we want to be able to fit into society and not be labelled as punks and scum” said Shane Chenery, 18, another with the Mohawk cut.

Sydney Morning Herald, (3rd April 1982, p.3)

In the photos the young people with the mohawks looked dressed for the part as untamed youth. Within the discourse of growth, in this patronising article the adults could be seen to be humouring the young people that the whole affair was a day of play where untamed youth got a chance to pretend they were adults. But not be taken seriously. According to the evaluation (Elwin 1983, p. 24) the young people complained that the press had missed their message:

The misfocus of the press coverage was disappointing … PHUK was misrepresented and the coverage misfocused

Elwin (1983, p. 24)

More recently, in 2006 I spoke to a group of workers in Southern NSW, who told me that collecting data raised concerns around confidentiality for young people they wanted me to advocate on their behalf to stop the invasive data collection. After a little more questioning, I found out that the young people had been influenced by workers to become worried about not giving too much information away to the system, that they might get tracked. So in reality, the issue was fabricated by workers acting as activists on behalf of young people. This was a worker issue, not a young person’s issue, as part of a fantasy or real concern about surveillance. When I pointed out to workers that under the current funding climate, service funding levels were under threat, if their data was better then perhaps their future funding prospects might remain more viable. Suddenly as they became more concerned about their jobs, the data suddenly became a “non” issue for the group and alternative tactics for getting consent for data became possible and they shifted positions within the discourse of property. The rights of the “young people” became secondary.

One year after PHUK, in 1984, at a State Housing Conference in NSW, youth workers Michelle Strickland and Trisha Benson (1986) presented an interesting paper that looked at the gaps in the current service models. It problematised the meaning of “support”. The paper presented another aspect of Van Ryk’s unresolved concern around institutionalisation and which illustrates the complexity and influence of the role of youth worker in relation to young people. Strickland described youth work as a nebulous term:

“Are youth workers friends, parents, landlords, support workers, support workers or counselors? Some try to be all of these, which inevitably results in disaster” and “Why do services reproduce a very institutional mode [i.e. the family] , the very one they were established to move away from? … youth workers attempt to be everyone’s friend”

Strickland and Benson (1986, no page numbers)

The “Youth Worker Factory” in the 1980s

In the mid eighties, as captured in the minutes of the monthly YAA general meetings and policy forum, in my analysis, there is a pattern of two key themes that continuously repeat in the discussions.

• One was focused on the politics of representation, an ongoing debate about the representative structures within the constitution of YAA and whether YAA was working for young people or workers.

• The other focused on the role of YAA in terms of supporting sector development and demonstrating its leadership in advocacy.

With regards to the latter, one of the strategies which emerged from those meetings was to push for sector based training for youth workers, instead of youth worker education situated in tertiary institutions or training provided by Government departments.

Surprisingly, the Department of Youth and Community Services in NSW (YACS) initially supported this idea with some substantial funding, and an “agency development” (or Training) position was established within YAA in the mid eighties.

From here, YAA was able to develop and offer a range of in house training and education packages for youth workers in NSW, with a curriculum designed specifically by YAA people for workers who were working in the residential setting. The best known of these packages were: the Youth Workers Induction Manual (1985); The Youth Worker Factory (1986-1988) and New and Old Workers Workshops (1986- 1990). YAA also ran a number of State Youth Housing Conferences which continued the youth worker training / sector development theme.

Despite high levels of participation by youth workers, the funding was withdrawn in 1990 for both the training and policy parts of YAA. Perhaps due to the “political” content of the YAA training the newly formed Department of Family and Community Services, shifted its opinion as to whether the sector was best positioned to deliver its own training and perhaps whether they even desired a politicised sector. After a prolonged unsuccessful trial period with the community based Youth Sector Training Council, which plundered the YAA training curriculum, this eventually led to the establishment of the NGO Training Unit within the Department. The shift in funding also coincided with change to a more conservative Liberal Government at the State level, increased accountabilities for public funds, a more rigorous accreditation of training organisations, an explosion of other less political and accredited training packages run by other organisations across the sector and a higher participation in customised tertiary youth and social work courses. For the YAA world, this event marked the beginning of the shift towards managerialism in the nineties (Coffey 2005). Unsurprisingly, most of the YAA and Youth Sector Training Council educators left the sector to work for the NGO training unit, so the curriculum continued, while it gradually shifted from the pastoral/advocacy towards case management/ risk management ethos and the altruistic good shepherd hero increasingly began to be imbricated by the case management professional, calling on the discourse of growth.

Within the YAA archives, this curriculum has been preserved and archived. Thanks to the (then) fairly recent invention and availability of the photocopier, after each Youth Worker Factory session, YAA trainers would compile all the notes, resources and material developed by the group and package it together, usually unedited, so that each participant had a record of the workshop. As a record of a workshop of ideas, capturing

the support material, discussion and “craft projects” these documents provide a significant insight into youth work practices.

The following text is an exploration of a selection of these packages. At the “Factory” sessions during 1986-87, using some simple cultural action methods similar to Paulo Freire (1970) or Boal’s (1979) theatre methods workers were asked to draw a picture of a body and then attach some words which would constitute job description of a youth housing worker. Below are two examples of this work which illustrate characteristics of youth worker identity and (not)Adult subjectivity in the 1980s:

Figure 8: “The Perfect Youth Worker”, YAA Youth Worker Factory, October 1987 (YAA Archives)

The words that are used to describe the “perfect” youth worker at a Youth Worker Factory session in November 1986 were somewhat pragmatic. The responses have very different meanings depending on whether the worker was positioned as a good shepherd looking after his flock (discourse of property) or a pragmatic case management professional (discourse of growth). The perfect worker in the altruistic good shepherd mode “had” or “was a”: a big shoulder to cry on (comforter); stable influence; motivator; money manager; friend; bullshitter; religious advisor; counsellor/advisor; roll model; fashion censor; good listener; part of a collective; referee; intermediary; sewer. These words and ideas are consistent with another session held on October 1987, with some additional more affective pastoral notions that reveal a saintly virtuous version of “habitus” (Bourdieu 1992) such as:

A radar for detecting trouble, thick skin, acting abilities, compassion/tolerance, honesty, objectivity, detachment, patience, insight??, flexibility, teamwork, wisdom, broadmindedness, sense of humour, stamina …

YAA (1987, p. 12)

The perfect worker in the case management/ discourse of growth mode “had” or “was a” living skills provider; shopper; cook; communicator; diplomat; trainer; taxi service; disciplinarian; admin filer; art teacher; first aid officer; info giver; gardener; group facilitator; chook feeder; receptionist; secretary; typist; meeting attender; entertainer; statistician. Many of their responses also expose a tendency to consider (not)Adults as wild beasts and untamed youth and take a corrective approach of the lion tamer rather than the punitive approach. When workers were asked about how they entered into the job of youth work in the October 1987 session, only a few responses indicated formal training in psychology or welfare. The rest responded that they got the job because they: “were confident in their interview”; “were fresh blood”; “demonstrated commitment to the cause etc.”.

When workers at the October 1987 session were asked “What was the biggest surprise about the job?” their responses demonstrate that the myth of the altruistic good shepherd does not hold: “how much shit the girls can lay on me”; “lack of support for workers”; “that there was no big surprises”; “amount of coffee required”; “lack of

motivation of kids”; “intensity of kids’ problems”; “problems of kids’ disillusioning”; “8 hour staff meetings”; “internal bitch fighting”; “number of homeless kids”. These comments demonstrate a shift in thinking from the altruistic rhetoric of the cause to the words of workers in an industry in the business of case management doing the discursive work of the discourse of growth, protecting the innocence, taming the untamed youth and managing the property.

This is further demonstrated by workers at the Youth Worker Factory “Youth Workers for Optimism” workshop held in Austinmer in August 1986 were asked what they liked or disliked about their jobs. Workers demonstrated an altruistic “good shepherd/activist” desire, intention, and that YAA(ish) ideology often did not reconcile with the more pragmatic and thankless job of the case management professional and lion tamer. Workers liked: “teamwork, no boss, having some money, the fights with bureaucrats, staff, committees, the residents, working with young people, the challenge, unstructured hours, being able to be me, taking a car load of young people down to the beach on a hot day, repaying back society in a positive way”. What workers disliked: “admin/records/data collection; I am not a clerical worker; stress; the system; bureaucracy; politicians-corruption; the “shithouse” rates of pay; committee hassles; long hours; things being stolen; property being damaged; filthy kitchens; seeing parents fuck up young people’s lives. One worker presented a description of their work, capturing the down to earth practicalities of running a household, without any proper structure or planning. All of which sounds remarkably like the recount of a hassled, taken for granted, overburdened and busy parent and less like a professional youth worker:

Not being able to spend enough time with kids on a one to one basis, especially when they really want to talk or whatever, there are 7 other kids who may want you to show them how to cook pasta, while another one wants to use the phone and needs keys to do so, and another is crying upstairs in a bedroom etc.. Sometimes I feel pulled at from all directions … coming to work and finding the fridge over flowing with .. rotten food .. etc.

YAA (1986, p. 13)

Despite the rhetoric of the “youth worker as a professional”, on a practical day-today account, workers appear to be positioned as de facto parent. In contrast to this perception of panic and “busy”-ness, from what young people have said, workers didn’t appear to be so flat out and busy. When young people at the services in 1985 were asked “How much time do workers give to the kids?”

They don’t give much time at all. Mostly in the office either chatting or doing stats or things. Mainly with kids when cooking or watching TV (sometimes). .. [about] 1- 2 hours are given by the worker to the kids.

YRAA (November 1985, p. 23)

The storyline of the evolution of youth homeless services posits that early practices of youth refuges were based on house parent models and that the shift to the youth worker model occurred in the late seventies and early eighties. It is expected in a contemporary “case management model” that workers would spend more than 1-2 hours per week. Yet, as demonstrated in the previous illustrations and text, perhaps the parent mindset did not really go away. Perhaps, using the metaphor of a palimpsest, ideas of professional case management are overwritten and morphed by a practice and an understanding of support, which appears to have been based on “hanging out” and keeping cool with the kids, the pastoral impulse and moving towards case management. When workers were asked at a YRAA Pre-service workshop in 1985 “What do you think you have to do?” the replies extended the notion of hanging out to include vague notions of support:

teach living skills, give advice, be patient, being a good role model, learn from the kids, be “heavy” when needs be, show you care by giving discipline – or – hugs.

YRAA (October 1985, p. 44)

Sex and professional boundaries

The paradigms of whether to be the house parent or hang out with the kids, presented an interesting tension. It was hard to be both a parent and big brother or a sister or best

friend at the same time, without some grief and perhaps some problems with boundaries and maybe some practices that even Hammurabi would have been concerned about.

Indeed, boundary setting was a significant problem for workers in YRAA “Pre- service” workshops held during 1985. The problem of establishing professional boundaries was compounded by the “live in” conditions of residential settings. Due to the lack of appropriate boundaries and distance from the young people, workers described the work in 1985, as “emotionally strenuous”, requiring lots of extra hours. Apparently, it took its toll on the workers’ private lives, as the boundaries between work and private life and the lives of the young people were transgressed as workers called on the discourse of property, and took on parental ownership by default.

The boundaries between the adult and the (not)Adult world, and the discourse of innocence were also under threat. As typified by the concern that paedophiles might be attracted to working in youth refuges. The anxiety of sexual predators as youth workers emerged in a report on a YAA forum by Paul Van Ryk in 1984, called “Sex and the Refuge”. From the record of the discussion at the forum, it appears that workers agreed that sex between residents and workers was not acceptable, that in doing so, workers would be abusing their power. It is interesting here to note that in this discussion “young people” have become positioned as “residents”, framed in terms of adults rather than the moral dilemma of the paedophile and innocence. It was agreed by the participants at the forum that if they were caught having sex with residents, they should be sacked. Apparently, workers had disclosed that sex between workers and residents had been going on, but that services had kept it quiet to protect reputations.

It was not a unanimous position, as there seemed to be some who thought that young people could be trying to seduce workers, that these (not)Adults might be by their experiences de facto adults. But this was deemed by the majority as being unacceptable as an excuse. There were concerns about how young people might not put a complaint if they felt their accommodation was threatened. Other unanswered questions emerged, which demonstrate some tensions around policing the boundaries of the discourse of innocence, such as: “What constitutes sexual harassment in refuges? Are we too caught up in the morals of sexual rules? What is the fine line between a worker/client relationship and a social relationship? How does sexual relationships

affect a worker’s capacity, do they at all? If most refuges have a ban on sex between residents, shouldn’t this extend to workers and residents?”

The issue of “sex with residents” (again we can note a lexical shift from “young people” to “residents”) surfaced again in a report of a Youth worker Factory Session titled “Altered perception of coat hangers” held the end of 1986 with older workers. They came up with a mind map (see figure 45) to name the issues. However they “did not get a chance to cover them fully” (YAA, Dec 1986, p. 5).

Figure 9: Rules mind map “Altered perception of coat hangers”, Workshop December 1986 (YAA Archives)

From here YAA and the sector took a very definite negative stance on sexual relations between workers and young people. Over the next five years there appears to have been a quiet hunt for suspected paedophiles within the sector. But, even in 1989, from my own personal recollection of a colleague’s relationship with an ex resident, there were instances of ex-residents linking up with workers in relationships. Where in the minds of the workers, (not)Adult(not)@home, by their condition of homelessness and early exposure to the adult world are imagined as adults in terms of the discourse of growth. They are granted an early entry into adulthood.

Yet, the problem of sexual relationships with the “clients” (or ex-clients) and the absence of consistent understanding of professional boundaries, as it collided with child protection laws, must have begun to disrupt the “hanging out” method of youth work. For example, where it might be considered to be a risk for a male youth worker to be alone in a room with a young girl. A whole gamut of ethical and professional questions began to be asked of youth workers. It was also compounded by other issues of accountability from funding bodies and management committees as to what was actually being done with the funds and paid worker hours, as management committees had to account to funders and funders accounted to the taxpayers.

Misrule in the 1980s, when youth workers role play as young people

In the 1980s the workshops often used the cultural action education methods of Freire (1970) and Boal (1979), using role-plays, pictures and theatre. Youth workers appear to have loved play, maybe because they saw themselves as “nearly” youth by association.

In a session in Austinmer in October 1986, workers were invited to do a role-play and “play young people”. The results of that session were captured in the report as workers role-played their perceptions of young people’s views on “parents”, “boredom”, “authority” and “life” (see below). The drawings could be considered as expert opinions, based on astute day-to-day observation. Or perhaps they could be seen to betray hints of “projection” and myth making by workers, perhaps of their own

biographies and of an anger and frustration in their work. We could read a lot into these images.

Figure 10: “Resos” on parents, Austinmer, October 1986 (YAA Archives)

Figure 11: “Resos” on Boredom, Austinmer, October 1986 (YAA Archives)

Figure 12: “Resos” on Authority, Austinmer, October 1986 (YAA Archives)

Figure 13: “Resos” on The Reason For Life, Austinmer, October 1986 (YAA Archives)

But then again, as with the earlier examples from Coffs Harbour, these drawings could have been done with some irony to try and unsettle the facilitator, or to have some fun offloading the stress of looking after (not)Adults. However, we can consider what work is being done by these images. While the images from the workers are very emotive and acting out, like a Pandora’s box constructing highly charged notions, it is astounding that contrary to all of the high rhetoric of doing good, they strongly articulate the discourse of “untamed youth” as a problem which needs to be managed.

In all the role plays, young people continue to be positioned as victims of abuse from parents, from authority etc. again, in need of some love and understanding, from the workers. The young people are broken, abandoned, their innocence has been damaged, left with their wild desire and untamed behaviour. The drawings all position the youth worker as the good shepherd, with the young people positioned as the flock, outside the system are the wolves. As the State blames the parents, the workers blame the “system”. The workers are also made up as “lion tamers” ready to tame the inner “wolves” inside the untamed youth.

… the dream is over

In my analysis of the archives and the commentary of Annis-Brown (1984), Ryk (1982, 1984, 2005) and Cronau (1989, 2005) just as the house parents of the seventies were supposed to have burnt out, so too the pressures began to take their toll on the expert youth workers. Unlike other professional practices, with the minimal funding for services there was not enough funds for provision for adequate supervision and external support, so workers had to find it for themselves. YAA provided some support on this. By 1986 at the “No House our house on the brink” YAA State Housing Conference at Minto Bush Club, YAA was running survival-training sessions for youth workers.

Burn out, is it a natural epidemic of the field, a mental disease … could be over identification with clients, reduced efficiency of service by constant flow of workers …

Megan Lee, (1986, p12)

The facilitators recommended a more structured approach to work, towards reducing panic; more planning; setting goals; writing everything down; using conflict resolution skills; and setting the scene for a shift in practice from hanging out or relationship based youth work towards the emerging bureaucracy of case management. Such case management evokes the discourse of development, and the science of policing and disciplining this development through adolescence development practices and pedagogy and ultimately the medical model of case management. The records of the Youth Worker Factories, Pre-service Training and Youth Conferences capture conversations that have occurred within the sector between youth workers, which construct a story of a significant period of oscillations between “advocacy”, “house parent” and “case management” thinking in youth work practices.

Common threads that occur in all of the documents construct the profile of a youth worker in the mid 1980s, who works in the refuge by hanging out with young people. As either a heroic good shepherd or activist, the typical youth worker identity sits somewhere between a parent and a big brother/sister; has problems with establishing boundaries and ground rules; thinks they are underpaid; is very busy; under organised in regards to working case plans, structures or supervision; enjoys working without a boss yet complains about working in isolation; enjoys the relationship with the young people; gets annoyed when the young act like kids; enjoys facilitating, advising, supporting and advocating. Often, within the texts, young people are constructed as a mix of wild beasts and innocent children, as victims of the system or subject to desires which make them act out, as depicted graphically in one of the only person maps I could find of young people, from a workshop report in 1984. The group that did this person map appear to not like young people at all, much like Plato’s description of (not)Adults as wild beasts! Negative words used to describe (not)Adults strongly support this observation such as: “demanding, insecure, low esteem, angry, overfed, confused, withdrawn, chain smokers, drugs and alcohol, pregnant / promiscuous, arrogant, unemployed, sexist, tough talkers, apathetic, racist, scared, cunning, pigs, good at bludging”. The few positive words used were: “survivors, looking for guidance, loyal, honest, energetic, caring of each other, funny”.

Figure 14: Young Homeless Person, YRAA, September, 1984, p. 24 (YAA Archives)

It is revealing in terms of the discourse of innocence and untamed youth, how many negative descriptors were used to describe these wild untamed young people and that they were all conditions, which attributed some intrinsic blame to the young people. This runs contrary to the “activist” story of blaming the system and not the individual or the systemic advocacy of the big picture activism of YAA. The more neutral descriptors such as “incest victim” are things that are beyond the control of the young person. So in this column the words attributes blame to the system or families. This is echoed in the response to the question “why are people homeless?” where young people are blamed for being angry and hurt, rebelling, peer pressure and being in trouble with the police. While families and the system get blamed for rejection, sexual abuse, poverty, no jobs, family conflict and for having unrealistic expectations.

At a workshop held in Roylestone Glebe, in January 1986, workers were asked: What is youth, what are the characteristics that distinguish young people from everyone else?” The group of workers distinguished youth as:

Within a range 12 to 25 years of age; In terms of deficits, as a lack of: money, power, options and directions; A time of learning and change; and A mixture of being disillusioned and optimistic; Full of acne; and Like a lost sock in the Laundromat of oblivion.

YRAA (January 1986, p. 19)

At the Roylestone workshop the workers explored historical social constructions of youth, from a chronological rather than a theoretical framework, more like metaphysic history than genealogy. In their explorations and their construction of a potted history, they name checked Aristotle; the industrial revolution; Rousseau and the socio- economic conditions of the Twentieth Century. They proposed that Rousseau invented the adolescent at the same time as the stream engine. At the end of the session they decided that there was no clear definition of “youth” and ended where this thesis began!

What about all of this mess and what should we do with it?

As a genealogy does not attempt to unearth neat and tidy narratives, what is exposed here in this chapter is that the discursive practices of (not)Adult(not)@home is a politics of (not)Adult subjectivity are a mess of imbricated and overlayed discourse, ad hoc erasure and blending. Yet, in their “blind” acceptance and obedience to particular discourses youth workers and (not)Adults are often unconscious of how they are positioned and operate within a broader discursive mess and the politics of (not)Adult subjectivity. This blindness is evidence of an inability to read or to work the broader range of discourses in operation. In other words they demonstrate a lack of discursive literacy and are unaware of the mixed messages convey. For example it may appear confusing to outsiders in how they talk of activism and empowerment, yet at the same time refer to the (not)Adults as our kids or as problems in terms of untamed youth. Similarly (not)Adults are captured within an inertia of discursive mess and cross- purposes as the politics of exclusion, enacted by youth workers and the broader society, exclude them from the adult’s only world. Such as the awkward category of homeless youth described here as “(not)Adult@(not)home”, in order to tell us that although these (not)Adults are not at home and have all the markers of independence attributed to adulthood, they are still within the governmentality of (not)Adults.

Following their “messy” exposure in this chapter and the chapter on moral panics, the four discourses of (not)Adult are described and explored in more detail in Chapters Five to Eight as very distinct and separate in order to distinguish and discuss some of their particular characteristics and dynamics, consider what sort of texts formed their canon and expert knowledge and to apply Foucault’s (1991) analysis of the limits of “what is sayable”, “what can be appropriated” etc. However, in the exploration of the genealogy of each discourse it became apparent that there was a significant amount of overlay between each of the discourses. For example, the discourse of innocence was critical as a marker for the transition through the discourse of growth or the discourse of untamed youth as the “evil twin” other of innocence.

The next chapter explores some of the threads of the histories of these four discourses, beginning with a genealogy of the discourse of property.

Chapter Five: Property

In Chapter Three, I used three examples of Cohen’s moral panic to introduce the four discourses of (not)Adult. These examples were used to demonstrate that these discourses are still in circulation and that they are either embedded within or are taken- for-granted as commonsense as demonstrated in Chapter Four – in the contemporary practice of youth work. Importantly, their status as taken-for-granted commonsense hides the fact that they are not naturally occurring. Yet, when these discourses are studied using a genealogical approach, their truth claims are quite fragile, contingent and contestable. They are understood as social constructions, each having particular histories and contexts. The aim in the next four chapters is to present some of these histories, beginning with a history of what is proposed here as the “discourse of property”.

In this chapter I examine the discourse of property, beginning with evidence of an emergence of that story in ancient texts such as the Code of Hammurabi. From there I explore how the older traditional stories of (not)Adults as property are appropriated and ruptured and then reshaped in different ways by Plato and Aristotle and how those different versions of (not)Adult manifest through various concepts such as “patria potestas” or patriarchy as an ongoing contest and politic of exclusion in the Western European version of the world, between individual, state and family as to the ownership and protection of the (not)Adult.

The Code of Hammurabi

At a site in Susa Iraq, in 1901, archaeologists unearthed a large black basalt obelisk. On the faces of this huge obelisk they found a collection of inscriptions written in old Babylonian. These texts had been written by Hammurabi, a first dynasty king of the Kingdom of Babylon, circa 1760 BC, renowned in the history of civilisation as an ancient “lawgiver”. The texts became known as the “Code of Hammurabi” (Horne 1915). Along with earlier Sumerian texts, which are often collectively described as Cuneiform Laws, the Code of Hammurabi is one of the earliest examples of the process of governing society by using a publicly accessible written code of laws.

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The translations of Horne (1915) and King (1915) present Hammurabi’s code as a book of laws comprising 282 rules. These laws ranged from instructions on business trade, marriage contracts, and penalties for theft and adultery. The code articulates the framework and expectations by which Hammurabi ruled, managed and organised the Babylonian empire. According to the translation by King (1915), the preamble to the code proclaims that Hammurabi was appointed by the gods to: “bring about the rule of righteousness in the land”; to “destroy the wicked and the evil-doers; so that the strong should not harm the weak”; and to “enlighten the land, to further the well-being of mankind”. Historian Rev Claude Johns (Johns 1911) observed that the laws preserved family solidarity, direct responsibility and ordeal, while at the same time it was reframed as the beginnings of social law and rejected more parochial and primitive tribal laws, such as blood feuds, or marriage by capture.

They present simple propositions. They are straightforward in comparison to contemporary legal labyrinths. There was no mercy, except on the rare occasion where the king was approached for pardon. There was zero tolerance towards disobedience, as demonstrated in rule number 195; if a son strikes his father, according to Horne’s (1915) translation, his hands would be cut off. The code was one of the earliest written articulations of the legal logic of innocent until proven guilty (Law 3; see King 1915), as well as the basic tenet of Western law and the ancient commonsense principle of “lex talionis” or “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” (Laws 196 and 199; see King 1910). As the law was on display for all of the public to see, it is assumed that ignorance of the law was no longer a valid alibi; the law was a responsibility for everyone. That is of course only if the public was able to read and understand. According to the research by Van De Mieroop (2005) and Johns (1911), thousands of contracts and records have been unearthed which capture decisions made by judges, and which provide considerable evidence that these laws were actually obeyed. As a social contract these laws shaped governmentality, promoting obedience and self-regulation, in return for the safety of an organised society.

The codes are relevant here within the context of this thesis because of how they speak of and make up (not)Adults. They present a partial snapshot of (not)Adult subjectivity in Babylonian times. As most of the codes are ostensibly rules to do with

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the regulation of the exchange and value of resources, (not)Adults are accordingly made up and regulated in terms of the discourse of (not)Adults as property. Further to this, the discourse of (not)Adults as property is positioned within these texts as being relative to a paternal authority and ownership. Hammurabi regulates and administers the patterns for governance of families, childhood and youth. And so, (not)Adults are constructed as property of the “father” as the head of the family, where the overarching principles (such as value) prevailed, and where the locus of control generally resided with the familial power of the father. Law 138, for example, was explicit in articulating that the patriarch had control over children until their eventual release through marriage, following a business transaction through a dowry system (King 1915).

Along with the slaves, (not)Adults had particular value. They were an asset in terms of their labour and as part of the dowry, whereby the sale of a daughter into marriage was worth a certain amount of gold or livestock. Yet, the overarching principles of value and process delimited the father’s authority. Within this system the reproduction of children, particularly the production of sons, through marriage, was critical for the family economy, as Law 163 demonstrated:

If a man marry a woman and she bear him no sons; if then this woman die, if the “purchase price” which he had paid into the house of his father-in-law is repaid to him, her husband shall have no claim upon the dowry of this woman; it belongs to her father’s house.

Hammurabi (1915, Law 163)

Under these laws the father had the right to own his children’s labour, pledge them for a debt or even sell them. In my analysis of the text the difference between (not)Adults and slaves is difficult to determine. Therefore, marriage and reproduction was a business transaction, conceived as a form of purchase and of developing assets. In the eyes of the law, as the property of the father, (not)Adults appear to be almost invisible. They had no rights as such, except to protection from incest or to preservation of the value of their prospective marriage purchase price. Therefore, (not)Adults are not constructed within the text as legitimate “humans”, with rights, but instead are described as chattel, as “property” of the fathers. It follows that (not)Adults as property have value and potential, and as property with a value, they can be owned. Thus the

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discourse of property contributes to the “family economy” where (not)Adults as property are assets within this economic system. Where, as property of the father, (not)Adults work within the household, the family business, they generate income and are, as with chattel, “traded” through marriage to other families to create alliances, income (through dowries) and for the payment of debts. Under this code, (not)Adults as non-humans, as property, had no say in such matters and the father could do whatever he wanted. However, there was a small caveat, which demonstrates an emergence of governmentality: while the space of “family” was a zone of exclusion from the power of the “King” (or State), it was still assumed that the father would govern in the interest of the King (and the greater good).

Also, as (not)Adults are property with a value as an investment that needs to be protected there was a risk that this same property can be damaged by the father asserting his considerable authority in his administration of familial justice. For example, the code tells us that if a son strikes his father, as punishment his hand can be cut off. Or if a son sleeps with his mother they could both be thrown into a river to drown. But what value is a son with his hands cut off, as damaged property, for the family economy? What value is there in raising children, only to throw them in a river and forfeit their potential value in marriage prospects? The code does not question the father’s capacity to administer fair and consistent justice, or of potential damage to his property through poor judgement, abuse and lack of capacity.

Yet there were a few exceptions where (not)Adults as property might be considered as having value outside the family and dominion of the father when the father’s poor judgement, abuse and capacity might begin to come into question. Then the “protection” against potential damage to the property by the father might be considered. There are early hints of this thinking in the code of Hammurabi, where there are penalties for incest committed with one’s daughter (Law 154; see King 1915), which in terms of property and value can be seen as an external call from outside the family to protect the economic value of a (not)Adult virgin. The claim of the father’s ownership over his property starts to break down at that point where “his kids” become “our kids”. At such a point, the “value” of the property resides not with family but with the broader society or the authorities. Hammurabi frames this in the prologue as protecting the weak

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and of looking after the wellbeing of the people. So the authorities step in to protect their “investment”. It follows then, that while (not)Adults can be thought of in terms of discourses of property, they are also subject to a contested ownership that manifests within the Code as it shifts into a contest between the father (or family) and the King for the ownership of this property. Furthermore, this idea of contested ownership also makes the emergence of particular knowledge and practices of protection possible, where in this instance the concept of protection relates to the “protection of property”, rather than to protection from danger, or protection of innocence. The very traditional notions of innocence, danger or weakness might themselves be reimagined as discursive knowledges, which are useful for the management of ownership of (not)Adults.

Thus, in contemporary times, seemingly innocuous statements from parents, the State, youth workers or the media, such as “We must protect our kids!” or “Who is looking after these kids?” can be seen to have particular histories, connotations and implications for (not)Adult subjectivity in terms of various claims to (not)Adults as their property, which stretch back to these ancient texts and laws, such as the work of Hammurabi.

(not)Adults as property … according to Aristotle and Plato

As Russell (1961), Williams (2000), Brumbough (1981) and Whitehead (1978) have suggested, the takeaway messages of the work of Plato and Aristotle, through secondary sources, have become deeply and invisibly embedded in the commonsense and philosophy of Western culture. While their work has been studied in great detail within the academic tradition, their influence has also leaked out into the general society, into politics, bureaucracy and the practices of everyday life. Outside this tradition, much of the “commonsense ideas” are discussions and truths that extend from an alignment with the works of Aristotle and Plato. Whitehead playfully suggested that Western philosophy is all “just footnotes to Plato” (Whitehead 1978, p. 39). The presence and wisdom of Plato and Aristotle is so ubiquitous, so embedded and so taken for granted within our ideas of commonsense that they are easily overlooked or rendered invisible. Or, as Williams commented:

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We are all under the influence of thinkers we do not read.

Williams (2000, p. 49)

As the research tells us (Russell 1961; Tarnas 1991), Plato’s and Aristotle’s prominence within Western culture is a legacy of their eventual blending into early Christian doctrine and philosophy and the eventual rediscovery of their work, albeit adapted and re-framed as humanism, during the Renaissance era in Western Europe. Thus, as a double hermeneutic twist, the effects of Plato and Aristotle are felt through a cultural logic and intellectual habitus that perhaps they in a sense also made up as the foundational architects and original authors of Western intellectual culture.

The profound impact of Aristotle and Plato has resonated across the millennia such that both their particular agreements and disagreements are deeply embedded as an intellectual “tension” within Western Culture. This same commonsense and tension underpins and guides our understandings of (not)Adults and in the practices of working on (not)Adults. For this reason, in order to expose and contest some of the taken-for- granted and the commonsense which relates specifically to (not)Adults, it is important to consider the hidden work of what Plato and Aristotle contribute to the discourse of (not)Adults as property,

Drawing from the commentary on various histories of Western philosophy such as Tarnas’s Passion of the Western Mind (1991) and a perusal through the philosophy texts such as Plato’s Republic (2009) and Aristotle’s Politics (n.d), during their years together as teacher and student, Plato (teacher) and Aristotle (student) appear to have developed somewhat similar views about (not)Adults as being property. Yet, they also had very different views as to the claims of ownership of that property. The differences and argument around the issue of ownership perhaps, extend from a critical dispute, in terms of their ontological and epistemological differences, of how Plato and Aristotle each understood truth and reality. The dynamic of this dispute is ironically depicted in Raphael’s fresco The School of Athens, which shows Plato with his hand to heaven and Aristotle with his hand turned to the earth. This can be interpreted as Plato taking a sublime and esoteric view, while Aristotle takes the practical, evidence-based one. Aristotle trusted what he saw, while Plato did not.

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Plato’s (2009) version of reality proposed esoteric and innate ideas and forms, as illustrated in his famous metaphor of the cave. In this metaphor we sit in a dark cave, staring at our shadows on the wall. We look at the dark shadows on the wall and are fooled into thinking that this chimera is reality, the real world and Plato observes that: “To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images” (Plato 2009, Book VII). Instead, Plato argued that the real world is, in fact, outside the cave, like a sublime bright light. To be able to understand the real world outside the cave of shadows required the skills and esoteric vision of expert knowers and leaders. Plato’s view makes it possible to imagine a greater good to be understood, like Hammurabi’s privileged access to enlightenment, that only experts and intellectuals were privileged and talented enough to understand. It is understood here that for Plato the truth was out there as an innate form as part of a world of ideas.

As the commentaries by Russell (1961), Tarnas (1991) and Foucault (2006) suggest, in contrast to Plato, while Aristotle also believed the truth was out there, his version of reality appeared far more pragmatic, less esoteric and that the world could be discovered through experience and observation. Part of the road to truth was to get to know oneself (Foucault 2006). The different and disputed versions of truth and reality (or epistemology and ontology), between the esoteric and down to earth, lend a classic tension and dynamic to Western philosophy. In application, they lead to two very distinct views of “(not)Adults as property”. In his view, Aristotle understood (not)Adults as property of the father, or of the patriarch. In doing so, Aristotle recruits earlier traditional views, such as Hammurabi’s. This idea of recruitment is supported by the scholars of a history of Hellenist philosophy (Brumbough 1981; Jaspers 1962; Tarnas 1991; Turner 1907; Williams 2000) who tell us that the echoes of earlier cultures and literature such as Hebrew, Egyptian, Indian and Chaldean thinking and texts were forged into cohesion by the Greeks into the foundational form of Western philosophy. Such debt to earlier texts appears to find a particular recruitment and cohesion through Aristotle as an embedded commonsense. And so it is reasonable to suggest that his view of children as property of the father also owed a debt to thinking and texts from tribal law and from earlier cultures, such as the Code of Hammurabi. Indeed there are many similarities between Hammurabi and Aristotle with regards to the discourse of property that support this idea. Like Hammurabi, Aristotle assigned an inferior and non-human

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status to (not)Adults. He too argued that (not)Adults were like their father’s chattel, like a slave class. Following on from this, as Hammurabi allowed fathers to chop off hands and administer discipline and punishment, so too did Aristotle. He argued that as chattel (not)Adults were in effect parts of himself and so since no-one would wish to hurt himself, there could be no injustice towards oneself. This logic inferred that no injustice could be committed by a father toward a child (Aristotle, n.d). This thinking allowed the practice of infanticide and eugenics to fly under the ethical radar (de Mause 1982; Sommerville 1972, 1982)

Both Hammurabi’s and Aristotle’s notions of (not)Adults as property of the father (or the patriarch), strongly supported pre-existing traditions of patriarchy. In his work, like Hammurabi, Aristotle’s thinking of an inclusive greater good accessible to all opened up new private spaces for the father and family, where the father would be expected to administer the greater good. Unlike the open and communal spaces of tribal society, it opened up possibilities for a secret and private world of the closed family unit, where the father watched over his property (and subjects) and ruled as a king, as a subset, like familial mini-kingdoms within the security of a broader kingdom/state. This is demonstrated in Aristotle’s work where his (not)Adults are “subject to” and are defined by the father and the father’s rule is royal.

In contrast, Plato appears to not be so confident in the father (and the mother). While he too viewed (not)Adults in terms of property, Plato considered (not)Adults as being owned by the State. The parents were not the owners of their children; instead parents were seen as having the children in custody from the State (Turner 1911). It is the view here that in the idealised Platonic state, described by Plato in texts such as Republic, there was a distinct lack of trust and a strong disregard for the family institution, tribal and familial power, and a concern that parents might damage the children. He conceived this idealised state as run by philosopher kings. It was a state where all rulers and subjects would devote themselves to the cultivation of sublime wisdom. This reflected his far more sublime and esoteric viewpoint.

In ancient Sparta, the State, as the champion of the greater good, was very much more important than the individual. According to commentary by Sommerville (1982), it was customary that children were taken away from the family at seven years of age.

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They were then tested and sorted through a process of education, almost as evaluation process. This was a process that measured and accessed their value through cruel and rigorous ordeals, designed to prepare them for their station in adult life as to how they would be of use to the state. Pending this evaluation, they were then assigned by the state as slaves, labourers, producers, warriors or within government. The lives of strong, healthy male children were dedicated to the state.

While parents in Sparta were responsible for taking care of their sons until the age of seven, they were discouraged from interfering with the child’s training. The state did not want strong family bonds to develop. Perhaps there was concern about the parents damaging the property. From the age of seven until the age of 12, children were placed in teams of 15. Those who succeeded in conforming to the rules were selected as leaders. Children strengthened their bodies and prepared for war by spending their time doing sports. Some research suggests that Spartan mothers were encouraged to practise eugenics (and infanticide) to encourage the breeding of the best possible children (Sommerville, 1982).

The disagreement of Plato and Aristotle introduces a key dynamic into the discourse of (not)Adults as property, that of the idea of an ongoing historically contested ownership that exists between the father/family and the state/king. It is understood here as an unresolved dynamic where the ongoing contest between father and state could never be won or lost. The discourse of property then is also a story of the various contested claims to ownership of and of being responsible for (not)Adults.

… other stories of (not)Adults – as the property of the father

Following on from Aristotle, there are countless re-iterations throughout the history of Western culture where (not)Adults are considered as the property of the father. This notion of ownership and property is understood here also as a major contributor towards re-enforcing the very foundations of the idea of patriarchy and fraternity; it also is a key part of the metaphor of the great symbolic fathers, who both control and looked after the Western European version of the world (Clawson, 1980). Thus the non-human status

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and property value of (not)Adults is very important to the constitution of these great fathers as subjects.

One of the great well known mythical fathers in the story of Western culture is Moses. Similar to Hammurabi and his code, Moses is associated with the famous Ten Commandments. Both Hammurabi and Moses claimed to receive their codes directly from God and spoke of delivering this divine intention and a greater good. However, in the Ten Commandments there appears to be an Aristotelian(ish) emphasis on the father and family instead of the Platonic state. For instance, the Hebrew fifth (or Catholic fourth) commandment positions (not)Adults as being in service to the father, commanding obedience, i.e. to honour and abide by his decisions. The Catholic version further emphasises this family unit as part of God’s design and of a reflection of the relationship as part of God’s family, with God as the patriarch (i.e. the great chain of being). This is reflected in the Catholic Catechism, as a set of regulations that extend and support the Ten Commandments.

This storyline of the father as the owner of the property continues from the classic Hellenistic period into the early Roman Empire, manifested in the establishment of the Roman law of “patria potestas”. Historians such as Sommerville (2007), McLennan and McLennan (1885) and Cunningham (2005) tell us that according to patria potestas, the “pater familias”, as the father of the family, was the highest-ranking male in a Roman household. The pater familias had the power of life and death over his children, his wife (in some cases) and his slaves. Similar to Hammurabi’s code and Aristotle’s ideas of (not)Adults, all of his household are understood here as house-holdings or property and were said to be held in his charge. The paternal head of family or father would have the expectation that all that falls within the context of the family context will remain the business of the father and his family unit and economy.

Other research, such as by Mintz (2007), Ozment (1983) and Norton (1996) tells us that by the time of the Renaissance and early modern times, paternal and husbandly authority was part of what they called a “Great Chain of Being” as to describe the line of command that extended down from God, through the King, the Father, through the family and down to the lowest objects. This Great Chain of Being was a foundation of early Protestantism and it affirmed that hierarchy and paternal authority were essential

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to successful family functioning. Here the family structure reflects and models all the patriarchal structures such as the feudal communities, the parish, the state, the kingdom, the empire and the kingdom of God. This thinking was later famously re-articulated in the text Patriarcha by Robert Filmer (1680) which linked Aristotle’s thinking with the fifth commandment, and equated the authority of fathers and kings.

The father of the family governs by no other law than by his own will … there is no nation that allows children any action or remedy for being unjustly governed, yet for all of this, every father is bound by the law of nature to do the best for the preservation of his family.

Filmer (1680, para 3.1)

According to the rules, codes and base-line assumptions of “patria potestas”, in this way of organising society, the state has no business to stick its nose in the family’s ways. It affirmed that the father had licence to govern the family, by whatever it takes.

Stories of (not)Adults as the property of many symbolic fathers

Research and commentary by Aries (1973), Donzelot (1979), Gillis (1974), Rose (1989) and Stone (1977) tell us that by the seventeenth century, the claim to ownership of (not)Adults by the father in Western European society was in crisis. The claims to ownership were exposed to an increasing set of disruptions, as Western European society began to re-organise itself and continued a slow shift from a feudal/rural society to an urban political economy. In their genealogical studies of the family, Policing of the Family (Donzelot 1979) and Governing the Soul: The Shaping of the Private Self (Rose 1989), both Rose and Donzelot observed an increased interest in (not)Adults that emerged during the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries in the Western European version of the world. Their work also supports the notion that what was once the exclusive property and dominion of the father under the protection of the father, was now increasingly falling under the disciplining gaze of the State and the Church.

Furthermore, Rose proposed that the language of patriarchy, familial power and privacy (and the rhetoric of the “great chain”) was in fact a smokescreen that obscured

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the real extent to which the state actually shaped and controlled the private world of the family and its relations. This agrees with Foucault’s ideas of the emergence of an era of governmentality. According to Foucault, the disruption to the story of the father appears to have coincided in alignment with a broader project and bigger set of changes: the emergence of the post-Enlightenment modern individual subject, the neo-liberal political economy and Western technology. These changes were characterised by what Foucault (1991a & b, 2006, 2007) had described as a shift from pastoral power (i.e. metaphor of king/state as a shepherd looking after the flock) towards raison d’Etat (i.e. the greater good of state/society preserving its existence) and then towards bio- power/politics and the aforementioned “era of governmentality” (Foucault 2007). In other words, the King, the State and the Church moved in on the family business (as such) and began to tighten their control, while at the same time appearing to be doing just the opposite. At first this was achieved by force but then, as is illustrated in Foucault’s arguments in Discipline and Punishment (1975), increasingly shifting to the subtleties of governmentality through the agency of expert knowledge and related discursive disciplines and practices.

As an example of this shift, throughout history under a threat of war and collective threat it was the king’s right to force the sons of fathers to fight his wars. The king could override the ownership of the father’s property. Yet, under the subtle effects of emergent governmentalities, according to Foucault (1975), this power became reframed into that of defending the country, reimagined as patriotism or fighting for freedom, using the tools of conscription and social obligation. Fighting for the king shifted from the literal into the symbolic. In this way (not)Adults as property are shifted from the father to king/State and shaped into a resource for the state. However, it would be far too simplistic to suggest that Foucault’s era of disruption marked the absolute end of one era and the beginning of another. Perhaps, instead, from this time onwards Western European society was not entirely convinced by some of the answers that the older concept of familial and pastoral power could offer. As Foucault (2007) suggested, it is still evident today that society is not yet completely finished with familial and pastoral power.

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As suggested by Rose and Donzelot, as the gradual effects of emergent governmentality of the Western European political economy impacted on the family unit and the family economy, increasingly the familial space, the royal dominion and rights to the property of the father were disrupted and fragmented – but not entirely destroyed. In terms of (not)Adult as property, over time the changes reflect less of Aristotle’s view and more of Plato’s, where (not)Adults became the property of the State (or Church). Such change does not happen overnight, or in one particular site. For example, while it also enabled the concept of familial patriarchy, the “great chain of being”, from its roots in the earliest times of the pre-Hellenist tribal society, had already begun the slow process of usurping the specific role of the father and of familial power. The great chain of being enabled the symbolic possibility of “many fathers”. By medieval times, as Plato’s thinking appears to gain currency, there were many symbolic “fathers” to love, honour and obey, each of whom claimed and contested (not)Adults as their own property, such as the biological father or head of family, the King, the State and the Church (“the father in heaven”).

As Foucault (1975) era’s of governmentality emerged, the traditional role of the King and sovereign power was also disrupted. The contest for the ownership of (not)Adults as property shifted to that between the father, the State and the Church. As Gillis (1974) argues, since medieval times the notion of patriarchy had shifted its shape, as its qualities and powers were redistributed; this redistribution manifested as “fraternity”, e.g. guilds, masons, organised sports, student unions, etc. Gillis also highlights the impact of new technologies such as urbanisation, colonialism, industrial revolution and education, as they reshaped the Western European version of the world.

As patriarchy and the rule of the father over his property became more exposed, the old ways of considering (not)Adults increasingly came under dispute as the art of government and the science of medicine developed and the Western world was reshaped. For instance, the seventeenth century English empiricist, John Locke (1965), challenged (and ridiculed) Filmer’s Patriarcha, to argue a more Platonic view of the ownership of (not)Adults. Locke argued that the ownership of (not)Adults as property resided with God and the Church; parents held their children in custody from God,

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during the imperfect state of childhood; and children did not come from the parents but instead through the parents as part of God’s work.

This thinking is reflected in the key Church texts such as the Bible, the Ten Commandments and the Catholic Catechisms (Vatican 1992) where the father and mother were obligated by law of God to preserve, nourish and educate the children.

Locke’s view reflected a mix of Plato and Aristotle, where like Plato he believed in high ideals but also like Aristotle in “potentials”. Locke was not concerned with the child (of today), but more with the potential adult (of tomorrow), not quite fully human. In his famous meditation on education, he said that childhood was “something to be overcome” (Locke 1965). It seems that Locke, like Plato and Aristotle before him, considered (not)Adults with little compassion as non-human or sub-human and as property or resources, with no rights for self-determination. Historians such as Gillis (1974) and Cunningham (2005) offer us a defence of Locke and this dark view of childhood, suggesting that his lack of regard was a pragmatic view that may have had much to do with mortality rates, where the chances of surviving to live as an adult were much lower in those times.

The work of Locke affirms the idea of “parental responsibility” and obligations with a locus of control set by the State and considers (not)Adults as future assets to be protected and nurtured. Drawing from Gillis’s (1974) data on mortality, it also coincides with improved rates of mortality for (not)Adults in Europe, due to new public health knowledge and medical technology as it progressed from Locke’s times into the Enlightenment era.

Governmentality … and the battles for control, protection and regulation

Further to Locke’s lack of compassion and the Aristotelian focus on (not)Adults as a future asset, Rose (1989) argues that during the emergence of governmentality the extension of social regulation to the lives of children actually had little to do with recognition of their rights. Instead he offered the view that:

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… children came to the attention of social authorities as delinquents threatening property and security, as future workers requiring moralisation and skills, as future soldiers requiring a level of physical fitness.

Rose (1989, p. 123)

He suggested that the rhetoric of humanity, benevolence and protection of (not)Adults in their homes disguised the extension of surveillance and control over the family, the struggle around the ownership of (not)Adults. The most obvious operations of governmentality on (not)Adults and the family are the child welfare system, the school, the juvenile justice system and the education and surveillance of parents (Rose, 1989). Donzelot (1979) observed that from the times of the French Revolution of 1789, the formation of a family had shifted from being a direct agent of the established order towards becoming an indirect agent.

The work of Donzelot (1979) and Rose (1989) shows us that in the last two centuries, as heralded by Locke, patriarchal power had been in crisis and under siege on two fronts: internally, from a transformation of the family from within, and externally, from the modifications of family law. They argued that in the Western version of the world, the family was transformed into a discursive relationship with the emerging disciplines of medicine and law in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The family used such medical and legal knowledge provided by medical and legal experts to protect and free their children from domestic child abuse, to construct around the child an educative model of “protected liberation” (Donzelot 1979).

Here the discourse of property becomes imbricated with the discourses of growth and or innocence, which are examined in Chapters 6, 7 and 8.

Donzelot observed that under this veneer of protection, over time instead of being a peripheral asset the (not)Adult was repositioned as the centre of the family as something to be valued. Similarly, the work of Aries (1973) and Gillis (1974) support this view. No longer was the child considered as “surplus youth” (Gillis 1974) as in medieval times. This is a pattern that emerged much earlier in more affluent strata of society, but gradually affected all levels. This transition coincides with the aforementioned advances and effects of medicine on child mortality rates in the eighteenth and nineteenth

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centuries, and also the effects of the emerging institutions of pedagogy and welfare, the industrial revolution, dedicated safe child spaces in the home (bedrooms) and in the community (schools) (Gillis 1974), as well as child protection legislation.

Donzelot’s work also supports the view proposed here that the problem of protection was also transformed. He argued that the new external laws replaced the ancient and monolithic laws of the father (such as the Code of Hammurabi) with the concepts of tutelage and social contract (Donzelot 1979). This tutelage stripped the family of its previous unconditional powers and placed a greater dependence on external welfare and educative experts. The right to participate, belong and be safe, as part of the social contract, also came at some sacrifice. The contractual system corresponds to an “accelerated liberalisation of relations, both within and outside the family” (Donzelot 1979), including the emergence of legislation for divorce, the rights of women, child protection, etc.… There was a plethora of child-related legislation emerging in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Europe and Australia that wrestled the locus of control from the father to the State.

It is presumed here that the transformation of the family, which Donzelot observed, would not have been effected without the participation of men and women and the subtle shifts in the gender relations of familial power, where women were the central point of support for the actions directed towards the regeneration of family life. To illustrate this, he argues that women were targeted by the medical and teaching professions to work in “partnership”, in order to disseminate their principles and regulate new norms within the home, such as: personal hygiene and sexual education. Thus the discourses of (not)Adult appear to be imbricated with other discursive practices of gender, which in turn make up/call on versions of male and female subjectivity. We can see some historical evidence of this in other texts, such as Rousseau’s Emile, from the eighteenth century, where Rousseau comments in his footnotes on his perceptions of a league between doctors and mothers, where, interestingly, the mothers are seen to “get their own way”.

As the era of governmentality emerged as a mode of social organisation in the Western European version of society, there is a point (or period) of intersection between the old ways and new ways, and a new problem of “conduction”, “public conduction

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through the concerns or under the control of the Government” (Foucault 2007, p. 231), i.e. how to behave and be obedient, and how the state manages such obedience. Under the increased gaze of the State (or society), at this point of intersection, various technologies of governmentality flourished, such as the legal system, education / pedagogy, medicine, etc. Foucault cites the problem of education and pedagogy of children as an interesting example of conduction where the problem for pedagogy, from the perspective of the state, is “… how to conduct them so that they are useful to the city, so that they will be able to ensure their salvation, and so that they will be able to conduct themselves” (Foucault 2007, p. 231).

Donzelot’s ideas of “tutelage” and Hobbes’s, Locke’s and Rousseau’s contributions to the concept of the “social contract” of agreeing to play by the rules, enables co- production rather than an obvious top-down imposition. So it is likely that through conduction and tutelage both women and the doctors agreed to work with each other and in the process the changes made to family and (not)Adults as property are effects of this discursive work. This is different from that historical discourse which positions the father as the owner of children as his property or chattel. This view positions (not)Adults as being useful as an asset, not just for the family economy, but also as an asset for the political economy and church community.

Therefore, under the effects of tutelage and conduction, the State (including the Church) can be seen as indirectly demanding some control and ownership as (not)Adults become objects to be governed, regulated and owned, as the father cedes that same control. It is a shift that is significant in the development of (not)Adult subjectivities and the consequent technologies and devices such as school, doctor, legal system; child protection has had an iterative impact. In tandem with the emergence of the era of governmentality, there were other material changes taking place in society as the population reached a critical mass in feudal times; society became more urbanised; the industrial revolution continued; technology developed; health improved and the political economy in the Western world took hold through an era of colonial imperialism.

Research by Gillis (1974) and Cunningham (2005, 2006) tells us that despite these changes the management of (not)Adults as property was always still intrinsically linked

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at the grassroots to the economic survival of the family. Their research tells us that the economic survival of the family in a feudal society was a precarious prospect. It could be about protecting family resources, protecting family interests, protecting the family unit or protecting the child from the influence of the outside world, depending on the social and economic conditions. Similarly as the population in the Western European version of the world shifted from the rural to the urban environment during the industrial revolution, the family economy mattered less as industry increasingly began to strip the “assets” from the family unit, for example, as child labour was utilised to launch the industrial revolution in the UK (Thompson 1968).

(not)Adults as a burden … the shift from an asset into a liability

From another perspective, throughout recent modern history (not)Adults, as property, also appear to drift between that of an asset, or of a liability ... or a burden to bear. In Youth and History (1974) Gillis explored the economic and social conditions of youth and family units over the last four hundred years. Drawing his data from historical records and censuses in England and Germany, he observed trends towards periods of surplus or “excess youth” in the Western European versions of the world. According to Gillis, in medieval times families would have intentionally produced too many children to compensate for a high infant mortality rate. However, if too many were to survive those first few years, the children eventually became more of a burden than a resource for the family unit; this occurred more often as living conditions and public health improved. In families where there were too many children, the father would be forced to send them off to work in other wealthier families, off to craftsmen, to the priesthood, the army, etc.

In pre-industrial society the burden was most difficult in the first five years of the family life cycle, when the children were too young to contribute to the family economy. Gillis observed that in pre-industrial England this lead to delayed marriage in the poorer classes and an increase in abortions and infanticide. Gillis recounted an extract from Charles Fourier, where it was said that Fourier overheard four artisans who were situated “a little above the poorest class” (Gillis 1974, p. 41) discussing their prospects, where one of the men revealed that he was married and had six children:

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“What six? Oh! Good heavens! A worker who hardly earns a thing to feed six children.” “Yes six; but they all died, fortunately for me. And the mother’s dead too.”

Gillis (1974, p. 41)

He recounts Fourier drolly commenting that in the first stages of the industrial revolution, fathers would desire the death of the children and the children would desire the death of the father (so as to acquire the inherited property). Gillis proposed that for the richer classes, in pre- and post-industrial Europe, the problem of excess youth was addressed by the establishment of public schools, which were used as the dumping ground for restless unwanted youth. This is an interesting alternative view of the original reason for establishing the education system. It is suggested that later on for the poorer classes the working houses, industrial schools and factories were a similar dumping place for Gillis’s excess youth.

The work of Gillis suggests that the contest for ownership of (not)Adults was not so neat and tidy, that in some cases it may have been the desire of the father to hold on to his (not)Adults as property, but in other cases, not so, where (not)Adults might be a burden or “unwanted goods”, so to speak. Here the discourse of property has additional dynamics of responsibility and protection (by the owner) and of a cost (to the owner). Similarly, the State may have struggled with (not)Adults as property, as either a burden or an asset, as some of the welfare responses and practices, such as industrial schools and orphanages, suggest. For the State, similar to the pre-industrial problem of the burden of an excess of (not)Adults versus “(not)Adults as an asset” for the father, there are two possibilities within this tension. One view considers (not)adults as an asset, worthy of protecting and developing, while the other perhaps suggests a reluctant burden and a quandary as to whether there is any worth in protection. The latter view is very different and very strange in the genealogical sense, with regards to contemporary views of child protection in the Western version of the world.

Rethinking “protection”

The idea of protection figures very highly in relation to (not)Adults in contemporary times. But, when we consider (not)Adults as property in relation to the term “child

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protection”, we could wonder, in terms of value, assets and property as to What exactly is being protected; what is at stake?

And so, it is the claim here that the concept of protection with regards to the four discourses considered in this thesis plays out very differently and has a range of meanings. Within the discourse of property, in the physical world, when the aim is to protect something such as property, one can build a boundary and set up border security to police these boundaries. Similarly, to protect (not)Adults as property, such boundaries needed to be secured. Accordingly boundaries are set both in the physical world and in the world of ideas and expert knowledge, and its boundaries have been “policed”, to paraphrase Donzelot (1979).

Revisiting Aristotle’s thinking in terms of protection, where children as their father’s property are, as it were, part of “himself”, and not subject to the usual rights and laws afforded to grown-up adults, in my analysis, Aristotle appeared to ignore the potential of child abuse. This is because they were, in a sense, not yet human and not entitled to basic human rights. The private familial space ruled by the father acted as a zone of silence and privacy, which enabled the father to protect his property and to administer as he desired in order to maintain the family economy and his standing in society. Again, as has already been argued, in the era of governmentality this private space came increasingly under threat and so Aristotle’s private paternal and familial space was opened up by the State into a public space. Aristotle’s invisible (not)Adults became increasingly more visible under the gaze of the State and the State became more concerned with protection.

The analyses of Rose (1989) and Donzelot (1979) tell us that expert knowledges were established to police this new development and to articulate new boundaries, such as the invention or partitioning of a separate conceptual stage of life called childhood (Aries 1973), with another lifestage categorised and annexed in the nineteenth century to be called youth or adolescence (Hall 1904). The so-called invention of the concept of childhood and adolescence, as a form of governmentality, along with the discourse of medicine and pedagogy, enabled society to intervene in this private space of the family. From discursive practices and knowledges and an opening of private space, there

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emerged some of the contemporary modern understandings of (not)Adults, of the concepts of childhood, youth and adulthood.

In my application of Foucault’s analysis (and Rose’s and Donzelot’s), society, through governmentality, by fostering self-regulation and obedience, protects the (not)Adult as an economic asset with the potential to be a future consumer, producer or believer. Indeed, Foucault noted that the management of childhood and pedagogy was one of the key problems from the sixteenth century onwards. This is made possible by the invention of a “model citizen” and a grown-up adult, etc. Society’s interest would be in producing useful citizens, producers, workers and professionals and in times of war – producing good soldiers.

In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, the problem of protection shifted as a result of the moral panic of juveniles, orphans, street Arabs, etc., towards the problem of protecting children from being lured into crime and its effect on society. This was made possible through legislation, reinforcing the civilised moral code and encoding the unprotected as deviants such as “juvenile delinquents”, “street Arabs” and vagrants. Under the aegis of a governmentality of child protection came an array of special languages, codes, knowledges and practices which would position and further codify the normal / not-normal, such as the Children and Young Persons Care and Protection Act 1998 in NSW. With this came the construction the deviant “bad father”, “poor provider”, “irresponsible parent”, “paedophile”, etc. and a related set of emerging disciplines and institutions such as medicine, mental health, domestic violence, etc. Whilst these ideas serve to iterate notions of the medical view of youth, the legal view of childhood, innocence, misrule, etc. they are also devices that protect (not)Adults as property in the interest of the owner.

In terms of “protection of (not)Adults as the State’s property” all the expert disciplines, knowledges and practices such as Donzelot’s notions of tutelage, pedagogy, child protection, or child psychology, instead of being designed to protect (not)Adult human rights, can be seen as devices which enabled the State to protect its property from the spectre of bad parenting, child abuse and damage, and to claim ownership of those (not)Adults as “our kids”.

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Chapter Six: Growth

This chapter explores the discourse of growth in relation to (not)Adults. It investigates a range of knowledges and practices that have emerged throughout recent history that contribute to the contemporary commonsense of life stages and growth.

The discourse of growth positions (not)Adults as moving through a process of a staged development towards eventual maturing as an adult: in metaphor – as a tree. Beginning with an exploration of this “tree” metaphor, this chapter unpacks a selection of little stories which illustrate how this tree metaphor mutates, in the different ways it is told from the old Hindu myths and Aesop’s Fables, to the influence of Aristotle and Plato, the medieval stories of the stages of life and Enlightenment philosophy, to how in the twentieth century the invention and normalisation effects of distinct stages of “childhood”, “youth” and “adolescence” enabled more positivist versions of the story to emerge in disciplines such as adolescent development, child psychology and pedagogy.

Treating the child as ‘little’ (as well as in its literal and metaphorical meaning), developing, incompetent, non-social and vulnerable has been in accordance with common sense.

Rautiainen (1997, p. 1)

The image of the tree is frequently used as a metaphor for growth in Western culture. It suggests that ideas and objects take root from a seed to grow in an upward direction following a hierarchical structure: as put by Deleuze and Guattari “The tree is already the image of the world” (2004 p. 5). A classic iteration of the tree as a metaphor for growth can found in Darwin’s “Trees of Life” (1872) that underpins his theories of evolution and anthropology. Elsewhere, Hazel Minot (1997) notes a plethora of what she describes as “world trees” such as the biblical Tree of Knowledge and Tree of Life; or the hierarchical Porphyria Tree which was adapted from an introduction by Porphyry to Aristotle’s Categories (2000) which presented the basis of Aristotle’s thought as a tree-like scheme of dichotomous divisions.

The ubiquity of these world trees has led post-structural theorists such as Deleuze and Guattari (2004) to propose the existence of an “arborescent” (tree-like) logic as a

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foundational thinking model or schema of the Western mind. When considered as a schema for growth, their image of that tree evokes a shape for linear development. It describes a growth from a foundation or seed into a fully formed tree as the shape of a progression from birth to an adult selfhood. From the seeds of infancy grows the future adult, held secure by the roots and the foundational trunk, always growing upwards and connected to that which came before. Similar to the growth of a tree, progress and effects that relate to growth can be easily measured. In this thesis “measurement” is configured, calibrated and regulated is understood here as a powerful discursive practice. The argument in this chapter is that under a discipline of measurement, (not)Adults become subjects, or subjects of this measurement, where (not)Adults are codified as stages, to chart the progress from infancy to adulthood. When this knowledge is applied in practice, it can predict, evaluate and make judgements and normalise. Thus, (not)Adults are fashioned according to a discursive knowledge of (not)Adult development.

From a Foucauldian approach, the proposition here is that the “truth” of this measurement and its calibration is not discovered, it is not naturally occurring, it is “invented”. The discourse of growth and its measurement is a social story, constructed from parts assembled from multiple Western disciplines and discourse. It establishes agreed-upon benchmarks and sets boundaries for the categories of child, youth, adolescent and adult and legitimates particular (not)Adult selfhoods. The discursive knowledge of child and adolescent development, drawn from a range of discursive practices such as pedagogy, psychology and social work, enables what I refer to here as measurable “positivist versions” of the (not)Adult. Just as we saw in the previous discussion on the discourse of property, there is a particular power/knowledge and governmentality in operation within the discourse of growth. Perhaps, as Deleuze and Guattari suggest, it is a power and logic of tracing and reproduction which is about constructing and regulating what is considered to be normal growth, about shaping and fashioning (not)Adults into adults through control and normalisation. Hence, ideas of measurement around normal rate of growth, normalised benchmarks and boundaries are powerful discursive knowledges which distinguish the “fully grown” from the “(not)fully grown” adult and which have powers of exclusion/inclusion that impact directly on individuals within society. These powers have been masked and obscured by

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history, with the tree and the discourse of growth grounded in a powerful and subliminal commonsense that underpins Western ideas about stages of life. These ideas have been with us since the earliest days of civilisation.

The discourse of growth is punctuated by two critical benchmarks: the invention of childhood in the middle ages and the invention of adolescence at the turn of the twentieth century. Both of these inventions were a long time in the making and are palimpsests of multiple overlaid and partially erased historical narratives. The claim here is that each of these two inventions was critical to the development and regulation of the discourse of growth, and also for distinguishing and policing the boundaries between infancy and adulthood. In turn these inventions, once established, consolidated the discursive practices and power relations that formed them.

As noted earlier in this section, there are many related “little” stories and developments which historically contribute to this discourse. They resonate and shift across a number of texts, genres and disciplines, including philosophical texts, myths and fables, medical texts, sociological texts, anthropological texts and popular fiction. What follows highlights some of these stories, beginning with myths and fables from ancient cultures.

Ashrams, Aesop and stages of life

The narrative of normalised stages of life threads back to ancient cultures, such as the Hindu “Stages of Life”. The Hindu Stages of Life recognised four main stages or ashrams of life. In some versions, these stages are arranged in four groups of twenty years, while in more recent versions it is four times twenty-five years. The work of Bharati (2007) demonstrates a clear distinction in the first two Hindu ashrams between that of (not)Adult as a “student of life” and that of Adult as a “householder” respectively. Ashrams three and four mark a gradual retreat and preparation for death in alignment with Hindu religious assumptions. The general logic of the Hindu stages of life is similar to that found in the fables of Aesop. Aesop’s fable ‘The Man, the Horse, the Ox and the Dog’ is a story of three life stages, which loosely align with the first three ashrams (albeit with different attributes and a far more ignoble retreat towards

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death) where three animals are invited to divide a lifecycle between them, in a way that reflects their animal characteristics. The Horse takes youth, because like horses, youth are impatient and untamed; in Aesop’s Horse we see an emergence of an early version of the modern commonsense idea of the troubled, impatient and hot headed adolescent. While in contrast, the Ox takes adulthood, as like the Ox adults are assumed to be level- headed, mature and domestic .

The contribution of Pythagoras, Aristotle and Plato

According to some historians (e.g. Tarnas 1991), Pythagoras appears to have been a conduit from some earlier Persian, Babylonian, Egyptian cultures into Greek philosophy and science. Aware of older stories of the ages of life, Pythagoras applied his penchant for numbers to measurements of stages of life to come up with a teleological model for human development. The Pythagorean model was taken up in the work of the philosophers that followed Pythagoras, including Plato and Aristotle.

In my analysis, both Aristotle and Plato appear to be in general agreement regarding the discourse of growth, albeit with a subtle difference on the question of the responsibility for facilitating this growth, similar to their differences on the discourse of property. Their dispute here arises from the varying emphasis they make on the good of the individual verses the greater good of the collective. From an individualised, self- directed view to the progression to adulthood, Aristotle’s end product was a “self- directed” moral adult who came to know themselves, so that;

They neither love warmly nor hate bitterly, but following the hint of bias they love as though they will some day hate and hate as though they will some day love. They are small-minded, because they have been humbled by life: their desires are set upon nothing more exalted or unusual than what will help them to keep alive.

Aristotle Rhetoric 13, 360 BCE, Electronic Text

Aristotle emphasised an obligation and duty foron parents (and philosophers) to do the job of nurturing and providinge tutelage, to initially facilitate this growth. It is the moral duty of (not)Adults to individually continue this process, i.e. the drive towards

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the prime of life and to turn the potential into the actual as a process of self- improvement. In his measurement of growth, Aristotle continued a Pythagorean theme of the four ages of life, each of about twenty years. However, he did not consider these four stages to be of equal value and he placed an emphasis and privilege on the third stage, between forty and sixty years of age, as being the prime of life. This emphasis on the prime of life dismisses the later years as decay and the earlier years as periods of defect.

According to Aristotle, the prime time of adulthood was that period the Western European world currently understands as middle age. At fifty years the greatest potential was achieved. According to his concept of causality, Aristotle argued that all beings, bar the supreme being, were composed of a blend of actuality and potentiality (Turner, 1907). Such a view positions (not)Adults in terms of their future prospects as “potential” rather than “actual”, as immature and unformed versions of an adult human. Like a little tree that is not fully formed but resembles a big tree, understood not in terms of “what it is” but “what it might be”, this mini adult, has been described as a “homunculus” (Aries 1973).

Aristotle’s version of (not)Adult suggests a prospective state, one in anticipation of adulthood. It also infers a diminished value in relation to the finished product. (not)Adults are a future prospect, as future adults, always in a state of becoming rather than being, with their lives spent mainly not in memory but in expectation. It is a persuasive truth, still in circulation, deeply embedded in statements such as “wait till you are old enough”, “coming of age” or statements such as “children should be seen but not heard” that position (not)Adults as having no legitimate agency in the here and now. It is still a deeply embedded assumption in contemporary youth work practices as demonstrated later in the examples from practice in Chapter Eight.

Plato appears to be in agreement with Aristotle about the (not)Adults considered as a future adult rather than an actual (not)Adult in the here and now. However, the dispute between Plato and Aristotle in relation to the prospective state of (not)Adult subjectivity appears to be again related to the problem of ownership (of property). Within the discourse of growth, the dispute shifts from ownership towards a responsibility to facilitate and shape growth. This has different implications for the discursive work that

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is done by the discourse of growth. In the interests of protecting the collective greater good, Plato appears to have been concerned about parents’ damaging the goods, so to speak, or stunting growth. In this way, perhaps, Plato affords more value and status to (not)Adults than Aristotle. His thinking emphasised the obligation for the State to distinguish and train useful components of society and the state.

In Plato’s life stages, the age of seven assumed a critical significance as a time where childhood ended. It was also a critical time for separating children from the corrupting influence of their parents, when, from the State’s perspective, the real preparation for adulthood began. He recommended that the State should step in to direct growth, for the greater good of society and to overrule the family economy or individualised concern. More than two thousand years later, we see perhaps echoes of this thinking symbolically played out in the contemporary Western European version of the world, where at between five to six years of age children are symbolically repositioned by the State from the sole influence of their family into that of the broader sphere of school life, pedagogy and the regulatory influence of the State.

Philippe Aries and the “invention” of childhood as a stage of life

The ideas of stages of life in Hindu and Greek culture were characterised by their assumptions of the distinct life stages as benchmarks, each with particular traits and characteristics. These assumptions appear to have been accepted as persuasive commonsense, passed on and reshaped through Greek culture, to Roman culture and on to European civilisation in the Middle Ages.

In his key text Centuries of Childhood (1973), Philippe Aries offered an analysis that challenged the status of assumptions around childhood. As he looked to the past for a history of childhood, he proposed that the contemporary idea of childhood was a social invention, that it wasn’t until the Middle Ages in Europe that childhood became understood as a distinct and separate stage of life between that of the infant/baby and adult. To support this argument he studied historical works of art and literature, looking for evidence throughout the ages of historical conceptions of children and childhood.

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The invention of a stage of life defined as childhood can be understood as an example of a discursive practice of regulation and governmentality through measurement and benchmarking. Aries’ work illustrates that, following on from Aristotle and Plato, there have been a series of discursive inventions and practices, including the invention of childhood, which have reiterated the discourse of growth by enabling this measurement. The idea of life stages and developmental schemas is central to the idea of measurement, as evident in the work of Piaget (1965), and Erikson (1950). However, these benchmarks and measurements are by no means settled. They are not fact, but instead are contingent on situation, history and the research claims of the historian: they all lead from historical claims that have been the subject of continuous academic debate.

The work of historians of childhood and youth, such as Gillis (1974), Cunningham (2005, 2006), Heywood (2001), de Mause (1982), Aries (1973), Shorter (1976), and Stone (1969, 1977) tells us that in the Western European world throughout the Middle Ages, there was no agreement on the benchmarks, indicators or even language with which to describe child and youth development. The research by these historians is, however, problematic, given a general lack of reflexivity in their work. With reference to the field of historiography this problematic is described by Ashplant and Wilson (1988) as “anachronistic error” and “present-centeredness” (p. 253). Thus, as Aries and others looked into the past, they did so with a particular present-centeredness, each looking for evidence that the idea of childhood existed as it did in their present day. It is evident from reading their work that they had their own version of childhood and youth in their heads. What they found in their histories, varied according to their own understandings of what they were looking for.

Using a genealogical approach, it is possible to track how these different and partial understandings changed and contributed to our contemporary perspectives. The effects of discursive knowledge and practices and governmentality, as unearthed by these researchers, contribute to a construction of distinct period of “childhood”.

Firstly, if language itself becomes understood from a post-structural viewpoint as slippery and unsettled, so too do the words that have been used to describe (not)Adults. For instance, John Gillis (1974) notes that as late as the eighteenth century, French and

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German words such as garçon and Knabe referred to boys as young as six and as old as thirty or forty. The word “child” is noted by de Mause (1982) as referring to anyone from infancy to old age depending on the context.

Secondly, the discourse of property discussed in the previous section, of (not)Adults considered as the chattels of the father, exposes the relations of powerful words such as “boy” . Words make possible purposeful and distinct relations and territories of power between adults and children. We can see evidence of this in Cunningham’s (2005) observation that words such as “boy” that were used in more recent times to describe children and young people, were also used to describe slaves or prisoners, leading to an association between slave and child.

Thirdly as the effects of what Foucault described as the era of governmentality take hold in the latter part of the Middle Ages, what I describe here as the “technologies of governmentality” have increased impact.

These technologies are neatly demonstrated in Aries’ (1973) commentary about the practices of celebrating the birthday. While birthdays are something we take for granted in the twenty-first century, Aries noted that in the Western European world during the Middle Ages, birthdays were often neither recorded or celebrated. Aries argued that while more educated people in 16th – 17th century Europe might know their exact age or birth date, the majority of people would not. The celebration of birthdays was taboo, perhaps associated with pagan rituals. Aries tells us that the inscription of a year of age emerged after this time as a means of identification to codify and describe the population. It follows that without birthdays, it was impossible to precisely determine age and measure growth. It was not until the eighteenth century when parish priests began to keep their registers with a greater accuracy that even the notion of age became more embedded into identity and culture. Thus, the invention and the acceptance of the “birthday” as a common practice, combined with the more accurate keeping of birth records by parish priests, when reframed as a process of governmentality has significant implications for (not)Adult subjectivity. The encoding of age began to link (not)Adults to a world of precise measurement.

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As soon as our children start to talk, we teach them their name, the age and their parent’s name... But in our technical civilisation, how could anyone forget the exact date of his birth, when he has to remember it for almost every application he makes, every document he signs, every form he fills in...

Aries (1973, p. 15)

As the surveillance and governmentality of scientific measurement developed, there were several longstanding models for the “stages of life” in circulation within Western culture According to Schultz (1991) and Aries (1973), such models can be gleaned from various sources, such as the writings of Augustine and Isidore (4th century AD), the Isagoge ad Tegni of Johannitus (13th century), and the Le Grand Propriétaire (1556 AD), alongside the earlier Greek models of Pythagoras, Aristotle, Iamblichus and Hippocrates. These models had both similarities and differences. For example, a life stage of adolescentia “adolescence” (from adolescere “to mature”) emerges in Augustine as the age range of 14 to 28 years,.yet according to the model of the Isagoge ad Tegni, adolescentia describes the period from 0 to 25 years, while the Le Grand Propriétaire introduces another category of “youth”, which is very different to contemporary ideas of youth and perhaps more like what we call “middle age”.

“Childhood” considered as a space that opens up between the world of adults and infants

Though Aries’ work is not usually associated with a genealogical approach, in its search for similarities and differences it resembles a genealogy where the distinct space of (not)Adult, partitioned as childhood is to be defined within a relationship as the binary other of adult. That is, within this alterity, a concept of child becomes distinguished in contrast to adult. This continues the theme of potentiality, of the (not)Adult as the (not)actual, that we found in Aristotle. As this space continued to widen, according to Aries, a distinct modern version of the concept of childhood emerged, and the space between the worlds of adult and child widened along with the process of civilisation in the modern period. For Aries, a greater differentiation between the worlds of child and adult is indicative of a higher stage of civilisation.

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In most of the research already cited (e.g. Gillis 1974, Aries 1973 et.al.), the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries are considered as the turning point in the emergence of childhood in the modern Western European world. For Aries (1973) the idea of childhood as distinct phase of life occurred as Europe shifted from a feudal to an industrial society, coinciding with the Enlightenment period. Not an overnight phenomenon, it instead emerged with a long prelude that in more affluent families can be traced back to the Renaissance. Aries also associated the idea of childhood with a number of cultural icons such as a Christian shift towards the greater popularity of the image of the innocent baby Jesus.

More recent work by Hugh Cunningham (2005) attempts to aggregate a general consensus amongst historians such as Gillis (1974), Cunningham (2005, 2006), Heywood (2001), deMause (1982), Aries (1973), Shorter (1976), and Stone (1969, 1977) that the eighteenth century is the critical period in the history of childhood, framed by the writing of John Locke at its beginning and the Romantic poets at the end, with Rousseau positioned “at the centre stage” (Cunningham 2005, p. 58). Similarly to Aries he noted that such a shift in thinking did not happen overnight. Rather, it played out over long periods of time leading up to the eighteenth century, and occurred at different times for different groups and social strata. While the boundaries of childhood and youth, as we know them now, began to emerge in Europe in the upper classes during the 16th and 17th centuries, he suggests that they did not really penetrate the great masses of the people until the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

As the concept of “childhood” and later of “adolescence” emerged, the boundaries between childhood and adulthood could be more easily distinguished, and these boundaries were policed or disciplined by the same practices, knowledges and networks that created the possibility of childhood, for example: child protection legislation; welfare and youth work; the discourse of paediatric medicine; teaching and schools; the modern family, as well as objects such as children’s books, toys and distinct children’s clothing, as highlighted in the genealogical work of Donzelot (1979), Rose (1989) and research by Plumb (1975) and Cunningham (2005). For example, Cunningham (2005) observes that in 1730 in England there were no specialised toyshops, yet by 1780 there were toyshops everywhere and a commercial market for children’s literature grew

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exponentially from 1780. While this could be an economic indicator of a higher standard of living, it also tells us that childhood is more seriously understood in economic terms as a distinct demographic and economic market.

Aries argues that this distinct idea of childhood as we know it today arose from two main discursive practices and knowledges, which he termed “sentiments”. The first was characterised by the practices of parents where they resisted the traditional commonsense of parental discipline, choosing instead to protect and nurture or ‘”mollycoddle” (Aries, 1973, p. 127) their children. From what we have discussed earlier, this sentiment is in tension with the patriarchal theme of “spare the rod spoil the child” and earlier patriarchal narratives stretching back to Aristotle. Aries characterised this mollycoddling as a female affection, assuming that the suppressed desire to mollycoddle must have been felt by mothers, nurses and cradle-rockers. This shift in thinking is something that appears to have provoked critical reactions from male archetypes of the time, who speculated that doctors and the discourse of medicine were strategically aligning themselves by working on the family through the mother (Rousseau 1979, Donzelot 1979).

The second key discursive practice was that of a structural approach to pedagogy, implemented through schools, with pedagogy viewed by the state as important in the formation and adjustment of the children’s minds (and morality) that goes to produce good citizens. This idea resonates strongly in the work of Foucault (Foucault 2007) who is noted earlier in this text as commenting that the pedagogy of children was one of the key “problems” for society from the sixteenth century onwards, accompanying a shift towards governmentalisation as the State increasingly administered the provision of education.

The effect of pedagogy in affirming a distinct period of childhood as childhood in turn affirms the need for pedagogy

Earlier, in the sixteenth century, a key figure in the history of modern pedagogy, Desiderius Erasmus (2005), had placed great importance on early education for children. Erasmus thought of a child as a shapeless lump ready to be shaped by expert

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hands. Erasmus’s view epitomised the classic nature verses nurture debate, whereby he believed that nature had implanted a great desire in children to learn, but at the same time like a blank slate, they were innocent and needed to be nurtured and shaped. A failure to do this work might result in the production of something more like an animal than a human, while to succeed would result in a Platonic godlike creature. Like Aristotle, Erasmus also placed great responsibility on the father as responsible for that part of the (not)Adult’s character that distinguishes humans from animals and brings them closest to reflecting the divine. He argued strongly that education should be done through positive reinforcement and that that there should be a structured pedagogy of a mixture of work and play. He also emphasised tutoring in good manners and learning to be civilised. While he did acknowledge both original sin, he proposed, similar to Plato, that the adult world was responsible for the way children developed. As Cunningham (2005) observed, education for Erasmus and the early humanists of the Renaissance was not simply that of innate growth or development, but involved a visual conception of the ubiquitous “tree of life” – again – as part of a metaphor of horticulture.

The need for facilitating growth through careful nurturing and structured pedagogy, is later reaffirmed within the work of John Locke in his Thoughts Concerning Education written in 1693 as a collection of letters of advice on child rearing and education. Locke emphasised the importance of installing obedience to reason, through a process of disciplining the child to submit his will to the reason of others (Locke 1989). The end product for Locke was a grown up adult (male?) who was not ruled by wild unsanctioned desires and could submit to his own reason, when he is “of age to make use of it” (Locke 1989, p. 111). Similar to Erasmus, Locke is well known for describing the child as a blank slate (tabula rasa), noting that this was with regard to ideas only and not to innate temperaments and abilities. He argued that children were born with innate temperaments and abilities, inherited from their parents. Locke argued that because of these innate traits, no two children to be the same, as they all had different temperaments, abilities and particular defaults (Locke 1975).

Later on, Rousseau also warned about the risk of not paying enough attention to pedagogy. Similarly to Aristotle, he thought that with the right support and appropriate guidance it was possible for children to grow into virtuous and kind adults who would

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contribute towards a better society. Like Erasmus, Rousseau warned that if support was neglected at this stage, there would be serious consequences, and children would become inhuman, cruel and with an angry and vindictive temperament (Rousseau 1979).

In the wake of Locke and Rousseau, there came a new wider interest in pedagogy, as from the nineteenth century onwards schools increasingly became accessible to the poor and disadvantaged in the Western world (Benson-Clough 1904; Gillis 1975). A free public education system was established in Australia and England by 1870, emerging from a foundation established in the ragged schools, Sunday schools, workhouses, as well as from the public schools which had been established hundreds of years prior for the wealthier population. In Australia, Allen, Roberts & Litt (2001) describes the development of the free public education system as something that followed an era of Christian schools in the first hundred years of European colonisation whereby the State wrested the responsibility for schooling from the churches, although in Australia the State ended up giving some of this responsibility back. This “new” pedagogy in Australia and England had roots in the classic traditions of the Greeks, in the Sophists, in Socrates, in Plato’s Academy and Aristotle’s Lyceum, in the Scholastic and Neo-Platonic strands of the early Christian Church, and in the public schools and universities of the middle ages (such as Rugby or Eton). This was further progressed by a new energy and understandings of of childhood as a distinct space as formulated by Erasmus, Locke, and Rousseau.

The analysis here in this thesis is that, according to my interpretation of the discipline of pedagogy, from an early age (not)Adults are lined up and grouped together according to life stage cohorts, their abilities are tested, codified, and shaped, and they are aligned on trajectories towards adulthood. Thus pedagogy is understood here in terms of a discursive practice of power relations, as representing both a practical and altruistic impulse along a continuum from Aristotle’s self-direction towards a Platonic State-direction, where obedience to tutelage and expert knowledge enables the State to shift the responsibility away from the family. The State assumes the responsibility for the wellbeing of (not)Adults and the nurturing of their growth as they are perhaps practically and symbolically taken from their families into schooling at 6 or 7 years of

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age. Through the structure and bureaucracy of pedagogy, the category of childhood becomes an important benchmark, the regulation for nurturing good citizens part of the governmentality for the greater good of managing security, territory and population (Foucault 2007).

The discursive effects of the discipline of medicine on the family and (not)Adults

As was suggested earlier, in reference to Rousseau’s observation of the mother as the agent of the doctor, commentary by Donzelot’s (1979) suggests that until the middle of the eighteenth century, the discipline of medicine appears to have taken little interest in either women or children. This lack of interest was due to notions of the time whereby children were often seen as surplus, expendable or a burden (Gillis 1974), or women as reproduction machines, while it was (some) men who were the movers and shakers of the world (Engels 1884). This changed during the late eighteenth century as medical practitioners turned their gaze towards women and the family, perhaps in my analysis as unrealised participants in a future medical marketplace, and Marx and Engels challenged the traditional passive roles of women (Engels 1884). These changes also play out as a gender war, as under the new bureaucracy of medical science, through tutelage od mothers, that the mother was afforded a new status in the family and society. Mothers began to usurp the traditional power of the patriarchy as together with the fathers they become “parents”. Mothers brought the world of medicine into the family. According to Donzelot, in this regenerated family the mother was positioned in a gate- keeping role of surveillance and the management of health and hygiene. As Donzelot commented, “the Doctor prescribes and the mother executes” (Donzelot 1979, p. 18).

Extending Donzelot’s (1979) arguments, as this “new market” began to open up through the tutelage, the discourse of medicine began to regulate the realm of childbirth and children’s illnesses, and so as the space of childhood became structured and encoded by pedagogy, (not)Adults also came under the increased attention and scrutiny of the bureaucratic gaze of medicine as an emerging discursive knowledge. As a result of all of this attention, the (not)Adult began to be examined in the light of measurement, categorisation and regulation. This discursive work was not confined exclusively to the

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discipline of medicine but was complemented by work of other disciplines, such as pedagogy and broader philosophical texts such as Rousseau (1979), Locke (1989) and Voltaire (2006). There was a degree of crossover and blurring, which would lead to the emergence of pedagogy and public education and those that would lead to the medical view of growth. For example, as we have seen earlier, complimentary texts such as Rousseau’s ‘Emile’ (1979) and the work of John Locke (1989), had a big impact on both areas in terms of conceptions of childhood and growth.

Donzelot’s (1979) argument is that the effect of such action on the family is to close the family off from the negative influences of archaic educational traditions, the practice of the domestic servants and old wives etc., and to protect it against the social promiscuities and child abuse; the privileging and advancement of women; the beginning of the influence of the doctor on the family against all of the old structures of education and religious discipline. The effects of all this measurement and analysis opened up further spaces within the conception of the (not)Adult. The discourse of growth is significantly implicated within this discursive work.

The emergence of “youth” and “adolescence” as a stage in life

In his key text Youth and History (1974), John Gillis wrote an account of the emergence of the specific concepts of youth and adolescence in history. In his work we can see yet another (not)Adult space which opens up as a rupture between childhood and adulthood. He takes up the story in preindustrial Europe, where in his pragmatic view of these times, he opts for something resembling the four-stage Pythagorean model to describe the medieval conception of the stages of life. He based his work on records left by local church and business officials, such as birth and death records. His work revealed the harsh conditions in medieval life of high infant mortality, a lower life expectancy, and delayed marriage and parenthood ,as described in the following schema adapted from his work:

Childhood: 0-10 years

Youth: 10-30 years

Parenthood: 30 -50 years

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Death or retirement: over 50 years.

Adapted from Gillis (1974, p. 2)

Extending Gillis’s analysis, the teleology of childhood, youth and adulthood is understood here as contingent on an array of historical variables such as economics, location, gender, class standing, general health, patriarchy, emergence of fraternity, political, technology and industry. For example, Gillis argued that in the pre-industrial society of England, with its limited resource base, English society could not sustain high population growth and that a number of strategies were used to keep the population down, including the practice of delaying getting married and having a family. This meant that if marriage could be considered as an indicator of adulthood, a delay in marrying indicates a symbolic delay in entering adulthood and an extended period of youth. Hence Gillis opts for a period of youth which might extend from the working age of 10 up to the marriage age of 30.

As the feudal and rural age gave way to the industrial and urban age, and as the old ways of family, patriarchy and fraternity began to be re-imagined, Gillis describes the emergence of distinct understandings of youth and childhood. Furthermore, according to Gillis’s work, the society that had so strongly supported the patriarchal system of family and governance until the seventeenth century, was now prepared to cut young people loose and permit them an appearance of independence, even allow them to set up their own households, because by that stage, at the dawn of the industrial revolution, it was to society’s benefit to have an abundance of labour (Gillis, 1974). The analysis by Gillis (1974) of historical registers in late sixteenth century Ealing, tells us that the problem of surplus youth was putting stress on the family economy, with youth increasingly becoming a problem that needed to be managed. In these times boys ordinarily left home between the ages of eight and fifteen (girls between nine to fourteen) to work as servants, join the clergy, seek their fortunes in the city as journeymen, join the military, or be placed in schools.

Contributing to the increase in surplus youth was an increase in general health and well-being in the broader population. In his study of the age of “menarche” in Western Europe from the eighteenth century, historian Peter Laslet (1971) noted that the biological indicators were variable. This was linked to advances in health and

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wellbeing, nutrition, as the children of the rich matured earlier than the children of the poor. As society shifted from the rural pre-industrial society to an urban industrial society the age of menarche, as a benchmark for puberty, began to fall.

As is evident in Gillis’s work, if childhood and adulthood could be visually imagined as two distinct tectonic plates or territories which are drifting apart, then in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, in between these plates another rupture occurred, which allowed a distinct territory of adolescence or youth to be recognised on its own in the Western world. Eventually, the space between childhood and adulthood began to come into its own, as the characteristics attributed to either childhood and adulthood could not explain the behaviour of that age group of 14 to 25 years which followed the onset of puberty. As noted earlier, this space was something which had been described by Augustine hundreds of years earlier as adolescentia (Schultz 1991).

In the late nineteenth century, a US psychologist G. Stanley Hall (1904) claimed this space and famously popularised the term “adolescent” to describe this new distinct (not)Adult space that existed between childhood and adulthood. In doing so, Hall became widely recognised in youth studies (Cunningham 2005, Savage 2007) for laying the foundations for contemporary thinking about (not)Adults as adolescents. The view taken in this thesis would be that Hall did not really invent the modern idea of adolescent inasmuch as announce its arrival as an “object” which could be described and normalised by the discursive knowledges and disciplines of medicine, sociology and politics. Hall’s work is highly regarded by contemporary commentators such as Savage (2007) as the beginning of the story of modern youth culture. The blue print of his version of the adolescent is articulated in his seminal text Adolescence: Its psychology and its relations to physiology, anthropology, sociology, sex crime, religion and education, published in 1904.

Just as most of the classic storylines explored in the previous section drew from the Hindu and Greek traditions and the classic philosophical texts, similarly Hall’s (1904) version of the adolescent built on those ideas, but extended them much further. He did this by using a mix of scientific and cultural studies and blurring fact with fiction or science with myth. Hall appears to have brought together elements that echoed how (not)Adults were played out in the classic literature of Goethe and Shakespeare and

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combined them with an adaptation of Haeckel’s recapitulation and with the emerging field of psychology pioneered by Freud. His “adolescent” is simultaneously an object of science and a mythical character.

Hence, it is appropriate for the analysis in this section of the text, to include brief commentary both on the classic literature and fictional archetypes, as well as the philosophical and scientific texts that unpinned Hall’s work.

In Hall’s hands, Goethe’s Werther or Shakespeare’s Hamlet shape a blueprint for his version of the modern adolescent. In a particular reference to Shakespeare in his text, Hall (1904) cited a paper entitled ‘Shakespeare and Adolescence’ by Libby (1901) that recognised seventy-four interesting adolescents in Shakespeare’s comedies, forty-six in his tragedies, and nineteen in his histories, including characters such as Romeo, Juliet, Hamlet, Ophelia, Prince Hal, and Richard of Gloucester. Hall presents the adolescent as both a problem and an opportunity, and in doing so, often works at cross-purposes, or perhaps tries to be all things to all people. While he incorporated Victorian moral panics about sex, crime and (not)Adults to construct pathologies, he also recruited the promise of Rousseau’s (1979) romantic idea of a new birth. His text oscillates between the definition of measureable adolescent pathologies and that of the adolescent as a symbol of the future, as a “cult of youth” and a cultural symbol for a young America. Hall saw adolescence as rebirth that contained promise for the future. In reference to Rousseau, and, by inference, Plato, he was romantically optimistic and yet also worried about the failure to support (not)Adults through the period of adolescence. He too proposed that a feature of any enlightened civilisation was the protection of the adolescent from adulthood.

Hall’s construction of the adolescent presented a blend of the romantic cult of youth mixed with the sombre codification of the discourse of medicine where it is a story of the psychology of adolescence. As an object in the hands of the discourse of medicine, through the work of Hall, Goethe’s version of adolescent sturm und Drang was reshaped as a separate stage of life characterised by pubescent and adolescent pathologies. Such pathologies were understood as problems that present opportunities for intervention and tutelage from expert knowledge, practices, disciplines and institutions. The growth and development of the child and the adolescent became

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subject to the disciplines of an emerging psychological model of adult development, which began with Hall. This further affirms the proposition by Rose (1989) and Donzelot (1979) that from the onset of the twentieth century in the Western world, adolescents as a new category were subject to an extraordinary amount of measurement, normalisation and governmentality.

Hall (1904) attributed characteristics of adolescence as: [1] self-definition or an urgent concern for finding one’s “real” self; [2] estrangement; of feeling like a marginal member of society, yet with the feeling of absolute freedom; [3] a rebellious stance and a feeling of always being under observation by critical (not)Adults; [4] a rebellious sense of solidarity based on the perceived sharing of fads, fashions, and styles by others in the same age group or generation; [5] intense age-consciousness; [6] refusal to be stuck in a rut, and an irrational devotion to change and experiment; [7] either an obsessiveness or shame over uncontrollable physical changes, like sex fantasies, body weight and shape, dietary habits, the outgrowing of clothing, outbreaks of acne, etc.

In my analysis here, Hall’s work provided simplistic schemas and indicators of what constitutes so-called “normal” adolescent behaviour, and commentary such as Savage’s (2007) also supports this view. According to this version of adolescence, indicators of being on a “normal” pathway of moral development could include: obsessive concern for bodily appearance; fear of abandonment expressed as assertion of independence; desire to be different in terms of “fads”; sexual desire and acts of manipulation; wanting to be like other races or cultures; persistent wisecracking ; obsessive desire for success and recognition; lack of self-identity or distinct self-concept; and emotional extremes expressed as sensitivity to criticism.

Also, it appears Hall had gendered concerns for producing what he thought were “real” men. In Hall’s hands the “adolescent” is generally gendered as male.

Some key texts and ideas underpinning Hall’s version of the modern adolescent

While often credited as the inventor of the modern adolescent, in my analysis, as has already been suggested, Hall rather than being the “author” appears more like the

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“collator” who blended a selection of sources, cobbled them together as a definition of the adolescent and then announced its arrival. Hall’s version of the adolescent feels more like a fictional hero or villain, or a brand, than a scientific life stage. His eclectic amalgam of sources were assembled and written at the turn of the century, when in Fleming’s (1963) description, Hall’s work, with its roots both in classic literature, anthropology and medical discourse, lay “… halfway between the philosophical fiction of past centuries and the controlled observation and experiment of the present” (Fleming 1963, 36).

In the following section some of the works of both fiction and philosophy are noted for their relevance, as they are recruited or scaffolded into the medical discourse of Hall’s work of constructing the modern adolescent. They are included as an insight into the ingredients in Hall’s assemblage of the adolescent.

Rousseau’s Emile

In the eighteenth century, in his Emile (1979), Rousseau extended Erasmus’s and Locke’s ideas further. He rejected the legacy of Aristotle’s ideas of the potential and the tendency to look for the future adult within the child. Instead as an eighteenth century version of a “child and youth advocate”, Rousseau explicitly used his work to validate childhood as a distinct stage of life by asking us to consider a child as a child and arguing that childhood had its own way of thinking. Like Erasmus, Rousseau also celebrated the joy of play:

Love childhood, indulge its sports, its pleasures, its instincts … why rob these innocents of the joy which passes so quickly?

Rousseau (1979, p. 43)

Rousseau strongly promoted childhood as time for play, as a play space that exists before (not)Adults need to grow up and enter the world of so-called “serious” adult business. In this thinking, play and pretence become strongly associated with (not)Adults, with not behaving like a “grown up” when one would be expected to give up play and pretence. Having charted a distinct period of childhood, he also noted a critical moment that occurred after childhood and before adulthood. He declared that the

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period of puberty had such an emotional and mental impact that it was in fact a second birth, a new beginning. Like Hall, he noted such symptoms of post-puberty as shifts in temper, anger and ongoing stirrings of the mind. Rousseau’s thinking was quite controversial in his time, considered to be so scandalous that copies of the book were burned, in protest, upon its publication in 1762 (Savage 2007).

In the twentieth century, adolescent psychologist Fleming, continued Rousseau’s and Hall’s thinking to emphasise that childhood was a period of mental passivity from which there was a “gradual escape to mental activities through a maturing process” (Fleming 1963, 35). Here the discourse of development overlaps with the discourse of untamed youth explored later in this thesis, where along the continuum of development it is expected that there will be a medically accepted period or stage of “youth out of control” or “youth as a problem”. Fleming noted that Rousseau also linked the project of stages of life in with what he considered to be a history of the race (Fleming 1963, 34), proposing that (not)Adult development is a metaphor for evolution of humankind, where the tree of life equates with the hierarchies of a tree of evolution:

0-2 years: To all intents and purposes an animal, in a state of undifferentiated feeling, scarcely more conscious of himself than in pre-natal life.

2-12 years: The level of a savage man, his mind dominated by senses and physical necessity, lack of real reasoning, oblivious to moral consideration.

12-15 years: A pre-adolescence beginning to be capable of self-sufficient thought, consideration of future consequences, still driven by personal utility.

15-25 years An “adolescence”, awakening of sexuality, a new birth, conscience when virtue rules life and a true social life begins.

Adapted from Fleming (1963, p. 34)

Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther

A decade after Rousseau, the German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe wrote the The Sorrows of Young Werther (1990). This dark novel became infamous for its tragic central character young Werther. Through Werther, Goethe created an iconic blueprint

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for the angst-ridden troubled youth, providing a character for Hall to personify youth or adolescence as a distinct phase of life. Werther was also an archetype of untamed youth, as discussed later in Chapter Six, and as so, an updated version of Shakespeare’s Hamlet and his other tragic and comic figures, while also heralding the famous 1950’s icons of teenage cool such as James Dean, Marlon Brando’s “Wild One”, or late twentieth century iconic “death stars” such as Ian Curtis, Kurt Cobain, Sid Vicious or Michael Hutchence. Werther was a tragic character full of the passions of “storm and stress”, and that feeling of loneliness that is now commonly associated with youth and adolescence, similar to Hamlet or Romeo in Romeo and Juliet. In this sorry tale, which reads like a contemporary TV teenage drama such as Home and Away, Werther commits suicide during the passions of love gone wrong, rejected by his lover Charlotte. Unlike Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, the tragedy is inside his head, not in the literal death of his lover. It is a symbolic death. Yet, he cannot bear to live without her and his response is carefully staged to achieve maximum impact. He deliberately uses her pistols to shoot himself, and is careful to leave behind a long passionate letter:

Charlotte! Since the first hour I saw you, how impossible have I found it to leave you. …… ‘They are loaded -- the clock strikes twelve. I say amen. Charlotte, Charlotte! farewell, farewell!’ … A neighbour saw the flash, and heard the report of the pistol; but, as everything remained quiet, he thought no more of it.

Goethe 1990 (1774, p.85)

Goethe’s work heralded the movement in Europe known as Sturm und Drang, as part of an anti-Enlightenment trend that was a forerunner of the Romantic movement. The echoes of the battle of Plato and Aristotle between the transcendent and the practical appears to resonate within this contest. The Sturm and Drang movement also coincided with the shifts in the economic and political life of the Western world mentioned above, of the “New World” of opportunity and the dynamics of colonial imperialism. The Sturm and Drang movement can be understood here as being symbolically enacted in the American and French Revolutions which were, in my analysis as symbolic “youth movements” . For example, Article 28 from the ‘Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen from the Constitution of Year 1 1793’, following the French Revolution of 1789, declares that any one generation

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cannot subject future generations to its law (Anderson 1904). Such bold declarations can be interpreted as a prelude to “youth rights” and a code for a youth movement or youth culture. As one of the first modern adolescents in Western literature, Werther’s story personifies the passions of adolescence.

As the Sturm und Drang adolescent made its first appearance in popular literature, as introduced by Goethe, complimenting other “romantic” cultural role models such as the “Libertines” in the 17th and 18th Centuries and poets such as Byron and Shelley. By the late 19th century the idea of youth increasingly assumed the status of a “critical” distinct stage of life, culminating in the work of Hall. Having invented and given a detailed scientific coherence to the concept of adolescent, Hall’s work opened the doors to a whole scientific field of bureaucracy which quickly moved in to regulate, measure, analyse and normalise, not just (not)Adults but also adults.

After Hall : benchmarking (not)Adults

Following on from Hall came the “bureaucratic” work of the psychoanalytical and behaviourist traditions of Freud, Piaget, Eriksson and Kohlberg and others. The bureaucratic thrust of their work is understood here primarily as involving discursive knowledges and tutelage that neatly benchmark, order and normalise life stages into tidy packages and categories. The effect of this work co-constitutes (not)Adults as an object of the discourse of medicine within what Rose poetically describes as the “governmentality of the soul” (Rose 1979). Texts by these theorists are important for the current argument in terms of the work that they do in consolidating measurement of the growth of (not)Adult and affirming benchmarking and boundary setting for separate stages of childhood, adolescence and adulthood.

If, as suggested by Savage (2007), Hall’s work on the adolescent casts a huge shadow over the twentieth century, so too does the controversial work by Sigmund Freud, considered a close second to Hall in his influence on psychological understandings of adolescence (Fleming 1963). Yet one key difference between Freud and Hall lay in their ideas on sexual awareness; Hall thought that sexuality and sexual awareness was “switched on” during puberty, whereas Freud’s alternative thesis

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acknowledged that while puberty may be a trigger for reproductive awareness, sexual awareness was there from birth, albeit with symbolic manifestations. Freud thereby disrupted traditional thinking on innocence by inferring that (not)Adults did have a sex- life, which he thought consisted of organ pleasure and desire. He noted that in society it was considered normal to repress these desires until the onset of puberty and that this suppression was a learned behaviour (Freud 1922).

With his notions of the Oedipus complex and the superego, the work of Freud (1956) suggests that the goal from puberty onwards was, through symbolic conflict, to break free of the parents, and that only after such symbolic detachment is made, could the person cease to be a child and be a member of the adult community (Freud 1922, Fleming 1963). This idea of generational conflict or a generation gap, whereby the adolescent needs to separate and find a distinct identity, has remained a common theme in the theories of adolescent development which have followed Freud. It is evident in the work of Lacan (2006) who further adapted Freud’s ideas with a postmodern spin. Lacan proposed the idea of life stages, such as the mirror stage, where the child suddenly realises that it is separate to its parents, whereas prior to this stage there is “no subjectivity” (Mansfield 2000, p. 41).

Following Freud and Lacan, other theories such as Piaget’s “Moral Development” (1965), Erikson’s “Stages and virtues” (1968, 1985), Kohlberg’s “Moral Thinking” (1969, 1981, 1984), are notable for increasingly shifting the measurement of the discourse of growth from biological and age-related benchmarks toward skills development and behavioural benchmarks. According to this logic it would be possible to be twenty-two years old (legally an adult) but with the developmental age of a (not)Adult of ten years age, or alternatively to possess an adult brain inside a (not)Adult body.

For example, in the work of Eriksson (1968, 1985), the acquisition of trust versus letting go of mistrust emphasises an important stage in adolescent development, as symbolically played out in the process of weaning. Likewise he argues for favourable outcomes in the working through and acquisition of other “life-stage virtues”, such as hope, will, purpose, competence, fidelity, love, caring, and wisdom. Like Erikson, Kohlberg (1969, 1981, 1984) assumed that the journey began with childhood where the

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impulse is to do the right thing and to obey authority and thereby avoid punishment. Following this, as children grow up, they begin to see that there are different sides to an issue. Later, as young adults, they think of themselves as members of conventional society with its values, norms, and expectations where their concern then shifts toward obeying laws to maintain society as a whole. According to Kohlberg’s idealised Aristotelian model, as grown-up adults in the later stages of life, people are less concerned with maintaining society for its own sake and more concerned with the principles and values that make for a good society. While Eriksson and Kohlberg recall the thinking of Aristotle on virtues, unlike Aristotle they do place greater importance in the here and now of (not)Adult subjectivity and identity, rather than the differed prospective state of the prime of life.

The concept of adolescence and a medically endorsed Sturm und Drang as a stage of growth is a powerful political device of governmentality, to be able under tutelage to dismiss youthful revolution, sedition, or misrule as a provisional effect or just a stage that one is going through, rather than a genuine social movement. Aristotle’s distinction between actuality and potentiality is embedded in this thinking.

A shift towards developing “identity” and acquiring “adult skills” instead of “nurturing adults”

Following on from the work of Hall, Freud, Piaget, Erikson many texts have emerged that describe the adolescent by placing less emphasis on age-related life stages and more on adolescent or youth development in terms of the acquisition of adult skills and symbols (Fromm 1941; Pittman 1991, 2000, 2002; Parsons 1949, 1955). In this work there is still a line representing a trajectory of growth, but the benchmarks are not necessarily linked to age or the behavioural explanations of Piaget, Erikson or Freud. Rather these texts pursue a more sociological and structural approach to the discourse of growth, where rather than being modelled as a linear progression growth becomes associated with skills acquisition.

The net result is a discipline of child and adolescent development or transitions in which a key assumption, drawing from Hall, is that there are such things as a child, an

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adolescent, or an adult, but these are not so fixed in age-related life stages but fall more within skills-related life stages. In this thinking, maturity becomes more a measure of adult capacity than of age in years, an approach that was later opened up in the work of Blatterer (2008) in his rethinking of the notion of adult.

The work of Eric Fromm (1941), Talcott Parsons (1955) and Karen Pittman (1996) are good examples of this trend, as they opened up new ways of thinking about (not)Adults, thus setting the scene for the contemporary notion of the youth worker as the adolescent development worker. The terms “adolescent development” or “transitions” mark a subtle shift in thinking from the idea of “adult development”, positioning (not)Adults more explicitly in the here and now, and resisting Aristotle’s (2000) idea of (not)Adults in terms of potential or as a prospective state. They also closely align with the work of behaviourists such as Erikson (1950) whose purpose is more about the formation through skills acquisition of an individualised identity rather than about achieving adulthood. This agrees with as it also disrupts Aristotle’s idea of knowing oneself, by unsettling the desired end product, by constructing a “here and now” identity as the desired target and not necessarily aiming to grow up into virtuous adulthood. Blatterer (2008) extends this idea to question whether adulthood is in fact the target of growing up. It is here the discourse of growth begins to be problematic, where being young might become the desired outcome, as long as one knows oneself and has an identity in the here and now, where being young might be considered as a condition of life, like being happy.

Fromm, Pittman and Parsons place great emphasis on the here and now and adolescent identity. Eric Fromm’s (1941) continued the notions of generational conflict and identity from Freud to describe (not)Adults as being caught between their continued dependence and their need for autonomy. Within this tension Fromm argues that (not)Adults seek to reduce freedom by engaging in practices that have specific limited behavioural demands, such as gangs, fraternities, religious sects, the military, or even marriage or parenthood. This thinking has continued into contemporary times into journals such as Australia’s Youth Studies that often float the notion that a transition and development from (not)Adult to adult is about building interdependence (i.e. networks and multiple co-dependencies) rather than independence.

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As a popular theorist on youth work and youth development in the 1980’s, Karen Pittman (2000) began to shape a youth development perspective that focused on the needs and competencies of adolescents, a coherent, holistic framework that would help to orient thinking about youth and to inform policies to address youth needs. One of the goals of the youth development perspective was to shift policy away from a programmatic focus on youth problems, towards a more comprehensive approach that views youth as assets, as individuals with resources and capabilities that deserve full support and development. In similar ways to the work of Kohlberg and Erikson, Pittman incorporate these ideas into youth work, challenging youth workers to take on a “youth development”, rather than a “youth deficit” model or a “strengths-based” approach. Again Pittman identifies the work of “growing identity” as the end point, rather than growing adults out of (not)Adults. Her version of youth development theory positioned young people as the central actors in their lives, with youth development as an ongoing process in which young people engaged and invested to find ways to meet their basic physical and social needs, and to develop the social competences and connections that were necessary for survival and success.

Among the critical components of the youth development perspective as imagined by Pittman was the development of a “youth voice”, with initiative and decision-making as key aspects of growth toward maturity. In a review study, Pittman and Wright (1991) distilled six basic adolescent needs. Three of these apply to younger as well as older adolescents, these being safety and structure, belonging and group membership, and closeness and relationship. The other three, in their view, become increasingly critical by middle adolescence, these being self-worth and social contribution, independence and control over one’s life, and competence and mastery. A recent Australian version of youth development is explained by Wyn et al. (1987) as involving four capacities which are required for being able to function as adults in society: physical vitality, resourcefulness, the ability to sustain caring relationships, and social connectedness.

In contrast, another key theorist who influenced youth worker practices was Talcott Parsons, a sociologist who asked as a starting point:

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What can we say about the functions of the family, that is, the isolated nuclear family?

Parsons & Bales (1955, p. 16)

To answer this question, Parsons and Bales took a structural functionalist view of external influences on hidden interiors to suggest hidden depths of identity formation. He saw the functions of the family in a highly differentiated society not as functions directly on behalf of the society, but on behalf of personality, where the human personality is not born but must be made through the socialisation process. In his version of that process, Parsons argued that in the first instance families are necessary. He had the Aristotelian view that families are like “factories” that socialise children to grow into “stable adult personalities” (Parson & Bales 1955, p. 16).

Is it possible to be a “grown up”?

The basic storyline of the discourse of growth is initially a straightforward teleology. It suggests a linear progression towards an end point and often evokes the metaphor of a pathway or a journey that passes through a territory between child and adult spaces. Along this pathway, there are a suite of related metaphors that can be used to contribute to the telling of this linear narrative, such as arborescent associations of change and growth, pathways and journeys, and movement. If we consider a pathway that charts a typical journey from childhood to adulthood, then “youth” begins to make sense along this linear model as a period of transition, or perhaps as a “pit stop”, along the journey between the two.

Measurement and benchmarking of this growth remains a problem. Over time, there has been a constant “border disputes” over where childhood ends, youth begins and ends, and adulthood begins (Blatterer 2008, France 1998, Giroux 2000). The boundaries, thresholds and benchmarks along this pathway have been continuously negotiated, constructed, enacted and contested over the last thousand years of Western European history. Such notions are constructs of expert knowledge and discursive practices, as illustrated in the wide-ranging disputes within academic circles that followed the publication of Philippe Aries’ researches into the history of childhood in

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the 1960’s. There are many scientific and commonsense explanations of this linear narrative, yet there seems to be no settled answer.

And so the question remains open as to how we might know when we have arrived at the destination. When does the (not)Adult grow up and become (is)Adult? Where are the thresholds and boundaries? What are the criteria for qualification as an adult? Any answer to these questions depends on which definition of the (non)Adult you accept, whether it be Freud’s, Lacan’s, Hall’s or Pittman’s et.al, and whether you side with Aristotle’s idea that (not)Adults are “potential adults” rather than complete and distinct entities.

It is argued here that the discourse of growth resembles a number of long-standing stories such as the medieval story of the “stages of life”, or the version of the “ages of man” which was then later shaped into a discursive knowledge or science through the work of people such as Rousseau, Freud, Piaget, Eriksson and Dewey. and through the disciplines of medicine, law and pedagogy. The discourse of growth is implicated within the invention of childhood, youth, and adulthood and the Enlightenment’s promise of an individualised subjectivity. Despite a lack of settled conclusions, the teleological approach to childhood and adolescent development generally represents how “childhood”, “youth” and “adulthood” as categories are considered and understood in the field of practices of parenting and youth work.

Yet there is a tension within this discourse, where the discourse alone cannot provide adequate explanation. It becomes not so straightforward when, for example, a (not)Adult of fourteen years of age becomes homeless. When they are homeless, they are independent of parents, sometimes working at risk of exposure to the adult world of sexuality, and generally outside the safe zone of home and family. In order to survive, they have to quickly acquire adult skills. If independence, employment / lack of employment and sexuality are indicators of adulthood, then these homeless (not)Adults are, in fact, adults. It is at this point that the discourse begins to break down and other discourses such as those of property or innocence are called on. Then we can distinguish the 14 year old homeless person as a (not)Adult, despite the indicators within the discourse of growth which may tell us that this same 14 year old living independently of the family is an adult.

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In this situation there are other discourses to call on which are imbricated with both the discourse of growth and that of property, and are at once complementary and at cross purposes, yet serve to distinguish and exclude the (not)Adult from the adults-only world. These are the discourses of “innocence” and “untamed youth”. The next chapter explores the discourse of innocence, which in terms of the discourse of growth presents a strong characteristic of that “period” of growth called childhood. In terms of the discourse of growth, the transition to the adult world could be also viewed as a staged process of the loss of innocence. Growth and innocence are closely related.

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Chapter Seven: Innocence

In this chapter I present a genealogy of the discourse of innocence. In earlier chapters, I have already briefly alluded to innocence as being one of the key concepts marking the boundary between adult and (not)Adult. As the “nature versus nurture” debate would suggest, there has been no conclusion in Western society as to whether children are really born innocent, or innocence is just another social “invention” a condition that is learnt or conditioned, or if innocence can be understood as a concept that we tell ourselves about (not)Adults in order to distinguish them from adults. Yet despite this lack of conclusion, similar to the undecided discourses of property and growth, innocence is a powerful discursive marker of (not)Adult subjectivity, and is also deeply embedded in the collective moral conscience of Western society, as exemplified earlier in the moral panic about Morgan Featherstone.

In the current genealogy, the discourse of innocence is explored as it is retold and refashioned in other ways emerging from biblical origins in the mythical stories of the Garden of Eden in the Bible, through the ethical dilemma in the Church in the time of St Augustine, to the cult of the baby Jesus as described by Philip Aries (1973), and to the romantic view of innocence and childhood as understood by Rousseau and found in the poetry of Wordsworth. It then explores how the idea of protection plays out in relation to innocence and how this has enabled rescue workers to intervene in order to save (not)Adults whether through Victorian “muscular Christianity” (Rosen 1994), nineteenth century self-help manuals such as Traps for the Young (Comstock 1884), the Boy Scouts, or traditional fraternity or child protection legislation.

It is also noted here that by its association with the concept of sin, the discursive power of innocence is astounding. To apply a genealogical approach and assume that there is such a thing as the social construction of innocence is controversial, and perhaps leads to the risk of suspecting the present writer’s motives. In response to this, as in the case of the other discourses discussed in this thesis, I do not intend to dispute or reject the notion of innocence, but to attempt to understand its power and effect and contribution to the subjectivity of the (not)Adult.

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Innocence is so powerfully embedded within commonsense that it has a privileged status. Despite the nature versus nurture debate, it is emphasised as a given and desirable quality of childhood and, to a lesser extent, of youth. Of all the indicators of innocence, sexuality is one of the most obvious characteristics that establishes boundaries around the idea of innocence, establishing a de-sexualised (not)Adult who is presumed to be the other of the sexualised adult, as shown in the moral panic around Morgan Featherstone in Chapter Three. A key assumption underpinning this panic was the expectation that childhood is expected to be a safe zone, a space of innocence and immunity where the space of childhood innocence is protected from the dangerous sexualised adult world. It is also separate from the affairs of the adult world such as war, the family and social economy, the world of work, as well as the world of sex. As with the discourses of property and growth, in this way innocence works to exclude (not)Adults from the adult world, and to defer premature adulthood.Yet, the storyline of innocence has another important dynamic, emphasised by Rousseau (1979) who noted that innocence also implies a lacking, a weakness.

Rousseau argued that to counter this weakness the child needed a safe space, i.e. “childhood”, to develop strength at the right time and at the right rate. Innocence, protection and weakness are the concepts which provide parents and the State with the legitimate authority to look after children and young people, to protect them from war, sex, and commerce in the same way parents use their experience and wisdom to protect children from injury caused by sticking their hands in an open fireplace or crossing the road without looking. Thus, innocence infers a “lack of experience” and “lack of wisdom” that positions adults as “experienced” and “wise”. Innocence is policed through a staggered and controlled exposure to such experience, by quarantining a distinct stage of life as childhood and youth, and by managing an appropriate transition into adult development. The discourse of innocence is a key discursive power/knowledge embedded in (not)Adult subjectivity, one often imbricated with the discourses of property and growth. An effect of all of this is that innocence enables the production and positioning of weak, dependent and non-sexual (not)Adults, able to be protected, owned and nurtured.

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Forbidden fruit and the tree of knowledge.

Humanist John Earle declared in 1628 that a (boy) child was a miniature man, and:

… the best copy of Adam before he taste of Eve or the apple … his soul is yet a white paper unscribbled with the observations of the world … he knows no evil.

Earle in de Mause (1974, p. 317)

In the Western European world, discourses of innocence and its other the (not)innocent or untamed youth have a common thread within debates in early Christian theology over the problem of original sin such as the allegory of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden (where once again that ubiquitous “tree” metaphor leaks into the discourse):

And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat. But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.

Genesis 2:16-17, King James Version.

The story of Adam and Eve is one of the key signature stories in the Bible, as demonstrated by its prominence in children’s versions of the Bible and its familiarity to children. As with most biblical stories, it can be understood on a number of levels as an allegory and persuasive morality tale. It sets the scene of the Garden of Eden as an innocent “childlike” space that is closer to what the creator is supposed to have intended as the essential nature of humankind. Following the temptation from the snake to steal and eat a fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, Adam and Eve’s innocent childlike state is corrupted by exposure to the vanities of the world outside. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil (and the snake) is a metaphor for a number of things: for sex, obedience, critical thinking or the big world. Because they fell to the temptations of the snake, to steal fruit from the tree and taste it, the generations after Adam and Eve are thereafter cursed by original sin. Adam and Eve failed to accept and believe what they were told and refused to be obedient, thus they were no longer innocent.

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Some of the key characteristics of innocence can be found in this tale where the Garden of Eden represents being in a protected space, a safe zone. It suggests that in this safe zone the innocent are weak and ignorant of the workings of the wider world: with Adam and Eve are positioned as inexperienced, a condition of this innocence as protection is living in obedience to the Father. Innocence is depicted as transparent or uncomplicated, gendered but not sexualised, as the desired natural state: it is good, and everything else as “temptation” is bad. Conversely, eating the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, as a metaphor, plays the role of a deal breaker for this condition of innocence, denoting disobedience to the Father and breaking of the rules. God, as the wise father and rule maker, presents a reasoned proposition of “don’t eat the fruit”. When this prohibition is disregarded, after eating the apple, worries about being sexualised, appear with Adam and Eve suddenly aware and ashamed of their nakedness. The panoptic power in relation to their perceptions of shame is underemphasised in the text, despite the fact that with their shame they have recognised their sin, it is still up to God to tell them they have sinned. The call to obedience is concerned with the consequences of the innocent listening to other alternate opinions, inscribed as “temptation” where through the symbolic snake an outside opinion is trusted. The story calls for the innocent to be protected from new risky ideas, also inscribed as “temptation” where the father represents security and the snake represents risk. Innocence then is very important to the concept of “faith” through obedience and of blindly submitting to what is told to be the greater good.

Thus, in this tale, through the symbolic action of listening to an outside opinion in the form of the temptation offered by the snake, and disobeying God as the Father by eating the fruit. Adam and Eve shift from a ideal condition of innocence to that of the sin of (not) innocence, moving from the protected space of the Garden of Eden into the unprotected space of the outside world, from the safety of the garden into the danger of the jungle.

As a biblical myth, the story may not appear to have much contemporary traction or credibility, but its influence as a persuasive narrative is profound. The tale is powerfully significant in that it is imbricated across multiple storylines including that of patriarchy, gender relations, the role of children, managing sex and age, of a tension between the

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pleasures of the body and the soul, obedience to authority and religious dogma. The Garden of Eden is “childhood”, it is deeply embedded within the commonsense of what is right and what is wrong, the sense of good and evil. It posits a need for an obedience with the guidance that is offered by the Church as the word of God, and the “great chain of being”. It says, “father knows best”; as the authorised holder of the knowledge of good and evil, “father should determine what is good and evil”. It says innocence is good and untamed youth is bad.

St Augustine and others make some “executive decisions” about heaven and hell.

In its first few centuries of the early Christian Western Church, the legacy of the original sin created interesting conceptual dilemmas and inner conflict for the organisation, that would have implications for narrating (not)Adults. As Tarnas noted in his Passion of the Western Mind (1991), a key problem for the Church was that while God had created the world and it was good, God also had created man in the image of God – who should have been good but wasn’t. With man’s fall from grace, as symbolically enacted by Adam and Eve, man lost his divine inheritance and place.

Tarnas suggests that as a solution to this problem, over time the storyline was incrementally adjusted and retold by the Church. Gradually the Church placed a greater emphasis on Christ’s resurrection, that he was the “Son” of God. The Church placed a stronger emphasis on the New Testament rather than the fire and brimstone of the Old Testament. The image of Christ represented a second chance for the restoration of God’s image in man, the sacrifice of Christ for men and the opportunity for them of rebirth, manifested in the importance of the dogma of baptism, asking for forgiveness and being reborn through Christian rituals. To an extent this solved the problem of original sin and also reinforced the role of the Church in administering salvation and guidance, facilitating confession of sin and forgiveness and reclaiming partial- innocence through these rituals of obedience.

Tarnas (1991) notes that a few “important” conceptual questions remained outstanding for the early Church such as: were children born innocent or full of sin;

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what happened to children who died before they were baptised? In the fourth century, in the Western Roman Empire, Christian intellectuals of the time, including St Augustine, attempted to debate and settle this problem (Tarnas 1991, Cunningham 2005, Sommerville 1982). In considering the nature of childhood, their conclusion was that individuals were born into this world with the inherited guilt of Adam and Eve’s disobedience against God. The individual was also said to inherit an innate wild desire for rebellion. Thus, children were seen as born in conflict with God, out of tune with their true nature, in need of correction. Augustine argued that baptism and accepting God’s forgiveness took away the guilt of the original sin, but the innate tendency still remained. “Evil” was a consequence of man’s misuse of his freewill (Tarnas 1991). Augustine also is credited as incorporating many of Aristotle’s ideas into the early Christian philosophy (Turner 1907). In line with Aristotle’s understanding of children growing into moral adults, this thinking supported the need for a conversion, education and rituals to mark the progress away from depravity to full moral adulthood.

However, as Tarnas (1991) notes, the discussion on whether children were innocent or guilty, did not end with St Augustine. As part of this discussion, Pelagius countered Augustine with the notion that all newborn infants begin their lives with a clean slate, as did Adam. So they were only responsible for the sins they committed during their lives. Yet at the time, factions with the Western Church were of the view that if a child died unbaptised and therefore still with the guilt of original sin, then the child would go to the fires of hell. However, this was considered by some such as Pelgius as being unjust, as such children did not deliberately sin, so they were trapped within the paradoxical notion of innocent sin. They argued that hell was for purposeful sinners, not innocent babes. And so to remedy this unfairness and adjust the storyline, the Church made another executive decision and invented “limbo” as a place where these unbaptised children could go. Limbo was a place that was neither heaven nor hell, just an absence. In this regard, the analysis in this thesis is that the concept of original sin positioned the institution of the Church in a curious contradiction. While proposing original sin, it also endorsed the notion that children were born innocent. As innocence was ascribed, so too was the notion that children needed to be protected, as the innocent were weak. In this weakness, as childhood innocence had no defence against temptation, protection took the form of outward restrictions and repression, which in a sense, perhaps by default

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assumes guilt or evil impulses in children. Therefore the story of Eden and the dilemma of original sin effectively produce simultaneous effect of “(not)Adults as innocent” and “children as full of inherent original sin”. In my analysis, the regimes and the administration of repression, pastoral protection, education and later “saving” of innocent children, would have suited the interests of the institution of the Church well in their recruitment and expansion plans.

An example of such repression is observed by Norbert Elias (2000), who suggests that a feature of our Western culture is that the sexual drive is subject to and managed by the discourse of innocence. This manifests itself in the discursive practices of customs, manners and morals that create the space to position adults to privatise all of their sexual impulses. This denial and secrecy is also something that Foucault takes up in his History of Sexuality (1985, 1988, 2006) as the moral problematisations of pleasure, prudence and austerity. With this “conspiracy of silence”, which brings with it taboo, exclusion, prohibition and repression, a space of differentiation is maintained in the presence of the young. In contemporary times, following the creation of the conjugal space in the home, the usual practice in the Western European version of the world is that children don’t see their parents having sex. For these children, the world of sex is invisible, they are quarantined from sex, excluded from exposure to sex or being considered sexual or sexualised, and positioned as non-sexual entities. It hasn’t always been this way. In practical terms, particularly in medieval to early modern times in Western society where the common practice would have been for families to sleep together in one bedroom and there would have been no private conjugal space, as described in the historical work of Gillis (1974), this would have been very difficult to manage. Such conjugal space would have been the privilege only of kings and queens (Elias 1983). With the eventual partitioning of the private space of the “parents’ bedroom” this would have become more possible. Innocence would have been easier to police. The preservation and policing of this innocence and of excluding the child from sex, keeping a distance between the worlds of childhood and adulthood, is an overarching characteristic of the contemporary Western world and for those who work with children and young people. In this way, sexual innocence is a highly significant and powerful marker of distinction and exclusion. This is of course very different in

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contemporary Western cultures in the present time, where families still live and sleep in one room.

The cult of the Baby Jesus

According to Aries (1973), from the fourth century onwards, as part of an emergent cult of the virginity, the repression of sexuality and of maintaining innocence was also articulated as gendered advice, with virginity as a significant biological marker of this virtuous innocence. This is something that perhaps still resonates today in the Western world in rhetoric such as the white virginal wedding dress. The virgin as a symbol of innocence is also understood here as an archetype that separates the world of the (not)Adult from that of the adult. Both virginity and innocence are understood here as conceptual devices which are designed to restrict premature entry into the adult world. Such innocence is deemed to be precious, as something of a value and worth protecting, something also echoed in the discourse of property.

There are many historical examples of the concern around protecting innocence. For example, around 400 AD, St Jerome wrote texts similar to modern self-help texts, containing advice on the raising of girls (Sommerville 1982). St Jerome was worried about protecting and preserving their innocence. He advised the girls to keep away from boys, to refrain from thinking of themselves sexually, to avoid dressing in fancy clothes. He also advised that they needed to think of themselves as weak, fragile and dependent, to be afraid to be on their own. He ascribed a quality of holiness to an individual maintaining virtue, maintaining a state of innocence throughout the whole of one’s life.

Foucault (1985) has also noted that the notion of the maintenance of innocence through prudence, austerity and chaste virtue stretches back to Aristotle and Plato. In contemporary times, it continues to be iterated in practice, and by the clergy and in everyday instances of “keeping oneself” for the right partner. Again, the dynamic of this tactic allowed the two views of childhood as innocent or as tainted with original sin to coexist through self-regulated protection, prudence, restriction and repression. As technologies of governmentality to manage the conduct of conduct, it was possible to manage “infant depravity” or “protect innocence” using the same controls and calling

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up the same obedience. These practices would, of course, find a significant manifestation in the Victorian era of the nineteenth century and in contemporary fundamentalist religions.

Some parts of the Western European Church have made the Platonic association of innocence and purity with the first seven years of life and to associate the innocence of childhood with the image of the innocent Baby Jesus (Aries 1973). With this idea came another opportunity of a separate distinct world of childhood (Sommerville, 1982) and the discourse of innocence became an important marker for benchmarking the discourse of growth.

There were aspects of this creation of childhood that distinguished the Christian Church from other religions. Cunningham (2005) in examining the relations between the early Christian Church and the emergence of childhood, has proposed that while other earlier cultures may have supported the practice of infanticide, or where pagan gods commanded their followers to sacrifice their children, the New Testament in the Bible suggested other possibilities. And in the New Testament the scriptures celebrate the innocent and pure condition of childhood as the mode for entry into heaven:

Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein.

Mark 10:14-15

In my interpretation the text suggests, for a person to enter heaven, they need to remember the idealised childlike romantic condition of innocence, to be reborn as a child, to be obedient like an innocent child, as depicted in the Garden of Eden and to leave behind the vanities of the world.

As part of his work in writing Centuries of Childhood, Philippe Aries (1973) studied artworks of the Middle Ages to explore visual representations of childhood throughout history. Aries observed an emergence of art in the middle ages depicting the Baby Jesus as cherubic and innocent. Prior to this children were either absent from paintings and art or presented as mini-adults. Aries posits that the paintings reflect the beginning of a visual representation of the notion of the innocence of childhood, using a cult of the

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Baby Jesus, as the pure innocent beginning. From here on according to Aries, innocence and childhood began to be celebrated in broader society. Around the eleventh and twelfth centuries Aries noted that the Church began to celebrate the birth of Christ, of Christ as a living person, in order to strengthen the idea of Christ’s humanity. Similar to Aries, Heywood (2001) suggests that the Church began to encourage a cult of childhood. The image of the Baby Jesus became symbolically conflated with an idea of childhood where little children were seen to resemble the innocent baby Jesus. So the festivities of St Nicholas Day on the 6th December to the Holy Innocents Day on December 28th became known as children’s festivals. Despite its darker pagan roots as marking the close of the Roman year with Rites of Saturnalia, in the twelfth century this day became Feast of Nativity / Christmas Day as a day for children and the tradition of giving presents began (Heywood, 2001). Other research (Cunningham 2005, Heywood 2001, Aries 1973) suggests that at about the same time in history, children also began to be dressed differently to adults. The clothing served the purpose as “markers” of that childhood as innocence. Prior to this children had been dressed in miniature adult clothing, as noted by Aries (1973).

Rousseau is well known for strongly supporting the romantic notion of innocence and resisting the idea of original sin. Rousseau suggested in Emile (1979), that the real problem of sin was with the corrupting influence of the adult world. In his Platonic view the child was born innocent, weak and in need of guidance into the man’s world. With the wrong guidance or premature exposure to the adult world, the child risks being stifled and contaminated by its interaction with the corrupt adult world. Childhood according to Rousseau had its own reasoning, which was more sensitive and childlike. He argued against Locke’s advice to reason with children, saying that they had not the faculty to reason until their early teens: the very young should not be burdened with the responsibility to distinguish good from evil (Rousseau 1979). As well as his contribution to pedagogy and child development, Rousseau is also remembered for his inspired advocacy and respect for childhood innocence and for his call for the preservation and celebration of a childhood space:

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Respect childhood and leave nature to act for a long time before you get involved with acting in its place.

Rousseau (1979, p. 107)

While the Romantic cult of innocence was not Rousseau’s invention, he was one of its strong promoters. In Emile, he worried about the child that leaves the “Author’s” [God’s] hands in good condition but “degenerates in the hands of man” (Rousseau 1979, p. 37). As noted in the previous section, an earlier powerful discourse of innocence came from the New Testament where Jesus gave the message that the only way to get to heaven was to enter like a child, to be reborn and enter with the innocence and open heart of a child. Unlike Aristotle’s view that one does not become an authentic fully formed human until the prime of life, Rousseau argued that this state of innocence was an authentic natural and essential condition. According to Rousseau, children are in effect born fully formed and at risk of being deformed by the social environment

Along with Rousseau, other persuasive voices emerged in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, such as Voltaire (1759), Goethe (1774), and Wordsworth (1888), contributing to a view that is often described as a Romantic conception of the innocence of childhood. This conception extended Rousseau’s thinking and afforded the innocence of childhood a sublime depth. A Romantic notion of innocence depicted children as having a natural intuitive depth, wisdom, awareness and sensitivity of moral truth, something that could be dulled by exposure to the adult world (Heywood, 2001). This found countless representations in the art of the time: for example, The Age of Innocence, painted by Reynolds in 1788, which depicts an archetypical image of an innocent little girl dressed in little girl clothes, sitting by herself and resting next to a tree, seemingly in awe of the big world. Such a view of childhood also found its way into work of the Romantic poet William Wordsworth (2008a), who in his poem “My heart leaps up when I behold” expressed the notion that the innocence of childhood laid the foundations of moral virtue that could then later shape the adult life.

In my analysis, and taking up some of the ideas of Heywood (2001), this particular Romantic conception of innocence and childhood as the foundation for later life was coupled with the Enlightenment’s drive for pedagogy inspired by the work of Erasmus, Locke and by default Plato. Through this coupling childhood gained a new significance,

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considered as a site, a workspace that was fundamental to the creation of the modern adult self. In another poem, his ‘Ode of Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood’ Wordsworth (2008b) boldly declares that “heaven lies about in our infancy”, a clear suggestion that childhood is the best part of life. This poem, as an accessible and persuasive text, is said to have been a powerful influence on the nineteenth century ideas of childhood (Cunningham 2005). It also sets up childhood as a “sacred site” like the original and long lost Garden of Eden.

Perhaps later on its optimistic influence even extends to the Romantic cult of youth, or the appeal of youth as a “brand” or badge, which energised pop-culture, the marketplace, politics and even the youth and community sector in the twentieth century. The cult of youth and innocence prevails.

The protection of innocence or the prevention from premature entry into the adult world?

The idea of protection plays out very differently in each of the discourses discussed in this thesis. There is also significant interplay and leakage, while at the same time each discourse presents a distinct proposition for (not)Adults:

• As (not)Adults are constructed within the discourse of property, and considered property with an asset value, they are precious objects to be owned and protected.

• As (not)Adults are constructed within the discourse of growth and considered as future adults, they are inscribed as having little value within the present. Their value can only be considered as a future potential that needs to be protected and developed, for the present to be overcome. It is more around protection of the growth investment.

• As (not)Adults are constructed within the discourse of innocence, they are deemed symbolically precious for their intrinsic virtue. In this discourse of innocence, (not)Adults are inferred a protection of the weak by the strong, assuming the strong in a position of benefactor. This role of benefactor and of

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looking after (not)Adults, invites adults to step in to respond to a call to rescue and save, and a pastoral impulse as the good shepherd looks after the flock. Under the protection of the benefactor, innocence becomes another defining marker on the bodies of (not)Adults iterating how governmentality makes up (not)Adult subjectivity. In the nineteenth century, such notions of protecting innocence and weakness and challenging child abuse became useful rhetorical tools enabling the State to step in as quasi-parent, where the State had powers to care for children who were abused, deserted or abandoned, and as has been suggested in the property discourse, to step in and contest ownership with parents (Rose 1989 and Donzelot 1979).

This notion of protection has manifested itself across a range of governmentalities including laws, legislation, policing, philanthropic, welfare models and youth work. These are all understood here to regulate and prevent a premature entry and to manage an accepted transition into the adult world. They have also enabled the State to perform a regulation function, to devise laws and legislation, to invent Departments of Child Protection, and to create police forces to police the rules and protect the weak. It has enabled the Church to step in and save the children, to produce good moral Christians. It also enabled the rhetoric of child saving.

Inasmuch as (not)Adults are property, and in a process of becoming or developing, they are excluded from the adult world by the regulations of innocence. For example, an obvious manifestation of the impulse to protect innocence comes to us in the emergence in the nineteenth century of societies for protection against cruelty to children and the recent development of child protection legislation. While earlier legal frameworks such as the aforementioned code of Hammurabi protected property and reinforced patriarchy, the establishment of the Elizabethan Poor Laws in the sixteenth century in England marked a shift in thinking, as they introduced a pattern of legislative frameworks and a template to articulate welfare and protection. Following the Elizabethan Poor Laws, across the Western world there have been a multitude of legislative responses to child protection which have defined the risk of harm to children, such as the: Workshops Act, 1867 (UK) which restricted the use of children in factories and workshops, and the Prevention of Cruelty to Children Act 1894 (UK).

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The Neglected and Criminal Children’s Act 1864 in Victoria was an early response to the intersection of homelessness and child protection. Service provision to homeless young people in the 19th century centred around notions of apprehension and detention of children and young people who were placed in reformatories or boarded out, a process known as “child saving”. The model used was one of resocialising young people to more productive ways of life, and the removal by the State from families of origin was often permanent (Jaggs, 1986).

In 1874 in the United States of America there was a moral panic that emerged around a court case involving a young girl, Mary Allen McCormick, who was found by the authorities tied to a bed like an animal, neglected and brutally beaten by her foster parents. At this time in the USA, animals were legally protected from inhumane treatment but children were not. Child abuse and neglect was still considered a family matter and there was inconsistent intervention on behalf of children. The moral panic that followed this case changed all that. In an excerpt from a testimony in a New York City courtroom April 9th 1874, Mary Ellen’s words described a cruel childhood:

My name is Mary Ellen McCormack. I don’t know how old I am ... I am never allowed to play with any children or have any company whatever. Mamma has been in the habit of whipping and beating me almost every day … I have no recollection of ever having been kissed, and have never been kissed by mamma. I have never been taken on my mamma’s lap, or caressed or petted. I have never dared to speak to anybody, because if I did I would get whipped. Whenever mamma went out I was locked up in the bedroom... I have no recollection of ever being in the street in my life.

New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children (2000, p. 5)

After Mary Ellen told her story in court, her foster mother was prosecuted for assault and battery, and Mary Ellen was placed into a new home in upstate New York to be given an opportunity for life as a “normal child” (New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children 2000, p. 5). Mary Ellen’s case significantly activated philanthropic concern in the United States. The call to rescue such children prompted citizens in New York City who came together in 1875, with the assistance of Henry Bergh, as the first organised child protection institution in the world, the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children (NYSPCC). The NYSPCC was

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supported by legislation that enabled legal recourse on behalf of children. In the next decade across the Atlantic, the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children was established in the UK in the 1880s (Cunningham 2005) and in 1889 the first Act of Parliament for the prevention of cruelty to children in the UK, the Prevention of Cruelty to Children Act, commonly known as the “Children’s Charter”, was passed.

This Act enabled the state to intervene in the relations between parents and children. Police could arrest anyone found ill-treating a child, and enter a home if a child was thought to be in danger. The act also included guidelines on the employment of children, and outlawed begging. As noted by Benjamin Waugh, an ardent advocate for this Act that marked a shift in thinking and the beginning of the State’s interest in the welfare of children:

On behalf of children, as children, in their merely human interests … the absolutism of he State prevailed over the absolutism of the parent …

Waugh (1913) in Cunningham (2005, p. 153)

The Children’s Act 1908 established juvenile courts and introduced the registration of foster parents. The Punishment of Incest Act made sexual abuse within families a matter for state jurisdiction rather than intervention by the clergy. The Children and Young Persons Act 1932 broadened the powers of juvenile courts and introduced supervision orders for children at risk.

The emergence of child protection societies overseas was reiterated in Australia, again with societies for protection against cruelty to animals established long before the Children’s Protection Society in 1896 in Victoria. Most recently the Children and Young Persons (Care and Protection) Act 1998 of New South Wales defines as a person under sixteen years of age as a child and from sixteen to eighteen as a young person. This Act gives the Government power to determine that a child is at risk of harm and should be protected and subject to intervention through the court. This might mean that the child is taken away from parents and placed under the protection of the Minister, because of exposure to harm. In terms of child protection, the act focuses more on the aspect of innocence that infers weakness, danger and risk of harm. It is very specific on

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what constitutes risk of harm including exposure to physical and psychological abuse. According to the Act, “Risk of Harm” is clearly defined, in cases where current concerns exist for the safety, welfare or well-being of the child or young person because of the presence of any one or more of the following circumstances: lack of access to medical care, physical or sexual abuse, domestic violence, and risk of psychological harm. However, drawn from my experience in the sector in Australia, ironically Government tries to get out of using these powers because such intervention is very expensive.

Innocence, temptation and wickedness

The task of protecting innocence and of saving youth from the temptations and wickedness of the world, at one point in time drove the work of Thomas Arnold, principal at Rugby School in England in the 1830’s, who was the creator of “Muscular Christianity” (Rosen 1994). Arnold’s Muscular Christianity was definitively captured in the archetypical mid nineteenth century novel Tom Brown’s Schooldays, written by Thomas Hughes (1857). Arnold’s muscular Christianity concentrated firstly on religious and moral principles; secondly gentlemanly conduct; then intellectual ability. He established the rule of the teacher over the class, and the affirmation of fraternity (via a monitor system using older boys) within the school system as a form of peer power – in other words, bullying (Savage 2007).

Elsewhere, Gillis (1974) has commented that the idea of peer power and fraternity that emerged in the early school system, in the armed forces, and in the guilds and trades had its roots in the folk traditions of medieval misrule, explored in more detail in the next chapter. He suggested that over the last few hundred years, this same fraternity has replaced patriarchy as the dominant gendered narrative, as typified by the Australian version of mateship or the old boys club. Such fraternities were rife with rites of passage, initiation rituals and secret men’s business. Yet, while Arnold’s muscular Christianity was intended to protect and save youth from the wickedness of the world, it was also intended to protect and save the child from the wickedness within, that is, it was another example of the discourse of untamed youth. There is an overlay between the discourse of innocence and the temptations of wild desire and untamed youth that

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links back to the story of Original Sin. By the end of the nineteenth century the discourse of innocence became increasingly conflated with its evil twin the discourse of untamed youth. (not)Adults became a problem, where the impulse becomes to save (not)Adults from their wild desires in order to establish a retreat back to innocence. In his research on the history of youth work and the Try Boys Society, Maunders (1984) proposed that one of the major aims of such organisations was to keep youth off the streets, to keep the streets safe. Here the street became a symbol for “not innocent” and “not protected”, a site of temptation and wild desire.

Saved from the streets! Saved from the streets! , So many Arabs saved from the streets, Saved from the reeking filth and sin. Saved, perchance from the crime of Cain Anonymous poem Try Excelsior News (1894) in Maunders (1984, p. 47)

These discourses of innocence and untamed youth are understood here as two sides of a similar coin. For example, nineteenth century self-help manuals are as much about protecting innocence as protecting society from untamed youth. Cunningham (2005) describes the period between 1830 and 1920 as a “golden age” of saving the children in terms of philanthropy. Philanthropists set out to protect the innocence of childhood and the sacred space of childhood, pre-empting State-run institutions by opening and running orphanages, kindergartens, and schools, and setting up organisations like the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children or Barnardos. Such organisations included the Young Men’s Christian Association (in 1844), the Cadet Movement (1851), General Booth’s Salvation Army (in 1878), the Boys Brigade (in 1883), and eventually even the Boy Scouts (Worldwide), the Australian Try Boys Society (in 1883), the Hitler Youth Movement and the National Fitness Programs (in Australia) in the early twentieth century. These institutions came in to continue the dual task of preserving innocence and saving youth, whilst at the same time protecting youth from themselves or even producing potential soldiers. Many of these organisations would continue on to become the first youth worker organisations, while some such as the Hitler Youth Movement in Germany or the Eureka Youth Movement in Australia, would have a more conspicuous political agenda (Irving, Maunders & Sherington 1995)

Innocence enables a specific (not)Adult space that is distinguished from the adult world as an antithesis to adult experience and a lack of adult worldliness. Innocence

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calls on obedience through legislation, regulation and tradition. It is managed through institutions of law and legislation, pedagogy and the traditions of the Church and child rescuing. Innocence is also concerned about the regulation and management of sex for both (not)Adults and adults.

The Bulger case, the Featherstone case and the boy soldiers of Sierra Leone mentioned in Chapter Three highlight the fact that childhood innocence is an preserved space for (not)Adults, that there are things that children shouldn’t do. The idea that parents should be looking after their children and preserving that innocence is now a key proposition of the contemporary Western world, and something that society struggles to preserve and protect. The fear is that if this is lost, if innocence is corrupted, then as deMause (1982) suggested, we are perhaps less civilised as a whole society. Therefore in the analysis here, the discourse of innocence contributes to an array of projects such as the work of managing sexuality, delaying parenthood and adulthood, for maintaining the value of virgin brides as property. It is critical part of a project of civilising and ordering society.

Innocence is also useful for rationalising why the strong (adults) must protect the weak ((not)Adults), which in turn legitimates technologies of governmentality such as a police force, a legal system and a child protection system. Against this background, the discourse of innocence is understood here as requiring constant iteration, work and effort. It is something that is learnt, constructed and to be protected and part of the social contract and expectation which binds the governmentalisation of society. As Michel Foucault has said, as part of society’s rationale of raison d'état, “society must be defended” (Foucault 2003a). It follows that as part of this rationale, innocence also needs to be protected, and the space between the adult and (not)Adult world policed and preserved.

Innocence is one of the stories we tell ourselves about (not)Adult subjectivity, in that romantic retreat to the Garden of Eden. It enables particular interventions and discursive practices of protection and obedience, yet it also represents a story we seem to conveniently forget about in times of war. Despite the efforts of Augustine, innocence also seems to co-exist in tension with its significant other, the spectre of innocence gone wrong as the discourse of untamed youth. If innocence is weak,

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untamed youth appears to be strong and the full authority and discipline by adults is required to manage this tension, to manage wild desire. The next chapter follows on from this to explore this significant other.

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Chapter Eight: Untamed Youth

This chapter explores the discourse of the other of innocence, the (not)innocent, the untamed youth. Here I examine a number of historical stories of youth gone wild and show how this discourse pathologises untamed youth as a problem and thus enables the State and society to intervene.

This discourse holds a position of unique privilege within this thesis as the starting point for my research, because I had observed that (not)Adults in my field of youth work and advocacy were in general imagined and pathologised as wild things or as problems. Accordingly I have chosen to personify this particular chapter title, to bring it a little closer to my particular practice. The untamed youth as the dark twin of the innocent is an idea I have borrowed from an early seventies pop song written by Marc Bolan titled Get It On (1972). Bolan described untamed youth as “dirty sweet”, “clad in black (… don’t look back)”, and otherwise wild and exciting. Bolan may perhaps in turn have borrowed “untamed youth” from the title of the 1957 B-grade teen film Untamed Youth which featured a teenage prison farm, wild teenagers skinny-dipping, and a song by one of Bolan’s heroes, Eddie Cochran.

As noted in the previous chapter, untamed youth is when a (not)Adult is (not)innocent. The discourse of untamed youth positions (not)Adults as a “problem”, as wild (not)Adults in need of taming. It suggests an innate and suppressed wildness that exists within all (not)Adults. It also evokes a “cult of the new” (Green 1999), of misrule as renewal. For this it calls on the glamorous and irreverent iconography of youth rebellion that can be found in popular and folk culture throughout the ages, from Rabelais, through Shakespeare to MTV (and beyond), where the most interesting, fresh and new things are always done by (not)Adults, while adults are staid, stale and boring. On the other hand, it conjures up a range of (not)Adult pathologies which have been the subject of moral panics such as the problem child, youth misrule, the juvenile delinquent, an exaggerated period of storm and stress. In the social world it suggests rebellion, revolution, claiming public space and a challenge to the law and order of the adult world. Hence, it is a problem as well as a fresh challenge that calls out for serious management and correction on the part of the adult world.

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As with the other discourses analysed above, untamed youth is a discourse with a history underpinned by historical constructions of commonsense. This chapter explores some of those historical constructions, beginning with the traditions of misrule and carnivale in medieval Europe and the rituals of sedition, youth gangs and youth groups at this time. Untamed youth can be framed as renewal instead of revolution (Bakhtin, 1984; Zemon-Davis, 1987) or even as Jervis (1999) suggests, a period of licensed transgression. Yet it was reimagined in industrial era Europe not as renewal but as a problem, with (not)Adults refashioned as delinquents, juveniles and vagrants, and in the twentieth century as youth gangs such as larrikins, punks, mods, rockers and skinheads.

In this chapter, the notion of protection is explored in an different way to the protection of,(not)Adults as representatives of innocence. The discourse of untamed youth, by contrast enables and positions youth workers to intervene by correction and development, and also enables parents and authorities to intervene by punishment, in order to protect society from the threat of untamed youth.

A reflexive note from the “untamed” academic

The discourse of untamed youth was the early focus and original impetus for this thesis. Acknowledging my own reflexive presentmindedness, I attribute this initial starting point to a self interest born of my more than twenty years of professional experience involved in policy and advocacy work for young people, problematised as “homeless youth”. There was also an element of nostalgic projection and fantasy in early forms of this thesis, from having travelled through a celebrated and extended period of untamed youth in my own life story, similar to Jervis’s (1999) idea of “youth imagined as a period of licensed transgression”. Like Blatterer’s (2008) concern about adulthood being the desired destination, I admit some doubt as to whether at 56 years of age I have completely finished with my untamed youth and in fact become a bona fide adult. This reflexive doubt is probably a key driver for the questions asked by this thesis. In other ways, the idea of untamed transgression as applied to this thesis also provided an impulse to bring fresh and challenging ideas to the performance: as a scholar, as an “apprentice” academic, as a doctoral candidate, as an untamed (not)Adult in a sombre and mysterious adult-world of academia.

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At one stage it was imagined that this text might even be subversive and wild. And so, the early working titles for this thesis, employed untamed puns and bricolage such as Reproduced, … to be or not to become, and Loose Canons. The initial intention was to awkwardly situate the initial study within youth work, built on a premise that the field of youth work was primarily concerned with fixing up problem youth (albeit as “broken” homeless youth). It was a field that conceptualised youth as a mixture of deficit, sub-cultural or adolescent development models. It spoke of (not)Adults gone wild and feral, through systemic and parental neglect.

Untamed Youth, then, became a critical point of departure for this thesis. This thinking shifted as I began to reconsider the notion of pathologising (not)Adults as a problem, or as a problem in need of correction. Instead, I began to consider that perhaps untamed youth was only a part of (not)Adult subjectivity and it should not be privileged as an overarching theory or approach. Untamed youth was just one of the discourses that are in current circulation. Accordingly I began to reposition myself in relation to the this thesis.

The spectre of youth out of control

It is proposed that untamed youth is a discourse that emerges when the other three discourses begin to lose their hold, or even when they appear to lose their hold, as captured by the example of a moral panic around mods verses rocker riots described in Chapter Three: when (not)Adults become untamed and out of adult control, when (not)Adults become their own property, when (not)Adults break the rules of the discourse of growth, when (not)Adults lose their innocence. Furthermore, unlike the discourse of innocence, which called for the protection of untamed youth through the preservation of innocence and risk management, protection in this discourse is more about the protection of society from the danger of untamed youth. It imagines untamed youth as being dangerous, like Plato’s wild beasts (Tarrant 1946) that present a serious threat to society. While often this threat is more about symbolic perceptions and appearances, in some instances this fear is substantial. For example, from different perspectives, both the French and American Revolutions in the eighteenth century could

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be seen not just as a class war, but also as a symbolic youth movement or youth revolution representing the replacement of the ancient regime with a new order.

The public spectre of untamed youth as “youth out of control” is not a new story. It is also not an exclusive product of capitalist society and the modern era, or of spoilt and overindulged children, who have been spared the rod and mollycoddled by their parents. This is not just the effect of bad parenting. Various iterations of untamed youth have been produced by the work of a multitude of moral panics that have troubled the adult world over the last few hundred years. These panics have produced numerous “wild beasts” throughout the ages, such as mods, rockers, teddy boys, hippies, bodgies widgies, larrikins, greasers, juvenile delinquents, hooligans, flappers, wide boys, the mummers and lords of misrule in medieval times, to complaints about noisy young people in ancient Rome (Savage 1991, 2007, Brake 1980, France 1998, Springhall 1977, Carrington 1993, Hebdige 1979, Cohen 1972, Ozment 1983, Clarke 1982, Finch 1993, Lydon 1993, Pearson 1983). Untamed youth can be seen in the work of Shakespeare, for example in Romeo and Juliet, with the opening wild street scenes of fights and youth misrule. In his history of the “hooligan”, Geoffrey Pearson (1983) cites a history of fear of youth going back to medieval England and the rites of misrule. In his opinion, “every era had its own youth folk devil” (1983, p. 10).

In his history of family life in Reformation era Europe, Ozment (1983), recalls a sermon from Germany in 1520, which neatly captures perceptions and concerns about the innate desire which underpins the idea of untamed youth.

Just as a cat craves mice … so infant humans are inclined in their hearts to adultery, fornication, impure desires, lewdness, idol worship, belief in magic, hostility, quarrelling, anger, strife, dissension, factiousness, hatred, murder, drunkenness, gluttony …

Ozment (1983, p. 164)

As the Western population shifted from rural to urban spaces in the eighteenth and nineteenth century, and the youth mortality rate decreased, the problem of untamed youth became more of a concern, as the “street” increasingly became a contested public space between adults and unaccompanied (not)Adults. (not)Adults became described as

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“layabouts”, “vagrants”, “street urchins” and “street Arabs”. This also occurred at a time when the older traditions of youth misrule were being dismantled, (not)Adults were forced out of factories under the legislation of Child Labour Laws to give adults jobs and modern police forces began to be established. Early versions of the police such as the Bow Street Runners and the Peelers in the UK were being established to tackle such misrule and increased urban crime on the streets. With a police force and legal system established, together with complicated codes of legislation and the expectation of obedience, the father was no longer expected to be sole protector of the family as that was now the job of the police and the legal system. These traditions came from the UK to early colonial Australia where there was great concern over correcting and adjusting the wild young children of the first European convict settlers (Allen, Roberts & Litt 2001).

As part of the social contract, in service of the family, the authority of the police symbolically offered security of peace and happiness. This authority gave the police forces and the legal system the capacity to control the threat of untamed youth and all the various versions of youth rebels, rejects, vagabonds and troublemakers, such as the mods verses rocker riots described earlier in Chapter Three, or the larrikin push in the late nineteenth century in Australia, or the wild children of the first settlers.

Recalling the other moral panics described in Chapter Three, as the image of a heavily made-up Morgan Featherstone stared at the camera with what was carefully constructed by the media as a seductive pose, she was no longer innocent. As the Bulger child murderers left behind the world of innocence to commit awful adult world crimes, they too could no longer be considered innocent. As the boy soldiers of Sierra Leone had been robbed of innocence, they too no longer belonged to that ideal state of childhood. In a sense they had entered the adult world too early. The same could be said for young homeless people in the twenty first century, especially for white Europeans, where (not)Adults are expected to be at home, while only adults are allowed to leave home. But despite the appearance of an early entry into the adult world, in the Western world all of these people still did not belong to the adult world: they existed in another space.

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These are the untamed youth, who are presumed to have succumbed to the wickedness of the world, or to have suffered premature exposure, or to have succumbed to the savage wickedness from within, as brilliantly depicted in the savage boy creatures in William Golding’s Lord of the Flies (1954). They are pathologised and categorised as a subject which is policed by a vast array of discursive practices, such as teaching, social work, policy work, parenting – and including youth work. At the heart of the problem for youth work is the ubiquitous discourse of untamed youth, where youth workers, despite their best intentions, are brought in as youth experts through techniques of correction, adjustment and punishment and discourses of growth. In effect, they become youth reshapers and lion tamers. And so, the moral panics around untamed youth have contributed to the emergence of the era of governmentality, as expert knowledge, discipline and expert practices are called on to tame untamed youth and protect the status quo of the adult world.

Misrule and Carnivale

In contemporary times untamed youth manifests itself at its most obvious through popular youth culture. We can see evidence of this in that most of the notorious folk devils of untamed youth such as punks, mods, homeboys, who are also strong pop cultural icons and commodities. These icons, and icons from youth cultures past, come with accessories, the look, the language, the music, the videos, as part of a complete package. This has led Jervis (1999) to comment that the idea of pop culture is synonymous with youth culture; while Quart (2003) has described the iconography of untamed youth as a key element of youth as a “brand”. In his work exploring a genealogy of the civilising process and the emergence of modernity, Transgressing the Modern, (Jervis 1999), drawing on Foucault, Jervis focused on the proposition that the evolution of modernity has always involved strategies of exclusion. Much of the dynamic of modernity is defined by its capacity to normalise through the creation of the other as excluded deviants, pathologies, monsters, abnormals and taboos. Jervis works on the edges of the modern, approaching the object of modernity by looking for the “otherness”, at places where the boundaries and modernity break down, and how the taken for granted is historically situated. He finds such an edge as the world of untamed

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youth collides with that of the adult. According to Jervis, in preparation for adulthood, the discourse of untamed youth iterates a brief opportunity for breaking the rules, taking risks and transgression, which always hint at a renewal, as the untamed youth grow up. He uses the term “transgression” to describe this adventure to imply boundary crossing, trespassing, going beyond limits and disobeying the law.

The transgressive is reflexive, questioning both its own role and that of the culture which defined its otherness

Jervis (1999, p. 4)

Jervis argues that in order for what he characterises as the civilising imperative of the Enlightenment to progress and for the project of individualism to continue, self- realisation and reflexivity are critical. For example, he suggests that in order to be an individual, in the modern sense, one has to transgress the normal, in order to determine how to differentiate oneself and how others perceive one. Hence, the performance of individualism is marked by difference, and affirmed by deviance from the normal. Jervis suggests that this thinking has contributed to the invention of youth almost as a period of licensed transgression, where:

Getting one’s kicks comes to exist on a knife edge between the permitted and the proscribed

Jervis (1999, p. 4)

While it can be a destructive force, it is understood here that “untamed youth” also hints at renewal and preparation. Adolescence is imagined by Jervis as period of constructing one’s adult self through a process of staged transgression. This transgression is a lot like the traditions of misrule that occurred in Western Europe in the Middle Ages. It is the view here that in many ways the characteristics of modern adolescent as untamed youth, and licensed transgression were heralded in Roman and Medieval societies in the folk rituals of misrule and carnivale. These were occasions where the whole of society would celebrate a festive larger scale day of mischief in the lead up to the religious events of Lent and Easter. The work of Bakhtin (1984), Zemon- Davis (1987) and others (Aries 1973 Burke 1978; Gillis 1974) provides a detailed history of the folk traditions of misrule and carnivale. This scholarship suggests that

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these traditions mark the emergence of (not)Adult groups, cultures and identities in the Middle Ages. Yet, these traditions of youthful mischief and misrule go back further to Roman and Greek times, to the pagan Saturnian rituals and the Dionysian festivals. For instance, in old Rome circa 50 AD, the Roman philosopher Seneca, in his letters to Lucilius, complained of young people as noisy neighbours. He spoke of being annoyed by the young people running riot and playing loud music in the city during the festivals of Saturnalia each year at the end of December (Fowler 2004). Perhaps, this is a characteristic of a dense populated urban environment, where noise becomes an issue, but also of a mild intergenerational contempt for the wild ways of (not)Adults.

Initially Aries (1973) was dismissive of the suggestion that misrule was a prototype of modern youth culture, but later revised this view. These traditions and festivities of misrule had a high participation rate in most European cities between the 14th and early 17th Centuries, though in some sites such as universities they continued well into the 18th Century, in the traditions of “mummers” and of student or apprentice initiations. By comparison to the contemporary Australian context, these carnivals were nothing like the safe modern-day carnival of “fairy floss” and “scary rides” such as the Sydney Royal Easter Show or the Moomba Festival. However, the annual Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras parade does have a family resemblance, whether in its political origins, dress up, or in its more recent politically lightweight manifestations; as does the “schoolies week” or “muck up” day for high school students, where they are allowed to go wild for one last time before the serious business of becoming an adult.

The medieval carnival, as described by Russian theorist Mikhail Bakhtin (1984), was a medieval folk tradition that created a heterotopic space where normal hierarchical and social divisions were suspended. Usually exotic dress, humour, outrageous and bawdy behaviour and acting articulated this disruption. Carnival and misrule usually involved masking, costuming, boisterous charivaris (the loud public humiliation of a wrongdoer), violence, farces, parades, dancing, music-making and many other games (Zemon-Davis, 1987). Carnival was lived and not just enacted. In contrast to the practices of day-to-day existence, Carnival was the people’s “second life organized on the basis of folk laughter” (Bakhtin, 1984, p. 8).

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According to Zemon-Davis (1987) and Jervis (1999), local communities, guilds, fraternities and youth groups usually set up “Abbeys of Misrule” and related festivities. These abbeys had formal structures, bawdy themes, topsy-turvy rules (usurping the laws of the times) and officials with titles such as “Duke Kickass” or “Grand Patriarch of Syphilitics” (Zemon-Davis 1987). During carnivale these abbeys also acted like courts, often with vicious and vindictive regulations where innocent people were picked to receive the punishment or noisy charivaris on behalf of the guilty: “it is not for my deed it is for my neighbour’s” (Nairot cited in Zemon-Davis 1987, p. 101). Davis describes one such incident that was acted out at a 16th Century carnival where various (innocent) men were beaten with objects and labelled with a sign “martyr of the quarter”. Other victims would include widows or widowers remarrying, husbands who beat their wives during May, which was the special month when women were “in charge” and husbands deceived by their wives (Zemon-Davis 1987). These medieval pranks appear to be similar to contemporary youth culture taken up in subversive and untamed moves which threaten the sombre adult world, such as the ABC TV’s Chaser’s War on Everything or the US Jackass movies. Jervis (1999) notes that carnival was usually celebrated in the period preceding Lent as depicted in Bruegel’s painting The Battle of Carnival and Lent, in the sixteenth century, where the robust and hedonistic Carnival does battle with Lent. Carnival is dressed ostentatiously while Lent is portrayed as a nun, serious and without folly. In this image Carnival is understood here as a type of exciting untamed youth, while Lent is the sombre world of adulthood, similar to Aristotle’s ascetic model of virtue.

The traditions of misrule were not officially sanctioned by the authorities and clerics of the time, and Jervis suggests that they were eventually discouraged as part of the post-enlightenment civilising process of the 18th and 19th centuries. Eventually, as an effect of the Enlightenment’s war on folly or the civilising imperative, the spirit of carnival was diluted and social energies were channelled elsewhere. Perhaps, the traditions of misrule did not really go away and were merely repressed and pushed beneath the surface or even reshaped, perhaps into something that also looks a little like untamed youth and contemporary pop/youth culture. This idea is supported by Mikhail Bakhtin (1984) who suggests that misrule is still present in contemporary times, offering space for liberation, destruction and renewal or an alternative space: what

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Foucault describes as heterotopia (Foucault 1986), a space where comedy, parody, satire and disruption are foregrounded, to disrupt the usual rules, regulations and positions. “Carnivalesque” is a word coined by Bakhtin (1984) to describe what is created when these themes of misrule disrupt the standard themes of society. However Bakhtin argued that carnivale was a ceremony of denial, renewal and not revolution, the idea was not to destroy the status quo.

We must stress… that the carnival is far distant from the negative and formal parody of modern times. Folk humor denies, but it revives and renews at the same time. Bare negation is completely alien to the folk culture.

Bakhtin (1984, p. 11)

Bakhtin has theorised and written some key works on carnival and misrule in Europe, in particular his work Rabelais and his World (1984). Bakhtin uses an analysis of Rabelais’s Gargantua and Pantaguel to chart a history of laughter, carnival, folk culture, the grotesque image and the “material bodily lower stratum” as expressed in Renaissance fart jokes or dirty jokes. In contrast to Shakespeare’s gritty elegance, irony and subtle bawdiness, Rabelais is considerably more “punk” and not so subtle. For example his Gargantua is an enormous giant, with a penchant for drowning little people in his urine. Bakhtin’s notions of this carnivalesque heckler and culture of laughter has been described by Bakhtinian scholars such as Emerson (1997) as irresistible mix of subversion and regeneration. Emerson interestingly suggests that it was no wonder that Bakhtin’s reading of carnival and misrule moved with “astonishing speed” to inspire the events of the youth revolt in May 1968 in Paris and the situationist and postmodern intellectual movements which followed.

Amidst this notion of renewal and restoration through misrule, the claim here is that the qualities that misrule brings to untamed youth are more symbolic revolutions than actual political revolutions, in line with Jervis’s idea of conservative licensed transgression. In other words just a period of “muck up”, because we all know that the serious business of adulthood lies ahead. Other historians have also highlighted the political ambiguity of carnival to describe it as both revolutionary and conservative (Kertzer, 1988). The rituals of disorder brought order to society, as a pressure valve,

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something which gave society some “time to breath” (Zemon Davis 1987, Gillis 1974). The discourse of untamed youth imagined as misrule, as transgression, as medically diagnosed adolescence also suggests a rite of passage into adulthood. This is supported by the work of Natalie Zemon-Davis (1987) who has suggested that the activities of the Abbeys of Misrule functioned as a rites of passage. They were rituals of self-managed sex; autonomy and expectation; a limited jurisdiction; and fraternity for the male youth in the community. Yet, this idea runs contrary to Phillip Aries’ proposition that the Western European world made no distinction between (not)Adults and adulthood before the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As a fierce critic of Aries, Zemon-Davis suggested that the traditions of misrule present evidence of medieval youth identity and youth movements in pre-industrial Europe.

What do we do with our pauper children?

As the traditions of misrule began to be repressed in the Western world and as (not)Adults came increasingly a subject of governmentality, within the expanding urban space new versions of untamed youth began to emerge. Yet in these new versions, the idea of Jarvis’s licensed transgression appeared to get lost, reframed by Victorian and religious moralities as a genuine problem. What was once folk ritual and letting off steam became pathological and a law and order issue. In the late 18th Century, a new impetus of philanthropy (Hopkins 1947, Heywood 2001, Cunningham 2005) emerged in England:

Of all things that are allowed to grow wild, a neglected, untamed, uncultivated human being is most dangerous. Ignorance, idleness and vice are a disgraceful trio found in company … what a dreadful pest is a family of children allowed to grow up, and, without any mental or moral training, to be turned loose on society! …

Browne (1869, p. 15)

This quote from Browne’s Discourse on Education shows that there was a concern to protect society from untamed youth. If they were allowed to “grow wild” they would become dreadful pests when turned loose on society. According to Smith (1999), a youth researcher for Infed in the UK, from the 18th century onwards these conditions led

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to the emergence of volunteer and philanthropic youth work. In particular he notes the quasi-youth work role of Sunday Schools as developed by Robert Raikes for the children of chimney sweeps in Sooty Alley, Gloucester in 1780. In my analysis while the Sunday schools may have also worked to recruit, convert and control, they also served the pragmatic project of bringing literacy to the poorer classes. Hugh Cunningham (1980) and Smith (2000) have both noted that Sunday schools were respected as one of the few mixed gender social activities for young people, and linked to recreational youth activities such as song and dance, cricket, sewing classes etc. They also were primarily run by volunteers and heralded the beginnings of the voluntary sector emerging from the new middle class.

Smith also alerts us to the work of Hannah Moore (Smith 1999). Hannah Moore is renowned, along with William Wilberforce, as one of the archetypes for the emerging Victorian era. She went on to write over fifty self help texts, which were readable moral tales, sermons, uplifting texts which established the genre of Victorian era instruction and self help books for young people, with titles such as ‘Hints for forming the character of a princess’ in 1805 (Smith 2002). As an archetypal version of a youth worker as a youth tamer, Moore encouraged kindness rather than tough love as a tactic. However, she had a fierce opinion on original sin, nor was she fooled by the notion of the innocence of youth claiming that:

..it was a ‘fundamental error to consider children as innocent beings’, rather than as ‘beings of a corrupt nature and evil disposition’.

Moore in Thompson (1968, p. 441)

Following on from the impetus of Hannah Moore, in the mid-nineteenth century Mary Carpenter emerged as a key figure as she publicly campaigned about the problem of pauper children.

If we do not so train them they will be a drag and incubus on our society; they will perpetuate a pauper race; crushed and degraded themselves; … to be supported at the cost of the industrious and wealthy; physically as well as morally inferior to the independent poor.

Carpenter (1861, p. 1)

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Is the police station to be their refuge?

Carpenter (1861, p. 18)

We can see other evidence of elements of this Victorian thinking of youth as a problem. In the late eighteenth century it was manifested in the work of Joseph Lancaster, who is credited with developing the Lancaster model of fraternity. While on face value this model looks like peer education introducing the idea of head boys as monitors to assist teachers, Lancaster, echoing Hannah Moore, warned about the “wild things”. He worried that children were, by nature, mischievous:

Active youths, when treated as cyphers, will generally show their consequence by exercising themselves in mischief. I am convinced, by experience, that it is practicable for teachers to acquire a proper dominion over the minds of the youth under their care, by directing those active spirits to good purposes.

Joseph Lancaster (1805, p.733 )

Mary Carpenter proposed a system half way between schools and the penal system, that would be designed to save the “perishing” and the lower classes who had not yet fallen into crime but she assumed were destined to do so. Mary Carpenter’s call to rescue youth and keep them off the streets contributed to the establishment of reform schools such as Thomas Guthrie and the Earl of Shaftsbury’s “ragged schools”. The ragged schools became another space in which free public education emerged, a space for teachers and curriculum to be developed. There is evidence (Eagar 1953) to suggest that by the mid 19th Century, over 1600 teachers were employed in London’s 226 ragged schools and that a curriculum of the “three R’s’, cooking, and religious and nature studies had been developed. When the Education Act was passed in 1870, there was a ready workforce of teachers.

In Australia, as in England, the boundaries between the poor and criminal, between “neglected children” and “young offenders”, were often blurred (Cunneen and White 2007). Public perceptions of orphaned children were conflated with juvenile delinquents. The first orphan schools were opened in Australia in the early 1880s to deal with these destitute children. In their studies of the emergence of the Juvenile Justice system in Australia, Cunneen and White (2007) tell us that these first orphan schools

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had a policy of apprenticing children out to work. A child in poverty could be dealt with as a vagrant and imprisoned, or if considered destitute could be kept in a welfare institution such as the orphan school.

In Australia this rescue paradigm also resulted in projects carried out in co-operation with youth organisations such as the Neglected Children’s Aid Society of the 1880s that worked with “youth as a problem” between child protection, management of troublesome youth, apprehension of neglected children. As noted earlier, from the mid- nineteenth century onwards in both the UK and in Australia at the State and Commonwealth level, there was a proliferation of legislation and institutions to rescue and protect (not)Adults including, but not limited to the Neglected and Criminal Children’s Act NSW (1864), the Disorderly Conduct Suppression Bill (NSW) 1892, (referred to in the Newcastle Herald 7/10/1892 as the “Anti-Larrikin Bill”). In Australia, the Neglected and Criminal Children’s Act 1864, is of interest in defining what a neglected child is which was not so much in terms of child abuse, but more in terms of being abandoned or homeless. The Neglected and Criminal Children’s Act 1864 provided for the establishment of industrial schools for neglected children and reformatory schools for convicted juveniles, and defined neglected children as any child wandering the street or sleeping in a public place without a home or income.

Following on from the moral panics generated by moral crusaders such as Mary Carpenter, service provision to homeless young people in the 19th century appears to have centred on notions of the apprehension and detention of children with young people being placed in reformatories or boarded out. This is supported by the analysis of child protection laws by Jaggs (1986) who argued that youth homelessness had been a social issue in Australia since the beginning of white occupation. According to Jaggs (1986) the term “street Arabs” was used to describe homeless young people in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Cunneen and White (2007) note the emergence of the reformatory schools in Australia (later to become Juvenile Justice Centres) embraced Mary Carpenter’s paradigm of reforming and reprogramming. The Neglected Children’s Act of 1864 in Australia enabled the courts to send neglected children to reform school for a whole range of problems, including leading an immoral or depraved

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life, under the pretext that they had been committed for training and education. This work of resocialising echoes the storyline of the convict origins of the early colonisation/invasion of Australia, where one project of the State was to distance the first born generation from their convict and criminal parents. Simlar to the same logic which led to the stolen generations, where Aboriginal children were relocated from their families to be resocialised.

In terms of Foucault’s notion of governmentality, all of the practices and thinking outlined in this section are example of the normalising effects of a discipline and power/knowledge, a shift in the games of power from direct punishment to encoding, self-regulation of branding. For example, these practices enable the concept of the deviant “truant” as a problem distinct from the normalised “not truant”, legitimating the calling in of the experts to fix up problem children. In the same way the problem child, in need of rescue, is encoded as “lost” by the State and its institutions in order to be found, thus justifying a number of practices. The deviant “problem child” is the subject of the call to rescue. The wild youth can be tamed, and civilisation can be cultivated. In the 18th and 19th centuries a myriad of volunteers, institutions, and professionals rushed in to do this work and so in a sense the “welfare system” was born (Percival 1951, Maunders 1984, Pittman & O’Brien 1989, Cox 2006). The very existence of these institutions and discursive practices and knowledges, such as youth work, constitutes and validates the (not)Adult manifested in a problem discourse of untamed youth. This is still one of the tensions faced by contemporary youth workers.

This thesis argues that the significant difference in contemporary society’s response to misrule and the juvenile delinquent in the discourse of untamed youth is in the capacity of the discursive practices and knowledge to “name” it and “regulate” it and for the (not)Adult to comply and be made up within this thinking, that is, for example to perform “juvenile delinquent”.

Untamed youth as an innate wildness and original sin

This thesis argues that the concept of untamed youth is associated with an innate desire for wildness and savagery. This is a thread that builds on Christian morality and the

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understandings of original sin explored in the previous chapter. Original sin is assumed to lie latent, as it is suppressed during childhood by the careful discipline of the family, Church and State. However if it is left unchecked, it can emerge during adolescence and adulthood. It is a concept that sources St Augustine’s idea of innate original sin, or of Plato’s notion of children as wild beasts and youth as a period of spiritual drunkenness. John Bunyan in his Pilgrim’s Progress written in 1686, took up the idea of Plato’s spiritual drunkenness to write:

Children become, while little, our delights, When they grow bigger, they begin to fright’s. Their sinful Nature prompts them to rebel, And to delight in Paths that lead to Hell.

John Bunyan (2012), p.761)

As a strong advocate for prudence and for campaigning against the sins of the flesh, John Bunyan warned about the dangers of the pathway that leads to hell: the wild years of adolescence, of sowing wild oats, the dangers of masturbation, and of the general perils of untamed youth. Bunyan’s ideas were influential and repeated in countless other guides and manuals for boys and girls in the seventeenth century, as part of the battle for children’s minds through children’s literature (Cunningham 2006). Similar warnings appear in other sample texts considered for this study such as Alcott’s Young Man’s Guide written in 1836, and by Comstock’s Traps for the Young (1884) or Stall’s What a young boy ought to know (1904).

It is also interesting to note that these texts would have been initially exclusionary, as they would have been dependent on children and young people’s literacy. Initially reading and writing skills would have been limited to the children of the richer classes of society. However, the proliferation of Sunday Schools and church young groups would have assisted the project of literacy. Under the guise of learning to read, children would have been exposed to self-help texts. Later in the century as more children would have been in a sense captured by free education, they would have also had more private access to these texts. Examples of this can be found in the numerous self-help and Boy’s Own and Girl’s Own texts that flourished in the nineteenth century. One such example,

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the aforementioned Young Man’s Guide (Alcott 1836). Alcott’s Guide makes its intention clear in the Introduction, which states:

The great purpose of the Young Man’s Guide, is the formation of such character in our young men as shall render them the worthy and useful and happy members of a great republic.

Alcott (1836, p. 5)

Alcott claimed that the intention of the text was to provide the means to improve the mind, the manners, the morals, and the management of business. Within the body of the text, the subject of marriage was given the most emphasis, with a call to resist the vices and temptations of youth, and to embrace the institution of marriage as “the means of rendering it what the creator intended” (Alcott 1836). Alcott reflects an aspirational desire to produce an adult as a Nineteenth century version of Aristotle’s virtuous self. Another self help text Advice to Young Men on their Duties and Conduct in Life written by American author T. S. Arthur in 1850, continues along similar lines, albeit with a greater emphasis on Aristotelian and Christian dogma and the evils of the great temptations. Arthur argues that up to the age of twenty-one years, when a young man is free from the control of his parents, his rational mind is not developed, he acts from others more than himself, and others are in fact responsible for his actions. He warned about the great temptations to youth of the great excesses of:

[Indulging] themselves inordinately in sensual pleasures for a few years, or during the brighter days of their early springtime, and, after that, assum[ing] the more important and real business of life. This is a most dangerous error …

Arthur (1850, pp. 26-28)

The dangerous error, according to Arthur, was to consider youth as a period of legitimate and unchecked self-indulgence. Arthur referred to the Aristotelian idea of knowing oneself as the method for self-control through self-awareness, developing a spiritual body, along with the old adage of moderation. Arthur’s text was very specific and featured other advice on a range of topics including: friends and associates, self- education, amusements, indolence etc. On the subject of marriage, the text continued the theme of patriarchy and property. It presented some interesting notions about gender

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differences, reflecting the times, which set up very different trajectories and expectations for male and female adulthood:

… man and women are created as to be imperfect except in marriage union … in man we find a particular development of brain … in man the intellectual region shows a larger development … in woman the region of the brain which the affections of the mind come into activity … one is a thinking man, the other a loving man, in union they make one perfect man.

Arthur (1850, pp. 166-167)

However, Arthur also warned that there were social monsters or deviants, such as those who were masculine women and feminine men, who did little to advance society towards a true state of order.

There is much crossover between the innocence and untamed youth in these books, particularly where untamed youth are imagined as a corruption of innocence rather than drawing on innate wild desire. For example another book of advice, Traps for the Young (Comstock 1884), presents some poetic warnings for young people. Comstock is of the view that every generation of youth is sent out into the world, as sheep set amidst wolves, extending one of Rousseau’s premises that children are born innocent but without protection are corrupted by improper exposure to the adult world.

The danger, however, is not that they will be devoured by them, but that they will be transformed into wolves … If the youth be not saved [from the traps], the next generation will be corrupt.

Comstock (1884, p. 2)

According to this text, the task of saving them from the traps and the “wickedness of the world” (Comstock 1884 p. 2), is left up to the parents, teachers and guardians. As Foucault has observed, for prevention of harm many of the self-help texts advised self- control, self-denial and suppression and control of wild sexual desires. For example, for Sylvanus Stall in 1905, masturbation was a big problem and so he produced phonographic cylinders with sermons of his advice on “vice”:

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When God gave man hands, He also gave him intelligence, a moral sense, and a conscience that he might use them aright … instead of using their hands as intelligent and moral beings should do, they use their hands so as to pollute their bodies, by handling and toy-ing with their sexual member in such a way as to produce a sensation, or feeling, which may give a momentary pleasure, but which results in the most serious of injuries to the moral, intellectual, and physical powers. God did not give us a sexual member or organ to be used in this way, and such a use of it is called self-pollution or masturbation.

Stall (1905, Cylinder IX)

He warned that the consequences were serious and that doctors would be able to know the cause.

… the entire nervous system will eventually become shattered and ruined beyond all hope of complete recovery.

Stall (1905, Cylinder IX)

In 2008, the genre of self help is still alive, reshaped as “health promotion” into pamphlets, t-shirts, badges, videos, websites and other paraphernalia.

When G. Stanley Hall (1904) invented a space for adolescence, and defined a period of untamed youth as being a normal stage of adult development, he legitimated a space where adult rules did not apply. He also accepted that innate wildness. He established boundaries to contain this idea as he normalised some of this untamed behaviour while also pathologising the most dangerous extremes of wildness. This was supported by Freud (1922, 1956) who gave license to this wildness with his family saga, i.e. the Oedipus complex, where he suggested the son wanted to kill the father. However, Hall shifted the concern around untamed youth from the Victorian concern of taming wickedness, towards the practical concern of risk management. In his call for expert care and protection to support (not)Adults through the difficult adolescent years and in order to manage that risk, G. Stanley Hall also pragmatically noted that “[s]emi- criminality is normal for healthy boys” (Hall, 1904, p. 360). As Savage (2007) has commented, Hall also imagined this untamed period, in a positive sense, in the traditions of misrule as rituals of community renewal, so too the untamed youth of

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adolescence was a space for rebirth, renewal and invention. In his version of Haeckal’s recapitulation, Hall (1904) imagined the United States of America at the turn of the century as a symbolic adolescent and the twentieth century as the “century of the child” (Key 1900, Hulbert 2004). In Hall we also see the emergence of a symbolic (not)Adult where his version of untamed youth perhaps denotes a new hope, or a new energy or a cult of the new.

Rethinking: “out on the street”

The street and the marketplace, and later the shopping mall, has been the public site for social activity and the emergence of new urban subjectivities such as the “street kid” or “juvenile delinquent”. As the population gradually shifted from a distributed and open rural space to a condensed and closed urban space, the use of public space by (not)Adults became increasingly a concern: from Charles Dickens’s colourful “Artful Dodger”, through the abandoned and vagrant children of the nineteenth century, the Larrikins in Australia in the late nineteenth century, to the various so-called “youth gangs” which have roamed the streets and caused bother for the adult world during the twentieth century.

In her study of that classic Australian juvenile delinquent, the Larrikin, Lynette Finch (1993) argued that the street used to be the site where everything happened, a space where the urban social life unfolded, particularly for the lower social strata. She suggests that street kids only became a problem, not because of a change in behaviour of the kids as part of a shift in how certain members of society understood the space of the street. As the street morphed into a bright open shopping space, the dimly lit side alleys became dangerous spaces. Finch claims that this terror of the darkness in alleys served to support the development of infrastructure (street lights), reconstruction of cities and more police. This is an interesting idea that suggests a growing fear of the enemy from within, such as the innate wildness of youth, as well as the ongoing external threat of untamed violence. Public space was also a gendered space in the nineteenth century, and until the discourse of “shopping as leisure” and the bourgeois woman shopper opened up new possibilities, there were strict codes of restriction on how women behaved on the street. These codes were designed to protect middle class

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women from the “rough and rumble of the street” (Wilson 1992, p. 93). As a public socialising space, “streets” were also the domain of prostitutes, and as Finch has noted, in the nineteenth century often the notion of a young girl out on the street became inseparable from the girls “working the streets” as prostitutes. In Australia the call to rescue manifested in the project of keeping both boys and girls off the streets, with societies like the Girls’ Friendship Society (Melbourne 1881) aiming to preserve high moral character for young girls. In a sense this has been one of the tasks of youth work over the last century, that is, to “keep them off the streets”.

While the streets became perceived as dangerous places for the middle class who did most of their socialising indoors, the lower classes of (not)Adults had no choice but to do their socialising and courting outdoors, meeting their peers and loved ones in parks and alleys. Finch notes a case study in Adelaide in 1910 of twenty-year-old named Florence who recounted how she got pregnant to Horace, and all of their encounters begin with an encounter on a street corner (Finch 1993). According to research by Gillis (1974), in Dickens’ time, street crime was more associated with class, but as the century closed, in the era of the larrikin in Australia, delinquency began to be also considered as age-related, a sign of immaturity, or even linked to “normal” adolescence. In the dispute over the Australian streetscape in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, the “larrikins” as juveniles, were often accused of speaking inappropriately to “ladies”, making a nuisance of themselves and indiscriminately assaulting males. This resulted in complaints about larrikinism such as the following:

A number of boys and youth of the loafer and most disreputable larrikin class daily congregate almost all day about our entrance … Judging by their appearance and conduct we believe the majority of them are of the criminal classes. They pay no attention whatever to our requests to them to cease to congregate here and their misconduct is the more intolerable as there are young women employed in our business.

Police Department Records 1907, in Finch (1993, p. 78)

The problem of larrikinism was well documented in other studies of this period: see for example, studies by Murray (1973) and other work by Maunders Keeping them off the Streets (1984) and Irving, Maunders and Sherington Youth in Australia (1995). Maunders describes the Australian larrikins of the late nineteenth century as:

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Gangs of youths who hung around in the streets. They had distinctive dress- hard black hat, collarless shirt, red neckerchief, bell bottoms and high heeled boots.

Maunders (1984, p. 37)

Larrikins organised themselves into “pushes”, which, in ways similar to the old medieval misrule, were organised youth groups that had secret rituals and rights of initiations. Unlike the medieval tradition, the misrule was not contained to a brief period in the annual social cycle, but like Misrule it was more about renewal than revolution, with Maunders suggesting that it was mostly about youthful high spirits.

As soliciting and vagrancy laws meant that “being on the streets” and being idle, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time, potentially became a crime, (not)adults came to be classed as “criminals” and “vagrants”. This was further affected by the impact of poverty (like Dickens’s Artful Dodger who was a pick pocket), and so new category of the “juvenile delinquent” was created. As has been discussed elsewhere, the juvenile emerged at a time in the early nineteenth century when certain discursive practices and conditions were in place. The industrial revolution had flourished, with significant input from cheap child labour. Now that it was established, adults moved to the city and children were restricted from working in the factories under child labour legislation under the framework of human rights (Hopkins 1979). As a result there was a concern around what Gillis (1974) described as surplus youth, and boys without skills were thrown in to the huge pool of casual labour and thence into poverty, despair and crime. As Foucault, Donzelot and Rose have noted, the fabric of society was being policed and normalised by various disciplines and technologies of governmentality.

The emergence of police forces, law and legislation, medicine, pedagogy and philanthropy repositioned (not)Adults as subject to increased measurement and surveillance. “Normal” (not)Adults got an education, entered the workforce, and lived with family until marriage and entry into adulthood. While most of these successful “normals” remained invisible to the authorities, the (not) normals were highly visible and as has been noted before, a whole array of experts rushed in to protect, to support or to clean up the mess.

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There is evidence to suggest that in the nineteenth century there was some anxiety in the Western world about the dangers of activating young people, and concern around how the previous “youth revolutions” of the French Revolution and the American Revolution had shifted from misrule into revolution. Thus the larrikin push in Australia may have produced a moral panic about a proletariat youth revolution, while also posing a perception of a general threat for the safety and security of “normal citizens and families” (Humphries 1985).

Thus it is assumed here, following the thinking of Foucault, Donzelot and Rose, that the juvenile delinquent was a nineteenth century pathology constructed by the intersection of multiple discourses. It became particularly consolidated with the invention of the adolescent and the work of Hall and Freud, which presented a science of what would be considered normal behaviour and development. What is interesting about the notion of the juvenile delinquent is that it associates the blame for the condition with either the person “of bad moral character/poor mental capacities” or the family “poor parenting/poor resourcing/ bad character”, as an inherent evil, rather than considering the broader conditions which allow this condition to occur. We can see this manifested in contemporary times, where children hanging around shopping malls are considered to be “gangs” and asked to move on or are harassed by security, which in turn encourages them to “perform delinquent’” and get into more trouble, which coming full circle serves to call into being the original premise of “delinquent”. This was seen on a large scale recently in the streets of Macquarie Fields in suburban Sydney, where young people were either set up to riot by poor policing and media performativity as just no hopers with nothing else to do and whose parents were also at fault.

Untamed youth and pop culture

The discourse of untamed youth has a ubiquitous presence in both the classic literature and pop culture of the Western world. As has been discussed earlier in Chapter Five, it recalls the worst fears of Goethe in his Sorrows of young Werther (1990) where Werther’s adolescent storm and stress leads him to commit suicide, or the fury and indecision in Shakespeare’s tragic out of control youth figures such as Hamlet or Romeo. Likewise, we can see a presence in the Libertines, Bohemians and Dandies etc.

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in the literature of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries such as Voltaire’s Candide (1797).

In twentieth century pop culture we can see untamed youth played out in the texts and famous characters of books, movies and pop music, such as Stephen in James Joyce’s Portrait of the artist as a young man (1964); or that ubiquitous mix of cool and untamed youth of Dean Moriarty in Jack Kerouac’s On the Road (1967):

It was remarkable how Dean could go mad and then suddenly continue with his soul – which I think is wrapped up in a fast car, a coast to reach, and a woman at the end of the road – calmly and sanely as though nothing had happened.

Kerouac (1964, p. 217)

In the movies, there are classic examples of untamed youth at play in a string of 1950’s and 1960’s classics such as any James Dean movie, Marlon Brando’s character in the Wild One (1953), feeding into Paul Newman’s characters in Hud (1963) and Cool Hand Luke (1967), and later classics such as the portrayal of youth gone violent in Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange (1971) or Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers (1994). In Western pop music, there have been a series of iconic rebels in different iterations, from Elvis through The Rolling Stones, Pretty Things, The Who, Bob Dylan, Iggy Pop, Jim Morrison, David Bowie, and Patti Smith, to the punks and the metal heads of the late 1970s and gangster / hip hop culture of the late twentieth century.

Untamed youth as an icon, for this researcher, is humorously personified by the infamous punk singer from the 1970’s Sex Pistol’s, whose stage name was Johnny Rotten, named so because of his “rotten” dental hygiene – in a direct mock-revolt or resistance against the governmentalities of hygiene and medicine on the family and individual. In 1977, on BBC TV as he leered through the TV camera he snarled:

God save the queen … she made you a moron … there’s no future … and England’s dreaming

“God Save the Queen” – John Lydon/Sex Pistols (1977)

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A few months later for the next performance of BBC TV’s “Top of the Pops”, looking away and ignoring the camera he sang, he re-sounded the final vowel of vacant to rhyme with “u” as in up to sound out “vay – cunt”:

.. we’re so pretty vacant … and we don’t care.

“Pretty Vacant” – John Lydon/Sex Pistols (1977)

As an alternative to discourses of the juvenile delinquent and “youth gangs”, subcultural theory is the creation of an academic community which emerged in the seventies at the Birmingham Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies (BCCCS), through a set of studies such Hebdige (1976, 1979), Hall and Jefferson (1976) and Cohen (1972). These studies viewed youth culture such as “punk” as a subculture that was engaged in a counter-hegemonic struggle with the dominant culture of the adult world. Through the lens of subcultural theory, youth became a site for a battle against the hegemony, typified by trends for street gangs from mods to skin heads to punks as part of some post World War II working class movement. Youth subculture was seen as class struggle, where for these young people just being alive was like “living in enemy territory” (Tait 1993, Wilson and Arnold 1986).

Taking cues from the punk culture of the late 1970s, subcultural studies portrayed untamed youth as noble savages. It often talked up and theorised the tribes, rebels and edge dwellers, yet as critics have pointed out, somehow they forgot about theorising the silent majority of normalised non-entities (Tait 2000). It has been suggested elsewhere that there is a veiled inference within the sub-cultural texts that “normal” youth are too drab and passive to warrant study (Clarke 1982) or that they are quite mundane and unspectacular (Bloustein 2004). The studies also tended to continue the gendered patterning of earlier discourses of delinquents to tell the story only about “what the boys did”.

Savage (1991) described the Sex Pistols and late 1970s British punk rock as a youth movement that was a subcultural echo to the UK’s “psychic baggage of [the] Pyrrhic victory” of World War II. With Johnny Rotten as its figurehead and icon, punk as a youth movement was imagined by Savage as a youth response to middle class despair and boredom, as a generation of young people felt their backs up against the wall

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(Savage 1991, p. 108). Kurt Cobain from Nirvana is also held up by Savage as a despairing youth culture icon for the 1990’s.

However, in his irreverent autobiography ‘Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs’ (1993) John Lydon, the “offstage” counterpart of the Sex Pistols’ “Johnny Rotten” , derided the connection between what he was doing with punk and the academic commentary. Lydon’s adaptation to lyrics for the Sex Pistols performance of the Stooges song ‘No Fun’ was straight to the point:

All right. Here we go now… a sociology lecture.. A bit of psychology… a bit of neurology … a bit of fuckology …. No fun!

“Intro to No Fun” – John Lydon/Sex Pistols (October 1976)

Youth studies and “activism” in Australia

Following the Birmingham response to theorising the problem of untamed youth over the last few decades, the genre of “youth studies” has flourished in Australia. In his introduction to a study of “youth subculture” in the Australian context, Rob White (1993) from the University of Melbourne speculated as to why in the early nineties in Australia there was so much interest in the public domain coming from academics, policy makers and youth workers regarding the concept of “youth sub-cultures” or “youth tribes”. He noted that the interest was particularly associated with the usual anxieties around “youth gangs” and manifested in descriptions of youth that emphasised the delinquent, “deviant” the “dangerous” and the “profane” (White 1993, p. ix). White was also concerned about the pitfalls of subcultural theory with regard to its work of further stigmatising and glamorising untamed youth, and he called for researchers to research responsibly and not to contribute to the moral panic, while at the same time he lamented the “radicalism” of times gone by:

It is rare to see in youth studies today work that exhibits the radicalism, passion and powerful social critique of writing in bygone times. …

White (1993, p. ix)

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As will be demonstrated in the next chapter, White’s sentiment is a reflection of some of the assumptions embedded in the discursive knowledge and practice of youth work, in the road maps that youth workers carry in their heads. This view is supported in another paper from the same book written by Gordon Tait ‘Re-assessing street kids: a critique of subculture theory’ (1993), that while subcultural theory no longer had the answers for the questions being asked, it was still being used. He critiqued the rituals of resistance of subcultural theory as imagined by Hebdige as redundant and romantic, when stripped of their antiquated veneer of neo-Marxism just the same old nineteenth century stories of delinquents and masturbating children refashioned as subcultures or tribes. He warned that by still believing the 1970s theories of subculture, Australia was in danger of becoming a theoretical backwater. Similarly, a decade later in the UK, David Chaney (2004) also worried about subculture theory. He too argued that the notion of subculture was no longer relevant, rendered superfluous by the development of what he called late modernity around understandings of gender, generation, ethnicity and sexuality. For him the notion of subculture offered a weak and limited explanation that was too reductionist.

In Australia the rhetoric of advocacy and empowerment continues to feature strongly in youth worker practice and in NGO value propositions. Yet despite this neo- Marxist rhetoric of structural causes and need for empowerment, at the end of the day, it is the same old problem of how young people are narrated as delinquents, problems, untamed youth and folk devils, that need to be fixed up, rescued, reshaped and put back on the right path. It is an interesting problem as to how most of the proponents of subculture and youth work in general, as evidenced in White’s collection and in practice within the next chapter, are oblivious to the fact that they are part of (as agents) or within the hegemonic “system” which is supposed to perpetuate structural disadvantage or be a cause of these youth sub-cultural constructs. Thus according to this rhetoric, while youth workers might imagine that they are on the side of the young people, at the same time they are directly or indirectly on the State’s payroll and following tight program guidelines. However, there is another approach to the correction of untamed youth, instead of positive reinforcement, liberation or youth development, an alternative approach of punishment and correction.

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Spare the rod and spoil the child …

Not all discourses of untamed youth call up practices of correction and empowerment. Untamed youth also prompts an age-old response from adults that aims to punish and discipline. This is clearly articulated and iterated in the old adage that to “spare the rod is to spoil the child”, and cruelly illustrated in the 16th century Russian text The Domostroi, written by a certain Sylvester, which gave graphic and brutal instruction on child rearing. Sylvester held the position as a chaplain to the infamous Ivan the Terrible. The Domostroi or “Foundation of a Home”, is a classic text in a similar mould to Filmer’s work which as well as being an example of punishment as a strategy of taming youth it also contributes to the earlier discourse of property as owned by the father. Following the aforementioned symbolic great chain of being in Chapter 6 it equates the role of father with that of the king: familial and political power mirrored and co- constructed. The text offers advice, on how to teach children and save them through fear.

Punish your son in his youth, and he will give you a quiet old age … Weaken not beating the boy, for he will not die from your striking him with the rod, but will be in better health: for while you strike his body, you save his soul from death. If you love your son, punish him frequently, that you may rejoice later. … Do not smile at him, or play with him, for though that will diminish your grief while he is a child, it will increase it when he is older, and you will cause much bitterness to your soul. Give him no power in his youth, but crush his ribs while he is growing and does not in his willfulness obey you.

Sylvester (1650, no page numbers)

Some threads of the influence of Plato are evident, as The Domostroi appears to hark back to earlier texts, such as Plato’s Protagorus, where Plato also spoke of straightening disobedient children by “threats and blows, like a piece of warped wood” (Postman, 1983, p. 8). The Domostroi offers similar cruel instruction for the mother and wife, in order to keep the house clean and well ordered. It encourages the father to make the daughter afraid of him, in order to preserve her from bodily impurity. It validates harsh punishment by arguing that in order to tame youth, punishment can be given in

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love with good judgement, be cruel to be kind, which perhaps translates as “beat them” then say something kind and nice and loving.

This commonsense is also demonstrated in another example in a 1933 text The Babee’s Book: Medieval Manners for the Young paraphrasing an earlier text from the fifteenth century:

And if thy children be rebel and will not bow them low If any of them misdo, neither curse them nor blow But take a smart rod and beat them in a row Till they cry mercy and their guilt will know.

How the Good Wife Taught her Daughter 1430, in Rickert (1933, p. 41)

In the 1960s, Lloyd deMause famously declared that such texts demonstrate “[t]hat the history of childhood is a nightmare from which we have only recently begun to awaken” (deMause, 1982, p. 1). DeMause described a recorded history of child abuse as a journey that began with the practices of infanticide in Antiquity right up to the twentieth century trend towards civilised positive reinforcement. He suggested a civilised society can be measured by the quality of its child protection laws.

DeMause (1982) argues that the further back in history, the less children are cared for, the more likely they are to be killed, abandoned, beaten, terrorised or sexually abused. He describes awful accounts of acts of cruelty, mutilation and discipline. DeMause recounted one such flogging in an incident in 1830, when an American father was compelled to horsewhip his four-year-old boy for not reading something correctly. The boy was tied up naked in the cellar and hit with a rod. During the beating, as the son begs for the father to stop, the father is crying out for pity, that he should have to do the task, that the father is really receiving the beating, and all the time of having a sense of divine authority in administering the beating. However, contemporary attitudes to taming untamed youth through punishment can still be interrogated, and the sorts of assumptions held as commonsense problematised. What does it mean when commentators lament that today’s youth are lacking discipline, or question what can be done to stop youth gone wild? What do they mean, by suggesting that it is the parents’ responsibility to sort their children, and what exactly does “sorting out” mean? One

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possible answer might be that of corporal punishment: as when they say “to give them a good clip around the ears” or “teach them a lesson”; or alternatively to give them “time out”, some strategic mentoring and a space to think things through. While both of these approaches are both about acting on the (not)Adult, with the locus of control always with the adult, there is a tension between these two approaches to discipline.

I should note that according to my analysis, the rhetoric of “empowerment” is a tactic used by adults to position the (not)adults closer to the locus of control, but despite this with the (not)Adults often coded as a “problem” the adult is always positioned at the locus of control, working on the (not)Adults to tame their wild desires. Always, the dilemma is around whether to punish or correct untamed youth. Symbolically the same tension exists in juvenile justice jails as to whether they are “deserved punishment” or rather a “corrective service”.

In another example the practice of corporal punishment has become a vexed issue in contemporary times. Twenty or thirty years ago, it was acceptable, or at least quietly overlooked, for parents to discipline their kids with all manner of objects, e.g., wooden spoons, heavy belts, a car aerial etc., or that children might expect to get a good beating as punishment for bad behaviour. Nowadays the practice of smacking one’s children, depending on its severity, is commonly reframed as child abuse. The so-called “smacking” debate is often played out in the courts and the media, such as the following from the Sydney Morning Herald “Smack the child, go to jail: parents pressured”:

… in June, a 42-year-old Darwin father was reportedly fined $1000 for smacking his five-year-old daughter with a belt four times on the bottom. “In the modern age, physical punishment of children is seen to be barbaric,” the magistrate said. A spokeswoman for Community Services Minister Linda Burney said smacking was legal in NSW but the law contained provisions to safeguard children from ‘‘serious physical harm, ‘‘For many parents, the commonsense approach works best,’’ she said. ‘‘In NSW the law says parents cannot use excessive physical punishment on any part of their child’s head or neck, or any other part of their body if the harm it causes lasts more than a short time.

Sydney Morning Herald, 23rd August 2009 p.18

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In Discipline and Punishment (1975), Foucault gave a gruesome account of the bloody torture and punishment of a traitor in medieval times. He used this to begin an argument that charts a shift from a brutal to a civilised society, from the individualised spectacle of punishment to achieving control by a more sophisticated taming of problems through by regulation and governmentality. Similarly, in modern times, we can also observe in relation to (not)Adults that such brutal approaches to discipline and punishment have given way to the more civilised governmentalities of tutelage and contract (Donzelot 1999). The current analysis, however, would be, that in the twenty first century there is still a tension within the discourse of untamed youth between punishment and correction.

While in most instances the Western world has shifted away from direct punishment towards governmentality and regulating obedience, there are still overcrowded juvenile justice centres in Australia where particular groups such as Aboriginal (not)Adults are over-represented (Cain 1995). Drawing on my two decades of experience in youth affairs, there have been regular cycles of “youth hate” moral panics that circulate in the media calling for youth gangs to be punished, locked up and controlled. Yet, as untamed youth goes wild in the twenty first century, in a Foucauldian analysis this is reimagined as a problem that can be addressed by the discursive practices of welfare, tactics of regulation and positive reinforcement, and as a last resort juvenile detention, instead of being a problem which can be initially dealt with by direct physical punishment. There are special words, knowledge and institutions which are useful to this project of fixing up problems or correcting transgressions, many of which are imbricated in the earlier discourses of innocence and development through words such as the juvenile delinquent, the adolescent, the misfit, correction centres, pedagogy, welfare, and so on.

Having considered the moral panics and the practice of working with (not)Adults(not)@home and having unpacked the four discourses … so what? What can we make of all of this mess?

To respond to this I attempt to create an enclosure in the next chapter, to conclude this thesis and to make some sense of it all.

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Chapter Nine: Enclosure

I present the final chapter of this thesis as an enclosure from which to consider some of the implications of this research and its contribution to the knowledge landscape and policies and practices of youth work.

In particular, I focus on a proposal for the application of what I described earlier in the text as “discursive literacies”. Following on from Foucault’s claim that we are always operating within power/knowledge, discursive literacies can become methodological tools that enable us to examine how we are always within power/knowledge (plural) and how we can grapple with a multiplicity of discourses. When applied to youth work, public policy on youth, or parenting, in relation to (not)Adults, these methodological tools are practical devices and concepts for practitioners to explore different ways of being in the world, different ways of acting in the world, and different ways of thinking of the world.

Positioning this thesis within the existing knowledge landscape and practice

To validate my claim for the practical value of developing and applying discursive literacies, in this final chapter I also position this thesis within the considerable body of knowledge on youth work that already exists in Australia, USA and Europe.

This thesis continues the trajectory of recent research in youth studies in Australia such as Pilcher, Williams & Pole (2003), Cohen (1997), Wyn & White (1997) and Tait (2000). Its particular contribution to this body of knowledge is in the innovative application of a Foucauldian genealogical approach and of theorising (not)Adult subjectivity as both a “product of” and “producing” multiple discourses, and considering where the practitioner is positioned or what positions are possible within this subjectivity. My work here also resonates with that of a complementary piece of research by another Australian researcher Blatterer (2007b). While Blatterer examines the “adult destination” rather than, as I do, the “youth departure”, he concludes, like me, that both the terms adult and (not)adult are discursively contingent and fragile.

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The current research also connects with the findings of other Australian and international youth studies such as Besley (2005), Bessant, Sercombe & Watts (1998), Crawford (2006), Dwyer & Wyn (2001), Giroux (2000), Holdsworth & Morgan (2005), Melton (1983), Pilcher (1995), Pilcher et al. (2003), Sercombe, Omaji, Cooper & Love (2002), Wyn (2004), . A common theme in this literature is that “youth” or “adolescence” is understood as a social category defined as product of a process that delays biologically mature adults from full participation in society. (not)Adults are evaluated by a range of expert knowledges as not ready, unsafe, immature, incapable or legally unauthorised to enter the adult world. These studies suggest that the distinction, in the transition between (not)Adults and adults and is primarily about a lack of social skills and resources rather than about growing up or age.

As outlined in Chapter Two, this research also takes a significantly different position to the 20th century traditions of youth work and youth identity, such as the long standing pastoral tradition of saving youth, or the critical theory and subcultural approaches of Hebdige (1976, 1979), Hall and Jefferson (1976) and Cohen (1972), or youth development approaches of Parsons (1949), Parsons & Bale (1955) and Pittman (1991, 2000, 2002). This new approach challenges youth workers to shift outside these familiar traditions, of just imagining that (not)Adults will “grow up” by phases, or come of age into adulthood, in order to re-examine the relations of power/knowledge between youth workers and (not)Adults.

While the subject of this research is the (not)Adult, it also draws the practitioner into the picture as it begins to ask questions of subjectivity, of the discursive “work” that is done by youth work, and to consider reflexivity in what Mol (1999) describes as an ontological politics, which I apply here to youth work.

However, the intention here is not to argue for an absolute truth for youth work practice, or for kicking out old ideas and practices, or disputing science on adolescent brain development, but rather to suggest other possibilities when existing practices fail, or when the aims of those practices appear to be at cross purposes. As established in this thesis, (not)Adult subjectivity is a palimpsest of messy and often incommensurate discourses. Both (not)Adulthood and adulthood are slippery and contested concepts. It follows, then, that both youth work and the public policies that pertain to youth work

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are similarly mixed up and contested. So, instead of leading towards one particular tidy theory of youth work or of particular youth identities, these discursive literacies are useful towards opening up possibilities to enable practical familiarity of multiple and overlapping theories of youth work and (not)Adult subjectivity. Hence I refer to “literacies” in the plural.

I encourage practitioners to develop discursive literacies as a technique to be used to open up understandings of youth work practice, to work with uncertainty, messiness and cross purposes, and to work with applied understandings of the multiple co-constructed relations of power/knowledge that produce (not)Adult subjectivity. The aim is to resist a singular fixed view. I argue that once the youth worker practitioner develops discursive literacies, then there are new possibilities for action. As Foucault (1998) believed, this means having the agency to make moves either to go with the discourses or perhaps to thwart and resist them: in other words, these discourses can be sites of power and resistance, with the scope to “evade, subvert or contest strategies of power” (Gaventa 2003, p. 3) and in the process open up youth work practice.

Developing discursive literacies

This final chapter looks for openings for action for youth work practitioners. I seek to find opportunities within the messiness and at the edges where the discourses fray. I seek approaches where youth workers can resist the path of simplistic ideological approaches.

As indicated in earlier chapters, the key methodology modelled in this thesis is the application of a Foucauldian genealogy, taking up the stance of Burbules’s (1995b, 1998) “heckler” with the aim of developing discursive literacies, in order to explore what this might mean for practice and ethics of youth work.

The concept of discursive literacies resonates with Schirato and Yell’s idea of “cultural literacy” (2000). Schirato and Yell approach the concept of “literacies” from the discipline of cultural studies and the analysis of social texts, extending their ideas more from Bourdieu than Foucault. They take up the notion of what Bourdieu (1991) coined as “habitus” that is, a “feel for the game, that is everyday life” (Schirato and Yell

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2000, p. 42) in order to define cultural literacy as a habitus with a working familiarity with the rules (official and unofficial) by which various cultural fields operate, the genres and discourses that “characterise” cultural fields, and the relationships within a culture between economic and cultural capital (Schirato and Yell, 2000 p. 35). The term, “familiarity” used by Schirato and Yell, makes the point that it is not about just being able to name or retrieve the rules and discourses. It is important to also be fluent in their multiple applications, as required.

Schirato and Yell’s “cultural literacies” emphasises Bourdieu’s concepts of “cultural fields” and “cultural capital”, locating it within an epistemological politics of cultural and communication studies.

I place a slightly different emphasis in my interpretation of discursive literacies on power/knowledge. Here, I foreground Foucault’s ideas of “governmentality” as the relations of knowledges and subjectivities produced by literacies and the work that is done by this relation (i.e. power/knowledge). By taking a Foucauldian approach I locate the concern of the “literacies” with the ontological politics (Mol 1999) of identity/subjectivity and consider further epistemological questions around knowledge and ethics. A key concept in my version of literacies, and point of difference with Shirato and Yell and the body of knowledge cited in the previous section, is the understanding that more than one “game” is being played at any one time. There are multiple discourses in operation, often working at cross purposes, often partially erasing each other. In my work here, I examine only four of these multiple discourses, as detailed below. To this, the development of discursive literacies then emerges from a broad genealogical familiarity with the multiple discourses in operation.

Revisiting the essence of the methodology outlined in Chapter Two, the notion of “discursive literacies” examines how selfhoods produce and are produced by discourses, applying Foucault’s questions of the limits of any discourse. The key epistemological questions proposed by Foucault, as outlined in more detail in Chapter Two, are: What is sayable (Foucault, 1991a p. 59). What type of relations are established? What work is done to them? How are they transformed or adapted (Foucault, 1991a, p. 60); and What are the “limits of appropriation” (Foucault,

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1991a, p. 61)? Who has access to the discourse? and finally How is the relationship institutionalised between the speaker, discourse and the destined audience?

Importantly, though, this is not just about passive patterning, describing or naming: discursive literacies have agency. If power/knowledge is imagined through the metaphor of an active “game” of life, then the development of discursive literacies leads to having a feel for the game, of being shaped by / shaping the rules and knowledges at play, of being aware of the mix of games in operation, of being positioned within these game(s) and shaping / being shaped by the outcomes of that game and having understanding of one’s agency within the game. This approach is encouraged by Foucault’s idea that one is always within power, and power can be resisted or mobilised. It leads to being good at playing the game(s) or of being able to change the mode of playing the game(s) as required.

However, it is not enough to be a “passive” heckler, just to identify the mechanics of the “magic tricks” and illusions, to name them as deception, or to name the “oppressor” (Freire 1970 a & b). The “active” aim is to be a “heckler plus” and to learn how to be in a position to actually use or not use such “magic” if required.

Developing and applying discursive literacies of (not)Adult subjectivity

This thesis models a methodology for developing such discursive literacies to open up the conceptualisation of youth work and public policy on youth and to critique the commonsense of transitions into adulthood. The genealogical work of earlier chapters began to unpack the ontological politics of “(not)”, as in (not)Adult, by refusing to accept commonsense views of youth and youth work, instead investigating four discourses of (not)Adult subjectivity in operation at the present time, something which provides a history or backstory of the present. While the genealogy was applied to four discourses, this does not presume that there are the only four discourses in operation for (not)Adults. Each discourse was tested against some of the assumptions currently in operation within the “practical world” of youth work. The four discourses were also tested on a selection of youth moral panics in the media, with the aim of illustrating the

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scope and power of these stories in the contemporary society in which youth work is situated.

Such discourses still have a persuasive currency. They are seen to be still in operation in the field of youth work, in social narratives and within broader society. In my analysis the selected moral panics played out in the media bluntly emphasised their “persuasive” power/knowledge and their capacity to forge and be forged by (not)Adult subjectivity.

Furthermore, in the process of investigating the four discourses, I also observed that as both product and producer of a range of social narratives, “(not)Adult” subjectivity lies in a distinct yet blurred discursive space.

Most of the time this space is explicitly excluded and annexed from the discursive space of adulthood. As I have shown in earlier chapters, the process and benchmarks for delayed adulthood have shifted and changed throughout the ages, with age-related markers and categories set at different years of age, according to the social context in different times. This is shown in the texts I have drawn on, including Aries (1973), Zemon-Davis (1987), Springhall (1977), Holmes (1969), Gillis (1974, 1975), Heywood (2001), Shahar (1990), Savage (2007), Laslet (1971), Kessen (1981), Humphries (1985), Hebdige (1979) and Cunningham (1990, 1998, 2005, 2006). Throughout the ages in the Western world, various stages of life, such as “childhood”, “adolescence” or “youth”, have been produced to distinguish stages of delayed adulthood and in turn contribute to a politics of exclusion. I was able to trace some of the politics of this exclusion back to some of the more obvious philosophical debates between Plato and Aristotle and how this politics has been passed down to the present. The work of these Greek philosophers was appropriated and mediated into Western culture through various social institutions such as the Catholic Church and later on within the various disciplines of Western science. For this reason, I used the (not) prefix, where the (not) represents an exclusion from the adult space, rather than terms such as “youth” or “adolescent”, which are considered here as partial and particular versions of (not)Adults.

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Most of the time, “(not)Adult” subjectivity exists in alterity as the ”other” to adult subjectivity. Tactically, I emphasise “most of the time” to suggest that the situation is not so neat and tidy. Often the brackets around the “not” of (not)Adults cannot contain the worlds of childhood and youth, or keep out adulthood. At the edges, such as in the case of (not)Adults(not)@home, boundaries fray and leak and are easily dismissed as a chimera. How can you delay their entry into the adult space, when (not)Adults are already operating with the same sort of independence as would be associated with being an adult? As pointed out in the work of Blatterer (2007a), in contemporary times, it seems that the point of departure, (not)Adult, is unclear, as is the desire for the final destination, adulthood. Perhaps, suggests Blatterer, (not)Adults don’t want to become “traditional” normalised adults: maybe they want to, or could be, something else; and what would be the role of youth work in contributing to this?

It was demonstrated in Chapter Four that the field of youth work is one of the many discursive practices, such as parenting, policing or schooling, that contributes to the exclusion and distinction of (not)Adults from the world of adults, by creating and policing the boundaries between (not)Adult and adult world. The positions of youth worker, (not)Adult and adult are co-constructions, both producers and produced, within the governmentality of this work.

I also discovered that despite a lack of currency, many of the so-called “old” historical narratives and benchmarks for delaying adulthood, such as that typified by the adage “children should be seen and not heard”, have never been completely erased. They still exist in mutant forms or remnants, absorbed, forgotten or overlaid, as a palimpsest overwritten by the contemporary with fragments, traces and ghosts these multiple historical narratives. Sometimes they are embedded and invisible within tropes of so-called commonsense and only come to the surface in the emotional responses around moral panics, such as the Bulger or Morgan Featherstone cases, exampled in Chapter Three. The results of this overlay and overwriting are often confused or rendered at cross purposes by the multiple discourses always in operation.

Unfortunately in the busy world of modern life, with its limited resources and capacity, the burden of such complexity encourages more pragmatic practitioners and commentators to take the easiest path and seek simplistic solutions. Some adopt a pre-

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packaged ideology (neo-Marxist, liberal or market driven, Christian, etc.). Some take a particular approach of tackling (not)Adults as a problem that needs to be fixed, while others take the approach of saving and protecting (not)Adults from internal untamed desires and external threats. There are plenty of examples of such discursively illiterate “fundamentalists”, as examined in chapter four.

In my analysis, many youth workers appear to be aware of the mechanics of the “magic” or “illusion” at play in the obvious discourses in operation. Such workers appear to have great passion and some idea of a few tactics and plays, but less of a feel for the multiplicity of games in operation. For example, in Chapter Four the workers considered that “giving” youth a voice is a good ideological tactic in that it “looks” like inclusion. However they don’t appear to know how to work with “these voices” or what work is being done by it. So as illustrated in the examples of ‘PHUK’ consultation and the work with the (not)Adults in Byron Bay, these voices are generally received by the (not)Adults and appear to the outsider as lip service.

Many youth workers, it seems, are captured by particular ideologies and disciplines and in doing so become unaware of the multiple discourses in operation. This can be seen in how the workers at Byron Bay, the Coffs Harbour workshop or the refuge in Bondi, unintentionally oscillate within discourses of property with statements such as “our kids”, yet at the same time argue for “young people’s rights”. At other times they evoke the discourses of innocents and misrule, positioning (not)Adults as a mixture of wild animals and babes in the woods. The workers consider themselves not part of the “system”, while to the (not)Adults it might seem that they are. They also struggle with attempting to reconcile these discourses with the discourse of growth, where as professional repairs and maintenance workers they support the ideas of case- management, youth development and transitions.

Discursive literacies have particular relevance for youth workers working in discursive spaces where the discursive norms and rules noticeably start to break down, such as those exampled in Chapter Four, working with (not)Adults(not)@home. These are times where the (not)Adult and adult subjectivities are noticeably blurred, the boundaries fail to contain, and the notion of “youth development and transitions” appears absurd. The (not)Adults are not at home, not being “looked after” or under the

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authority and ownership of their parents. They are exposed to adulthood, yet also appear as innocent children or as angry teenagers. So the usual markers and boundaries for adulthood are askew. In effect, under these conditions (not)Adults(not)@home appear to shapeshift and oscillate between (not)Adult and adult; or perhaps something else is happening, another category is opening up, something Blatterer alludes to as he imagines different versions of the “adult destination” or where the spaces of “middle youth” (France, 1998) or young adults create other possibilities for subjectivity.

When the rules and discourses start to blur or shift, so do the discursive positions available for youth workers and (not)Adults. This can result in the dilemma of a lack of confidence in the public policy, tools and techniques of youth work practice. Hence, the practice of “working youth” needs to be dynamic and to be able to work with what is going on in order to better understand the work that is actually being done, what is not being done, and what cannot be done. This in turn invites a rethinking of the politics and ethics of work practice.

The metaphors of “openings” and “enclosure” used throughout this text are borrowed from Stronach and MacLure (1997) and are applied here as a warning to be careful about being too absolute or to resist inventing another dogma. Such caution is relevant for both the researcher and the youth worker practitioner. Stronach and MacLure suggest that, “closure is a fate, even if a fate to be resisted” (Stronach & MacLure 1997, 145). In a similar way, Foucault (1977a) warned us not to be too absolute in our conclusions. The effect of genealogy is temporal, fragmentary and provisional and inconclusive:

[in terms of a heritage] it is an unstable assemblage of faults, fissures, and heterogeneous layers that threaten the fragile inheritor from within and from underneath.

Foucault (1977a, p. 82)

For example, with regard to the (not)Adult subjectivity produced as an effect of an exclusionary practice, there are a myriad of reasons put forward as to why or why not (not)Adults should be excluded from the adult world. These practices of exclusion are not to be considered as good or bad practices, just “practices” which do particular pieces

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of work. Like Massumi (1993), my interest is in how and whether they work, what they do or don’t do, and if they don’t work, what other ways of working are possible. By contrast, in some of the research cited earlier (e.g. Pilcher et.al 2003), there is the implicit notion of a fixed absolute idea that discursively delimits analysis, such as youth rights and of the ideas “having” or “not having” power, which in my analysis positions their work more towards the critical theory of Freire, Habermas, or neo-Marxism.

In the process of the genealogy of the four discourses, the narrative of (not)Adult can also be understood to have become more of a surface rendering, something akin to Baudrillard’s (1994) “simulacrum” or a symbolic copy, particularly since the invention of the “teenager” in the 1940s. The idea of surface rendering, extends the metaphor of selfhoods as palimpsests on which the ghosts and phantoms of earlier versions of (not)Adults become erased, overlaid and imbricated with superficial representations and icons. Thus misrule and untamed youth looks like teenage rebellion and tastes like teenage rebellion only because it is a familiar story. As a simulacrum it becomes symbolic chic, rather than real revolution. Like Blatterer, I find significance in the emergence of “cult of youth” in the twentieth century where youthfulness has indeed “become the signature of a whole culture” (Blatterer 2008, p. 9).

As was discussed in earlier chapters, this is something that Hall (1904) anticipated with his celebration of the adolescent, when he boldly framed the twentieth century as the century of the child and with his notion of the adolescent as a metaphor for the USA as a “youth nation”. Since the dawn of the twentieth century, following Hall’s celebration of youth, in Western culture, youth has perhaps become more desirable than adulthood. The desire is to look young “..and so, youth as a value is today replacing adulthood as a goal” (Blatterer 2008 p. 9).

In contemporary times the concept of “youth” / (not)Adult is becoming increasingly commodified as a surface rendering, a look, a style, a brand. As with all particular positions situated within particular discourses, it has “performativity” (Butler 1990), i.e. is created through being performed. In modern times youth has becomes a quality that any adult can retain to any age, with concepts such as “young adults” and “thirty somethings”. This agrees with the idea explored by Quart (2003) that in contemporary times “youth” is now more of a brand than a distinct life stage. It follows that youth

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would be a “brand” that still has multiple brand histories, such as the genealogy examined in this thesis. This idea of brand is also consistent with the notions of surface readings and palimpsests that inhabit this text.

In Chapter Four, we can see this brand conception in operation. While at the same time youth workers work on delaying adulthood as youth transitions, they also identify with the brand “youth”, de-identify with the adult world or the “system”, and perhaps imagine themselves as “nearly young” or “young at heart”. This is very different to the pre-twentieth century approaches which clearly represented the adult world working on the (not)Adult, delaying and preparing them to abandon the follies of youth.

With reference to my own biography, entering the work of youth work in the 1980’s, the “young at heart” approach, resonating with the discourse of “untamed youth”, translated into all levels of the “business” and youth workers behaved like we were young people, part of a revolution rebelling against the “adultworld”. This was symbolically manifested in wearing jeans, t-shirts and Doctor Marten’s boots instead of suits, turning up late for meetings, embracing the emerging technologies of computers and the internet, being on the “side” of the young people against the “system”, and so on. This “young at heart” approach still continues, albeit with different symbols.

So, the notion of discursive literacies applied to the (not)Adult as product of exclusion, suggest a scepticism does not only towards the term “not” but also to the term “adult”. Maybe we now have youth and (not)Youth where youth and not adulthood is the key icon of our times? Where adult has become the “other” and a key question is now when does oneself stop being young, rather than when does oneself grow up. This division has become further unsettled in in Western society where many people can expect to live for a longer number of years.

The question then is what does this mean for youth work? What does this mean for working with (not)Adults(not)@home, where all the traditional social norms appear to break down? This is where developing discursive literacies is also important, as well as understanding the politics of exclusion, because as the limits or exclusion shift around, and the boundaries and definitions change, then so too does the subjectivity of (not)Adults and adults.

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“Rethinking” … It is not just an academic concern

The relevance of this thesis is not confined to the realms of academia, youth studies or exclusively for those people working with (not)Adults, it has a much broader utility. For instance, public policy on adolescence development or transitions, and decisions made on behalf of (not)Adults, often take their cue from what is known as “evidence-based policy”, drawn from such research and youth studies. These policy decisions have enormous impact on the everyday lives of (not)Adults, and on those who work with them. Such policy decisions contribute towards determining the boundaries and limits of (not)Adult subjectivity. I agree with Blatterer (2007a & b) that for the majority of researchers, adulthood remains conceptually fixed, taken for granted and under- theorised, and that this has had a significant impact on public policy.

From the evidence in this thesis and also from my own experience in public policy, policy decision makers, or the people who decide what programs get funded, just like practitioners, are often discursively illiterate in relation to the work that is done by youth work, as well as of the work that is performed by their policies. Instead of an awareness of governmentality and subjectivity, the examples of work are highlighted in this text often foreground particular “ideologies” and authentic “identities” of youth as a problem. As is demonstrated in this research, the absence of any “post-theory” or consideration of subjectivity / governmentality in youth work approaches is remarkable, given the prominence such theory has had in the social sciences over the last three decades. For instance, in Chapter Eight, I instance the revolutionary, liberatory education and critical theory rhetoric of John Tomlinson (1977) on page 178 of this who clearly calls out to youth workers to take an ideological stance in order to decide whose side they are on, whether to choose a conflict or consensus ideology. In contrast to the delimiting polemic of Tomlinson, developing discursive literacies means to resist such fundamentalist ideologies with their notions of an authentic singular identity, to resist deciding which “side” to be on, to resist the confines of simplistic binaries and even the commitment to be on a side, instead considering which positions are available and examining the ontological politics of the discourses that are in operation.

This thesis is an invitation to youth workers, youth policy makers and others to think outside of the traditional ideologies and social constructions of (not)Adults that are so

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embedded and entangled within knowledge and practice. I expect that this may be a significant challenge for many workers. But what I am proposing here leads to the development of dynamic discursively literate ethics, rather than the tick box ethics of a doctrine. In a sense a metaphor for the purpose here is not to provide a map, but rather to provide the methodological capacity for workers to make their own maps and connections, in order to navigate the possibilities for youth work practice and ontological politics of (not)Adult subjectivity.

Rethinking (not)Adults – holding spaces and exclusion

If the commonsense notion of (not)Adults growing up or maturing no longer holds up to analysis as a universal truth, if we retain the idea that adulthood (in some form) is the final destination, then perhaps instead of being a stage or phase, the (not)Adult space could be considered as more of a holding space, a space for an individual to wait for the eventual promotion into adulthood,. where the criteria for promotion are dependent on the contingent expectations of society.

As examined in this thesis there is much historical evidence of the contingence of the expectations of society. For instance, in the Middle Ages in Europe, trade masters used to delay the coming of age and delimited the freedom of their young apprentices to keep a fine balance in the local economy Gillis (1974). Tait describes this a discourse of the management of sex (Tait 2000), of the delaying of the marriage age. Similarly the early days of free schooling and Child Labour Laws in the UK, despite an altruistic impulse towards educating the masses, also appear to have been about economic management of keeping (not)Adults out of the factories (i.e. jobs for adults) and delaying marriage (Gillis 1974; Heywood 2001). One has to prove oneself as an adult, and there has to be a space available to be an adult. The benchmarks, the tests, the birthdays, the achievements, are part of a rite of passage of accreditation and recognition rather than development, if the goal is to be recognised as an adult with all of the rights and resources that come with adulthood.

When in the Western world, as suggested by Quart (2003) and Blatterer (2007), ironically we can see adults holding onto their precious youth, maybe it is time to start

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considering new versions of adulthood and what that might mean for youth work practice. Maybe the (not)Adult space as it shifts in understanding from Aristotle’s “potential” to “actuality”, by working in the here and now, rather than on the “future adult”, the (not)Adult space ceases to be (not) and could become a creative space for something else and other subjectivities? Or does this require something different to a youth worker. There is an opening here.

Yet, in terms of discursive literacies, all the stories that I have told here in this text, do contribute to a overall story of not being an adult. They describe a space of the “other” of adult, irrespective of whether the category of adult can hold its shape in contemporary times. Unlike Blatterer’s work, here the idea of “adulthood” is still conceived as a prominent and desired destination, but there are perhaps different sorts of adulthood that can be produced. And so the discursive effect of all four discourses, through the work of (not)Adults, shapes a (not)Adult imagined and reiterated as the product of a “politics of exclusion”. Within such a politics, all of these discourses establish a discursive knowledge that enables a space where we can, at least, continue to say that any person is “not an adult” and so is denied entry into adulthood for a variety of reasons such as: protection of property, ensuring a proper adult transition, lack of adult brain development, protection of innocence, or delayed entry into marriage or the workforce. Youth work contributes to the process of maintaining this exclusion.

As Sarup (1996) with his Foucauldian thinking on the formation of subjectivity and Bauman (2000) with his ideas of liquid modernity suggest, (not)Adults learn how to be shape-shifters, to learn how to take care of themselves and to develop a habitus (Bourdieu 1992). To do this they also need to fashion discursive literacies, to know which performance to perform for each situation. When it works, they know how to put on a performance as a (not)Adult, they know how to play the innocent or the untamed or act as a property. They seek a provisional identity, a face that works, or is useful. Maybe then, faced with such complexities, the task of making sense of the world and fashioning subjectivity within the shape-shifting ontology of Bauman’s (2000) “liquid modernity”, then perhaps the task of youth work in terms of developing and fostering discursive literacies, is one of perpetual interrogation and modification in practice.

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Furthermore, rather than just providing a map or a linear schema for adult transitions or getting to known their true adult identity, especially if the adult destination is no longer desirable, another task of youth work could be to facilitate openings, connections and rhizomatic mapping, to support (not)Adults to be “hecklers plus”, to plot their own maps and lifelong learning, to navigate and form their own connections, through the rhizomes of discourse and subjectivity and liquid modernity.

Discursive literacies provide an opportunity to resist and play with the politics of exclusion of (not)Adult subjectivity and when the old discursive rules or simple ideologies don’t appear to work anymore, or when everything is too messy and at cross purposes, to use the creative spaces of youth work to explore beyond the traditional notions of adulthood produced by the four discourses explored in this thesis.

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