Small genres of veridiction: the Twitter profile


Jan Blommaert 


Michel Foucault’s course of lectures at the Collège de France in 1974-1975 was devoted to the theme of “Abnormal”. The edited version of these lectures offers one of the richest analyses of the genesis of the modern individual as an effect of power – a new system of power revolving around norms and enacted by a wide range of actors, from the Law through the family doctor to the family. In this new form of power, risk is the central given, and the body is the focus. The body is the seat of our instincts and, when out of control, may turn us (any and all of us) into a monster. The body, thus, becomes gradually “readable” as an index of character, of who you are. And families are charged, under the guise of “educating” their children”, with the care of the bodies of their children, who gradually should become people whose bodies are “healthy” and, hence, “normal”.

A catalyst for organizing this mode of power (a biopower governmentality) , Foucault argues, is the confession. Confessing becomes the archetype for one of the central tools of power: the “examination”, a regulated series of genres in which one has to speak the truth in the face of an authority, who will pass judgment over it. We have to confess to the police, the doctor, the psychiatrist, the priest, but also to the school teacher, our parents, and our peers. The confession, in that sense, becomes a step-up to one of the themes developed in Foucault’s latter courses: veridiction, the specific behavioral-discursive templates we have developed for “speaking the truth”. And the generalization of such forms of confession, adds Foucault, results in a “permanent autobiography” made up of small and big stories about ourselves, submitted to the normative judgment of others. And this permanent autobiography, thus constructed, is “who we are”: it is how we show ourselves to others within normative templates that can be recognizable as truthful.


It is easy to see how Foucault’s observations about the confession, and modes of veridiction more generally, could resonate in the field of social media practices today. Much of what we are invited to do on social media, I propose, revolves around the construction of a “permanent autobiography” in Foucault’s sense: a sequence of small and big veridictional narratives by means of which we show ourselves to others as “true”, “real”, “authentic” and – derived from that – “likable”, “cool”, “attractive” or what not. Facebook’s “timeline” format provides a chronological linearity to updates – an iconic feature of “(auto)biography” – and “being yourself” is a key ideological precept there, as well as on other social media. Even if the formats and functions of Facebook are not the same as, say those on “professional” social media such as LinkedIn or dating apps such as Tinder, the normative expectation on each of them is that you are “yourself” and not hide behind a mask.



This, evidently, is the key element in confession: speak the truth, do it consistently and frequently, and do it in the presence of evaluating others. Others – note – will judge whether you are “true”, and it doesn’t suffice to believe that you’re “true” yourself. A “true” identity is interactionally, and normatively, constructed, around an imagined identity essence – “being yourself”. This essence is imagined singularly (and opposed to plural “masks” we have to wear in so many sites of life), while in reality it assumes very different shapes in different media. To make this clear: compare someone’s CV to that same person’s profile on a dating site, and ask which one would be judged as a “lie” by the person who constructed both. We are “ourselves” in a broad variety of actual forms and shapes (chronotopically organized, I would say), each of them experienced as “real” (even if not comprehensively so).


This now takes us to social media as tools of governmentality. There is a burgeoning literature on social media as data-gathering tools serving interests alien to those animating the practices we perform on social media. Such interests include security as well as commerce, and they are fed by big data drawn from the activities performed on social media.

The quality of such data, naturally, heavily depends on the reliability of the information provided by users in their social media activities. And this is where the identity essentialism mentioned above enters the picture. The normative expectation informing social media interaction is, effectively, “veridictional”: since we wish to enter into specific types of relationships with others, we need to do so on a footing of credibility – the ways we show ourselves to others must trigger the indexicals of veridiction, converted into identity attributions that enable membership of groups and networks. And in view of that, we provide loads of stories feeding into such identity essentialism. Profile data – the basic stuff you have to provide for opening an account on social media – are a case in point.

These profile data are usually multimodal and contain images as well as text. Both are narrative modalities: they separately and jointly tell something about us, and are selected in such a way that we expect (or hope) others to recognize the relevance and authenticity of our stories. Let us turn to my own Twitter profile for an example.

ScreenHunter_558 Apr. 28 11.44

The usual ingredients are there: (a) a profile picture, (b) a text on “who I am”, and (c) a banner illustration. The text (b) identifies me as “academic and knowledge activist”. This is how I want to address people from my Twitter account, and what I post there should reflect those “essential” identity feature. The relational appeal is: read my tweets as messages produced by an academic and knowledge activist. As for the two pictures (a) and (c), they directly connect to (b). In the profile picture (a), I am presented in my capacity of academic, lecturing in front of a screen showing lecturing slides. The banner illustration (c) is an (unclear) picture of me giving a speech at a trade union strike picket in Antwerp harbor a few years ago – here is the activist. The two “essential” identity features I offer to my followers on Twitter are mirrored in the pictures. Together they construct an autobiographical micro-narrative in which two moments of my life – a lecture and a speech during a strike – are invoked as evidence supporting the “truth” of who I am.

Much here, of course, is implicit and becomes readable through shared tacit indexical codes. Sometimes, people are more explicit though. The following profile picture displays a young aspiring Belgian politician next to Mrs Christine Lagarde (head of the IMF) – a “frame” in which the young man’s political ambitions are quite loudly stated by the presence of a global political celebrity. The autobiographical and veridictional nature of this picture is, I hope, entirely clear.

slide 7b

In both illustrations, the actual bodies are visible as part of the narrative. We can see Foucault’s moral “topography of the body” in the details: in my Twitter profile, for instance, I am dressed differently in both pictures – one kind of dress “typical” for academic lecturing, another more appropriate for early-morning trade union activism. My body posture, too, is different: the thoughtful lecturer versus the fiery activist. Both pictures, of course, were the outcome of a selection in which the “essence” (i.e. the “truthfulness”) of the identities I wished to convey was the benchmark.

But even if bodies are not shown, similar “essences” can be expressed. Consider the Twitter profile images below, where people use “real” pictures (and names) as well as symbols, allegories, mottos and other items to identify themselves.

slide 6b

There is, thus, great semiotic diversity by means of which we produce such small stories about who we are, but the veridictional direction, I suggest, remains mandatory.


Profiles such as the ones shown here, we can see, are small veridictional genres. They provide micro-narrative clues as to who we are, submitted to the normative judgment of others. The information contained in them, given its normative direction, is presented as “essential” – as the stuff you really have to know about me in order to enter into this particular relationship. As said above, it is this particular relationship that acts as a filter on what one releases in the way of information – hence the chronotopic differences between what we show in our CV, on Facebook, and on “professional” or dating sites.

It was Foucault’s massive contribution to theories of power that he showed how, in the power systems of Modernity, we ultimately police ourselves. The distributed and infinitely fractal nature of power (as normative regulation of everyday life) begins and ends with the modern individual him/herself, incorporating and enacting normative and evaluative expectations in every instance of social behavior. The norms we find “natural” ans “self-evident” as instruments for smooth social interaction (as Durkheim sketched them), Foucault insists, are at the core of the modern system of power.

Thus, when analyzing the more scary sides of social media usage, pointing towards the bad guys who collect data on us and convert them into profiled algorithms by means of which our “bubbles” are created, doesn’t suffice. The system begins and ends with all of us, confessing regularly, frequently and consistently in a self-organized permanent autobiography, providing the perfect raw materials for highly sophisticated and infinitely detailed systems of power.



One of the problems with language is what linguists make of it (remarks on a review)


Jan Blommaert 

The title of this text is borrowed from Dell Hymes, who argued that sociolinguists ought to be concerned not with the artefactualization of (institutional-normative) Language, but with what people do in and with language. I use this title because I embrace this view, and because it precisely summarizes my reactions to a review of a book of mine. The book is Ethnography, Superdiversity and Linguistic Landscapes: Chronicles of Complexity (Multilingual Matters 2013), and the reviewer is Lars Hinrichs (Journal of Sociolinguistics 19, 2015: 260-265). It is good to keep in mind that the only ambition I had with this little book was to show that an ethnographic linguistic landscape analysis could analyze a particular social unit – a neighborhood – as a complex and dynamic system, a moving target, rather than as a “snapshot”. I thus addressed shortcomings I had identified in some other work in linguistic landscape studies.

While Hinrichs’ review, in fairness, is not a negative one, it is littered with statements that reveal “one of the problems with language” as Hymes saw it. I’ll review some of those statements and provide feedback to them. Not because this is about me – as an author, I am deeply grateful to Hinrichs for having engaged at some length with my work – but because it is about a larger vision of what we should be doing as sociolinguists.

1. Let me start with how Hinrichs understands my general theoretical orientation.

“The introduction also defines the concept of superdiversity, on which much hinges in Blommaert’s theoretical universe. The term was proposed by Vertovec (2007) and denotes the kind of diversity that is encountered in present-day metropolitan centers. The prefix super implies that this diversity is different in kind and scale than what was seen before the last two or three decades of the twentieth century, with unprecedented numbers of categories of immigrant groups coexisting in cities. From this tenet springs the assumption that the multilingualism in superdiversity is a novel mix of more languages than ever before.” (261)

It’s always wonderful when people appear to know me better than I do myself, but I cannot possibly recognize myself in this description. My theoretical universe is ethnographic, and I believe I have made this abundantly clear in almost everything I have ever written. As for the notion of superdiversity: the team with whom I have been working on themes related to superdiversity have long ago, and repeatedly, stated our quite fundamental differences with the view attributed to Vertovec. A quick reading of, for instance, the introductory chapters of Language and Superdiversity (Arnaut et al, eds, Routledge 2016) and Engaging Superdiversity (Arnaut et al, eds. Multilingual Matters 2017) should suffice to make this clear. The range of inferences drawn by Hinrichs from the use of “super” in “superdiversity” may (or may not) apply to Vertovec’s work, but it is entirely alien to mine.

Of course, the books I referred to above did not exist when Hinrichs wrote his review. But several other texts, generously explaining our differences, were available back then. For instance this one, in which I reiterate that we see “language and superdiversity as a space of synthesis, a point of convergence or a nexus of developments long underway” (2) and “what superdiversity has provoked, I believe, is an awareness that a lot of what used to be qualified as ‘exceptional’, ‘aberrant’, ‘deviant’ or ‘unusual’ in language and its use by people, is in actual fact quite normal” (3). This reversal of our conventional normative benchmarks for understanding language in society, I underscore in the same locus, compels us towards an ethnographic stance, for it is a paradigmatic moment which renders much of what we used to be quite certain of in the past open for re-exploration. This is my view of superdiversity: a small number of really new sociolinguistic phenomena have challenged our fundamental imagination of the sociolinguistic world, enabling us to re-examine and re-search old stuff. This is precisely what Rob Moore does in a paper Hinrichs uses against my views (264), while the argument Moore builds (and other have built since as well) is entirely in support of the kind of revisionism provoked by an awareness of superdiversity. (Moore, by the way, is a member of our INCOLAS consortium, as are Madsen and Van der Aa, also cited by Hinrichs; it is strange to see them presented in the role of dissidents here).

Hinrichs, thus, constructs a straw man and launches an assault on that straw man’s views – not on mine. To be sure, he is not alone in this; a small cottage industry has emerged in which the same forms of intellectual laziness are practiced and the same weird statements are being loudly voiced. One shall forgive me for not attaching too much weight to them: if one wishes to engage me in a dialogue, let it be about what I did write, not about what the views of others wrongly ascribed to me. Which brings me to a second issue.

2. I appear to have given Hinrichs particular satisfaction on one point:

“I first note that in a welcome break from his earlier writing, Blommaert no longer presses one particular point: that sociolinguistics should abandon the construct of the language, it being an abstraction rooted in structuralism.” (263)

Once more: please read what I have written on this topic. Did I ever argue that “sociolinguistics should abandon the construct of the language”? No. I have written over and over again that the modernist (structuralist) concept of language is an ideological reality of language-in-society, and that, consequently, it cannot be a methodology for looking at language – it is an object of sociolinguistic study. So, concretely, what I am saying is that the modernist-structuralist concept of Language-with-a-capital-L is not what linguists and sociolinguists should reduce their observational data to, since it is an observational datum in its own right. Sociolinguists should not abandon this construct, they should study it. Language-ideological reifications – such as people believing that they “speak Language X” – are sociolinguistic facts, and therefore not the most accurate tools for metalevel analysis. We have learned this from two decades of work on linguistic ideologies – a development Hinrichs (as well as others in the cottage industry) appears to have entirely missed. He observes “how heavily languages are here [in my study] reified as emic units” (263) but has failed to notice that ’emic’ here means ‘language-ideological’.

Hinrichs believes that, in this book, I have made a salutary turn by counting and listing “languages”, and by mentioning even a “variety” by name: “ecumenical Dutch”. Sadly I must disappoint him: the use of words does not entail their presuppositions when these very presuppositions have been fundamentally altered. When I use a term such as “ecumenical Dutch”, I do not gesture towards the self-contained, singular, static and bounded set of forms and relations between forms that defined “Dutch” in the tradition of modernist-structuralist linguistics (and sociolinguistics). I point towards a flexible, constantly evolving, historically loaded, open-ended range of communicative features-in-practice, to which we can attach a conventionalized – “vernacularized”, if you wish – label such as “Dutch”. And I explain this at length. It is remarkable that Hinrichs has overlooked this work of re-qualification in my usage of these terms. He projects his own qualifications of these terms onto my use of them, after which he finds them inconsistent.

This misconstrued “abandon of the construct of language” reappears somewhat further in the shape of suspicion:

“Thus, it is good that this book does not expand the argument against ‘language’ any further – but it does pursue the argument for the ‘End of Synchrony’ (p. 117) – which might be the re-birth of the earlier argument in another guise.” (263)

The first part of the sentence is wrong, as I explained; the second one, about “the end of synchrony”, is again quite strange. What I mean by the end of synchrony is that an analysis of the kind I propose does not get anywhere when we employ the modernist-structuralist concept of language outlined above: a self-contained, singular, static and bounded set of forms and relations between forms that exist transcendently, detached from spacetime-situated practice. This modernist-structuralist concept, I have argued repeatedly, renders language fundamentally ahistorical – where “historical” is not reduced to chronology but refers to the plenitude and complexity of social practices situated in spacetime – in short, what people do in and with language, as I said at the outset. And yes, I could not have done much with such tools when I attempted to describe a concrete spacetime unit as a moving target.

Hinrichs defends the use of his concept of language as follows:

“However, it is already an integral part of scholarly practice that when abstractions are made we question their validity, carefully guarding the boundary between general and specific claims. Couched in the terms of an iconoclastic formula (‘the end of synchrony’), this argument dresses itself as a new departure, but erases the virtues of extant sociolinguistic practice.” (263)

Unfortunately, I must once more disagree about this “integral part of scholarly practice” when it comes to Language in the sense described above. I see loads of work – including work by critics of the sort of work we do – in which the modernist-structuralist concept of language is unquestioningly used, for instance for describing “code-switching” and other forms of complex multilingualism. I see a pretty robust conservatism, in fact, when it comes to checking the validity of that concept in much work that aspires to be advanced and sophisticated. And apart from its manifest intellectual shortcomings, I also see a very limited awareness about the ideological and political history of that particular concept as a tool of institutional oppression, disqualification and exclusion.

3. I even see analytical stereotyping. My book dealt with the linguistic landscapes of an area in Antwerp, Belgium. I trust that readers know what linguistic landscape analysis is: it is a study of publicly visible inscriptions. And the only ambition I had with the book, I repeat, was to demonstrate the relevance of ethnography for getting more sociolinguistic knowledge out of and about linguistic landscapes. The reasons for that are, I believe, generously explained in the book. Nonetheless, Hinrichs is disappointed: “But in a sociolinguistic work, one also hopes for deep study of speech data” (264). Sociolinguistics, that’s the study of spoken speech, apparently. He seems to have overlooked a few developments in the sociolinguistics of literacy lately – notably those connected to ethnographic and multimodal approaches. Reducing sociolinguistic work to spoken language, in an age of online and offline interactions, is very twentieth century I’m afraid.

So I should have made recordings of spoken speech in my linguistic landscape study. And what should I have done with them? Hinrichs:

“I would have welcomed some much more detailed (and potentially quantitative) structural analysis of Dutch used by members of different immigrant groups in the area, and to see its discussion embedded in the broader, ongoing debate on how to classify multiethnolects, which includes discussions of Dutch in multiethnic urban settings (…)” (264)

I confess not having done the kind of research Hinrichs would have welcomed. Perhaps I will do it when I decide to study the very different things he appears to be after (and accept uncritically all the highly problematic assumptions buried in that kind of quest – “multiethnolects” used by “different immigrant groups” to be identified by means of … what?). So here is how Hinrichs wraps it all up:

“I would say that Blommaert employs an excess of revolutionary rhetoric, when established methods and ideas might have served equally well, or better.” (264)

Okay, I haven’t been conservative enough. I apologize for that. The call is: let’s all just do what we have been doing for half a century.

4. But it is more specific than that, and that brings me to a more general point. A particular model of sociolinguistics is here upheld as the benchmark of quality – the modernist-structuralist, variationist and quantitative one. Virtues and shortcomings are measured against it. The ‘sociolinguistics’ used as a benchmark by Hinrichs is a highly partial one, a sociolinguistics from which a broad range of sociolinguistic approaches have been elided – the entire ethnographic and linguistic-anthropological tradition, in fact, is dismissed here.

Well then, if we should all do what we have been doing for half a century, it is good to remember that back then and since then, people such as Hymes, Gumperz, Goffman, Bourdieu and Fabian, among others, drafted the ethnographic-sociolinguistic agenda that informs my work and that of many others, while others drafted different agendas. Animosity between various branches of sociolinguistic scholarship is as old as the discipline itself and shows an unfortunate cyclical pattern of escalation and de-escalation – of ‘schismogenesis’ in Bateson’s old terms. We are clearly in a stage of escalation once again, in which the silliest and most superficial statements are offered as conclusive arguments, and in which no effort is made to, at least, understand the assumptions and vocabularies of the perceived adversaries.

I can assure Hinrichs that I know all the stuff he unfavorably compares my work with; I know structural analysis, I know the work on “multi-ethnolects”, I know variationism and the three waves, I know quantitative sociolinguistics, I know big data sociolinguistics, I know multimodal analysis and so forth. If I do not use these approaches it is not for being unfamiliar with them, nor for want of having tried them out. It is for the best reason in science: they don’t work for what I am after. The tools I selected for this particular study were, in my judgment, the best ones. Note: not the only ones, and I welcome anyone doing different types of research in the same site. In fact, I supervised research in this area, on this topic, operating on an entirely different paradigmatic footing. For I do not see researchers of a different kind as a danger or an adversary, I see them as partners in a search for knowledge.

This spirit of pluralism, dialogue and cooperation marked the birth of modern sociolinguistics half a century ago, at a time when virulent factionalism marked the development of formal linguistics. I hope we shall be allowed to be conservative in wishing to conserve that spirit.



‘Home language’: some questions


Jan Blommaert

This short research note is part of the Durkheim and the Internet project.

‘Home language’ is a variable often used in policy-oriented research on language-in-education. It is assumed that differences in ‘home language’ are causally related to differences in learning outcomes in diverse populations. In Belgium, for instance, systematically reoccurring PISA-results indicating lower scores for ‘migrant’ learners are easily attributed to one ‘home language’ factor: the assumption that Dutch is not the ‘home language’ in many immigrant learners’ families. This point is correlated with, and in a self-confirming loop supported by, two other variables: the ‘level of education’ and ‘occupation’ of the parents of the learner.

Aaron Cicourel (1964) told us half a century ago that variables used in statistical research need to be ecologically validated – they need to be grounded in ethnographically observable facts, where ‘ethnography’ refers to a methodology in which the ‘insiders’ perspective’ is being described. Such facts, Gregory Bateson underscored (1972: xxviii) cannot be denied, and they are always evidence of something. This something can be a pattern as well as an idiosyncrasy, and what it is precisely cannot be determined by assumption; it must be investigated empirically. The trouble with variables such as ‘home language’ in the kinds of research I pointed to, is that they are established as unchecked assumptions and turned into powerful explanatory factors, while, in actual fact, they remain poorly argued and fragile assumptions.

Let me point out some crucial weaknesses in this mode of practice.

  1. Behind ‘home language’, a particular, and elaborate, sociological imagination is hidden, and this imagination is carried along in the usage of the term as variable and explanatory factor. So the general question to be raised about ‘home language’ is: what exactly is meant by this? Which realities is it supposed to stand for? And once we have found an answer to this, how can these realities be used as an explanation for other realities (i.c. educational performance scores by ‘migrant’ learners).
  2. In current practice, we see the following sociological imagination emerge
    1. ‘Home language’ refers to the language(s) spoken among the members of the family in direct interaction;
    2. More precisely, it refers to parent-child interaction; very often, the mother is implicitly seen as crucial in this respect;
    3. This ‘home language’, thus established, has a transmission effect: children learn and adopt the language(s) of their parents;
    4. This transmission effect is important, even crucial: the language(s) transmitted in direct interactions within the family act(s) as a resource as well as a constraint for learning. Home is the crucial socialization locus.
  3. From an ethnographic point of view, all of these points are weak hypotheses. Here are some critical remarks.
  4. As to 2.1: what is meant by ‘language’? Is it just the spoken language? If so, where is literacy? And why would the spoken variety of a language prevail over its literate registers when we are trying to determine the effects of ‘home language’ on learning outcomes, knowing the important role of schooled literacy in formal learning trajectories? I shall add more complications to this issue below.
  5. About 2.1 and 2.2. Is parent-child interaction all there is to ‘home language’? Children usually grow up in a ‘home’ environment where popular culture, social media and peer groups are very much part of what ‘home’ is all about. Thus, even if parent-child interaction would be ‘monolingual’ (in reality it never is, see below), the actual ‘home language’ environment experienced by children could be outspokenly ‘multilingual’, with complex modes of spoken and written interaction deployed in a variety of relationships – with parents and family members, non-family friends and peer group members both online and offline, and ‘distant’ popular culture networks, to name just these. Children might spend far more time interacting with, say, members of their after-school soccer team than with their parents.
  6. About 2.2. Even if we accept parent-child interactions as being of paramount importance in defining the ‘home language’ environment, which types of interactions are we talking about? There are homes where parent-child interactions predominantly revolve around order and discipline (the ‘eat-your-veggies-and-clean-up-your-room’ type, say) and homes where more intimate and elaborate genres are practiced (the ‘mom-is-your-best-friend’ type, say). If we consider parent-child interaction a crucial form of input in language socialization, we need to be precise about what such modes of interaction actually involve, for children will learn very different bits of language depending on the types of interaction effectively practiced.
  7. About 2.2. The previous remark leads us to a more fundamental one (complicating my point (4) above): ‘language’ is a very poor unit of analysis for determining what different modes of interaction actually do in the ‘home language’ environment. Register is far more relevant as a unit: we organize different modes of interaction by means of very different linguistic and communicative resources. Concretely, when a child grows up in the ‘eat-your-veggies-and-clean-up-your-room’ culture mentioned above, it is likely to learn the discursive resources for commands and instructions, not those for talking about one’s deeper feelings or dreams. In that sense, ‘monolingual’ is always a very superficial descriptor for any real sociolinguistic regime – it’s never about language, and always about specific bits of language(s) operating in normatively defined (and complex) form-function mappings (called ‘languaging’ in current literature).
  8. About 2.3. That there is a transmission effect cannot be denied – see the previous point. The thing is, however, what exactly is transmitted? Which particular register features ‘spill over’ from parents onto children in the different modes of interactions mentioned earlier? And which ones are activated, acquired and shaped in the different forms of interaction, within the broader reality of ‘home language’ described above? And how about the specific school-related registers? How do they actually relate to the registers deployed in the ‘home language’?
  9. About 2.3 and 2.4. What really needs to be established is the actual structure of the repertoire of the children. And how does parent-child interaction (and its transmission effects) fit into such repertoire structures? We might learn, from such inquiries, that children might actually reject the ‘home language’ in its narrow definition and that far more powerful transmission effects emerge from, e.g., peer groups or popular culture (and not just by teenage children). Socialization, we should realize and accept, happens in far broader social-systemic environments, and the home (in the imagination outlined above) cannot a priori be assumed to be the most important one. The specific role of the home within such broader socialization environments needs to be established empirically. In an age of intense online-offline dynamics, the old Durkheim-Parsonian views of ‘primary’ socialization units such as the family need to be critically revisited.
  10. A general remark. I referred to some other variables commonly correlated with ‘home language’: the level of education and the professional occupation of the parents – usually the mother. An unspoken assumption is that optimal learning effects can be derived from (a) a Dutch-dominant ‘home language’ environment, (b) with highly educated parents (c) employed in prestige-carrying occupations, acting as main transmission agents. But according to the logic of this particular bit of sociological imagination, the most powerful transmission effects may come from parents not fitting this picture. An unemployed parent is likely to be far more available for parent-child interaction than a full-time employed one. As for the latter, such powerful transmission effects cannot be just assumed, and the earlier issue of interaction types and specific registers becomes more pressing. In homes with ‘absent parents’, the effects of the broader socialization environment must be taken seriously. The implicit status hierarchy contained in (a)-(c) above just may be a sociological fiction.

From an ethnographic viewpoint – and, by extension, a viewpoint emphasizing ecological validity in research – the unquestioned use of ‘home language’ in the sense outlined here will inevitably result in fundamentally flawed research, the outcomes of which are entirely dependent on a series of assumptions that do not stand the test of empirical control. The problem is situated at the level of the sociological imagination motivating such assumptions; and this imagination, we know, has lost touch with sociological reality. The good news, however, is that there is a significant amount of ethnographic research addressing these issues, from which one can draw a more realistic set of assumptions and against which the ecological validity of current findings can be checked. The potential benefit of doing that has been, one hopes, sufficiently established here.


Bateson, Gregory (1972 [2000]) Steps to an Ecology of Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press

Cicourel, Aaron (1964) Method and Measurement in Sociology. New York: Free Press


An intriguing rebuttal came my way shortly after posting this text: the kinds of research I advocate here would yield way too much diversity and, thus, prevent generalization. It’s an old argument, and those who use it display an amazingly superficial knowledge about generalization as a scientific practice. Reading the two classics I cite here, and especially Bateson’s old Steps to an Ecology of Mind (1972), could be helpful. But more disturbing is the implication of this argument: that sociological fiction is fine because it is generalizable – we know that our assumptions are wrong or unfounded, but we will still use them because they satisfy a formal-methodical criterion of ‘generalizability’. Unfortunately, fiction doesn’t become science when it’s generalized. It becomes generalized fiction.