Abstract
Bureaucracy has had few admirers, as a quick perusal of 20th-century political and social theory readily indicates. In recent years, several feminist theorists have also joined this vociferous anti-bureaucracy chorus, denouncing bureaucracy’s excessively hierarchical, impersonal, cold and controlling nature. The goal of this article is to review these charges and to show why the term ‘caring bureaucracy’ is not an oxymoron. In the first two sections, the author considers the various reasons why bureaucratic structures are said to be bad both for the people who work in them (especially women) and for those who deal with them. The author proposes to discuss these charges in light of some research on feminist organizations and street-level bureaucracy (Ashcraft, Due Billing, Dubois). The intention is not to offer a paean to street-level discretion or to the claims of ‘the heart’ in public service; it is, rather, to underscore at once the beauty and the danger of discretion. It is also noted that feminist theorists ought to be cautious when they call for ‘flattened hierarchies’ and for fewer rules in large institutions – for these might work against the best interests of women. The last part of the article offers the outline of a caring bureaucracy and suggests avenues to be explored in future care ethics research.
Prolegomena to a caring bureaucracy
Bureaucracy-bashing is an old sport, actively practiced by countless individuals at both ends of the political spectrum.i If the left often laments bureaucracy’s unresponsiveness, coldness and hierarchy, the right delights in decrying its contradictions, inefficiency, empire-building and cost. It is thus unsurprising to see that governments can cut jobs in the public service without much resistance on the part of the general public. Since the 1980s, many feminist scholars have also joined this anti-bureaucracy chorus, denouncing bureaucracy’s excessively hierarchical, impersonal and controlling nature. The more radical amongst these critics have argued that bureaucracy is, by nature, at odds with feminist interests and hence that we should create alternative forms of organization – ones that are more nurturing, loosely structured and participative (e.g. Ferguson, 1984; Iannello, 1992). Others argue that the values and practices of existing bureaucracies can be changed and that it is possible to devise more caring bureaucracies – bureaucracies that are responsive and good for both those who work in them and for service-recipients (e.g. Ashcraft, 2001; Burnier, 2003).
The question of whether a caring bureaucracy is possible is of utmost importance for feminist ethics of care – which has, over the years, devoted much time responding to Joan Tronto’s invitation to think a care politics. Since the publication of Moral Boundaries, many have reflected on what this politics might mean in terms of conceptions of judgment, solicitude and dependency. But care theorists have been slightly more reticent to propose specific social programs and institutional/legal measures; they have also shied away from strong ideological commitments (especially in American circles). This reticence might partially be tied to feminist care theory’s qualms about bureaucracy –qualms that this article proposes to examine. Undoubtedly, care ethics scholarship is peppered with implicit endorsements of generous social-welfare programs; but sometimes these endorsements are accompanied by Foucauldian worries about the state’s encroachment in matters of ‘mere life’. For some, there is something dangerously paternalistic about being overly prescriptive – about specifying which needs have to be met, how, by whom and with how much (public) money. 1
The reluctance of some care theorists to propose specific policies or state-wide measures could also be explained by the fact that there is a certain tension between a care ethics and the political measures it seems to call for. Since the publication of Carol Gilligan’s In a Different Voice, care ethics has developed into a mature moral and political theory. While there is some debate here, most care theorists treat ‘care’ as referring to two things: first, an ethical disposition that gives pride of place to relationality, context and affective knowledge in moral reasoning; second, the processes and practices that seek to ‘maintain, continue and repair our “world” so that we can live in it as well as possible’ (Fisher and Tronto, 1990: 40). By phrases like this, care theorists have tended to understand activities that seek to respond to needs – in particular, health care, domestic work, elderly and infant care, as well as various measures that address the particular vulnerabilities encountered by some groups. Care theorists thus pay attention to the ethical and relational concerns that inform, say, nurses’ deeds (and patients’ responses); but they also analyze the socio-institutional conditions (wages, power and gender dynamics) that affect the manner in which care is delivered and received. In this article, I use the term ‘care’ to refer to both of these things, drawing particular attention to the caring work and ethical challenges that are found in public, bureaucratic institutions (hospitals, large nursing homes and social assistance offices). Put most simply, the question that I consider is whether large bureaucratic institutions are conducive to good ethical care.
Now, while the wide definitional scope of the term ‘care’ is one of care feminism’s strengths, I believe that there is a certain tension between care ethics and its translation into a concrete politics. Because political programs and policies are often steeped in concerns for universality and impartiality, they tend to fit uneasily with part of what care ethics celebrates – emotional attachment, personalized gestures and even a certain asymmetry in relationships (Pattaroni, 2011). But rather than argue that we ought to choose between an ethics and a politics of care, I suggest that we would do best to affirm this tension as the necessary part of an accurate depiction of what living good private and public lives entails: namely, a certain dissonance. Crafting a caring politics (and a caring bureaucracy) will entail acknowledging these dissonances.
The aim of this article is thus to show that there is a tension between bureaucracy and feminist care theory, but that it would be incorrect to claim that the term ‘caring bureaucracy’ is an oxymoron. I argue that rather than look for alternative modes of providing such fundamental goods as elderly care or unemployment assistance, care theorists ought to give another chance to the bureaucratic mode. Readers might be struck by the counterintuitive nature of my project: after all, care theory embraces principles that seem to be at odds with Weber’s ideal-type bureaucracy (whose characteristics include adherence to rational rules and the suppressing of ‘personal enthusiasm’). At first glance, it is hard to see how Weberian bureaucracy could be reconcilable with care ethics, since the latter has, often, presented itself as a critique of (Kantian) rule-based models of ethical/political judgment, and as a challenge to the reason/emotion distinction. Showing why bureaucracy is not completely at odds with good care will partially entail showing that Weber’s ideal-type is a poor description of reality – a self-evident but important claim to reiterate in light of care theorists’ concerns. (As Bordt [1997] and Ashcraft [2006] have shown and as will be discussed below, few organizations are organized in a strict Weberian manner.) But my prolegomena to a caring bureaucracy will also show why some of these Weberian ideal features ought not to be entirely discarded by feminists as they theorize organizations, for some do not necessarily contradict emancipatory aims.
The article proceeds as follows. In the first sections, I review the main charges levelled against bureaucracy by some feminists and care theorists. I consider why bureaucratic logic and structures are said to be bad both for the bureaucrats and for service/care recipients. Of particular significance here are the accusations that bureaucracies are excessively hierarchical, rule-based and unresponsive. Throughout, I consider these charges in light of research done on feminist organizations and street-level bureaucracy. I indicate that many government agencies and bureaucratic institutions already count in their ranks countless employees who are caring – who are responsive, attentive to particulars and who often put relations rather than rules at the forefront of their work. My intention is not to offer a paean to street-level discretion or to the claims of ‘the heart’ in public service. Rather, I wish to indicate that street-level bureaucracy research is relevant for care theorists partially because it illustrates both the importance and danger of discretion. In the last part of the article, I draw the outline of a caring bureaucracy and propose avenues to be explored in future research. Before we begin, let me note that in this article, the term ‘bureaucracy’ is employed to refer to a form of organization that has clear rules and procedures, a fairly centralized decision-making structure, a formal division of responsibility/labor, and merit-based allocation of positions. It is a type of organization that can be found in both the private and public sector, although I am here chiefly concerned with the latter.
Bureaucracies are bad for bureaucrats? Rules, hierarchy and control
In her provocative The Feminist Case Against Bureaucracy, Kathy Ferguson offers a scathing critique of bureaucracy. Drawing on Foucault and Lefort, Ferguson argues that bureaucracies are excessively controlling of the individuals who work in them – an unsurprising fact in her view given that bureaucracies’ chief commitment is to ‘rule-following and control’ (1984: 14). She compares bureaucrats’ situation to that of women in patriarchal societies: in both cases, hierarchical power structures compel the weaker party to try to please superiors, to conform to rules and to be submissive (1984: 99–110). High levels of surveillance, combined with countless guidelines and procedures, destroy the autonomy and judgment of the bureaucrat. Ferguson is thus unreceptive to the claim that street-level bureaucrats have much in the way of meaningful discretion. 2 (Note that implicit in her indictment of bureaucracies is the view that discretion is necessarily desirable – a view that certainly calls for nuancing. 3 ) Like many, Ferguson acknowledges that some discretion is always part of policy implementation and service delivery. But she insists that in large bureaucratic settings, this discretion is constantly thwarted and cannot be a source of worker satisfaction. We will interrogate these claims below.
Now, employee resistance to bureaucracy is not impossible, but it is very unlikely: ‘bureaucracies are essentially authoritarian systems in that they allow no legitimate opposition from below’ (1984: 208). But Ferguson offers more than just a bleak picture of modern-day life. Convinced that women’s experience of subordination is helpful to grasp low-level bureaucrats’ disempowerment, Ferguson nevertheless believes that women’s (traditional) experience as caretakers provides elements of a solution. This solution does not entail infusing existing bureaucracies with the values of nurturing and care, for Ferguson thinks bureaucracy inalterable. No feminist can resist internalizing bureaucracy’s dominant norms and conformist behavior; bureaucracy is by nature anti-feminist. (Note that Hester Eisenstein’s study of the experience of Australian feminist bureaucrats suggests otherwise. 4 ) For Ferguson, having more women in its ranks would not remedy bureaucracy’s pyramidal authority structure and male-biased norms. Because its decision-making structure is hierarchical and because it promotes inequality, bureaucracy necessarily clashes with feminism’s chief principle, namely equality. She thus invites feminists to create non-bureaucratic organizations: radically decentralized organizations with flattened structures and few rules, organizations that promote the values of care, participation and connection.
Ferguson is not the only critic to suggest that there are tensions between feminism and bureaucracy and to call for a flattening of hierarchies. Iannello (1992) also insists that since bureaucracy’s classic feature is hierarchy, women should shun it and create egalitarian forms of organization, where ‘rules are minimal’ (1992: 28). While there are some benefits to hierarchy, Iannello believes these are dwarfed by its ills: decreased worker autonomy and satisfaction, need for surveillance, lack of flexibility, etc. Joan Acker (1990) and Camilla Stivers (1991) have also called for flattened organizations.
That large bureaucracies are excessively hierarchical and restrain their employees’ freedom and creativity is a view that resonates with what has been said about bureaucracy in care theory (an unsurprising fact given that Ferguson, Stivers and Iannello all cite Gilligan). For instance, in their discussion of different modes of caring (familial, market-based, bureaucratic), Fisher and Tronto (1990) argue that lower-ranked bureaucrats (who are predominantly women) are overly burdened with procedures that are typically concocted at a great distance from the street-level, the level of caregiving (1990: 49). As a result, care provision is fragmented and front-line workers experience a painful contradiction between the injunction to respect the rules imposed from above and the need to break these very rules in their one-on-one interactions. While acknowledging that rules are required for the ‘smooth functioning of organizations’, Tronto nevertheless underscores that they often threaten the provision of good care (2010: 165). Like Iannello and Ferguson, Tronto believes that bureaucratic institutions that would embody a feminist care ideal should have largely flattened structures (2010: 168; 2013: 157).
Nakano Glenn (2000) also believes bureaucracy poses a threat to caregivers’ autonomy and ability to give personalized care to patients. Evidence to corroborate her claim can be found in Foner’s The Caregiving Dilemma – which draws a vivid picture of the challenges experienced by nurse aides in large nursing homes. Part of what Foner’s study reveals is that bureaucratic rules can sometimes control caregivers to the point where empathetic care is compromised and even discouraged (1994: 74–76, 144–146). If Foner admits that bureaucratic ‘rules and procedures’ are necessary (they minimize the risks of abuse), she is chiefly interested in showing the ‘hidden injuries of bureaucracy’. But significantly for our purposes, towards the end of her book, Foner nuances her claim about bureaucracies’ injurious nature. After comparing the strains experienced by nurse aides in private households with those experienced in large nursing homes, Foner concedes that the latter situation is often best for workers, in part precisely because the rules are clear and numerous. Indeed, what her interviews revealed is that the unclear rules and chains of command characteristic of private/home care situation can raise difficulties for workers (1994: 153–154). The fact that most nurse aides who have worked in both settings admit preferring large nursing homes constitutes a caveat to the case against bureaucracy, whose clear, hierarchical authority structure and numerous procedures many tend to resent. This is not to suggest that all hierarchies are necessarily more desirable. I merely wish to indicate that if care theorists want to call for ‘flattened hierarchies’, they nevertheless ought to keep distinct flattening decision-making and unstructuring organization (two things that are sometimes muddled by critics). As Freeman’s ‘The tyranny of structurelessness’ (1995 [1970]) and Andrea Baker’s research (1982) have indicated, organizations that are too loosely structured and radically egalitarian on paper can sometimes be less democratic and more oppressive in practice. 5
The work of Yvonne Due Billing and Gail Cafferata is instructive for care theorists as they consider whether hierarchical decision-making and formal (and copious) rules are inevitably in tension with caring democratic institutions. Cafferata suggests that increased bureaucratization does not always thwart democracy; it can in fact strengthen it by, paradoxically, encouraging the adoption of democratic procedures to counter the adoption of more vertical bureaucratic principles (1982: 295). Some feminists have shown that the formal rules of bureaucratic organizations tend to benefit women (think of the advantages of transparent rules for hiring, maternity leave and promotions); small, informal and ‘flattened’ structures are not necessarily better. Challenging Ferguson’s thesis about bureaucracy’s disempowering effect, Due Billing (2005) shows that state bureaucracies are often better than the private sector at adopting measures that respond to work–family challenges and protect women against arbitrariness. Proposing a reductionist account of Weberian bureaucracy and neglecting the intricacies of the actual workings and structure of large organizations, Ferguson was unfortunately unable to appreciate some of these positive features of bureaucratic organizations. 6
It is partially in light of the clarity and formality of bureaucratic rules that Due Billing invites feminists to be cautious when calling for less structured organizations:
Standardized and uniform rules of assessment and procedures … means that biases and prejudice should be minimized. If there are unclear rules there may be much more ‘space’ for gender stereotypical expectations. … Bureaucracy provides protective structures against arbitrary decisions, patriarchal ideas, etc, and there are rules for advancement … one knows what counts. (2005: 271)
Perhaps it is not chiefly bureaucracy’s rules and procedures that ought to worry care theorists, but instead, the issue of time (and that of resources). Indeed, many have noted that much of the strain experienced by lower-rung public servants is tied to the fact that filling out countless forms and complying with institutional procedures takes too much time – time taken away from (potentially) meaningful encounters with service-recipients. Individualized care is time-consuming, as Tronto (2013: 166) rightly underscores. More time entails more money: to double the length of the social worker’s appointment with a welfare applicant is costly. But this could be a public/collective commitment worth making. More time might alleviate some of the strain caused by paperwork and procedures; it might also help put in place more participative decision-making structures. After all, democratic decision-making is time-consuming. Thus, if care theorists are serious about creating semi-hierarchical, more participative bureaucracies, they should devote some of their future research to the question of time in organizations.
Bureaucracies are bad for citizens? Standardized needs and discretion
Let us return briefly to Ferguson’s case against bureaucracy and this time, focus on the other party concerned, the service-users. Ferguson believes that bureaucracy’s effect on the latter is similar to the one experienced by bureaucrats: it turns them into submissive beings (1984: 145). The vulnerability and powerlessness experienced by citizens when encountering bureaucratic organizations is heightened by the technical jargon and complex information required to navigate that world – a jargon bureaucrats sometimes deploy against clients, thereby worsening an already asymmetrical relationship. Bureaucracy intimidates. It talks and demands, and the flow of information is unidirectional. Thus for Ferguson, bureaucracies cannot be responsive; they are ‘structurally inhibited from taking the perspective of the client into transactions’ (1984: 14).
Hummel and Stivers (1998) also lament bureaucracy’s unresponsiveness and its inability to take seriously citizens’ knowledge and experience. In their view, a good public service requires regular, extensive conversations between officials and citizens, and an attunement to particulars. What we have, they argue, is different:
Laws are crafted and policies administered to fit all, or the average; they therefore fit none of us. Universal categories and instrumental reason overwhelm the sense ordinary people have of the substance of life. … Government becomes a specialized enterprise increasingly devoted to the exercise of technical rules and procedures. … Reason … overwhelms care. (Hummel and Stivers, 1998: 29)
The view that bureaucracy treats people like numbers and cannot be receptive to the distinctive beings it serves is widely held. Arendt and Foucault are just two amongst many who argue that bureaucracy is dangerously ‘normalizing’ because of its reliance on statistical averages and rules. Sometimes drawing on Foucault, some care theorists also lament bureaucracy’s propensity to function according to standardized needs, arguing that this runs counter to proper care. Foner explains: ‘caregiving fits uneasily into bureaucracies. Bureaucratic institutions operate on the basis of general rules but the essence of caregiving is attentiveness to the individual’ (1994: 153). Nakano Glenn (2000) and Tronto (2010) also call attention to the fact that bureaucracies (especially in situations of understaffing or budget cuts) can crush efforts from public servants to offer care that is attentive to specific needs or contexts. As noted above, the provision of care requires time. Since bureaucratic institutions tend to insist chiefly on efficiency (number of cases processed in the least amount of time) and less on the quality of the encounter with citizens, bureaucrats are sometimes compelled to sacrifice the personal for the impersonal, quality for quantity, warm and long-term care for cold, precise and expedient care.
While large bureaucratic institutions must operate on the basis of some universal formulas and standardized needs, these universal prescriptions are not all necessarily hostile to context-based provision of care. The question here is not whether bureaucrats can step outside of standardized rules/procedures, implement policy according to their own judgment of what is an adequate, personalized response and thus exercise discretion (we know this is possible and common). Rather, the questions are, first, whether street-level bureaucrats who exercise discretion feel comfortable doing so (instead of experiencing anxiety); second, whether this discretion is based on an appropriate exercise of practical reason or whether it mostly entails resorting to prejudices or unreflective mental reflexes.
Whether we can fashion institutions (or civil servants) that exercise discretion responsibly without falling into illegitimate arbitrariness is a question of great importance. How can one remove some of the rules and guidelines governing police interventions without increasing the risk of racist or sexist behavior on the part of officers? How can we relax the rules of nursing facilities and avoid the abuse or neglect of elders who might be considered most disagreeable by some nurses? Since many care theorists have called for giving more weight to particulars (and hence to ‘discretion’) in service delivery, it is vital to explore how to devise bureaucracies where discretion is at once encouraged but also ‘regulated’ somehow. Here, we face a paradox, for it seems that what is required to remedy a problem of excessive bureaucratic procedures is a bureaucratic solution – namely, more rules. But there might be another way of proceeding. This non-bureaucratic way (discussed below) could partially entail focusing on the way our public servants are selected and trained. Attaching greater weight to interpersonal skills might constitute one (very modest) way to ensure that ‘good discretion’ is more prevalent than its regrettable, arbitrary kind.
The task of understanding discretion, its various types, motivations and consequences, is not straightforward. As Lipsky’s Street-level Bureaucracy (1980) showed, bureaucratic discretion tends to take place in the murky waters of institutional ambiguity, self-interest and prejudice, low worker morale and pressures for increased efficiency. The high demand for services and tight budgets at bureaucrats’ disposal often force them to resort to ‘mental routines’ and ‘simplifications’ (1980: 83) in their work. If, at best, street-level bureaucrats deal with individuals in an unprejudiced way, ‘[a]t worst, they give in to favoritism, stereotyping, convenience, and routinizing’ (1980: xiv). Lipsky offers this sobering argument:
To deliver street-level policy through bureaucracy is to embrace a contradiction. On the one hand, service is delivered by people to people, invoking a model of human interaction, caring and responsibility. On the other hand, service is delivered through a bureaucracy, invoking a model of detachment and equal treatment under conditions of resource limitations. (1980: 71)
This contradiction is so hard to bear in Lipsky’s view that quickly the caring and helping orientation gets buried under stress and pressure.
Partially building on Lipsky but offering a more optimistic take on the challenges of discretion, Vincent Dubois’s La Vie au guichet analyzes the interactions between French street-level bureaucrats and social service-users: it describes social welfare encounters as places where bureaucratic rules are sometimes coldly applied and resentfully challenged, but also where thoughtful moral judgments and empathy are found (2003: 3). If Dubois underscores regrettable aspects of the inegalitarian relationship between bureaucrat and user (e.g. patronizing expressions of compassion), he gives grounds for thinking that responsive, caring bureaucracies can be fashioned. He demonstrates that they already (partially) exist – finding expression in bureaucrats’ genuine efforts to listen, to offer personalized advice, to adapt their manner of speech to that of service-users. Many, indeed, try to soften the symbolic violence that they unintentionally exert on those seeking social assistance (they might, for instance, discreetly fill out forms for illiterate users). Moreover, some of these fonctionnaires have the good communicational skills that critics say bureaucracy necessarily undermines.
Like Lipsky, Dubois describes the split experienced by many bureaucrats between their identities as representatives of the state (who should apply rules impartially) and as flesh-and-bone beings who are sometimes eager to offer personalized responses. Dubois insists, however, that the fact that a street-level bureaucrat possesses two identities rather than one should not be seen solely as a painful tension; to move between one role/identity and another can be a helpful self-protective device that allows bureaucrats to adapt to situations and continue doing their work well without being overwhelmed by the resentment or misery of some users (2003: 81). Dubois thus offers us a nuanced account of the tensions associated with bureaucratic service delivery; he also suggests that living with these tensions is not only possible, but also healthy and (often) interesting.
Partially at odds with Lipsky’s perspective on the split bureaucrat who often bases her/his decisions on prejudice and self-interest, Maynard-Moody and Musheno (2000) suggest another narrative on discretion – the ‘citizen-agent narrative’. Interviews with street-level bureaucrats taught them that these workers do not regard themselves as ‘applying rules’ (imposed from above) with discretion; they are not merely agents of the state. They are citizen-agents: ‘Rather than discretionary state-agents who act in response to rules, procedures, and law … street-level workers describe themselves as citizen agents who act in response to individual citizen clients in specific circumstances’ (2000: 347). Challenging Ferguson’s thesis, the authors indicate that many street-level bureaucrats regard themselves as decision-makers who have to exercise discretion and good judgment daily – judgments informed by particular circumstances. Many interviewees claim that their work is ‘all about judgement’ (2000: 351) and that it is relationships (rather than rules) that loom largest in their job. Significantly, the authors appeal to Gilligan’s work in order to capture the peculiar nature of the relational judgments that are made by street-level bureaucrats (2000: 352).
This research indicates that bureaucratic judgment can coexist with the type of reasoning care theory celebrates: judgments that are attentive to context and relationships and not solely abstract/universal rules. It also suggests that the inner split scholars have identified in front-line workers might not be as unbearable as typically suggested. It might be that according to some street-level bureaucrats, the interest and beauty of their work rests precisely in the fact that they are asked to act and judge in a responsive manner, within the confines of standard institutional rules and procedures. In short, the reality of administrative practice in large institutions can sometimes be highly relational, responsive and discretionary.
Outline of a feminist caring bureaucracy
What we have seen is that feminist care ethics and bureaucratic logic do, sometimes, pull in different directions. There is a certain tension – a dissonance, to use Ashcraft’s word – between some of their imperatives and principles. Nevertheless, like Due Billing (2005), Ashcraft (2006), Olofsdotter Stensota (2010) and Martin (2013), I think that feminism and bureaucracy can go together, despite the challenge that such a combination entails. Rather than place their hopes chiefly in the creation of smaller, alternative institutions or in the devolution of state-run services to civil society (or to private firms and families), feminists should first try to make existing bureaucratic institutions better at some of the caring services they already offer. In the following section, I briefly outline what this ‘improved’, caring bureaucracy could look like. Clearly, this is not an exhaustive treatment; it is but a modest step towards theorizing caring bureaucracies. It is, above all, an invitation to care theorists to look more closely at the question of organizational forms.
1. Hybrid power and decision-making structure
First, a caring bureaucracy would opt for semi-hierarchical or hybrid decision-making structures. Such structures would have a clear division of authority, with some decision-making concentrated in particular offices, but would also include egalitarian, consensus-based features. I suggest that care theory look to hybrid organizational forms instead of ‘flattened hierarchies’ in part because the latter, as noted above, are not always best in practice for bureaucrats (e.g. they can lead to more insidious power games, as Baker [1982] shows). I also have a pragmatic reason for embracing hybrid forms: egalitarian decision-making tends to be more time-consuming than more centralized decision-making. And, short of having radical changes in the amount of time at women’s disposal, semi-hierarchical structures might be preferable for the women who work in these institutions.
Some scholars have analyzed the feminist potential of hybrid forms of organizations (Ashcraft, 2001, 2006; Bordt, 1997; Martin, 1990, 2013). Particularly instructive for care theorists is Ashcraft’s hybrid model of ‘organized dissonance’. Ashcraft rejects dichotomous analyses of bureaucracies that regard them as either utterly injurious or utterly good: we do not, in her view, have to choose between performance and emancipation, centralization and decentralization, impersonality and personality. A feminist bureaucracy as ‘organized dissonance’ affirms the fact that while these are incongruous aims, it is possible and desirable to pursue them at once. For Ashcraft, it is incorrect to claim that ‘the only way to manage competing goals is to subordinate one to the other’ (2001: 1317). A feminist hybrid organization is a dissonant one, then, largely in the sense that it upholds explicitly discordant elements. This is more than affirming the tension between a feminist ideal and the demands of practice: in her view, a series of mechanisms and a work ethos that allow us to organize this dissonance are necessary.
Ashcraft sees her theory partially as a departure from existing work on hybrid bureaucracies. Contrary to traditional hybrid models – which often aim at resolving tensions – her ‘organized dissonance’ model does not seek harmony. Instead of trying to overcome contradictory organizational demands, the goal is to develop fruitful ways to live with them – as did one organization she studied closely. While endowed with a formal structure, ‘clear status and labor divisions’ (2001: 1306), well-defined rules and a fairly powerful director, the organization in question sought critical dialogue that would transcend rank. At ease with the tension between its hierarchical structure and its strong commitment to (gender) equality, that feminist bureaucracy explicitly asked ‘all members to participate as equals in the midst of evident inequalities and centralized authority – to at once enact and suppress power imbalance’ (2001: 1307). There is no doubt a difficult challenge here, but countless real-life examples exist and suggest that this mode of organization is far from impossible. In fact, Ashcraft has more recently argued that far from being unusual, ‘organized dissonance’ as an organizational form ought to be seen as ‘more rule than exception’ (2006: 58). Note here that Bordt’s (1997) research had already reached similar conclusions. 7
While it is clearly unusual to celebrate dissonance in organizations, what is less clear is whether Ashcraft’s model differs radically from Iannello’s ‘modified consensual’ model (1992) or Burnier’s ‘relational leadership’ model (2003). Be that as it may, what should be underscored is that at the heart of all three models lies the view that a certain hierarchy can be legitimate and fruitful when good communication skills are present. Indeed, Ashcraft’s ‘organized dissonance’ model presupposes that individuals have fairly good listening and deliberative skills; good communication between top echelon and lower-rung bureaucrats can make a certain hierarchy not only acceptable but potentially fruitful. Of utmost importance here are listening skills – which matter both amongst members of an organization and between the organization and the citizens it serves. It is to this issue that I now turn.
2. High level of attentiveness and responsiveness
A bureaucracy will be caring if it is attentive and responsive both in the sense that the bureaucrats who work on the front-line are capable of listening to those in front of them, but also in the sense that the way needs are defined and addressed by institutions is as reflective as possible of what the groups concerned think is appropriate. What this calls for is extensive consultation processes both when policies are implemented and when they are made. I underscore the latter, because institutional attentiveness should not be regarded as a merely reactive thing; it should be given a substantive creative role. As Nancy Fraser (1989a) argues, it is important that agencies find ways to involve – at the stage of needs definition – the groups concerned in particular policies or services. One of the many challenges here is to reach out to people who are sometimes marginalized or not always equipped for communication with public officials. Sevenhuijsen et al. have also called for increased ‘institutionalized attentiveness’, partially in order to thwart the stereotyping and normalizing judgments that arise during policy formulation and implementation (2003: 316). 8 If Sevenhuijsen thinks this politics of listening should take place mostly ‘outside the classic political arenas’ – in civil society – I argue that we should also place our hopes in more traditional political and bureaucratic settings.
Beyond adopting institutional consultative mechanisms that would heed the voice of the people concerned, a caring bureaucracy would also attach importance to having in its ranks attentive bureaucrats who have solid listening skills. Stivers’ work is instructive here. Drawing on Gilligan, Stivers (1994) argues that listening is fundamental for establishing shared commitments and a more democratic civic space. Listening also helps ‘administrators glean important information, define situations more carefully, hear neglected aspects and interests, and facilitate just and prudent action’ (1994: 368). For Stivers, genuine listening is a profoundly relational act – unlike speaking, which does not necessarily entail reciprocity or relationality.
Now, if many would agree that listening skills are important in intimate relationships, some might question the view that it is possible to promote these skills within state institutions. For one thing, bureaucratic efficiency does not seem to permit what is required; it is too time-consuming (read expensive) to listen. Moreover, to listen attentively seems to entail an intense emotional investment that might harm the public servants concerned. If it is true that ‘few professions demand more emotional work from their employees than public service’ (Mastracci et al., 2010: 124), it would seem that there is a real danger in suggesting that public servants ought to be attentive in as empathetic a way.
But does genuine listening in fact require a strong affective component? Some scholars think so. Stivers, for instance, describes the attentive bureaucrat as a compassionate being – an individual who is ‘reactive, sympathetic, sensitive and capable of feeling or suffering’ (1994: 365). But I would like to question the necessity of this strong emotional bond. My goal is not to challenge the desirability of empathy or suggest that we can separate cleanly the cognitive and affective sides of public service (we cannot). I agree with Guy et al. (2008) that cognitive skills are typically better used when emotional skills are present. I also agree that we have a collective responsibility to provide public servants with solid emotional training (to make them less prone to offering demeaning compassion and to prevent their emotional exhaustion). My only point is to suggest that we should not make compassion a crucial feature of good bureaucratic care. If rehabilitating the value of emotions has been important to many accounts of care ethics, emotions ought perhaps not play as central a role in our accounts of a care politics (hence the tensions I alluded to in the introduction). A certain ‘impersonality’ might be good – to protect the bureaucrat from burnout and to protect the dignity and autonomy of care-recipients.
3. Situational, relational decision-making: Phronēsis matters
A caring bureaucracy would recognize that legitimate bureaucratic decisions are often made when particulars are considered. While chiefly rule-based, this bureaucracy would do more than ‘tolerate’ discretion or lament the tension caused between universal rules and discretion. It would acknowledge (perhaps even celebrate) that tension. It would also actively foster good discretion by giving bureaucrats what is required for it (e.g. extra time, adequate training and a workplace ethos that is well-disposed towards practical experience). We need to ‘create time and space for care’ (Tronto, 2013: 166).
This is quite in line with what some feminist critics of bureaucracy have called for: modes of organization that are more sensitive to particulars. Stivers is one amongst many who challenge the common tendency to see discretion as something problematic, inviting us to ‘take seriously an idea of administrative discretion that is concrete, situational, experience-based, interactive, and grounded in perception and feeling as well as in rational analysis’ (1994: 144). The last part of this passage is significant: to call for an attunement to particulars is not to shun the claims of reason (as one might think when reading virulent critiques of bureaucracy). It is, rather, to defend the legitimacy of embodied reason and to insist that acceptable decision-making builds on both cognitive and emotional skills.
But as noted above, the difficulty with having bureaucracies relax their rules is that one has to figure out how to encourage good discretion and prevent the prejudicial type. Aside from adopting bureaucratic means to ‘manage’ discretion (e.g. more surveillance from superiors, more rules) –which might be counterproductive – how could we proceed? Some scholars suggest that bad discretion often takes place when workers are pressed for time – which suggests one concrete (if expensive) way to proceed (i.e. give more time). But perhaps we should consider the ethical skills our public servants should have (or be invited to develop). Chief amongst these for Stivers is phronēsis – a type of practical reason that was central to Aristotle’s conception of the good citizen and human being. Recall that in his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle defined phronēsis as a kind of prudence that was key for virtue. Based on knowledge of particulars, phronēsis allows one to discern what is the right action to pursue in a specific situation. It is, in short, context and relationship based.
But one need not go back to antiquity in order to find insights about phronēsis. A paean to this type of reason is what Stivers believes she has found in the discourse of the ‘settlement women’ (American women who participated in the clubs and reform movements of 1920s). More concerned about quality of life than efficiency, these women believed that good public administration consisted in ‘judiciously exercising discretionary authority to take advantage of opportunities for strategic action based on a sense of the public good’ (2000: 101). It is partly for this reason that Hummel and Stivers (1998) have called for a return to the writings of Jane Addams and Mary Parker Follett –where one might find a ‘politics of care’ and a rich account of administration.
4. Commitment to competence and clear division of responsibility
While committing to increased responsiveness, participation and attentiveness, a caring bureaucracy would nevertheless retain the old (Weberian) criteria of competence. We know that for Weber, the reason hiring and promotion ought to be based on expertise is that this can decrease cronyism and hiring practices based on whim (and, we might add, on sexism). This characteristic of bureaucracy has served women well and can continue to do so. As noted above, state bureaucracies have often been good for gender equity in part because their hiring and promotion are tied to expertise. (This does not mean that there are no good grounds for affirmative action programs that look beyond ‘objective’ criteria such as examinations.)
Now, if some care theorists lament the alienating nature of a bureaucracy’s division of labor and the distance between street-level work and rule-making, many are wedded to the idea that a clear division of responsibilities is essential for creating a community where care is truly democratic. Tronto (2013) makes a powerful case for that; and particularly compelling is her invitation to replace the old textbook definition of politics (‘who gets what, when, and how’) with ‘who is responsible for caring for what, when, where and how’ (2013: 46). Tronto’s definition is highly pertinent for thinking caring bureaucracies; and it fits quite well with traditional (Weberian) conceptions of bureaucracy that emphasize clear divisions of responsibilities. However, while political scientists ought to pay greater attention to who does what, they should not overlook the importance of what was stressed in the old definition of politics: namely, the question of money/resources and of their distribution (who gets what). In short, both the question of responsibilities and of resources ought to concern us. After all, budget constraints can – as noted above – have deleterious effects on bureaucrats’ ability to deliver services.
5. Plurality and flexibility
Finally, a caring bureaucracy would be committed to plurality and flexibility. Whenever possible and desirable, a variety of service-delivery modes should be offered. Now, some scholars suggest that we cannot rely chiefly on the state for care provision and that we must necessarily turn to flexible/innovative private–public partnerships. Sevenhuijsen, for instance, suggests that the Dutch government should, in the field of home care, set itself up as ‘an initiator of new combinations of the public and private’ (2003: 193). Similarly, Tronto advocates market-means of answering some needs. ‘Not everyone wishes to be cared for in the same way’, she notes. ‘Using markets to provide a myriad of ways … to organize care for the elderly will make it more likely that everyone finds a kind of care that is suitable to him or her’ 9 (2001: 180). (Note that this liberal emphasis on personal choice and the having of options does not figure prominently in all accounts of a politics of care.)
While I take the commitment to plurality seriously and appreciate the importance of thinking about ‘innovative ways’ of addressing growing care needs, I hesitate to endorse private–public partnerships wholeheartedly. I fear that the call to let the private sector play a greater role in care delivery and to devolve more responsibilities to ‘civil society’ could effectively translate into more responsibilities being shouldered by women. We have often heard calls to devolve more caring responsibilities to churches, community-level organizations and other parts of civil society coming out of the mouths of neoliberal scholars and New Public Management gurus. We thus should approach ‘flexibility’ and plurality with caution. It might be that flexibility does not necessarily call for an increased resort to the private sector. As this article has indicated, there are some very good reasons for care feminists to give the modern welfare state, and its accompanying (large) bureaucratic institutions, one more chance.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Jorma Heier and Elisabeth Conradi for their comments on an earlier version of this paper. Deepest thanks also to the two anonymous reviewers for their very detailed and constructive feedback. All errors that remain are, of course, mine.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.