race

Martin Luther King, Jr. once said that “at eleven o’clock on Sunday morning… we stand in the most segregated hour of America.” From “kneel-ins” of the civil rights era to surveys and think pieces today, we often talk religious segregation as the result of individual choices: what do congregants want from church? How do they choose a church, and why do they leave? How do they work for change when church doesn’t work for them? New research from Bradley Wright and colleagues, however, reminds us that larger institutional and cultural factors that keep churches segregated.

The authors set out to ask whether churches themselves were less likely to welcome new members from different racial groups. They drew a national sample of 3,120 churches to cover mainline Protestant, evangelical Protestant, and Catholic denominations, and they sent each a form email from a family planning to move into the area and looking for more information about the church. In each email, they randomly changed the name of the sender to suggest that they were White, Black, Hispanic, or Asian. They then measured whether the church office responded, how many follow-up emails they sent, how long responses took, and the length, warmth, religious tone, and the quality of information for each email response.

Their tests revealed some surprising results. Evangelical and Catholic churches did not show significant differences in their response rates, but mainline Protestant churches were significantly more likely to respond to inquiries from white senders. Black senders were 11% less likely to get a response, Hispanics were 14% less likely, and Asians were 27% less likely than Whites. Mainline Protestant churches also took significantly longer to respond to senders of color, and when they did their responses had lower quality information and were more likely to be terse—offering only one or two sentences that did not directly address the senders’ questions.

This research reminds us that racial homophily—the preference for a community where everyone looks the same—is not just a matter of individual choices. It is baked into institutional processes, and it often persists in fairly mainstream, moderate groups where people just want to feel “normal” and avoid conflict. For American religion, it isn’t just about who chooses the pews; we have to look at who builds them, too.

Films like An Inconvenient Truth, Super Size Me, and Blackfish can heighten attention to issues by disseminating important facts to a wide audience in ways that books and other media often cannot. But can they actually help social movements achieve change?

A new study in the American Sociological Review takes up this question by evaluating shifts in public opinion about fracking in response to Gasland, a documentary about the mining practice’s negative effects on nearby communities. The authors evaluate the film’s initial effects in a given community by measuring how the number of Google searches and Tweets about fracking changed after a showing and assessing whether Tweets about fracking were more likely to be negative in tone after a showing than before. They investigate screenings’ longer term effects by charting whether increased web searches and Twitter chatter amplified the likelihood that an anti-fracking demonstration would take place or a ban on fracking would be adopted nearby. They also explore the film’s national effects by evaluating web searches and Twitter chatter after the film was covered in mainstream national newspapers or nominated for awards.

Results suggest that Gasland did, indeed, increase public discussion about fracking, help sway public opinion, and spur mobilizations around the subject. After showings, discussion about fracking comprised more of both social media discourse (as measured by Twitter posts) and mass media discourse (as measured by newspaper articles) than otherwise. The tone of Tweets was also more negative, containing significantly more words like “contamination,” “pollution,” and “chemicals,” “ban,” and “moratorium.” Showings also increased the likelihood of anti-fracking demonstrations and the enactment of fracking bans in communities where the film was screened.

The findings shed light on how movements work in the age of social media. While the effects of screenings upon Twitter chatter were largest in the days immediately following the showing, the increase was usually noticeable as much as four months later. In addition, the communities which had the most Twitter activity were also the most likely to host demonstrations, suggesting that activists were able to capitalize on Twitter’s potential as an organizing tool.

In other words, documentary films and social media have a role to play in changing public opinion and enhancing social movements by helping activists disseminate and act upon information.

Speaking more than one language can be a valuable resource, but does it translate into economic and occupational success? According to the American Community Survey, young adults today are far more likely to speak a language other than English at home compared to young adults in 1980, up from about 10% in 1980 to almost 25% in 2013. Of all Americans who speak a language other than English at home, 62% speak Spanish. So, does being bilingual in English and Spanish contribute to higher status achievement?  For Latinos, the answer is both yes and no, depending on gender.  

Sociologists Jennifer C. Lee and Sarah J. Hatteberg use data from the National Educational Longitudinal Study from 1988-2000 to examine the influence of bilingualism on educational attainment (measured as high school or GED completion), occupational prestige, and weekly income for Latinos. Individuals in the study were first surveyed in 8th grade, then in their mid- to late-20s, and their bilingualism is divided into five categories based on the ability to read, write, understand, and speak Spanish.

Compared with English-dominance, biliteracy (the ability to speak, read, write, and understand Spanish) is positively associated with high school completion and occupational prestige for Latina women. On the other hand, oral bilingualism (the ability to speak and understand Spanish well, but less so for reading and writing) and passive bilingualism (the ability to understand Spanish, but not speak it well) are negatively associated with high school completion among Latino men. The authors found no significant relationship between income and bilingualism, regardless of gender.  

Lee and Hatteberg note that indicators of ethnicity, like language, may have different meanings for men and women. They speculate that Spanish speaking men may be stigmatized, while women who speak Spanish may be rewarded in school and at work for having that particular skill. One man’s disadvantage appears to be another woman’s advantage when it comes to Spanish skills.

Skin color has long shaped the lives of blacks, as the advantages of being “light skinned” extend far beyond the socioeconomic. It even plays an important role in health outcomes. Health disparities between blacks and whites are well documented, and blacks often maintain higher rates of negative health outcomes such as mortality and morbidity than whites. The predictors of health disparities within the same racial group, however, remain largely unexamined. Thus, Ellis Monk investigates skin color as a form of discrimination in health outcomes between blacks.

So, how does one’s skin tone influence health disparities through discrimination? Monk uses various measures to investigate perceived discrimination and skin color through the National Survey of American Life (2001-2003) and face-to-face field interviews with respondents aged 18 and older. To assess perceived discrimination, Monk examines both perceived discrimination from whites and perceived discrimination from other blacks, in addition to the frequency of such discrimination. Monk measures skin color by first analyzing how the interviewer rates respondents’ skin tone, and second, how the respondents rate their own skin tone. Perceived discrimination and skin color are then examined in relation to four self-reported health outcomes: physical health, hypertension, mental health, and depression.

Monk concludes that the darker one’s reported skin color, the more discrimination they perceive from whites. Perceived discrimination among blacks, however, depends upon their placement in one of three categories: light skinned, medium-toned, and dark skinned. Blacks in the medium-toned category actually maintained more positive rates in mental health and were less likely to perceive discrimination from either white or black peers.

Still, the magnitude of the health disparities among blacks with various skin colors was found to be often equal to or greater than health disparities between blacks and whites. Monk also notes that blacks who reported higher levels of skin tone discrimination from other blacks also had higher rates of poor physical health. Monk argues that the study challenges common methodological practices that homogenize minority populations, demonstrating more nuanced life experiences affected by skin tone.The magnitude of the health disparities among blacks with various skin colors was found to be often equal to or greater than health disparities between blacks and whites.

Negative stereotypes about marginalized social groups can contribute to inequalities in housing, education, employment, and the criminal justice system. Additionally, negative stereotypes may merge to produce “double disadvantages” for individuals belonging to two or more marginalized groups. This means that Black women, for example, face the double disadvantage of being both Black and women. But can negative stereotypes ever have positive consequences?  Yes, according to sociologist David S. Pedulla, who looks at how stereotypes about gay men and Black men may counteract one another in the job application process.

Using an audit study, Pedulla surveyed 418 random respondents, asking how they would respond to one of four randomly assigned resumes. The survey asked respondents to review the resume, imagining that they were helping a friend in charge of hiring for an assistant manager position. They were also asked to make salary recommendations based on the applicant’s resume. Respondents then answered a series of questions about how strongly they agreed with statements like “the applicant makes female co-workers feel uncomfortable” and “the applicant is likely to break work rules.” These questions were used to determine perceived threat of the applicant.Effeminate stereotypes about gay men may counteract stereotypes of Black men as criminal, violent, and hypersexual, ultimately benefiting gay Black men in the marketplace.

All four resumes were identical in academic and professional qualifications, but varied to signal the race and sexual orientation of the applicant. Names were used to signal race: Brad Miller to signal a white applicant, and Darnell Jackson to signal a Black applicant. Sexual orientation was signaled through the applicant’s college student organizations: “gay” by listing participation in the “Gay Student Advisory Council” and straight by simply  listing participation in a “Student Advisory Council.”

The results are striking: gay Black male job applicants were offered $7,000 more than straight Black male job applicants. Furthermore, “gay Black male applicants are perceived as being less threatening than straight Black male applicants” (p. 87). While Pedulla finds that being gay negatively affects gay white men, he argues that effeminate stereotypes about gay men counteract stereotypes of Black men as criminal, violent, and hypersexual, ultimately benefiting gay Black men in the marketplace.

For more, see “For Gay Black Men, Negative Stereotypes May Have One Positive Consequence.”

Americans these days like to think of the Ku Klux Klan—if they think of the KKK at all—as a white supremacist abomination whose time has come and gone. That is, its presence was deplorable but its impact minimal. A new article from Rory McVeigh, David Cunningham, and Justin Farrell paints a different picture, arguing that the very visible demonstrations of the extremist organization have played a lasting role in shaping the American electorate as we know it today.

The 1960s saw a major shift in the Southern United States where mostly white voters, motivated by their opposition to Civil Rights policies, shifted their support from Democrats to Republicans. The authors argue the Klan was a major player in this shift, but not because it recruited a wide swath of voters to their cause. Instead, KKK activism, in its extremism, drew attention to how the civil rights movement was challenging long-held “links between movement goals and positions taken by political candidates” (1148), thus turning white voters against the Democratic party.

McVeigh, Cunningham, and Farrell base their argument on findings from two sets of tests. First, using data from the National Consortium on Violence Research, House UnAmerican Activities Committee data on Klan organization from 1967, they measure Klan activism within counties in ten southern states through the 1960s. Counties marked by KKK activism were significantly more likely to vote for Republican Presidential candidates. And this effect carried past the ‘60s. Repeated tests comparing 1960 to 1972, 1980, 1992, and even 2000 show that the effect holds over time. There is also a geographic effect; counties that bordered centers of Klan activism had weaker, but significant shifts toward Republican voting as well.

A second analysis using 1992 Southern Focus Poll data shows a similar pattern among individual voters. Those more in favor of segregation were more likely to vote Republican; however, this was only if they lived in counties that had documented Klan activism back in the 1960s.

The authors are careful to point out these results do not mean the Klan has directly influenced voters over the last 50 years. Instead, this is a story about the unintended, yet long-lasting consequences of a radical group that “dislodge[s] voters from preexisting party loyalties” and reshapes the field of public opinion (1161). In short, the Klan changed the political culture and produced a system of party allegiances that remained in place long after their activism diminished.

Poor neighborhoods tend to have poor schools. This means that poor families, many of whom are minorities, face barriers to quality education. School choice is often seen as the solution.

Peter M. Rich and Jennifer L. Jennings investigate whether and how families in Chicago respond to new information about school quality and opportunities to choose their children’s schools when financial, social, and geographic constraints influence their enrollment decisions. Analyzing Chicago Public School (CPS) administrative records of student enrollment over consecutive semesters shows whether students stay at one school, transfer to another school in the same district, or switch to a non-CPS school. To understand more about who moves where, Rich and Jennings look at each student’s race and gender, whether the student receives free or reduced lunch, their math and reading test scores, and other demographic information. The authors then compare differences in transfer rates before and after the enactment of a school accountability policy.

The authors find that many families change schools in response to their child’s school earning a poor rating. Poor families most often transfer schools within districts, but overall, they transfer less frequently than non-poor families. When poor families move schools, they often switch from probation schools (those in danger of failing accountability testing) to non-probation schools. Although such moves seem logical, the non-probation schools to which families switch are still in the bottom 50% of all Chicago Public Schools. Families with more resources are more likely to transfer schools within the same district, transfer to schools in other districts, or enroll their children in private schools.

This pattern arises not just from class, but also from race. Over 80% of all students attending the CPS probation schools were Black, compared to almost no Asian, Native American, or White students. However, Black families responded to school probation status by transferring, while Hispanic students generally stay.

School accountability policies in this study resulted in an overall sorting away from probation schools, but holding schools accountable failed to close the inequality gap between poor and non-poor students. School choice seems to simply reinforce existing gaps: those likely to benefit from school choice are already privileged enough to transfer schools.

Gentrification is a hot-button issue. The renovation and rebuilding of homes and businesses provide cultural changes that socially separate wealthy whites who move into minority neighborhoods from current residents, even when the spacial distance between the groups is small or non-existent. Looking at the history of residential segregation, Angelina Grigoryeva and Martin Reuf investigate whether whites living in close proximity to racial minorities will result in social interaction or if today’s experiences of segregation will be different than in the past.

The authors use household data from the 1880 U.S. Census to analyze different ways residential segregation appeared in post-Civil War United States. They begin by focusing on Washington, D.C., using data collected by “census enumerators”—people who went door-to-door conducting the Census. Then they examine a larger sample of 171 post-Civil War cities and towns. Grigoryeva and Reuf find regional differences in segregation, noting that the Northeast became characterized by black and white people living in separate districts, while segregation in the South grew to be characterized by a “backyard” pattern, where black and white people live within the same Census districts.The Northeast U.S. became characterized by racially separate districts, while segregation in the South was characterized by a “backyard” pattern, with black and white people living within the same Census districts.

Grigoryeva and Reuf believe their method of tracing residential housing segregation changes the way we think of the history of residential segregation in the U.S., and their findings about the different patterns of contemporary Northern and Southern segregation demonstrate how the social effects of segregation remain powerful, even when racial groups live in close proximity.

Many factors predict rates of gun ownership, including race, education and income levels, political-party affiliation, and local crime rates. But what about legislation and statements from local politicians and media? Do these factors also influence gun sales? University of Washington professor (and current Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Scholar in Health Policy at the University of Michigan) Rene D. Flores’ research explores the relationship between the two.

Flores tests whether an increase in anti-immigration ordinances or arguments predicts an increase in gun sales within twenty-four Pennsylvania counties. Using administrative data from the countries themselves, he shows how proposed anti-immigrant laws, such as increased deportation power or English-only mandates, predicts an increased sale of handguns. Even after controlling for other factors that predict gun ownership, proposed anti-immigrant ordinances and rates of gun sales track each other closely. Flores also finds a similar link between anti-immigrant-ordinances and subsequent handgun purchases in South Carolina.

Flores suggests the relationship springs from the rhetoric used by politicians and media outlets that describes immigrants as criminal, violent, and dangerous. When immigrants or other populations are portrayed negatively in this way, social anxiety can catch fire in native populations. He tests this claim by examining how, after anti-immigrant ordinances are proposed in Pennsylvania counties, local media run more stories linking immigrants to crime and violence. He suggests that these stories either cause or reflect a change in local attitudes toward immigration—one that results in increased anti-immigration sentiment and gun sales. In short, anti-immigration legislation and rhetoric can shape public attitudes, and social anxiety can predict the likelihood that locals “lock and load.”

Since 9/11, Arab Americans have experienced various forms of harassment and repression in the U.S., including deportations, FBI questioning, citizen surveillance, and harassment as well as insults, threats, and physical attacks we might now categorize as hate crimes. Sociologists Wayne Santoro and Marian Azab are interested in how these experiences impact Arab Americans’ political activism, with a particular focus on protests.

Using Michigan as their case study, Santoro and Azab focus on two main questions. First, to what extent are documented levels of repression associated with increases in public demonstrations and meetings between Detroit-area Arab Americans and authorities about ethnic-based grievances? And second, which Arab Americans are more likely to be involved in activism and civic engagement?

To answer the first, Santoro and Azab examined archives of the Detroit Free Press from 1999-2010. They found a clear temporal relationship between increases in repressive treatment against Arab Americans and patterns of protest and organizing in the community. Such activism peaked in the year after 9/11, with a general increase in protest in the following years.

If the fact that protests peaked post-9/11 within the Arab-American community is unsurprising, the second question—who participated in these protests—provides new information. To examine the effects of repression on an individual level, Santoro and Azab used the Detroit Arab American Study (DAAS) to look at a sample of 1,016 people of Arab or Chaldean descent living in the Detroit area in 2003. They examined the impact of experiencing repression due to race, ethnicity, or religion on the respondent’s participation in a protest, march, or demonstration about any social or political issue within the last twelve months. The results indicated that individuals who identify weakly with their Arab identity are more likely to protest after experiencing repression.

The results indicate that repression does not just mobilize those who are already activists. Rather, repression mobilizes individuals with low levels of identity who are especially shocked by their experiences with oppression.