Woman, interrupted

In 2015 Jessica Bennett wrote an article for Time magazine about the problem of men interrupting women. ‘My friends’, she said, ‘have come up with terminology for it: Manterrupting. Manstanding. (Or talk-blocking if you want the gender-neutral version)’. ‘Manterrupting’, defined by Bennett as ‘the unnecessary interruption of a woman by a man’, joined ‘mansplaining’ and ‘manspreading’ in the lexicon of everyday sexism. And in case anyone doubted that we needed such a term, along came Donald Trump, who interrupted Hillary Clinton 35 times in one 90-minute presidential debate.

But while Trump’s boorishness is not in doubt, on its own it doesn’t prove there’s a larger pattern. Bennett’s article, whose title was ‘How not to be manterrupted in meetings’, belongs to a genre which I have criticised many times on this blog because of its tendency to invent problems so it can sell women solutions (like the app that removes ‘just’ and ‘sorry’ from their emails, and the courses that teach them to stop tilting their heads). Whenever you encounter a generalisation of this form (‘women over-use the word “just”‘; ‘men interrupt women constantly’) it’s always worth asking if it’s supported by reputable evidence. So, what does research say about men interrupting women? Like so many things about language, it’s complicated.

The complications begin with the basic definition of ‘interruption’. If person B begins speaking before person A has stopped, does that mean B is interrupting A? Some researchers would say yes; others would say ‘not necessarily’. What we usually mean when we say that ‘B interrupted A’ is that B infringed A’s speaking rights by taking the floor before A was ready to cede it. By that definition, most cases of simultaneous speech are not interruptions at all.

Simultaneous speech is a common by-product of the way turn-taking works. We don’t usually agree in advance that A will speak first, then B, then C. Rather, who speaks when is something we negotiate as we go. We monitor the unfolding interaction and figure out from various clues when a potential ‘turn transition point’ is approaching. At that point, if no one has been selected to speak next, anyone can bid for a turn. And people often make their move slightly before the current turn has finished, resulting in a brief period when two speakers overlap. As long as the second speaker has correctly predicted that the first is about to finish, this won’t be perceived as violating their rights.

To illustrate the difference, here are two examples (they’re from a transcript of a British TV election debate broadcast in 2015). In the first example, the moderator invites SNP leader Nicola Sturgeon to respond to a point made by Labour leader Ed Miliband. The brackets show where there’s a stretch of simultaneous speech:

MOD:              Nicola Sturgeon do you agree with what Ed Miliband [is saying]
STURGEON:                                                                                                       [ well  (.)  ] I

This is overlap, not interruption. Though Sturgeon starts to speak before the moderator has finished his question, it’s already clear he’s giving her the floor: she knows her turn is coming and just slightly misjudges the timing.

In the second example, Ed Miliband is speaking when Sturgeon comes in uninvited:

MILIBAND: and that’s not [ going   to  ]
STURGEON:                          [we need to] replace the Tories

This is an interruption: Miliband is in the middle of a sentence, and Sturgeon cuts him off before he’s had a chance to make his point.

As it happens, Nicola Sturgeon produced more interruptions than anyone else in this debate–and it was virtually always a man she interrupted. But her behaviour no more disproves the ‘manterruption’ thesis than Trump’s behaviour proves it. To assess the validity of the claim about gender difference, we need to look at studies which investigated it directly.

I’ll start with one of the earliest (first published in 1975 and still frequently cited), which was carried out on a California college campus by Don Zimmerman and Candace West. They collected 31 recordings of students talking informally: ten were conversations between two men, ten were between two women and eleven were between a man and a woman. Their analysis of the interruptions (which they distinguished from overlaps along the lines I’ve just explained) showed a very striking pattern. In same-sex conversations the interruptions were fairly evenly distributed between the two speakers, but in cross-sex conversations the male speaker was responsible for 96% of the interruptions. Zimmerman and West concluded that men ‘deny equal status to women as conversational partners’.

I often see this study cited in popular sources (like Bennett’s Time article) as definitive proof that men interrupt women more than vice versa. But clearly it isn’t definitive: if we’re going to make general claims we need more to back them up than a single study, done nearly 50 years ago, which looked at a specific population (US college students) engaged in a particular kind of talk (informal, peer-to-peer and one-to-one). The good news is that since 1975 a lot more studies have been done. The bad news, however, is that their findings have been far from uniform.

In the early 1990s Deborah James and Sandra Clarke reviewed the accumulated evidence, and concluded that there was no clear pattern. Some studies had found that men interrupted more, a smaller number had found that women interrupted more, and the majority had found no difference. These reviewers also pointed out, however, that comparing the various findings wasn’t easy: different researchers had defined interruption in different ways, and consequently they had counted different things.

One issue that may arise in this kind of research is whether to count cases which are formally interruptions (i.e., not just overlaps), but which don’t match the prototypical definition of interrupting as taking the floor from someone who isn’t ready to give it up. It may sound like an oxymoron, but there is such a thing as a supportive interruption–when one speaker breaks into another’s turn, not to make their own point but to display their engagement or agreement with the current speaker’s point. Here’s an example from a conversation among women friends:

A: she didn’t like Katy she didn’t ge[t on with Katy at all                   ]
B:                                                               [no she didn’t get on with Katy]

B’s interjection meets the formal criteria for interrupting (it starts too early to be an accidental overlap, and it’s too long to be classified as a minimal response like ‘yeah’ or ‘right’), but B isn’t trying to take the floor from A; rather she’s reinforcing A’s point, in this case by echoing A’s actual words. Then she stops speaking, and A goes on with her story. The whole conversation is like this: there’s so much talking at the same time, you wonder if it even makes sense to call what the speakers are doing ‘interrupting’.

In a 1982 article called ‘Who’s got the floor?’ Carole Edelsky asked the same question about some data she’d recorded at academic committee meetings. In theory a committee meeting is much more formal than a conversation among friends, but Edelsky noticed that the participants hadn’t observed the formalities consistently. Mostly they had followed the expected one-speaker-at-a-time pattern of turn-taking (Edelsky calls this a ‘singly developed floor’, or ‘F1’); but there were moments when that arrangement yielded to what she calls a ‘collaborative floor’, or ‘F2’. In F2 episodes it was difficult to say who ‘had the floor’: it seemed more like a free-for-all, with people chipping in frequently but briefly, and often speaking simultaneously. Whereas F1 talk was male-dominated, with men holding forth at length while women took fewer and shorter turns, the talk that occurred during F2 episodes was more equally distributed. Edelsky offers the following explanation:

F1s, characterized by monologues, single-party control and hierarchical interaction where turn takers stand out from non-turn takers and floors are won or lost, share features with other contexts in which women have learned they had best not assert themselves. F2s, however, are inherently more informal, cooperative ventures that provide both a cover of “anonymity” for assertive language use and a comfortable backdrop against which women can display a fuller range of language ability.

Later researchers (including, perhaps most famously, Deborah Tannen) would echo the suggestion that women feel more comfortable speaking when interaction is organised in a collaborative way. But where Edelsky links this preference to women’s subordinate social status (when there’s a contest for the floor they have ‘learned they had best not assert themselves’), Tannen sees it as a quasi-cultural difference: men relish competition, women prefer collaboration. Though politically they’re very different, these two accounts make similar predictions about gender and interruption: crudely, that men in ‘F1’ situations will produce more interruptions of the competitive, floor-grabbing kind than women, but in ‘F2’-type situations women will equal or outstrip men in the production of supportive interruptions.

What all this means, though, is that we can’t answer the question ‘is there a general problem of “manterruption?”–which is essentially about the first type of interruption, not the second–by simply counting all the interruptions. To ensure we’re comparing like with like, we also need some way of deciding what kind of interruption we’re dealing with.

But how do we decide, given that we have no access to the thoughts of the people involved? One answer is to use what we do have access to–the reaction of one speaker to another’s intervention. Some conversation analysts argue that you can only count something as an interruption if there’s evidence it was taken as an interruption by the person on the receiving end. And what they mean by ‘evidence’ is the kind of reaction which is known in the jargon as ‘doing being interrupted’–acting in a way which signals to others that you feel your speaking rights have been infringed. You can convey that message verbally (e.g., by saying ‘stop interrupting me!’ or ‘please let me finish’), paralinguistically (e.g. by sighing deeply, or raising your voice while continuing to speak), nonverbally (using gestures or facial expressions), or a combination of these possibilities.

The conversation analyst Marta Baffy looked at ‘doing being interrupted’ in her analysis of the Congressional hearings which investigated Russia’s role in the 2016 presidential election. She focused on the testimony of Attorney-General Jeff Sessions, which was of interest because one of the people who questioned him, Sen. Kamala Harris, was reprimanded by the Chair for interrupting him. This reprimand, along with the subsequent criticism of Harris’s ‘aggressive’ behaviour in the media, prompted accusations of sexism from her supporters, who pointed out that women, and especially women of color, are often described as ‘aggressive’ when the same behaviour from a man would pass without comment.

Was a sexist double standard in play here? Baffy investigated by comparing the exchanges between Harris and Sessions to Sessions’s exchanges with a male questioner, Sen. Angus King. King, it transpired, had interrupted Sessions around the same number of times as Harris. In both cases Baffy counted eleven instances of simultaneous speech, most of which (six in King’s case and seven in Harris’s) could be classified as interruptions. There was, in other words, little difference between the two senators’ actual behaviour; but there was a big difference in the way Sessions reacted. With Harris he ‘did being interrupted’ nine times; with King he did it only three times.

As Baffy points out, there’s no way we can be certain that this difference was the result of sexist bias. There are other possible explanations: for instance, King questioned Sessions earlier in the day than Harris, so perhaps he just got grumpier as the hours ticked by. But the sexism interpretation fits with other evidence: some studies have found that women who interrupt are judged more negatively than men.

In one study Katherine Hilton asked 5000 American English-speakers to listen to scripted audio clips containing simultaneous speech, and then say if they thought one of the speakers had interrupted. To test whether gender had an effect, she recorded the same scripts in two versions, with the role of the putative interrupter played by a man in one and a woman in the other. She found that male judges rated female interrupters as ruder, less friendly and less intelligent than men performing the same script.

If we put these two studies together, we might well conclude that men have a problem with women who interrupt. And though neither study investigated the manterruption pattern directly, their findings may be a clue to what’s behind it.

But wait, I hear you say, have we established that there is a manterruption pattern? You’re right: so far I’ve been emphasising that the evidence is mixed, and sometimes difficult to interpret. I think that’s a reasonable summary of the overall picture. But I also think there’s something to be learned from a kind of research I haven’t talked about yet: research dealing not with casual conversation (or laboratory simulations of it) but with institutional talk–for instance, business meetings, job interviews, academic seminars, political debates, legal proceedings and medical consultations. In these contexts the pattern is more consistent; it’s also very revealing.

In institutions there’s generally a hierarchy of status, and we’d expect that to be the strongest predictor of who will interrupt whom. Yet many studies of institutional talk have found that higher-ranking women are routinely interrupted by lower-ranking men. Women doctors get interrupted by male patients, women bosses by male subordinates, women teachers by male students and women judges in Australia’s High Court by the male advocates who make arguments before them.

What strikes me about this pattern, and about the attitudes uncovered by Katherine Hilton, is how well they fit with the patriarchal principle laid out by the philosopher Kate Manne–that men are entitled to take from women, whereas women are obligated to give to men. If we think of (non-supportive) interruptions as a form of ‘taking from’ (that is, taking the floor from someone else) Manne’s principle might explain why men apparently feel entitled to interrupt any woman, even one who by other measures outranks them, while judging women’s own interruptions illegitimate or hostile.

From this perspective, the reprimanding of Kamala Harris was an example not of sexism but of misogyny–the punishment of women who give too little and/or take too much. But Harris has lived to fight another day: this week it was announced that she will be Joe Biden’s running-mate–and if he wins, therefore, his vice-president. This wasn’t a foregone conclusion; though Biden was committed to picking a woman, many people expected him to choose someone more emollient. There had been rumours that his team regarded Harris as too ‘ambitious’ and ‘abrasive’. But in the event she was picked despite, or perhaps even because of, her reputation for being, as Donald Trump immediately put it, ‘nasty’ to men.

Of course, when the campaign gets going Harris may come under pressure to be ‘nicer’. If so, I hope she’ll resist it. ‘Be nice, be polite, be conciliatory, be gentle’–these injunctions to women have a long and depressing history. But history, like men, can be interrupted.

 

A woman’s (shit)work is never done

In Láadan, the fictional women’s language created by the feminist sci-fi writer Suzette Haden Elgin, there is a word, ‘radiidin’, which means ‘a non-holiday: a time allegedly a holiday but actually so much of a burden because of work and preparations that it is a dreaded occasion’. In the season that most likely inspired this term, the thoughts of feminists will inevitably turn to all the invisible labour performed by women: the endless shopping and cooking and cleaning, the planning and managing that’s been described as ‘the mental load’, and the emotional labour of spreading seasonal good cheer.

Of course, invisible female labour is not just for Christmas. It’s a source of perpetually simmering discontent which comes to the boil at regular intervals. In 2015 a Guardian article predicted that it would be the next Big Feminist Issue; this year a similar suggestion has come from Gemma Hartley, author of a book entitled Fed Up: Women, Emotional Labor and the Way Forward. A condensed version of her argument, published as an article in Harper’s Bazaar (‘Women aren’t nags—we’re just fed up’) was shared an astonishing two billion times.

Clearly this is not a ‘problem with no name’. Different aspects of it have been given different names–‘unpaid care work’, ‘wife-work’, ’emotional labour’, ‘the mental load’, ‘the second shift’. And though these terms are not interchangeable, the kinds of activity they name are all cases, to quote the sociologist Pamela Fishman, where

The work is not seen as what women do, but as part of what they are.

This observation points to a subtle difference in our ideas about ‘women’s work’ and ‘men’s work’. Though it is often assumed that ‘men’s work’ harnesses qualities associated with the male of the species—like aggression, toughness or a willingness to take risks—it is rarely suggested that a man who works on an oil rig or trades on the stock exchange is doing nothing more than being a man, using skills he didn’t have to learn to carry out tasks that any other man could do just as well. With ‘women’s work’, by contrast, whether it’s done in the home or in ‘pink collar’ jobs like nursing, teaching and secretarial work, the assumption has often been that women are just doing what comes naturally, using their maternal instincts or their innate ability to empathize to take care of other people’s needs. And since what’s ‘natural’ is assumed to be effortless, requiring no conscious thought or special skill, it is not seen as ‘real’ work–or in some cases, seen at all.

The sentence I’ve just quoted from Pamela Fishman appears in an article which identified a specifically linguistic form of invisible female labour. Fishman called this ‘interactional shitwork’ (though the most readily available version of her article appeared under the more decorous title ‘Interaction: the work women do’). The article is a fascinating historical document: brief and unapologetically angry, it’s written in a style that owes at least as much to the 1970s Women’s Liberation Movement as to the academy (though it has frequently been cited, and sometimes anthologized, in more conventional academic sources). And it wasn’t only of interest to academics: when Fishman presented an early version at a conference in 1977, it was reported in the New York Times under the headline ‘Woman Speaks Up: Men Control Conversation’.

Fishman’s analysis was based on 52 hours of conversation recorded by three heterosexual couples in their homes. She did find that ‘men control conversation’, but she also found that to do it they depended on women’s support. Whereas men’s attempts to initiate talk were taken up enthusiastically by women, women’s own efforts were more likely to receive either very minimal acknowledgment (for instance, an unenthusiastic ‘yeah’ or ‘mm’ followed by the man changing the subject) or none at all. In fact, women received so little encouragement to talk, they often resorted to the attention-getting techniques young children use, like saying ‘d’you know what?’ (a formula which demands an answer like ‘what?’, or ‘no, tell me’, thus allowing the first speaker to respond to the ‘question’ she has essentially forced the second speaker to ask).

By way of illustration, here’s an extract from one of Fishman’s transcripts: the man (M) and the woman (F) are both graduate students (as was Fishman herself when she did this research), and the exchange takes place in their apartment while she is studying and he is making a salad.

fishman

The woman wants to share something she’s reading, and to get her partner’s attention she asks a question prefaced with ‘you know’. He doesn’t seem very interested: he allows two seconds to pass (more than one second is a noticeable silence in casual conversation) before he produces a (hesitant) answer signalling that what she’s just said is new information. Encouraged, she continues with the next chunk of discourse. This time he allows five seconds to pass before making a substantive point. Once again, she responds straight away (that’s what the = sign means), agreeing with his point and adding a related one. But then his attention shifts elsewhere: it turns out he’s looking for oil to make salad dressing. She responds immediately to his observation that they’ve run out with the information that there’s another bottle. His next utterance comments on the salad dressing, and invites her to agree that it looks good. This time she doesn’t answer immediately, and he repeats his last move (‘see, babe?’) until she acknowledges his point with ‘it does yeah’. She doesn’t try to resume the conversation about what she’s reading until more than a minute later.

Fishman claimed that what we see in this extract was a recurring pattern in her data. Men talk about what they want, when they want, and women do the work of supporting them. They pay continuous attention to their partners, respond promptly when a response is called for, and stop talking when it clearly isn’t. They provide on-topic answers to men’s questions and tokens of agreement when men express opinions. Men evidently expect this from women, but they don’t feel obliged to do it for women. When women talk men pay less attention, produce delayed and unenthusiastic responses, and change the subject if something else is more important to them.

This study has been criticized for generalizing from a tiny sample; a number of researchers who have tested its claims using other data have failed to replicate Fishman’s findings. But many of these ‘replications’ have used data which isn’t comparable to Fishman’s–for instance, recordings of non-intimate male/female pairs talking in a lab, or of colleagues talking in a professional setting. The researchers involved seem to have missed the point that the focus on couples wasn’t incidental: what Fishman set out to investigate was, by her own account, ‘the interactional activities which constitute the everyday work done by intimates’. She also explained why this was of interest to a feminist sociologist: because

It is through this work that people produce their relationship to one another, their relationship to the world, and those patterns normally referred to as social structure.

Fishman examined linguistic patterns in heterosexual couple-talk as a way of shedding light on the underlying power dynamics. There’s no reason to expect the same patterns to appear, or the same dynamics to be in play, in every other situation where women and men converse. The significance of gender, and indeed its relevance, may be different in different contexts and kinds of talk.

Many years ago, I co-authored an article about tag questions (interrogatives of the form ‘nice day today, isn’t it?’).  At the time tag questions were a big deal in language and gender research because, like uptalk today, they were widely believed to be used by women who were so unconfident about expressing their opinions they found it necessary to turn statements into questions. My co-authors and I didn’t believe that: we knew tag questions have a range of functions, and one of them is facilitating interaction. Adding a question tag to a statement is a way of inviting someone else to talk. Some researchers had suggested that the real reason women used more tag questions than men was because they did more facilitating. Our study showed, however, that what men and women do, and indeed what tag-questions do, will depend on various features of the context.

There are some kinds of talk where asking questions is the prerogative of the person who has institutional power (e.g. the teacher in a classroom or the lawyer in a courtroom). In these contexts asking questions–including tag-questions–is not a sign of insecurity: it’s an assertion of authority and a way of controlling the interaction. There are also contexts where facilitating interaction is a professional skill, associated with a high-status occupational role. Not only lawyers and teachers, but also (for instance) doctors, psychotherapists and media interviewers, must master the art of getting others to talk. Some of our data came from contexts of this kind, and in those cases it was the professionals who used more tag questions. Most of them were men, but that’s by the by: this pattern isn’t about gender, it’s about the speaker’s institutional role.

In complete contrast to these institutional encounters, the conversations Fishman analysed were personal exchanges in a domestic setting between people who knew each other intimately. In that context, the division of labour she observed (women doing the facilitating and men treating that as a form of service) raises the same questions feminists have asked about housework and the mental load. In a situation where there’s no institutional hierarchy, where the participants have equal status and have chosen to live together, why isn’t facilitating interaction a reciprocal obligation? Why do women do so much and men so little?

Fishman’s answer is that the participants in heterosexual couple-talk (a context where gender is highly salient) don’t really have equal status. They agree that the man’s interests come first.

Both men and women regarded topics introduced by women as tentative; many of these were quickly dropped. In contrast, topics introduced by the men were treated as topics to be pursued; they were seldom rejected.

They also agree that the woman is ultimately responsible for the success of the conversation–and for intuiting what that requires of her in any given situation.

Sometimes women are required to sit and “be a good listener” … At other times, women are required to fill silences and keep conversation moving, to talk a lot. Sometimes they are expected to develop others’ topics and at other times they are required to present and develop topics of their own.

At all times, however, women must avoid giving the impression that they are, or would like to be, in control.

Women who successfully control interactions are derided…terms like “castrating bitch,” “domineering,” “aggressive,” and “witch” may be used to identify them. When they attempt to control situations temporarily, women often “start” arguments.

The picture Fishman paints is bleak–and still depressingly recognizable more than 40 years on. Women are still expected to ‘sit and be a good listener’ (if you doubt it, have a look at this piece, based on the replies the writer got when she tweeted a request to get in touch ‘if you’ve ever been on a date with a man who asked you zero (0) questions about yourself’); and they still get identified as aggressive bitches if they aren’t sufficiently self-effacing (remember #ImmodestWomen?)

What makes the problem of invisible female labour such a tough nut to crack (no matter how many times or ways we name it) is that the obvious form of resistance–refusing to do it–has such negative consequences for women themselves. What hurts our loved ones hurts us too: few women want to get into conflicts with the people they care about, or to forego the tangible benefits their unseen efforts produce (like comfortable homes and meaningful conversations). In many situations it costs less to maintain the status quo than to challenge it. (Not all, though. We could surely put an end to the phenomenon of dates where men ask women no questions. Someone should design a card for women to hand to their date as they leave after 15 minutes.)

I’m aware that this post has been a bit short on festive spirit, but I hope your Christmas, if you celebrate it, will be less a radiidin than a season of peace and goodwill. Go easy on the shitwork, don’t let the bastards grind you down, and when it’s all over, look out for my round-up of the year in language and feminism.