The choreography of power

Let me predict your fortune

Nothing happens unless it does. Yes, this might be one of the most obvious statements about power it’s possible to make, one beaten into second place only by the undissolved inanity of proclaiming ‘it is what it is!’ However, it’s still worth pondering for a moment or two. If power is about securing advantage in some way, or at least avoiding disbenefit, then the point at which this happens, when power is put into service, becomes very important indeed. This is power-uptake. It’s when all the to-ing and fro-ing, all the faffing-around about what might be meant, what’s truth, what can be known, what’s rational, logical, persuasive, coercive or any other embryonic presentation of power, becomes too late to matter. It’s when things happen. It’s when push comes to shove and the road less travelled* is left behind us because the route we took wasn’t that one. It’s when reality has kicked-in. The problem though is that we can’t really say goodbye to all our caveats about power, our pondering on the matter, even at this point of seeming no return. When power becomes action, it doesn’t just sail off into the sunset on its own. It remains connected to the intentions that pushed it from the jetty. It remains as ripples across time. Effects resonate, echos can still be heard, and they have their own consequences. This is not always easy to see. Consider a courtroom. A witness speaks, a lawyer objects and a judge accepts or rejects the testimony. Yet the ‘truth’ of what happened depends not on the evidence as it is known to the witnesses but on the procedures, forms of recognition or institutional acceptance with which it engages, something settled for us many decades ago. The prospects of our children or grand children are tied in this way to how power once worked for our ancestors. It’s shown by what we value, inculcate, prioritise or discard. It is revealed by the demands of the environment we inherit or the implications of our parent’s mental health. It is visible by the reach of our dreams and the limitations of our realities. Here, power is not simply a court direction, a government policy or a healthy genetic history but the enactment of a whole host of social processes through which intention has or will become consequential. Power-uptake brings us to this profound type of reframing and it has several implications. None of them are comfortable but three are worth raising. First, it means that power cannot be avoided after the settlement it was designed to resolve because it remains as a continuing means of discourse, exchange or negotiation. If we accept the presence of the social, the life we share with others, then we must accept too the persistent presence of power. Secondly, power is always provisional. Truths can always be rejected, resisted or overturned because they remain as negotiable items within the social world (Latour). For sure, they can be painful, with real impact, but their work within social life, even when inevitable, is not always what we imagine it might be. Power is always transformation, something becoming rather than made. Finally, whilst reality may exist outside of discourse, or the society we all live in, as ideas that don’t need our permission to be true, they have no effect, no power, without it. Power uptake achieves this. The law of gravity or the logic of evolution, indeed the very principles of the scientific method, have objective meaning only by what they achieve in discourse, by the social order to which they appeal. They are only ideas until power attaches itself to them. Their claims still remain open to falsification of course, to the contrarian confusions of ‘flat-earthers’, ‘rabbit-hole researchers’ and ‘climate change deniers’, but the reason, logic and truth they have achieved has been made possible only through the reverberation and reach of power uptake. There are other matters too that bind to power uptake, matters central to the way we exist, to what we hold dear, to what we live and die for, for everything that holds us to the people we love, the communities we serve and the ambitions we realise. We’ll look at these a little more next time. In the interim, we should hold on to one thing. If we accept the idea of power uptake, its place in the power-medium, we might accept too that we are affected today by a power that hasn’t shown itself yet. There is nothing overly metaphysical about this. It’s really trying to say that what prevails from the power we accept in the present, will have consequences, problems we must encounter, trials we cannot avoid, a future we can presume but not really know for sure. So, it’s probably useful then to see power-uptake as revealing reality to us, as aletheia or ‘unconcealment’ (Heidegger), because it cannot give us all of the story, only an essence or hint of it, at any particular time. It cannot hold dominion over everything that does or could constitute meaning to us as a result nor make this plain and simple to us. It promises only the potential for this to happen at some point. It promises that ‘uptake’ is not the end of the story. This shows that what matters, what is real, what brings actual and present impetus or resistance, is the degree to which power-uptake secures a foothold in social order. We ignore this at our peril. References Heidegger, M., 1977. The Question Concerning Technology and Other Essays. Translated by W. Lovitt. New York: Harper & Row. Latour, B. 1987. Science in Action. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. *Note: Frost, R. 1916. The Road Not Taken. In: Mountain Interval. New York: Henry Holt. Image: Leohoho Thanks for reading The choreography of power! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit drrobdalton.substack.com [https://drrobdalton.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

Sing a song of ding-dong

We live in dangerous times. Our honour and heritage is at stake, our cultural identity, the acclaim of others, our very place in the modern world, all of this, is in jeopardy. What is right, honourable, worthy of respect is under scrutiny and it might not pass muster. Yes, the Eurovision Song Contest is upon us. We don’t have to work too hard to realise that this annual presentation of sometimes cool and catchy but usually very predictable and often very poor pop tunes is more than a spectacle of flamboyant performances, eccentric staging and unpredictable voting. It conceals a dense and dynamic site of power at work. Power analysts likely consider Eurovision a structured arena in which cultural legitimacy, political alignment, symbolic value, and collective identity are produced, contested and stabilised. To understand this type of phenomenon we must get to grips with how power operates in contemporary cultural life, not as force or might but as legitimacy, visibility and belief. So, let’s see what makes Eurovision a ‘hit’. Singing softly Joseph Nye (2004) introduced us to the term soft power. He might as well have coined the phrase after watching Eurovision. He didn’t, in case you’re in any doubt. He would, though, recognise how nation states offer curated versions of themselves through music, language, staging and stories. Performances become vehicles for national branding, projecting images of modernity, tradition, inclusivity or creativity. Success confers prestige, enhancing a country’s cultural standing within what still remains a loosely-defined European identity. Performances function as diplomatic theatre in which nations compete not militarily or economically but symbolically. Eurovision tends to normalise particular aesthetic and ideological values. These are often aligned with Western European liberalism and together build what Gramsci called cultural hegemony (1971). Norms surrounding gender expression, individualism and performative spectacle are not merely displayed. They are validated by the contest. If we participate in the excitement, simply watch the show even, we align with these norms. Thus, Eurovision doesn’t just showcase diversity, it also structures the terms under which diversity is recognised and rewarded. Building a new world … Bourdieu (1991) would see Eurovision as the distribution of symbolic capital. Winning the contest does more than reward a song. It elevates a performance into something with enhanced cultural value. Any distinction we make between ‘good’ and ‘bad’, isn’t really an aesthetic choice in this context. It’s a conclusion we come to through cultural and institutional mediation. Eurovision builds hierarchies, determining which styles, narratives and identities are legitimate in that moment. In doing so, it constructs our emerging idea of Europe itself. This type of building work aligns with post-structural understandings of power. Michel Foucault (1980) for instance argues that power works to continually reconstruct itself. The contest generates stories and ideas about nationhood, belonging and modernity. It defines what is valuable by staging and validating what can be said or shown. Inclusion and exclusion are central here. Debates over participation, perhaps concerning geographical boundaries or reacting to political controversies, reveal that Eurovision is actively engaged in defining the limits of its own cultural universe. This is world building through the medium of song. … and a better one Eurovision does not eliminate political tensions but it does reframe them. Historical alliances, regional solidarities and cultural affinities are expressed through voting and performance. This transforms potential conflict into symbolic expression. The experience acts as a mechanism of political sublimation, a higher and better form of confrontation. It converts antagonism into spectacle. Indeed, participation often signals a desire for inclusion within a broader European or ‘Euro-adjacent’ community, making the contest a subtle instrument of geopolitical positioning. At the same time, Eurovision has become a prominent voice for identity politics, particularly in relation to gender and sexuality. The visibility of LGBTQ+ performers and themes over the last decade or so has become a defining feature of the contest. It introduces these ideas as normative or with a moral power, a means where these values are elevated and the prejudices they usually bear de-stigmatised. Eurovision does not simply reflect this type of social dynamism, it participates in its articulation and dissemination. The contest thus operates as a site where cultural legitimacy is intertwined with moral recognition and where a new combination of the two emerges. A great chorus Yet, Eurovision’s power is not restricted to discourse or symbolism. It’s also ritualistic. Each year, millions of viewers, across what now seems like too many countries to count, participate in a shared event. The structure of the contest, semi-finals, grand final and, of course, the voting system, remain broadly consistent despite tweaking. This creates a sense of continuity and expectation. For Émile Durkheim (1912/1995), such repetition constitutes a form of collective ritual that reinforces social cohesion. The contest produces a shared emotional experience, binding us together into a meaningful community. Here, Randall Collins (2004) emphasised the role of interaction, in which shared attention and melodramatic or sentimental synchronisation generate what he calls ‘emotional energy’. We shudder at the glory of our ‘douze-points’ whilst the pain of our ‘nil-points’ is always palpable. Power here lies in the capacity to generate and sustain this collective feeling. Beats and pulses Eurovision operates within a hybrid media environment, one shaped by digital platforms and emerging formats as well as traditional broadcasting solutions. Performances circulate on streaming services, are reinterpreted on social media and gain traction through algorithms, likes and shares. Visibility is no longer determined exclusively by the event itself but by the complex interactions it creates between audiences and platforms and the metrics of engagement they rely on (Couldry and Hepp, 2017). The power of Eurovision lies in the way it can be repackaged to appeal to us and in how it sticks once we touch it. This power forms reality. Making your mind up This ‘coming-together’ or social structuring becomes especially visible in the contest’s voting patterns. The persistence of regional voting blocs has long attracted cynicism and amusement, with countries in the Nordic, Balkan or post-Soviet regions frequently exchanging points. While often dismissed as ‘political’ voting, these patterns can, perhaps, be better understood through the lens of relational or networked power. These ideas talk about the links of interdependence, regardless of whether or not they are physical or digital. Castells (2009) argues that power here operates through these networks, these connections of joint purpose, rather than through single acts or specific moments of expression (Castells, 2009). In Eurovision, outcomes are shaped not simply by the quality of individual performances but by the position of countries within networks of affinity, migration and historical connection. Diaspora populations, shared media spaces and cultural closeness all influence voting behaviour. Power, in this sense, is not possessed but distributed across relationships, heritage and sources of information. What we remember Eurovision controls time. Winning performances are remembered, replayed and integrated into our national and transnational narratives. They become part of a shared cultural archive. Most entries though fail to achieve this, often fading from memory irrespective of their quality. The contest shapes the present, today’s visibility and tomorrow’s remembrance of it, constructing and limiting the cultural meaning we give to all this. Eurovision is not a single form of power but an expression or output of power-medium. It is a structured environment in which very different forms of power, regardless of whether or not they’re symbolic, economic, affective or networked, are gathered and converted into legitimacy. The contest transforms performances into something of recognised cultural value. It turns attention into prestige, and participation into belonging. Its outcomes are accepted not because they are objectively determined but because the contest itself is recognised as authoritative. Eurovision, then, is not trivial. It’s a highly organised system for producing truth. It reveals that power in contemporary society is mediated not simply through domination but via the capacity to define what is seen, what is valued and what is remembered. References Bourdieu, P. 1991. Language and symbolic power. Cambridge: Polity Press. Castells, M. 2009. Communication power. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Couldry, N. and Hepp, A. 2017. The mediated construction of reality. Cambridge: Polity Press. Collins, R. 2004. Interaction ritual chains. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Durkheim, E. 1995. The elementary forms of religious life. Translated by K. Fields. New York: Free Press. (Original work published 1912) Foucault, M. 1980. Power/knowledge: Selected interviews and other writings. New York: Pantheon Books. Gramsci, A. 1971. Selections from the prison notebooks. London: Lawrence and Wishart. Nye, J.S. 2004. Soft power: The means to success in world politics. New York: PublicAffairs. Image: AI. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit drrobdalton.substack.com [https://drrobdalton.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

The size and shape of power

There are many kinds of ‘power-watcher’, sitting inside their metaphorical hides, awaiting the arrival of their favoured species, recording what each does and wondering where they’ve come from. Some observe from a distance. Others might adjust their seat or viewing position to get a little nearer. Close up, we’d see mating, confrontation and the fight for space. From further away, we’d notice more how power flows through patterns and behaviours, perhaps via global changes and dynamics. This is a bit like varying the lens of the binoculars to see what’s looking back at us at each turn of the dial. Alternatively, we could stay home, study the way power shows itself according to the experts, consider it as a more abstract matter. We’d look at the ground it comes to, the everyday settings it favours. We could record how it interacts with others, note down which species people say are thriving and which are not. None of these approaches is wholly satisfactory. They will either miss something important, smoothing over too many complications and contradictions, or end up with a very long list of ideas and themes that confuse what is going on and stop us from knowing where to look first. There is at least one other option though, one that gives us ‘dimensions’ for power, routes and arrival points for its effects. It allows us to see power’s grasp and reach. It’s interested in what else power might be doing, the ground it holds and the direction it’s going in. There are several ways to pursue this but one idea is particularly helpful. The Steven Lukes dimensional models (1974, 2005) suggest we can measure what power does. They show us how power operates, takes different forms, depending on the circumstances, sometimes without having to resort to coercion or even persuasion. They categorise the way power is understood when it goes about its work and put its methods and effects into one of three very helpful categories. The first dimension deals with what we’ll call ‘decision-making power’. This refers to an ability to make decisions that affect others. We might see this in politics or classical sociology. It reveals power as obvious, shown by behaviour or an expression of will - regardless of whether or not this leads to conflict. This type of power is clear and open and, in large part, unambiguous if not always simple. It may reflect brute force but it may also be subtle, persuasive and compelling. In this category, power is deliberate consent or decision. It may be temporary, conditional or strategic but its nature will be broadly understood by the parties involved and any advantage gained or given up will be apparent in some form if not always willingly or completely. … power shapes our beliefs … it is a power that can reject or build meaning. It escapes scrutiny because it appears to be ‘the way the world works’. Lukes’s second category deals in ‘non-decision-making power’. This involves an ability to set the agenda, restricting or expanding the issues for consideration or up for grabs. This might cause conflicts but prevent others from ever arising. Power here is categorised as control over the means of discourse and discussion, denying and enabling what can be recognised as acceptable or sensitive to negotiation or disagreement in the first place. In this dimension, power is revealed as both recognisable and hidden. It’s a way to control how matters are mediated, prioritised, actioned or resolved. It serves those capable of defining the terms of the negotiation whilst making it difficult for others to recognise alternative claims and ideas. The third dimension is ‘ideological power’. This explores how power shapes our desires and beliefs automatically, influencing what people want and what they think serves their interests best. The first two dimensions, mean power can be seen and evaluated, even when it tries to hide from us. However, this third dimension is a power that is unseeable, even to those who otherwise have the resources to resist it or the potential to use it. It is the power that works to form reality or establish our sense of the world. Here, power deals in ideologies, not just as political or religious codes but as cultural beliefs. It is a power that can reject or build meaning. It escapes scrutiny because it appears to be ‘the way the world works’. This type of dimensional framework shows how power works in any given set of circumstances but all three types may be evident at the same time. A single moment of power might be interpreted exclusively, by any combination or all three. These organising ideas keep our thinking neat and tidy but they do more than this. They also work to direct what we believe is possible when it comes to power. If we find ourselves relying on any of the categories described so far, then we become locked into a single logic or expectation and must then reject ideas that otherwise seem to work perfectly well. Much of what influences us in this respect, is highly localised or specific. Power becomes affected by context, reflecting key moments or popular understandings when we attempt to make sense of it. Dimensional frameworks give us a means to re-categorise power and gauge its impact. The more willing we are to pick up our camera or binoculars, change our angle and focus, the more we will see power’s arrival and routines, understand its seasons and returns, and discover its habits and purposes. It might be a good idea to think about power more often with this sort of hat on, and with our eye glasses at the ready. References Lukes, S. 1974. Power: A Radical View. London: Macmillan. Lukes, S. 2005. Power: A Radical View, 2nd ed. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Photograph: ATC Comm Photo Thanks for reading The choreography of power! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit drrobdalton.substack.com [https://drrobdalton.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

Power is chemistry, the unique moments of transformation in our lives

When scientists talk about power, you know proper scientists like physicists and chemists, they tend to say it’s something like the degree to which we can rely on a given supply of energy. If we have enough of this, we can change things, putting what happens to work in ways that help us. Yet, that doesn’t mean that chemists, for example, think that’s all there is to it. They spend a great deal of time pondering what happens when change occurs. They’re more interested in these single moments of power and how they transform one substance, one entity, into another. We have much to learn from them. This process of change is often quite predictable but it’s never even-handed. It doesn’t give chemicals and molecules equal chance. It allows them to work in proportion to their energy state and to the conditions in which they are expected to operate. The outcomes are often far from set or stable or they might only be so for moments too small to measure. Similarly, power-settlement doesn’t ask us to expect or rely on neutrality when it comes to establishing social order. It must reflect existing imbalances. Indeed, it makes these visible, even when we don’t notice them. It deals in the mechanisms of inequality. It provides an opportunity for these to be seen and tested but offers no guarantee that they will change. Power-settlement isn’t interested in establishing legitimacy. It is concerned instead with what is practical and whether or not arrangements can endure. Indeed, it can show legitimation as questionable when the settlements it gives us are considered unhelpful, allowed grudgingly or adopted under duress. It is about what is provisional, the idea that social order is never fixed but constantly negotiated. It treats power not as the will or intention of the strongest but as the capacity to stabilise conflict into arrangements that, however temporary, hold fast at least in that moment. This makes it a little different to other common ideas about power. Many of our key thinkers have a view on this. It’s worth looking at a few of them. For Giddens (1991), the endurance of power relied on it establishing routine and legitimacy in social life. Social practices persist when we accept, often tacitly, the validity of the rules and resources that structure our conduct. This gives us what he called ontological security, or an ability to understand right from wrong, and it is this which underpins the stability of everyday life. Power-settlement doesn’t require this type of legitimacy and looks more directly to what endures instead. Settlements may be grudging, fragile or even widely regarded as unjust but they might still function as stopping points, helpful only in that moment, unguided by the authority that permits them, separate from the common values and rituals we otherwise rely on, because they allow social life to proceed. This difference isn’t trivial. It shifts our focus from who benefits from social life, and in what way, to the practical and pragmatic endurance of the arrangements that allow this. Power-settlement isn’t really concerned with the justice or logic of these arrangements. It’s the place at which society doesn’t quite exist, a place without interests or favour. Giddens’ writings (1984) acknowledge that domination and resistance are integral to the structuring of social systems but he tends to frame these in terms that reflect the repetitive reproduction of the order that brings them about. By contrast, the power-settlement perspective sits more comfortably with opposing theories on how things become acceptable, such as Mouffe’s insistence (2000) that settlement is not consensus but a provisional management of conflict. Where Giddens stresses integration and continuity, the power-settlement perspective emphasises impasse, asymmetry and the unfinished nature of social business. It brings something distinctive too to the way we treat violence and coercion. Hannah Arendt (1970) argued that violence is instrumental but never foundational to power. It’s the means to power but not really the reason for it. The power-settlement account is consistent with this, suggesting that coercion may spark or sustain disputes but power is in the endurance of the arrangements that allow it. Giddens, by contrast, stresses the importance of the social system as a whole. It’s a place where violence, resources and domination are folded into social order, indistinguishable. It’s where coercion and legitimation make order together, in unified combination. He is less clear about where each of these authors starts and the other begins because he doesn’t have to be. They become the same thing. Power for Giddens, and indeed for Foucault, is a Möbius strip of external social reconstruction. Never ending and always beginning. ‘It is what it is’ once more, apparently, and we may as well take no personal responsibility for our violence, thuggery, greed or selfishness. I feel Arendt’s beady eye on them as she tells us we can stop hitting other people any time we like. Power-settlement wants us to be dissatisfied with Giddens and Foucault, to focus on the junctions of power instead. It wants us to consider power’s stopping and starting points, the locations from where it is stripped from or folded into the social practices that rebuild society in their likeness. For Rawls (1971), social order is grounded in a sort of overlapping social consensus about the principles of justice, even when this is provisional and incomplete. The power-settlement idea supports this type of pragmatism but doesn’t want us to fall into the trap of thinking that social justice is somehow normative or no more than the majority view. It isn’t necessary for ‘settlement’ to be anything like fairness or justice. It must only give us functional stability. Indeed, arrangements that persist across very different or unconnected perspectives do so without having to agree anything approaching shared meaning or common values (Star and Griesemer 1989). These might be the type of settlements that favour, say, the use of taxes to bail out incompetence and greed in the global banking system yet then react against much smaller and more carefully considered investments in public services designed to bring greater help to the economy for longer. In this respect, power-settlement is far from abstract. It offers us the ability to study real events, such as a strike resolved, a treaty signed or a contract enforced. It asks us not to be concerned exclusively with the way social practices are rebuilt. It stresses too the idea of provisional ‘resting points’, highlighting the observable markers of conflict where the power-medium pauses and reshapes. The power-settlement view builds on previous ideas around negotiation but it shifts our focus towards how social life is persistently punctuated by settlements and that these need not be legitimate, consensual or even particularly stable. Power as settlement is not just about the rules and resources that structure action. It’s also about its stopping points where disputes are contained, often uneasily. It talks about an endurance without consensus, a stability without legitimacy and an order without closure. In doing so, it gives us a different type of analytical window, shedding light more on the fragile, contingent arrangements that sustain social life. It provides fresh metaphors for understanding how order is achieved not through domination, reconstitution or legitimised consent but through the provisional or resting points of conflict when we take a breath before carrying on. It captures the fragility and resilience of the arrangements that shape everyday life, the contracts, treaties, rules and routines that allow people to continue, even in the face of disagreement. Power is not simply the act of imposing will, it is more the making and remaking of the often minor and transient settlements that hold social life together if only for a moment. References Arendt, H. 1970. On Violence. New York: Harcourt. Foucault, M. 1980. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972–1977. Edited by C. Gordon. Brighton: Harvester Press. Giddens, A. 1984. The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mouffe, C. 2000. The Democratic Paradox. London: Verso. Rawls, J. 1993. Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press. Star, S.L. and Griesemer, J.R. 1989. ‘Institutional ecology, “translations” and boundary objects’, Social Studies of Science, 19(3), pp. 387–420. Image: Filiberto Giglio This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit drrobdalton.substack.com [https://drrobdalton.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

Not sure what to say? Just avoid the question

Politicians frustrate us. Often with very good reason. When we hold them to account, test what they have to say, they sense danger or embarrassment at every turn and answer a different question from the one they were asked. This never goes down very well and doesn’t really seem to get us anywhere. So, those of us who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, should we, even though, of course, we do. Indeed most of the descriptions of power we recognise seem to skip entirely very important questions about how each of us lives with answers that make no sense whatsoever. We looked at some of these last time, the so-called dualities of power. These make completely opposing claims about power or ignore the presence of matters which undermine everything they stand for. To get around this, these descriptions tend to restrict themselves to the very specific conditions in which they operate or can be found. Caveats surround them like landmines. We’re then left to work out who selects the settlements about power each prefers, who benefits most from these or, indeed, what potential exists for alternative or less confrontational or even more beneficial transactional strategies within the rules each sets. We are invited to ask why power prevails, why it is necessary in the first place and, indeed, what we should make of all this as a result? It isn’t too difficult to imagine these situations, when we don’t quite accept the rules. Do we insist that police let us into a restricted area when we live within it and our front door is no more than a few feet away? Probably not. Should we stop smoking when it damages nobody but ourselves? Well, perhaps sometimes. Why should people be allowed to take pictures of us just because we’re in a public place? Erm, I’m not sure. Just what do we accept? The answers we’ve come to usually talk about force, fear and flight; rights and responsibilities; instincts, instructions and insights; or involve tales of greed, strength, resources and resistance. These matters have absorbed sociology from its inception and there are as many accounts of power in this respect as there are sociologists to describe them (Scott). Each individual account remains keenly promoted or robustly denied. However, we tend to forget too often the process and place of settlement in this. This is a shame. The idea of settlement forces us to focus on the arrangements, compromises or balancing acts that bring disputes to a pause and give us order in social life (Rawls). This is not a particularly radical suggestion but it is sociological ground mainly travelled through rather than visited. Most descriptions of settlement are subdued, told what they must be by the reasonings of much bigger or dominating descriptions about the power they restrain or hold in check. They remain functional only within the logical demands of their parent and are rarely seen as useful on their own (Star and Griesemer). The ‘power-medium’ idea asserts something rather different from this, taking issue with the view that settlement must always be fashioned by the diverse considerations imposed on it. Yet, it doesn’t give us a way to harmony or consensus (Mouffe). It’s not the utopian resting place for a conflict dissolved. Instead, it shows the pragmatic reality of a conflict managed. Every settlement carries asymmetry, where some parties gain and others don’t. What is mostly forgotten as a result is that settlement is actually no more than the point, a temporary resting place, at which a provisional halt is reached. Therefore, if we describe power as settlement, we can shift our attention away from, say, the forces of coercion or persuasion to the processes by which disputes congeal into social arrangements. This may be a less flamboyant or glamorous purpose for power but it is, nevertheless, pretty significant because it’s always in play yet deals only with the temporary or fleeting. Industrial disputes offer good examples of this type of persisting impasse. Employers and workers may strike, bargain or litigate but, eventually, agreements are reached. Contracts may be signed, pay scales adjusted and grievances resolved. These outcomes are never final but they provide enough stability to reorganise social production and prevent continued disruption. In international politics, peace treaties, ceasefires and border agreements all embody these types of transitional settlement. They rarely reflect full justice or parity. They offer a fix, a line, a boundary, a recognition that allows social life to continue. They show power not so much as defined by the social but as an essential if conditional desire to achieve it in the first place. Settlement becomes a mechanism by which the social world is permitted to exist. This type of framing or claim has several important consequences. Firstly, and perhaps most distinctly, it highlights the provisionality of power (Giddens) whilst stressing that settlements are not permanent victories but pauses in an ongoing struggle, always open to renegotiation or redesign. Secondly, it decentralises what Arendt (1970) called ‘violence’. This asks us to stop saying ‘… it is what it is …’ and to take more responsibility for the collective manifestations of injustice we live with. These are, quite literally, in our own hands. Coercion may initiate cruel or brutal settlements but power here is only what allows these to endure. Thirdly, it suggests that power is as much about maintenance as it is about conquest. It is the ongoing labour of our institutions, norms and agreements. It is our ability to deploy all this that brings disputes to rest and we forget this too often. Of course, this risks reducing power-settlement to stability, neglecting power’s dynamic and transformative dimensions but it’s clear too that settlement is precisely where more disruptive forces meet and where they cannot be neglected. Every power-settlement carries within it the possibility of fracture, renegotiation or reversal. It cannot deny the presence of such matters and we must recognise more often the importance of this to what we consider ‘normal social order’. References Arendt, H. 1970. On Violence. New York: Harcourt. Giddens, A. 1979. Central Problems in Social Theory: Action, Structure and Contradiction in Social Analysis. London: Macmillan. Mouffe, C. 2000. The Democratic Paradox. London: Verso. Rawls, J. 1993. Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press. Scott, J. 2001. Power. Cambridge: Polity. Star, S.L. and Griesemer, J.R. 1989. ‘Institutional ecology, “translations” and boundary objects’, Social Studies of Science, 19(3), pp. 387–420. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit drrobdalton.substack.com [https://drrobdalton.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]