TELLING ABOUT SOCIETY*
[This paper first appeared in a book that is now out
of print: Howard S. Becker, Doing Things Together (Northwestern
University Press: Evanston, 1986), pp. 121-135.]
I
have lived, off and on, for many years in
Why
don't the maps those people consult tell them there are hills there?
Cartographers know how to indicate hills, if that is required, so it is not a
restriction of the medium that inconveniences walkers. I suppose, without
knowing for sure, that the maps are made for motorists, financed by gasoline
companies and automobile associations, and distributed through service
stations--and drivers worry less about hills than pedestrians.
Those
maps, and the networks of people and organizations who make and use them,
exemplify the problem this paper deals with. An ordinary street map of
This
paper reports on some explorations several colleagues and I have made of these
problems.
Representations of Society as Social Facts
People
in a variety of scholarly disciplines and artistic fields think they know
something about society worth telling to others, and they use a variety of
forms, media, and means to communicate their ideas and findings. Comparative
study of these ways of representing knowledge about society shows the common
problems all such representations involve and the different solutions people
develop in different situations.
We
have tried to be inclusive in our comparison, including (at least in principle)
every medium and genre people use or have ever used. Although that is not
possible, we have tried to avoid the most obvious conventional biases, and
included not only reputable scientific formats and those invented and used by
professionals but also those used by artists and lay people as well. A list
will suggest the range of things we looked at: from the social sciences, such
modes of representation as mathematical models, statistical tables and graphs,
maps, ethnographic prose, and historical narrative; from the arts, novels,
films, still photographs, and drama; from the large shadowy area in between,
life histories and other biographical and autobiographical materials, reportage
(including the mixed genres of docudrama, documentary film, and
fictionalized fact), and the storytelling, mapmaking, and other
representational activities of lay people (or people acting in a lay capacity,
as even professionals do most of the time).
Modes
of representation make most sense seen in organizational context, as ways some
people tell what they think they know to other people who want to know it, as
organized activities shaped by the joint efforts of everyone involved. We
realized early that it was a confusing error to focus on objects, as though the
subjects of our investigation were tables or charts or ethnographies or movies.
It makes more sense to see these artifacts as the
frozen remains of collective action, brought to life whenever someone uses
them, as people making and reading charts or prose, making and seeing films. To
speak of a film is shorthand for "making a film or seeing a
film."
That's
a distinction with a difference. Concentrating on the object misdirects
attention to what a medium is formally and technically capable of: how many
bits of information a television monitor with a particular degree of resolution
can convey, or whether a purely visual medium can convey such logical notions
as causality. Concentrating on organized activity, on the other hand, shows
that what a medium can do is always a function of the way organizational
constraints affect its use. What photographs can convey is in part shaped by
the budget, which says how many photographs can be used and how they can be
displayed, how much will be spent making them (how much film and photographers'
time will be paid for), and by the amount and kind of attention viewers will
put into interpreting them.
Seeing
representations of knowledge about society organizationally really means
incorporating all aspects of the organizations they are made in into the
analysis: bureaucratic structures, budgets, professional codes, and audience
characteristics and abilities all impinge on telling about society. Workers
decide how to go about making representations by seeing what is possible,
logical, feasible, and desirable, given the conditions under which they are
making them and the people they are making them for.
It
makes sense to speak, in rough analogy to the idea of an art world (Becker
1982), of worlds of makers and users of representations: the worlds of
documentary film or statistical graphics, of mathematical modeling
or anthropological monographs. These worlds differ in the relative knowledge
and power of makers and users. In highly professionalized worlds, professionals
mostly make artifacts for use by other professionals:
scientific researchers make their reports and inscriptions (see Latour and Woolgar 1979, and Latour 1983, 1986, and 1988) for colleagues who know as
much (or almost as much) about the work as they do. In the extreme case, makers
and users are the same people, a situation almost realized in such esoteric
worlds as mathematical modeling.
Members
of more differentiated worlds share some basic knowledge, despite the
differences in their actual work. That's why sociology students who will never
do statistical work learn the latest versions of multivariate analysis. Other
professionals do their work for lay people: cartographers make maps for
motorists who know just enough about cartography to get to the next town, and
filmmakers make movies for people who never heard of a jump cut. (Of course,
these professionals usually worry about what their professional peers will
think of their work as well.) Lay people, of course, tell stories, make maps,
and write down figures for each other. What gets made, communicated, and
understood varies among these typical settings.
This
makes it useless to talk of media or forms in the abstract, although I have
already done that and will continue to in this paper. Abstract terms like
"film" or "statistical table" are only shorthand for such
specifics as "tables-made-for-the-Census" or
"big-budget-Hollywood-feature-films." The organizational constraints
of the Census and
The
form and content of representations vary because social organization shapes not
only what is made, but also what people want the representation to do, what job
they think they need done (like finding their way or knowing what the latest
findings in their field are), and what standards they will use to judge it.
Because the jobs users call on representations to do depend so heavily on
organizational definitions, we have not been concerned with what many people
think a (indeed the) major methodological problem: given a particular representational
job to be done, what is the best way to do it? If that were the question, one
would set up a task--to communicate an array of numbers, for example--and then
see which way of organizing a table would communicate that information most
honestly, adequately, and efficiently (as people compare computers by seeing
how fast they can find prime numbers). We have deliberately avoided judgments
about the adequacy of any mode of representation, not taking any of them as the
yardstick against which all other methods should be judged. Nor have we adopted
the slightly more relativistic position that while the jobs to be done may
differ, there is a best way of doing each of them. That isn't relativistic
asceticism on our part either. It seems more useful, more likely to lead to new
understanding, to think of every way of representing social reality as perfect-
-for something. The question is what it is good for. The answer
to that is organizational.
Despite
the superficial differences between genres and media, the same fundamental
problems occur in every medium. The influence of budgets, the role of professionalization, what knowledge audiences must have for
a representation to be effective, what is ethically permissible in making a
representation--all these are common to every form of representation making.
How they are solved and dealt with varies depending on organizational resources
and purposes.
Such
problems are debated in every field in which representations are made.
Novelists worry about the same ethical dilemmas sociologists and
anthropologists do, and filmmakers share our concern about budgets. The
literature of those debates, and informal observations and interviews in those
fields, have given us most of our data. We have also found the relatively
recent literature concerned with problems of representation and rhetoric in the
sociology of science very helpful (see, for instance, Gusfield
1981, especially pp. 83-108; Latour and Bastide 1986; Bazerman 1988;
Clifford 1988; and Geertz 1983).
Making Representations
Any
representation of social reality--a documentary film, a demographic study, a
realistic novel--is necessarily partial, less than what one would experience
and have available for interpretation in the actual setting. That is why people
make representations: to report only what you need in order to do whatever you
want to do. An efficient representation tells you everything you need to know
for your purposes, without wasting your time with what you don't need. Makers
and users of representations, then, must perform several operations on reality
to get from it to the final understanding of social reality they want to
communicate. Social organization affects the making and use of representations
by affecting how makers go through these operations.
Selection.. Every medium, in any of its conventional uses, leaves out much, in
fact most, of reality. Even media that seem more comprehensive than the
obviously abstract words and numbers social scientists usually use leave
practically everything out: film (still or moving) and video leave out the
third dimension, smells, etc. Written representations usually leave out all
visual elements. Every medium leaves out whatever happens after we stop our
representational activities. Some breeds of sociologists like to point out that
numerical representations leave out the human element, or emotions, or
symbolically negotiated meaning--they use the criterion of completeness to
criticize work they don't like. But no one, neither users nor makers, in fact
ever regards incompleteness in itself as a crime. Instead, they recognize it as
the way one does that sort of thing. Road maps, tremendously abstract and
incomplete renderings of the reality they represent, are perfectly adequate for
even the sternest critic of incomplete representations. They contain just what
drivers need to get from one place to another (even when they mislead
pedestrians).
Since
any representation always and necessarily leaves out elements of reality, the
interesting and researchable questions are these: Which of the possible
elements are included? Who finds that selection reasonable and acceptable? Who
complains about it? What criteria do people apply in making those judgments?
Some criteria, to suggest the possibilities, are genre-related ("if it
doesn't include this [or does include that] it isn't really a novel [or
photograph or ethnography or table or . .] any more") or professional
("that's how real statisticians [or filmmakers or historians or . .
.] always do it").
Translation. We can think of translation, in a loose analogy, as a function which
maps one set of elements (the parts of reality makers want to represent) on to
another set of elements (the conventional elements available in the medium as
it is currently used). Anthropologists turn their field notes into standardized
ethnographic descriptions; survey researchers create tables and charts from
field interviews; historians combine their index cards into narratives,
character sketches, and analyses; filmmakers edit and splice raw footage into
shots, scenes, and movies. Users of representations never deal with reality
itself, but rather with reality translated into the materials and conventional
language of a particular craft.
Standard
ways of making representations give makers a standard set of elements to use in
constructing their artifacts, including materials and
their capabilities, such as film with a particular light sensitivity, so many
grains of light sensitive material and thus a particular degree of resolution
making possible the representation of elements of a certain size but not
smaller; conceptual elements, like the idea of plot or character in fiction;
and conventional units of meaning, like scenes or the wipes, fades, and other
devices for indicating the passage of time in a movie.
Makers
expect standard elements to have standard effects, so that consumers of
representations made with them will respond in standard ways. We might define
representations made when that condition obtains as "perfect." Since
the condition never obtains completely, the more interesting situation is when
it is met sufficiently that most people (and especially those whose opinion
counts, because they are powerful and important) respond near enough to what
makers intended that the result is "acceptable" to everyone involved.
The criteria defining acceptability vary considerably. Take the issue of the
"transparency" of the prose, tables, and pictures people use to
report scientific results. Both the makers and users of scientific representations
would like the verbal, numerical, and visual languages they use in their
articles and reports to be neutral standard elements, which add nothing to what
is being reported. Like a clear glass window, results could just be seen
through them without being affected by being seen through anything. Thomas Kuhn
(1970) has provided a reasoned argument that no such "transparent"
descriptive scientific language is possible, that all descriptions are
"theory-laden." More to the point, it is clear that even the width of
bars in a bar chart and the size and style of type in a table, let alone the
adjectives in an ethnography or historical narrative, affect our interpretation
of what is reported. Nevertheless, all these methods of portraying social
reality have been acceptable to scientific audiences, who taught themselves to
overlook or discount for those effects of the communicative elements they had
accepted as standard.
Standard
elements have the features already found in investigations of art worlds. They
make efficient communication of ideas and facts possible by creating a
shorthand known to everyone who needs the material. But they simultaneously
constrain what a maker can do, because every set of translations makes saying
some things easier but saying other things more difficult. To take a
contemporary example, social scientists conventionally represent race and
gender discrimination in job promotions in a multiple-regression equation, a
widely used standard statistical element which tells what proportion of the variance
in promotions is due to the independent effects of such separate variables as
race, gender; education, and seniority. But, as Charles Ragin
and his collaborators (Ragin, Meyer and Drass 1984) have shown, that way of representing
discrimination does not answer the questions either sociologists or courts ask.
It does not tell you, and cannot, how the chances for promotion of a young
white male differ from those of an older black female; it can only tell you the
weight of a variable like age or gender in an equation, not the same thing at
all. They advocate making another statistical element standard: the Boolean
algorithm (details can be found in the article just cited) which represents
discrimination as the differences in chances of promotion for a person with a
particular combination of those attributes as compared to mean rates for a
whole population. This is what social scientists and courts want to
know. (Related and complementary arguments are made in Lieberson
1985.)
Some
constraints on what a representation can tell us arise from the way
representational activity is organized. Organizationally constrained
budgets--time and attention as well as money--limit the potential of media and
formats. Books and movies are as long as people can afford to make them and as
other people will pay attention to. If makers had more money and people would
sit still for it, every ethnography might contain every field note and every
step in the analytic process (which Clyde Kluckhohn [Kluckhohn 1945] thought the only proper way to publish life
history materials).
Arrangement. The elements of the situation a representation describes, having been
chosen and translated, must be arranged in some order so that users can take
them in. The order given to elements is both arbitrary --you can always
see how it might have been done another way--and determined by standard
ways of doing things, just as the elements are. Arrangement makes narratives
out of random elements. It communicates such notions as causality, so that
viewers see the order of photographs on a gallery wall or in a book as meaningiul, see earlier pictures as the
"conditions" which produced the "consequences" depicted in
the later ones. When I tell a story (personal, historical, or sociological),
the earlier elements "explain" those that come later; a character's
actions in one episode become evidence for a personality which reveals itself
fully in later ones (see McCall 1985: 176-79). Students of statistical tables
and graphics are particularly sensitive to the effects of arrangement on
interpretations (Tufte 1983, 1990).
No
maker of representations of society can avoid this issue since, as many studies
have shown, users of representations see order and logic even in random
arrangements of elements. People find logic in the arrangement of photographs
whether the photographer intended it or not, and respond to typefaces as
"frivolous," "serious," or "scientific,"
independent of the text's content. Social scientists and methodologists have
yet to treat this as a serious problem; what to do about it is one of the
things that gets passed on as professional lore.
Interpretation. Representations exist fully only when someone is
using them, reading or viewing or listening and thus completing the
communication by interpreting the results and constructing for themselves the
reality the maker intended to show them. The road map exists when I use it to
get to the next town, Dickens's novels when I read them and imagine Victorian
England, a statistical table when I inspect it and evaluate the propositions it
suggests.
What
users know how to do interpretively thus becomes a major constraint on what a
representation can accomplish. Users must know and be capable of using the
conventional elements and formats of the medium and genre. That knowledge and
ability can never be taken for granted. Historical studies (e.g., Cohen 1982)
have shown that it was not until well into the nineteenth century that most
Americans were "numerate," capable of understanding and using
standard arithmetic operations. Anthropological studies show that what such
literary critics as Roland Barthes and Susan Sontag insist is the universal
appeal to our sense of reality embodied in still photographs and film is no
such thing. More professionalized fields expect users to become knowledgeable
consumers of representations through training in graduate or professional
school, although what is expected to be known varies from time to time. We
expect sociologists to acquire a certain amount of statistical sophistication
(for which read, in part, "ability to read formulae and tables"), but
few departments expect their students to know much about mathematical models.
Users
interpret representations by finding the answers to two kinds of questions in
them (on understanding photographs as potential answers to questions, see
Becker 1984). On the one hand, they want to know "the facts": what
happened at the battle of Bull Run, where the slum communities of Los Angeles are
located, what the median income of white-collar suburbs is, what the
correlation is between race, income, and education in the United States in
1980, what it is "really like" to be an astronaut--questions, at
every level of specificity, whose answers help people orient their actions. On
the other hand, users want answers to moral questions: not just what the
correlation is between race, education, and income, but also why the
correlation is what it is, whose fault it is, and what ought to be done about it.
They want to know whether the Civil War; and thus the battle of Bull Run, was
"necessary" or could have been prevented; whether astronaut John
Glenn is the kind of man who deserves to be President; and so on. On the most
superficial inspection, almost any factual question about society displays a
strong moral dimension, which accounts for the ferocious battles that so often
occur over what seem to be minor matters of technical interpretation. Arthur
Jensen's statistical mistakes upset people who are not statisticians.
Users and Makers
One
important organizational dimension is the difference between makers and users
of representations. We all play both parts frequently, telling stories and
listening to them, making causal analyses and reading them. As with any other
service relationship, the interests of the two sets of parties usually differ
considerably, particularly when, as is so often true, the makers are
professionals who make such representations full time for pay, and the users
are amateurs who use such representations occasionally, in an habitual and uninspected way (see the classic analysis of routine and
emergency in Hughes 1984: 316-25). A major difference between what we might
call representational worlds is which set of interests dominate.
In
worlds dominated by makers, representations take the form of an argument, a
presentation of just that material which makes the points the maker wants to
get across and no more (the current literature on the rhetoric of
scientific writing referred to earlier makes this point). When making
representations is professionalized, makers are likely to control the
circumstances of their making, for all the reasons Everett Hughes pointed out:
what is out of the ordinary for most people is what they do all day long. Even
if others have substantial power; professionals know so much more about how to
manipulate the process that they retain great control. Poweriul
others who support representation making over a long term typically learn
enough to overcome that disability, but casual users seldom do. So
professionally made representations embody the choices and interests of makers,
and indirectly of the people who can afford to hire them, and thus may well not
show the hills a pedestrian would like to know about.
In
user-dominated worlds, representations are used as files, archives
to be ransacked for answers to whatever questions any competent user might have
in mind. Think of the difference between the street map you buy at the store
and the detailed, annotated map I draw to show you how to get to my house.
Lay representations are typically more localized and more responsive to user
wishes than those made by professionals. (Another example is the difference
between amateur snapshots, which satisfy their makers' need for documents to
show to a circle of intimates who know everyone in the pictures, and the
photographs made by journalists, artists, and social scientists, oriented to
the standards of professional communities, discussed in Bourdieu
1965.)
Some
artifacts seem to be essentially files. A map,
after all, seems to be a simple repository of geographic and other facts users
can consult for their own purposes. In fact, maps can be made in a great
variety of ways, none of them a simple translation of reality, which has
allowed formerly voiceless peoples to claim that the maps that dominate world
thinking are "Eurocentric," the technical choices they embody leading
to results that arbitrarily make Europe and North America look like the center of the world. That is, those maps embody the
argument that Europe and
Conversely,
scholars routinely ignore the arguments contained in the scholarly papers they
cite, merely rifling the literature for results which can be put to their purposes.
In short, they use the literature not as a body of arguments but as a file of
results with which to answer questions the original authors never thought of.
So
arguments and files are not kinds of documents, but kinds of uses, ways of
doing something rather than objects or things.
Some Organizational Problems: Misrepresentation
Sociologists
in my tradition habitually seek an understanding of social organization by
looking for trouble, for situations in which people complain that things aren't
happening the way they are supposed to. You find the rules and understandings
governing social relations by hearing people complain when they are violated;
every field of representational activity is marked by periodic violent, heavily
moralistic debate over the way representations are made and used. The cries of
"it's not fair" and "he cheated" would sound like the games
of five-year-olds were the stakes not so much higher and the matters dealt with
so much more serious. Analysis of the problem of misrepresentation illustrates
the perspective on problems of method and technique this way of looking at
things opens up.
For
example, anthropology students at the
These
complaints exemplify the class of complaints which arise from self-interest:
"You made me [or mine] look bad!" The first assistant physician of
the mental hospital Erving Goffman studied complained
wistfully (in the footnote Goffman donated to him)
that for every "bad thing" Asylums noted he could have
produced a balancing "good thing": for the victimizations of patients
Goffman reported he would have told about the newly
painted cafeteria (Goffman 1961). The citizens and
politicians of Kansas City, Missouri, complained that the 1960 Census
underreported the city's population by a few thousand, thus keeping it from
sharing in the benefits state law gave to cities over half a million (a law
designed to help St. Louis some years earlier). Almost everyone whose
organization is filmed by Frederick Wiseman complains that they didn't realize
they were going to end up looking like that.
The
practice of more or less fictionalizing reportage, as practiced by Norman
Mailer, Truman Capote, and Tom Wolfe, among others, has provoked another kind
of complaint. The distinguished journalist John Hersey
(1980) pointed out that these writers not only made things up, but insisted on
the right to make them up in the name of a higher truth. Hersey
argues that that is all right in writing labeled as
fiction, which carries on its license the legend "THIS WAS MADE UP!",
but not in journalism. There:
the
writer must not invent. The legend on the license must read: NONE OF THIS WAS
MADE UP The ethics of journalism, if we can allow such a boon, must be based on
the simple truth that every journalist knows the difference between the
distortion that comes from subtracting observed data and the distortion that
comes from adding invented data.
Hersey adds, interestingly, that distortion by
omission is acceptable, because:
the
reader assumes the subtraction [of observed data] as a given of journalism and
instinctively hunts for the bias; the moment the reader suspects additions, the
earth begins to skid underfoot, for the idea that there is no way of knowing
what is real and what is not real is terrifying. Even more terrifying is the
notion that lies are truths.
But
many critics of print and broadcast journalism (e.g., Molotch
and Lester 1974; Tuchman 1978; Gitlin 1980) complain
exactly that it leaves out what people need to be able to assess issues
properly. And it's easy to imagine readers who would be as much at ease
"instinctively hunting out" additions as Hersey
is going after subtractions, as long as they knew that it needed to be done; in
fact, I imagine that many of Wolfe's readers, as well as newspaper readers and
television viewers, do just that.
Hersey, whether or not we accept his judgments, points
to the sociological core of conflicts over representations of social reality.
No report in any medium or genre, following no-matter-what strict rules--not
even our own most up-to-the-minute state-of-the-art inventions--will solve all
problems, answer all questions, or avoid all potential troubles. People who
create reports of any kind come to agree as to what is good enough, what
procedures need to be followed to achieve that good-enough condition, and that
any report made by following those procedures is authoritative enough for
ordinary purposes. That protects professional interests and lets the work and
that of the people who use it proceed, guaranteeing the results as acceptable,
believable, and capable of bearing the weight put on them by routine use for
other people's purposes. These standards define what is expected, so that users
can discount for the shortcomings of representations made according to them
and, at least, know what they are dealing with. Hersey's
analysis accepts this state of affairs as normal, standard, and proper. It is
what I had in mind when I said earlier that every way of making a
representation is "perfect": that it is good enough that people will
accept it as the best they can get under the circumstances and learn how to
work with its limitations. People claim that misrepresentation has occurred
when the standard procedures have not been followed, so that users are misled
by thinking a contract is in force which is actually not being honored.
People
also claim misrepresentation when their interests are harmed because the
routine use of acceptable standard procedures has left something out which, if
it were included, would change the interpretations of fact, but more
importantly the moral judgments, people make on the basis of the
representation. This usually happens when some historical shift makes new
voices audible. The people Mead studied did not read anthropological monographs
and so could not criticize them, but their descendants can and do.
In
either case, the problem of misrepresentation is a problem of social
organization, of a bargain once good enough for everyone being redefined as
inadequate. A large number of problems which crosscut genres and media can be
similarly analyzed in organizational terms: the ethics of representation, the
problem of the authority of a representation, or the influence of context on
content.
Conclusion
This
all implies a relativistic view of knowledge, at least to this degree: The same
reality can be described in an enormous number of ways, since the descriptions
can be answers to any of a multitude of questions. We can agree in principle
that our procedures ought to let us get the same answer to the same question,
but in fact we only ask the same question when the circumstances of social
interaction and organization have produced consensus on that point. That happens
when the conditions of people's lives lead them to see certain problems as
common, as requiring certain kinds of representations of social reality on a
routine basis, and thus lead to the development of professions and crafts that
make those representations for use. As a result, some questions get asked and
answered while others, every bit as good, interesting, worthwhile, and even
scientifically important are ignored, at least until society changes enough
that the people who need those answers come to command the resources that will
let them get an answer. Until then, pedestrians are going to be surprised by
*This
paper reports on work done with the help of a grant from the System Development
Foundation of Palo Alto, California.
The
members of the research group at
References
Bazerman, Charles. 1988. Shaping Written
Knowledge: The Genre and the Activity of the Experimental Article in Science.
Becker,
Howard S. 1974. "Photography and Sociology." Studies in the
Anthropology of Visual Communication 1:3-26.
________.
1982. Art Worlds.
Clifford,
James. 1988. "On Ethnographic Authority." Pp. 21-
Cohen,
Patricia Cline.
Geertz, Clifford. 1983. Local Knowledge: Further
Essays in Interpretive Anthropology.
Gitlin, Todd. 1980. The Whole World Is Watching.
Goffman, Erving. 1961. Asylums.
Garden City: Doubleday.
Gusfield, Joseph. 1981. The Culture of
Public Problems; rinking, Driving and the Symbolic
Order.
Hersey, John. 1980. "The Legend on the
License." Yale Review 70:1-25.
Hughes,
Kluckhohn,
Kuhn,
Thomas. 1970. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions.
Latour, Bruno. 1983. "Give Me a Laboratory and I
Will Raise the World." in Science Observed, edited by Karen Knorr-Cetina and Michael Mulkay.
Latour, Bruno. 1986. "Visualization and
Cognition: Thinking with Eyes and Hands." Knowledge and Society
6:1-40.
________.
1988. The Pasteurization of
________,
and Françoise Bastide. 1986. "Writing
Science--Fact and Fiction: The Analysis of the Process of Reality Construction
Through the Application of Socio-Semiotic Methods to Scientific Texts."
Pp. 51-
________,
and Steve Woolgar. 1979. Laboratory Life: The
Social Construction of Scientific Fact.
Lieberson, Stanley. 1985. Making It Count.
McCall,
Michal. 1985. "Life History and Social Change." Studies in
Symbolic Interaction 6:169-82.
Molotch, Harvey, and Marilyn Lester. 1974.
"News as Purposive Behavior: On the Strategic
Use of Routine Events, Accidents, and Scandals." American Journal of
Sociology 39:101-12.
Ragin, Charles C., Susan Meyer, and Kriss
Drass. 1984. "Assessing Discrimination: A
Boolean Approach." American Sociological Review 49:221-234.
Tuchman,
Gaye. 1978. Making News: A Study in the Construction of Reality.
Tufte, Edward R. 1983. The Visual Display of
Quantitative Information.
________.
1990. Envisioning Information.
Página creada y actualizada
por grupo "mmm".
Para cualquier cambio, sugerencia,etc.
contactar con: fores@uv.es
© a.r.e.a./Dr.Vicente Forés López
Universitat de València Press
Creada: 15/09/2000 Última
Actualización: 15/06/2001
©Copyright
http://www.uv.es/~fores/programa/becker_society.html
Academic year 2008/2009
© a.r.e.a./Dr.Vicente Forés López
©Macarena
García Mora
Universitat de València Press
garmoma2@alumni.uv.es
Página creada: 1/11/08