Professional Documents
Culture Documents
To cite this article: Anika Liversage (2012): Gender, Conflict and Subordination within the
Household: Turkish Migrant Marriage and Divorce in Denmark, Journal of Ethnic and Migration
Studies, 38:7, 1119-1136
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/1369183X.2012.681455
Anika Liversage
Anika Liversage is Senior Researcher at SFI*the Danish National Centre for Social Research, Copenhagen.
Correspondence to: Dr A. Liversage, SFI, Herluf Trolles Gade 11, DK 1052, Copenhagen, Denmark. E-mail:
ani@sfi.dk.
ISSN 1369-183X print/ISSN 1469-9451 online/12/071119-18 # 2012 Taylor & Francis
http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/1369183X.2012.681455
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A. Liversage
The norms and practices of such transnational villages, to use Levitts apt term,
are not wholesale transplantations of the norms and practices of the original sending
country; instead, new norms and practices are created in the post-migratory context.
Regarding this process, Peter Kivisto writes that [t]ransnational migrants forge their
sense of identity and their community, not out of a loss or mere replication, but as
something that is at once new and familiar*a bricolage constructed of cultural
elements both from the homeland and the receiving nation (Kivisto 2001: 568,
emphasis in original). Discussing the same phenomenon, migration scholar Thomas
Faist states that such immigrant communities link [across borders] through
exchange, reciprocity, and solidarity to achieve a high degree of social cohesion,
and a common repertoire of symbolic and collective representations (2000: 208).
With such a choice between different cultural elements from both the sending and
the receiving countries, however, what determines which elements are chosen? This
question is important, as it may have implications for the differing power and
privileges of men and women. The two genders may thus have different interests in
what form of bricolage is forged in such transnational immigrant communities.
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stigmatising nature of divorce among many Turks made finding male interviewees, in
particular, extremely difficult. Consequently, the material consists of seven male and
18 female interviews. In line with other divorce studies, for practical reasons I did not
attempt to interview both parties to a dissolved marriage (Hopper 1993).
As a methodology I use life-story interviews. I asked interviewees to tell me your
story, leaving them ample space for creating their own narrative constructions
(Liversage 2009a). Subsequent questions developed from the interviewees own
narratives, as I asked them to elaborate on topics that they had posited themselves.
The interviews were conducted in either Turkish or Danish, and taped and
transcribed.
Life-story interviews are retrospective constructions. They are shaped both by
the narrators knowledge of subsequent developments (e.g. that the marriage they
had expected to last had failed) and the narrators desire to present him- or herself in
a positive way (Holstein and Gubrium 2000). The body of narratives nevertheless
provides a base for investigating how household culture construction varies according
to, and depending on, gender and migratory status. This approach yields insights into
processes unfolding in domestic space, processes that are otherwise methodologically
difficult to investigate given their inherently private nature.
With interviewees aged between 24 and 55 years, the material spans from
women who married labour migrants in the 1970s to young men and women
entering established immigrant communities in the early 2000s. Their experiences
naturally differ, as some marriages lasted for years before souring, while other
couples separated after a short time, having barely created a household culture of
their own. Social, geographical and individual differences likewise mark the
individual stories.
In many interviews, conflicts over the construction of household culture*narrated
from differently gendered perspectives*were evident, spurring the focus of this
article. In my investigation of this issue, I chose not to present a number of shorter
extracts from the larger body of interviews so as to avoid dismembering and
homogenising individual experiences (Gullestad 1996; Inowlocki and Lutz 2000).
Instead, I select and analyse two interviews in depth, as this focus on two individuals
enables me to show the complexities of two single lives as they develop over time,
starting with the years around the wedding and migration to those following the
divorce.
The two protagonists in this article*a woman and a man*bear the pseudonyms
Ays e and Halil. Both arrived in Denmark to marry spouses raised in that country.
They thus share the position of newcomers to Denmark, even though they speak
from differently gendered positions. In the interviews, Ays e and Halil both talk about
their spouses. These two people*Ays es husband and Halils wife*consequently also
figure centrally in the analysis, as constructed in the narratives of their former
spouses. Given that household space is gendered in feminine terms, Halils wife in
particular (more so than Ays es husband) plays a prominent part in the analysis.
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A. Liversage
Ayse
Coming to Denmark in 1996, Ays e moved in with her mother-in-law (Ays es fatherin-law had died several years ealier) and became part of an extended household for
the next eight years. While extended households can act as a source of economic and
practical support for newlywed couples, they may also socialise young brides into
their husbands families, sometimes through harsh subordination. Ays e found herself
in such unwelcoming surroundings. She said: My mother-in-law was very bad. But
we were forced to be in the same house. Thus Ays e discovered that she was not to live
solely with her spouse but as a newcomer to an already established family entity,
within which Ays e found it difficult to affect household conditions in her own favour.
Speaking in a voice thick with emotion, she said that her husband so much did what
his mother told him to do. He did not ask me about anything. He listened only to his
mother*because his mother was always right.
A strong bond between mothers and grown sons at the expense of the marital bond
has also been observed in Turkish family studies (Fisek 1982). Pitted against her
husbands deference to his mother, Ays e held little power to have her own way. This
situation was only exacerbated by Ays es not working. She was thus fully economically
dependent on her spouse and her mother-in-law.
Halil
Upon arriving in Denmark in 2001, Halil also came to an extended household. As he
was living with his wifes parents, he thus entered a matrilocal extended household
(as opposed to the conventional patriarchal constructs), which is rarely found in
Turkey (Aykan and Wolf 2002). Such families, instead, spring from the migratory
context*a practical solution to the housing situation of young newlywed couples
with a male marriage-migrant spouse (Charsley 2005a; Liversage and Jakobsen 2010).
Even though Halils parents-in-law treated him well, he nevertheless found the
situation awkward. When sharing accommodation with in-laws You cannot be
comfortable. You cannot have your meal in peace. You cannot relax when you have
had a shower . . .. You cannot walk around in a towel or a bath robe, as [the parentsin-law] are present.
The extended household living also interfered with his wifes transfer of loyalty to
her new husband. After all, both she and Halil were expected to show deference to her
father, the most senior male in the household. As a man, however, Halil had the
resources to change his situation for the better. As he had found unskilled work upon
arriving in Denmark, and as his Danish-raised wife was also working, they were
a dual-earner couple. Such couples are commonly formed when the man, not the
woman, is the arriving marriage migrant (Jakobsen and Liversage 2012). Halil
also found an evening job to augment their income, soon enabling the young couple
to buy a flat of their own, so that, within a few months of Halils arrival, they had
established their own nuclear household.
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Ayse
Ays e was not only a minority in her extended household but also a newly arrived
migrant with few resources. As she put it herself, I had no relatives and I spoke no
Danish*I had just arrived. Regarding her marriage, she said that she was treated like
a maid*not an uncommon experience for daughters-in-law who enter extended
households (Delaney 1991; Yakal-Camoglu 2007). Not surprisingly, then, Ayse made
the following statement about the distribution of household work:
Everything was left to me. Both of them [the husband and the mother-in-law] acted
as if they were guests in the house. I did everything. They would come and might
not like what I had been doing. And then they would say That is not good enough,
and they would shove me and beat me. They treated me very badly.
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A. Liversage
speaking the majority language placed her in a situation of isolation and dependency.
Dependent on her new husband and his kin, she was even subjected to physical abuse,
with the husband beating her either of his own accord or on his mothers orders. In
sum, she had little ability to affect the bricolage culture of her household.
Halil
The situation was both similar to and different in Halils two-person household.
As a marriage migrant, Halil had also left much of his social network behind upon
migration; furthermore, his lack of Danish skills made him need his wifes aid for
actions such as contacting the Danish authorities. But he was also a man and thus
expecting to be head of the household.
In contrast to Ays es husband, however, Halil had a wife who strongly tried to
shape life in her and Halils household. As Halils wife was also working, she expected
some sharing of household tasks. Halil followed his wifes wishes to some extent, but
grudgingly:
When she [Halils wife] washed dishes, I dried them. But there was not the respect there should have been. I quoted a saying*partly in fun, partly seriously:
If the woman is really a woman, her husband should not be allowed to enter
the kitchen. Because the woman rules in the kitchen*no man wants to be
there.
Despite their both working, Halil nevertheless questioned the legitimacy of his
wifes household demands on him. He also said that Danish-raised wives generally
failed to provide properly for their husbands*e.g. through daily cooking*and
stated that this failure often caused marital discontent. When a marriage-migrant
husband returned from work, Halil said, a common exchange with his Danish-raised
wife could be:
Husband: Have you cooked?
Wife:
I had no time for that*make something yourself .
Husband: Okay. And the next day is the same and the same and the same. And in
the end you say: Wife, cook me a meal. So I dont have to eat a cold
meal when I return from work. But then the wife says: I will not cook
for you. And then the marriage becomes cold.
This dialogue, as created by Halil, can be read as the conflict-laden collision between
different (stereotypically Danish and Turkish) gender norms, constructed from Halils
male Turkish viewpoint: the man shows patience but eventually (and, in Halils view,
fully justifiably) becomes frustrated over not having his gendered expectations met
and demands his male right of female service in the home. In this construction, it is
the womans refusal to live up to his expectations which causes the marriage to
deteriorate.
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Halil, instead, longed for a relationship free of such marital conflicts. In his view,
he would have no reason to battle over chores had he married a good wife*i.e. one
who would voluntarily live up to his understanding of female subservience:
There are [Turkish] women in Denmark who are like angels, who will die for their
husband: I will die for you*are you hungry? Is there anything I can do for you?
I will be to you like a sacrificial lamb [a common Turkish expression]; Should
I make you some tea? Are no such women born? Yes, they are*but it is not
possible to find them.
According to Halil, neither the majority of Turkish women raised in Denmark nor
his wife lived up to such expectations, the legitimacy of which he never questioned.
This example thus epitomises the very different views and expectations that can
be brought together in the households of transnational married couples. Halil in
effect said that his wife was not a good wife, having been corrupted by life in
the West. This desire to marry uncorrupted wives is indeed one motivation for male
migrants wishing to marry wives from their former home country (Timmerman
2006).
Halil also stated that a man can only take so much of what he considered
unwifely behaviour. As his wife presumably found her own demands justifiable and
thus stuck to them, the couple began continually quarrelling*as he put it*all
through the night. Halil even hinted at having occasionally acted violently towards
his wife, as he said that the police had been called on several occasions.
While Halil retained his physical power and male sense of entitlement, Halils wife,
on her part, called on whatever resources she could muster. Halil reported not only
that his wife drew support from her family but also that, during their conflicts, both
his wife and her family told him the following:
You wont get the residency permit. We can expel you. We can make a complaint.
The [marriage migrant] man is under that kind of pressure . . .. I have many friends
and we talk about what we experience. And being threatened with the card*Do as
we say: leave, come; stay at home; leave!*that happens all over.
Halil in essence states that threats of not receiving the card can make a marriage
migrant man behave almost like a well-trained dog. This marriage clearly illustrates
the coexistence of power geometries on different scales that, in his case, contradicted
one another. In transnational marriages, one spouse can draw on the power of the
country of residence, and control whether the marriage-migrant spouse will be
allowed to stay or not. While in many European countries independent residency is
achieved after two or three years of marriage, thus alleviating this power differential
relatively early in a marriage, Denmark is different. After a tightening of migration
regulations in 2002, a marriage migrant must wait seven years to obtain an
independent residence permit.1 During this period the gendered power often held by
males may be undermined if they are marriage migrants.
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A. Liversage
The new legal restrictions had implications for Halils marriage, which ended in
2005. While, a few years earlier, his four years of marriage would have resulted in an
independent residency permit, this was no longer the case. The consequences of the
legal changes were also evident in the broader sample, which included women who
had endured violent relationships for years. They feared what would become of them
if they were forcibly returned to Turkey due to an early divorce. Such experiences
illustrate how the laws of nation-states continue to hold great importance in the lives
of immigrants with transnational ties.
Ayse
In Ays es extended household, she found not only that she had to do all the chores
but also that her mobility outside the household was strongly circumscribed. For her,
work*for which she had few marketable skills in any case*was out of the question,
because her husband and her mother-in-law did not even permit me to leave the
house.
While most other female marriage migrant interviewees in this research project
had experienced greater personal autonomy than Ays e, her experience of having been
kept away from language school and other outside activities is not unique (Kelek
2006; Liversage 2009b). In her ethnographic book about Turkish village life, Delaney
(1991) describes how young women may not be autonomously mobile, because they
usually need izin*permission*to venture into public space. This need for izin is
part of a larger system in which younger females are always under the protection and
control of a man. For unmarried young women, this man is usually the father, and
after marriage this control passes to the husband and his family, including his
mother. Womens need for male izin was formerly embedded in Turkish legislation:
until 1991, a married woman needed her husbands permission to seek employment
outside the house (Mu ftu ler-Bac 1999).
In addition to Ays es being barred from independent access to public Danish
space, including from attending publically available Danish language classes, she
was also unable to prevent her husband from spending much of his time in that space:
He had a pizza shop. He left in the morning, after sleeping until the opening hour.
Often he left to go to work, or he would go to a friend . . .. I began to get suspicious
about his having a Danish [female] friend. But I could not prove it. He said that
people who said so were lying.
1129
While Ays es husband could severely restrict her access to public space, Ays e could not
even learn where he went when he left the house, much less keep him from leaving.
Halil
As a man, Halil likewise wanted to venture into public space. Halils wife, however (in
stark contrast to Ays e), had entirely different resources for affecting Halils mobility.
Halil said that marriage migrants were dependent on their wives, so that:
You cannot go out the way you want. You sit with three friends and chat, and then
the phone rings. I pick it up*it is my wife: Where are you?*I am sitting here
with my friends, chatting. And then she yells so loudly in the phone that my friends
can hear it*and they pretend they dont hear it so as not to embarrass me . . . And
she insults me and uses hard words, and I say, Okay, darling*Ill be back in five
minutes; Im coming . . . That is something that puts you in a bad mood. You stay
at home, but as time passes, you have had enough. Because you are a man. It is your
right to go out.
In rural Turkey, men spend a great deal of time away from the household, usually in
the company of other men (Delaney 1991). Halil, too, wanted to enjoy the male
privilege of spending time with male friends in public space. However, his wife felt
otherwise and had the power to pull him back to the household, especially with the
ever-present threat of his not getting the card.
Ayse
For Ays e, neither unhappiness nor maltreatment led her to divorce: it was her
husbands infidelity. Although she was mostly confined to the home, mysterious
phone calls and gossip gradually convinced Ays e that her husband had a second
family with a Danish woman. She even learned that her husband had fathered a
child, who was born between his and Ays es two children*information that also
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A. Liversage
made it back to her parents in Turkey. Isolated in Denmark, Ays e could do little.
However, when her father moved to Germany in 2004, her position changed, showing
that mediated communication cannot replace physical proximity:
I phoned my father, and explained the situation. But he did not want me to leave
my husband. He wanted me to continue: Do try, Ill talk to him, itll be all right,
stuff like that, he said. No, it wont be all right to continue. Either you come
[to Denmark] or else . . . Ill find some pills, Ill do something, Ill commit suicide,
I said. When I said that, he had to [come and help].
Rather than leave the marriage without her fathers support, Ays e threatened suicide.
Because this strategy obtained her fathers (albeit reluctant) support, Ays e not only
received practical help with leaving her husband (and mother-in-law) but also
avoided fully breaching patriarchal structures. Obtaining such parental support is not
a given when Turkish immigrant women wish to divorce (Akpinar 2003).
Ays es father helped her and her two children to move into a refuge for battered
women. Having thus left her husband, Ays e could now obtain social and legal
support from the Danish authorities, both for the divorce and for managing her life
thereafter as a single mother. Having arrived in 1996, she had already obtained a
permanent residency permit by 1999 and was thus not affected by the legislative
changes of 2002.
Halil
As time passed, Halils married life became increasingly acrimonious. In the
household both spouses clamoured for a superior position, one based on gender
domination and the other on the power of residency. With both remaining unwilling
to accept the other spouses model of marital life (with its corresponding set of
expectations), the conflicts escalated until, according to Halil, the situation came to
the following head:
[My wife] threatened me all the time about getting the card. Pressure, pressure,
all the time . . .. One time, as she said it, I took out my wallet and drew out my
J-card*that is a temporary card. I showed it to her and said: See: it is valid for one
more year. Now I will rest my head for a year. So*you keep it [the residency
permit], and keep the child. I do not want you. And I do not want the card.
And then I left the house with just the clothes I was wearing.
As an independent male, Halil did not seek anybodys support for leaving his wife.
As an able-bodied male he had no recourse to public support, and as he had no social
support network, his exit from the marriage put him in a vulnerable situation.
He spent about three month homeless: I slept in the car. I slept on the beach. I had
nobody, and I did not want to trouble anybody. Halil then found a job as a truck
driver and used the vehicle for accommodation until he finally found a flat
of his own. At the time of our interview*about 10 months after he had left his
1131
wife*he was in a battle over custody of their young son. He hoped at least to gain
visiting rights, which might also improve his chances of remaining in Denmark
despite his having been divorced before the end of the seven-year probationary
period. Otherwise, he would have to return to Turkey permanently.
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A. Liversage
a month, she soon returned to Denmark and moved in with her parents. She pleaded
for Halil to take her back but to no avail.
Halil clearly states that European-raised males and females with Turkish parents may
have a hard time compromising with one another. This observation is supported by a
1133
survey on young Danish-Turks (Necef 2000). Asked whether they prefer Turkish
or Danish views on various issues, both men and women give similar responses
on topics such as social security and childrearing, where both genders prefer Danish
and Turkish views, respectively. However, on issues such as womens rights
and divorce, substantially more women prefer Danish views. These gendered
differences indicate a gender struggle among Turkish youth in Denmark (Necef
2000: 28).
Conclusion
Taken together, Ays es and Halils stories give us insights into some of the tensions
and conflicts that may arise when households, formed through transnational
marriages, are to construct their own bricolage household culture. While the two
households were private spaces deeply influenced by social practices from Turkey,
they were also*albeit in different ways*affected by Denmark, the country of
residence. The comparison between Ays es and Halils stories also demonstrates that,
while the Turkish patriarchal structures empower husbands, the Danish residency
status empowers the non-migrant spouse.
In the case of Ays es marriage, the husband held both these positions of power,
placing him in the dominant role. In the case of Halils marriage, the two spouses
each held one dominant and one subordinate position, leading to a stalemate of
protracted and intense conflict. Thus this analysis illustrates how different social
categories intersect in specific ways, with gendered experiences interdependent on
individual embedding within other systems of categorisation and other power
geometries.
As to gendered practices within the households, Ays es husband was able to use his
doubly dominant position to keep Danish egalitarian practices well outside his
household, thus safeguarding his own privileged position. By contrast, Halils wife
sought to promote such egalitarian practices, actively fighting for the creation of a
household culture in which household work was shared. In this way, Halils wife tried
to avoid the double shift that migrant women often suffer when host-society
structures mandate their entry into paid work, even though their household
responsibilities largely remain unchanged (Alicea 1997; Bolak 1997).
Certainly the comparison of the two cases shows, first, the complexities and
conflicts that may be implicated in constructing the bricolage of household culture in
such marriages and, second, the centrality of the gender of the marriage migrant.
Returning to Parrado and Flippens (2005) observation that we must still learn more
about the processes that determine how gender relations and expectations evolve
under conditions of migration, this article reveals that patriarchal structures may be
simultaneously reinforced and undermined, depending on specific micro-contexts.
While partially supporting the findings that women can be subject to high levels of
patriarchal subordination in post-migratory transnational villages, this article also
shows that local circumstances can partially reverse this situation. As individual
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A. Liversage
women draw on available resources to shape their scope of agency in their own
household, they may achieve results*although not always the desired ones.
Note
[1]
If employed, divorcing Turkish marriage migrants may be able to remain in Denmark before
the probationary period expires, due to a little-known agreement between Turkey and the
European Communities dated 12 September 1963 (Ministry for Refugees, Immigrants and
Integration 2010).
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