Nathan Palmer

Nathan is a senior lecturer at Georgia Southern University. He writes about teaching sociology on his blog SociologySource.org.

Follow

|

It’s Easy To Feel Small at ASA

In this piece, Nathan Palmer uses the concept of reference groups and social contexts to explain why it is easy to feel insignificant when attending an academic conference.

With brave faces (and often glass egos) sociologists have been walking the halls of the Montreal Convention Center for the annual meeting of the American Sociological Association this last weekend. It is easy to feel small at “ASA.” You might think being surrounded by sociology students, professors, and scholars would be a joyous occasion; like Comic-Con for soc’ nerds.

In truth, ASA is often a nerve racking experience that can, if you’re not careful, leave you feeling small and insignificant. This is not because sociologists are petty mean spirited scientists. No, what leaves many sociologists feeling small is the social context that you walk into when you attend an academic national conference.

I Usually Feel Like a Sociology Expert

Like most sociologists, I spend most of my time talking about sociology to novices. In the classroom, it is easy to feel like an expert because compared to students, I often am. When sociological topics come up in conversation with my colleagues from other departments or with my friends and family outside of academia, I can be fairly certain that I know at least as much as they do about the topic. I’m not smarter than they are, I’m just more of a sociology expert than they are. After studying sociology for 9 years, teaching it for 11, and doing sociological research for 13, it would be weird if I wasn’t an expert on a few topics in the field.

Read More


| | |

Confessions of a Secret Emo Kid

Chester Bennington, lead singer of the band Linkin Park, took his life last week. In this essay, Nathan Palmer reflects on the social pressure he felt to hide his feelings (and love for Linkin Park) and how he came to embrace being an “emo kid.”

I had to read the headline three times before my brain could make sense of it. It knocked the wind out of me when it finally registered. Chester Bennington was gone. He took his own life.

When my emotions flooded in and took over, I did what I had done so many times before; I put my headphones on and listened to Linkin Park. Chester and his bandmates composed songs that remain the soundtrack to my feelings. Chester’s lyrics of pain and trauma had always carried weight, but now they were haunting.

I have been a Linkin Park fan since their debut album, but I’m ashamed to admit that I kept my fandom secret. In 2000 when their first album came out, the band was part of the rap/rock hybrid genre called “Nu Metal” which included cheesy acts like Limp Bizkit and Kid Rock. I liked almost all of these Nu Metal artists, but the entire genre quickly fell out of favor. Nu Metal became a guilty pleasure that I kept between me and my iPod.

Linkin Park’s sound evolved, and as their Nu Metal peers faded away, they continued to make great music (their One More Light was the number one album on the Billboard 200 last month). Despite their popularity, or perhaps because of it, critics mocked Linkin Park for most of their career. Online and amongst the people I hung out with in my youth, being a fan of Linkin Park wasn’t cool. Linkin Park fans were thought to be “emo kids" who moped around with black hair and finger nails blaming everyone other than themselves for how awful they perpetually felt. “Cheer up emo kid” memes tied to the band (like this one) were used to smack down anyone who dared to give voice to their feelings. As soon as I learned of the grief Linkin Park fans faced, I kept my love of the band a secret.

I’m a Two Faced Man

I have (at least) two selves; the one that I am on the inside and the one that I show other people. When I was a little kid I, for the most part, said what I thought, felt what I felt, and did what I wanted to do. As I grew up and began to care about what others thought of me, I learned that there were parts of my self that I would be ridiculed, ostracized, or punished for expressing. If I wanted to fit in, be popular, impress people, or just be left alone, I had to craft a public persona that conformed to my friends and family’s expectations.

Read More


|

I Travel to Become Someone New

In this piece Nathan Palmer asks us to consider who we are and how traveling to a new place for vacation may allow us to become someone different.

Greetings from 60,000 feet. As I type these words, I’m flying back home from my summer vacation. In addition to replaying the highlights from the trip in my head, I’ve spent the last few hours noticing how good I feel. Heading home, I’m relaxed, tan, and eager to get back to my life. Vacations are wonderful because we get to do things we don’t normally do; on my trip I hiked to the top of a mountain, zip lined, and ate lots of delicious foods. But despite how much I enjoyed those experiences, I don’t think the deep sense of relief I’m currently feeling came from what I did on my trip. I think it is what I didn’t do on my trip that has me feeling serene.

I love taking vacations because I get to be someone else for a few days. I mean that literally. When we take vacations, especially if we can travel far from home or to another country, we can become a different person. That might sound looney, but let me explain. First, we have to talk about where our sense of self comes from in the first place.

Who Are You?

Each of us has an idea of who we are; sociologists call this our self-concept. For instance, I am a sociology professor, a husband/father, a Nebraskan, a white guy, etc. I also think I have a personality. I’m generally a jovial, curious, and introverted person. That’s my self-concept, but the question that sociologists have been asking for generations is, where does my sense of self come from?

Read More


| |

Even an Uber-Bad CEO Isn’t Responsible For All of a Company’s Problems

In this piece, Nathan Palmer argues that the resignation of Uber CEO Travis Kalanick will likely not solve the companies systemic and complex problems.

Last week, Travis Kalanick, the controversial CEO of Uber resigned. Under Kalanick’s leadership, Uber grew into a disruptive international force worth an estimated $69 billion at the time of his departure. Both Kalanick’s leadership and the company during his tenure were defined by their blatant disregard of the traditional rules of business, government regulators, and social norms in general. During Kalanick’s reign, Uber also developed a workplace culture that many of its employees found hostile and sexist. A blog post by former Uber engineer, Susan Fowler about sexual harassment and over 200 allegations of sexual harassment by Uber employees, prompted the company to commission an investigation by former Attorney General Eric Holder and Tammy Albarrán. At a meeting to go over the Holder-Albarrán report, Uber board member David Bonderman made a sexist joke and Bonderman resigned shortly after that.

In the news media’s coverage of Uber’s rise and its current struggles, the personality of Travis Kalanick has been both the secret ingredient behind its success and the toxic element behind its company culture. For instance, in February Biz Carson of Business Insider said that “Uber would not exist without Travis Kalanick.” and that “[Kalanick] has the soul of the business in him and Uber was crafted in his form.” Articles in published on CNN, Slate, and The Telegraph said Kalanick personified Uber and its company culture. Randall Stross in a New York Times Op-Ed went even further, saying that the company’s cultural values are Kalanick’s culture values and that, “The entire mess that Uber is in is, ultimately, his doing.”

As a sociologist, I don’t think this is a fair depiction of Travis Kalanick or Uber.

Read More


|

Essentialism: It Is What It Is And That’s It

“Professor Palmer, do sociologists think everything is a social construction?” a student asked me. I laughed; it was one of the “don’t be silly” varieties. In truth, I was stalling. Standing in front of 300 students, I needed a moment to rack my brain. “No… well?… Um.” I cocked my head to the side and squinted in anticipation of how my answer was going to land, “Yes.” My answer was a declarative statement, but it sounded like a question. “I’m Ron Burgundy?”

In successive weeks, my intro students and I discussed how race, ethnicity, sex, gender, and sexuality were all social constructions (Omi and Winant 1994; Ridgeway 2011). Before that we chewed on the idea that every symbol is inherently empty until we socially construct a meaning to fill it with (Zerubavel 1991). Before that we learned about symbolic interactionists who argue that reality is a social construction (Beger and Luckmann 1967).

In truth, every aspect of human life is at least partially a social construction. That’s a bold claim, and I’m prepared to back it up, but before we do that, we need to talk about two opposing ideas essentialism and constructionism.

Read More


| |

I Can’t Believe What I Did Last Night: What Will People Think of Me?

In this piece Nathan Palmer shows us how the common phrase, “I can’t believe what I did last night“ what will people think of me?” illustrates two separate sides of our sense of self.

We’ve all been there. Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, anxiously reviewing each moment from the night before. Replaying the scenes over and over hoping to find some way to frame our actions so that we can save face. “I can’t believe what I did last night,” the voice inside our heads chastises us, “what will people think of me?” While in that moment we may not be able to see it, the source of our anguish stems from the two sides of our self.

Separating Our I From Our Me

The sociologist George Herbert Mead ([1934] 2015) argued that our sense of self is not something we are born with, but rather it is something created by interacting with others. At birth we have no sense of self; we have no ability to distinguish ourselves from those around us. Our parents and other caregivers teach us that we have a name and act as if we are a unique person, distinct from the rest of society. After enough social interaction and time for our brains to cognitively develop, we learn to see ourselves as a person that is a part of a community, but separate from it. This is what Mead called our I.[1]

A person’s I is the part of their sense of self that is the active doer in the moment. For instance, at this very moment, I am sitting in my office looking at my computer screen with my fingers dancing across my keyboard as I watch these words appear before me. With an I a person can perceive the world around them from behind their eyes, but nothing more beyond that. Even with a fully developed I we cannot yet understand how others see us.

“You can’t see me!” My two-year-old shouted at me with her hands covering her eyes. My little girl had developed her sense of I. She knew that she had a perspective on the world, but she hadn’t yet learned that everyone else had a perspective on the world as well. Therefore, when she covered her eyes, she concluded that the entire universe had also gone dark.

Read More


|

Discrimination Isn’t Always Bad

In this post Nathan Palmer discusses how everyone stereotypes and discriminates every day and asks us to consider when stereotyping and discriminating is unjust or oppressive.

Last year I spoke on a panel during a campus-wide event on ending gender discrimination and patriarchy. Afterwards, I was walking to my car when I heard a young lady’s voice in the background, “excuse me, Professor Palmer?” I turned toward her and as soon as our eyes met she asked, “Can I ask you a quick question?” I smiled and nodded yes. Her black t-shirt had the words “Stop Stereotyping. End Discrimination” written in bright red letters. “Thank you. I liked what you had to say in there and I wanted to ask you, do you think that stereotypes and discrimination will ever go away?”

“That’s very nice of you to say. Thank you.” I told her with a warm wry smile. “But let me ask you something before I answer your question.” My subtle smile now stretched from ear to ear. “Why are you asking me this question?” Her head cocked to the side and she looked stunned. “Well. Um.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “Well, I guess I asked you because you’re a professor and you just spoke on that panel, so I assumed you’d be knowledgeable.” I nodded along with her as each word came out. “Precisely,” I said pointing in the air as if she had just made a breakthrough discovery. “We’ve never met before have we?” I asked. She shook her head no. “Then from one way of looking at it,” I said with a sly eager tone, “didn’t you feel comfortable asking me your question because of the stereotypes in your head about professors?”

A cautious smile began to emerge on her face and slowly it grew into a huge grin. “I get it!” she practically shouted. “I’m stereotyping you now and discriminating against you based on you being a professor.” “Yes!” I exclaimed and we high-fived. We stood there in the parking lot for the next half hour unpacking her questions and what it meant for society in general.

Read More


| |

“I Can’t Walk In These Shoes”: How Culture Manifests in the Material World

In this piece, Nathan Palmer asks us to consider how the non-material aspects of our culture can be seen in the material objects of our culture.

“Can you drop me off at the front door, I can’t walk in these shoes?” my wife asked on the way to a recent wedding ceremony. As we sipped drinks during the reception that followed, my wife told me she was cold. I offered her my suit jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and wrapped my arm around her. At the end of the night, I offered to pick her up at the door so she could avoid the walk and the cold outside.

This routine, which my wife and I have enacted many times, is mundane. However, by “seeing the familiar as strange” and critically thinking about the mundanity of our daily lives, we can uncover the influences that society has on our individual lives. Believe it or not, this mundane routine can help us see how the non-material aspects of culture manifest themselves inside the material objects of our culture.

The Two Sides of Culture

Every culture contains material and non-material elements. The ideas, beliefs, values, ideologies, and rituals are the central non-material elements of culture. These are the aspects of culture that clearly live inside our minds. Material culture, on the other hand, exists outside of our heads. This would include, the clothing, foods, tools, and every other object common to the people of a particular culture.

Non-Material Cultural Aspects of Gender Performance

An ideology central to many cultures contends that men and women are distinct and separate categories (Blair-Loy 2003). From this mindset, the differences between men and women lead to differences in how each behaves. Masculinity is a collection of personal characteristics and behaviors that our culture teaches us to associate with males. Likewise, femininity consists of the characteristics and behaviors we assign to and expect of females. As we’ve talked on this site before, both the distinction between males and females and the corresponding expectations about masculinity and femininity are social constructions. They are not inevitable facts of nature, but stories our culture teaches us (Ridgeway 2011).

Read More


| | |

Systematic Solutions for Systematic Problems:
Or How TRIO Programs Changed My Life.

In this piece, Nathan Palmer tells us how TRIO programs changed the course of his life and asks us to think about how systematic inequalities require systematic solutions.

Walking into the conference room, I knew I was in trouble. It was the summer of 1997 and I was taking summer school classes to make up for a bad semester my junior year of high school. Everything in the room reeked of the 1970s, from the shaggy orange carpet to the earth tone curtains and the giant square conference table made of real hardwood. At the far end of that table sat my math teacher and the director of the Upward Bound program that was paying for my summer school classes.

“Do you know why we’ve called you in today, Nate?” The director asked. I remember she had stringy brown hair and how her presence alone intimidated me. All summer I had dodged her eye contact. “My grades,” I said to the floor.

“No. We brought you in to talk about college.” Surprise snapped my head up from the floor. “Mr. Jones and I have been talking, and we think the only thing standing between you and a college education is… well, you.” At that moment, I was failing Mr. Jones remedial math class, so I was more than a bit taken aback. “You’re too smart, Nate, to be earning grades like this,” she said sliding my math test across the table towards me. The circled cherry red D+ next to my name made me feel like Hester Prynne.

“You’re not studying. You’re not doing your homework until 10 minutes before class starts.” The exasperation in Mr. Jones voice felt familiar. “You’re not trying in the slightest, and it pisses me off.” My hands clenched into fists reflexively. At 17, after spending a decade in the special education program, I was more than prepared me for situations like this. I knew how to appear dutiful without actually listening. I had a stock pile of snappy comebacks cocked and ready for classmates who called me retarded[1].

Read More


|

Why a Student Yelled at Me & I Thanked Him for It

In this piece, Nathan Palmer tells us what he learned from a student who didn’t understand disproportionality.

“I knew you were wrong professor Palmer and now I can prove it!” a young man in my introduction to sociology class boasted[1]. Before I could utter a word, he flipped open a large textbook and jabbed his finger into one of the pages. He shoved the book into my hands. I spun it around and saw multiple circles of various sizes. It was a proportional bubble chart showing the proportion of prisoners from different racial ethnic groups in state and federal prison. “You see, it’s all right there. You said that the police are racist and this shows you’re wrong. What do you have to say for yourself now?”

A proportional chart of the distribution of racial-ethnic groups in prison.
A chart similar to the one my student showed me.

The corners of my mouth pulled into a warm smile. When people get angry with me I tend to calm down; maybe my brain is wired wrong. I’ve also been a teacher for nearly ten years and this young man was not the first student to run up on me. As all experienced teachers know, if a student is angry about what they are learning, then at least you know they are engaging with the ideas. It’s an uncomfortable way to learn, but it can be learning none the less.

“Wait,” I said looking up from the textbook. “Take a deep breath. It’s okay. I appreciate you sharing this with me. Let’s look at it together.” I turned the book back around toward the student, “What do you think this bubble chart is showing us?” Without looking at the chart he said, “it shows us that what you said yesterday in class was wrong.” A quick laugh escaped my mouth. “Yes, I know. You’ve made that clear, but why does this chart invalidate what I said yesterday?”…

Read More