In The Transformation of European Social Democracy, Kitschelt sets out to explain two phenomena: 1) the differential electoral success of social democratic parties in different countries; and 2) the strategic choices made by social democratic parties. In developing his explanations, Kitschelt draws connections between a macro-level of changes in the global political-economy, a meso-level of the spatial configuration of the political field, and a micro-level of interaction between leaders and rank and file activists within social democratic parties. He sets his argument against what he terms ‘external’ explanations of the electoral performance of social democratic parties that solely look to macro-level factors such as class structure or political economic factors to account for electoral outcomes. Rather, Kitschelt convincingly demonstrates that a complete analysis must focus both on external factors and those ‘internal’ to the political process, such as strategic interactions among competing parties and between actors within parties. Kitschelt also criticizes class-based and political economic accounts for focusing only on the distributive dimension of politics, ignoring the communitarian dimension that has taken on growing importance in late capitalism.
In accounting for the varying electoral success of the social democratic parties in his study, Kitschelt focuses on the strategic opportunities provided by the structural features of the political field, taking into consideration such factors as the distribution of voter preferences, the number of competitors situated to one’s left or right along the main ideological axis of competition, and the costs of entry for new political parties. Different structural configurations provide incentives for different strategies, including straightforward vote maximization strategies, pivoting strategies that seek control of the median voter through moderate appeals, and oligopolistic strategies that attempt to thwart radical competitors through a leftward shift in party stances. The most successful parties are the ones that capitalize on the opportunities provided by their national political field. But not all parties are able to capitalize on these opportunities. To account for the extent to which strategic parties behave ‘irrationally’, Kitschelt looks to the organizational structures of parties. Seizing opportunities often requires parties either to allow input from rank and file members to detect shifts in the distribution of preferences or to have an unconstrained leadership to make rapid strategic shifts. Parties that suffered electoral losses possessed organizational structures that were ill-suited to realizing the opportunities with which they were presented by the systemic environment.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Friedmann " Planning in the Public Domain"
Enlightenment philosophers prioritized an epistemological approach, which allowed a critique of institutions “as historical constructs” (p 227). This made way for a social movement approach which saw institutions as changeable and subject not only to the will of their leadership but so to, through revolution or resistance, the general population. The three primary forms of social movements were constructed on the approaches of anarchy, historical materialism and utopianism.
Utopianism promoted the idea that society could be structured apart from the state around small communities that could co-exist largely outside of the formal economy. Anarchism contributed to this vision by promoting the idea of reciprocal exchange such that these communities could not only co-exist with each other but also trade with each other in a less exploitative manner under a minimalist state infrastructure. Historical materialism, finally, entrenched the idea of a class consciousness – a sense that not only must the populous break free from the oppression of the state (utopian), the exploitation of the formal economy (anarchism) but also from the bonds of their own class oppression.
Central to these notions is the overthrow of the top down, command-control social engineering that was proposed by the likes of Bentham and Saint-Simon. Instead it proposes to replace social engineering with a form of social emancipation that seeks to prioritize the individual as equal and free from domination.
Friedmann, then, provides a detailed summary of the three different approaches and a useful matrix on pages 251-255. Through the working out of these approaches, however, one commonality becomes apparent: that the social movement approach is always conceived as a response from below, from the people, so to speak. Planners that take this approach as the core of their planning philosophy must “walk the thin line that divides licit from subversive action” (p 256) – they must both agitate for a reordering of the state while protecting against revolution.
Before planning can come from below, however, their needs to be a processes of making people conscious. People are either never aware or in denial of the immediacy of their own oppression. In order to promote a social movement, bottom up approach, the bottom needs to realize that it is on the bottom. This realization has led to the critique that each of these social movements presumes a particular ideal of an individual against which it shows that the society of the idea has oppressed and produced a different individual. This presumption of an individual that, for example, wants to live free, without greed and aggression, has come under serious assault in the past seventy or so years. Starting with the Frankfurt school and working its way through Habermas and Althusser, the feminist movement, liberation politics and other post-modern offshoots, Friedmann details the resistances to this predetermined notion of what an ideal individual should be.
Friedmann raises the critiques of social movement theory not only to emphasizes that there are multiple approaches to engaging in a bottom up approach but to remind the planner that all bottom up approaches prioritize one group (as Wiley says, there is never really any bottom) over the other and in this there is always the possibility of worsening the problem planners are trying to address. More importantly, however, planners need to realize that they are could end up being both involved in an emancipatory action and in furthering the entrenchment of oppression.
I agree with Freidmann’s conclusion that social mobilization is an essential component to planning despite its flaws. Nonetheless, I fear Friedmann falls short in that he needs to further emphasise that planners themselves must make themselves answerable to the individuals. How to do this is the question
Utopianism promoted the idea that society could be structured apart from the state around small communities that could co-exist largely outside of the formal economy. Anarchism contributed to this vision by promoting the idea of reciprocal exchange such that these communities could not only co-exist with each other but also trade with each other in a less exploitative manner under a minimalist state infrastructure. Historical materialism, finally, entrenched the idea of a class consciousness – a sense that not only must the populous break free from the oppression of the state (utopian), the exploitation of the formal economy (anarchism) but also from the bonds of their own class oppression.
Central to these notions is the overthrow of the top down, command-control social engineering that was proposed by the likes of Bentham and Saint-Simon. Instead it proposes to replace social engineering with a form of social emancipation that seeks to prioritize the individual as equal and free from domination.
Friedmann, then, provides a detailed summary of the three different approaches and a useful matrix on pages 251-255. Through the working out of these approaches, however, one commonality becomes apparent: that the social movement approach is always conceived as a response from below, from the people, so to speak. Planners that take this approach as the core of their planning philosophy must “walk the thin line that divides licit from subversive action” (p 256) – they must both agitate for a reordering of the state while protecting against revolution.
Before planning can come from below, however, their needs to be a processes of making people conscious. People are either never aware or in denial of the immediacy of their own oppression. In order to promote a social movement, bottom up approach, the bottom needs to realize that it is on the bottom. This realization has led to the critique that each of these social movements presumes a particular ideal of an individual against which it shows that the society of the idea has oppressed and produced a different individual. This presumption of an individual that, for example, wants to live free, without greed and aggression, has come under serious assault in the past seventy or so years. Starting with the Frankfurt school and working its way through Habermas and Althusser, the feminist movement, liberation politics and other post-modern offshoots, Friedmann details the resistances to this predetermined notion of what an ideal individual should be.
Friedmann raises the critiques of social movement theory not only to emphasizes that there are multiple approaches to engaging in a bottom up approach but to remind the planner that all bottom up approaches prioritize one group (as Wiley says, there is never really any bottom) over the other and in this there is always the possibility of worsening the problem planners are trying to address. More importantly, however, planners need to realize that they are could end up being both involved in an emancipatory action and in furthering the entrenchment of oppression.
I agree with Freidmann’s conclusion that social mobilization is an essential component to planning despite its flaws. Nonetheless, I fear Friedmann falls short in that he needs to further emphasise that planners themselves must make themselves answerable to the individuals. How to do this is the question
Randall L. Calvert’s “Leadership and Its Basis of Social Coordination”.
Calvert (1992) defines leadership in terms of the functions it performs for social groups: it is a “means by which social groups attempt to realize gains from cooperation, coordination, and efficient allocation.” There are a couple of implications of this conceptualization that seem problematic. First, Calvert’s understanding of leadership suggests that fully formed groups recognize the need for decisive arbitrary action at certain key junctures, at which point they select someone whose authority “group members come to recognize” over time (p. 15). This view seems to take the existence of undifferentiated social groups for granted, not considering the role of leaders in mobilizing groups in the first place. Instead of acknowledging leadership only in the face of specific social dilemmas, it seems more reasonable to treat leadership as a constant feature of organized groups, albeit one that changes over time and across circumstances. Second, Calvert’s focus on the ability of leadership to solve coordination problems seems to be biased in favor of successful leadership. He bestows leaders with great ability to isolate equilibrium solutions, underemphasizing the extent to which leaders, facing uncertain circumstances, might make decisions that are harmful to the group’s long-term interests. A leader’s decisions seem to have instantaneous feedback; as long as he or she picks equilibrium solutions (p. 16), then he or she will retain the group’s support. But in reality, it seems that the impact of a leader’s decisions is often not immediately felt.
(1) When the author talks about solutions to ‘Primary Problems’, specifically application of selected incentives as one of the possible leadership strategies for inducing cooperation, he identifies two possible types of leaders – (a) political entrepreneurs who “has built-in incentives to act as a leader in creating conditions, in which cooperation can occur”, and (b) a leader ‘created’ by the group itself as a provider of specific incentives. Can these two ideal types be applied to Michel’s analysis of a metamorphosis that occurs to a political leader? In other words, does the type (b) correspond to Michel’s politician before the change and type (a) - to this politician after he has been in a position of authority for some time?
(2) Calvert claims the applicability of his model to the analysis of contemporary Western-style political figures. How does one reconcile Calvert’s analytical framework with the fact that in contemporary Western societies much of the coordination and allocation problems are resolved by administrative and legal enforcement apparatus, as well as various norm-producing institutions? Does Calvert overestimate the role of leadership at the expense of existing institutions?
(1) When the author talks about solutions to ‘Primary Problems’, specifically application of selected incentives as one of the possible leadership strategies for inducing cooperation, he identifies two possible types of leaders – (a) political entrepreneurs who “has built-in incentives to act as a leader in creating conditions, in which cooperation can occur”, and (b) a leader ‘created’ by the group itself as a provider of specific incentives. Can these two ideal types be applied to Michel’s analysis of a metamorphosis that occurs to a political leader? In other words, does the type (b) correspond to Michel’s politician before the change and type (a) - to this politician after he has been in a position of authority for some time?
(2) Calvert claims the applicability of his model to the analysis of contemporary Western-style political figures. How does one reconcile Calvert’s analytical framework with the fact that in contemporary Western societies much of the coordination and allocation problems are resolved by administrative and legal enforcement apparatus, as well as various norm-producing institutions? Does Calvert overestimate the role of leadership at the expense of existing institutions?
Brett Burkhardt (Heresthetic and Leadership)
In Riker’s The Art of Political Manipulation, “heresthetic” refers to “a political strategy…”, which involves “structuring the world so you can win” (ix).” In this memo I ask, and attempt to answer, several questions. How does heresthetic relate to leadership? More specifically, what view of leadership does the concept imply? How does heresthetic relate to other, more common sociological concepts, such as framing, power, and identity? Finally, what can social choice theory offer to studies of leadership?
Heresthetic and Leadership
Although Riker’s examples of heresthetics are clearly meant to demonstrate some sort of leadership, Riker rarely discusses leadership in any explicit way. If the book is read through the lens of leadership, though, it becomes fairly clear that Riker equivocates between viewing leadership (or at least heresthetical leadership) as a) a capacity held and used by individuals, and b) a structural condition which allows certain persons to exploit their position. The Democratic city manager of chapter 6 is illustrative of this. She wanted to gerrymander district lines to ensure Democratic control of city council, but needed to avoid the appearance of political opportunism. Her heresthetical maneuver involved a plan—eventually successful—to sue the city in Federal court for violating civil rights. Granted, the maneuver was well planned and executed by the city manager. Yet it was only possible given certain structural pre-conditions: judicial precedents requiring equalized voting districts; Republican control of county courts and Democratic control of Federal courts; popular support for equal rights; and the city manager’s professional position as a powerful, well-connected politician. Yet Riker would probably maintain that there is an agentic element of personal capacity that is fundamental to heresthetical leadership. Which is more important for heresthetical leadership—capacity or structure—remains elusive.
A second question asks about the role of heresthetics in leadership, broadly conceived. Heresthetical skill seemingly helps in leadership. But is heresthetical skill necessary for leadership? Can poor herestheticians be successful leaders? I am not sure what Riker would say to this. My only guess is that he might acknowledge that leaders are able to compensate for poor heresthetical skills with other heightened abilities in, for example, rhetoric. Personally, however, I would say that heresthetical skill is not necessary for leadership. The reasons for this will be addressed in the discussion of power and identity below.
Heresthetics, Framing, Power, and Identity
One type of heresthetical maneuver discussed by Riker is manipulation of dimensions, which has a close sociological analogue in framing (or, perhaps more specifically, frame extension). Snow et al. (1986) describe frame extension as attempts by a group to “enlarge its adherent pool by portraying its objectives or activities as attending to or being congruent with the values or interests of potential adherents (472).” We see exactly this happening in Riker’s examples of multiplying dimensions. Take the story of Warren Magnuson and the nerve gas (Chapter 10). “When the issue was framed in one dimension, approval or disapproval of Operation Red Hat,” Magnuson and supporters could not win the vote. “But when the dimension of senatorial consent was added, ten marginal votes were won,” which led to a victory for Magnuson (Riker 1986, 112 italics added). Snow et al. regard frames in the broad context of social movements, while Riker seems interested in structured, formal political scenarios. In this sense, frames may be applied more broadly than Riker’s dimensions. However, there is clearly an affinity between the concepts.
While there is a close analogy between dimensions and frames, Riker’s implicit view of power may be somewhat shortsighted, sociologically speaking. Riker is clear that herestheticians are largely constrained by existing conditions. Importantly, they “can neither create preferences nor hypnotize” (64). This point, along with Riker’s discussion of agenda control, begs for a comparison to social scientific writings on various “faces” of power (Lukes 1974). The first face of power refers to A’s ability to make B act in a way contrary to B’s wishes. The second face of power refers to A’s ability to enact his or her will, contrary to B’s wishes, through control of an agenda and the utilization of “non-decisions”. The third face of power refers to A’s ability to influence what B understands to be his or her interests. Riker says little about the first face of power. But his discussion of agenda control bears much similarity to the second face of power. Yet from the quotation above, we see that there is no space in Riker’s account of heresthetics for the third face of power; herestheticians work with extant preferences and interests, but they do not create or change them. In this sense, heresthetics is a somewhat impotent means of leadership, as it is resigned to existing preference structures. It follows, then, that leaders, if they are successful in exploiting this third face of power, may be quite powerful even if they are mediocre herestheticians.
One way in which Riker’s framework is strikingly at odds with mainstream sociology is in his view of political groups. “We interpret majorities as no more than artifacts of the head count, and we specifically deny that they make sense independently of the arithmetic (87).” For Riker, it is a “fundamental error…[to believe] that everyone on the same side has (or ought to have) the same opinions (86).” It is of course obvious that some political alliances are built on compromises, and that such compromises happen in spite of otherwise conflicting interests of the compromisers. But is this always the case, as Riker suggests? Is there nothing that can hold a group together other than (a possibly ephemeral) alignment of individual interests?
I think most sociologists would say no. Research on collective identities (Melucci 1989), whatever its conceptual or methodological flaws (see Polletta and Jasper 2001), illustrates the potential importance of personal identification with a larger group. Citizens, and probably even political officials, are not as myopic as Riker asserts. Coalitions can be enlarged or strengthened through an enhanced sense of collective identity, and this need not be based entirely on the alignment of narrow self-interest. Riker ignores the fact that this sense of collective identity can be a strategic resource for leaders. For leaders lacking in heresthetical skills, the enhancement of collective identity may be an alternate means of achieving group success.
Social Choice Theory and Leadership
These latter two points—regarding the third face of power and collective identity—finally bring us to a consideration of social choice theory’s utility in analyzing leadership. Riker describes social choice theory as consisting of “descriptions and analyses of the way that the preferences of individual members of a group are amalgamated into a decision for the group as a whole (xi).” Because Riker himself does not elaborate the relationship between social choice theory and the analysis of leadership per se, I will simply suggest some cautionary reminders rather than offer critique.
As an analytical device, heresthetics arises from a social choice framework. Herestheticians manipulate and exploit the amalgamation process. As noted in an earlier section, this probably does constitute some form of leadership. But besides the amalgamation process, an equally important component of social choice theory seems to be the “preferences of individual members of a group (xi).” If The Art of Political Manipulation is illustrative of social choice theory, then I fear that social choice theorists leave the “preferences” component unproblematized. This comes out in two ways, both already mentioned. First, a theory of leadership that does not consider the third face of power (i.e. preference manipulation) is too narrow. Riker directly states that heresthetics is not about changing preferences. Yet Riker also does not claim that heresthetics wholly constitutes leadership. Thus, social choice theory may allow analytical space for leadership that can alter individuals’ preferences. I believe it should.
A second concern regarding social choice theory and leadership reiterates the relevance of identity. In Riker’s analysis, individuals may strategize against or cooperate with other individuals, but these actions are done solely on the basis of personal preference. There is no possibility in his account for collective identity. Although using the “people-oriented/task-oriented” (Aminzade, Goldstone, & Perry 2001) dichotomy as the basis for leadership research may be problematic, the concept of people-oriented leadership (or charismatic leadership, for that matter) should not be wholly jettisoned. The organization of people into a group(-for-itself) with some collective identity remains relevant to collective action and group coherence, however imperfect it may be.
Aminzade, Ron, Jack Goldstone, and Elizabeth Perry. 2001. “Leadership Dynamics and Dynamics of Contention.” In Aminzade, Goldstone, McAdam, Perry, Sewell, Jr., Tarrow, and Tilly (eds.). Silence and Voice in the Study of Contentious Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Lukes, Stephen. 1974. Power: A Radical View.
Polletta, Francesca and James Jasper. 2001. “Collective Identity and Social Movements.” Annual Review of Sociology, 27: 283-305.
Melucci, Alberto. 1989. Nomads of the Present. Temple Press.
Snow, David, E. Burke Rochford, Jr., Steven K. Worden, and Robert D. Benford. 1986. “Frame Alignment Processes, Micromobilization, and Movement Participation.” American Sociological Review, 51 (4): 464-481.
Heresthetic and Leadership
Although Riker’s examples of heresthetics are clearly meant to demonstrate some sort of leadership, Riker rarely discusses leadership in any explicit way. If the book is read through the lens of leadership, though, it becomes fairly clear that Riker equivocates between viewing leadership (or at least heresthetical leadership) as a) a capacity held and used by individuals, and b) a structural condition which allows certain persons to exploit their position. The Democratic city manager of chapter 6 is illustrative of this. She wanted to gerrymander district lines to ensure Democratic control of city council, but needed to avoid the appearance of political opportunism. Her heresthetical maneuver involved a plan—eventually successful—to sue the city in Federal court for violating civil rights. Granted, the maneuver was well planned and executed by the city manager. Yet it was only possible given certain structural pre-conditions: judicial precedents requiring equalized voting districts; Republican control of county courts and Democratic control of Federal courts; popular support for equal rights; and the city manager’s professional position as a powerful, well-connected politician. Yet Riker would probably maintain that there is an agentic element of personal capacity that is fundamental to heresthetical leadership. Which is more important for heresthetical leadership—capacity or structure—remains elusive.
A second question asks about the role of heresthetics in leadership, broadly conceived. Heresthetical skill seemingly helps in leadership. But is heresthetical skill necessary for leadership? Can poor herestheticians be successful leaders? I am not sure what Riker would say to this. My only guess is that he might acknowledge that leaders are able to compensate for poor heresthetical skills with other heightened abilities in, for example, rhetoric. Personally, however, I would say that heresthetical skill is not necessary for leadership. The reasons for this will be addressed in the discussion of power and identity below.
Heresthetics, Framing, Power, and Identity
One type of heresthetical maneuver discussed by Riker is manipulation of dimensions, which has a close sociological analogue in framing (or, perhaps more specifically, frame extension). Snow et al. (1986) describe frame extension as attempts by a group to “enlarge its adherent pool by portraying its objectives or activities as attending to or being congruent with the values or interests of potential adherents (472).” We see exactly this happening in Riker’s examples of multiplying dimensions. Take the story of Warren Magnuson and the nerve gas (Chapter 10). “When the issue was framed in one dimension, approval or disapproval of Operation Red Hat,” Magnuson and supporters could not win the vote. “But when the dimension of senatorial consent was added, ten marginal votes were won,” which led to a victory for Magnuson (Riker 1986, 112 italics added). Snow et al. regard frames in the broad context of social movements, while Riker seems interested in structured, formal political scenarios. In this sense, frames may be applied more broadly than Riker’s dimensions. However, there is clearly an affinity between the concepts.
While there is a close analogy between dimensions and frames, Riker’s implicit view of power may be somewhat shortsighted, sociologically speaking. Riker is clear that herestheticians are largely constrained by existing conditions. Importantly, they “can neither create preferences nor hypnotize” (64). This point, along with Riker’s discussion of agenda control, begs for a comparison to social scientific writings on various “faces” of power (Lukes 1974). The first face of power refers to A’s ability to make B act in a way contrary to B’s wishes. The second face of power refers to A’s ability to enact his or her will, contrary to B’s wishes, through control of an agenda and the utilization of “non-decisions”. The third face of power refers to A’s ability to influence what B understands to be his or her interests. Riker says little about the first face of power. But his discussion of agenda control bears much similarity to the second face of power. Yet from the quotation above, we see that there is no space in Riker’s account of heresthetics for the third face of power; herestheticians work with extant preferences and interests, but they do not create or change them. In this sense, heresthetics is a somewhat impotent means of leadership, as it is resigned to existing preference structures. It follows, then, that leaders, if they are successful in exploiting this third face of power, may be quite powerful even if they are mediocre herestheticians.
One way in which Riker’s framework is strikingly at odds with mainstream sociology is in his view of political groups. “We interpret majorities as no more than artifacts of the head count, and we specifically deny that they make sense independently of the arithmetic (87).” For Riker, it is a “fundamental error…[to believe] that everyone on the same side has (or ought to have) the same opinions (86).” It is of course obvious that some political alliances are built on compromises, and that such compromises happen in spite of otherwise conflicting interests of the compromisers. But is this always the case, as Riker suggests? Is there nothing that can hold a group together other than (a possibly ephemeral) alignment of individual interests?
I think most sociologists would say no. Research on collective identities (Melucci 1989), whatever its conceptual or methodological flaws (see Polletta and Jasper 2001), illustrates the potential importance of personal identification with a larger group. Citizens, and probably even political officials, are not as myopic as Riker asserts. Coalitions can be enlarged or strengthened through an enhanced sense of collective identity, and this need not be based entirely on the alignment of narrow self-interest. Riker ignores the fact that this sense of collective identity can be a strategic resource for leaders. For leaders lacking in heresthetical skills, the enhancement of collective identity may be an alternate means of achieving group success.
Social Choice Theory and Leadership
These latter two points—regarding the third face of power and collective identity—finally bring us to a consideration of social choice theory’s utility in analyzing leadership. Riker describes social choice theory as consisting of “descriptions and analyses of the way that the preferences of individual members of a group are amalgamated into a decision for the group as a whole (xi).” Because Riker himself does not elaborate the relationship between social choice theory and the analysis of leadership per se, I will simply suggest some cautionary reminders rather than offer critique.
As an analytical device, heresthetics arises from a social choice framework. Herestheticians manipulate and exploit the amalgamation process. As noted in an earlier section, this probably does constitute some form of leadership. But besides the amalgamation process, an equally important component of social choice theory seems to be the “preferences of individual members of a group (xi).” If The Art of Political Manipulation is illustrative of social choice theory, then I fear that social choice theorists leave the “preferences” component unproblematized. This comes out in two ways, both already mentioned. First, a theory of leadership that does not consider the third face of power (i.e. preference manipulation) is too narrow. Riker directly states that heresthetics is not about changing preferences. Yet Riker also does not claim that heresthetics wholly constitutes leadership. Thus, social choice theory may allow analytical space for leadership that can alter individuals’ preferences. I believe it should.
A second concern regarding social choice theory and leadership reiterates the relevance of identity. In Riker’s analysis, individuals may strategize against or cooperate with other individuals, but these actions are done solely on the basis of personal preference. There is no possibility in his account for collective identity. Although using the “people-oriented/task-oriented” (Aminzade, Goldstone, & Perry 2001) dichotomy as the basis for leadership research may be problematic, the concept of people-oriented leadership (or charismatic leadership, for that matter) should not be wholly jettisoned. The organization of people into a group(-for-itself) with some collective identity remains relevant to collective action and group coherence, however imperfect it may be.
Aminzade, Ron, Jack Goldstone, and Elizabeth Perry. 2001. “Leadership Dynamics and Dynamics of Contention.” In Aminzade, Goldstone, McAdam, Perry, Sewell, Jr., Tarrow, and Tilly (eds.). Silence and Voice in the Study of Contentious Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Lukes, Stephen. 1974. Power: A Radical View.
Polletta, Francesca and James Jasper. 2001. “Collective Identity and Social Movements.” Annual Review of Sociology, 27: 283-305.
Melucci, Alberto. 1989. Nomads of the Present. Temple Press.
Snow, David, E. Burke Rochford, Jr., Steven K. Worden, and Robert D. Benford. 1986. “Frame Alignment Processes, Micromobilization, and Movement Participation.” American Sociological Review, 51 (4): 464-481.
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