“There is another way” is emblazoned across the blurb of his book “Widerstehen. Versuche eines richtigen Lebens im falschen” [Resisting. Attempts at a Right Life in the Wrong One]. Sociologist Ferdinand Sutterlüty has spoken with people who not only criticize but existentially stand up for what they believe is right.
What compels a scholar to write an “ethnographic travelogue”? Why does renowned sociologist Ferdinand Sutterlüty visit people who want to actively change the social conditions they live in, and then publish his conversations with them? He spoke with a prison psychologist who volunteers in sea rescue operations; with a Polish hotel cleaner who stands up against humiliation and exploitation; with an artist who dedicates her work to trans women in the sex industry; with an introverted and highly qualified forest official who challenges rigid male dominance in the office with a lawsuit; and with a mountain farming couple who keep their farm afloat within an old communal structure.
Each interview begins with the author’s account of his journey – sometimes straightforward, sometimes multi-staged – through train stations where trains stop only on request, to remote alpine huts, vocational school classrooms, and rustic kitchen living rooms. He meets people who are nervous, aloof at first, or warmly welcoming. What follows are moving and thought-provoking conversations that revolve around the question of what drives these people to act in defiance.
UniReport: Prof. Sutterlüty, you’ve previously published academic books. “Resisting” doesn’t fit any academic genre. What kind of book is it?
Ferdinand Sutterlüty: I think it falls somewhere between academia and literature; it’s composed of documentary narratives. But I couldn’t have written the book the way I did if I weren’t a sociologist. A lot of analysis went into how I conducted and edited the interviews. However, that analysis fully serves the individuals I spoke with. To me, these people are intellectuals in their own right and don’t require my commentary.
In the foreword, you refer to an “ethnographic journey” to these people. What defines this journey?
I wanted to capture the full shape of how these people lead their lives without analytically dissecting what they told me and what I observed. This is probably the biggest departure from traditional qualitative social research. In presenting the material, I also tried to preserve the people’s way of speaking and translate it into a readable text. The way they speak is often already part of their resistant behavior. During the writing stage, I really felt like I was moving through a different universe with each person.
If it’s not about the biographical aspect, what was your focus?
I was interested in the practices of resistant action. I focused on people who respond quite radically to social grievances. To borrow from Adorno: people who firmly believe that we are all living the wrong life but try to take the right path within it. I find these individuals deeply inspiring. I’ve often heard in recent years that structural change is needed to reduce social inequality and move toward a more sustainable economy. That’s absolutely true – but the frequent addendum that individual behavior is irrelevant is not. Structures don’t have arms or legs. They don’t change themselves. My book looks at structures from the perspective of people who respond to their disastrous effects through action.
So, you could have also encountered conspiracy theorists.
True, I didn’t always know what to expect when I set out for the interviews. I did have some memorable encounters – after all, dissenters currently range from the far right to esoteric circles. But I chose to feature only those who have made far-reaching decisions and, in my view, developed forward-looking life plans. These are people who, in that sense, carry hope and can offer inspiration.
Your previous (academic) book was titled “Verdeckter Widerstand in demokratischen Gesellschaften” [Concealed Resistance in Democratic Societies]. Now you’ve chosen the title “Resisting”
In the end, whether resistance is concealed or not wasn’t so important to me – covert and overt resistance often overlap and condition each other. “Resisting” seemed a fitting title because every person portrayed is resisting various injustices and the destructive rage of our time with their whole being, so to speak. But resisting can also mean resisting temptation, consumerism, or the search for recognition that a conventional career might bring. You could even imagine an exclamation mark after the title and read it as an imperative: Resisting is the order of the day! Incidentally, I quite like that interpretation.
It seems your conversations show both sides: resistance as refusal – as grit in the gears – and also as a positive countermodel, a spark for how things could be different.
Yes, there’s a lot of personal stubbornness in the book – but also a great deal of humanity and commitment to others. We often think institutions or the welfare state are responsible for social problems. But the people I spoke with feel personally addressed by others and their suffering. The cleaner fights for others in her profession. The sea rescuer, who’s officially supposed to report only emergencies from his ship, takes great risks to help refugees. The artist sees herself as a translator between trans women in the sex industry and the heterosexual world. By allowing themselves to be called upon by the lives of others, my protagonists live very rich lives.
Did anything in the interviews surprise you?
I was surprised that most of them said they had been resistant almost from birth or early childhood – that they simply couldn’t be any other way. These kinds of statements could at least partially be interpreted as a defense against self-heroization or elevating oneself above others.
The people remain true to themselves in their storytelling, yet they speak directly to the reader. Was that your intention? You once said your last academic book sparked a “hunger for experience” in you.
Yes, and now I’ve been able to satisfy that. When I started planning the new book, I was also frustrated that academic publications tend to speak only to other academics. So I gave a lot of thought to how I presented the material. If these eight portraits encourage readers to reflect on their own way of life, then I’ve achieved my aim. And if the readers also find some motivating joy in the characters and in how their stories are expressed linguistically, all the better.
Did you have any role models?
Not directly. I did take some orientation from Studs Terkel, the legendary interviewer, radio host, and author associated with the Chicago School of Sociology. And I was deeply impressed by the report-style works of Belarusian writer Svetlana Alexievich. I don’t know how many sociological, social-psychological, or historical books you’d need to read to understand the transition of the Soviet Union to oligarchic capitalism as well as Alexievich conveys it through the small episodes that make up her book “Secondhand Time”.
On a more personal note: What did writing this book do for you?
First of all, I found it wonderful to leave my desk and computer behind. I spent time with the people featured in the book, and working with their interviews truly influenced my own thinking. I often reflect on the need for a completely different idea of prosperity. The mountain farming couple, for instance, have much to teach us in that regard. The sea rescuer, on the other hand, has a lot to say about the deadly consequences of our European idea of prosperity. These thoughts weren’t entirely new to me – but they were intensified and deepened through firsthand experience. A subtle theme of the book, as I mentioned, is also the rejection of recognition by conventional standards. Academia, in my opinion, is quite sensitive to recognition, which is why I believe it’s important not to let oneself be corrupted by the many small and large incentives distributed through university governance tools.
