Managing Boundaries

Managing Boundaries in
Organizations
Multiple Perspectives
Edited by
Neil Paulsen and Tor Hernes
Managing Boundaries in Organizations
This page intentionally left blank
Managing Boundaries in
Organizations: Multiple
Perspectives
Edited by
Selection and editorial matter © Neil Paulsen and Tor Hernes
Individual Chapters © Contributors 2003
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Managing boundaries in organizations : multiple perspectives / edited by
Neil Paulsen & Tor Hernes.
p. cm.
Based largely on papers from the 17th European Group for
Organizational Studies (EGOS) Conference in Lyon, France held in
July 2001.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 1–4039–0329–8
1. Interorganizational relations. 2. Boundaries–Social aspects.
3. Communication in organizations. 4. Organizational change. 5. Industrial
organization. I. Paulsen, Neil, 1952–. II. Hernes, Tor. III. European Group for
Organizational Studies. Conference (17th : 2001 : Lyon, France)
HD58.7.M3713 2003
658–dc21 2002044803
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
12 11 10 09 08 07 06 05 04 03
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham and Eastbourne
Contents
List of Tables and Figures vii

Preface ix
Acknowledgments x
Notes on Contributors xi
Introduction: Boundaries and Organization 1

Tor Hernes and Neil Paulsen
1 “Who Are We Now?”: Group Identity, Boundaries,

and the (Re)Organizing Process 14
Neil Paulsen
2 Enabling and Constraining Properties of

Organizational Boundaries 35
Tor Hernes
3 Identity and Difference in Complex Projects: Why

Boundaries still Matter in the “Boundaryless”
Organization 55
Nick Marshall
4 Virtual Interactions: Creating Impressions of Boundaries 76

Niki Panteli
5 Building E-Loyalty across Cultures and Organizational

Boundaries 93
Dianne Cyr and Haizley Trevor-Smith
6 Industrial Designers as Boundary Workers 110

Birgit H. Jevnaker
7 Organizing Activities in Industrial Networks:

The Case of Volvo S80 129
Fredrik von Corswant, Anna Dubois, and Peter Fredriksson
8 Managing Across Boundaries in Health Care: The Forces

for Change and Inertia 147
Charo Rodríguez, Ann Langley, François Béland, and
Jean-Louis Denis
v
vi Contents
9 Boundaries in Health Care Discussions: An Activity

Theoretical Approach to the Analysis of Boundaries 169
Hannele Kerosuo
10 Discerning Organizational Boundaries Through
Physical Artifacts 188
Anat Rafaeli and Iris Vilnai-Yavetz
11 Formidable Fences: Organizational Cooperation

and Boundary Bullies in Zimbabwe 211
Harry Wels
12 Merging Identities, Reinventing Boundaries: The
Survival Strategy of Catholic Development Aid in
the Netherlands 226
Frans Kamsteeg
13 Colleague, Competitor, or Client: Social Boundaries
in Flexible Work Arrangements 244
Christina Garsten
14 Drawing the Line: Organizations and the Boundary
Work of “Home” and “Work” 262
Christena Nippert-Eng
15 Some Organizational Consequences of Cultural
Differences in Boundary Permeability 281
Boas Shamir and Yael Melnik
Epilogue: A Reflection and Future Directions 302

Index 309
List of Tables and Figures
Tables
2.1 Textures of boundaries 42
2.2 Boundary properties of the organizational actors
involved in the NWU 46
6.1 Boundary-related themes and examples in the
study of design and business relations 116
8.1 Regular and variable effects of mandated
collaboration at the subregional level 157
8.2 Power dependencies, interests, and
collaboration strategies 163
9.1 The number of boundary expressions in
boundary types 181
10.1 The three dimensions of the artifact in
constituent reactions 199
10.2 Artifacts as triggers of conversation and stake claiming:
An example of the color green as a trigger of
conversation about the bus company 205
12.1 Merging partners and their characteristics 235
14.1 The boundary work of “home” and “work” along the
integration/segmentation continuum 270
15.1 Differences in boundary permeability between
Americans and Israelis 295
15.2 Cultural dimensions expressed in terms of
boundary rigidity or permeability 299
Figures
2.1 The organizational actors 43
7.1 Illustration of three module teams and the
suppliers’ roles 133
7.2 Sequential deliveries of modules from MAUs to
Volvo’s final assembly line 134
7.3 Production activities and the dependencies
between them in the case of Volvo S80 139
vii
viii List of Tables and Figures
7.4 A change of the activity structure provided new

possibilities to achieve economies of scale 141
8.1 Conceptual framework: Mandated process of
interorganizational collaboration 149
8.2 Case study sites and units of analysis 152
9.1 Primary and secondary health care with a patient
as a network of activity systems 171
9.2 The institutional boundary between primary and
secondary care, and the boundary created by the
“sovereignty” of medical specialties between the care
of individual diseases and the integrated care of
multiple diseases 176
9.3 The “major attack” on and defense of the boundaries
of secondary care, and the care of individual diseases 182
10.1 Physical artifacts as triggers that reveal constituents
and issues within the boundaries of an organization 195
12.1 Organogram of Cordaid in January 2001 233
Preface
This book emanated from the subtheme “Managing boundaries in organi-

zations” at the 17th European Group of Organization Studies (EGOS)
Conference in Lyon, France held in July 2001. With three exceptions,
Christena Nippert-Eng (Chapter 14), Christina Garsten (Chapter 13), and
Corswant et al. (Chapter 7), all the chapters are based on papers pre-
sented at that conference. We would like to thank our authors for agree-
ing to contribute to what we believe is a provocative and fascinating set
of chapters. Thanks also to Susan Schneider, who co-chaired the sub-
theme at EGOS. We hope the contributions will stimulate further debate
and research around boundary management issues in organizational life.
NEIL PAULSEN AND TOR HERNES
ix
Acknowledgments
We acknowledge the following publishers for their permission to use

the material in the chapters listed.
Chapter 14 is excerpted from:
Nippert-Eng, Cristena. 1996. Home and work: Negotiating boundaries
through everyday life. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. © University
of Chicago Press, 1996.
Chapter 15 is an abridged version of the following article:
Shamir, Boaz, and Yael Melnik. 2002. Boundary permeability as a cul-
tural dimension: A study of working relations between Americans and
Israelis in high-tech organizations. International Journal of Cross Cultural
Management 2 (2): 219–238. © Sage Publications Ltd, 2002.
x
Notes on Contributors
François Béland is Professor in the Department of Health Administration

at the University of Montreal, and member of the GRIS. He is Adjunct
Professor in the Department of Geriatrics at McGill University. He
obtained his PhD in sociology from the Laval University. His research
interests include health services utilization, and health services for the
elderly.
Fredrik von Corswant works at the Department of Operations Manage-

ment and Work Organization, Chalmers University of Technology,
Sweden. Fredrik’s research is focused on the organization of technical
development across firm boundaries. In particular, he has studied prod-
uct development collaboration between car and truck manufacturers
and their suppliers.
Dianne Cyr earned her PhD from the University of British Columbia, and
is currently an Associate Professor at Simon Fraser University, Canada.
She is the author of E-Business Innovation: Cases and Online Readings
(Prentice Hall 2002), Management: Leading People and Organizations in the
21st Century (Prentice Hall 2001), Scaling the Ivory Tower: Stories from
Women in Business School Faculties (Praeger 1996), and The Human Resource
Challenge of International Joint Ventures (Quorum 1995). Current research
interests are in the areas of e-loyalty in e-business, and high-technology
alliances.
Jean-Louis Denis is Professor of Health Administration and member of

the GRIS at the Université de Montréal. He is the Canadian Institutes for
Health Research/Canadian Health Services Research Foundation chair
in the transformation of health care organizations. He received a PhD
in community health from the Université de Montréal. His research
deals with leadership and change in health care organizations and
with the role of evidence in the adoption of clinical and organizational
innovations in the health care sector.
Anna Dubois is Associate Professor and Head of the Department

of Industrial Marketing, Chalmers University of Technology, Sweden.
She has published articles and book chapters focusing mainly on indus-
trial purchasing behavior and how activity structures are organized in
industrial networks.
xi
xii Notes on Contributors
Peter Fredriksson works at the Department of Operations Management

and Work Organization, Chalmers University of Technology, Sweden. In
his research, Peter aims at developing principles for evaluating the oper-
ative performance of industrial systems. Peter has cooperated with three
car manufacturers and some of their module suppliers in two major
research projects in recent years.
Christina Garsten is Associate Professor of social anthropology and

Director of the Stockholm Centre for Organizational Research (SCORE),
Sweden. Her research examines the role of temporary work in trans-
forming labor markets, as well as transnational forms of regulation and
coordination in the flexible workplace.
Tor Hernes earned his PhD from Lancaster University and works as an
Associate Professor at the Norwegian School of Management, Sandvika,
Norway. He is founding editor and editor-in-chief of Nordic Organization
Studies and serves as reviewer with international scholarly journals.
His research focuses on organizational boundaries and spatial perspec-
tives of organization. Before joining academia he spent some years as an
international consultant and researcher working with the UN.
Birgit Jevnaker is Associate Professor in the Norwegian School of

Management, Sandvika, Norway. She teaches concept creation, innova-
tion, business development, and leadership programs. Her articles are
published internationally, and she has co-edited Management of Design
Alliances pioneering design and business strategy studies. She conducts
research on knowledge, product innovation, and strategic organizing.
Jevnaker is a member of the international committee of the
European Academy of Design and the research advisory board of Design
Management Institute, Boston.
Frans Kamsteeg is Senior Lecturer at the Faculty of Social Sciences,

Department of Culture, Organization and Management at the Vrije
Universiteit in Amsterdam. He has researched the role of religious organi-
zations in Peru and Chile, and his present research focuses on the role
of ideological organizations in Dutch society. Identification processes of
members and the specific position within Dutch civil society are his
principal research topics.
Hannele Kerusuo is a PhD student and researcher at the Center of

Activity Theory and Developmental Work Research, University of
Helsinki, Finland. She has an MEd with a professional background in
local social and health care administration. She is currently working
Notes on Contributors xiii
with issues related to boundary crossing and the creation of a new type
of collaboration called “knot-working” in the interorganizational space
of various health care providers.
Ann Langley is Professor of Strategy at École des Hautes Études

Commerciales (HEC-Montréal). Until 2000, she held a similar position
at Université du Québec à Montréal. She is also member of the GRIS
at the Université of Montréal. She received her PhD from HEC-Montreal
in 1987. Her research interests include strategic change processes,
decisionmaking, innovation, and interorganizational relationships with
particular emphasis on health care organizations.
Nick Marshall is a Research Fellow in the Complex Product Systems

Innovation Centre and Centre for Research in Innovation Management
at the University of Brighton in the UK. His current research interests
concern issues surrounding organizational knowledge and learning in
project-based organizations. He is also an associate member of the
Innovation, Knowledge and Organizational Networking research unit at
Warwick Business School.
Yael Melnik holds a Masters degree in organizational behavior from

the School of Business Administration, Tel Aviv University, Israel. She
has recently returned to Israel after four years of work and study in
California. Yael Melnik is an organizational consultant specializing in
cross-cultural working relations. She has published several papers on the
topic.
Christena Nippert-Eng is Associate Professor of Sociology at the Illinois

Institute of Technology. Dr Nippert-Eng is currently engaged in a research
project entitled “Islands of Privacy.” The project (funded by the Intel
Corporation) focuses on the experience of privacy at home, the work-
place, and throughout public spaces. Her work has been featured exten-
sively and regularly in the media, ranging from NPR’s Talk of the Nation
to the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, Newsweek, and various tel-
evision news shows. It is also the core of a family literacy curriculum
being developed by the nonprofit organization, MotherRead/FatherRead.
Christena holds council positions for the American Sociological
Association.
Neil Paulsen received his PhD from the University of Queensland,

Australia and is a lecturer in the UQ Business School. His research exam-
ines group and organizational identification processes in organizations
undergoing change, and the role of communication in facilitating
xiv Notes on Contributors
organizational change. He has experience as a successful senior manager

and consultant in public, private, and community sector organizations.
Niki Panteli is a Lecturer in Information Systems at the School of
Management, University of Bath. Her main research interests lie in the
area of information technology and emergent forms of organizations.
She is currently doing research on virtuality and computer-mediated
communication. Recently completed projects include: gender divisions
in IT, videoconferencing systems in business communication, and the
social construction of email texts. Niki gained her PhD from Warwick
Business School in 1996.
Anat Rafaeli received her BA from Haifa University, and MA and
PhD in Industrial and Organizational Psychology from The Ohio State
University. She is currently the Professor and Chair of Social Sciences in
the Faculty of Industrial Engineering and Management of the Technion –
Israel’s Institute of Technology. She has conducted and published research
on emotions of employees and customers and on symbols and artifacts
in organizations. In addition to the Technion, Anat has worked at The
Hebrew University, The University of Michigan, Stanford University
and INSEAD as well as the Wells-Fargo Bank in San Francisco and at the
management development center of IBM at Armonk, New York.
Charo Rodriguez is postdoctoral fellow in management and family
medicine at McGill University. She is a member of the Interdisciplinary
Research Group on Health (GRIS) at the Université de Montréal. She
is a general practitioner (Universidad de Alicante, Spain), and obtained
her PhD in Public Health at the Université de Montréal in 2000. Her
research interests include interorganizational collaboration, organiza-
tional power, primary care and integrated health care systems.
Boas Shamir is a Professor in the Department of Sociology and

Anthropology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Jerusalem. He holds
a PhD in social psychology from the London School of Economics and
Political Science. His main research area is leadership in organizations.
Haizley Trevor-Smith is currently a Lecturer at Simon Fraser University,
Canada. She received her BBA and MBA in Organizational Behavior
and Human Resource Management from SFU. Currently enrolled as
a PhD candidate in Management and Technology, Haizley’s research
work focuses on cultural issues in design, design management, and the
transfer of technology to organizations.
Notes on Contributors xv
Iris Vilnai-Yavetz is a PhD candidate at the Faculty of Industrial

Engineering and Management of the Technion, Haifa, Israel. She
received her BA in Psychology and her MBA from the Hebrew University
of Jerusalem. Iris studies the impact of the physical environment on cus-
tomers and service providers. She is especially interested in the influ-
ence of the environment on service interactions. Before her PhD
studies, Iris held a managerial position in a marketing research and con-
sulting firm in Israel.
Harry Wels is Associate Professor at the Department of Culture,
Organisation and Management at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, the
Netherlands. He is editor of Trust and Co-operation. Symbolic Exchange
and Moral Economies in an Age of Cultural Differentiation (with Peer Smets
and Joost van Loon), Amsterdam, 1999; and author of Joint Ventures and
Reciprocity in Private Wildlife Conservation. The Savé Valley Conservancy
and its gift to neighbouring communities in Zimbabwe, Leiden: Brill
Publishers (in press). His current research interests focus on social iden-
tities in strategic alliances in transborder natural resource management
in southern Africa.
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Introduction: Boundaries and
Organization
Tor Hernes and Neil Paulsen
One could spend a lifetime on nothing but boundaries. This

would be worthwhile work.
(Hall 1996)
The citation, taken from an anthology edited by Deborah Pellow, reflects

a growing interest in boundary issues and corresponding systematic
research efforts to study boundaries as phenomena in their own right.
Epstein (1997) notes in particular that the interest in boundaries has
attracted renewed interest in the social sciences. Several explanations are
offered as to why this phenomenon is particularly present over the last
decade. The technological explanation is widespread and focuses on the
impact of increasingly accessible and high-powered communication
technologies. Another common explanation is the globalization of
world markets with the corresponding demands on firms to be compet-
itive in markets beyond their regional or national boundaries. A third
explanation is the transition from mass production to individualized
production, which requires seamless manufacturing systems that tran-
scend organizational borders. This trend cannot be explained simply
as a result of organizational obligations and opportunities alone. The
“blurring” of boundaries can also be identified in global trends that are
taking place in arts, fashion, and politics. There are things to be said in
favor of this evolution. In the public domain, the diminishing of bound-
aries allows for more active citizen participation. In private industry,
goods and services can be provided that correspond better to the needs
of individual customers as industries develop “seamless” processes.
Inside organizations, the diminishing of bureaucratic boundaries signals
liberation from bureaucracy, less meddling from middle managers, and
reduced distortion of information. Diminishing of boundaries conveys
1
2 Tor Hernes and Neil Paulsen
great promise for the individual. It signals free choice and realization of
personal projects.
There is, however, good reason to proceed cautiously and to question
critically both theoretical positions and the evolving praxis of boundary
issues. We may question whether our current theories adequately cater
for the evolution of boundaries and boundary “blurring” in modern
society. We would agree with Brunsson and Olsen (1998) who argue that
Weberian-influenced organization theory deals poorly with emergent
phenomena. This volume demonstrates that the changing nature of
organizational boundaries calls for new and multiple perspectives.
The second question, which is not specifically dealt with in this volume,
but which is no less important, relates to society, and asks whether the
“blurring” of organizational boundaries is a good thing. Some impor-
tant institutions do require integrity and longevity. We are well served
with responsive public institutions, but they serve us poorly if they
become morally malleable. We like such institutions to open their orga-
nizational boundaries in the name of efficiency, public accountability
and scrutiny, but not at the expense of their integrity. For example, we
want our justice system to be sensitive but not corruptible.
The question is whether the opening of institutional boundaries,
which makes a system more sensitive and accountable, makes them
vulnerable to undue influences. Although largely built around Weber’s
bureaucratic solution to impartiality (see Weber 1968), public institu-
tions cannot be entirely disassociated from the society in which they are
embedded. They develop their own boundaries, but these boundaries
operate on the foundations of underlying fracture lines in the wider
society, as Abbott (1995) points out. Frans Kamsteeg (Chapter 12, in this
volume) provides an illustration of how Catholic Development Aid
(Cordaid) in the Netherlands copes with internal tensions arising from
a religious founding principle on the one hand, and the need to survive
as a modern commercial entity on the other.
The dilemma of multiple sets of boundaries is not confined to public
institutions. Private firms, temporary groups, and virtual teams are all in
some way or other concerned with the issue of closedness versus open-
ness. Stable boundaries, for example, may be good for efficiency, but
bad for organizational change. Even this postulate requires verification.
Although it is espoused again and again that organic systems with fluid
boundaries are more readily malleable than mechanistic systems, little
tends to be specified about what kinds of boundaries are bad for change
and good for stability or vice versa. In other words, our understanding
of boundaries should not be limited to seeing them as single purpose
Introduction 3
and restraining entities. What emerges is a need for boundaries to be

rediscovered and respecified.
New organizational boundaries?

The boundary phenomenon has attracted the interest of researchers in
disciplines as varied as anthropology (e.g. Barth 1969; Pellow 1996),
political geography (Paasi 1999), sociology (Abbott 1995; Giddens 1984),
gender studies (Gerson and Peiss 1985), economics (Williamson 1985;
Coase 1937), political science (Shapiro and Hacker-Cordón 1999), and
linguistics (Gal and Irvine 1995). In organization studies, the increased
temporality and transience of organizational arrangements challenge
researchers to stretch their imagination beyond current notions of
organizations and to consider alternative ways of representing more or
less stable patterns of interaction. The idea of boundary, having been
almost inextricably linked to the idea of “organization”, should logically
form a part of this reexamination, as the notion of the organization as
a spatially stable and monolithic system becomes subject to question.
A rethink of boundaries and organizing may prove a more promising
avenue for reconceptualizing the much talked about transformations of
organizations than the more common structuralist reference to the flat-
tening of hierarchies. The changing of structure (or restructuring) is
more about the rearrangement of boundaries – boundaries of discretion,
identity, understanding, and many others – than a simple loosening of
structure. It is the rearrangement of various kinds of boundaries that
needs to be more fully understood.
Although the current developments should spur a renewed interest in
the study of organizational boundaries, a search among articles and
books on organizations yields surprisingly few works where boundaries
are given exclusive attention. Boundaries tend to be seen as the result
of organizing processes, or they are relegated to a secondary role in
relation to the existing order. In either case, they are not given the
status as phenomena giving rise to their own dynamics. It seems that
little heed has been paid to developments in social anthropology
marked by Fredrik Barth’s (1969, 15) argument that we are better off
studying the boundaries of culture than the “stuff” (or content) that
constitutes culture. Maybe we are unknowingly influenced by our geo-
metrical image of circles, where the boundary is periphery. Perhaps we
have a tendency to think of that which is inside the circle as represen-
tative of the circle, and therefore as more important than the boundary
itself.
Where boundaries (or rather their absence) are being treated at length
is in the management literature, with attempts to visualize “boundary-
less” organizations, presented as a sort of antithesis to the Weberian
bureaucracy (e.g. Devanna and Tichy 1990; Ashkenas et al. 1995). Gareth
Morgan (1988, 129) for example, concludes that “[t]he idea of a discrete
organization with identifiable boundaries (whether defined in terms of
physical location, the manufacturing process, or staff employed) is break-
ing down” (italics added). As much as we would agree that there is a trend
towards diminishing time–space stability, the changes towards fluidity
and complexity should not be taken as being synonymous with bound-
aries disappearing. In fact, such changes may signal a growing com-
plexity of boundaries, or that boundaries change more often and more
rapidly in time and space, or that they contain elements in addition to
classical notions of boundaries. To assume their disappearance would be
to jump to conclusions. On the contrary, time is more than ripe for a
reinvestigation of the making of boundaries. The analysis should not be
limited to the assumption that boundaries do nothing but uphold order
and control. To do so may obscure the temporality and transience of
organizational arrangements, and we wish to take these into account.
The analysis should also account for the possibility that boundaries
play a part in effecting organizational change and transience. The evo-
lution of less visible and more volatile boundaries has been interpreted,
perhaps mistakenly, as the diminishing importance of boundaries in
organizational analysis. Popular management literature has “cashed in”
on the decline of bureaucratic boundaries to herald among other things
the “boundaryless” organization. On the contrary, if bureaucracy is on
the decline (and this needs to be verified), it means that an increasing
number of subtle and unobtrusive boundaries are at work. Just because
boundaries may be less visible in the modern organization, does not
make them less important. In fact, it makes them even more important
as topics of investigation. The focus of attention was on formal bureau-
cratic boundaries in the past, and this detracted from attempts to come
to grips with the complexity of boundaries, which has always existed.
Formal structure provided the boundaries that many organization
researchers and managers were seeking, and apart from the odd excep-
tion there has not been a need to look further. As the river of formal
structure recedes, rocks that could not be seen previously become visible.
What we are witnessing is not an effacement of boundaries, but a
proliferation. Harry Wels (Chapter 10) describes a case where the state
of an actual physical boundary (a fence) emerged as a symbolic repre-
sentation of the relationship between two parties in a strategic alliance.
Introduction 5
In another example, Christina Garsten (Chapter 13) explores how to

make sense of organizations that rely partly on employees from tempo-
rary staffing agencies. The use of “temps” for certain tasks is becoming
increasingly common. They do not formally belong to the organization,
but they influence the way it operates. One way of analyzing the phe-
nomenon is to investigate the boundaries that temps actually cross,
and to analyze the perceptions of these boundaries held by temps and
permanent employees. The fact is that temps are hired to work inside
the organization, but at the same time they also belong to another
organization (their agency), and this presents particular challenges in
respect of who is a part of the organization and who is not.
Another type of organization that is expanding rapidly is the project
organization. There is a tendency for some organizations to be formed
and dismantled over shorter time intervals than has previously been the
case. Temporary organizations have been considered as processes rather
than as organizations per se, whereas the formal organizations within
which they are formed are conceptualized as having stable boundary
properties. Such a polarization between the seemingly fluid and the sta-
ble lends the impression that temporary organizations, such as projects,
have no boundaries. Nick Marshall (Chapter 3) refutes this idea, sug-
gesting that projects in complex organizations operate with boundaries.
These boundaries are more elusive than stable state boundaries, as they
are continually constituted and reconstituted with changing identities,
roles, tasks, and activities.
Boundaries: Multiple perspectives of conceptualization

It is by no means clear how to use the boundary metaphor to understand
organizational behavior. In mainstream organization theory, boundaries
have commonly been drawn analytically to describe where an organiza-
tion ends and where the environment starts (Pfeffer and Salancik 1978,
30). The idea that there is an organization–environment divide is a tenet
of systems theory (Miller and Rice 1967), and has allowed analysis of
organizations as systems interacting with their environments. Students
of social groups consider the drawing of boundaries to be fundamental
for understanding the interaction between individuals and groups where
boundaries have been closely associated with roles and identities and
how these are managed (Schneider 1987; Paulsen, Chapter 1 in this
volume). Berg and Smith (1990), for example, argue that it is impossible
to even talk about groups without at least implicitly invoking the
concept of boundaries. Situating and defining the boundary has been
important for sociologists in order to locate spatially the social order that
is significant for how people and groups relate to one another. Yet, one
could also take the perspective that boundaries are neither here nor there.
The picture is not always as simple as saying that a person leaves one set
of boundaries to enter another. Instead, individuals may be considered to
be almost perpetually in “liminal” situations where they both move
between boundaries and carry the boundaries with them. Christena
Nippert-Eng (Chapter 14) shows how individuals perform “boundary
work” in the context of individual and organization. Boundary work
consists of both boundary setting and of boundary transcendence. The
imagery is very useful in showing how different types of individual–
organization relationships exist. This again tells us both something about
organizations that influence our lives and how we relate to them.
A common denominator for much theorizing is that boundaries
are drawn for purposes of analysis, and further that the boundaries in
the analysis describe a stable order. The very notion of order suggests
ordering of human actions and interaction, what Giddens (1984) refers
to as restraint. Order as restraint is rooted in functionalist sociology, as
expressed by Parsons (1951). Placing too much emphasis on restraint
(ordering) detracts from the fact that boundaries are what actually
enable groups and organizations to act outside their own boundaries.
This is discussed by Tor Hernes (Chapter 2), who analyzes the establish-
ment of a “network university” to show how boundaries enable organ-
izations to act outside their own boundaries. Hernes’s argument is that
while boundaries provide order, at the same time they also facilitate
mobilization and the capacity to influence processes in the external
environment.
The location and definition of boundaries have been considered cru-
cial in interorganizational theory, such as in organizational ecology and
in network theory, where the precise definition of the agents in rela-
tionship to their environment has a direct bearing on the outcome of
the analysis. Laumann et al. (1983, 19) note in relation to the latter that
poor specification of boundaries may at worst render the analysis mean-
ingless. Alas, boundaries are elusive phenomena, and we should be cau-
tious when we use the word “specification”, particularly when dealing
with “virtual realties”. Niki Panteli (Chapter 4) shows, how, in a virtual
reality, individuals may give impressions of the location of boundaries
in their communication with others. For example, a manager speaking
on a mobile phone while on vacation may give the impression of speak-
ing from her place of work. This example may be commonplace, but the
Introduction 7
implications are far from trivial. Examples such as this demonstrate how
non-verifiable boundaries may be manufactured in a virtual reality.
Boundaries constitute a longstanding preoccupation in the social
sciences. However, determining the location and the nature of the
boundary has also been important for economists, in order to model eco-
nomic behavior. Coase (1937) raised the question about the nature of the
firm, and concluded that there is a point at which hierarchically based
transactions are deemed more efficient than market-driven ones. We thus
infer that this is where the boundary is drawn between organization and
environment; the organization representing hierarchy, and the environ-
ment representing the market. In today’s organization, this assumption is
problematic. What may seem from the outside to be an organization may
in fact be an internally organized market transaction between internal
units. Later works in the tradition of Coase (Holmström and Roberts
1998) have pointed out that boundaries are much more complex than
suggested by Coase, and that the line of transition needs to be understood
in terms of several different boundaries. In this book, Corswant et al.
(Chapter 7) develop a perspective of boundaries based in economic
organization theory. Using the development and the manufacturing
of the Volvo S80 model as a case study, they show how boundaries are
drawn around activities in the space between networking organizations.
The authors show, from the perspective of coordinated activity, how
alternative organizational solutions may exist that transcend organiza-
tional boundaries, and further, that such solutions generate their own
boundaries.
The latter allusion to the complexity of working with boundaries
mirrors observations in organization theory, where the definition and
analysis of boundaries is described as contentious (van Maanen 1982),
difficult and elusive (Scott 1998; Hall 1991), ambiguous (Pfeffer and
Salancik 1978; Schwartz 1996; Scott 1998), changing (Starbuck 1976;
Weick 1979), and permeable (March and Simon 1958; Perrow 1986). But
if boundaries exist and they are decisive, we have to make sense of them
in their complexity. It is not helpful to resort to the explanation that they
are simply contentious, multiple, ambiguous, and changing. Boundaries
are all of these things and many more. In this volume, for example,
Cyr and Trevor-Smith (Chapter 5) show how business-to-business must
be managed, not just across complex organizational boundaries, but also
across boundaries of national culture with differing norms of trust and
loyalty. It may be tempting to think that boundary issues are exclusively
a phenomenon of today’s globalized (post)modern society. However, we
prefer to think that boundaries have been elusive and complex

phenomena since the dawn of industrialization. It is not at all clear
whether Henry Ford felt the complexity any less than do organization
designers in the twenty-first century. What has taken place is that we
have used models of thinking that were based on defining more or less
stable and unambiguous system limits. Over the last century, organiza-
tion and management theorists have operated largely from thinking
derived from organic systems research, where stable boundaries could
be drawn between a system and its environment. Within the imagery
of open systems, boundaries have been conceptualized as permeable, yet
as barriers. Hence, the idea of so-called “boundary-spanners” emerged.
Studies such as those conducted by Adams (1980), Tushman and
Scanlan (1981), and Ancona and Caldwell (1992), point to the tension
experienced by individuals in organizational boundary spanning posi-
tions. Boundary spanning assumes that there is something “in-here” to
be protected from something “out-there”, and the function is similar to
that performed by a border guard. The imagery of guarding boundaries
is incomplete because, in practice, boundary spanners move in and out
across organizational boundaries, and they affect how boundaries
are drawn. Birgit Jevnaker (Chapter 6) points this out in her study of
industrial designers. Jevnaker makes the point that it is the capability of
accommodating the “in-between” dynamics of creative individuals that
enables firms to be innovative.
In mainstream organization theory, notions of boundaries have been
driven by theory more so than by reality. When theory needed stable
and unambiguous boundaries, the system was attributed such bound-
aries, but mainly for analytical purposes. This allowed analysts to work
more from armchairs than from the field, as boundaries have been used
as convenient analytical tools for imposing order on what is a complex
reality. This works well for many analyses but much less so for others,
notably for settings that are less easy to define and that are likely to
change. Thus there is a need for perspectives that form complementar-
ities with systems thinking; perspectives that allow boundary selection
from realities rather than from analytical neatness. Hannele Kerusuo
(Chapter 9, in this volume) offers an example of how boundaries can be
studied in action. Kerosuo’s work is drawn from patient care in internal
medicine, and includes analysis of statements by health care providers
interacting over one specific patient. Her analysis, drawing upon work by
Vygotsky, shows how boundaries are in various ways defended or ques-
tioned through speech acts, and how micro level boundary dynamics
may be fuelled by contradictions, questions and dilemmas.
Introduction 9
Boundaries: Multiple perspectives of method

Researching boundaries poses major conceptual dilemmas, as bound-
aries belong to our inner mental structures as well as to the external
structures of organizations. Whether boundaries reside in the minds of
the researched or in the minds of researchers represents an important
dimension that spans realist versus nominalist perspectives. People in
organizations relate to socially constructed boundaries, and see them as
real, whether they are symbolic or material. This is what Laumann et al.
(1983) refer to as a realist perspective of boundaries.
Boundaries may appear more or less ambiguous, or to a varying degree
lend themselves to subjective interpretation. For example, some bound-
aries appear as given, such as walls and initiation rituals that symbolize
relatively unambiguous lines of inclusion and exclusion. Others are
much more subject to subjective interpretation and difficult to locate,
such as norms of allowable versus deviant behavior in a group. What
some members regard as allowable, others may regard as stepping over
the line. Moreover, the perception of boundaries changes over time.
What has been considered a boundary in the past may no longer appear
so, once someone has transgressed it. Shamir and Melnik (Chapter 15)
provide an instructive example of differences between national cultures
by studying how they relate to normative boundaries. Their study reveals
important differences between Israeli and American managers and engi-
neers in a California-based firm. They point out, for example, how
members of the different national cultures held different perceptions of
breaking rules and taking personal initiative.
Whereas individuals, groups and organizations construct boundaries
in various ways in order to cope with the world around them, researchers
draw boundaries as a means of analytic convenience (Pfeffer and Salancik
1978, 30). Laumann et al. (1983, 21) refer to this as a nominalist perspec-
tive, where the analyst “self-consciously imposes a conceptual frame-
work constructed to serve his own analytical purposes”. Drawing
boundaries in this way allows for the disentanglement of entities into
analytically manageable units. It has facilitated much of the work in sys-
tems theory, which has been explicitly premised on the assumption of
organizations as being differentiated from their environments by some
sort of boundary (Burrell and Morgan 1979). The bounding of elements
has allowed actions and reactions to be attributed to identifiable parts
and thus to enable causalities and correlations to be established. This
can be seen in studies such as population ecology (e.g. Hannan and
Freeman 1989), new institutionalism (Scott and Christensen 1995) and
organizational sociology (Ahrne 1994), where organizations are mod-

eled as bounded systems so as to distinguish them analytically from
their environments.
The distinction between nominalist and realist derives from meta-
theoretical perspectives borrowed from Burrell and Morgan’s (1979)
typology of sociological research. This distinction should not, we would
argue, be taken down to the field level. In the field, the neatness of
the nominalist–realist distinction disappears quickly, as the ideas of the
researcher and the researched interact and influence one another. The
researcher’s idea of boundaries changes as a result of being in contact
with the researched, and vice versa. Some boundaries, such as walls and
electronic access procedures, may seem obvious to both researcher and
the researched as thresholds that delineate organizational order. Other
boundaries, on the other hand, such as those of social identity or net-
works of activity, which may have been unnoticed by either of them,
may emerge as significant through the research process. In the research
process, it is not a question of whose conception leads the dance, but
the researcher and the researched mutually construct a world where
particular boundaries emerge as significant and are of a texture that
lends themselves to analysis. This means to let go of the idea of the
“knowing subject” (Foucault 1994) as well as the “knowing researcher”
and instead accept that they both operate with sets of boundaries that
interact during the course of the analysis.
Concluding comments
Hopefully this volume demonstrates that boundaries are not “a few neat
lines that can be found”, but that they are ubiquitous in organized life,
and they are manifest symbolically as well as materially (Epstein 1989),
and mentally as well as physically (Katz and Kahn 1978, 66). What bet-
ter example than that presented by Anat Rafaeli and Iiris Vilnai-Yavetz
(Chapter 10), who show how the simple painting of buses (a material
boundary) created a host of reactions related to the symbolism of the
new color? Setting boundaries also forms the basis of organizing, as it is
about grouping activities, people, processes, resources, and intentions.
There is a multitude of boundaries surrounding people in organizations,
and the task becomes a process of fitting different boundaries to ques-
tions we wish to ask about organizations. The process is about discover-
ing boundaries that matter in relation to the phenomena that we
select, and then adopting the perspective that stands the best chance of
informing us about the phenomena in question.
Introduction 11
We subscribe to the view that “the organization” as it has existed in

the minds of writers for decades fits less and less contemporary organi-
zational realities. Yet, our society seems to consist of more and more
organizations. There is an obvious paradox here, in that we are perhaps
becoming more and more “organized”; yet “organizations” become
increasingly difficult to discern. The conclusion is that we have to pay
closer attention to organization, but in ways that fit the complexity and
fluidity of contemporary work life. As argued above, the approach would
be neither to claim that there are no organizations, nor to suggest that
there are organizations that have boundaries that are disappearing.
Instead we suggest moving boundaries to the center and focusing on
how they are made, with the understanding that boundary setting is
intrinsic to the very process of organizing. The chapters in this book pro-
vide in their own, creative ways examples of how such “centering” of
boundaries may be done. In so doing, they demonstrate that if we look
closely enough, we can see and read boundaries in places where they tra-
ditionally have not been assumed to exist. And by consequence they
show how we can take steps to unravel some of the mysteries of con-
temporary organization.
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1
“Who Are We Now?”: Group Identity,
Boundaries, and the (Re)Organizing
Process
Neil Paulsen
Introduction
“Who am I?” and “Who are we?” are questions that have occupied the
minds of philosophers (e.g. Plato, Aristotle, Descartes), sociologists,
and psychologists (e.g. James, Mead, Goffman, and Erikson) for many
centuries. Identity is central to a conception of what it means to be
human. An individual’s identity is based in part on the groups to which
he or she belongs, and identification with these groups forms part of an
individual’s self-concept. Within organizational contexts, employees are
members of a number of groups, all of which are potential targets of
identification: the organization itself, divisions, departments, or work
units, as well as management teams, project teams, professional groups,
or other informal groups. In other words, organizations are structured
both formally and informally such that individuals within them relate
to one another in essentially an intergroup context.
Organizational life is replete with change processes including the intro-
duction of new systems, restructuring, downsizing, mergers, takeovers, or
the negotiation of strategic alliances. As new structures and working
arrangements are created, employees are often required to form new
groups and teams, as well as different lines of authority. Such changes
rearrange the existing order and the connections between units, and
modify the ways in which each unit is differentiated from others. These
processes define new boundaries, which alter how individuals and groups
relate to each other in the organization. Individuals forge new identities
with and within the organization as new groups form. During organiza-
tional change, employees and managers alike must constantly redefine
14
Group Identity, Boundaries, and Organization 15
and renegotiate group boundaries. Drawing from Social Identity Theory,

this chapter presents the argument that managers of organizations
undergoing change need to remain cognizant of the fact that change
not only involves the restructuring or reorganization of work, but also
involves the need for employees to renegotiate new ways of relating to,
and feeling a part of, the organization. The chapter reports on studies
that have investigated the impact of these dynamics on employee
perceptions and outcomes.
Organizations as dynamic social systems

General systems theorists have long argued that organizations function
as open, yet purposive social systems in dynamic relationship with
their environments. Such theorists view organizations as holistic, self-
regulating systems composed of interdependent parts or subsystems
(Scott 1998). Other systems theorists eschew notions of systemic pur-
pose in relation to organizational entities (e.g. autopoietic systems the-
orists, Luhmann 1995; Maturana and Varela 1987), but adopt the view
that systems are subject to complex social dynamics. These dynamics
include the differentiation of the organizing entity from the surround-
ing environment, and the creation and maintenance of the identity of
the organization. Similar arguments may be applied to the development
of formal and informal groups (“consensual domains”) that emerge
within the organizational system.
Early management research such as the Hawthorne studies suggests
that organizations are constituted as social systems in which all parts
are in interdependent relationship. Structural and functional arrange-
ments within large organizations are designed to achieve organizational
goals, however, such arrangements also set the boundaries for a highly
differentiated social system (Trice and Beyer 1993). Within that system,
individuals are differentiated from each other through membership of
departments, work units or teams, ranks or levels of management,
and/or specialized roles with specific skill sets. While such groups often
represent different and competing interests, they nevertheless enable
employees to define themselves and their social relationships within
the organization.
Management theorists generally characterize organizations as groups
of individuals working together in a coordinated way in the pursuit of
specific goals, and their efforts are coordinated through a structure of
task and authority relationships. In order to increase efficiency and
competitiveness, organizations utilize various mechanisms to organize
16 Neil Paulsen
work and people. In many cases, employees work and relate to each other
in and through small groups as interdependent workgroups, project
groups, or teams and increasingly through intra- and interorganizational
alliances. The trend is towards an increasing use of these mechanisms in
organizations (Child and McGrath 2001; Hartley 1996; Jackson et al.
1995). Furthermore, organizational capabilities are increasingly devel-
oped through intensely social processes, and may not be directly tied to
physical resources or locations (Galunic and Eisenhardt 2001; Wiesenfeld
et al. 2001).
Organizations as intergroup contexts

Organizations are constituted as a dynamic and complex social system
with interdependent networks of interpersonal and intergroup relation-
ships. Within this social milieu, issues of control, power and influence,
status, competition over resources, and boundaries between groups
inevitably emerge and are contested. In some cases, these processes may
work against the purpose and desired outcomes of the organization.
Within the interdependent nature of organizational arrangements,
organizational actors rarely function in isolation from their group or
team contexts.
Individual employees are differentiated from each other through
membership of social categories that define departments, work units,
levels of hierarchy, and/or specialized roles. Individuals identify with
the groups to which they belong or to which they are perceived to
belong. A number of authors have theorized how these processes may
operate within an organizational context (Ashforth and Mael 1989;
Hogg and Terry 2000; Whetten and Godfrey 1998). Individuals within
organizations identify with groups based on their work unit or team,
functional roles (e.g. marketing, the senior management team), profes-
sional identities (e.g. engineers, scientists), employment status (e.g. full-
time vs. part-time), informal arrangements, and with the organization
itself. Consequently, when individuals interact, they do not simply act
as individuals but also as members of the salient organizational groups
to which they belong. Furthermore, these group memberships and iden-
tities are partially self-defining for individuals, and may help explain
the agency of human action in organizations (Albert et al. 2000).
Organization theorists argue that modern organizations are moving
toward less bureaucratic and hierarchical structures, where intra- and
interorganizational alliances are more common (Schilling and Steensma
2001). As organizations move toward more adhocratic, organic or
network structures with an increased reliance on taskforces and cross-

functional project teams, the importance of groups and intergroup
relations in organizations becomes even more apparent. Intergroup activ-
ity increases as individuals are required to “represent their own group to
other groups or must interact as a group with others in order to achieve
goals” (Hartley 1996, 398). Increased diversity within organizations
means that groups and teams include individuals who represent different
age and cultural groups, as well as multidisciplinary interests. In inter-
organizational strategic alliances, joint ventures or partnerships, inter-
group issues arise at the organizational level in the negotiation of
interorganizational relationships. At all levels of organization, whether
in project groups and teams, or in intra-organizational and interorgani-
zational relationships, a strategic issue for managers is the manage-
ment of group interests. An appreciation of the dynamics of intergroup
relations and the management of boundaries between groups becomes
crucial as organizations establish new forms of organizing for competi-
tive advantage.
Insights from intergroup relations theory

Within organizations, individuals are embedded within groups, which
in turn are embedded in the larger social system of the organization
(Alderfer 1987). Individuals in organizations essentially relate to one
another as members of such groups, and interpersonal encounters are
thus, in most cases, intergroup encounters. Alderfer defines two broad
classes of groups – identity groups (whose members share some common
biological characteristic such as gender, age, or ethnicity); and organiza-
tional groups (whose members share common organizational positions
and/or participate in equivalent work experiences such as task groups or
hierarchically defined groups). In interpersonal encounters, individuals
may represent the interests of multiple group memberships, and the
focal group membership is dependent on the context of the interaction
and those groups represented by others involved in the interaction. In
this formulation, organizations are clearly intergroup contexts and the
behavior of individuals can only be understood in the context of rele-
vant group memberships, the system within which groups are embed-
ded, the power relations that exist between groups, and the permeability
of the boundaries that define group memberships. What is not addressed
in Alderfer’s theory is the possibility that individuals develop a sense of
identity derived from their membership in organizational groups. In
other words, organizational groups can in fact become “identity” groups.
18 Neil Paulsen
In a generalized model of intergroup relations in organizations,

Kramer (1991) conceptualizes the individual in organizations “not as an
independent or socially isolated decision-maker, but rather as a social
actor embedded in a complex network of intra- and inter-group rela-
tionships” (Kramer 1991, 195). However, while this conceptualization is
similar to that described above, Kramer emphasizes the identification
that individuals develop with their groups, and argues that these identi-
ties exercise a strong influence over employee attitudes and perceptions.
Social identity theory

Tajfel and Turner (1986) outline a theoretical framework referred to as
the social identity theory of intergroup relations. Social identity theory
(SIT) (Abrams and Hogg 1990; Hogg and Abrams 1988) seeks to explain
how individual behavior is influenced by group memberships. Rather
than analyzing social behavior at the individual level, SIT uses the
group as the fundamental unit of analysis to explain behavior within
and between groups. SIT proposes that an individual’s concept of self is
built on personal identity (one’s unique characteristics as an individual)
and social identity (derived from memberships in salient social groups
and categories). Under given conditions, social identity becomes more
salient than personal identity, and this leads to behavior that is based
on group memberships. According to SIT, group behavior is motivated
by the need to maintain a positive social identity, and hence a positive
self-image.
Social identity theory and its extension, self-categorization theory
(Turner et al. 1987), propose that underlying socio-cognitive processes
can account for group and intergroup phenomena. Through categoriza-
tion processes, people order and simplify their social environment by
forming meaningful groups or categories of individuals. However, the
theory extends beyond a focus on the cognitive categories accessed by
individuals to streamline the person perception process and argues that
individuals categorize both themselves and others as members of groups
and categories. Furthermore, individuals identify with the groups or cat-
egories in which they see themselves as members, and identify with
other persons they perceive as prototypical members of that group or
category. Social identification occurs when people define themselves
(and are seen by others) as part of a particular group or social category
(or in-group). Social identity, or self-conception as a group member,
is maintained through the comparisons individuals make between
in-groups (those groups to which they belong) and relevant out-groups.
An individual’s membership of, and identification with, such social

groups is crucial to understanding that person’s attitudes and behavior.
Self-categorization processes reflect the fact that when people define
themselves as a member of some self-inclusive social category or group
(e.g. gender, class, ethnic group, team, or organization), differences
among individual group members are minimized. At the same time,
differences between in-group and out-group members are accentuated.
Self-enhancement, on the other hand, results from a social comparison
process whereby people are motivated to favor their in-group over an
out-group. People have a strong motivation to maintain a positive sense
of self. When a group compares favorably with other groups on some
relevant dimension, this may contribute to a positive social identity.
Because the self is defined in terms of relevant group memberships,
individuals perceive norms and stereotypes that favor the in-group and
make favorable intergroup comparisons (Terry and Callan 1997; Terry
et al. 2001). Consequently, people are motivated to belong to groups
that compare favorably with other groups or, in other words, they aspire
to belong to high status groups. As membership in low status groups
will not necessarily provide a positive self-identity, individuals will
seek to gain membership of a high status group. Members of high
status groups seek to maintain their membership of that group and the
existence of the social category in order to reinforce the positive contri-
bution that membership makes to their self-identity. Similarly, members
of low status groups will engage in a range of strategies to improve the
status of their group or to enhance their self-esteem. By referring back
to these processes and the motivation to maintain a positive self-image,
SIT can account for both the beliefs of individuals and the behaviors
they undertake in relation to their in-group and out-groups.
Furthermore, intergroup comparison and identification processes
are motivated by a group’s need to maintain positive distinctiveness
with regard to other groups (Brewer 1993), especially when group mem-
bers are strongly identified with their group. Consequently, the propen-
sity to identify with one’s own group, or in-group identification, may
help explain aspects of intergroup conflict and competition. In fact, inter-
group conflict may well go beyond disputes over goals, task, or process
(see Thomas 1993) and include conflict over competing identities or
group status differences in a particular context. However, SIT goes beyond
an explanation of intergroup conflict, and has been applied to a wide
range of issues and settings including an examination of an individual’s
perceptions of self and others, communication and social influence, and
the behavioral consequences of social identities (Ellemers et al. 1999).
20 Neil Paulsen
Many of the insights derived from the rich tradition of research and
theory development utilizing social identity theory may be applied to
the intergroup contexts of organizations. Over ten years ago, a number
of authors encouraged others to examine the application of social iden-
tity theory to organizational contexts (Ashforth and Mael 1989; Kramer
1991). While it has taken some time for researchers to take up this
challenge, a corpus of research is now emerging, and the field remains
open to fruitful areas of research.
Social identity theory and the organization

Research drawing on SIT has generally focused on broad social categories
that individuals use to establish their identity (e.g. race, gender, ethnic-
ity). These are the groups that Alderfer (1987) calls “identity groups”
and what Cox (1993) calls “phenotype” and “cultural” identity groups.
Furthermore, research findings based on SIT are often conducted in
the experimental setting. Thus, generalizing the findings to organiza-
tions relies mostly on findings from experimental research based on con-
cocted groups and large social categories. In the organizational context,
individuals acquire a range of identities associated with the various
organizational categories in which they are placed. It is this process that
gives rise to competitive orientations toward members of other cate-
gories or groups. Ashforth and Mael (1989) and Hartley (1996) argue
that individuals have multiple group identities in an organization and
that targets of identification may be work units, subunits, organization,
or professional groups. Scott and his colleagues have developed a line of
research that has investigated the impact of multiple identifications on
aspects of decision-making in teams and on employees’ intent to leave
(Scott et al. 1999; Scott 1999). Identification with particularly salient
groups strongly influences individual perceptions, behavior, and inter-
group relations.
In large complex organizations, individuals are more likely to identify
with salient groups within the organization rather than with the organi-
zation as a whole. This is not to say that individuals do not have
an organizational identity, as proposed by Mael and Ashforth (1992).
Such an identity may emerge in communicative relationships external
to the organization (e.g. interorganizational relationships) or may be
triggered when individuals are asked to comment on their organization.
However, group identities that develop within the organization become
most salient and provide a more powerful influence over individual
perceptions and behavior in the organization (van Knippenberg and
van Schie 2000). In fact, such identifications may help to explain the
development of organizational “subcultures” within the organization.
Individuals with strong group identifications within an organization
tend to identify and/or compare themselves with dominant or high
status groups within the organization. Hartley (1996) goes further to
suggest that individuals may develop a sense of group membership not
simply by their own choosing, but also because nonmembers may per-
ceive them to be members of a particular group. In this sense, groups
may be defined as much by nonmembers as members. As such, group
dynamics and group identity may follow from, rather than precede
intergroup relations. The importance of the perceived status of salient
groups cannot be ignored. In some organizations, groups of higher
status (maybe particular professional groups, middle managers, senior
managers, particular teams or task forces) may be particularly sensitive
to change processes due to a potential loss of status or change in power
differentials. Strength of identification with particular groups influences
individual perceptions of organizational processes and must therefore
be taken into account during any change event. While the research
exploring the impact of group identification with what Alderfer (1987)
calls “organizational” groups is limited (Ashforth and Mael 1989),
examples do exist in the literature. Brown and his colleagues (Brown
1978; Brown et al. 1986; Brown and Williams 1984) examined levels of
intergroup differentiation based on perceived intergroup conflict, inter-
group contact, and workgroup identification in different industrial set-
tings. Others have investigated the role of professional group (and
subgroup) identity in the nursing profession (Millward 1995; Oaker and
Brown 1986; Skevington 1981; van Knippenberg and van Oers 1984)
and journalism (Russo 1998); and the relationship between professional
identity at work and the proportional representation of women in
senior management (Ely 1994). Research has examined the importance
of identification processes to diverse aspects of organizational life, includ-
ing employee perceptions and attitudes in response to organizational
mergers in the hospital and airline industries (Terry and Callan 1998;
Terry et al. 2001); teamwork in child health care teams (Shute 1997);
team performance in different production environments (Lembke and
Wilson 1998; Scott 1997); identification and unobtrusive control
(Barker and Tompkins 1994; Cheney 1983, 1991); leadership in small
groups (Fielding and Hogg 1997); and dual commitment to union and
organization (Johnson and Johnson 1995).
In a case involving the introduction of a strategic technological change
in a service organization, Hutt et al. (1995) analyzed the cross-functional
22 Neil Paulsen
barriers to change as an intergroup communication and change issue

involving functional unit identification. While not directly citing SIT,
Friedkin and Simpson (1985) examined organizational factors affecting
the identification of members with their subunits using a resource
allocation measure as a proxy for subunit identification. In another line
of research, Suzuki (1998) has demonstrated that workers’ level of
identification is related to the adequacy of their communication with
both their in-group and out-group. Others have used the SIT framework
to examine the identification of external stakeholders (e.g. customers)
with a target organization (Bhattacharya 1998; Bhattacharya et al.
1995). Theoretical discussions in the literature have focused on organi-
zational identity and identification (Whetten and Godfrey 1998), and
group identity within organizations (Cox 1993; Hartley 1996; Kramer
1991; Nkomo and Cox 1996). Theorists have applied SIT concepts
towards understanding organizational socialization, role conflict, and
intergroup relations (Ashforth and Mael 1989); interdependent decision-
making (Kramer 1991); emotional labor (Ashforth and Humphrey
1993); cooperative and voluntary behavior (Tyler 1999); and negotiator
decision-making (Kramer et al. 1993). Rousseau (1998) argues that work-
ers may identify with organizations or subgroups at an elemental level
(“situated identification”) or at a higher level (“deep structure identifi-
cation”) and posits a number of propositions for testing.
One conclusion that emerges from the research and theoretical liter-
ature is that group identity and identification processes can provide
alternative explanations for many aspects of organizational dynamics
(Haslam 2001). What is important for the discussion in this chapter
is that employee identification with groups in organizational contexts
becomes particularly salient during organizational change. As organiza-
tions change, and groups and teams change within them, individuals
must negotiate a new terrain of redefined group boundaries and estab-
lish new identities with and within the changed organization.
Organizational change, group identification, and

boundary management
When an organization changes, existing group identities are challenged
and new targets of identification emerge. Mergers, acquisitions, restruc-
turing, strategic alliances, and other forms of (re)organizing result in the
creation of new or different organizational forms and structural change.
Such changes result in the redefinition and renegotiation of organiza-
tional boundaries, often through the rearrangement of work units and
reporting lines, and the formation of new or different teams. New groups
emerge that comprise staff from different backgrounds, experiences, or
organizational cultures and subcultures. As the changes take effect, the
different structures establish new points of contact and targets of identi-
fication for employees (Buono and Bowditch 1989; Haunschild et al.
1994; Terry et al. 2001).
The new structures and working arrangements alter the ways in which
individuals can relate to each other and the way in which group identi-
ties are formed. An identity formed through interaction with others
within the “old” structure is necessarily altered when new structures
are in place. New boundaries are formed, and the “other” becomes
a “stranger” (Albert et al. 2000). In a newly changed organization, employ-
ees are likely to retain a strong sense of identity with the “old” organiza-
tion until a new process of identification with the “new” organization
takes place. By restructuring or reorganizing the way employees work,
managers are inviting their staff to identify with a new organization, and
it may take time for the new organization, group or team to become
authentic targets of identification.
Managers and researchers alike have often neglected the intergroup
context in which organizational change and related communication
processes occur (Gardner et al. 2001). This is despite the fact that major
changes are made in the allocation of status, power, and resources across
divisions or groups in the organization and/or between organizations.
In addition, organizational change, restructuring, and mergers increas-
ingly involve the creation of a new organizational identity, often
imposed on employees. In fact, individual uncertainty in the new struc-
ture may often be interpreted, perhaps inappropriately, as “resistance to
change”. Employees take time to make comparisons between “the way
things were” and “the things are” in order to find a new sense of iden-
tity with, or attachment to the organization. In the case of a merger or
takeover situation, employees from both organizations need to reevalu-
ate their place or status in the merged organization. Potentially, one
merger partner may be seen as the dominant or higher status partner
and may seek to retain that status by devaluing the lower status group.
There are numerous examples of mergers failing because of the inter-
group dynamics during change, when resources are moved to different
parts of the organization or employees are asked to adopt new cultural
identities and values.
From the perspective of SIT, change heightens the extent of inter-
group rivalry. As a consequence of the motivation to enhance their
feelings of self-worth, employees during change show that they want to
24 Neil Paulsen
belong to groups in the organization that compare favorably with other

groups; that is, they aspire to belong to high status groups. Several
studies of organizational mergers reveal how employees in the larger
partner in a merged business respond differently to the communication
of change, compared to employees from the smaller partner. The per-
ceptions of staff in the smaller organization are more likely to change,
in the belief that the merger will heighten their sense of status and
improve their work roles (Terry and Callan 1998). As predicted by SIT,
employees in smaller and lower-status organizations are more positive
about mergers, which offer them membership of a larger, higher status
company. On the other hand, members of the larger organization feel
that their social identity as members of a prestigious organization is
undermined by the inclusion of members of the new group. These
dynamics also apply at the level of work units where new groups or task
forces are formed with members from previously existing groups within
the organization. The challenge for managers is to negotiate and com-
municate across the boundaries created by the new organization, and to
manage the transition to new identities.
Research studies
The studies highlighted below were guided by a conceptual framework
that examined the link between different forms of group identity based
on organizational group memberships, employee perceptions, and
employee attitudes such as job satisfaction and organizational commit-
ment. The conceptual framework argues that group identification trig-
gers an intergroup comparison process that influences organizational
norms, intergroup behavior, and individual perceptions. The strength
of identification with salient groups influences employee perceptions of
the organization and personal outcomes. Studies conducted in two sep-
arate organizations demonstrated the impact of salient organizational
group identities on employee perceptions and highlighted the explana-
tory potential of these constructs.
Study 1: This study was conducted in a large Australian military organi-
zation undergoing major structural change. A part-time work scheme
introduced a large number of “reserve” (or part-time) soldiers into the
organization over a three-year period. The organization had previously
consisted of approximately 3000 full-time soldiers. The introduction of
the “reserve” scheme meant that up to 1200 full-time jobs were replaced
by approximately 1500 part-time positions over a three-year period.
The implementation of the scheme proved particularly problematic,
and it significantly tested existing planning, coordination, and commu-

nication systems within the organization. The organization was forced
to review operating procedures, and a new training schedule was devel-
oped to accommodate the needs of part-time staff. Not unexpectedly,
these processes posed a significant threat to the full-time soldiers, and
changed the way in which they perceived the organization. The rela-
tionship between the full-time and part-time soldiers was of particular
concern to senior managers with anecdotal reports suggesting a degree
of hostility between the two groups.
A number of studies were conducted in this organization as part of
a larger research program. A series of 20 individual interviews, 10 focus
groups, and an all-staff survey involving 2240 staff, were conducted
over a period of time. The research focus was to investigate which
groups or categories were particularly salient in the organization, and to
test whether strength of identification with those groups influenced
employee perceptions and attitudes. Results from these studies have
been presented elsewhere (Monaghan and Callan 1998; Paulsen 1998,
2002; Paulsen et al. 1997; Paulsen and Gallois 1998; Paulsen et al. 1998).
Given the nature of the change in this particular organization, a par-
ticularly salient social categorization was the employee’s status as a full-
time or part-time soldier. Based on evidence from the interviews and
focus groups, as well as the survey data, it was clear that employees per-
ceived full-time staff as the dominant, high-status group in the organi-
zation. This group of staff was also most threatened by the change
process. Consistent with predictions, full-time soldiers identified more
strongly with their status as full-time employees, while part-time staff
identified more strongly with their work unit. It was not surprising that
full-time soldiers emphasized their full-time status in this context, while
part-time soldiers (unable to join this high status group) emphasized
their identity as members of the work unit.
Analyses of survey data revealed that employee perceptions of leaders’
communication effectiveness and strength of identification with work
unit were significant predictors of employee outcomes such as job
satisfaction and organizational commitment. While the category of full-
time versus part-time staff was particularly salient in this particular
organization, strength of identity with work unit emerged as the pri-
mary target of identification for staff, and proved the stronger predictor
of employee outcomes (Paulsen 2002). These results are consistent
with other studies that highlight the primacy of the work unit as a pri-
mary target of identification in organizations (van Knippenberg and
van Schie 2000). Results from these analyses indicate the importance of
26 Neil Paulsen
group identification in influencing employee perceptions and outcomes.

In addition, the results highlight the work unit as a primary point
of connectedness for employees within the organization, and this has
important implications for the management of organizational change.
Study 2: A second study was conducted in a mental health care facility.
Interviews, focus groups, and staff surveys were conducted at significant
points during a major organizational change process over a two-year
period. At the time the research was undertaken, the organization was
in the midst of a significant downsizing of staff, the development and
implementation of a new service delivery model, and the construction
of new buildings on the site. As part of the implementation of these
changes, a formal appraisal process selected employees for jobs that were
designed to implement the new service delivery model in the downsized
facility. A particularly interesting feature of the change was that the new
structure was progressively implemented over a two-year period, and
staff who knew they had a job in the new structure worked side-by-side
for varying periods of time with those who were “downsized” and later
left the organization. Analysis of survey results indicated that those
who identified strongly with the work unit, professional group, or the
organization reported lower levels of uncertainty about the change,
higher levels of perceived control over their future, lower levels of stress,
and higher levels of organizational commitment and job satisfaction.
Surprisingly, the only significant difference on these variables between
those who retained a job in the new structure compared to those who
were downsized was for perceived control. Those who did not have a job
reported lower scores in this variable. In this particular context, employ-
ees who reported higher levels of group identification generally reported
more positive outcomes while the organization was undergoing major
change.
Of further interest to the analysis was that employees reported higher
levels of identification with their professional group and work unit
than with the organization. Qualitative data, as well as the survey data
revealed that staff were unclear about the general direction being taken
by the hospital, or were unhappy with the implementation process.
In the face of this change, employees called on their professional and
work unit identities to remain committed to client care. In other words,
identification with one’s profession or work unit became more salient
than identification with the organization itself. These results again
suggest the importance of identification with salient groups in the
organization.
Implications
The major focus of this chapter has been to provide theoretical and
empirical insights into the role of group identification in understanding
the behavior of individuals in the context of organizational change.
Organizations are dynamic and complex systems of interpersonal and
intergroup relationships.
Organizational change is an integrated process that unfolds over time
and influences every aspect of the organization’s structure and culture.
Such changes effectively alter the structural and cultural boundaries
within which employees operate. While the structural aspects of corpo-
rate change have been commented upon in the literature, it is also clear
that leading, managing, and communicating change is the most diffi-
cult aspect of any organizational transformation. The strategies adopted
by senior managers or other change agents almost always involve efforts
to alter the values and belief systems that employees of different sub-
cultures hold about their work, and the opinions they hold about the
core business; both of which are important for the future well-being of
the organization. Employees may cling to “old” identities, the “old”
organization, or the “old” culture, rather then immediately embrace the
“new”. While such behavior may be interpreted as resistance to change,
employees may simply be working to sustain or retain valued identities
(Ashforth and Mael 1998).
Strategies for change should not ignore the potential impact of alter-
ing structural and cultural boundaries on employees’ identification with
the organization. The experience of change can be markedly different
for employees who belong to different levels and groups in the organi-
zation (Kanter et al. 1992). There are winners and losers in change, those
who gain or lose resources, and gains and losses for various professional
groups, business units and subcultures in terms of power, status, and job
security. There is also evidence that social identity is more likely to be
salient when the change is appraised as threatening (Terry and Callan
1998). Rather than being inspired to become aligned to the new strate-
gic direction, employees, especially at lower levels of an organization,
are often confused, angry, and more resistant to change. One reason for
this is the greater sense of threat to valued identities they are likely to
experience as a consequence of the change.
Change processes in competitive business environments are often
directed from the top-down, which adds to the sense of threat to employ-
ees at lower levels in organizations. Only a minority of organizational
28 Neil Paulsen
change processes allow high levels of employee consultation (Dunphy

and Stace 1990). The top-down nature of the communication of change
adds to the sense that a senior management group, who will be advan-
taged by the change, are in control of the change environment (Callan
1993). In particular, when organizations need major and rapid change
to accommodate to a new external environment, the change is often
driven by coercive and directive leadership styles (Dunphy and Stace
1990). In contrast, Kotter (1996) argues that leaders as the communica-
tors of change need to use simple messages, repetition, and a wide range
of communication channels. Frontline supervisors are more likely to
communicate successfully the nature of corporate change, as they
are perceived to be in-group members and a more credible source of
information than senior managers.
Kotter (1996) notes that some supervisors or middle managers who
oppose change invoke the group membership of management versus
workers, which emphasizes the boundary between managers and work-
ers. This may frustrate change efforts. Several strategies have been put
forward to deal with such resistance. As might be expected, most efforts
involve communication strategies that seek to encourage participation
and greater ownership in the change process, negotiation and trade-offs
to accommodate the concerns of those affected, and finally explicit or
implicit coercion that involves threats to those who continue to resist.
When such efforts fail, other strategies are used that focus more on
attempts to maximize the sense of difference in identities between par-
ties, possibly as some final justification for their removal from the
organization through retrenchments and redundancies. Strategies that
emphasize the salience and status of a “new” identity, while acknowl-
edging the strengths and weaknesses of the “old”, are likely to be effec-
tive in leading change efforts. Such efforts should be targeted at the
work unit level, focus attention on the benefits of the new working
arrangements, and avoid strategies that raise the salience of controver-
sial categorizations and group boundaries.
Research on organizational change must incorporate both interper-
sonal and the intergroup aspects of change. Certain contexts make
social identity and group membership more salient than others, in par-
ticular, contexts where there is threat, rivalry, or competition for scarce
resources. A crucial first step in research, therefore, is to determine
empirically what the intergroup relations are, which groups are salient,
whether these are organizational or part of the larger culture, and how
much these group memberships influence communication and change
processes in the specific context.
Research on organizational change needs to adopt comprehensive

theoretical frameworks, like SIT, that are capable of dealing with both
interpersonal and intergroup aspects of change, and which address both
perceptions and behavior. A combined interpersonal and intergroup
approach is rare in organizational change studies (Gardner et al. 2001).
It is appropriate to recognize that organizational change processes are
potentially problematic, and part of the problem is that managers and
researchers of organizational change have failed to take sufficient
account of the intergroup nature of much of organizational dynamics.
Social identity theory is readily translatable into the arena of organiza-
tional change, and recent research bears out this view. As Gardner et al.
(2001) and others have noted (van Dick 2001; van Knippenberg and
van Schie 2000), there is further potential to develop SIT in the organi-
zational context. Research so far indicates that it is important to con-
sider the employees’ own analyses of the context, rather than to assume
that what researchers may consider to be salient group identities will
necessarily appear so to participants.
Organizational change is a context where social identity is highly
salient. It is surprising that research to date has often ignored this obvi-
ous aspect of organizational change. The impact of group memberships,
group-based identity, and intergroup relations must be studied in depth
for any future research on organizational change to be more useful.
Acknowledgments
The research on which this chapter is based was conducted as part of two
research projects funded by the Australian Research Council. The first
was a Large Grant awarded to Professors Victor Callan and Cindy Gallois
of the University of Queensland, Australia. I was as a PhD student on this
project. The second was a Strategic Partnership with Industry Research
and Training (SPIRT) Grant on which I was a coinvestigator with
Professors Callan and Gallois, Dr Liz Jones, and Dr David Rooney.
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2
Enabling and Constraining Properties
of Organizational Boundaries
Tor Hernes
Introduction
In mainstream organization theory the idea of the organization as
essentially a boundary maintaining system is widely entertained. The
idea stems largely from Parsonian influence in sociology and has influ-
enced many works in various branches of organization studies. Implicit
in the idea lies another idea; that of organizations as essentially systems
that function in an exchange relationship with the environment, but
where the environment is the acting factor and the organization the
responding one (Burrell and Morgan 1979, 64). On the whole, the pic-
ture is drawn of organizations as relatively passive entities that are
shaped in terms of form and activities by expectations in the environ-
ment. In this exchange relationship the boundary essentially becomes
a device of internal ordering and external protection. Students of organi-
zation have in this way provided a somewhat inward looking view
of organizations, and the idea of the organizational boundary as an
ordering entity of human actions and interactions is what directs our
view inwards. The contrary view that organizations act outwards is
a perspective rarely taken in social science (although taken frequently in
economics). We know relatively little, for example, of the characteristics
of organizations that make them more apt at influencing processes in
the external environment.
The focus of this chapter is on how the texture of organizational
boundaries may contribute to the ability of an organization to influence
processes in other organizations. In this chapter, boundaries are not
simply constraining influences, or internal ordering devices. The possi-
bility is left open for boundaries to constitute enabling mechanisms,
that is, to act as a means of establishing the organization as an actor in
35
36 Tor Hernes
its relationship with other organizations. The distinction between con-

straining and enabling mechanisms is borrowed from Giddens’s (1984)
discussion of structure. Giddens’s argument is that the notion of struc-
ture in sociology has been pervasively associated with the idea of struc-
tural properties of society forming constraining influences over action. In
contrast to this view, a tenet of his structuration theory is that structure
is both enabling and constraining (Giddens 1984, 169). Structure does
constrain, but it also enables individuals and collectivities to mobilize
energy to act. I argue that the same is true for boundaries. Boundaries
work as enclosure where they constrain the flow of new opportunities
and ideas. On the other hand, they also help form stability in time
and space enabling individuals and groups to develop their distinctive
strengths that enable them to act effectively outside themselves. This
argument resonates with Berg and Smith’s research on groups:
The paradox is that boundaries simultaneously make it possible for

a group to take actions and at the same time limit those actions by
what the boundaries define. (Berg and Smith 1990, 116)
The empirical basis of the chapter is provided through a study of the

Network University in Norway. The Network University (NWU) is an
organization offering Internet based courses in various areas of profes-
sional training. The initiation and establishment of the NWU, however,
has proved to be a tortuous journey, where organizational actors have
left their imprints at decisive stages of development. Four distinctly dif-
ferent types of organizational actors were involved in its creation and
operation: (1) an informal group of four entrepreneurial persons, referred
to as the ITOL group; (2) subunits at four different teaching institutions
at which the four ITOL members work; (3) four teaching institutions
(three colleges and a university), and (4) the NWU, which is a virtual
organization set up by the four teaching institutions dedicated to offer-
ing Internet based courses. These organizational actors are shown to
exhibit widely different boundary characteristics, and it will be shown
how variations in boundary characteristics may help explain certain
decisive developments in the NWU. The chapter finally suggests impli-
cations for studying boundaries and for management in organizations.
Textures and properties of boundaries

Writers have pointed out that boundaries may be of different texture
(Schneider 1987; Epstein 1989; Miller and Rice 1967; Katz and Kahn
Enabling and Constraining Properties 37
1978; Lefebvre 1991; Zerubavel 1993). Taken together, descriptions of

boundaries indicate that boundaries may be physical, mental, or social.
This three-pronged approach to boundaries correlates with mechanisms
of ordering of social life found in the work of sociologists such as Scott
(1995) and Giddens (1984). Salient features of structures are summarized
in Scott’s (1995) three “pillars” of institutions, which suggest that insti-
tutional orders are upheld by regulative, normative, and cognitive struc-
tures. These correlate to some degree with Giddens’ structural dimensions
of signification, domination, and legitimation. There is also a correlation,
although less obvious, to Weber’s (1968) bases of legitimacy of social
order.
Physical boundaries
Physical boundaries are essentially made of tangible entities. The term
“physical” refers to “real objects or structures that can be touched, seen,
felt” (Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English 1995). It is useful to
distinguish between material boundaries on the one hand and regula-
tory boundaries on the other. Material boundaries constitute probably
the first attempts at regulating productive activity. The use of walls was
referred to by Adam Smith as the means of coordinating production by
artisans at the beginning of the first industrial revolution. An emerging
mass consumerism around the beginning of the eighteenth century
called for a coordination of industrial efforts, which until then had been
undertaken as individualized cottage industries. This led to the establish-
ment of workhouses, consisting essentially of “framing” the work of the
different artisans within physical walls. Frederick Taylor experimented
with the effects of physical partitions on productivity at the turn of the
century. Later research has examined how walls influence communica-
tion and power in organizations (e.g. Hatch 1987). Modern organizations
employ an additional type of material boundary created by electronic
media. Electronic media create boundaries that govern access to commu-
nication and information. They regulate, not only who has access, but
also what information may be channeled through the different media.
This physical regulation influences in turn the width and depth of the
exchange of information (Hernes 2000). Material boundaries are nor-
mally treated for their instrumental properties, and it is less common to
investigate their symbolic properties, which may nevertheless be highly
significant (Gagliardi 1990).
A second type of physical boundary consists of rules and regulations
governing the type of exchange that may take place between organiza-
tion members, as well as between members of the organization and the
38 Tor Hernes
external environment. Regulative boundaries between the organization

and the environment serve to regulate interactions and flows. They
regulate which members interact with external persons and groups, and
how. Inside organizations, such boundaries describe the structure of the
organization by delineating responsibilities, expectations, and modes
of interaction between individuals and groups. Classic works in organi-
zation theory use such boundaries to describe basic differences in how
organizations are managed (Moss Kanter 1983). For example, the much-
cited distinction made by Burns and Stalker (1966) between mechanistic
and organic organizations resides in how boundaries are drawn between
functions, roles, and responsibilities. In organic systems, boundaries that
separate processes, functions, and so on, are fluid and blurred, whereas
mechanistic systems function largely according to a stricter logic of
separation, differentiation, and specialization.
Physical boundaries are effective means of providing stability and
predictability, as they serve to bind resources over time and space. This
has an internally binding effect, as mechanisms such as budgets, plans,
and allocation of responsibilities are committed through strategic deci-
sions, and it is difficult for individuals and units to deviate from such
commitments. A secondary effect is that the focusing on selected areas
of activity allows for improved utilization of existing competencies
in the organization. Physical boundaries provide first and foremost the
stability and space within which members are able to expand their
expertise, what March (1991) refers to as exploitation of existing knowl-
edge. March makes a useful distinction between exploitation of existing
knowledge and exploration of new knowledge. It is likely that physical
boundaries tend to influence positively the former at the expense of the
latter.
Externally, physical boundaries serve to create and consolidate impres-
sions of robustness. This is why many writers, especially in the new insti-
tutionalist tradition, seek to demonstrate that organizational leaders, in
times of organizational reform, establish structures and plans as a means
of conveying to outside stakeholders that developments are under con-
trol (Brunsson and Olsen 1990). The effective binding of resources again
helps establish an organization as a more recognized and powerful actor
in a field of organizations.
Social boundaries
Groups and organizations develop social boundaries enabling them to
distinguish themselves from others. The sense of identity enables the
creation of “otherness” (Harvey 1990), which distinguishes the group
from other groups. A boundary may be seen to exist between the

“otherness” on one side and the “sameness” on the other. The distinc-
tion lends identity to people in organizations and provides a basis for
action. Fiol (1991) suggests that an organization’s identity describes what
people define as central, distinctive, and enduring about their organiza-
tion, and Alvesson (1990) suggests that a strengthened sense of identity
ties people closer to their work and their organization. It is not obvious
how identity relates to people’s behavior, but the idea that identity and
behavior are tied to one another, is assumed in sociological works such
as Giddens (1991), Castells (1997) and Elias (1994). Identity, however,
does not exist by itself. It is, as Berger and Luckmann (1966, 194) point
out, “maintained, modified, or even reshaped by social relations”. By
extrapolation, social boundaries depend on social interactions for their
existence, although they may take different forms. Social relations serve
to remind members of their collective identity, which is why story-
telling, myths, and narratives (Czarniawska 1997) are important means
of identity construction and maintenance. Social boundaries are central
in the creation of behavioral norms, as members behave in ways that
they perceive as being expected of them. Social boundaries serve to pro-
tect groups when members perceive that their identity is threatened.
This is the reason why organizational change sometimes fails, because
members do not want to let go of established identities. Conversely,
it also explains why some successful organization change processes
incorporate purposely the promise of new and attractive identities.
Social boundaries serve to maintain norms of behavior as well as to
uphold patterns of social power (Elias 1994). In this capacity, they serve
to uphold status quo and fend off attempts at change. Conversely, they
also provide the basis for effective action and change, particularly when
actions are directed beyond the borders of the group. Tight social
boundaries may provide for a high level of trust and enable people to
cooperate without being in close physical proximity to one another.
Such boundaries may be part of the organized structure, such as well-
performing teams, or they may span across formal boundaries and be
based on social, ethnic, or professional identities. The latter is referred
to as informal social networks.
Mental boundaries
To define something involves drawing a boundary around it to dis-
tinguish it from something else (Zerubavel 1993). This “mental fence”
(Zerubavel 1993, 2) enables us to establish a mental sphere within
which we make sense of the world. Works in linguistics, pedagogy, and
40 Tor Hernes
cognitive psychology have explored how individuals use mental bound-

aries as means of sensemaking. Much of what has been written about
cognition, learning, culture, and decision-making alludes to mental
horizons that are established socially to facilitate reasoning and action.
In the sensemaking literature for example, Weick (1995, 176) suggests
that there are boundary conditions within which “explanations hold
and outside of which they do not hold”. March and Simon (1958, 189)
tie the notion of boundaries to the successive development of organiza-
tional programs, suggesting that every new stage in program develop-
ment represents “a new boundary” that any new proposed innovation
must penetrate.
Mental boundaries describe the particular repertoire of terms and
symbols that enable groups to communicate, to act, and to further their
understanding. In organization research, perhaps some of the most
striking examples of mental boundaries are found in studies of commu-
nication in tightly knit professional communities such as Orr’s (1990)
study of photocopier technicians. These technicians had their own
mode of communication built around the immediacy of experience and
proximity to the technology. The mental boundary surrounding their
communicative space became manifest as they resisted attempts by
management to make them use repair manuals that were developed
from different principles of communication.
Mental boundaries are essential for making sense of the world. In this
capacity, they form a basis for action inside and outside the borders of
the group. However, mental boundaries are also membranes that groups
employ to shield themselves from the very world of which they wish to
make sense. Organization and management studies contain many
examples of how groups and organizations have persistently stuck to
faulty explanatory models, even when members have suspected that it
would have been better to have the models revised. Janis’s (1972) thor-
ough study of the decision process leading up to the Bay of Pigs fiasco
is a telling case in point. Janis’s analysis of the process alerts us to the
social dynamics that serve to maintain or to modify mental boundaries,
as they become embedded as collectively tacit assumptions (“group-
think”). In other words, Janis illustrates how mental and social bound-
aries may reinforce each other. In this case, transgressing the mental
boundary (i.e. suggesting that the operation might fail) would violate
the social boundary, which dictated that none of the members upset
group loyalty, and which was premised on the idea that the operation
was to take place and be a success. Mental boundaries are also guarded
by stakeholders who wish to maintain them as a basis for power and
who wish to impose their definitions of reality on the group or the

organization (Berger and Luckmann 1966). As people come into contact
with new understanding, however, alternative interpretations emerge
and social tensions may arise.
While the mental boundaries are limits in themselves, by the same
token they lay the basis for new knowledge and organizational change.
While our vocabulary limits our ability for expression, for example, it
forms the basis for what new expressions can be learned. It is this
dilemma that arises between the limitations of existing knowledge and
exploiting the potential it offers for new knowledge that is the subject of
works notably on organizational learning (e.g. Argyris and Schön 1978).
Dual properties of boundaries: Constraining and enabling

The above discussion has touched upon different effects of boundaries,
suggesting that they play roles in both ordering and change in organi-
zations. The ordering properties of boundaries are those that are
assumed from a systems perspective, which in psychology and sociol-
ogy have been associated with differentiation and integration. One of
Thompson’s (1967) contributions to organizational research was the
idea of buffering, by which organizations attempt to bound rationally
elected spheres of their activities. Works in organization and manage-
ment have viewed organizing processes as the drawing of boundaries to
enable a division of work.
Coordination is introduced as integration between the differentiated
segments (Lawrence and Lorsch 1967). Works with a focus on bound-
aries have given attention to how certain functions and individuals
(boundary spanners) work to assist in the differentiation and integration
of organizations and groups (e.g. Adams 1980; Tushman and Scanlan
1981; Ancona and Caldwell 1992). As constraining devices, boundaries
enable the exercise of control, internal as well as external. Internal
control is exercised through social processes that the physical, mental, or
social confinement makes possible. External control is exercised as
spaces are segmented to enable certain processes across boundaries while
preventing others. Not only is segmentation through structuring
a means of exercising power, but it also allows for surveillance, as argued
by Foucault (1995).
The constraining properties are of central importance for the under-
standing of boundaries, but to view boundaries as essentially constrain-
ing leads to a lopsided analysis. As well as constraining actions,
boundaries enable actions. The stability they provide makes it possible
42 Tor Hernes
for groups and organizations to act intentionally as they deepen their

sense of trust and identity. Perhaps most importantly, they provide
a space within which resources are mobilized, and where energy is
released rather than controlled. One may well argue that the tighter the
boundaries are, the more effective the group becomes, although it also
implies closing off the group from the external environment. Bion
(1961) made this point about effective groups; that they have a strong
sense of their boundaries, whereas ineffective groups tended to operate
with blurred boundaries (de Board 1978). It can be seen in several dif-
ferent types of studies, that tight boundaries enable focused actions,
such as for example in high performance organizations (Weick and
Roberts 1993) and in ideological organizations (Selznick 1957).
The distinction between constraining and enabling properties makes
it possible to suggest schematically how the three types of boundaries
may appear with enabling and constraining properties (see Table 2.1).
A case study is analyzed in the light of different combinations of orga-
nizational boundaries. The case involves the setting up and develop-
ment of a distance learning facility in Norway and takes a look at the
boundary properties of organizations – formal and informal – involved
in the process. The case illustrates how boundary properties of the
organizations involved may be related in ways in which they exert
influence upon one another.
The empirical study

The organizations in the study differ greatly from one another, and
range from an informal group of four people to institutions with several
Table 2.1 Textures of boundaries
Mental Social Physical

boundaries boundaries boundaries
Constraining Indoctrination, Conformity to Internal control

groupthink and norms of through
alienation behavior, segregation
(“not-invented-here” exercise of Surveillance
syndrome) power through
social interactions
Enabling Basis for sensemaking, Basis for Stability and
innovation and identity, resources
learning belonging and for developing
interpersonal knowledge and
trust skills
hundred employees. A simplified schematic presentation of the organi-

zations involved is provided in Figure 2.1. All four organizations in the
study are in different ways involved in the establishment and develop-
ment of the NWU. The conceptual impetus came from the ITOL group.
This group consisted of four teaching and technology research staff
from their respective institutions who had a close relationship from
working together under a European program for developing software
for what we will refer to as “ITOL” (In-Time-Open-Learning). ITOL is
a concept whereby students can choose from a wide range of courses
and follow those courses in distance learning. The ITOL concept lies
behind the NWU, which is basically an organized pooling of resources
between member institutions in order to offer degree courses over the
Internet. Each of the four ITOL group members works in an institutional
subunit attached to a college or a university (see Figure 2.1). These sub-
units are attached to four institutions respectively, consisting of three
colleges and one university. Their organizational structures are similar,
although they differ somewhat in size. Three of them are spaced more
Institution
Institution
Sub-unit
Sub-unit
NWU
Informal group
Institution of 4 persons
Sub-unit
Sub-unit
Institution
Figure 2.1 The organizational actors.

44 Tor Hernes
than 300 kms apart. These four institutions reach out to students
through the NWU. The institutions employ mainly classical classroom
teaching, and their involvement in the NWU is an additional activity.
The NWU is largely considered a virtual organization with no employ-
ees, apart from a small administrative unit. The four-member institu-
tions employ around 150 teachers. In year 2000, the NWU provided
courses to around 5000 students. A total of 15 interviews were con-
ducted with various individuals. The interviews lasted one and a half to
four hours and took place at the places of work of the informants. In
addition, a questionnaire survey was carried out in all the organizations.
The questionnaire included 145 items, and asked the respondents to
assess aspects of mental, social, and physical boundaries at three differ-
ent levels: their institutional subunits, their institutions, and the NWU.
Identical questions were asked for the three levels in order to provide
data on the relative properties of the boundaries of the three types of
organizations. In addition, the four members of the ITOL group were
asked to answer identical questions on their group. The survey yielded
more verifiable data on the boundary characteristics of the respective
organizations than could be provided by the interviews. In addition,
written reports and other written records have been studied to obtain
a fuller view of the developments of the NWU.
The boundary characteristics of the

organizations in the study
The ITOL group members are strongly bonded socially to one another
and share deeply held beliefs for learning and technology. They origi-
nally worked together in developing a European on-line learning devel-
opment program, where they got to know each other. During their
involvement with that program, they also developed a strongly shared
understanding of the potential for “just-in-time learning”. Whereas this
period (in 1994) was spent abroad, they took the core ideas back with
them to their respective institutions in Norway. Since 1994, they have
worked continuously on developing the concept pedagogically, techno-
logically, and organizationally. They have managed to involve their
respective institutions in collaborating to offer just-in-time learning to
thousands of students, although the success at involving their institu-
tions varies between the four members of the group. The four members
of the group enjoy a high level of interpersonal trust, and regularly
solicit each other’s views. The group corresponds somewhat to what
Dalton (1958) labels a “clique” and Ouchi (1980) referred to as a “clan”.
It transpired from the interviews that they shared a strong sense of

identity. They alluded separately to having been “four Norwegians” in
the European project in 1994. Moreover, they attached great importance
to the ITOL concept being attached to the four as a group. They are pas-
sionate about the concept, and we may consider the mental boundaries
related to the ITOL concept to be very tight within this group. Some of
them went so far as to qualify their shared project as an ideology.
If the social and mental boundaries of the groups may be character-
ized as tight, the physical boundaries of the group are correspondingly
loose. They work at different institutions, which means that they
practically never work in proximity to one another over long periods
of time. The distance does not seem to bother them, given their high
level of social and mental cohesion. One of them commented, “[two of
the other three] go off to international conferences to talk about our
ideas. That is just fine. But, whether they say it or I say it doesn’t really
matter. It boils down to trust.” The four members of the ITOL group
work at institutional subunits attached to each of the four institutions.
These subunits range in size from 10 to 40 staff who have to varying
degrees integrated the concept of ITOL in their work. Most of them have
a somewhat “cooler” attitude toward the concept than the four ITOL
members, considering it more as a tool than as a vocation. There are
variations in attitudes, but their overall attachment to the concept is
less than that of the ITOL members. The mental boundaries may appro-
priately be described as “medium”. The social links in the subunits are
stronger than those in the institutions as a whole. For example, there
have been occasions where the staff of the subunits fought together to
preserve the identity of their unit within the institution. Still, their
social bonds could not be compared to those of the ITOL group. The
physical boundaries of the institutional subunits may be described
as tight, as the members worked in physical proximity. In addition,
the subunits are subjected to essentially the same public sector regula-
tory boundaries as the institutions in which they are embedded. The
institutions are three colleges and one university department. They
may appropriately be characterized as “organized anarchies” (Cohen
et al. 1972). The social boundaries were found to be “loose”, which is
explained by the fact that size prevents interpersonal loyalties to per-
vade them, and entering or leaving the institutions are to a modest
degree subject to personal likes and dislikes. The mental boundaries
vary within the institutions with regard to the just-in-time learn-
ing concept. The physical boundaries were found to be of medium
tightness, however.
46 Tor Hernes
Table 2.2 Boundary properties of the organizational actors involved in

the NWU
Organizational Mental Social Physical

form boundaries boundaries boundaries
The informal Informal, clan, Tight Tight Loose

group (ITOL) clique
The institutional Formally Medium Medium Loose
sub-units structured units
The institutions Formally Medium Loose Medium
structured
organizations,
“organized
anarchies”
The NWU Virtual Medium Medium Loose
organization
The organization of the NWU is essentially virtual, as it consists of

teachers who collaborate electronically with one another as well as with
the students. The NWU has an administration, but it is very small, and
interferes marginally with the daily work of the teachers. There is also
very little interdependence between the teachers, which qualifies the
physical material boundaries as particularly loose. There are no real social
boundaries, either, as most of the teachers work from different locations,
concentrating on their own separate courses. The mental boundaries
appear blurred to the informants. For example, it was expressed that
there was still much ambiguity as to what was expected in terms of
topics, teaching aids, and student participation. The teachers were con-
scious of the approach of their own courses, but their idea of the overall
mission of the NWU was far more vague.
The boundary properties of the four organizations as they have been
assessed through interviews and the survey are summarized in Table 2.2.
The process for arriving at the weighing of the parameters is reported in
Hernes (2003).
Decisive developments and corresponding

boundary properties
The interviews uncovered three decisive developments in the evolution
of the NWU. The three developments were identified in the first round
of interviews. In the second round of interviews, they were verified,
and more specific questions were asked about the roles of the different
organizational actors in the developments. Other developments were

hypothesized, but the three described below were, in the eyes of the
informants, those that have been decisive in the evolution of the NWU.
Development 1: The diffusion of the ITOL concept and

establishment of the NWU
The gist of the story of the development of the NWU is very much
about how a group of four persons managed to bring about, in the space
of less than five years, the existence of an institution that enrolled more
than 5000 people at courses in the year 2000. The group has, as shown
in Table 2.2, tight social and mental boundaries. The social boundaries
have provided trust and stability, while the mental boundaries have
provided a strong basis for development and innovation. Both these
boundaries are manifestly enabling in the case of this group. The tight-
ness of the mental and social boundaries was complemented with
a looseness of the physical boundaries. This allowed the four members
to operate in several different arenas and hence enabled them to secure
the collaboration of their respective institutions.
The development of the concept, leading in turn to the setting up of
the NWU, was quite remarkable, and can only be understood in the
light of the innovative conceptual work of the ITOL group combined
with an entrepreneurial flair for making things happen. The tight social
boundaries enabled them to operate from separate physical locations
with high levels of interpersonal trust and a common sense of purpose,
as the mental boundaries have been correspondingly tight.
Development 2: The problem of intra-organizational

adoption of the ITOL concept
One aim of developing the ITOL concept and setting up the NWU was to
have the concept adopted in the in-house teaching programs of the four
institutions involved. The extent of intra-organizational adoption of the
concept varied considerably between the four institutions. Resistance to
adoption was evidently to do with the technological nature of the ITOL
concept, which obliged teachers to format their teaching materials elec-
tronically and to put them out for circulation on the Internet. The prob-
lems were related to tensions between the “techy” advocates of the ITOL
approach and “traditionalists”. Resistance from institutions where “tradi-
tionalists” reigned was offered through the use of regulatory boundaries,
such as by use of budgets and recruitment programs.
There were, however, considerable differences between the institu-
tions with regard to the extent to which they adopted the ITOL
48 Tor Hernes
approach throughout the organization. Moreover, at two of the institu-

tions, diffusion was achieved to a considerably larger extent than the
other two. The difference between the institutions was manifest in how
well the subunits were able to influence other units in the organization.
This brings us to the properties of the boundaries of the subunits. The
interviews and the survey suggested that the social boundaries were
tighter in the institutions where the concept was more widely diffused,
than in those where this was not the case. A member of the “successful”
subunits took great care in describing how they felt that the subunit was
socially united, and how this had made it possible to influence the insti-
tution at large. The person at the south-coast college, where adoption was
low, expressed a contrary opinion. One might argue that this could be
explained in different ways, but quite a few factors are similar at the two
colleges, such as size and structure of the subunit and the institution.
This point shows on the one hand that tight social boundaries of sub-
units may make a difference in the evolution of institutions. Conversely,
it shows that physical boundaries make organizations resistant to interor-
ganizational influence.
This observation should be taken with caution. It is likely that tight
social boundaries allow for exerting influence outside the organization,
and therefore may be viewed as inherently positive. On the other hand,
tight social boundaries may equally well form resistance towards influ-
ence from the outside. The ITOL concept was developed from within
the institutional subunits, where the four members of the ITOL group
in various ways co-opted colleagues into the work on the concept. In
other words, the concept came into the subunits from the outside, but
via insiders. If this had not been the case, and if those trying to cham-
pion the concept had not been established inside the units, it is possi-
ble that tight social boundaries of the units would have worked against
influence from the outside.
Development 3: The battle over the NWU–ITOL ideology

versus “professional management”
At around 1998, it was decided to turn the NWU into a more profes-
sionally managed unit. Until then, it was seen as a somewhat loosely
coupled system driven by the technology and the ITOL concept. For
the ITOL group members, the grassroots “ideology” and the technology
should be the prime mechanisms of the NWU. However, the insti-
tutions began to see the NWU as a way of generating more revenue. The
NWU was increasingly seen as a business enterprise, and as a business
enterprise it needed a professional management structure. The NWU
became an organization in its own right. A director was recruited with

some support staff, offices were provided, and budgets and plans were
drawn up.
In the terminology of this paper, physical boundaries were established
to provide the NWU with direction. The measure was considered
necessary given the rapid growth of the NWU in terms of numbers on
the one hand, and the lack of clear guidelines as to how courses were to
be structured and run on the other. The latter could be related to the
medium-tight mental boundaries of the NWU. A board was established
to overlook the running of the NWU. Contrary to expectations, how-
ever, the set-up was abandoned after only 12 months. The director
was fired and in November 2000 someone closely affiliated to the
ITOL group took over the management of NWU on a 30 percent basis.
The reason given was that the management was too concerned about
simply “managing” the NWU as a business, and that it did not under-
stand the essence of the ITOL approach. It seems clear that a consider-
able problem was that the ITOL group and some actors within the
institutions (which made up the board) did not feel that the manage-
ment of the NWU had appreciated the basic ideas of the ITOL concept.
Of particular interest to this chapter is what made it possible to dis-
mantle the NWU as an independently managed organization, because
it is possible to interpret this in the light of the boundary characteristics
of the organizational actors involved. First, the ITOL group was instru-
mental in the dismantling of the NWU. For example, they mounted
pressure on the management of their institutions to put critical ques-
tions to the board of the NWU about the viability of the NWU strategy.
In the interviews some of the ITOL members told me of deft legwork
that ensured that the NWU management approach was put in a critical
light. It seems that the tight social and mental boundaries of the ITOL
group allowed for swift and co-ordinated action. The loose physical
boundaries (being located at the four institutions) allowed them a large
institutional space in which to operate.
Second, the institutions, which constituted the NWU board, had the
necessary clout to remove the NWU management once they were con-
vinced that the “professional management” approach would not work.
The informal ITOL group could only work behind the scenes, but the
formal, and in particular the larger, actors could put decisive pressure on
the NWU board. The data suggested that the institutions had “medium”
mental boundaries and “loose” social boundaries. On the other hand,
their “medium” physical boundaries were of interest because as large
actors in the field, it was particularly their ability to mobilize physical
50 Tor Hernes
resources that influenced their ability to bring about change in relation

to other organizations. It is noted above that physical boundaries serve
to bind resources and to contribute to the perceived influence of organi-
zations. Tighter physical boundaries, especially in the case of large
institutions such as a university, give the institution some clout in rela-
tion to other organizations in a field largely because tightness conveys
an image of stability and coherence.
On the other hand, the NWU seemed to have weakly developed
boundaries, mentally, socially, as well as physically, which made it open
to outside intervention. The management had little time to develop
structures that might have made it more robust to outside influence. It
is clear that to develop social and mental boundaries as tight as those of
the ITOL group is time consuming, and is not possible over the time
span of two years or less that the new management of the NWU had at
its disposal. Robustness over time is built through development of struc-
tural boundaries, which provide legitimacy and resistance through the
binding of resources. This was also not developed by the NWU in a way
that might have given it better resistance to external influence.
Discussion and implications

The study illustrates that different properties of boundaries may influ-
ence developments in the field of organizations. They suggest that it is
useful to consider boundaries as enabling as well as constraining, some-
thing that is not commonly considered explicitly in organization stud-
ies. The present study is a case study, and findings can be but indicative.
The observations have been made against a rather broad background
of events and actors. It is clear that other explanations of the develop-
ments in the NWU are possible. Hence, the findings have limited replic-
ability in the strict sense of the word. Nevertheless, they serve as an
illustration of how boundaries may be studied and how some develop-
ments between and within organizations may be understood in the
light of their boundary properties.
The present study was conducted from a three-pronged approach of
social, mental, and physical boundaries. This distinction relates to basic
categories of construing order in the social sciences. However useful
the distinction may be, it remains crude. As much as we would like to
classify boundaries, the closer we get to life in organizations, the more
we appreciate that boundaries are in themselves deep structures with
elements of all three types. A budget, for example, which might at first
sight seem a typical physical boundary, becomes arguably also a mental
boundary. A norm for appropriate behavior may appear a social bound-

ary, but it is clearly linked to what mental boundaries may be trans-
gressed or not, in the sense that how to behave is necessarily linked with
what is allowable to speak about. Obviously, examples could become
a very long list. However, a richer appreciation of boundaries in organi-
zations could usefully be done with studies that do not order boundaries
into predefined categories, such as Actor Network Theory (Law and
Hassard 1999).
Implications for management

Managing in organizations is largely about establishing, maintaining,
and changing boundaries between groups, activities, responsibilities, and
resources. Whereas organization and management theory has assumed
that boundaries are stable, the new realities in organized life obliges
managers to constantly be aware of the changing boundaries in the social
system where they operate. As Hirschhorn and Gilmore (1992, 105)
argue, organizational maps, as they have been construed in the past, no
longer apply, and leaders have to pay more attention to the boundaries
as perceived by the members of their organizations. Consequently,
they argue, managers in flexible organizations must focus on boundary
management.
The present chapter addresses three main implications for the
management of boundaries. First, the constraining–enabling dimension
suggests that boundaries are double-edged swords. Boundaries may be
drawn to ensure that activities or behavior are stabilized and made pre-
dictable. However, by the same token, boundaries may enable groups or
organizations to act outwards. This may again change the boundaries
that were drawn originally. When boundaries are drawn, they channel
energies. At the same time, they may also release energies in ways that
were not foreseen when the boundaries were drawn.
Second, and related to the first point, some boundaries may be drawn
purposely by organization management. Walls may be built, certain
desired limits for social behavior may be fostered, and so on, but bound-
aries also evolve more or less unconsciously through social interaction
and shared experiences. In the case reported in this chapter, this dynamic
applied to a group of four persons who met more or less accidentally, and
in turn engineered a sizeable teaching institution (NWU). The boundaries
that these four people work within, that is, their subunits, are drawn by
leaders in their institutions, but the boundaries of their group were
drawn by themselves, out of bounds of their institutions.
52 Tor Hernes
Third, the present study suggests that boundaries do not merely

delimit groups. They do not merely separate groups from each other,
but each group has its own boundaries. On organization charts, lines
are drawn between units suggesting that they are delimited from one
another. The study suggests that entities have their own unique sets of
boundaries. Whereas the present study used a limited set of indicators,
suggesting that three types of boundaries (social, mental, and physical)
may vary according to whether they are loose or tight, boundary prop-
erties may be expected to differ in many other ways as well. Perhaps
the most important task for management in modern organizations is
to understand the nuances that distinguish one group or unit from
another while paying attention to the composite nature of boundaries.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful to the Norwegian Research Council for funding of the
research, provided through the NOS project at the Norwegian School of
Management. I am also grateful to Mark Kriger and Erling S. Andersen
for inviting me to take part in the project. Finally, I would like to extend
warm thanks to people involved with creating the NWU, who spent
time with me, and for their frankness, without which this would not
have become a research project.
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3
Identity and Difference in Complex
Projects: Why Boundaries Still Matter
in the “Boundaryless” Organization
Nick Marshall
Introduction
It seems intuitive that boundaries, and the processes through which
they are constructed, reinforced, transcended, or dissolved are an
important aspect of organization, as well as of social life more generally.
People are constantly parceling up their worlds, and having their worlds
parceled up for them, by a series of distinctions between inside and
outside, identity and difference. However, there are many pitfalls on the
road to theorizing organizational boundaries. This chapter attempts to
identify some of the more serious of these as a prelude to thinking about
the ambiguous boundaries of complex project organizations. These, per-
haps more than other organizational forms, make it difficult to ignore
the multiple and cross-cutting character of constructions of identity and
difference. The multifunctional and often multi-organizational nature
of projects, bringing together diverse individuals and groups, lend them
a hybrid character of being simultaneously inside and outside, of differ-
ence within identity (Pieterse 2001).
In the first part of this chapter alternative conceptions of boundaries
within organization theory will be explored. These vary from unitarist
treatments of organizations which tend to depict their boundaries
as precise limits of containment, to approaches which see boundaries
in more open terms as zones of interaction, to social constructionist
accounts which emphasize the constitution of boundaries through
ongoing processes of inclusion and exclusion, and finally to approaches
which have questioned the appropriateness of the boundary metaphor
altogether. A central feature of these alternative ways of characterizing
55
56 Nick Marshall
boundaries is the different implications they hold for the theorization of

identity and difference. Attributions of Self and Other are inescapably
bound up with the marking of boundaries, which is about identifying
and imposing distinctions. The key question concerns whether these dis-
tinctions are self-contained, implying a singular and internally coherent
identity, or whether there is always some slippage between categoriza-
tions of Self and Other. In thinking about the hybridity of project organ-
izations, the notion of a lucid and homogeneous identity would appear
to be problematic. However, we are then left with the challenge of how
to think of the coexistence or interpenetration of identity and difference.
This theme is explored in the second part of the chapter through an
account of the plurality and partially overlapping character of boundary-
constituting processes in and around projects.
Theorizing organizational boundaries

Although the language of boundaries regularly makes an appearance in
organization theory, efforts to conceptualize them have remained by
and large less than explicit. The intention here is to foreground the
notion of “boundary” in the belief that a more nuanced treatment of
this concept helps us to address a number of key issues about the mean-
ing of organization and organizing. While boundaries have tended to be
peripheral to the dominant themes of organization theory, it is never-
theless possible to detect, if sometimes only by inference, a number of
alternative ways in which they appear within discourses on organiza-
tion. While this is by no means an exhaustive categorization, it is useful
to distinguish broadly between four styles of approach which lie at dif-
ferent points on a continuum stretching from a portrayal of boundaries
as object-like and absolute entities at one extreme, to conceptualizations
which suggest the wholesale disappearance of organizational boundaries
at the other. The four styles are considered under the following headings;
boundaries as a metaphor of containment, boundaries as permeable
membranes, boundaries as socioculturally constructed, and the dimin-
ishing relevance of boundaries. Each of these competing boundary
discourses will be interrogated on their own terms as a prelude to con-
sidering in the second half of this chapter the nature of boundaries in
complex project organizations.
Boundaries as a metaphor of containment

Approaches which portray boundaries in container-like terms follow the
largely commonsense notion of a boundary as a clear line of demarcation
Identity and Difference 57
between an inside and an outside depicted as radically distinct with min-

imum interactions between the two. In organizational terms this corre-
sponds to approaches that portray organizations unproblematically
as object-like, coherent, and clearly circumscribed units of economic or
other activity. Such a tendency can be found in classical organization
theory, where organizations were often anthropomorphized into inde-
pendent actors seemingly possessing their own intentionality. The
problem with an anthropomorphized treatment is that it promotes an
excessively stable, one might say naturalized, image of organizations
where internal differences and competing beliefs and actions are glossed
over. The boundaries of organization are those of a passive container,
a legal, bureaucratic, or administrative shell, within which the key prob-
lem of coordination has been effectively resolved because it is assumed
that the goals and activities of an organization and its members are one
and the same.
Another important feature of accounts that see organizational bound-
aries in these terms is that they follow a binary logic. The socioeconomic
landscape is clearly subdivided between the organization and everything
that lies beyond its borders. This dichotomous image is clearly evident
in theories of the firm based on transaction cost economics (TCE), at
least in their earlier variants, where economic activity is neatly dissected
into markets and hierarchies (Coase 1937; Williamson 1975). Almost
inescapably, such discourses create the impression of organizations as
sites of order and stability in the midst of a chaotic external environ-
ment. As Richardson (1972, 883) expressed it, the picture here is one of
“islands of planned coordination in a sea of market relations”. TCE is pri-
marily concerned with the question why some economic transactions
occur within markets while others happen within firms. Despite more
recent modifications to the transaction costs approach through its recog-
nition of “transactions in the middle range” (Williamson 1985, 83), it
has remained basically wedded to this internalization versus externaliza-
tion or make or buy problem, simply adding to the number of alterna-
tive governance forms available (Ouchi 1980; Williamson 1991). Even
with this modified scheme, different governance forms are depicted as
a menu of well-defined options from which economic decision-makers
make a boundedly rational choice by calculating the arrangement most
likely to minimize transaction costs.
Transaction cost economics has been criticized for providing an
economic-rational, mechanistic model of organizational behavior
(Grabher 1993; Granovetter 1985, 1992). One corollary of this is that
it promotes a unitarist view of organization in the twin sense that it
58 Nick Marshall
implies one best organizational arrangement for any given set of trans-
actional conditions (Nooteboom 2000), as well as portraying organiza-
tions as internally coherent, homogeneous entities whose coordination
is assured because individuals blindly follow predetermined behavioral
patterns. A unitarist view of organization is simultaneously an image of
organization as self-sufficiently contained within discrete boundaries.
Wheatley (1992, 28) sees a close relationship between mechanistic
approaches and the drawing of boundaries, suggesting that a “world
based on machine images is a world filled with boundaries. In a machine,
every piece knows its place. Likewise, in Newtonian organizations we’ve
drawn boundaries everywhere… . These omnipresent boundaries create a
strong sense of solidity, of structure that secures things, a kind of safety”.
As we shall see in the next three sections, the reassuring solidity of orga-
nizational boundaries encouraged by the container view is, to varying
extents, shown to be illusory.
Boundaries as permeable membranes

Approaches that characterize organizational boundaries in this second
way, share several points of contact with the container view; particularly
in tending to make dualistic distinctions between organization and envi-
ronment. However, the absoluteness of the distinction, and the lack of
conditioning interactions between the two, are partly dissolved through
attempts to theorize how the inside and outside of organizations inter-
relate. In some cases, such as contingency theory, the conditioning
influences seem to be practically unidirectional (Burns and Stalker 1961;
Lawrence and Lorsch 1967a, b; Lorsch and Morse 1974; Thompson 1967;
Woodward 1965). In others, such as accounts of autopoietic systems,
organization and environment are in a co-conditioning or even codefin-
ing relationship (Luhmann 1995; Maturana 1999; Maturana and Varela
1980, 1987).
For all its weaknesses, one of the contributions of the contingency
theory was the way it began to challenge the consensualist and unitarist
assumptions of classical organization theory. First, the whole problematic
of integration in the face of internal differentiation exploded the assump-
tion that the internal coherence of organizations is guaranteed (Lawrence
and Lorsch 1967a,b). Second, the notion that there is a single blueprint
for efficient organization, whether it be Fordist–Taylorist bureaucracy, the
M-form organization, or whatever, was challenged through the empirical
identification of a diversity of organizational forms that were seen to
be a response to varying environmental conditions. Burns and Stalker
(1961), for example, described a continuum of organizational structures
varying from mechanistic to organic, arguing that the former are more
suited to stable, straightforward, and relatively predictable tasks and
environments, while the latter are more appropriate where there is
greater instability and uncertainty. The focus on turbulence and uncer-
tainty was also evident in the work of Lawrence and Lorsch (1967a,b)
who saw a connection between environmental instability and organi-
zational complexity. Organizations in unstable environments tend to
exhibit greater complexity because they are increasingly differentiated
into distinct subsystems that concentrate on specific task areas and
relate to limited segments of the external environment relevant to their
activities.
Rather than being closed off and self-sufficient entities, organizations
are envisaged as open systems which can not be insulated from the out-
side world because their boundaries are necessarily and continuously
crossed by inputs and outputs, the character of which impose constraints
and contingencies relative to the technological and task environments of
the organization. In this sense, the outward-facing boundaries of organi-
zation are considered less like the solid walls of a container and more like
a permeable membrane or zone of interaction. Such open systems think-
ing was explicitly developed by Thompson (1967), who also gave direct
consideration to the character of organizational boundaries, particularly
through his notion of boundary-spanning components. These units
are established in an attempt to buffer the core activities of an organiza-
tion from environmental fluctuations by limiting the range of relevant
contingencies through filtering and segmentation. Thus, while organiza-
tional boundaries are portrayed as open, there are continuous attempts
to moderate this openness and insulate the interior of the organization
from excessive turbulence.
However, whilst contingency theory marked a crucial step forward
in identifying a plurality of organizational forms and recognizing the
internal differentiation of complex organizations, it was ultimately
limited because it depicted boundary-spanning influences as primarily
unidirectional from environment to organization. Constraints and con-
tingencies were seen to flow principally from an environment over
which organizational decision-makers appear to have no control. Their
role is limited to identifying the relevant contingencies and modifying
the structure of the organization accordingly. The reference to structure
is here purposeful because contingency theorists overwhelmingly
identified formal structural solutions to the problems they identified.
These included such things as liaison roles, departmentalization, task-
forces, projects, and matrix arrangements (Galbraith 1977; Lawrence
60 Nick Marshall
and Lorsch 1967a,b). Other approaches with a systems theoretic empha-

sis have attempted to supply a more sophisticated understanding of the
relationship between organization and environment. Drawing on the
idiosyncratic arguments of Maturana and Varela (1980, 1987) concern-
ing the autopoietic character of living systems, these approaches have
challenged the view of environment as something that is pre-given,
a distinct phenomenon that is “out there”. According to Maturana and
Varela, the unity of an autopoietic system is defined by the self-regulation
and recursive generation of components in interaction. Importantly, any
such unity is always from the point of view of an observer. Thus, the
“basic operation that an observer performs … is the operation of distinc-
tion; that is, the pointing to a unity by performing an operation which
defines its boundaries and separates it from a background” (Maturana
1999, 161). The operation of drawing distinctions or boundaries
between same and different is central to defining an autopoietic unity.
As Luhmann (1995, 177) has argued, for “the theory of self-referential
systems, the environment is … a presupposition of the system’s identity,
because identity is possible only by difference.” In contrast to contin-
gency theory, where organization and environment are still considered
as largely independent domains, the implication from self-referential
systems thinking is that they are inseparably codefining.
Boundaries as socioculturally constructed

The third group of approaches to conceptualizing organizational bound-
aries takes us even further away from the passive and object-like depic-
tion of boundaries as the limit of containment characteristic of unitarist
treatments. With Luhmann, it has already been seen that the production
and redefinition of boundaries are an integral part of the functioning
of self-referential systems. In the case of social systems, such as organi-
zations, Luhmann (1995, 194, emphasis original) has argued that “the
difference between system and environment is mediated exclusively
by meaning-constituted boundaries”. This points towards a conception of
boundaries as actively produced and reproduced by making distinc-
tions between identity and difference. The operation of constructing
and negotiating identity and difference, with concomitant implications
for inclusion and exclusion, provides the focus for accounts that see
boundaries as sociocultural constructs. In contrast to approaches that
encourage an essentialist image of boundaries as overwhelmingly fixed
and stable, social constructionist accounts regard boundaries as the
outcome of dynamic, ongoing, and potentially contested processes of
inclusion/exclusion. Boundaries are not simply put in place and then
left to their own devices; they are actively maintained and reproduced
through continuing action and interaction.
Arguments consistent with this perspective can be found in cultural
theory, anthropology, sociology, feminist theory, postcolonial theory,
and ethnomethodology where concepts of Self and Other have received
considerable attention (e.g. Benhabib 1992; Berg and Kerns 1996;
Bhabha 1994; Oberoi 1994; Salih 2000; Shildrick 1997). Here there is
frequently an emphasis on the discursive construction of identity and
alterity through the employment of categorizations that designate
and delimit self from non-self. Rose (1995), for example, finds such
boundary-constituting processes in the construction of traditions. She
argues that traditions “are constructed: written, spoken, visualized,
taught, lived. Traditions are representations of a past and … the con-
struction of a particular tradition is also always a practice of inclusion
and exclusion” (Rose 1995, 414). Similarly, the collection by Lamont and
Fournier (1992) focuses on the symbolic practices through which
areas of a social territory are marked off, thereby defining the terms of
admission and exclusion.
Processes of inclusion and exclusion are unavoidably political, which
becomes especially evident where boundaries are heavily policed or sub-
ject to contestation. An important consideration here concerns the
degree of reciprocity or symmetry in the recognition of boundaries
between those admitted and those excluded. It is possible to think of
three limit cases: first, reciprocal bounding where there is a symmetrical
(but not necessarily benign) identification by two groups who construct
a common boundary between themselves, defined in both cases in
opposition to the other; second, ascriptive bounding where boundaries
are imposed from the outside; and third, elective bounding where
boundaries are internally constructed by those seeking to mark
themselves off from others, although this is not necessarily acknowl-
edged as legitimate, or perhaps even noticed, by those outside the
group.
Recognizing both symmetrical and asymmetrical forms of boundary
constitution helps us to remember that social boundaries hold both
positive and negative connotations. They can imply security, solidarity,
and belonging; but equally, and often simultaneously, they are about
exclusion and alienation. This point sometimes seems to be missed by
accounts that depict a plurality of identity projects and lifestyle choices
that we are supposed to be able to move between freely as an aesthetic
expression of our inherent multiplicity (see Maffesoli 1993, 1995, 1996).
The danger is that an excessively aestheticized reading of shifting
62 Nick Marshall
participation in different collective groupings promotes an unbalanced

view of these involvements as primarily being about positive choice or
simply a matter of taste (Osborne 1997). Bauman (1992) offers a rather
more pessimistic interpretation, suggesting that these multiple acts of
self-identification are inevitably fragile because they depend for their
continued existence on an excluded Other. For Bauman, it is a short
step from the positive affirmation of self-identity to the aggressive
exclusion of others who are seen to threaten that identity. However, this
simply appears to be replacing a celebratory view of solidarity groupings
reflecting the puissance of the human spirit, with a dystopian view of
conflict, intolerance, and exclusion. A more balanced view of the social
construction of boundaries would recognize the potential for their con-
stitution to be played out in more or less benign or malignant ways.
According to a social constructionist perspective, since organizational
boundaries only exist relative to human observers and participants,
there is a sense in which they are arbitrary phenomena. As such there is
an inherent ambiguity in where to locate any line of division. However,
it is important not to conflate the claim that socially constituted
boundaries are arbitrary with the suggestion that they therefore have no
“real” existence, nor that they are completely plastic and can be revised
without resistance. Certainly some boundaries are ephemeral in the
extreme, such as those implied by the fleeting processes of participation
associated with transient collectivities such as festivals, demonstrations,
performances, spectacles, and even natural and human disasters (see
Pipan and Porsander 2000). However, other boundaries that are more
enduring can take on a perceived solidity (or facticity) such that they
begin to be regarded in naturalistic or object-like terms (Berger and
Luckmann 1966). Moreover, the suggestion that organizational bound-
aries are arbitrary does not mean that it makes no difference where
they are drawn. Indeed, the way in which we portion up the world
according to perceived similarities and differences has important impli-
cations for where we focus our attention, how we act, and how others
experience our actions (see Goodman 1984).
The diminishing relevance of boundaries

The final group of approaches I would like to consider are less con-
cerned with how boundaries are constructed and more interested in
finding new metaphors of organization to replace what they see as the
problematic concept of the boundary. In some cases, this is simply
about making a straightforward empirical claim about the diminishing
relevance of boundaries in contemporary organizational life. The most
extreme examples of this can be found in the more unconditional and

unchecked narratives of globalization and corporate restructuring
which claim the emergence of a “borderless world” with “boundaryless
corporations” (Ashkenas et al. 1995; O’Brien 1992; Ohmae 1990, 1995,
2001; Reich 1991). Others, in a rather more measured vein, have argued
that the language of boundaries leads to an atomistic and insular vision
of an external socioeconomic environment punctuated by clear-cut
organizational entities which is ill placed to represent what is better
regarded as a complex web of flows, relations, and interdependencies
(Castells 1996; Lash 2002).
A key metaphor here is that of the network. Variations around this
theme have attracted considerable support in recent years from a vari-
ety of perspectives (e.g. Håkansson 1989; Håkansson and Johanson
1993; Johanson and Mattsson 1991; Nohria and Eccles 1992; Powell
1990, Uzzi 1997). These accounts portray a situation where the tradi-
tional boundaries of organization are being decomposed into intri-
cate clusters of relationships. The image of organizations as absolutely
bounded entities is replaced by the language of nodes, hubs, and con-
nections of varying density, duration, and intensity. As Wells and Cook
(1991, 17) have suggested, the “globalized firm has indistinct and shift-
ing boundaries, we may expect it to be networked or distributed in orga-
nizational structure rather than being hierarchical, and it may penetrate
or exploit space by proxy or in cooperation with other firms rather than
in ‘isolation’ ”. A network approach to organization has much to rec-
ommend it, particularly because it shifts attention away from formal
legally defined organizations as the privileged unit of analysis, leaving
it free to seek out those boundary-crossing and interpenetrating clusters
of interaction through which socioeconomic activity tends to be played
out (see Cowling and Sugden 1987). However, there are some who cau-
tion against seeing the intensely fluctuating interconnectedness of the
socioeconomic landscape as signaling an end to organizational bound-
aries or even the death of the corporation. Dicken and Thrift (1992,
288), for example, are keen to reassert the continuing significance of the
business enterprise, particularly of large corporations, arguing that “we
cannot afford to forget the sheer organizational resources of large cor-
porations and the social power into which these translate”. Equally, the
idea that organizational boundaries have lost any relevance is not con-
sistent with the point made by Teece (1998, 2000) that, as production
becomes more and more interlinked, organizational decision-makers
have become increasingly concerned with protecting the knowledge
assets of the organization through such mechanisms as the exercise
64 Nick Marshall
of intellectual property rights (see also Boisot and Griffiths 1999).

Hirschhorn and Gilmore (1992) have also argued that the so-called
“boundaryless corporation” actually involves the formation of new
boundaries based on new criteria rather than the disappearance of
boundaries altogether (see also Newell et al. 2001).
Other approaches have challenged the boundary metaphor less
on the empirical grounds that networks provide a more accurate repre-
sentation of current organizational forms and more because it is
a fundamentally limited and limiting concept. As soon as one thinks of
a boundary, it is hard not to impose an uncrossable cleavage between
inside and outside, separating out both sides and according each a lucid
and self-sufficient identity grounded in presence (see also Malavé 1998).
Law (1999, 6) interprets this as consistent with a specific topologi-
cal understanding based on Euclideanism where objects “with three
dimensions are imagined precisely to exist within a conformable three
dimensional space”. Since such a topology is homogenizing, alterna-
tive metaphors alluding to different topological possibilities are a way of
opening out towards complexity. In trying to think about the intricate
interpenetration of identity and difference, continuity and change, Law
and Mol (2000) draw on and extend Latour’s notion of the immutable
mobile to take the topological possibilities even further (Latour 1987).
The employment of oxymoronic terms such as immutable mobile is
intended to sidestep the disabling paradoxes of identity within differ-
ence, or continuity within change. An immutable mobile can be
thought of through the image of a vessel that holds its shape despite
moving through space. To this Law and Mol (2000) add three other pos-
sibilities: immutable immobile, mutable mobile, and mutable immo-
bile, to represent the simultaneous interplay of different possibilities of
similarity and difference. A similar concern with unsettling conven-
tional conceptions of identity and difference in straightforward terms of
presence and absence can be found in the work of Deleuze and Guattari
(Deleuze 1983, 1994; Deleuze and Guattari 1983, 1988). Once again
standard metaphors are considered misleading and in need of replace-
ment. Thus, Deleuze and Guattari (1988) propose to replace what they
regard as dominant metaphors of arborescence, with their emphasis on
vertical, branching, hierarchical, “tree-like” thinking which seeks out
identity according to the principle of root or origin, with the more hor-
izontal, uncentered, and multiple interlinked metaphor of the rhizome.
The rhizome is a device for thinking about connectedness without
thinking about a “specious unity” (Deleuze 1995, 30). Rhizomatic
thinking is a style of “nomad thought” which “does not lodge itself in
the edifice of an ordered interiority … Rather than analyzing the world

into discrete components … [it] synthesizes a multiplicity of elements
without effacing their heterogeneity or hindering their potential for
future rearranging” (Massumi 1992, 5–6). By acknowledging constant
leakages across the ostensibly discrete boundaries of categories of thought
as self-concept, the whole notion of boundedness is problematized. As
Lechte (1994, 102) has suggested, the radical horizontality of the rhizome
“does not entail the firming of boundaries between identities, as is the
case with representational thought based on the Same, but leads instead
to the permeability of all boundaries and barriers.”
Thinking through alternative metaphors, such as network or rhizome,
is useful because it opens up new ways of seeing and unsettles the
assumptions that have congealed around the notion of boundary.
However, there is a crucial ambiguity in such exercises because there is
considerable slippage between the descriptive and prescriptive facets
of these claims. We are left in a state of uncertainty as to whether the
radically horizontal possibilities of these ways of thinking are a more
adequate representation of the complexity, interconnectedness, and
ambiguity of states of affairs in the world, which vertical and hierarchi-
cal thought fails to capture, or whether this horizontality is something
which these accounts think the social world should conform to more
closely. To speak of the former would be to pursue an altogether mod-
ernist concern with unmasking conceptual errors. While such accounts
would be unwilling to admit such an orientation, it is difficult to see
what other role the challenging of arborescent thought occupies. The
latter, prescriptive reading is one that appears from considering the
political implications of Deleuze and Guattari (1983), who appear keen
to assert the creativity and vitalism of deterritorializing impulses, which
break down the boundaries of vertical thought, with both malevolent
and liberating possibilities.
One way of working with the ambiguity of description/prescription
flows from considering the peculiar position of thought in human action.
While it may well be that social realities rarely submit easily to discrete
categorization because there is always horizontal slippage between iden-
tity and nonidentity, it is also the case that human agents are consistently
bringing such a state of affairs into existence precisely by categorizing
the world into similarities and distinctions and then acting upon these
thought objects. While a world without fixed boundaries may for some
offer a liberating potential, this is constantly being frustrated by attempts
to reduce plurality to a difference based on identity. In other words,
people routinely behave as if the world is cross-cut by boundaries of
66 Nick Marshall
similarity and difference. As we shall see in the next section, alternative

and partially overlapping constructions of similarity and difference
provide a useful conceptual lens through which to understand the
ambiguously bounded character of complex projects.
The ambiguous boundaries of complex projects

Studying project organizations is informative because they disrupt many
deeply held assumptions about organizations. Contrary to images of
organization as sites of stability, consensus, and continuity, project
organizations represent temporary groupings where multiple roles, iden-
tities, tasks, and activities intersect for a time before being dissolved and
recombined into new projects. Cherns and Bryant (1984) have termed
these groupings “temporary multi-organizations”. Looking at such orga-
nizational forms challenges conventional beliefs about the nature of
boundaries because projects can be thought of as being simultaneously
inside and outside, crosscut by complex contours of identity and differ-
ence that are actively constructed and subject to revision. They make it
difficult to consider project boundaries in fixed, entity-like terms, as in
accounts which conceptualize boundaries as clear limits of containment
or stable zones of interaction between inside and outside. However, it is
equally problematic to suggest that project forms of organization repre-
sent the disappearance of boundaries altogether. While temporary
project organizations do not exhibit stable or enduring boundaries,
and appear to be more network-like in form due to the intersection of
a multitude of different disciplines, functions, and even organizations,
they nevertheless involve, if only temporarily and often incompletely,
processes of inclusion and exclusion which help to define boundaries of
identity and difference.
In this section, I wish to draw briefly on themes emerging from
a wider three-year research project studying complex projects for the
delivery of capital-, engineering-, and IT-intensive, business-to-business
products, networks, and systems (Hobday 1998) to illustrate some of the
key processes constituting boundaries in and around projects. A main
component of this study was an international survey of such complex
product system companies comprising a total of more than 130 semi-
structured, in-depth interviews with managers and employees at differ-
ent levels in 43 companies based in Europe, North America, and Japan.
The following in no way represents an attempt to provide a fully elabo-
rated consideration of these data. That is beyond the scope of this
chapter and is taken up elsewhere (Brady et al. 2002; Marshall and
Brady 2001; Marshall and Sapsed 2000; Prencipe and Tell 2001). Rather,
the intention is to identify and reflect on a series of key issues about the
nature of complex projects which can act as signposts for more systematic
exploration.
Paradoxes of identity and difference in complex projects

Boundary-constituting processes associated with projects assume
multiple forms that are not always contiguous or compatible. At the
center of these are tensions between alternative bases of identity and
difference, which tend to pull projects in many different directions.
Particularly relevant here are different specialist occupational, profes-
sional, and task-related groupings around which project members tend
to con-struct particular identities. All of the projects investigated in the
study involved the performance of complex, differentiated, yet highly
interdependent activities, tending to promote intricate divisions of
labor and knowledge. They exhibited a diversity of functions, such as
planning, design, implementation, commissioning, procurement, con-
tract management, finance, and human resource management, as well
as different disciplines, such as electrical, electronic, structural, mechan-
ical, and software engineering, systems integration, architecture, and
project management. However, the survey projects also revealed a range
of other potential loci around which identities may be articulated,
such as organizational affiliations, gender, ethnicity, educational back-
ground, levels of experience, language, personal interests, styles of
working, and national and local cultures and subcultures. This lends
such projects a multidimensional character, bringing together a plural-
ity of potentially overlapping or conflicting identity orientations.
We have already seen that Lawrence and Lorsch (1967a,b) regarded
organizational differentiation as an appropriate response to complexity.
However, such differentiation creates problems for integration because
it tends to generate differences “in cognitive and emotional orientation
among managers in different functional departments” (Lawrence and
Lorsch 1967a, 11). One of the paradoxes of project organizations is that
they demand both identity and difference. Without some minimal
identity based on shared (or at least compatible) goals and objectives, it
is unlikely that interdependent tasks will be satisfactorily coordinated
and there will be fragmentation, conflict, and dissociation. However, if
coherence is achieved at the expense of heterogeneity, then projects run
the risk of “groupthink” (Janis 1974), lack of creativity, and defensive
isolation. Projects involving complex tasks need to draw upon different
68 Nick Marshall
yet complementary skills, competencies, knowledge-sets, and experi-

ence. Without sufficient heterogeneity in knowledge and perspectives,
it is unlikely that there will be the “creative abrasion” for generating
innovative solutions (Leonard 1995).
For Lawrence and Lorsch, the paradox of differentiation and integra-
tion could be addressed through formal coordinating structures. The
project form was considered to be one such structure permitting the
integration of diverse functions for the performance of uncertain
and complex tasks. Such formal mechanisms do have a role to play in
attempting to define boundaries around the project as a whole. These
include contractual arrangements and designated organizational struc-
tures that lay out the objectives of the project, apportion roles and
responsibilities, establish reporting procedures, and define property
rights and the allocation of commercial gains and losses. However, the
simple introduction of a project form of organization is no guarantee
that integration will actually be achieved. The temporary nature of proj-
ects means that it is often difficult to establish meaningful structures
and routines for guiding interaction (Meyerson et al. 1996). Moreover,
high levels of customization and task complexity tend to make precise
project outcomes extremely contingent and there is a need for contin-
uous interrelating to identify and address problems and issues as they
emerge. This means that projects need to be conceived of as negotiated
and emergent rather than as clearly bounded structural units. To an
important extent alternative bases of identity and difference dissecting
projects are both cause and consequence of ongoing processes of
interrelating, which are crucially symbolic and discursive.
Project boundaries, communication, and power

Expressions of identity and difference, whether elective, ascriptive, or
reciprocal, conscious or unintentional, are closely bound up with par-
ticular forms of knowledge and the negotiation of meaning. Multiple
boundaries within and around project groups are largely constituted
through symbolic interactions in which questions of intersubjective
understanding come to the fore (see Garfinkel 1984; Goffman 1959;
Mead 1934). There is a long-standing view that the problems encoun-
tered by projects can largely be traced to pathologies in communica-
tion. This was one of the key conclusions of the sociotechnical systems
work conducted by the Tavistock Institute in the 1960s (e.g. Higgin and
Jessop 1965; Tavistock Institute 1966). Given conditions of uncertainty,
complexity, and interdependence typically associated with projects,
these authors argued that the fragmentation of project activities into

specialized task areas, solidified by historically specific processes of
institutionalization around crafts and professions, contributed to seri-
ous problems in communication. For Cowan et al. (2000), different indi-
viduals and groups within projects are often aligned with distinct
“epistemic communities” whose shared mental models and interpreta-
tive resources are often, at least partly, incompatible. This is similar to
the later Wittgenstein’s arguments about a plurality of language games,
each of which tends to be associated with a given activity or “form of
life” (Wittgenstein 1953).
The problem of reaching understanding across different knowledge
domains was a recurrent theme in the interviews conducted for the
study. Individual functional groups and disciplines tended to share
certain experiences, assumptions, background knowledge, and forms
of language, making communication across groups sometimes prob-
lematic (see Gadamer 1976, 1989; Schutz 1972). These problems of
reaching shared understanding are closely bound up with practices that
help to define inclusion in and exclusion from different project groups.
As such, different forms of knowledge and how they are collectively
valued, as well as pathologies in understanding across different knowl-
edge domains, are simultaneously expressions of power. As Foucault
(1977, 27) argued “there is no power relation without the correlative
constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does
not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations”. In this
sense, power, knowledge, and identity are inseparable. For Knights and
McCabe (1999, 203) “subjectivity, as a complex, contradictory, shift-
ing experience, is produced, transformed or reproduced through the
social practices within which … power is exercised”. This challenges the
notion of self as a lucid, coherent, and immutable identity and opens
the way for a conceptualization of the interplay between power, knowl-
edge, and identity formation which questions the existence of trans-
parent and unitary knowledge-guiding interests and permits an
appreciation of the identity-constituting struggles in which individuals
and groups within projects are often engaged. Different professional
and functional groups within the study projects constituted boundaries
between themselves through the construction and valuing of different
knowledge claims. McLaughlin and Webster (1998, 784–5, emphasis
original) have suggested that professional identities and specialist forms
of knowledge are codefining: “The body of knowledge and the profes-
sional identity develop together; shaping the meaning of each other and
constructing the boundaries which mark out the status and legitimacy
70 Nick Marshall
of one field over other forms of knowledge and expertise”. Similarly,

Fleck (1996) has considered the relationship between claims to expert
knowledge, group identity, and power in professional organizations. His
concept of the “credibility cycle” depicts how the validation of expert
knowledge is conditioned by the emergence of identity-affirming group
processes. Power relations have a central part to play in this cycle. In the
most developed cases it becomes virtually self-generating and expertise
may become effectively sedimented if expert groups are themselves able
to define the criteria of value and efficacy through which expertise is
recognized.
Centrifugal tendencies associated with alternative constructions
of power, knowledge, and identity are key to understanding why
boundaries of coherence encircling projects are rarely assured. However,
this is not to suggest that such tendencies are always complete and
uncontested. Different identity groupings, primarily associated with
functional and disciplinary differences, are themselves unlikely to be
entirely self-enclosing, despite material and symbolic practices of exclu-
sion. Alternative bases of identity may cut across these divisions creating
the potential for processes of translation between different knowledge
domains encouraged by ongoing participation around collective activi-
ties (Callon 1986; Latour 1986). Shared project experiences and an ori-
entation towards a common purpose can promote conditions where
project members develop a strong project-based sense of identity that is
sufficient to overcome internal differences. However, given the tempo-
rally limited character of projects, there may be insufficient time for
any such overarching identity to emerge. Moreover, even where “the
project” becomes a meaningful referent for constructing identities, such
processes are likely to be potentially fragile, unstable, and reversible.
Conclusion
The study of complex projects introduces a number of important chal-
lenges for conceptualizing organizational boundaries. Their inherent
hybridity, involving an irresolvable tension between differentiation
and integration, makes it impossible to consider them as coherently
bounded organizational entities. Conventional accounts of organiza-
tional boundaries as strict lines of demarcation or stable, if permeable,
zones of interaction, are clearly unsatisfactory for representing the
hybrid, plural character of projects. Yet it is equally inadequate to regard
projects as characterizing the fully networked and horizontal figure of
the “boundaryless organization”. Projects do not represent an absence
of boundaries. Through ongoing material and symbolic practices and

processes based around intersecting constructions of identity and differ-
ence alternative and often overlapping boundaries are produced, repro-
duced, enforced, merged, or transcended. However, while such processes
may achieve temporary stability through which socially constituted
boundaries are normalized and achieve a certain facticity (Berger and
Luckmann 1966), there is always scope for these constructions to be con-
tested and potentially reversed. Metaphors that prioritize absolute sta-
bility or total flux are ill suited to any attempt to map these boundary
processes. The challenge is to find a conceptual language capable of rep-
resenting the interweaving of identity and difference without reducing
each to the other. A critical engagement with the concept of boundaries
offers a potentially fruitful way to begin to do this.
Acknowledgments
The study of complex project organizations, entitled “Improving per-
formance in complex product systems production via inter-project
knowledge capture and transfer” was funded by the UK engineering and
Physical Sciences Research Council (grant reference GR/L97377/01).
I would also like to acknowledge Tim Brady, Andrea Prencipe, Jonathan
Sapsed, and Fredrik Tell for their invaluable contribution and support
throughout this project.
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4
Virtual Interactions: Creating
Impressions of Boundaries
Niki Panteli
Introduction
Virtual organizations have been gaining increasing attention as an
emergent and highly significant form of work organization. Discussions
on the significance of virtual organizations and how information and
communication technologies enable organizations to transform them-
selves away from their traditional physical boundaries, have improved
our understanding of what such emergent organizational arrangements
are or what they are not. However, although boundaries appear to play
a central role in our understanding of virtual organizations, scholars
have not sufficiently explored the role of individual virtual workers
in the formation and transformation of boundaries in virtual settings.
A fundamental issue with regard to this is how individuals as actors (and
thus the most visible players in virtual performances) create impressions
of boundaries in order to cope with the challenges of distantiation and
flexibility set up within the virtual context of work. The purpose of this
chapter is to explore this issue. In so doing, the study adds a different
dimension to the current literature and existing views by adopting the
theory of impression management in our understanding of virtual
boundaries.
The chapter begins by reviewing the literature on boundaries and vir-
tual organizations. It then traces the history of impression management
theory, articulating its basic arguments and propositions, and shows the
applicability and significance of this theory in studies on virtuality and
virtual organizations. Following from this, the theory of impression
management is used in the analysis of mobile telephony use in business
interactions. This section illustrates with case study examples how
impressions of boundaries are formed and discusses the implications of
76
Virtual Interactions: Creating Impressions 77
these in our understanding of this topic. The chapter concludes with

the main arguments and the implications for further research.
Boundaries and virtual organizations: Traditional views

In its broader sense, virtuality has been described as an unbounded and
nonlinear world with a free flow of movement (Panteli and Dibben
2001) and thus has been associated with activities that can take place
anytime, anywhere with no physical, geographical, or structural con-
straints (Lipnack and Stamps 1997). Similar to these, there is a view in
the literature that argues that the essence of virtuality is invoked in
“elsewhere”, that is, a place which is not a place as such, but a space that
simultaneously connects and distances people (Zigurs and Qureshi
2000). A more specific interpretation is given by Greenhill (1998) who
describes virtual organizations as fluid entities that integrate dispersed
knowledge into their structures enabled by the use of information and
communication technologies.
Despite the overwhelming interest in the topics of virtuality and vir-
tual organizations, consensus on the nature of boundaries of virtual
organizations has not been reached. Some researchers have taken the
view that virtual organizations are unbounded since temporal and geo-
graphic boundaries become irrelevant to their functioning. For exam-
ple, for Barnatt (1995) virtual organizations include transient work
patterns with no identifiable physical form and defined boundaries,
limited only by the use of information technology rather than by any
rules, procedures, and pre-set relationships. Similarly, for Birchall and
Lyons (1995) virtual organizations do not have any form but they have
an effect.
Others have argued that boundaries exist in virtual organizations in
a form different from those in traditional organizations. For example,
Ashkenas et al. (1995, 3–4) have presented virtual organizations as a form
of a boundaryless organization, but not entirely without boundaries;
rather as organizations consisting of the right balance of boundaries. As
they argue, traditionally “the underlying purpose of all these bound-
aries is to separate people, processes, and production in healthy and
necessary ways”. However, these boundaries are found to be inflexible
and thus become barriers to organizational change. The authors suggest
therefore that: “the traditional notion of boundaries as fixed barriers
or unyielding separators [needs to] be replaced by an organic, biological
view of boundaries as permeable, flexible, moveable, membranes in
a living evolving organism” (4). Similarly, Nolan and Galal (1998) have
78 Niki Panteli
argued that boundaries appear in virtual organizations, but in ways that

are different from those in traditional organizations. They explain that,
in general, boundaries may take a physical or a less physical form.
Commonplace examples of physical boundaries are factory or office
walls, guarded gates, company logos, security badges, and uniforms.
“Less physical” boundaries are the company’s formal and informal rules,
policies and regulations, performance reviews, control systems and,
responsibilities. They argue that physical boundaries become meaning-
less in virtual organizations while the “less physical” organizational
boundaries, which they identify as being legal, political, economic and
social, take on different roles and characteristics and are implemented in
different ways. For example, social boundaries in the traditional organi-
zation such as rules, procedures, and control checks are used to control
employees’ productivity whereas in the virtual organization different
norms of conduct that emphasize output rather than input take prece-
dence. Despite such differences, according to Nolan and Galal, the con-
cept of boundaries remains an essential management tool for organizing
people, systems, and resources in virtual organizations.
A third view by Greenhill (1998, 43) presents virtual organizations
as “a form of organizations unbound in the physical sense from a par-
ticular location”. The researcher acknowledges that all organizations,
including the virtual ones, are assessed in an economic way. As a result,
“operations in virtual space … are conducted in a compressed state in
which vast distance and separate aspects of real life spaces are immedi-
ately accessible”. In this way, virtual organizations are themselves
bounded, but characterized by flexible compressed states. “These orga-
nizational forms are constructed as fluid entities and integrate the
knowledge of inevitable and continual change into their structure. The
structures and boundaries of these organizations are always at a point of
emergence and realignment”.
Despite their different arguments, the three views are similar in the
sense that their analysis has remained at the organization level. Based
on this, there is a general assumption that as organizations change
(e.g. expand, become virtual, compressed and so on), their boundaries
are also transformed. In the present chapter, which aims to contribute to
this debate of “boundaries and virtual organizations”, it is argued that
individuals play a vital and an active role in creating notions of bound-
aries and even sustaining images of traditional boundaries despite orga-
nizational changes; they could do so either consciously or unconsciously
by adopting impression management tactics. The chapter therefore adds
to the debate by proposing a focus at the individual level of analysis.
The section that follows presents the theory of impression manage-

ment and identifies the role of individuals as actors in virtual perform-
ances. Individuals undertake different roles and project their desired
images depending on the situation.
Impression management and virtual plays

Impression management involves the behavior of people to construct
and maintain desired images that are projected in real or imagined
social interactions (Schlenker 1980). When these images are self-related,
then this behavior is known as self-presentation. In this case, impression
management is primarily concerned with the behavior people exhibit
for others to create and maintain the desired perceptions of themselves
(Beard 1996). In Goffman’s (1959) classic work, actors engage in per-
formances in various settings for particular audiences in order to shape
their definition of the situation. Performance is defined as “all the
activity of a given participant on a given occasion which serves to influ-
ence in any way any of the other participants” (Goffman 1959, 26).
As Goffman (1959, 17) puts it: “when an individual appears before
others, his actions will influence the definition of the situation which
they come to have”. At the same time, the audience, as “the others”,
also contributes in defining the situation. Thus, actors and audience
jointly construct the situation they are in as well as the situated identity
of each other. According to Goffman (1959, 20) “the others, however
passive their role may seem to be, will themselves effectively project
a definition of the situation by virtue of their response to the individ-
ual and by virtue of any lines of action they initiate to him”.
As the impression management literature has shown, the motives
for self-presentation are driven by the desire to be favorably viewed by
others. This is not, however, necessarily indicative of a manipulative or
deceptive behavior. Rather, impression management appears as a sin-
cere component of social behavior and may be enacted consciously or
unconsciously. For example, an individual who experiences a situation
for the first time may consciously make a special effort to create a posi-
tive image of his/her self to the audience. Over time, however, and
through experience, the authentic presentation of self is likely to come
out in a social encounter to complement or even replace conscious
attempts to create and control self-images. As Schlenker explains (1980,
7): “Impression management often consists of well-ingrained, habit-
like responses that are triggered in particular situations and need
not involve intentional subterfuge”. Nevertheless, even an experienced
80 Niki Panteli
actor on a familiar stage with a well-rehearsed role may need to make

conscious effort to construct and maintain a desired image depending
on the audience and his or her interpretation of the importance of audi-
ence. This means that no situated identity can be the same. Rather, each
case of situated identity postulates a different process for establishing
the definition of the situation. It follows that it is the social meaning of
the situation rather than the characteristics of it that is most critical in
impression management.
According to the advocates of impression management, organizations
set the stage for various performances to take place (Mangham and
Overington 1987). In organizational environments, it is crucial that the
various parties concerned (managers, employees, partners, suppliers, cus-
tomers) “get on the right foot” with each other. Organizational members,
for example, when in a situation that involves a client or a business
partner, act in ways that create and sustain about themselves images of
competence, trustworthiness, reliability and other desired characteristics
important for the effectiveness of current and future business interac-
tions. The job interview setting is another good example of impression-
istic behavior in organizational sites. During the short duration of the
interview, candidates would need to create impressions of not only com-
petence and expertise, but also enthusiasm about the job and the organ-
ization. Of course, even though these first impressions are vital, positive
impressions of self-image need to be sustained if one wants not only to
keep a job but also to develop his or her career. Clearly, impression man-
agement should not be seen as a shortcut prescription in forming posi-
tive self-image quickly, but rather as a process by which individuals
attempt to influence the impression others form of them (Beard 1996).
Compared to face-to-face environments, virtual environments
provide even more opportunities to individuals to project their desired
images. Turkle, in her book “Life on the screen” (1995), gives several
illustrations of such role-playing experiences. As she puts it: “[virtual
communities] blur the boundaries between self and game, self and role,
self and simulation. … But people don’t just become who they play, they
play who they are or who they want to be or who they don’t want to
be. Players sometimes talk about their real selves as a composite of their
characters and sometimes talk about their screen persona as means for
working on their RL [real life]” (1995, 192).
Indeed, through telepresence, individuals can present a more com-
plex persona in their virtual interactions or simply a different persona
from their own real one. In this way, they may be able to send across
the desired images about themselves, their personality, expertise and
so on. When doing so during business interactions, individuals as rep-

resentatives and members of organizations are able to build or reinforce
an effective relationship with other parties (e.g. clients, suppliers) at
both the individual and organizational levels.
Clearly, in a virtual setting, not only a different persona may be
presented but also there might be different personas for different audi-
ences. Zigurs and Qureshi (2000, 136) explain this by making particular
reference to organizations and how these may use information tech-
nology to project different images to different audiences: “An organi-
zation may project an authoritarian image to its employees by, for
example, tracking their electronic agendas and making evaluative
comments. A completely different image of the organization can be pro-
jected to customers by, for example, enabling them to informally dis-
cuss products and services through an interactive Web site … A different
image of the same organization can be projected to partners in its
supply chain by giving each partner access to different segments of
its database”. In the case of virtual workspaces, individuals may work for
different projects or organizations and thus acquire different scripts
upon which they need to enact their roles. These different projected
personas may even take place almost simultaneously or in short inter-
vals from each other, and while, for example, writing email messages
to different people. It follows that the virtual environment becomes
a space for various plays to commence where actors engage in perform-
ances adopting different roles, following different scripts, and playing
for different audiences. The role of the latter could in fact be vitally
important in the effectiveness of a performance, yet this has been
overlooked by the virtual organization literature.
De Luce (1995) in her analysis of the audience’s role in a theater play
says: “… the audience agrees to attend to the play; to apply its imagina-
tion and intelligence to the signs of performance … to language, gesture,
and inflexion; and to metaphor and analogy. In that sense the audience
completes the performance; [thus] it is not only present at the creation
of a particular work of art, but it is itself a performer in that work”. As
with the theater where the audience is not only present but also plays
a part in that creation, the same happens with virtual performances,
especially those where there is real time interaction between actors and
audiences. The audience is on stage and even has a direct part on the
performing play where through their own behavior may show their
approval or disapproval of actors’ enactment of a situation. Actors may
find themselves in the position where they would have to improvise
the situation as a response to an audience’s requests for reviews and
82 Niki Panteli
improvement. This shows that not only the audience’s presence and
attributes, but also their own behavior during a play may have a signif-
icant effect on performances enacted by actors when in a virtual work
setting.
In virtual plays, roles are enacted and impressions are formed during
computer-mediated interactions. In what follows, therefore, this chap-
ter applies the principles of impression management in the use of
mobile communication systems to illustrate how impressions of bound-
aries may be created to coworkers and business associates.
Staging the play: The use of mobile telephony in building

impressions of boundaries
The story of two telephone calls …
“Helen phones Mike, her colleague in the same office building. She
lifts the handset of the telephone on her desk, hears a dial tone, and
presses four buttons. The telephone on Mike’s desk rings. Helen hears
a ringing sound in her phone. Mike lifts the phone and says ‘Hello,
this is Mike’. Helen responds and they speak to each other.
Susan, in the office next to Mike, calls Bill [who also works in the
same building]. Susan uses her [mobile] phone. She presses some but-
tons on the phone until she sees Bill’s name on the phone’s screen.
Then she presses a green SEND button and hears a ringing tone. Bill’s
[mobile] phone rings. He takes it from his pocket, presses a button on
the phone, and says ‘Hello, this is Bill.’ Susan responds and they
speak to each other”. (extracted from Goodman 1997, 7)
Both Helen and Susan have been successful in their attempt to commu-
nicate with their colleagues. The most apparent difference is the tech-
nology used. As Goodman notes (1997, 7): “Helen’s call to Mike uses
technology that has progressed steadily for more than a hundred years.
The technology that makes the [mobile] call possible is less than 20 years
old and is changing rapidly”, in fact so rapidly that according to a
Reuter’s report (Hayward 2000), any forecast about its growth would be
wrong. These dramatic changes in communication technology bring
substantial changes not just in the way work is done but also where it
is done. For instance, in the two stories above, one thing that is not cer-
tain from the information given is Bill’s location. We know (as readers
and secondary audience) that Helen, Mike and Susan are in the same
building and even more specifically that they are in their own office
within the company’s premises. But, neither we, nor Susan knows
where Bill is. Has he been working in his office when Susan phoned, or
was he somewhere else in the building, elsewhere in town or even in
another country? Indeed this is the main potential of mobile tele-
phones; they enable personal, anywhere and anytime communication.
Thus, mobile telephones have two qualities over the fixed phones: they
travel around with you, and they enable others to find you wherever
you are, without them knowing where you are (The Economist 1999).
With the advancements in networks and communication techno-
logies, mobile telephony enables business people to communicate
with colleagues, clients and family fast and regardless of distance.
For example, the growth of digital GSMC (Global System for Mobile
Communications) networks allows subscribers to use their mobile tele-
phones beyond national boundaries and almost anywhere around the
globe. It is therefore not surprising that worldwide, the market for
mobile devices is growing faster than that for PCs. The portability and
flexibility of mobile telephones free users from ties in time and geo-
graphy increasingly allowing them to become anywhere and anytime
users.
The integration of mobile telephones with the Internet has further
improved and enhanced the already multipurpose nature of mobile com-
munications increasing opportunities for mobile business applications
(Barnes 2002). What these potentials mean is that in addition to opening
up options as to where work is done, mobile telephony can enable a
relaxation of the traditional physical constraints upon organizational
formation and adaptation whilst enabling synchronous, real-time com-
munication, which has been missing from other computer-mediated
media such as email. Moreover, flexibility in location promises to exploit
a unique characteristic of wireless mobile to create images about the
organization. In such situations where clients do not know where work is
done or where an organization is actually based, there are greater oppor-
tunities for managers and employees in creating different images about
the character, style, even size and physical location of the company to
different clients and partners.
Two cases are presented below to show how individuals as actors
are themselves able to create impressions of boundaries through their
use of mobile telephones. Data were collected from interviews with the
managers of two organizations in the summer of 1999 as part of a larger
project on mobile communication systems (see Panteli and Dibben
2001). Clearly, these are not unique cases of impressionistic behavior
but are good illustrators of the arguments raised here.
84 Niki Panteli
Case A: Case A is a young, entrepreneurial management consultancy

organization based in Scotland, specializing in employee counseling and
other activities relating to the support of its clients’ personnel depart-
ments. The majority of its customers are big international companies
based in Scotland, operating both in service and manufacturing indus-
tries. Initially, this was a one-person organization, but it has recently
undergone expansion to new offices and has taken on extra staff. The
nature of its business is such that it relies on the development of effec-
tive interpersonal relationships both within the company and with the
various members of its client organizations with whom it deals.
Peggy, the CEO of this organization, uses a mobile telephone to catch
up with what is going on in the office while away visiting clients. Her
most frequent use of the telephone is in Business Centers established
for executives at main line train stations. This provides her with the
flexibility to manage the organization while being outside the office:
“Mobile phones add flexibility to my business. I can work from any
location by using my mobile phone – I don’t need to be tied to one
office location to do my work – I can divert calls from my office phone
to my mobile phone and move around”. Peggy tells the story of being on
holiday in France and having to take over the management of a particu-
larly complex customer case at short notice. Brought up to date by faxes
sent to her hotel from her consultancy office in the United Kingdom, she
used the local cemetery as an open-air office (due to excellent reception
combined with the availability of convenient flat surfaces) and pro-
ceeded to have a serious business negotiation with the client. It was only
on her return to the United Kingdom that it was revealed to the client
that the discussions had been handled from overseas. The specific loca-
tion of her conversation (e.g. cemetery) was also revealed to her imme-
diate colleagues.
Case B: Case B is a family housing development business in Cyprus. Andy,

a retired salesperson in his mid-seventies, set up the business in 1994 “to
keep him(self) busy during his retirement”. The company was formed for
the duration of one construction project, which involved the develop-
ment of ten holiday houses in the south part of the island. At the time of
the study, about half of these houses were built, some were already sold,
and others were still waiting for a buyer. Therefore, potential and existing
customers, builders and electricians are some of the groups of people that
Andy needed to interact with during the construction project.
Andy tells the story when he was on holiday during Easter 1998
with his family in Greece. Two days after his arrival on the holiday
resort, he received a telephone call from a potential customer who was

interested in viewing a particular property that was for sale at the time.
He arranged to see the customer the following day to show her around
the house without revealing that he was overseas.
This is the case of a one-person organization that exists only in the
form of mobile telephony. When customers contact Andy, they not
only get the impression that the company is real but also that the com-
pany is physically located (in Cyprus) within the national boundaries of
this country. In this case, because the mobile telephone can be used to
hide the virtual character of the organization, it can create the impres-
sion to customers that the organization is somewhere when actually it
is not just elsewhere but rather anywhere.
Analysis
The two cases have been described briefly in a storytelling form (Gabriel
2000). Although short they both show evidence of impression building
where mobile telephones have been used to “stage” performances of
virtual working practices and interactions.
The first story presents the case of a female entrepreneur who is away
on holiday overseas, not involved in business. In such circumstances,
her mobile telephone becomes the only medium that enables her to stay
directly in touch with her office. However, in the story presented, the
mobile telephone was not simply a communication device but rather the
means through which she was able to manage a particular difficult case
with a key client organization. Moreover, she did this somewhere com-
pletely different from traditional places of work, not even in her hotel
room, but in a cemetery. Even though we know as readers and as sec-
ondary audience the actual location of this individual, the client (as the
immediate audience in real time) was not aware of this. Rather he had
been left with the impression that Peggy was in an organized and phys-
ically bounded workplace (i.e. in her office in Scotland). The use of the
mobile telephone in this case has enabled the impression to be created
that work has taken place within the traditional boundaries of an
“organized” office environment.
The second story presents different experiences and uses of the
mobile telephone. In this case, the owner, Andy, does not have to go
away from the business to make or receive telephone calls. This organi-
zation does not have any physical office, and apart from the construc-
tion project itself, there is nothing else that identifies the physicality of
the company. Therefore, clients cannot visit any physically bounded
86 Niki Panteli
office to ask for information simply because there are no company prem-
ises that physically exist; this housing estate company does not therefore
exist in the traditional identifiable form. Rather, the company exists vir-
tually and is represented via mobile telephony. This one-person housing
estate company uses the mobile telephone as the main means of com-
munication with business partners, present and potential customers and
suppliers, being accessible regardless of time, distance and location. This
second case, therefore, shows that mobile telephones have the effect of
not only extending the delineated work location beyond its physical
boundaries (as it was with the first case), but also of enabling organiza-
tional emergence in a manner that is wholly unconstrained by physical
location, thus giving even more opportunities for impression building.
Later interviews with Andy showed that he did not reveal his exact
location because he was anxious to meet his potential client and that if
he had made known to her that he was overseas then probably that
business interaction would have been delayed or never took place (as
the client would have most probably looked for properties elsewhere
since Andy was overseas). His anxiety reinforces the traditional view (in
Nolan and Galal 1998) that organizations and their members need to
reside in physical proximity to its customers and work in a traditional
time horizon (e.g. 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.).
It follows that actors’ interpretation of the importance of an interac-
tion with a specific audience may lead them to consciously hide infor-
mation about their location creating in this way impressions that they
are somewhere when they are not; or intentionally revealing informa-
tion about where they truly are in order to reinforce a desired image.
The impression that Andy projected that he was in the country while
actually being elsewhere, no doubt contributed to the creation of the
legitimacy necessary for pursuing that business interaction in such
a short time. Therefore, individual actors create notions of boundaries
in their use of technology. According to Gardner et al. (1996, 18),
computer-mediated communication users will be most concerned about
their image “when they are identified and interacting with an audience
that they wish to favorably impress”. In this way, virtually constructed
boundaries are not determined by their location but rather by the social
orders and flows that constitute them, while technology serves as the
“stage” on which these social orders are enacted.
Boundaries in virtual organizations: An emergent view

What derives from the analysis so far is that neither the degree of
virtualization nor the type of medium can blur boundaries. In other
words, it is not the fact that an organization is virtual or not that will
define boundaries, but rather how the people involved (actors and audi-
ence) perceive and enact the situation they are in. As explained earlier,
in impression management, actor and audience jointly construct their
identity. It is thus within this situated identity that boundaries are
formed; these are the boundaries that are constructed in a specific
situation with a particular audience at a given point in time. Boundaries
in this way are a characteristic of a situated relationship and could be
physical (office walls) or non-physical (norms, procedures, contracts).
These situated boundaries may only last for a short period of time. For
example they may only exist for the duration of a project; for the dura-
tion of a single interaction and conversation; until the relationship
between the parties comes to an end; or when the parties are informed
of where the interaction took place. Some members of the audience
may never find out (e.g. Peggy’s and Andy’s clients) while others may
find out after the performance was completed (e.g. Peggy’s employees).
Furthermore, it is also found in the present study that such boundaries
are formed on an as needed basis and in both of the cases these are pro-
jected consciously. However, even if impressions of boundaries are not
created consciously, the social definition in itself leads to the emergence
of boundaries. In this case, an identity is formed (thus, situated) in order
to signify to others how they should conduct themselves within a
particular setting (Bourdieu 1991).
In her study of a medical care meeting Kerosuo (2001) found that there
are different types of expressions that could be used to indicate bound-
aries between patients and professionals: (1) direct use of the terms
“boundary”, “border”, “frontier”, “borderline”; (2) use of metaphors
indicating boundaries; (3) expressions referring to location; and (4) the
applications of pronouns such as “me and you” or “us and them”. In the
cases presented in this chapter, mobile telephones have enabled users to
stage their performances without being restricted in one static location
such as the office. However, in neither case did the actors openly reveal
their location. In contrast to Kerosuo’s arguments, we find with the
present study that what is not said is also as important as what is said.
To quote Duran (1991, 164): “what the text does not say on standard
interpretation is just as important as what it does say, and what is given
only marginal importance or perceived as having peripheral impact is as
important, perhaps more important, than what had been deemed to be
central”.
Accordingly, mobile telephones do not only stage virtual plays but
also enable individuals to project images of traditional notions of
boundaries even when these do not exist in reality, though these may
88 Niki Panteli
exist in the audience’s mind. Indeed, a virtually constructed space may

not have any identifiable physical boundaries, but boundaries could
still be created in the minds of the people who act and interact within
a virtual organization (Panteli and Dibben 2001). The latter is particu-
larly important since it shows that boundaries do not simply take on
a different form as Nolan and Galal (1998) argued, but rather that they
are re-created on different stages. Nolan and Galal, for example, have
argued that in virtual work arrangements, physical boundaries become
less meaningful. In this study, however, it is found that traditional
boundaries including location and structure are acted on and are
enabled by the potential of mobile telephony to hide users’ physical
and social cues. There are several reasons for this. One reason is that
such boundaries are seen as normative and anything else is seen as
departing from the norm. Accordingly, impressions of physical bound-
aries, those that indicate office walls, are created, and this in turn cre-
ates impressions of better information accessibility, organization and
“tidiness”. Such boundaries could be created as a safety mechanism
since they help to maintain the image of organizations that is most
familiar to other business parties. It is an image of organizations that
has been institutionalized, and thus it is safer to maintain this image
than take the risk of revealing to a key client the virtual character of the
interaction. In this way, individuals as members of organizations avoid
the risk of being seen as disorganized and unprofessional, especially by
potential key partners. Impressions such as these maintain commonal-
ity and thus reinforce and sustain the traditional view of organizations
as physically based and organized entities.
Individuals of course do not only create boundaries in order to legit-
imize and safeguard interactions. Therefore, in addition to the safety
mechanism, the defensive mechanism1 also needs to be considered.
This is the case where boundaries are created as a buffer zone in order
to protect one’s own private area from intruders. One of the character-
istics of mobile telephones is that they can reach people anywhere and
anytime. They can therefore easily enable invasion into one’s personal
life; for example, individuals receive calls on their mobile telephones
during social events without callers knowing their actual physical
location and the social setting of which the receiver is part (this could
be a social night out with friends or family). Depending on who the
caller is (e.g. client or friend), individuals may want to hide information
about their physical and social setting in real time. Similarly, they
may not reveal information about their actual physical and social loca-
tion in order to focus the conversation on the main subject of the call
(e.g. a business matter) rather than on other issues (e.g. how is the
family? how is your holiday?). In this case, boundary buffering emerges
on the spot.
In sum, even though boundaries do appear less fixed and more flexi-
ble and vulnerable in virtual workspaces, this chapter has argued that
they still continue to feature prominently in virtual interactions. The
active agency of individuals, their own interpretations of the situation,
the negotiations that they enter into with the audience to build their
situated identity all contribute to the construction of boundaries. In
this study it is found that even impressions of physical boundaries are
formed, but these are merely impressions and not real boundaries. To
the audience they are real and it is this that may enable the interaction
to take place. For actors this is what matters, and for organizational
studies, this is a socially defined situation that should not be ignored;
rather it should be promoted.
Conclusions
The increasing pressure to perform in a short period of time within a
computer-mediated environment makes the impression management
technique vital in examining the behavior and interactions of virtual
workers. The chapter suggests that impressionistic behavior conveyed
through computer-mediated communication should be included in our
understanding of boundaries within virtual organizations since such
behavior may be intentionally adopted to sustain or create notions
of boundaries. In this chapter, therefore, a different conceptualization
of boundaries is given: one that argues that boundaries are situated, and
thus human agents who act and interact within a computer-mediated
environment create them. Indeed, boundaries do not disappear nor
do they necessarily alter in their nature or level of flexibility. Rather,
individual virtual employees could sustain boundaries depending on
the situation they encounter.
It follows that one of the main implications of using the theory of
impression management in studies on virtual workspaces, is that it enables
us to shift the locus of attention in the study of organizational boundaries
from the organizational level of analysis to the individual. Clearly, virtual
organizations are effective not only because organizations want to extend
or compress their boundaries, but also and most importantly, because
individuals are able to act in such an environment, creating images of
physically bounded, compressed or boundaryless organizations.
90 Niki Panteli
This study has used cases of mobile telephony use, an increasingly

popular medium in business interactions. Computer-mediated commu-
nication media, such as email, videoconferencing and web-conferencing,
are now common within and across organizations as are other collabo-
rative technologies such as groupware and intranets. Each of these tech-
nologies carry their own unique characteristics, but all have the potential
to enable individuals to exchange information, share knowledge and
make decisions fast, regardless of time and distance. However in all cases,
the use of a communication medium is socially constructed; thus the
extent to which a medium is used and how it is used depends on users,
their views, perceptions and experiences as well as the context in which
users are situated in (Kraut et al. 1998). The present study has reinforced
this argument, but has also identified the important role of the audience
in influencing the use of a medium. This study has taken the case of
mobile telephony where the audience acts primarily in real time with
actors, but it is nevertheless expected that other types of computer-
mediated communication will be influenced by the telepresence, role
and significance of the audience; even in the case of asynchronous email
communication, users are aware of who the primary recipient of their
message would be and this will be reflected in their construction of email
texts (Panteli 2002). The question remains, however, how different com-
munication media create impressions, influence perceptions and even
manipulate social symbols. Following from this, the theory of impres-
sion management has a lot more contribution to make in this field of
research and can have a significant contribution in the study of virtual-
ity, virtual organizations and computer-mediated communication.
Note
1 This view is borrowed from psychoanalysis where the defence of boundaries
is considered to be vital for the ego, in an attempt to keep strangers out
(Freud, 1917). For a discussion on the psychological meaning of organiza-
tional boundaries see Gabriel (1999).
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5
Building E-Loyalty Across Cultures and
Organizational Boundaries1
Dianne Cyr and Haizley Trevor-Smith
Introduction
Managers and researchers are struggling with the concept of e-loyalty
and how trust can be developed in online environments. In an article
in the Harvard Business Review, Reichheld and Schefter (2000, 105)
suggest building loyalty on the Web does “raise new questions and
open new opportunities; it places the old rules in a new context.” Trust
has implications for competitiveness, and vendors who are successful
in developing relationships with customers online create a “virtuous
circle” that can quickly translate into a durable advantage. Less clear is
how to build trust in virtual communities, and for the companies that
host them. Further, creating loyalty is not related to fads and techno-
logical “bells and whistles,” but rather to old-fashioned customer serv-
ice basics including quality customer support (Reichheld and Schefter
2000).
Although business across boundaries on the Web presents new
challenges, there is wisdom to be gained from earlier research on
commitment–trust theory of relationship marketing. Understanding
relationship marketing requires distinguishing between the discrete
transaction, which has a “distinct beginning, short duration, and sharp
ending by performance,” and relational exchange which “traces to pre-
vious agreements [and] … is longer in duration, reflecting an ongoing
process” (Dwyer et al. 1987, 13). Related to trust, the goal is to earn a
preferred position by developing customer commitment over a period
of time. As Morgan and Hunt (1994, 22) outline, the relationships built
between supplier and customers as part of a strategic alliance involve
the exchange of resources by partners. As such, relationship marketing
93
94 Dianne Cyr and Haizley Trevor-Smith
refers to “all marketing activities directed toward establishing, develop-

ing, and maintaining successful relational exchanges.” Morgan and
Hunt propose a model for relationship modeling that includes among
other things the importance of shared values and communication.
Most recently, emphasis has turned to how trust is developed on the
Internet. Descriptive studies (Cheskin 1999; Egger 2001; Marcus and
Gould 2000) have outlined key components of trust building including
the importance of company reputation, interface properties of the site
and informational content, among others. Importantly, Yoon (2002) has
empirically examined the antecedents and consequences of trust in
online purchase decisions. This represents a key step in building a model
of trust on the Internet that is grounded in earlier theory, and is system-
atically tested.
Considering how central trust appears for building loyalty in
relationship marketing, it also seems important to take into account
national culture differences as part of the trust building process. As one
example of research in this area, Shaffer and Hara (1995) outline “per-
ceptions of trust are found to differ significantly between people from
nations characterized by high and low individualism.” In other studies,
Hofstede’s cultural dimensions have been related to the impact of
nationality on phenomena such as the use of humor in advertising, and
differences of values of marketing professionals. Despite evidence that
trust is intertwined with culture, little empirical research has investi-
gated how culture could influence relationship building across organi-
zational boundaries in a Web-based environment. Some exceptions are
work completed by Jarvenpaa et al. (1999) in which consumer trust in
an Internet store across cultures is examined, and Badre (2000) who
conducted research on consumer trust in an Internet store in individu-
alist versus collectivist cultures.
In summary, the chapter integrates themes from the literature in a way
that examines the complexity of B2C relationships with an emphasis
on how e-loyalty and trust are built across cultures. Traditional theory
on relationships marketing is well suited to inform new perspectives of
building relationships on the Web. However, important differences
are apparent when crossing boundaries from face-to-face marketing
and relationship management to online environments. In addition, an
important boundary consideration is how to effectively build relation-
ships with consumers in various cultures, again in a Web-based setting.
Companies that consider these important issues will be well positioned
to develop competitive advantages in e-business.
Building E-Loyalty in E-Business 95
The realm of e-business trust

E-business is the new frontier for selling and buying on the Internet.
Proposing an inclusive view based on definitions presented in the litera-
ture, e-business is “the carrying out of business activities that lead to an
exchange of value, where the parties interact electronically, using net-
work or telecommunications technologies” (Jones et al. 2000, 83). Not
only is the exchange of goods and services part of the equation, but also
transactions involving sharing of information that may be valuable to
partners in specific commercial activities. The authors add: “The new par-
adigm of e-commerce is based not just on transactions but on building,
sustaining, and improving relationships, both existing and potential.”
Despite variations in business formats introduced by online sales and
after sales service, earning the trust and loyalty of valued customers
remains a crucial requirement. However, the rules of the game are
changing. In a traditional business context, trust is built through face-
to-face contact or physical access to products. On the Web, where there
is necessarily greater reliance on images and promises, shoppers tend to
seek “a Web site I know and trust” (Reichheld and Schefter 2000, 107).
Other attributes such as cost and selection lagged behind whether the
site and vendor could be trusted.
When customers develop trust with online vendors, they are more
likely to share personal information. That information permits the com-
pany to form more intimate relationships with customers, offering
products and services that are desirable and tailored to customer prefer-
ences, and as a result engendering increased trust. An exemplary com-
pany that uses trust as a foundation for longer-term loyalty is the
Vanguard Group, a rapidly growing mutual fund company. Vanguard
understands trust-building results in enduring customer relationships
and according to the CEO, “Trust is our number one asset at Vanguard.
We recognize you can’t buy trust with advertising or salesmanship;
you have to earn it – by always acting in the best interest of customers.
We didn’t design our Web site to sell more products and services.
We designed it to educate our customers and provide better and more
timely information and advice so they can make better decisions”
(Reichheld and Schefter 2000, 107).
Pivotal Corporation, one of Canada’s fastest growing customer rela-
tionship management (CRM) solution providers instills loyalty in cus-
tomers through innovation, high quality after implementation
follow-up and service, and building of long-term relationships (Cyr et al.
2002). CRM goes beyond profiling customer purchasing patterns. It

deals with automating and seamlessly unifying online selling, market-
ing and customer service (and must integrate transactions whether they
are done by phone, fax, email, wireless or Web). Ultimately, loyalty is
not won with technology but rather through delivery of a consistently
superior customer experience. Benefits from customer loyalty and reten-
tion are significant, with profits increased 25 percent when customer
retention is increased by 5 percent (Reichheld and Schefter 2000).
It would appear building loyalty in e-business on the Internet requires
a rethinking of previous business models and formats. Relationship
building is important to trust building, and is challenged in an Internet
environment due to conditions such as infrastructure vulnerability
leading to cyber fraud and other forms of digital threat. Geographic dis-
persion of partners or customers poses difficulties related to a lack of har-
monization in legal systems, and therefore safeguards. Despite this,
e-loyalty can be instilled through integrative solutions that focus on pro-
viding superior customer experience. In this vein, boundaries are trans-
gressed from traditional customer experiences in buying to Internet
forms of marketing that result in customer trust and satisfaction.
Building on tradition: Commitment–trust theory of

relationship marketing
Although a newer consideration in the context of e-business, trust has
long been a topic of interest in the social sciences (Lewicki and Bunker
1995; Lewis and Weigert 1985) and management literature (Gulati 1995;
Lane and Bachman 1996; Anderson and Weitz 1989). Moorman et al.
(1993, 82) define trust as “a willingness to rely on an exchange partner
in whom one has confidence.” This definition draws on Rotter’s (1967,
651) view that trust is “a generalized expectancy held by an individual
that the work of another … can be relied on.” Both definitions highlight
the notion of confidence. The literature on trust suggests confidence
toward a party is generated from a belief that the party has integrity,
and therefore is consistent, competent, honest, helpful and fair in both
intent and in behavioral action (Altman and Taylor 1973; Dwyer and
LaGace 1986; Rotter 1971). In retailing, Berry (1993, 1) suggests “trust is
the basis for loyalty.”
Commitment to the relationship is defined as an enduring desire to
maintain a valued relationship (Moorman et al. 1992). Over the years,
development of commitment has been critical to organizations
(Reichers 1985), and buyer behavior (Newman and Werbel 1973; Berry
and Parasuraman 1991). In the latter case, brand loyalty becomes cen-
tral to the repurchase decision in relational exchange, and is similar to
commitment. As Morgan and Hunt (1994) note, a common theme
emerges from the literature on relationships in that parties identify
commitment among exchange partners as important to achieving valu-
able outcomes. The authors further propose that relationship commit-
ment is a central tenet to relationship marketing.
Relationship marketing involves establishing, developing, and main-
taining successful relational exchanges (Morgan and Hunt 1994). As
noted in the introduction, relationship marketing goes beyond a discrete
transaction with a definitive end, and instead is a “relational exchange”
as part of an ongoing process. Such exchanges are varied, and in broad
terms involve: (1) supplier partnerships (i.e. of goods or services);
(2) buyer partnerships (services marketing or partnerships related to
channels of distribution); (3) internal partnerships (with business units,
employees, or functional departments); and (4) lateral partnerships
(alliances with competitors, nonprofit organizations or government).
The establishment of trust and commitment is vital to the exchange, and
is dependent on developing shared values and effective communication.
Further, according to Morgan and Hunt (1994, 22), “commitment
and trust lead directly to cooperative behaviors that are conducive to
relationship marketing success.”
Developing trust in a supplier firm depends on supplier reputation
and size, supplier willingness to customize, and ability to trust salesper-
son expertise (see Doney and Cannon 1997). In one of the few articles
in which trust is explicitly addressed in B2B sales (although not in a
Web-based setting), Plank et al. (1999) suggest trust on the Web involves
salesperson trust, company trust, and product/services trust. Trust
relates to a belief on the part of the trusting person that obligations are
fulfilled. More specifically, “trust is a global belief on the part of the
buyer that the salesperson, product and company will fulfill their obli-
gations as understood by the buyer” (Plank et al. 1999, 62). As such,
trust can relate to multiple forms of fulfillment. Individual components
of trust form the buyers’ perspective, and are defined by Plank et al. in
the following way: (1) salesperson trust is the belief that the salesperson
will fulfill his/her obligations as understood by the buyer; (2) product
trust is the belief that the product/service will fulfill its functions as
understood by the buyer, and (3) company trust is the belief that the
company will fulfill all its obligations as understood by the buyer. The
authors develop and validate a scale for measuring trust-building on
the previous work of others. However, an important observation is that
no attention is paid to the issue of culture. There are lessons to be

derived from traditional (non-Internet) approaches to relationship
marketing. Although it is expected there will be subtle variations on
relationship marketing in Web-based environments, there is likely an
expectation that trust is built through effective relational exchanges.
Relying on the research by Plank et al. (1999), who build on other trust
work in the field, the following propositions for future testing in an
Internet environment are posed:
Proposition 1: Trust on the Internet will be more likely to develop when

trust of the digital salesperson exists, and that expectations as under-
stood by the buyer are fulfilled.
there is product trust, and that the product or service will fulfill expec-
tations of the buyer.
there is company trust, and that the company will fulfill expectations
of the buyer.
Proposition 4: Effective communication of information between the
seller and buyer on the Internet will contribute to salesperson, product/
service, and company trust.
Proposition 5: Supplier customization of content on the Internet will
result in buyer trust.
Building trust on the Internet

The changing context of e-business necessitates new models for trust
development that add complexity to the above discussion of relational
exchanges. According to Jones et al. (2000, 82) “traditional views of key
concepts such as trust and security must be reexamined and redefined
for use in the new context.” In this vein, a trust workshop was held
amongst members of the European Community resulting in the follow-
ing findings: (1) the transition to a digital virtual environment suggests
traditional bases for trust (i.e. physical characteristics of people, prem-
ises, or products) are absent; (2) businesses rely increasingly on digital
assets which must be protected from new threats; (3) large scale open
infrastructures imply greater vulnerability to cybercrime and fraud;
and (4) increased possibility for, and exploitation of, opportunities
for global activity make it harder for businesses to win trust due
to geographical distribution of partners and markets, and lack of
understanding as to how differences in national legal frameworks may

be accommodated.
More specifically, Jones et al. (2000) note that trust in e-business
encompasses a variety of issues including the dependability of a com-
puting or communication infrastructure. When building trust relation-
ships with customers, retailers may need to manage risks on an ongoing
basis based on consumer perceptions of cost–benefit. As Jones et al.
further suggest, “requirements for trust in e-business are broader than
dependability requirements in other domains, and a new framework is
needed in order to ensure they are fully addressed” (2000, 84).
eBay provides an example of how trust is built through testimonials
that aim to reinforce engagement with the customer. Buyers and sellers
rate each other after every transaction, and the ratings are posted on the
site. Transaction risks are reduced when money spent by the customer
is held in escrow until the buyer is satisfied with the transaction. Risk
reduction may also result from the use of trusted third parties as
intermediaries such as VeriSign (Palmer et al. 2000). This is the Internet
counterpart to the Better Business Bureau and indicates a site has a
recognized seal of approval.
Hoffman et al. (1999) note the importance of information privacy as
it relates to building customer trust. These authors suggest “lack of trust
arises from cyberconsumers’ perceived lack of control over the access
others have to their personal information during the online navigation
process” (1999, 80). In other research, Novak et al. (2000) elaborate the
importance of the “flow construct” for understanding consumer behav-
ior on the Internet. During navigation of a Website, they define flow as
a state characterized by a seamless sequence of responses facilitated by
machine interactivity that is intrinsically enjoyable and self-reinforcing.
Egger (2001) suggests a model of trust for e-commerce involves rela-
tionship management in three areas: pre-interactional filters, interface
properties, and informational content. Pre-interactional filters include
any pre-association with a site such as brand experience. Interface prop-
erties pertain to the level of site usability and pertain to architecture of
the information, familiarity of metaphors, transparency of terminology,
ease of access, level to which the site is customer-centric, and degree to
which the customer has control. Informational content refers to per-
ceived competence of products and services (value, credibility, trans-
parency), and the company’s reputation, as well as risk and privacy issues.
Although this model has interesting potential, it has not yet been tested.
Investigative work conducted by the Cheskin Research Group (1999,
2000) considers the role of trust in e-commerce. They identify six
fundamental forms for the communication of trustworthiness: brand,

navigation, fulfillment, presentation, up-to-date technology, and the
logos of firms (such as VeriSign) that guarantee security. Results of sur-
vey studies underscore the level of risk consumers experience on the
Internet and the strategies used to avoid risk. Of interest, there is a cross-
cultural component to risk, and in the 2000 study in which US,
Brazilian, and Latin American consumers are compared, US and Brazilian
consumers tend to be more cynical about the ability of the government
to control various forms of risk. Alternately, Latin Americans and
Brazilians gain more from the presence of credit card symbols on sites
than do US residents. The authors conclude “[T]hese differences in per-
ception … will require that Website companies and other organizations
concerned with security begin to tailor their efforts to the specific
perspectives of each region more fully” (Cheskin 2000).
Finally, research by Yoon (2002) integrates various perspectives from the
preceding research on trust building on the Internet. In his model, Yoon
suggests four variables – transaction security (payment system and per-
ceived risk by consumers), Website properties (width of product selections,
accuracy of product descriptions, company reputation, consumer’s aware-
ness of company), navigation functionality (site design and efficiency),
and personal variables (familiarity of consumer with e-commerce) –
that impact Website trust, awareness, and satisfaction. In turn, level of
trust, awareness, and satisfaction determine on/offline purchase intention.
Based on a controlled simulation study involving Korean students, Yoon
found: (1) Website trust was significantly related to site properties includ-
ing image-related variables such as company awareness and company
reputation, while satisfaction was significantly related to navigation func-
tionality; (2) personal variables such as familiarity with e-commerce and
prior satisfaction with e-commerce were found to have high correlations
with Website satisfaction as well as trust; (3) Website trust, satisfaction,
and awareness all influenced online purchase intention, and (4) Website
trust and satisfaction had a high correlation.
These findings not only suggest a new approach to trust building on
the Internet based on empirical evidence, they also signal contemporary
issues that merit consideration by marketing strategists and other
practitioners. Further, several propositions for future research emerge,
building on the work of Yoon and others.
Proposition 6: Trust on the Internet is more likely to develop when trans-

action security (payment system and perceived risk by consumers) is
assured.
Proposition 7: Trust on the Internet is more likely when Website proper-

ties (width of product selections, accuracy of product descriptions, com-
pany reputation, consumer’s awareness of company) fulfill consumer’s
expectations.
Proposition 8: Trust on the Internet is more likely when navigation
functionality (site design and efficiency) fulfill consumer’s expectations.
Proposition 9: Trust on the Internet is more likely when personal
variables (familiarity of consumer with e-commerce) are present.
Culture, localization, and trust

Related to e-business spending, 40 percent of both USA and non-USA
Web users will become Web buyers by 2003. To date, over 25 percent of
IDC respondents in developing countries (Chile, China, and India) have
made online purchases versus 72 percent of US respondents. Categories
of purchases vary significantly by country. Within the next few years
B2C is expected to expand explosively, improved security on the Web
will encourage Europeans to use it more, and Web commerce will be
more market driven (IDC 1999). Of those surveyed by IDC, the major-
ity preferred to visit sites in their native language, although this varied
depending on the strength of a second language (English). For example,
over half of respondents in Hong Kong and the Netherlands preferred
English language sites related to quality and quantity of content, while
88 percent of respondents preferred English.
The preceding demographics indicate a trend that the Web is no
longer US-centric, but is the domain of increasingly larger numbers from
other cultures. The global nature of the Web further means Website
managers, online marketing managers, Internet product managers, and
dot.com start-ups will need to increasingly “think globally and act
locally.” By early 2002, more than 50 percent of the world’s Internet
users will live outside the United States (Yorgey 2000). International
expansion requires global thinking and local skills. To truly globalize
business on the Web, there is growing acceptance that adaptations go
beyond simple language translation, to encompass the broader realm of
national preferences, privacy regulations, currency variations, types of
Web connections available, and shipping issues (Clancy 2000).
The impact of culture has a long and broad legacy (Hofstede 1980;
Kluckhohn and Strodtbeck 1961; Triandis 1972).2 In the present dis-
cussion of trust and culture in Internet environments, the term national
culture requires definition. Over the years the term has varied somewhat,
and is now increasingly blurred as a result of globalization and eco-

nomic integration (Fukuyama 1995). As used here, the definition of
national culture is aligned to that used by Doney et al. (1998, 607), and
is “not a characteristic of individuals or nation states but of a large num-
ber of people conditioned by similar background, education, and life
experiences.” It is important to note that culture is enduring, evolving,
and very difficult to measure.
Numerous challenges face companies conducting business in differ-
ent countries, and this necessitates a move beyond basic e-business
solutions. According to Shukla (2000), marketing on the Web has cul-
tural, executional, and positional components. Focusing on the cultural
dimension, important issues are: know your target customer and pro-
vide customer-centric profiling in order to build the relationship;
provide effective and consistent communications; apply one-to-one
marketing to create “stickiness” and repeated customer traffic; conduct
interactive marketing to involve the customer, and use the “community
concept” to get customers talking with each other to troubleshoot
problems. Further, Shukla suggests the above concepts must be inte-
grated with the objective of building a brand presence on the Web. This
involves effective content development, design, public relations, and
consumer communications.
Companies that ignore cultural sensitivities or make mistakes related
to culture, lose business as a result. For example, Hewlett Packard was
bruised in their early days of international e-business by posting non-
localized instructions for use with its printers on their Asian Website. HP
used the image of a human hand with the palm facing forward as part of
the instructions. Unfortunately this image is an extremely threatening
gesture to Asians. In another example, an Internet telephone directory
absorbed by Yahoo (411.com) placed “cookies” – digital markers that can
trace Internet usage – on the PCs of Web surfers who used their service.
Under French privacy laws cookies are illegal, and further, the French are
concerned about invasion of privacy. As a result when 411.com expanded
into France, the company eliminated the use of cookies on its French lan-
guage site (Anonymous 2001). In various works, culture or ethnicity has
been related to consumer behavior including attitudes toward advertis-
ing (De Mooij 1998; Alden et al. 1993; Durvasula 1993), brand loyalty
(Deshpande et al. 1986), consumer values (Valencia 1989), consumption
patterns (Wallendorf and Reilly 1983), and perceived risk (Hoover et al.
1978) in non Web-based settings. The results of the studies suggest cul-
ture does have a large potential influence on consumption behavior,
although most of the work has been descriptive in nature.
Specific to the Web, Jarvenpaa et al. (1999) examine consumer trust in

an Internet store. In Internet commerce, merchants depend on an elec-
tronic storefront, rather than providing consumers with experiences
with physical buildings, facilities, or personnel. Traditional physical
boundaries are therefore substituted by virtual ones. The authors pro-
pose that trust is engendered by the stores’ reputation and size. Further,
the lower the consumer’s perceived risk associated with buying from an
Internet store, the greater the consumer’s willingness to purchase from
that store. The authors then pose that consumers from individualistic
cultures will exhibit higher trust, lower perceptions of risk, and attach
greater importance to size and reputation of the store related to trust
than consumers from collectivist cultures. Results were mixed and
indicate the hypotheses as stated above were supported in some coun-
tries, and in certain stores only. Merchant reputation had a more signif-
icant effect on consumer trust than merchant size. To understand how
national culture is related to social psychological phenomena, many
researchers refer to the cultural dimensions as presented by Hofstede
(1984) whose research on work-related values reveals universal issues:
power distance (social inequality based on one’s relationship with author-
ity); collectivism–individualism (the relationship between the individual
and the group); femininity–masculinity (orientation toward social values
for achievement vs. socialism); and uncertainty avoidance (risk aversion).
Doney et al. (1998) use Hofstede’s dimensions to explore the influence
of national culture on the development of trust in a global and increas-
ingly multicultural marketplace. In the model proposed by Doney et al.,
national culture (relation to authority, self and risk) results in differing
norms, values, and underlying behavioral assumptions which in turn
influence cognitive processes that ultimately determine the formation of
trust. Of particular interest are the types of cognitive processes leading to
trust. These include costs and rewards of trusting, development of confi-
dence that behavior can be predicted, assessment of motivations, ability
to fulfill promises based on capability, and proof of promised resources.
Another study considered the effect of Hofstede’s dimensions on user
interface design (Marcus and Gould 2000). In this descriptive case study,
cultural values do appear to influence preferred user interface design and
format. However, as a cautionary note, Hofstede’s approach is one model
for exploring cultural difference. As in all culturally focused research, care
must be taken not to impose findings that are unreflective of changing
culture norms as they may operate in Internet or other environments.
In an effort to better understand the effects of culture, with an
emphasis on trust and ethical perceptions, Shaffer et al. (1995) examined
reactions toward an American service professional. In their study, trust

is defined “as both an emotional and cognitive state in which an indi-
vidual relies on information received from another person” (1995, 164).
Ethical perceptions refer to “the degree to which another individual is
seen to be practicing moral and community standards in interpersonal
relationships” (1995, 164). Using two of Hofstede’s (1984) cultural
dimensions (power distance and individualism), the results of the study
demonstrate perceptions of trust are found to differ significantly between
different cultural groups. Shaffer et al. conclude: “In today’s competitive
marketplace, one way for a professional to gain a competitive edge is to
adopt a ‘client-centered’ approach with a view toward doing a better job
of meeting customer needs … In order to adopt a customer orientation,
professionals must first understand consumer expectations and percep-
tions regarding their services” (1995, 173).
One way to develop a client-centered approach for diverse cultural
consumers on the Internet is through the localization of content and
the user experience. Localization is the “process of adapting a product
or service to a particular language, culture, and desired local ‘look and
feel.’ ” When localizing a product or service, idiomatic language trans-
lation is required. However, beyond simple translation details (such as
time zones), currency exchange, national holidays, product or service
names, gender roles, and geographic examples must all be considered.
A successfully localized service or product is one that appears to have
been developed within the local culture.3
An important part of localization includes attention to user interface
design suitable for different cultural environments. Barber and Badre
(2001) refer to the merging of culture and usability as “culturability.”
This term includes consideration of issues such as how pictorial infor-
mation is presented and organized, or preferences and biases for colors,
text versus graphics, spatial orientation, directionality for how the lan-
guage is written (that is right to left), help features, and navigation tools
among others. An underlying premise is when site visitors are more
comfortable with design and usability features, they would likely revisit
the site in a manner that reinforces e-loyalty.4
In three separate investigations by Badre (2000), the effect of cross
cultural interface design orientation on Web user performance is empir-
ically examined. Overall, Badre tested whether there are design ele-
ments (which he refers to as “cultural markers”) that are repeated in
different cultures. Results indicate there are some design elements that
are cultural specific, and these specific elements are related in some
groups to native users’ performance and preferences. For instance, for
Italian participants, the Italian designs were preferable for navigation

markers, but not for color. However, there were no significant differ-
ences as a result of varying cultural markers for Americans.
In sum, there are increasing numbers of customers around the globe
using the Web and who will require products, services, and Websites
that are adapted and appropriate to a particular culture. This suggests
the following propositions for research:
Proposition 10: Differing norms, values and underlying behavioral

assumptions across cultures will impact the ability of Web users to form
trust in Internet environments.
Proposition 11: Preferences for user interface properties will vary across
cultures (colors, icons, spatial orientation, navigation, and so on) and
will impact the user experience related to trust formation.
An investigation of the assumptions underlying “cultural markers,”

and how they variously function across different cultural groups is
important to understanding the complex relationships as outlined in
Propositions 10 and 11. For example, perceptions of risk are known to
vary across cultures. In the context of trust development on the Web,
how does the development of the Website either enhance or detract
from perceptions of risk? How might various personal variables such
as user experience with the Web suggest differences as to how risk is
viewed? It should also be noted that the Jarvenpaa et al. (1999) study
supports Propositions 3 and 7 that company trust or reputation is impor-
tant to consumers visiting a Website. A new proposition will therefore
not be stated, although reputation is not only important within cultures
related to the Internet, but across cultures as well.
Conclusion
Various issues arise around the management of boundaries as presented
in this chapter. Traditional boundaries of “bricks and mortar” stores
have revised parameters in the world of Internet storefronts. No longer
are consumers interacting with a physical building, product, and per-
sonnel, but instead they navigate through a digital environment where
trust development is different from that in face-to-face environments.
Trust is built through fulfillment of customer expectations as experi-
enced by the consumer. It is expected trust development will result
when consumers have confidence in the digital salesperson, product or
service, and company. In addition, effective communication between
the seller and buyer on the Internet, and supplier willingness to cus-
tomize content are expected to result in consumer trust.
In addition to social psychological aspects of trust building, the user
interface is of central importance. Development of trust between con-
sumers and the company is facilitated through assured transaction secu-
rity, and a perception reduced risk. Creation of a satisfying user experience
that encourages consumers to return to the site and purchase requires
Website properties (width of product selections, accuracy of product
descriptions, company reputation) that fulfill the consumer’s expec-
tations. Trust is expected to be greater when navigation functionality is
considered satisfying and appropriate.
National culture boundaries present additional challenges for
businesses operating on the Internet. It is expected the localization of
Websites will be an important step in effectively managing these cul-
tural boundaries. Little empirical research has been done to date that
examines how consumers from differing cultures respond to the point
of purchase on the Internet. This suggests further studies are needed to
understand the evolving role of culture, including underlying values,
assumptions, and behaviors specific to the Internet. To date, most
research in this area has provided inconclusive results.
Understanding boundaries in e-business as they relate to the user expe-
rience on the Internet is a nascent, but important research for future
enquiry. Given the large number of consumers from developing eco-
nomies that will begin Web shopping in the next few years, researchers
are challenged to determine how culture impacts the user experience. In
tandem, understanding how to build consumer trust on the Internet has
implications for managers and marketing personnel who aim to develop
a satisfying customer experience on the Web. If Reichheld and Schefter
(2000) are correct that increasing customer loyalty and retention by only
five percent can increase profits by 25 percent, then trust development
across cultural boundaries becomes a leading challenge for research and
practice in the years ahead.
Notes
1 An earlier version of this chapter was presented at the European Group for
Organizational Studies (EGOS) conference in Lyon, July 2001.
2 For a broader review of cultural research and taxonomies that are beyond the
scope of this chapter refer to Doney et al. (1998).
3 From “What is localization?” www.whatis.com/localiza.htm, July 6, 2000.
4 Web usability is a huge topic beyond the immediate scope of this chapter.
However, the authors have completed pilot work on a project that aims to
systematically examine Web design preferences between German, Japanese,

and US sites (Trevor-Smith and Cyr 2001). Other work on this topic is by
Barber and Badre (2001), Egger (2001), Cheskin (1999, 2000).
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6
Industrial Designers as
Boundary Workers
Birgit H. Jevnaker
Introduction
The research described in this chapter focuses on industrial designers
and their creative work, which typically occurs in several firm interfaces
and may unfold as strategic boundary work creating new or renewed
value for firms. Grounded in a multiple-case study from export-oriented
Scandinavian businesses, I delineate what constitutes design-rich bound-
ary work and its underlying dynamics. While the setting for this study
was industrial design–business relations, it may contribute to illuminat-
ing boundary work more generally as an important aspect of the inno-
vation process. On the one hand, this concerns the opportunity to
strengthen the organization’s core values and mission through focused
innovation, thus avoiding going in undesired and perhaps too risky
directions. On the other hand, boundary workers such as talented design-
ers may be capable of a constructive reconfiguration of the organization’s
offerings thus creating new points of departure for the organization. It is
noteworthy that the designers in these cases started as newcomers from
the threshold or “liminal” positions, and yet, were able to co-create new
and better product architecture in integral, collaborative ways with the
firm and their target groups.
This chapter explores how boundary work related to innovation and
product design can unfold through emergent practices of industrial
designers. If we acknowledge that new ideas often come from the peri-
phery or via somewhat detached agents, it seems clear that the interface
between both new ideas and the carriers moving them are critical.
Recent management literature emphasizes that firms’ dynamic or inno-
vative capabilities are critical in order to discover and seize new oppor-
tunities (Teece 1998; Hamel 2000). Yet it is not clear how this can
110
Industrial Designers as Boundary Workers 111
actually be understood in relation to “dynamic resources” (Hitt et al.

1999) such as innovating experts. As reported by von Hippel
(1988), numerous sources of innovation exist, and scientists or devel-
opers tend to engage in networks beyond particular firm boundaries.
The emerging knowledge-based theory has recently put knowledge
creation and experts on the international research agenda (Nonaka
and Takeuchi 1995; Pettigrew et al. 2000), yet the latter authors note
that this has also “deepened the pendulum swing to internal firm
dynamics” (Pettigrew et al. 2000, 8). This focus may leave out the fresh
look of partly autonomous experts or what we may call “expertise-
by-wandering in-and-out,” and extra-organizational boundary span-
ning (Tushman 1977) or mobile expert work which seems quite
common in industrial design (see Sparke 1983; Bruce and Jevnaker
1998). Although sparsely researched, this is an interesting phenomenon
because designers carry sensitive insight into and across innovation
projects, which tend to be highly secret or easily “blackboxed” to bor-
row a phrase from Latour (1987). Based on my field study, I suggest that
this mobile design expertise can provide more general insights into the
new and old boundary roles (Tushman 1977) in relation to organiza-
tions and their innovation. Thus we need to open up this black box to
see how the dynamic capabilities in designed innovation are actually
constituted.
In this chapter, I direct attention toward the ways in which bound-
aries within and between organizations are constantly being con-
structed, drawn, and renegotiated. Rather than assume that boundaries
disappear, we need to rethink what they are and the roles they play in
managing and theorizing contemporary organizations. The chapter
offers reflections based on a multiple-case study and discusses how
innovation-immersed experts working within and across multiple
boundaries practice boundary behavior. It draws from the collaborative,
often highly secret design making and product innovating that occurs
between industrial organizations and professional design experts. While
this phenomenon belongs to industrial settings, design experts are also
used in multiple services, and digitized and high-touch settings
(Cagan and Vogel 2002). More generally, it may serve as a special case
among the plethora of “new” professions and personalized or less
standardized experts that work on a temporal basis in organizations
(see Garsten 1999; Löwendahl and Revang 1998). The following sec-
tion positions the research within current debates in strategy and
organization.
112 Birgit H. Jevnaker
Perspective: Design as interface

Current conversations within the management of strategy and inno-
vation focus on the dynamics of strategy and resources. They explore
the creation of integrative value based on core competence (Prahalad
and Hamel 1990) and difficult-to-imitate resources in order to renew
firms and build resource advantages (Barney 1997). Recent literature dis-
cusses issues of resource accumulation and reconfiguration, search for
new resources and capabilities, the role of organizational routines and
knowledge, learning, innovation, and evolution. Yet most new products
still fail (Cooper 1993; Cagan and Vogel 2002), and firms have problems
with generating unique offerings or organizing innovation (Christensen
1997) despite a range of supportive technologies – IT systems, business
process reengineering, total quality management, lean production, and
many others.
Interestingly, “people” (Hart 1995; Alvesson 2002) and their tacit
knowing (Polanyi 1983) have returned to the scene as critical success fac-
tors in the management literature, although knowledge sharing seems to
be trickier than often recognized (Grant 1996; Spender 1996). Some
decades ago, authors in other disciplines such as pedagogy and philoso-
phy emphasized that knowledge is personally embodied (Polanyi 1958)
or distributed (Bruner 1990) in one’s personal notes, local practices, or
network contacts. It comes as no surprise that current management lit-
erature and scholarly thinking, which has typically not adopted previous
insights on knowledge, tend to have problems with explaining the
dynamics of knowledge creation and innovation in relation to business
organizations – or any organization.
Innovation work is, more often than not, uncertain and highly equi-
vocal, as well as plagued by partial approaches (Tidd et al. 2001) and
interpretive barriers (Dougherty 1992). In sum, management literature
tends to fall short in providing insight into the various ways in which
acting with wisdom actually occurs among the multiple specialists of
the so-called knowledge-intensive organizations. A rare example is the
illuminating case described by Nonaka and Takeuchi (1995). Developers
at Matsushita were able to capture how good bread making actually was
done in practice through close observation of the baker’s “twisting
stretch” handwork. By apprenticing herself to the head baker at Osaka
International Hotel (famous for making the best bread in Osaka), soft-
ware developer Ikuko Tanaka helped to capture this tacit skill, which
was then transformed into the design of a new bread-making machine
that mimicked this finger-work.
Industrial designers tend to work as profession-based, partly auto-

nomous experts in multiple industries and firms (Sparke 1983; Bruce and
Jevnaker 1998; Hargadon 1998). Thus the case of industrial design may
be a triggering case to explore the intricacies of non-standardized knowl-
edge and the activities of highly mobile experts who work in and between
organizations, and who contribute to innovation and renewal. In this
context, the concept of boundaries is applied to collaborative
practices in product innovation and design, and is employed to under-
stand how the process of innovating among diverse specialists and
organized entities actually emerges, and whether or not it is sustained.
Collaborative practices are critical for accumulating knowledge for com-
plex and uncertain tasks (Dierickx and Cool 1989). Innovation also
includes the recognition and acceptance of latent or not yet embedded
concerns (see Leonard-Barton 1995). Recent research suggests that cre-
ative industrial designers pay close attention to product–user interface
problems, which may or may not contribute to a shift in the perspectives
of development teams (Svengren 1995, 1998). In short, innovation is not
straightforward and relates to both existing and new frames of doing
business. Grounded in a multiple case study, I propose that designers and
their business collaborators engage in a wider construction of the firms’
offerings and how these are bound technically, socially, and culturally.
In line with Schön (1988), I argue that talented designers tend to con-
nect their ideas and concepts for the future to current or even past
experiences. Thus we need a broad perspective to understand their
boundary work.
Sources and method

In describing design–business relations, I draw on a sample of empirical
work taken from various parts of a multi-case study and longitudi-
nal fieldwork. Given that little previous research was available, the
initial studies conducted from 1991 to 1993 aimed to identify how firms
and designers actually collaborate in practice and to identify critical
issues in design–business relations. My initial research focused on pre-
vious research and identified practitioners’ insights through a combina-
tion of sources. These sources included design councils, international
design management seminars, a long focus group discussion with
designers, managers, and other key informants, and in-depth follow-up
studies of selective design-intensive cases, as well as seminars and teach-
ing and learning events within design and design–business encounters
in the domestic and international design environments ( Jevnaker 1996;
see also Svengren 1995). As some industries and firms tend to neglect
(or were illiterate) in professional design making (Kotler and Rath 1984;
Blaich and Blaich 1993), I searched for somewhat deviant cases or
“outliers” as Starbuck (1993) recommends in order to gain insight into
“in-situ” practices of industrial product design.
The deviant cases included two furniture-makers who adopted a
“Balans” concept of alternative seating designed by an independent
design group. This led to product innovation and eventually impacted
the core business strategies of the two companies ( Jevnaker 1991, 1993,
1995c). A concerted and innovative effort in ergonomic design became
a reality in the Scandinavian furniture industry when a Norwegian
design group introduced an alternative seating form, Balans, at the 1979
Scandinavian Furniture Fair. The display of about ten models, one of
which was the Variable Balans, caused a sensation. The concept behind
the design was fresh but controversial: individuals sat on the chair as if
they were on horseback and were able to move while remaining seated.
That chairs should be designed adapted to the human body, and not the
other way around, is not an entirely new idea. Due to the uncertain con-
sumer acceptance of nontraditional product designs in an area as old
as habitat, building a successful product line and international reputa-
tion based on innovative solutions to this problem is a unique situation
(for an elaboration of these ideas, see Jevnaker 1993).
The above context constituted the background for a multiple-case
study encompassing five Norwegian–Scandinavian manufacturing
companies and their ongoing working relationships with industrial
designers. The set of cases consisted of the two furniture makers (HAG
and Stokke) and the allied design-experimentation initially studied, and
three firms (Tomra, Hamax, and Grorud Industries) in other less design-
or style-oriented industries including plastics, metal-based, and com-
plex technology-based production. I wondered how such firms actually
worked with novel expertise such as autonomous industrial designers; a
profession with which most managers seem to be unfamiliar (Blaich and
Blaich 1993). It turns out that even furniture-making firms found work-
ing closely with industrial designers within product innovation
processes both new and challenging (Svengren 1995; Jevnaker 1995c).
This has also been found to be true in collaborative research with design
management research colleagues in Nordic, British, American, and other
regions. This research enabled a broader comparative view to develop
beyond the limitations of my Small-to-Medium Enterprise sample (see
Bruce and Jevnaker 1998; Jevnaker and Bruce 1999). I deliberately chose
medium-sized product-based firms to keep some contextual factors
“most similar” (Yin 1989), and to allow for more transparency in order
to capture the design–business collaboration, which often is embedded
in corporate secrecy. I was able to gain repeated access to the selected
firms and allied designers, and detailed case descriptions are outlined
elsewhere (Jevnaker 1995a).
Boundary work
Designers in these five firms were working on innovating and improv-
ing the companies’ products, which provided a dynamic leverage in
all five cases (see Jevnaker 1995a,b; 1998b). Interestingly, designers
brought in several new perspectives and ambitions to achieve “some-
thing more” – a product character that might be useful and distinctly
communicate its benefits to the user. Hence I noticed a dual claim on
designers: to bring in new (and attractive) product ideas, and to know
the firms’ capacities. Put differently, the designers’ innovating efforts to
bring in something new had to relate to external complexities as well as
internal ones; becoming familiar with the firms’ competencies and
vision (see Jevnaker 1991, 1993, 1995a–c, 1996, 1998b).
Consequently, among the many collaborative issues, design, as inno-
vating across multiple boundaries, emerged as a common, yet striking
and sometimes puzzling theme. In brief, I have called this boundary work.
How designers and management relate to boundaries in their design col-
laboration seems important for understanding and enabling designed
innovation. In order to sensitize my analysis of design and innovating in
relation to this boundaries theme, I have identified six underlying issues
(see Table 6.1, Jevnaker 2002).
Bringing in new perspectives

In the companies studied, the industrial designers brought in several new
perspectives and approaches that were partly rooted in their professional
training and partly emergent from their inquiry and diversification of
work practices. All the experienced industrial designers interviewed were
working within and across different industries and businesses, as well as
interacting with other organizations (regulatory bodies, research organi-
zations, and other specialist’s communities of practice). Moreover, they
were often cultivating interests in several domains over and above their
solid profession-based education, which tended to be interdisciplinary
and encompassed integrated architecture concerns, open principal func-
tional analysis, communicative identity concerns, and inspirations from
Table 6.1 Boundary-related themes and examples in the study of design and
business relations
Boundary themes Identified issues contributing to dynamic

design capability
1. Bringing in new Example: Ergonomic and interaction design,

perspectives new technology, new materials, empathic
design, integrated architecture, identity
concerns, and so on.
Enabled capture of new or critical latent
concerns, redefining problem and conceptual
space and material space, and creating
original proposals.
2. Grounding new expertise Example: Designer and/or entrepreneurial
among multiple specialists manager changing design work from
existing concerns while grounding diverse
disciplinary interests within the core
competent development teams.
Enabled creative integration of design and
business expertise and design work.
3. Constructing new ideas Example: Sketches, models and prototypes,
and products through stories, texts, storyboards, computer media,
boundary objects and so on.
Enabled tools for talk, reconfigurations,
exposure, memory, conceptual and material
decisions.
4. Connecting to or Example: Design researching, briefings,
disconnecting from other sketch meetings, conceptual phases,
entities through boundary milestone interactions, follow-up first
processes production.
Enabled creative processes, milestones, and
“stage-gates,” temporary organizing dealing
with uncertainty and ambiguity provides
some “safe” design–business relating and
governance.
5. Expressing new ideas and Example: Design objects, designer
products expressing extended product and holistic
concerns, and zooming in on details that
might become critical.
Enabled expression of external and internal
complexities.
6. Making practice visible Example: On the wall or shelves and other
through boundary- internal exposure, sales pitches, fairs, design
spanning exposure competitions and exhibitions, industry and
mass media for example, in newspapers,
magazines, TV, in museums.
Enabled dialogues, interactions, and
communicative efforts around design work
building innovation and reputation.
design studies abroad. All of this knowledge-seeking and creativity-

based inquiry apparently facilitated the constant generation of new
approaches. These included dynamic ergonomic and interaction design,
new technology, and new material applications. The new perspectives
of these designers and, in a few cases collaborating physiotherapists,
enabled both sensing and sensemaking of the ways in which the firms’
products were being used by various user groups. I use the word
“sensing” to illustrate how designers were actually using their five
senses in their daily creative work. This helped to expand on even more
latent issues, for example, as illustrated by a marketing manager:
And it is the body’s needs for movements … you do not lie in calm
even when you sleep. And then you are asked to sit still when you sit!
This expanded exploration and sensing of “chairs-in-use” did in fact
enable a paradigmatic redefinition of the problem space, or what is seen
as belonging to the problem. The new thinking that emerged in this
area through the autonomous design group Balans during the 1970s,
elaborated further by the designers and the two Norwegian furniture
makers, influenced the conceptual understanding of chairs and chair-
making of those involved in innovation efforts, as well as the manage-
ment of the two firms and probably beyond (see Jevnaker 1993, 1995c,
1998b). The focus was no longer merely to make comfortable or stylish
chairs per se, but to provide user-friendly sitting tools that could provide
some “variation and movement” while being seated. The chairs might
be aesthetically pleasing as well, but this was not the main concern.
Moreover, the dynamic ergonomic understanding of seated persons was
translated into practical design work by reconfiguring the way the chairs
were built and their physical presence and interface with various work
environments. In brief, it enabled a reconfiguration of the material
product or “architectural innovation” (Henderson and Clark 1990),
which helped to create original proposals in a domain driven by
century-old conventions of the seated person.
Grounding designers among multiple specialists

According to Tomra’s former technical director and co-entrepreneur,
industry needs industrial designers who have their feet on the industrial
ground and who know how to make things:
That is the strength of Roy (the industrial designer). He has used a lot
of energy to learn material technology, production technology, so he
knows much about the process, which is to produce this (new vend-
ing machine for recycling used beverage containers). So you don’t get
those foolish ideas that are impossible to manufacture. (…) But if you
take another designer, then he makes sketches left, right and center
and is not able to see it … how you should make it … and then
you get a negative attitude towards it. Then he suddenly becomes
characterized as that silly artist …
The need for integration of multiple functions and specialists in prod-

uct innovation is not a new concern (see Tidd et al. 2001). During more
than a decade of fieldwork, my informants repeatedly pointed out the
need for industrial designers to relate to other functional specialists
because the new designs influenced how the client manufactured, dis-
tributed, and sold the new product. This was a challenge for most firms
because many of the firms’ specialists were not particularly familiar
with industrial design, as literature and fieldwork from the 1990s sug-
gests (e.g. see Blaich and Blaich 1993; Svengren 1998; Jevnaker 1996).
It is thus worth noting that the four industrial design consultants
who were working for the five manufacturers in the present study did
not wait to get instructions or hints from the firm’s often “silent” spe-
cialists. Rather, they typically visited production plants, suppliers, and
distributors to obtain first-hand insight into potential constraints, but
they were looking for opportunities for innovation and improvements
as well. Many designers experienced the challenge of developing suffi-
ciently good insight into other functional areas. Embedding new prod-
uct design in the context of other disciplinary perspectives is important
for developing new designs for the firm and relates to the designer’s
probing into the future.
Constructing through boundary objects

One important way of grounding the emergent new product and inter-
active construction is through the designer’s sketches, models, or pro-
totypes. However, other boundary objects are used as outlined below.
I will concentrate on prototyping as a boundary object. Prototypes are
typically understood as physical objects, but they affect mental and cul-
tural boundaries as well. For example, being able to show a real model
of an idea can facilitate communication and interaction between spe-
cialists from diverse disciplines because they may relate more easily to
something concrete than to another person’s mental abstractions or
specialized language. A prototype is also a medium for sorting out past,
present, and future states of human-built products. In essence, bound-

ary objects such as prototypes may describe and expand on the outer
limits of current ideas of products, and they draw a line between pres-
ent and possible future designs. The creative significance of the design-
ers’ (or architects’) sketching method is appreciated and discussed within
architectural as well as pedagogic literature (Lundequist 1990). However,
in industrial design, designers explained that sketching (on paper) or even
digital modeling (on a computer) was insufficient as a tool. My inform-
ants from both engineering and design stressed the three-dimensional
prototype as highly significant because it was useful to detect assemblage
flaws, or to evaluate the aesthetic value and functionality of the product.
For example, one industrial designer working on a complex design devel-
opment recently stressed:
… Next time we are probably going to use a … (physical) model,

because it is very difficult to see on the screen whether something is
good or not.1
Generally, both designers and engineers suggested that engineers

related more easily to a 3-D concrete object than to renderings on paper.
It was often stated (by designers) that engineers tended to have diffi-
culties with “reading” design drawings and designer’s work-in-process
models. During my fieldwork I found that graphic designers also com-
plained that management or other representatives from their business
clients often misunderstood designers’ work models, “taking these to be
more finished than they actually were.” This could create problems in
negotiating further work. Thus, the design experimentation around
prototypes and models also had its downsides. However, most inform-
ants stressed how models and prototypes actually enabled significant
boundary exploration, such as aspects of the design to keep, to adjust,
or to discard. In sum, prototypes seem to be highly beneficial when
making boundary objects that enable the emergent knowledge of the
product and that assist the decision-making process regarding further
product development. While the rich talk around prototypes seems to
indicate their fundamental role in innovating among multiple special-
ists, prototypes are not an easy or sufficient formula for producing new
and better products.
The present study indicates that “boundary objects” other than pro-
totypes exist among core developers and designers, and these can be
beneficial for their creative interaction. At Tomra, for example, video-
tapes of real-life use situations enabled an expanded discussion on how
various user groups actually interacted with a newly designed reverse-

cycle vending machine placed in different geographic and urban locali-
ties. Such examples illustrate how an “empathic design” approach
(Leonard-Barton 1995) built on observing how people actually interact
with the firm’s products or services, can help respond to this type of
interface situation with multiple latent problems. This supports the find-
ings reported by Nonaka and Takeuchi (1995) from Matsushita Electrical
Home Bakery. It is worth noting that the field videotapes helped put user
interface issues on the collective design-and-development agenda. Key
development engineers could see for themselves and engage in group dis-
cussion around the “live” use experiences. Video recording and usability
experiments within innovation work may thus cater in new ways for
the importance of “being there” (Leonard-Barton 1995). The use of such
means may increase the human-centered attention within research
and development departments, which otherwise may be too narrowly
focused on technical issues (e.g. see Tidd et al. 2001).
Connecting/disconnecting through boundary processes

Organized processes bound the ways in which people interact when,
where, and about what. For example, instituting regular meetings to
control and direct innovation is one way to ensure that a development
project remains connected to, or interfaces with, multiple functions and
critical stakeholders, even though the project is unfinished and may be
easily killed when it is in the early “fuzzy” front end of development.
However, beyond these meetings in steering groups or other regulating
bodies, innovation projects may sometimes be highly disconnected, or
separated out, from the ordinary organization (e.g. see Christensen
1997). One would perhaps think that industrial designers, such as some
creativity-based professionals, prefer the disconnected or loosely coupled
mode to follow their own interests rather than be tightly structured. This
turns out to be much more complex in practice. In the present study,
I found that design activities often started out as a practice and as
an emergent phenomenon rather than as a routinized and highly struc-
tured corporate process. In the beginning, but also later on, design
developments were organized in an ad hoc fashion through designers’
collaboration with gatekeepers such as project leaders, middle manage-
ment, individual entrepreneurs, or new top managers. In short, design
activities and designers were connected (and disconnected) to other
entities through relationships and emergent practices, which can be
experienced as both beneficial and fragile (Bruce and Jevnaker 1998).
However, actors involved in design activities experienced a highly inter-

active process that helped to build boundaries around the innovation
process.
Perhaps not surprisingly, most designers I spoke with sought “more”
rather than less organizational connections and, in particular, they wel-
comed attempts that could help expand as well as bound designed inno-
vation. Interestingly, all designers in this study were striving to install
improved design making and product development processes through
their design-in-business practice. Hence innovation by designers is a
movement from practices to processes, and these also tend to coexist in
a dynamic way as suggested by Brown and Duguid (2000). This is a very
different portrayal from the prescriptive or formally governed process-
based product development (Cooper 1993). However, industrial design
processes are not merely about improvising creativity-based processes.
Although not streamlined in use, formally organized processes within
product development could be traced in all the five companies. Designers
place emphasis on decision-making milestones, for example, to receive
a briefing, feedback, or hints for further design direction. In fact, more
design instructions early on are often desired.
Informal routines may emerge to govern designed innovation. In two
of the five companies I found that new expert-oriented routines were
applied. For example, managers provided designers with certain veto
rights because, as one technical director argued with reference to the
other specialists’ lack of expertise in design, “otherwise we end up going
around in circles.” Put differently, the mutually asymmetric expertise
among the firm’s specialists was often reflected upon. This asymmetric
expertise may constitute the background in which boundary objects
and boundary processes become so central to the innovation process
when in fact non-standardized development tasks need to be mutually
coordinated and synchronized.
A complete discussion of this will not be elaborated here. However,
what seems to be a common way of boundary-setting, at least on
the espoused managerial level, is what we might call “stage-gating.”
Development activities may be framed in terms of legitimate stages and
gates, which include decision or joint judgment points. This can suggest
an overlaying structure (Burgelman and Sayles 1986) – and perhaps
power plays – that makes connections and disconnections between par-
ticipants from diverse business units, teams, partner relationships, and
communities of practice. Perhaps we need to look more closely for other
boundary actors as well, since people with various “turf,” functional or
other agendas tend to be involved in these boundary processes and can
easily impede coordination and knowledge creation due to interpretive

barriers (Dougherty 1992), or mixed motive interests. In my study, every
designer and a few entrepreneurial managers took great effort to connect
with early and later stage processes in innovative product development.
In so doing, they spanned boundaries, if possible, to influence develop-
ment or delivery activities, and to “see for themselves” what might be
possible problems and solutions. Two decades ago, Tushman (1977) doc-
umented the importance of boundary spanners for the efficient opera-
tion of organizations. In innovative product design, boundary spanning
is critical since flaws in the production or delivery processes could easily
ruin overall product integrity or character (e.g. see Bruce and Morris
1998). Therefore, successful industrial designers working within and
between multiple functions and other boundaries tend to work in these
interfaces, even reorganizing them to a varying extent in order to achieve
a better product. Designers’ work within these boundary processes can
therefore become highly significant, as observed in the Lillehammer
Olympic Games in 1994. The design management in this case, graphic
and communication designers Petter Moshus and Ashley Boot, installed
several boundary processes such as a weekly routine meeting between
the “Information” and “Design” departments. The meeting helped to
sort out and influence the emergent stream of design- and information-
related tasks within this large project. The particular boundary spanning
affected multiple decisions a priori or during the work processes, even
beyond the formal governance mandates of Design. In these boundary
processes, the designers’ communication skills and creative dialogues
were important because designers had to persuade the collaborating par-
ties of new and sometimes unfamiliar solutions and ways of organizing
(Moshus et al. 1994; Jevnaker 1995d).
Expressing and relating to (latent) complexity

The designers’ close collaborators or managerial supporters often referred
to the designers’ personal skills to express complex new products:
… And when he comes forward with his sketches he already has

an opinion about how to produce it. He has the whole conceptual
vocabulary.
This does not imply that the designers need to be excellent speakers,
although they might be, as evidenced in design seminars and conferences.
But like all of us, the rhetorical skills of designers may vary. For example,
one manager acknowledged bluntly that “(the designer) was not very
verbal!” There was another dimension of expression that I noticed. In the
case of one designer, I was often struck by the way he demonstrated with
his body while explaining the design simultaneously, and this initiated
the audience into the complexity of sitting (Jevnaker 1993, 1995a,c).
This practice of rich expression seems to be related to a deeper being
or sensing using more of our five senses simultaneously. It is perhaps not
surprising that a trained designer notices more visual or other aesthetic
stimuli than do others, thus enabling him or her to attend to the con-
textual background of artifacts. In the case of one designer, a multidi-
mensional sensing skill was developed over a life-long study of the
body’s needs while sitting, including multiple small-scale experiments to
learn more about possible interactions between users and chairs.
However, such communication was not confined to design as part of
new product development. According to the former marketing director
in one of my cases, design needs to be involved with marketing com-
munication, which is demanding:
What we currently experience in a few cases is that product develop-

ment are sitting with fantastic good ideas, or the designers have very
good ideas, and then we are not able to pull those through – entirely
forward to – the end user, because we … manage to lose them during
the communication process.
In short, in these industrial firms, communicating design is a non-

trivial creativity-based activity related to both internal and external
complexities (Löwendahl and Revang 1998). As to the firm’s external
complexities, one of the marketing directors explained:
… the difficult bit is … actually to simplify our message so that

people can understand it. We have a reasonably complicated
message … most people do not think about a chair. It is merely we in
this industry that think about that 24 hours a day.
Making practice visible through boundary spanning exposure

Engineers and development-oriented managers in my initial focus group
admitted that “techniques-thinking” rather than design was common in
the past. “We were thinking technology, not design, before we got this
direct, concrete feedback” (manager and inventor, February 1991). The

inventor who said this was referring to a significant market feedback
experienced during the development process of a new professionally
targeted microphone. At the time, the microphone was thought to be
“finished” (at least as a prototype) and was shown to representatives in
the professional sound market in London. The prototype evoked imme-
diate negative feedback with regard to its visual appearance. Several
interviewees had their own stories about the impact of visual exposure
on innovating and refining improvements to product designs.
Designers and managers recognized that exposure-generated feedback
was essential for new product/design development. Yet where and when
new designs were to be exposed sometimes was a dilemma for some
product development managers. On the one hand, managers want to
protect the development by not releasing an unfinished product on the
market before it was ready, because this can lead to delivery pressure,
customer complaints, or leakage of sensitive knowledge. They also want
to capitalize on the marketing opportunities presented by the exposure
of new designs or the release of new products with appropriate quality.
On the other hand, the “design/novelty exposure” strategy could be
very useful in mobilizing interest and in the engagement of poten-
tial new and existing dealers, as well as the firm’s marketing and
delivery/service organization internationally. For example, the market-
ing manager at the small plastic-goods producer Hamax adopted what
I have called the “out-to-show sketches” tactic in this firm’s successful
entry strategy into European continental markets for sports and leisure
equipment ( Jevnaker 1995a).
Discussion
Designers’ innovating in business should not be seen as either a bounded
internalized phenomenon or a wide-open networking or boundaryless
organizing. Rather, it should be recognized as a creativity-based con-
struction and reconstruction of multiple boundaries. Based on the pres-
ent study, I suggest that this may relate more generally to the creative
action, expertise, and reconfiguring processes constituting the firm’s
dynamic capabilities (Teece 1998), which so far are not yet well explored
(Eisenhardt and Martin 2000). Creative or non-routine professional
experts working across organizations and industries tend to be poorly
understood (Löwendahl and Revang 1998). In these dynamic contexts,
there is more than information transmission (Tushman 1977) or knowl-
edge brokering (Hargadon 1998) occurring. What I think is missing in
works on strategy in organization research is a sense of the active bound-

ary work involved in creative action. In five Scandinavian companies,
I found that at least parts of their design-related processes could be
traced to boundary work.
The ways in which designers and management relate to boundaries
in their design collaboration seem important for understanding new
expertise such as design, as well as enabling designed innovation. I argue
that these collaborative processes constitute an interesting dynamic of
creative, design–business expertise emerging around boundaries, and
become a constructive force of boundary construction. Interestingly,
designers and their collaborating champions move these boundaries sub-
tly through what may be called objectifying boundary work – what Latour
(1987) calls “instruments” (or inscription devices). Designers would refer
to these processes as visualization, prototyping, and work templates.
Rearranging core products and making future concepts visible and work-
able in such “tangible” ways may help to stretch not only the technolog-
ical, but also the conceptual, and cultural understanding in a company
(Jevnaker 1998a). These dynamics can provide new borderlines for cor-
porate stakeholders, as experienced in the companies studied and also
found elsewhere (Blaich 1993; Svengren 1995; Bruce and Jevnaker 1998).
What are the implications for practice? It is important to recognize
that the innovating and design processes comprise active boundary
work. Beyond this, the current research suggests that managers can
actively engage in the practice of boundary work. In fact, both design-
ers and managers can become vital linchpins that are fundamental for
sustaining designed innovation in the complex development context
of a firm. What the firm’s core business could become or what new
products could emerge in the future through assistance from designers
will always be more or less ambiguous, as many factors other than
design contribute to innovating enterprises. Although this was recog-
nized in the five companies, every manager interviewed, including
those who were far from being design enthusiasts, still acknowledged
the emergence of design and spoke about it as a new form of creative
action contributing toward the business strategies of the firm.
Acknowledgments
The main source of funding for the research reported in this chapter
was from the Norwegian Research Council (Food-processing program/
Nidar’s Dynamo project). Additional funding came from my research on
industrial design within Productivity 2005/Product Development and
Production project, and from previous support through the Norwegian

Design Council, the Ministry of Industry, and the Research Council.
Note
1 This interview was conducted and transcribed by Norwegian School of
Management graduate business school students Nicolai Håve and Anders
Berger under my supervision, Spring 2002.
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7
Organizing Activities in Industrial
Networks: The Case of Volvo S80
Fredrik von Corswant, Anna Dubois, and Peter Fredriksson
Introduction
This chapter addresses the organization and efficiency of activity
structures. The aim is to further our understanding of how firms choose
to organize their activities within industrial networks, where efficiency
analysis cannot be limited by firm boundaries. As a starting point we
use Richardson’s (1972) model for analyzing the activity structure for
the development and production of the Volvo S80. More specifically,
Volvo’s relationships with two of its module/systems suppliers are ana-
lyzed. The case shows that the actors involved strive to achieve effi-
ciency through realizing economies of scale where possible. These
potential economies of scale are, however, limited by the actors’ efforts
to create unique end products. These contradictory ambitions result
in a situation in which a number of different dependencies between
activities need to be coordinated. Thus, the characteristics of various
activity dependencies have strong implications for the organization of
the activity structure.
In contrast to suggestions based in economic theory, the present
analysis reveals that strong dependencies between activities need not
necessarily be coordinated within the firm’s boundaries, that is, through
hierarchy. Instead, both formal and informal organizational units, some
temporary and others of a more permanent nature, can be created to
coordinate strong activity interdependencies through cooperation
and interaction across firm boundaries. We also conclude that in every
organizational solution, some aspects of interdependence are not suffi-
ciently taken into account. This, in turn, generates forces for further
reorganizing of the activities.
129
130 Fredrik von Corswant et al.
Frame of reference
Economists who analyze the organization of activities within and across
firm boundaries establish a clear distinction between markets and hierar-
chies (see Williamson 1985). Although hybrid forms of governance, such
as relational governance, have been acknowledged in recent years, trans-
action cost economists have maintained their focus on two pure forms –
hierarchical and market governance. The first allows dependency among
activities while the latter requires independence. The managerial issues
concerned with these matters are usually referred to as make-or-buy prob-
lems (Walker and Weber 1984), that is, issues concerned with “who
should do what.” The transaction cost argument is that transaction costs
are low when the specificity of what is bought on the market is low since
low specificity allows for competition. Consequently, transaction costs
increase with increasing specificity, which calls for internalization.
In recent decades, several authors have pointed out cooperation, or
business relationships, as a third distinct form of coordination among
activities (see Blois 1971; Håkansson 1982; Håkansson and Snehota
1995). Richardson (1972, 1995) argues that cooperation is a form of coor-
dination of interdependent activities across firm boundaries. Richardson’s
model builds on three forms of coordination and three types of activity
dependence.
One type of dependence can be identified when a set of activities, at
least to some extent, activate the same resources when they are per-
formed. Such activities are labeled similar activities (Richardson 1972,
889) and may entail economies of scale. Activities are also subject to
sequential dependence, when they must be performed in a certain
order. Such activities are labeled complementary activities (Richardson
1972, 889). Moreover, if two complementary activities are specifically
adjusted to each other, that is, if they require ex ante matching of plans,
Richardson uses the term closely complementary activities.
Based on combinations of these types of activity dependencies,
Richardson identifies appropriate forms of coordination. Market exchange
is the preferred form of coordination when two activities are dissimilar
(i.e. they cannot use the same resources) and complementary (but not
closely complementary). Internal coordination through hierarchy is most
efficient when activities are closely complementary and similar, or dis-
similar when they are not related to economies of scale. Finally, relation-
ship exchange is an efficient coordination form when two activities are
closely complementary and dissimilar (Richardson 1972).
Organizing in Industrial Networks 131
The three forms of coordination seem well defined and distinct.

However, the third form of coordination has two important conse-
quences. First, this form of coordination can no longer be regarded as
independent since the activities performed within a particular firm
become interdependent with activities performed by its specific counter-
parts or partners. Since the foundation for efficiency in cooperation lies
in common resource use to achieve economies of scale, activities become
interdependent across firm boundaries both in chains of activities (since
the activities are closely complementary), and among different chains
of activities through common resource use (since activities belonging to
different chains may be similar). This, in turn, implies that the analysis
cannot be limited to dyadic relationships, but needs to take specific
interdependencies between dyads into account.
Second, interaction between firms implies that neither the products
resulting from the activities, nor the production resources activated by
them, can for analytical purposes, be dealt with as “givens.” Through
interaction, the firms may make adjustments of various kinds to increase
the efficiency of their activities and/or of the use or value of the prod-
ucts resulting from their activities. Hence, the firms are able to adjust
their activities and resources to one another, and to connect these adjust-
ments to those made in relation to third parties, for example, other sup-
pliers or customers. The third coordination form thus requires complex
organization of activities. Dyads cannot be dealt with as isolated rela-
tionships, as they are subject to complex interdependencies. Moreover,
interaction between firms implies that neither activities nor resources
can be seen or dealt with as “given” (Dubois 1998).
In the next section, we highlight the case of the development and
production of the Volvo S80. In this case, an activity structure, including
a large number of activities carried out by several firms, was organized
to cope with and to utilize interdependence across firm boundaries. The
dependencies among activities were of different kinds. First and fore-
most there were dependencies created to capture economies of scale
through common resource use, or similar activities. Specific sequential
dependencies, closely complementary activities, also had to be managed.
In addition, other forms of interdependence were identified in this case.
These were technical and functional interdependence among the prod-
ucts that resulted from the activities and the resources activated in the
process. Adjustments had to be made to the supplied products to fit the
end product, and the resources activated by this process needed to fit
into their respective production systems. The case provides a platform
for a discussion about the organization of activities, taking all these

kinds of interdependence into account.
The case of the Volvo S80

Volvo faced a challenging situation at the start of the development of
the Volvo S80. A new car model was not enough. A new production
platform was needed, from which a number of derivative car models
could be developed. Furthermore, each car model had to be offered in
a number of variants. Volvo’s need for development and manufacturing
resources was therefore immense, and new ways of working, both inter-
nally and with suppliers, were necessary.
Volvo introduced the S80 model in the summer of 1998. The S80 was
the first model based on Volvo’s new platform P2. For the development
of the P2 platform and the S80 model, Volvo altered its relations with
a number of suppliers, and thereby its boundaries and network. This
development began in the crisis following the failure of the planned
merger between Volvo and Renault in 1994. For a period of just over
two years, the two companies had invested a lot of resources in a joint
platform. When that cooperation was terminated, Volvo had no plat-
form of its own, as well as poor financial resources. This situation pre-
sented serious challenges for Volvo because of the frequent product
renewal in the automotive industry, and because Volvo was among the
smallest independent car manufacturers in the world at that time.
Volvo realized that a new way of working would be required in
order to develop a new platform within a reasonable time frame. Volvo
therefore studied other car manufacturers’ recent changes in product
architecture, internal organization, and supplier relations. Volvo was
especially inspired by Chrysler’s recovery after a severe crisis. The change
undertaken by Chrysler was mainly to divide the car into a number of
building blocks, that is, modules, the majority of which were developed
and produced by suppliers. The development work was organized in
cross-functional teams, in which the module suppliers played an impor-
tant and active role.
These ideas inspired Volvo to initiate changes regarding how the work
was organized internally and in relation to its suppliers, in the areas of
both product development and production. By dividing the S80 model
into a number of modules, Volvo could outsource some of them. This
would enable them to work in parallel with suppliers and shorten the
product development work. Furthermore, the suppliers could con-
tribute time and financial resources and reduce the pressure on Volvo.
Another benefit was that Volvo could profit from the experience gained
by the suppliers when developing new cars in cooperation with other
car manufacturers.
Volvo organized the development project in cross-functional teams,
called module teams, in which the suppliers played an important role.
The production activities were also reorganized. The suppliers responsi-
ble for one or several modules established local module assembly units
near the Volvo plant. In these module assembly units (MAUs), the sup-
pliers assemble the product modules directly upon order from Volvo and
within a very short time frame. Consequently, a few of Volvo’s suppliers
took a large measure of responsibility for the development and produc-
tion activities related to the modules. Strong dependencies between the
companies’ activities were therefore created.
The activity structure of the Volvo S801

The car was divided up into a number of modules and systems,2 with
suppliers taking on extensive responsibilities for development. Volvo
therefore needed to cooperate closely with several suppliers during the
development phase. The majority of these suppliers were global players
who also developed and manufactured modules for several other car
manufacturers. Volvo’s interaction with these suppliers was extensive,
and the suppliers were included in Volvo’s cross-functional “module
teams.” The aim of the module teams was to integrate several different
competencies (see Figure 7.1).
Changes in the production structure were also made. Traditionally,
a large number of suppliers each delivered one or a few components to
Volvo, who assembled these components into the cars. The establishment
of local MAUs, that pre-assembled components into modules, changed
this structure substantially. One of the most noticeable advantages in this
Module team – Electrical system Module team – Driving Unit

Production Development Production Development
(Delphi) Purchasing Purchasing (Lear)
Lear’s main organization for

Delphi’s main Module team – Seats instrument panels (part of the
organization Production Development Driving Unit module)
Purchasing (Lear)
Lear’s main
organization for seats
Figure 7.1 Illustration of three module teams and the suppliers’ roles.
Final assembly line
A few hours
1st assembly Car bodies are put on the

Modules (1...n)
station assembly line and the sequence
delivered in the right
time and sequence of cars to be built is determined.
from MAU (1…n) An order is sent to the MAUs
about what module variants are
MAU1 MAU 2 MAU n needed.
Component suppliers
Figure 7.2 Sequential deliveries of modules from MAUs to Volvo’s final assembly
line.
parallel structure was that modules could be efficiently adjusted to

specific end-customer requirements.
Owing to the large number of possible variants of each module, it was
not efficient to keep finished modules in stock. Instead, each module
was assembled and delivered “just-in-sequence” to Volvo’s final assem-
bly line when that specific module was ordered. The modules had to be
assembled and delivered within very tight time constraints, since Volvo
did not know the need for, or order, individual modules until the car
bodies were on the final assembly line (see Figure 7.2). The MAUs that
delivered modules to the first assembly station had a maximum order-
to-delivery time of only four hours, while the MAUs delivering to the
final assembly station had about 12 hours.
Two of the suppliers who assumed far-reaching responsibilities for
developing and producing different modules were Lear and Delphi. Lear
and Delphi are two of the major global suppliers to the automotive
industry, and they deliver components and modules to a large number
of car manufacturers. Both suppliers participated in Volvo’s module
teams during the development of the S80 model, and they each estab-
lished a MAU in the vicinity of the Volvo plant.
Relations between Volvo and Lear: Product development

Lear assumed significant responsibilities for the development of seat
modules for the S80 model and to some extent, for the instrument and
door panels. Lear was thus responsible for activities traditionally per-
formed by Volvo. Both seats and instrument panels are vital for such
important features as safety and quality. The links between Lear’s
responsibilities and the characteristics that make a Volvo car unique had
major implications for the development work.
Lear had many years of experience, gained from developing seats for
other car manufacturers. Volvo could therefore benefit from Lear’s
expertise when developing seats for the S80. Lear had also developed cer-
tain technical solutions and technologies that could be used to reduce
development time and lower the cost per unit. Volvo regarded these
potential benefits as important, but had to continuously weigh them up
against the aim of developing a car with unique characteristics.
Efforts by Volvo to develop a unique car with unique seats required
intensive interaction between Lear and Volvo. Most parts of the car were
also developed in parallel, which made it difficult for Volvo to com-
pletely specify the function and appearance of the seats in advance. The
design and engineering of seats needed to be continuously adjusted to
other parts of the car, for example, the electrical system. Unexpected
problems occurred from time to time, and this resulted in changes to the
specifications. One such example was when engine vibrations spread to
the seat frame. The development process was therefore far from “linear.”
Lear had less extensive responsibilities for the development of instru-
ment panels, which needed to be adjusted to several other parts of the
car. The instrument panel also had a major influence on the “look and
feel” of the finished car. Due to particular difficulties in specifying this
module, Volvo retained a large part of the development responsibility
for instrument panels in-house. Lear’s role was primarily to develop
technologies enabling them to manufacture the geometrically complex
instrument panel.
Relations between Volvo and Lear: Production

Lear had delivered components and modules to Volvo for several years
for models that preceded the S80. For the S80, Lear and Volvo agreed
that Lear’s existing plant should continue to deliver seats to Volvo.
Although this plant assembled seats in sequence it was not considered
a typical MAU. Instead, it was a complete plant in the sense that it not
only assembled seats but also manufactured some of the components.
The remaining components were purchased from other suppliers, some
of which were chosen and quality certified by Volvo.
The situation regarding pre-assembled instrument panels was slightly
different. Instrument panels were pre-assembled in a MAU located within
10 minutes driving distance of Volvo. This MAU also pre-assembled door
panels. The main component in the pre-assembled instrument panel,
that is, the coated plastics frame, was manufactured in one of the
Lear plants. This plant also manufactured instrument panels for another
car manufacturer. There were thus some potential synergies at the Lear
manufacturing plant, although the total production volume was rather

low. The other components that were pre-assembled at the Lear MAU
were delivered from external suppliers. Volvo designed most of these
components, and Volvo also specified which suppliers should be used.
When the Lear MAU had finished the pre-assembly of an instrument
panel, it was loaded onto a special carrier for transportation to Volvo.
The instrument panel was then pre-assembled, together with a few other
components, into a higher-level module (Driving Unit, DU), which was
one of the few modules Volvo assembled in-house. The Volvo internal
MAU where the DU modules were assembled shared the building and
several other types of resources with the main assembly shop. The pre-
assembled instrument panels were thus not delivered directly to the
main assembly line, but to an internal MAU integrated into Volvo’s
assembly plant.
About one year after the production of the S80 model began, Lear
moved its assembly operation for seats to a building located in the
Volvo plant area. As space was available in the new building, Lear also
moved the pre-assembly of instrument and door panels from the exist-
ing MAU. Although the potential synergies between the three modules
were limited, this enabled Lear to spread some administrative costs
over a larger output. Additional synergies were exploited as Lear
utilized skilled people from its other MAUs supplying seats to other car
manufacturers.
Relations between Volvo and Delphi: Product development

Volvo chose to develop the quite novel multiplex technology for the
electrical system, which was vital for the S80’s characteristics. Volvo
needed help to use this technology, and initiated cooperation with
Delphi after a thorough comparison of different suppliers. Delphi was
contracted as a new supplier to Volvo as it was considered that they had
the necessary development resources and technological skills. Delphi
also had internal component plants and a large number of suppliers,
and was therefore expected to contribute production knowledge and
other synergies of importance to the development project. Moreover,
Volvo valued Delphi’s experience from involvement in development
projects with other customers.
Volvo invited Delphi to participate in the pre-study phase of the com-
plete P2 project. It was unusual for Volvo to invite such early involve-
ment in the project compared to its traditional practices. Volvo and
Delphi were previously “unknown” to each other, and they both per-
ceived the cooperation as slow and difficult in the beginning. To address
this, they held special meetings, which were conducted in an atmosphere

of frankness and directness. These meetings resulted in what was
described as a very “open” relationship between the parties. Each party
also made joint evaluations of their relationship. Thanks to these and
other improvement activities, Volvo and Delphi established a common
view on their relationship and the project.
Volvo had great difficulties in specifying in detail the function of the
electrical system. This was due to the novel technology used and the
parallel development of other parts of the car. This meant that new
functions were added and existing ones changed during the course of
the design process. Several of these functions were developed by other
system and module suppliers, which made it difficult for Delphi to get
an overview of the requirements for the electrical system. The devel-
opment of the electrical system was therefore highly iterative and
was performed in close cooperation between Volvo and Delphi. The co-
location of engineers in the module team and their mutual efforts to get
to know each other proved valuable during this process.
Relations between Volvo and Delphi: Production

The electrical system existed in a large number of variants. Delphi there-
fore established a MAU in close proximity to Volvo. During the establish-
ment of the new MAU, Delphi deployed project leaders from other plants
and MAUs to help the local and recently employed management team.
Delphi’s MAU delivered five cable harnesses, that is, modules for the
major part of the electrical system. One harness was delivered in batches,
while the others were delivered in sequence. One of these cable har-
nesses was purchased from another supplier in batch, reloaded in
the right sequence in the MAU, and then delivered to Volvo. The other
three cable harnesses were pre-assembled in Delphi’s MAU and delivered
in sequence to Volvo. The MAU also delivered a few cable harnesses to
Volvo Trucks, thus allowing the MAU to share some resources between
the two customers.
Delphi’s MAU had three small assembly lines, one for each of the
three cable harnesses that were pre-assembled. The production equip-
ment used in these lines was, in many ways, unique compared to the
equipment used in Delphi’s other MAUs. This was due to the unique
characteristics of the cable harnesses delivered by Delphi to Volvo; how-
ever, it was also indicative of the influence of Volvo on the design of
Delphi’s assembly process.
There were basically two main components in the cable harnesses
Delphi pre-assembled at its MAU. These were manufactured and delivered
by two other Delphi plants. Although these components were uniquely

adapted for Volvo, the plants could still use some of the equipment and
working processes for other products. Economies of scale could thereby
be achieved in the component plants. This was especially true at the
particular Delphi plant which manufactured huge quantities of main
components for cable harnesses and delivered them to a number of
different car manufacturers. The assembly activities performed at this
plant were also quite similar to those performed at the Delphi MAU
dedicated to Volvo. The activities in the manufacturing plant were,
however, not unique for each individual car and did not have to be per-
formed in sequence, which enabled scale benefits to be attained. Delphi
also achieved economies of scale when purchasing standard compo-
nents that were used in cable harnesses delivered to various other car
manufacturers.
In order to transfer ideas for improvements and working practices,
Delphi tried to standardize the operations in several MAUs that deliv-
ered cable harnesses to different manufacturers. Delphi also tried to
standardize the communication between its main plants and the differ-
ent MAUs, for instance, in terms of ordering systems and routines. In
this way, Delphi achieved economies of scale wherever possible, with
the additional aim of being a full-service supplier of cable harnesses and
electrical systems.
Analysis of the activity structure

Analysis of the cooperative arrangements in this case illustrates various
ways that Volvo, Lear, and Delphi achieved mutual activity interde-
pendence. In Figure 7.3, the production activities and the types of
interdependence among them are shown. Activities for specific cars
were carried out at the respective Lear and Delphi MAUs. These activi-
ties were closely complementary to activities undertaken by Volvo, and
to varying extents, were similar to activities carried out at Volvo. At each
MAU there were limited possibilities to capture economies of scale.
Economies of scale were mainly captured at the component plants,
where large quantities of components were produced. Although some
activities at the component plants were specific to the customers’ end
products, that is, to different car models, most of the activities were
similar and thus utilized common resources. This way of organizing the
activities made it possible to benefit from economies of scale while still
producing “unique” end products.
Car manufacturer
• Cars
Lear’s MAU
• Instrument panels
Lear Tidaholm • Door panels Door MAU
• Coated plastics frames • Seats (moved to this • Door module
MAU after some
time) DU MAU
• DU module
Delphi Germany
• Electronic unit Delphi’s MAU
• 4 sequence harnesses
• 1 batch harness Volvo’s final
• (Cable harnesses for assembly line
Delphi Spain
another customer)
• Cable harnesses
Component
suppliers Similarity and close
complementarity
Delphi’s Dissimilarity and close
other MAUs complementarity
Other car Dissimilarity and
manufacturers complementarity
Figure 7.3 Production activities and the dependencies between them in the case
of Volvo S80.
In the discussion that follows, we examine that part of the activity

structure that remained more or less unchanged, and analyze how the
changed arrangements impacted on it. Second, we focus on that part of
the activity structure that was “moved” from Volvo to the suppliers and
the coordination of these activities through cooperation with other
firms. Finally, we discuss the complexity resulting from the interde-
pendence created among all the resources activated by the activities.
“Preserving” a part of the activity structure

Every new car model necessitates smaller or larger changes of the current
activity structure. It is impossible to fit a new car model into an existing
production structure without any changes to existing arrangements.
Conversely, it is impossible to imagine that a company like Volvo would
reorganize its entire structure every time a new car model was developed.
Instead, Volvo tried to utilize the existing activity structure as much as
possible. Nevertheless, when the S80 (and the other models building on
the same platform) was developed, quite extensive changes were made
to the existing activity structure. This was particularly evident in the
activities that were organized and coordinated across the boundaries

between Volvo, Lear, and Delphi.
At the same time, other activities at Volvo were preserved intact.
However, because of the new features of the car model and the novel
ways in which the rest of the activity structure had been organized across
organizational boundaries to suppliers, the context of the “preserved”
activities was changed. This in turn led to the creation of new and dif-
ferent interdependences between activities, and also to new ways of
doing activities. Impacts such as these are not unexpected. If one activ-
ity is moved from its former context within any system of activities, the
interdependence between that activity and all other activities will
change. In one example of this dynamic, Delphi helped Volvo to change
the way cable harnesses were handled and assembled into cars on the
assembly line. These changes were inspired by what Delphi had learned
in cooperation with other car manufacturers. If Volvo had kept the pre-
assembly of cable harnesses in-house, the corresponding internal MAU
may not have suggested such changes. Hence, through new connections
between activities and interaction among the actors in the activity struc-
ture, many activities and the ways they were organized were changed
and rearranged.
Changes to the activity structure

The new way in which the activity structure was organized altered the
possibilities for obtaining economies of scale. By undertaking activities
that were previously undertaken by Volvo or the suppliers’ component
plants, the introduction of the MAUs changed the conditions for capac-
ity utilization (see Figure 7.4). Resources that were previously shared
with other activities in-house, were now subject to less utilization,
implying fewer economies of scale. This, in turn, would give rise to
less efficient component production and final assembly. However, this
way of organizing the activities also allowed Volvo and the suppliers
to change the remaining activities. New possibilities of capturing eco-
nomies of scale could be developed to increase their efficiency. In
addition, the activities that were now undertaken by the MAUs could be
adjusted to one another in new ways that impacted on activities under-
taken by Volvo and the suppliers. The way that activities were reorgani-
zed entailed new constraints and new possibilities for the companies to
achieve efficiency.
The coordination of activities between Volvo and the suppliers, and the
interdependence between them, became more complex in the new struc-
ture. Previously, Volvo made all end-customer adaptations in-house.
“Old” activity structure

Supplier’s plant Similar activities give Volvo
economies of scale
“New” activity structure
Supplier’s main plant Module Assembly Unit Volvo
Reduced use of similarities

but also new possibilities
Figure 7.4 A change of the activity structure provided new possibilities to

achieve economies of scale.
With the introduction of the MAUs into the structure, suppliers were
able to integrate end-customer requirements during production of the
modules and deliver them in sequence to Volvo. As a result, the nature
of close complementarity among the activities changed. Previously,
close complementarity between activities undertaken by Volvo and its
suppliers occurred only in relation to specific car models. The new way
of organizing meant that suppliers were able to take account of the spe-
cific requirements for cars ordered by end-customers. Consequently,
production and delivery plans had to be coordinated, adjusted, and
updated frequently in cooperation with the suppliers in order for Volvo
to manage the narrow lead times built into the structure.
The strong interdependence between Volvo and the suppliers became
particularly obvious when changes were made in Volvo’s production
plans. Such changes immediately affected the suppliers’ (and Volvo’s)
MAUs. The consequences, however, were different for each of MAUs for
several reasons. First, different modules were assembled at different stages
along Volvo’s final assembly line, and this provided the suppliers with
different lead times. Second, the number of component variants and
combinations varied between the modules. Third, the production meth-
ods for each module were different. Fourth, the delivery lead times from
the MAUs’ suppliers (including the suppliers’ component plants) differed.
Although the effects of changing plans were different for each of the
suppliers, they were not simply confronted with these activity interde-
pendencies as if they were “givens.” Because the suppliers were actively
involved during the development of the new car and the production
system, they were able to influence the “design” of the activity structure.
By influencing the structure, including the number and nature of vari-
ants, the suppliers became better able to cope with interdependencies,
and to fit their part of the activity structure into the wider structure.
Complex interdependence among resources

In addition to the production and supply interdependencies created by
changes in the activity structure, other dimensions of resource inter-
dependence had to be dealt with during the development process of the
S80. Firstly, there were various geometrical, technical, and functional
dependencies among and within modules and systems. Various compo-
nents, modules, and systems that were not interrelated technically or
functionally had to be adjusted to one another in order to fit into the
limited space available in the car. Hence, technical functions were diffi-
cult to develop from a specific module or system. This was particularly
problematic in relation to the more subtle characteristics of the car,
such as “how it feels to drive.” For functions like these, the interplay
among a large number (if not all) of parts of the car made it impossible
to analyze how the design of one part would impact on the characteris-
tics of the car.
Second, the S80 model was one of several cars based on the same
production platform, and this created additional interdependencies. In
developing a new platform, Volvo could anticipate economies of scale
in the production and purchase of components, as well as a reduction
in the “time to market” for the (somewhat) different models. In order
to achieve such efficiencies, several car models should share as much of
the production process as possible. In the case of the S80, this meant
that the particular design features of the S80 had to be considered at the
same time as the planned characteristics of the future models to be built
on the same platform.
Third, production costs had to be considered during the develop-
ment stage. Therefore, consideration was given to the interdependence
between the design features of the car and the production system(s)
in which the parts were to be manufactured. In this case, suppliers were
taking on a substantial part of the production process. Through their
active involvement in the design of the parts in the S80, suppliers were not
only in a position to influence the development of this interdependence
between design and production, but were also able to capture synergies
between what they were producing for Volvo and what they were pro-
ducing for their other customers.
To summarize, there were many dimensions of interdependence that
had to be considered during the development of the S80 model. One of
these dimensions concerned purely technical interdependence, while
the rest linked products and technical solutions with production units,
business units, and (directly and indirectly) relationships with other
parties. Hence, resource interdependence cut across the production-
related activity structure. Another difficulty in capturing the various
dimensions of interdependence was that there were different time
horizons for various stakeholders. For instance, parts of the production
system developed for the S80 will still be available when the model itself
is no longer in production. Hence, adjustments made for various rea-
sons during the development of the S80 will affect the design of future
cars and the production systems in which they are produced.
Concluding discussion
Developments in the automotive industry in general have long been
directed toward creating close relationships with suppliers of various
kinds. This case illustrates how Volvo, in cooperation with suppliers,
developed a new way of organizing activities. These efforts resulted in
module teams and MAUs and these have impacted heavily on both
Volvo’s and the suppliers’ ways of working in-house and in cooperation.
The new way of organizing interdependent activities across firm bound-
aries entails increasing complexity in some dimensions while at the
same time creating new means of dealing with them. By creating and
exploiting interdependence with the suppliers, new boundaries become
relevant for the efficiency of the activity structure as a whole.
Previous ways of working were based on more or less passive adjust-
ments by the suppliers. In the new way of organizing, different actors are
able and encouraged to actively influence each other. This focuses atten-
tion on the interactive features of the processes through which technical
solutions and production systems are developed. Therefore, each and
every step taken in these processes can be described as compromises
based on different concerns. The compromises resulting from these
processes are based on greater numbers of factors than previously. At the
same time, the nature of these compromises, and the reasons for making
them, become clearer. Therefore, close cooperation with the suppliers
enables the development of the conditions for designing components,
modules, and systems that fit both to each other, and the different
production systems in which they are manufactured.
For Volvo, MAUs are a new form of organizational unit. These units
can be described as buffers within which the complex interdependence
among activities at the various interfaces between Volvo and suppliers
are addressed. Their function involves resolving difficulties in relation to
simple efficiency considerations since their activities can only be subject
to economies of scale to a very limited extent. Their efficiency therefore
needs to be considered in terms of their contribution to the wider activ-
ity structure. As buffers coping with interdependence and problem
solving at the interface between suppliers’ component production and
Volvo’s final assembly, they protect the two cores between which they
act. In the buffer concept described by Thompson (1967), buffers are
assumed to protect individual cores. The MAUs in this case can best be
described as “relational” buffers. One consequence is that it is not per-
fectly clear who should own these organizational units. In addition to
acting as buffers, the MAUs become important actors since they need to
actively influence both their counterparts and other parties in the net-
work. To create value for their counterparts they need to act in such
a way that these other actors can achieve economies of scale without
being able to do so themselves. Hence, their role as active buffers makes
them vital in linking together Volvo’s and the suppliers’ networks.
Every way of organizing the activity structure necessarily implies
compromises. Considering all the various dimensions of interdepend-
ence built into activity structures of this kind, it is not possible to imag-
ine an optimal solution from the perspective of any of the involved
actors. All the actors have counterparts, such as suppliers and cus-
tomers, who influence and are influenced by the organization of the
activity structure. Actors utilize some of these relationships, and they
contribute more or less clearly to the efficiency of the structure. Some
may be considered problematic if they “force” the development of some
dimension of the structure in what might be considered the “wrong”
direction. The substance and function of these relationships also change
over time. Every way of organizing an activity structure therefore nec-
essarily implies that some dimensions of the interdependence are dealt
with while others are created or ignored. These three categories are
all important since: (1) they are decisive in relation to the efficiency of
every temporary structure, and (2) the dimensions that are not dealt
with properly are the engines of further changes in the structure.
The complex structures resulting from organizing interdependence
across firm boundaries give rise to situations in which several perceived
networks of the various actors intersect. In cases like the one described,
these boundaries are both intra- and interorganizational. Volvo’s produc-
tion and technical development departments constitute two such orga-
nizational boundaries that become increasingly linked to the suppliers as
they become more and more involved. Different car models present
another kind of boundary as interdependence is created through their
reliance on common components, modules, and systems. Yet another
category of boundaries exists in the relationships between Volvo and
specific suppliers, which change in substance and function over time.
The formation of modules and module teams described in the case
demonstrates how new boundaries are created (while previous ones
change), and how new complex technical interdependencies are cre-
ated. The interfaces trigger the interaction between actors, all of whom
try to influence the structure (and thus their counterparts) in different
ways. None of these actors is able to consider, or is interested in con-
sidering, the “whole structure” (including all its perceived relevant con-
nections). Instead, each focuses on its own part, seeing its own activities
and resources as central. This, in turn, creates a dynamic situation
wherein the interaction, through which the actors try to influence the
solutions, is based on the interdependencies and problems considered
by each of the various actors to be important. Through interaction they
also get to know one another, which paves the way for, and can be
utilized in, future cooperation.
Implications for organizing

Complex ways of organizing are required to deal with highly interde-
pendent activity structures and technologies. The implications from the
case discussed above are that buyer–supplier relationships may have two
important functions. First, the members of the module teams set up to
organize the interaction between Volvo and the individual suppliers
represent different firms. Hence, their interaction is based upon their
respective knowledge related to technical features, use, and production
of different resources. Through interaction the module teams are able to
develop new modules and systems while considering their interde-
pendence with other resources. This enables them to incorporate both
technical performance and economic consequences of various designs.
Second, the teams represent the buyer–supplier relationship and hence
act on their behalf toward other actors. Turning the teams into actors is
necessary when the modules and systems developed by them are sub-
ject to interdependence. An important feature of this complex way of
organizing is that relationships may not only be considered as “means”

to achieve predetermined goals, but also as “ends.” Relationships are
organizing units in themselves and not simply governance forms that
can be applied when there is a need to link the activities and resources
of firms. The organizing capabilities of a relationship can be developed
to deal with complex interdependencies across firm boundaries.
Notes
1 The case study was performed during 1997 and 1999 and included a total of
113 interviews with different managers at Volvo Car Corporation and at
twelve different suppliers. Nine interviews were conducted with representa-
tives from Lear and twelve with representatives from Delphi.
2 A system consists of a number of components that together realize one or sev-
eral functions. A module is a chunk of physically related components that can
be pre-assembled.
References
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20 (3): 253–72.
Dubois, Anna. 1998. Organising industrial activities across firm boundaries. London:
Routledge.
Håkansson, Håkan, ed. 1982. International marketing and purchasing of industrial
goods: An interaction approach. London: John Wiley.
Håkansson, Håkan and Ivan Snehota. 1995. Developing relationships in business
networks. London: Routledge.
Richardson, George B. 1972. The organisation of industry. The Economic Journal
September: 883–96.
Richardson, George B. 1995. The theory of the market economy. Revue Economique
6 November: 1487–96.
Thompson, James D. 1967. Organizations in action. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Walker, Gordon and David Weber. 1984. A transaction cost approach to make-
or-buy decisions. Administrative Science Quarterly 29 (3): 373–91.
Williamson, Oliver E. 1985. The economic institutions of capitalism. New York:
The Free Press.
8
Managing Across Boundaries in
Health Care: The Forces for
Change and Inertia
Charo Rodríguez, Ann Langley, François Béland, and
Jean-Louis Denis
Introduction
The problem of managing across boundaries is nowhere more urgent or
more complex than in the health care field. On the one hand, there is
wide recognition that aging populations, economic pressures, and new
technologies are stimulating the need for coordination among diverse
health care organizations and professionals in order to provide inte-
grated care (Shortell et al. 1996). On the other hand, the professionals
that inhabit the health care field are better known and appreciated for
developing their individual expertise and autonomy than for their
propensity to collaborate (Mintzberg 1979; Denis et al. 1999). The prob-
lem is intensified by the ideological differences that separate the high
status, high pressure “cure”-oriented world of the acute care hospital
and the less prestigious “care”-oriented world of community organiza-
tions (Glouberman and Mintzberg 2001b).
Given these differences and the diffuse power context of health care,
how can these diverse organizations and professional groups be brought
to work more closely together? This chapter presents an empirical study
of an attempt to achieve just this within the Montreal health region.
More specifically, we examine the forces that promote and hinder the
development of collaboration across organizational boundaries in the
context of “mandated” collaboration, that is, a situation in which an
attempt is being made to generate new forms of collaboration among
health care providers through a top-down managerial intervention. We
introduce the notions of “organizational space” and “inter-organizational
space” and we adopt a political perspective to understand how and why
147
148 Charo Rodríguez et al.
mandated collaboration generates (or not) change in these spaces. We

conclude with some general lessons about managing across boundaries
in health care.
The research context

In June 1995, the Montreal Regional Health and Social Services Board
submitted a plan to the Quebec Minister of Health and Social Services
involving a major reorganization of health service delivery in the region
(RRSSSM 1995). This plan was associated with major budget cuts and
reflected demographic, technological, and economic pressures common
to health care systems across the developed world.
The Regional Board’s plan aimed to achieve “a new balance” in the
system through: (1) the closure of 7 (of 28) acute care hospitals; (2) an
increase in ambulatory services; (3) the coordination of organizational
partners around specific client groups; and (4) an enhanced role for pri-
mary care providers, in particular the neighborhood health and social
service agencies, called in French “CLSCs” (centres locaux de services com-
munautaires). In other words, the Regional Board proposed the develop-
ment of the regional health care system toward integrated delivery
(Shortell et al. 1996).
The Montreal health care system delivers health care and social
services to around 2 000 000 citizens. Its institutions currently include
21 acute care hospitals and 29 CLSCs. CLSCs offer home care, social
services, and limited medical services. Each organization has its own
CEO and operates with a global budget. Physicians working in private
clinics provide the majority of primary medical care. The Regional
Board is hierarchically responsible for resource allocation and planning
for all health care institutions in the region.
The purpose of this research was to understand the development
of mandated interorganizational collaboration between CLSCs and their
main partners, in particular acute care hospitals, in order to achieve
integration around a specific client group: patients referred from hospi-
tals to community care agencies following hospitalization. Specifically,
we wanted to understand how the collaboration initiative would
develop over time and in particular, what factors would facilitate or
hinder collaboration?
Elements of a conceptual framework

In this research, we adopted a mixed deductive–inductive approach. We
developed the initial conceptual framework shown in Figure 8.1. This is
Managing Across Boundaries in Health Care 149
(1)
(5)
Organizational space of CLSC Characteristics of the
emergent process of
Culture Structure
collaboration
Actors
(4)
Process of creation of
Past the inter-organizational
space
(2)
Organizational space of (3)
partners (Hospitals) Actors of the inter-
organizational space
Culture Structure
Actors
(6) (7)
Context Governance mode for the process of collaboration (change)
* Health sector * General (society) * Hierarchy * Market * Clan
Figure 8.1 Conceptual framework: Mandated process of interorganizational

collaboration.
grounded in a political perspective on organizations, and is summarized

in the four elements presented below.
Mandated collaboration as a non-voluntary process: The change studied is

a non-voluntary process of interorganizational collaboration. This implies
that organization members do not necessarily perceive their interde-
pendence a priori and have not yet developed shared conceptions of their
respective roles. This contrasts with much of the literature in which
interorganizational collaboration is usually seen as a voluntary process
regulated by “clan” governance mechanisms (Gray 1989; Phillips et al.
2000). The “clan” is a hybrid form between the hierarchy and the
market (Ouchi 1980) calling for the development of shared meaning
between actors.
Mandated collaboration as a political process: We view the dynamics
of the collaborative process as political; in other words, its evolu-
tion depends on the power, values, and interests of the participants
(Pettigrew 1973; Benson 1975). Values and interests reflect the strategic
purposes of organization members. While “values” refer to ideologi-
cal components of purpose, “interests” refer to the more utilitarian
component (Ranson et al. 1980). We adopt here Hardy and Phillips’s

(1998) conception of power sources in interorganizational relations
as composed of formal authority, control over critical resources, and dis-
cursive legitimacy. Formal authority refers to a recognized right to make
decisions and is usually associated with hierarchical position. Critical or
scarce resources such as money, expertise, or information are a second
source of power that may create dependencies among organizations.
Finally, discursive legitimacy allows some organizations and individuals
to address issues because of their ability to mobilize support from groups
beyond the set of organizations involved in the collaboration (Benson
1975). We expect that patterns of formal authority, resources, and discur-
sive legitimacy will interact with the values and interests of organiza-
tional and individual actors to influence emerging forms of collaboration.
Mandated collaboration as involving the transformation of both organiza-
tional and inter-organizational spaces: The impact of this organizational
change can be observed in what we call the “organizational space” of
each partner and in the emerging “interorganizational space” that part-
ners must create (Ranson et al. 1980; Halpert 1982). We used Allaire and
Firsirotu’s framework (1984) to describe the “organizational space”
(squares 1 and 2 in Figure 8.1). This framework suggests that there are
three mutually supporting elements of any organization: (1) a sociostruc-
tural system – structures, strategies, procedures, and other formal man-
agement techniques; (2) a cultural system – myths, ideologies, values;
and (3) the individual actors.
Actors must simultaneously create new interorganizational spaces and
reorganize their organizational spaces in order to adjust the logics of
both spaces (Ranson et al. 1980; Halpert 1982). The four main (collec-
tive) actors identified in the emergent interorganizational space through
the process of interorganizational collaboration are the Regional Board,
CLSCs, hospitals, and the doctors – square 3 in Figure 8.1. In the organi-
zational space, we identified two groups of actors: professionals and
managers. The cultural and structural dimensions of organizational
spaces, as well as their history and possible previous relations between
actors can influence the ongoing process of collaboration (Gulati 1995).
The key dimensions considered in the emergence of the new interorga-
nizational spaces – square 4 in Figure 8.1 – are the structures implemented
to allow discussions and to take decisions, and the leadership roles in col-
laboration. At any given time, we can identify the different forms that the
interorganizational relationships take – square 5 in Figure 8.1 – using a
set of variables drawn from the interorganizational literature (trust, con-
sensus, formal and informal linkages, standardization of procedures, etc.).
Mandated collaboration as regulated by multiple governance mechanisms:

A combination of hierarchy, clan, and market mechanisms of gover-
nance is generally involved in attempts to achieve mandated collabora-
tion. Unlike the case of voluntary collaboration, the governance mode
of exchange between partners cannot be only clan-like because of
the lack of will to participate in the process, and the nonexistence of
a shared system of values in the interorganizational space, something
to be built during implementation. There is thus a need for hierarchi-
cal mechanisms to constrain the behavior of partners, and/or the use
of incentives (i.e. market mechanisms) to align their goals with the
collaboration initiative. The particular mix of governance mechanisms
put in place by the mandating actor (here, the Regional Board) will
influence the evolution of collaboration among partners.
Overall, the proposed framework views existing organizational and
interorganizational spaces as the context onto which the mechanisms
of mandated collaboration are imposed. These mechanisms will in turn
influence the form of emerging organizational and interorganizational
spaces in an iterative fashion. This research attempts to describe and
understand these processes.
Methods
The research design adopted is a longitudinal embedded multiple case
study (Yin 1994). The five embedded levels of analysis correspond to lev-
els in the implementation process: the regional level, the subregional
level, the dyadic level (between a CLSC and a partner hospital), the orga-
nizational level (within CLSCs), and the group actor level (professionals
and managers within CLSCs). We chose to study four CLSCs in depth:
two in each of two subregions (East and South-West). For each CLSC, we
selected the two partner hospitals that accounted for the largest propor-
tion of admissions in the territory. In each subregion one was a commu-
nity hospital and the other a university hospital. A number of other
partner organizations that might influence the behavior of CLSCs (e.g.
Regional Board, voluntary organizations, medical clinics) were also
sampled (see Figure 8.2).
Data collection was carried out longitudinally between December
1995 and October 1999. Both qualitative and quantitative data were
collected (Carey 1993). Sources included in-depth interviews (n ⫽ 94),
questionnaires (n ⫽ 170), observations of meetings (44), documents,
and relevant statistics. NUD*IST was used for qualitative data analysis.
Region
Southwest subregion East subregion
H
CLSC H CLSC
CLSC
CLSC H
Figure 8.2 Case study sites and units of analysis.
We present our observations from the empirical study under four

headings. First we describe the initial “inter-organizational” space within
which the process of mandated collaboration took place. We focus
particularly on the pattern of power dependencies, values, and interests
among the four key actor groups. This forms the backdrop for the three
following sections in which we describe the evolution of interorgani-
zational and organizational spaces as the mandate for collaboration
is clarified and implemented. As we proceed, we draw attention to the
forces promoting and inhibiting collaboration. We conclude with three
observations that draw together our analysis.
Interorganizational space at time zero

To understand how and why particular patterns of interorganizational
collaboration emerged, the political context initially present within the
organizational network needs to be understood. We group actors into
four categories: the Regional Board, acute-care hospitals, CLSCs, and
doctors.
Regional Board
The Regional Board is like an adolescent. They are learning their
autonomy. ( … ) They’ll be adult when they can give orders to the
hospitals. (CLSC manager)
The Montreal Regional Board was a recently created government agency

acting as “mandator” of the collaborative processes described here. In
terms of power dependencies, the Board had newly acquired formal
authority and control over critical resources, but fragile discursive legit-
imacy associated with its newness (Stinchcombe 1965). Also, its control
over resources did not extend to the doctors in the region, who were
paid by a separate agency, mainly on a fee-for-service basis.
In terms of values and interests, it is clear that the Regional Board was
concerned to deliver on the Minister’s mandate for a budget cut and
transfer of resources to primary care. Managers also firmly believed that
a reduction in acute-care infrastructure was overdue. Discursively, the
members of the Board positioned themselves as “neutral” observers of
the health care scene, the only group not contaminated by corporatist
interests, and thus able to speak on behalf of the public.
Acute-care hospitals
Hospitals are powerful organizations that have some well-connected
people on their boards. (Regional manager)
The acute-care hospitals had traditionally been the most powerful

organizations in the health care network. The creation of the Regional
Board and the presence of a minister who favored decentralization
altered this situation somewhat. Smaller hospitals in particular became
vulnerable and several were closed. With a reduced number of beds in
the system, all hospitals came under pressure to reduce lengths of stay.
One way to achieve this was by the early referral of patients to home
care, creating some dependence on the CLSCs.
In terms of power dependencies, the acute-care hospitals had no
formal authority over other organizations in the system and were
dependent on the Regional Board for financial resources. However, they
had large budgets and extensive resources in terms of expertise in cura-
tive medicine. Because of this, the more prestigious institutions retained
some discursive legitimacy in the sense that they were seen as able to
speak competently about health care issues of public concern.
The analysis of values and interests at the organizational level is com-
plex as managers and medical staffs in hospitals may have conflicting
goals. Concerning issues of collaboration between hospitals and CLSCs,
two patterns seemed to occur depending on whether the hospital was
a teaching institution or a community hospital. In the teaching hospi-
tals, intense demand, values of clinical excellence, and a focus on terti-
ary care combined with interests in productivity tended to create a push
towards discharging patients to community care as soon as possible.
In contrast, in the community hospitals with a less prestigious medical
staff and less intense demand, values of continuing care and interests
in maintaining the current clientele created less pressure (and some
reluctance among physicians) for early discharge.
CLSCs
We had to combat the idea that CLSCs were worth nothing, that this
was no good, that patients would not be safe … . (Hospital liaison
nurse)
The CLSCs had more limited resources than the hospitals. However, they
all had elected Boards, reflecting their status as autonomous institutions.
Overall, in terms of power dependencies, the CLSCs benefited from the
increased influx of resources promised in the Regional Board’s restructuring
plan. Their monopoly over publicly funded home care for a specific ter-
ritory created some bargaining power with hospitals. However, because
of their small size, they were strongly dependent on the Regional Board
in terms of formal authority and financial resources. Finally, as the quo-
tation suggests, they were weak in terms of discursive legitimacy, often
allowing their association to argue positions on their behalf.
In terms of values and interests, the CLSCs were interested in expand-
ing their role and thus in enhancing their legitimacy. However, they
were also protective of their autonomy. Depending on their history and
values, some CLSCs might be less responsive than others to demands for
collaboration that involved increased emphasis on curative (rather than
preventative) care. Beyond these value concerns, all CLSCs received his-
torically based budgets independently of volumes. Thus, while inter-
ested in an expanded role, they were also concerned to avoid being
overwhelmed. Generally then, their approach to the Regional Board’s
reforms was positive but cautious.
Physicians
Doctors are very autonomous as an association and very autonomous
individually. Nobody has control over the medical group. (Regional
manager)
Physicians control key expertise and access to care. They are paid on
a fee-for-service basis. Fees are negotiated centrally between the physi-
cian associations and the government and must cover expenses to run
their private practice, unless the professional activities take place in a
public institution (e.g. a hospital).
In terms of power dependencies, most physicians, even those work-
ing in hospitals, see themselves as independent entrepreneurs rather
than employees. They are thus relatively free from formal authority. At
the same time, they hold professional authority over other professional
groups and are formally represented in the governance structures of the
Regional Board and the hospitals. In terms of resources, they are key
holders of expertise and financially independent of the Board and the
hospitals. Finally, physicians are a high status professional group
in whom the public tend to have confidence concerning health care
matters. They therefore also have high discursive legitimacy.
In terms of values and interests, physicians like other groups may
develop a variety of perspectives. Generally, patient care is a key concern
based both on training and on professional norms. The dominant finan-
cial incentive system partly supports this orientation. It also means,
however, that participation in activities not directly compensated will
require some commitment to noneconomic values, or a longer term per-
spective. Physicians generally also appreciate their autonomy and have
in the past strongly resisted attempts to reduce their role in governance
structures.
This is the political context within which the Regional Board was
attempting to stimulate collaboration across organizational and profes-
sional boundaries. Already, we see some of the challenges characteristic
of the health care field. The interests and values of the diverse groups
involved are only partly compatible. In addition, the institutionalized
autonomy of the dominant professional group, enhanced by individu-
alist incentives, seems antagonistic toward a more collaborative form of
practice. We now examine how the process of change played out over
time in interorganizational and organizational spaces.
Developing prescribed interorganizational and

organizational spaces
The process of change in the Montreal health care system began imme-
diately after the publication of the reform plan in June 1995. While
proceeding with hospital closures, the Regional Board set up three com-
mittees to examine how to implement the collaboration proposals. The
first committee studied approaches to collaboration between hospitals
and CLSCs for acute-care patients, the second discussed integrated
services for the frail elderly (single entry-point program), and the last
attempted to stimulate collaboration between medical clinics and
CLSCs to improve access to basic medical care. All these boundary-
crossing initiatives were considered important in part to compensate for
(and legitimize) the potential negative effects of hospital closures. The
Regional Board was interested in seeing them succeed.
However, the Board was also concerned to ensure that its mandated
processes were acceptable to the organizations and groups involved.
As Benson (1975, 245) notes, “[I]n an authoritative strategy, attention

must be paid to the mobilization of political forces and the formation
of an effective coalition.” Even a powerful agency with authority and
resources needs to consider whether its interventions will be seen as
legitimate. Thus the way in which prescribed interorganizational and
organizational spaces were defined was influenced by the Regional
Board’s concern for its own (possibly fragile) legitimacy. Because of this,
the interplay of power and interests of the other participants was crucial
to the design of the new forms of collaboration. This produced imple-
mentation proposals that in some ways diluted the blueprint defined in
the Board’s initial plan. The following examples illustrate ways in which
inertial forces infiltrated plans for collaboration even at this early stage.
Force for inertia: Physician autonomy

Despite agreement that the development of effective coordination of
care depended on physicians, it proved difficult to establish any formal
arrangement with them. With no influence on physician compensation
and with relatively weaker discursive legitimacy, the Regional Board was
unable either to impose rules on them, or even to alter their behavior
through incentives. At the same time, physicians who participated in
discussions insisted on the importance of their role, leading to docu-
ments that made extensive reference to them without constraining them
at all. Thus from the beginning, physicians ensured that their organiza-
tional space would remain untouched, and their autonomy was largely
maintained. The mandating actor simply had insufficient power over
a key player in the system.
Force for inertia: Resolving discord through ambiguity

A second way in which inertia infiltrated the process early on was
through the mode of conflict-resolution. An example of this occurred
for the single entry-point program. Discussions took place around
a document prepared initially by the Regional Board’s staff. These dis-
cussions revealed wide differences of opinion concerning the role of
the CLSCs, the definition of the “frail elderly,” and the need for a “case
manager.” However, all participants agreed that the Regional Board
should more clearly define the elements of the program. The Board’s
staff were unwilling to impose a non-consensual solution and continued
to maintain that the details could be worked out among the organi-
zations involved – in other words, they delegated the creation of com-
plex forms of collaboration largely to clan-based interactive mechanisms
at a lower level.
Forces for change: Formal rules and resources

Nevertheless, in other areas, the Regional Board’s discussions with part-
ners did produce more specific prescriptions that stimulated change. In
terms of the interorganizational space, formal procedures for patient
referrals from hospitals to CLSCs were established for acute care, and
performance targets were set. In terms of organizational space within
the CLSCs, nine requirements were established including standards for
opening hours, maximum delays for first home visits, and a centralized
patient reception. The transfer of personnel from hospitals to CLSCs
also constituted a source of potential change.
Emergent interorganizational spaces

We now examine how the participating organizations developed col-
laborative arrangements within the prescribed structures established by
the Regional Board in the previous phase. We focus on the forces that
enabled the production of more or less intense modes of collaboration
in each of the two subregions.
Force for inertia or change: Fragmented versus

unified interorganizational structures
The similarities and differences between emerging patterns of collabo-
ration in the two subregions studied are illustrated in Table 8.1. The
main differences are due to the configuration of hospitals in the two
subregions. In the Southwest, the two hospitals involved set up separate
Table 8.1 Regular and variable effects of mandated collaboration at the sub-
regional level
Regular effects Variety of mechanisms of collaboration (committees, etc.)

Hospital leadership
Little clinical integration at the subregional level
Variable effects Southwest Distinct mechanisms of collaboration for
subregion each hospital
Individual hospital leadership
Few clinical protocols, developed and
signed by each hospital
East Unified mechanisms of collaboration in
subregion the region
Teaching hospital leadership
Large number of clinical protocols, initally
elaborated by the teaching hospital
and parallel interorganizational committees. In each of these structures,

the absence of physicians was systematic and hospital leadership was
obviously needed:
I think this ought to be more collective. However, until now … and

I have always been struck by that, it seems the CLSCs implicitly
agree with the fact that the hospital must be the leader. (Hospital
manager)
Few clinical protocols for specific types of clientele were developed.

However, when they did exist, the CLSCs had to deal with multiple and
sometimes incompatible procedures as each hospital insisted on its own
approach to working with its partners.
A very different dynamic occurred in the Eastern subregion, in which
a unified structure of collaboration involving all hospitals and CLSCs
was implemented. This was facilitated by the geography of the subregion
at one end of the island of Montreal surrounding a centrally located
teaching hospital. The subregional committees were very prolific regard-
ing the establishment of formal agreements and clinical protocols (19 by
the end of the study). We noted, as before, the absence of physicians.
The teaching hospital was unquestionably the leader in subregional
negotiations.
Did these subregional structures of collaboration favor communica-
tion and the creation of shared meaning between partners? Interestingly,
the smoothest relationships were noted in the Southwest region between
the CLSCs and the community hospital, while the greatest tensions were
with that subregion’s teaching hospital. Easygoing relationships do not
necessarily imply an effective collaboration however – rather the relative
peace can be attributed to the low level of pressure on CLSCs from the
less dynamic community hospital.
Forces for change: Clear rules and formalized tools

It became evident that the agreed upon formalized instruments and rules
for referral developed by the Regional Board as well as the clinical
protocols defined in interorganizational committees were effective in
achieving basic levels of coordination between organizations. In this
respect, there was a marked contrast in the way in which the different
organizations were able to coordinate activities for acute-care patients
and the way in which the single entry-point program for the elderly
developed. Here, the ambiguity surrounding the definition of clients and
the allocation of responsibilities were never resolved. As one hospital
manager said:
If we could agree with our partners on what the single entry point pro-
gram was, it might be interesting, but it’s still a pretty vague notion.
In contrast, the formalized rules for acute-care referral created some

uniformity of approach across the region. Operating contacts between
hospitals and CLSCs consisted of phone calls and interorganizational
referrals by fax. Most people felt that this process functioned smoothly.
However, informal linkages between partners rarely occurred, and the
perception of interdependence remained little developed:
Each organization has its unique personality, and it stands up for it

seriously. (CLSC CEO)
Thus while formal arrangements provide a minimal basis around which

coordination may take place, they do not guarantee seamless continuity.
Emergent organizational spaces in the CLSCs

It is in the manner in which each individual CLSC adjusted to the
reform that we observed the most variability. The first CLSC (that is
CLSC “C”) was old, small, and family-oriented. Relations between man-
agers and professionals remained fluid and relaxed. This organization
received no human resource transfers from closing hospitals, did not
implement a centralized reception as requested by the Regional Board,
and it did not open on weekends. Because it had developed both home
care and ambulatory care over time, including medical services, it did
not change its cultural orientation either. Flexibility and modesty were
the main features of this organization. Among the CLSCs, CLSC “C” was
the organization that experienced the least change within its organiza-
tional space. We labeled it the Cool CLSC.
CLSC “R” reduced the impact of change in its organizational space
too, at least for the first five years of reform. This organization was an
older and larger organization located somewhat distant from the hospi-
tals in the region. It delivered a wide range of health services and had
great visibility within its territory. The CLSC was managed by an “ambi-
tious” management team, which brought both advantages (e.g. accred-
itation) and disadvantages (i.e. a certain distance in relationships with
staff). This CLSC had always had a strong resource base. In the context
of the reform, it received human resources from closed hospitals, but
neither a significant structural nor cultural change was undertaken. In

other words, this organization pursued its own development in the
direction it had adopted since its creation. This CLSC was labeled
the Rich CLSC.
The change experienced by the CLSC “G” was deeper. This organiza-
tion was the youngest of the four cases. During this reform, the home
care program expanded rapidly. The center remained closed at week-
ends, and a central reception was not implemented, but the large
number of professionals transferred from the closed hospitals shook the
CLSC. Furthermore, the high turnover of middle managers and staff
added instability. Despite the youth and dynamism of this organization,
it lived through the first years of reform preoccupied with managing its
own growth. Difficulties of adapting new professionals to the organiza-
tion, the sometimes tense relationships with a number of partners, and
the limited synchronization with the population in the service area are
some other features of the Growing CLSC. While offering a high volume
of services, it operated on its own terms. For example, its definition of
the single entry-point program was idiosyncratic and it insisted on
antibiotherapy equipment different from that used by the other insti-
tutions in order to save on the number of home visits per day. Finally,
CLSC “T” was a mature organization with an average budget, which
delivered care to an average size population. Its historical development
had always been difficult. Furthermore, it had the second to last posi-
tion in a CLSC productivity ranking developed by the Regional Board
during the first years of the transformation. Besides receiving a number
of transfers from closing hospitals, this CLSC undertook a deep process
of change in its organizational space: it implemented a centralized
reception point; it opened on weekends; it moved staff from one pro-
gram to another; its managers put pressure on nurses to increase
productivity and on doctors to deliver walk-in services; and it began to
emphasize ambulatory care even though home care program had
always been its strongest area of expertise. By doing this, the Tense CLSC
generated considerable upheaval within its organizational space, and
the coherence of its internal logic was jeopardized.
Forces for change and inertia in organizational space: Relative needs

for legitimacy and autonomy
Halpert (1982) argued that two opposing interests confront organiza-
tions faced with a mandate to collaborate. On the one hand, they will
be inclined to preserve their autonomy and to avoid deep participation
in the process of collaboration in order to maintain the integrity of their
“organizational space” (Gray and Hay 1986). On the other hand, to

avoid losing legitimacy (Halpert 1982), they must participate in the
mandated process of negotiation. Tension is thus created between the
drive for autonomy and the drive for legitimacy. The relative strength
of these forces will affect how organizations respond. Halpert (1982)
suggested that in some cases interactions might take on a cooperative
appearance that disguises strategies of preservation of autonomy and
a privileged position (Hardy and Phillips 1998). Based on our analysis,
we see that each CLSC adopted internal strategic behavior depending on
its position in terms of its material resources, expertise, and legitimacy.
The Cool CLSC, limited in terms of material resources, but strong in
terms of expertise and legitimacy, was interested in changing as little
as possible. No changes in its structural and cultural systems were
undertaken, and the organizational logic remained balanced.
The Rich CLSC, strong in terms of resources, expertise, and legitimacy,
did not change because of the transformation, and continued its expan-
sion in its habitual direction in spite of pressures to invest more heavily
in home care.
The Growing CLSC, poor in resources, expertise, and legitimacy before
the reform, became more powerful because of the material resources
injected. Being a young organization, it experienced considerable
upheaval due to its rapid organizational development and its quest for
identity and legitimacy.
The Tense CLSC, the weakest in material resources, expertise, and
mainly in legitimacy, undertook a radical change in its organizational
space, generating an intense upheaval and jeopardizing the coherence
between its essential organizational elements.
In fact, the weakest CLSC of the four was the only one that tried to
fully implement the prescriptions of the Regional Board in terms of the
design of its organizational space. The paradox is that by doing this, its
structure and culture became misaligned, creating internal tension and
thus, to some extent, inertia of another kind.
Discussion: Forces for change and inertia in mandated

collaboration
The political perspective of the analysis of organizational change con-
siders the organization as an entity in tension because of power games
among its actors (Pettigrew 1973). Moreover, whether or not the most
powerful actors’ interests are aligned with the content of change will
determine its success or failure. In this chapter, we have applied this
perspective to examine how a mandated collaboration initiative was

implemented among a set of organizations with divergent values, inter-
ests, and sources of power. We saw that the emerging form of collabo-
ration did not match the ideal image set for it by the mandating agency.
In particular, medical staff collaboration was limited, the single entry-
point program was implemented in a highly fragmented and confused
manner, patterns of collaboration varied in intensity and harmony,
CLSCs conformed only partly to the prescriptions for organizational
change, and most respondents felt that the regional system was not
fully integrated. On the other hand, standardized forms of coordination
for acute care were implemented, and referrals to the CLSCs increased
significantly. Thus, while the power distribution in the interorganiza-
tional space did not significantly change, judgments of the success of
the process depend on whether one views the glass as half empty or
half full.
Throughout the preceding sections, we identified a series of forces
that contributed either to enhancing or inhibiting the development
of collaboration across organizational boundaries. We now draw these
elements together into three general observations.
Observation 1: Emerging forms of collaboration are strongly deter-

mined by underlying patterns of power dependencies, values, and inter-
ests. In this study, we observed that patterns of collaboration supported
by powerful actors tended to be implemented while those opposed by
them were aborted. Proposals that engaged diverse interests in different
ways tended to be less well integrated while those that engaged interests
only weakly tended to be implemented in minimalist ways that pre-
served harmony but limited collaboration. We illustrate this pattern
in Table 8.2.
From this perspective, the initial ambitious plans of the Regional
Board were blocked by the high power and low interest of the medical
establishment and to some extent by the reluctance of all participating
organizations to give up their autonomy. On the other hand, the plans
were assisted by their compatibility with the interests of the more spe-
cialized teaching hospitals in increasing throughput, and by the CLSCs
who were interested in promoting their role and increasing their legiti-
macy. Like any other form of organizational intervention, the mandate
for collaboration had to be negotiated through a political process.
The most powerful organizations and groups were more successful in
both protecting their autonomy and reestablishing boundaries on their
own terms. For example, in the Eastern subregion, the large teaching
Table 8.2 Power dependencies, interests, and collaboration strategies
Position vs. Autonomy Values/ Strategies Emergent

Regional interests in forms of
Board collaboration collaboration
Private Very high Low Non- No medical

medical No (Minimal collaboration transfers and
clinics dependence interest in and no
on Regional changing coordination
Board behavior) between
medical
clinics and
CLSCs
Teaching High expertise High but on Proactive Strong

hospitals and resources, own terms pressure on development
high (Rapid CLSCs to of acute-care
discursive referrals to ensure referrals for
legitimacy increase efficient nursing care
despite throughput; referrals and especially
dependence on Control of follow-up of with teaching
Regional referrals to complex cases hospitals
Board for long-term care
funds for elderly)
Community Medium-low Medium-low Passive Inconsistent
hospitals Dependence (Tendency to collaboration, implementation
on Regional retain joining in of single
Board for clientele) existing entry-point
resources, protocols, program
fairly low follower
discursive strategy
legitimacy
CLSCs Medium-low Medium Variable Preference for

Dependence (Interest in Acceptance forms of
on Regional added of protocols, collaboration
Board for resources and but reluctance that preserve
resources, increasing to disrupt autonomy
fairly low role but organizational
discursive concern to space
legitimacy avoid overload)
hospital dealt masterfully with the CLSCs and other subregional hospi-
tals by organizing centralized negotiations that allowed it to maximize
benefits from the collaboration. Where power was more diffuse, as in
the Southwest region, change was more difficult.
However, beyond the power relationships described above, it is fair

to ask whether the outcomes of the processes described might have been
different if the Regional Board had used its own power differently.
As mandator and as holder of key resources and formal authority over
hospitals and CLSCs, it controlled a variety of possible governance mech-
anisms. Some of these were used successfully to promote implementation
of collaborative initiatives. For example, through the transfer of resources
from hospitals to CLSCs, the Regional Board provided the means by
which CLSCs could offer enhanced services and take referrals from hos-
pitals. Perhaps most significantly, we noted the role of clear rules, formal
tools, and protocols as a force for change and a facilitator of coordination.
At the same time, we noted the problems that arose when clarity con-
cerning definitions and procedures was not forthcoming, as in the case of
the single entry-point program. This leads to the next observation.
Observation 2: Incentive mechanisms that stimulate interest in col-
laboration, and bureaucratic mechanisms such as the standardization of
processes and outcomes, facilitate the initiation of mandated collabora-
tion. From our data it is clear that, in the absence of formal protocols
and agreed upon mechanisms for coordination, little could be achieved.
Formal rules were a necessary prerequisite for further progress. However,
they apparently worked as much by the way in which they defined clear
boundaries as by offering ways to cross them. Thus, they became both
the means to define and preserve organizational autonomy as well as
the means to collaborate. As such, they did not provide any assurance
of fluid and mutually satisfying relationships. Such relationships might
or might not develop subsequently. In this study, organizational link-
ages generally remained at a formalized level. One would expect that in
a more effective collaboration process, both formal and informal link-
ages should develop because both are concomitant to trust and consen-
sus between partners (Jarillo 1988; Larson 1992). Given the potential
effectiveness of incentives and formal rules in jump-starting collabora-
tion, one might ask why the Regional Board failed to use the full range
of governance tools available to it more widely. For example, could not
the imposition of standardized rules and protocols have overcome the
inertial forces (including politics) preventing successful collaboration in
medical care and for the single entry-point program for the elderly? We
can never know what might have happened had the Regional Board
acted differently. However, it is clear that the governance mechanisms
it put in place were not independent of its assessment of the political
situation. In other words, in determining how to “mandate” collabora-
tion, regional managers sometimes limited the force of their interven-
tions to avoid confrontation. This brings us to the final observation.
Observation 3: Power, values and interests influence the emergence of

forms of mandated collaboration both directly and indirectly: (1) through
the anticipatory choices of participating organizations, and (2) through
the way in which formal mandates are implemented. The first part of this
observation is illustrated by the Regional Board’s reluctance to provoke
conflict surrounding the medical services and single entry-point program
and explains why it tended to leave contentious issues to be resolved
locally through clan-based mechanisms. Unfortunately, the failure to
resolve issues centrally would make it harder for local organizations to
come to agreement. The second part of this observation notes the possi-
bility that organizations receiving a mandate to collaborate will simply
“go through the motions” without deeply changing their behavior. In
other words, they operationalize and use the mandate in unexpected
ways in conformity with their interests. This is illustrated by the capacity
of two of the four CLSCs to avoid deep change in their organizational
space and by the tendency for relationships between CLSCs and commu-
nity hospitals to remain cordial but not particularly dynamic in terms of
substantive activity.
This final observation draws attention to the systemic nature of the
power relations (Hardy and Phillips 1998) in which all organizations are
caught. While a better health care system might be obtained by the
development of stronger horizontal linkages and collaborations among
health care organizations, it appears in this analysis that all participants
in the system are at least partly constrained by the existing net of power
relationships and interests that link them together. Apparently, not
even the Regional Board felt equipped at this time to act in ways that
would strongly promote all the changes it had planned. Had it done
so, the resulting confrontations might well have derailed the process in
a different and perhaps more harmful way. Viewed from this perspec-
tive, the glass is actually half full. Some degree of collaboration was
indeed achieved despite the potential for opposition. The Regional
Board did not obtain exactly what it planned, but it achieved something
of value, that becomes the starting point for further development.
Conclusion: Managing across boundaries in health care

We began this chapter with a question: Given the professional auton-
omy, diffuse power, and ideological differences characterizing the
health care field, how can these organizations be brought to work more
closely together? The widely shared premise behind this question is that
collaboration among health care groups and organizations to attain
more integrated services is necessary, but unlikely to occur on its own.
As Michael Abel, CEO of Brown and Toland Medical Group once noted:
“Integrated delivery is a forced idea. It doesn’t happen naturally”
(Haugh 1998). This paper took an in-depth look at one attempt to
manage this process. What general lessons might be drawn from this
experience? The data clearly suggest that power relationships, values,
and interests are crucial to determining the outcomes of attempts to
manage across boundaries (Observation 1). Certainly, given the political
context of health care, the forces for inertia are substantial and some-
times insidious as we illustrated in Observation 3. However, we would
argue that there is room for a less pessimistic conclusion if a longer
term and more dynamic perspective is adopted. As we indicated in
Observation 2, managers need to consider the full range of hierarchical,
clan, and market governance mechanisms at their disposal. Formal rules
and structures (hierarchical mechanisms) are useful because they estab-
lish roles and responsibilities, essentially re-defining the formal bound-
aries around organizational and interorganizational spaces to facilitate
systematic collaboration. However, on their own, they do not stimulate
the development of shared meaning and are limited in their ability to
influence the behavior of autonomous professionals who deplore (often
with justification) imposed definitions of their roles.
Ongoing interactions among individuals (clan mechanisms) are
necessary to promote learning and shared understanding. They are the
means by which the interorganizational space defined by formal rules
and structures can become more densely interlinked. However interac-
tive mechanisms are useless if concerned people do not participate. The
principal difficulty encountered in this study was the disinterest of
physicians in contributing to processes that could not evolve sensibly
without them.
Incentives (market mechanisms) have the interesting property that
they may alter motivations while maintaining autonomy. Thus, they
offer a potentially useful means of influencing professional behavior.
On the other hand, changes in incentives require the involvement of
professionals themselves; negotiation and mutual understanding will be
required here too. Nonetheless, if incentives shift to favor collective
over individual rewards, they should subsequently encourage the devel-
opment of stronger perceptions of interdependence and interest in
collaboration. Together, the three mechanisms have the potential to
complement one another in a dynamic way that could, in the longer
term, lead to more profound change (Denis et al. 1999).
In conclusion, this chapter has illustrated the complexities of manag-
ing across boundaries in a context where professional expertise, diffuse
power, and divergent ideologies enhance both the need for integration
and the challenges of differentiation (Glouberman and Mintzberg
2001a). While the health care context brings these issues into sharp relief,
expertise, power differentials, and value differences characterize all organ-
izations, though perhaps with less intensity, legitimacy, and clarity. The
political analysis and observations developed in this chapter offer poten-
tially useful tools for academics and managers in understanding many
situations where attempts are being made to deliberately “manage”
collaboration across organizational and professional boundaries.
Acknowledgment
This work was supported financially by Health Canada through
a National Health Research and Development Program (NHRDP) research
funding (# 6605-4909-011).
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9
Boundaries in Health Care
Discussions: An Activity Theoretical
Approach to the Analysis of
Boundaries
Hannele Kerosuo
Boundaries and activity theory

In organizational studies, boundaries are often approached as structural
forms (Scott 1998), or as systemic multilevel relationships directing
the material, social, and mental aspects of evolving organizations and
their conceptualizations (Schneider 1987; Hannan and Freeman 1989;
Hernes, this volume). These depictions of boundaries emphasize the
complex, unstable, and negotiable nature of boundaries, which is also
assumed in this volume. My contribution to this discussion is to intro-
duce an activity–theoretical methodology for understanding boundaries
in interorganizational interaction. I illustrate this methodology with
a case example from internal medicine in which the care of patients
with many illnesses creates new challenges for managing boundaries in
health-care services. Cultural-historical activity theory (CHAT) derives
from the developmental psychology of the cultural historical school in
Russia, and the former Soviet Union. Vygotsky (1978), the founder of
the school, conceptualized human actions as culturally and historically
grounded, and as mediated by signs and tools. Leont’ev’s (1978) contri-
bution was to emphasize the object-oriented and collective nature of
actions. Leont’ev depicted the general structure of activity as threefold:
(1) collective, object-oriented activity directed by motives; (2) actions
directed by goals; and (3) operations directed by the circumstances and
tools at hand. These aspects of activity are important for the analysis of
boundaries from the activity–theoretical perspective.
Since the early works of the 1920s and 1930s, CHAT and its applica-
tions have expanded into a variety of fields and practices in the social
169
170 Hannele Kerosuo
sciences (see Engeström et al. 1999; Chaiklin et al. 1999). Engeström (1987)
introduced the general structure of the human activity system consisting
of the subject, object, mediating artifacts (signs and tools), community,
rules, and division of labor. Activity systems evolve through internal con-
tradictions that manifest themselves as systemic tensions including dis-
ruptions, ambiguities, or discontinuities. According to Engeström (2001)
the contemporary “third generation” of CHAT focuses on the networks
of interacting activity systems that are collective, artifact-mediated, and
object-oriented. Activity systems should be considered in their local and
historical context. Because of the diverse layers of histories accumulated in
the artifacts of human activity, the interacting activity systems appear
multi-voiced.
The focus on interacting activity systems has raised issues related to
boundaries as a current focus in CHAT-oriented research (Engeström et al.
1995, 1999). From the activity–theoretical perspective, boundaries are
always part of an activity, and they retain features and elements of past
activities. For instance, the boundaries that exist in health care have
evolved over long periods of time, along with the development of insti-
tutional practices. Present-day boundaries have historical layers, and may
appear as professional hierarchies. Following the logic of activity theory,
I suggest that boundaries emerge on all three levels of activity: the activ-
ity (system) level, the action level, and the level of operations. Between
the levels, boundaries appear through co-constitutive relationships.
In Figure 9.1, the primary and secondary health care of a patient is
presented as a network of activity systems. Each activity system has an
object of its own, as well as objects that they partially share (Engeström
2001). For instance, the care of a patient with many illnesses is provi-
ded through activity systems in several locations. Besides the object, the
activity systems of health care may share tools or diagnostic devices.
Furthermore, there are rules and norms directing the whole practice,
such as the legislation defining the patient’s position, and the adminis-
tratively and professionally based division of responsibility for care
assigns particular treatment of a patient to designated locations.
In the case presented in this chapter, I examine the boundaries that
emerge at the three levels of activity. I call the discussions within and
between activity systems “boundary discussions,” since members of
different systems encounter each other in order to discuss a common
object, the care of a patient, despite the prevailing boundaries of each
system. My aim is to work with the following questions: (1) how do
the boundaries appear in discussions according to cultural-historical
activity theory, and (2) how do the boundaries identified evolve during
Boundaries in Health Care Discussions 171
Mediating artifacts: Mediating artifacts:

Signs and tools Signs and tools
Object 2 Object 2
Subject Subject
Object 1 Object 1
Object 3
Mediating artifacts:
Rules Community Division of Signs and tools Division of Community Rules
labor labor
PRIMARY SECONDARY
HEALTH CARE HEALTH CARE
Subject Object 1
Rules Community Division of

labor
PATIENTS
Figure 9.1 Primary and secondary health care with a patient as a network of
activity systems.
discussions? I begin with an illustration of an activity–theoretical method

for gathering data. I then elaborate the analytical framework applied in
the study. After illustrating the steps of the analysis, the findings of the
study are reviewed.
Gathering data in an intervention

According to Vygotsky’s developmental methodology (1978), researchers
should concentrate on the processes of development instead of its prod-
ucts in order to understand human activity. The researcher should focus
on actual activity systems undergoing transformations. Engeström states
that “[T]he type of methodology I have in mind requires that general
ideas of activity theory be put to the acid test of practical validity and
relevance in interventions that aim at the construction of new models of
activity jointly with the local practitioners” (1999, 35).1
The contemporary CHAT methodology such as developmental work
research (DWR) consists of the following phases: (1) observation of the
delineation of actions in the prevailing activity; (2) historical and actual
empirical analysis of the activity; (3) formation of new instruments;
(4) practical application of the new instruments; and (5) reporting and
evaluation (adapted from Engeström 1987, 323). The research data is
172 Hannele Kerosuo
gathered during the transformation processes in interventions. Because

the processes usually extend across long periods of time, researchers
in most studies focus only on some parts of the process. I focus on par-
ticular aspects of an intervention designed to improve health care in
Finland. The present intervention with adult patients is based on an ear-
lier project conducted in children’s health care. Continuing problems
led local authorities and professionals to take initiatives for improving
health care at a children’s hospital during the years 1996–99. These
interventions resulted in the development of care agreement and care
negotiation processes to improve the cooperation between professionals
in primary and secondary health care (Engeström et al. 1999). The
purpose of the care agreement and the care negotiation processes was
to meet the needs of planning, observing, and coordinating the care
processes in a network. The care agreement was a tool for communica-
tion and dialogue, clarifying the division of care responsibility between
various parties in the network of care.
The next step in the process of health care improvement was to
implement these new models in a new patient-group, namely, internal-
medicine patients who have many illnesses or diseases.2 These patients
were chosen because of the increased amount of care often required by
these patients. The increased requirement for health may be the result of
the ageing population, better standards of living, and ongoing develop-
ments in medicine. The models to be implemented, the care agreement
and the care negotiation, were further elaborated and developed for inter-
nal medical care. The implementation began with a series of ten inter-
vention meetings called “implementation laboratories” during the year
2000. Implementation of new practices was ordinarily carried out in a
“top-down” manner, so that a new practice was conveyed to profession-
als at a meeting. In this case, the “implementation” was considered a crit-
ical phase. Early collaboration and application work with the users was
critical for effective implementation of the new practices (Hasu 2001).
“Implementation laboratories” draw on the ideas of the “change lab-
oratory method” (Engeström et al. 1996; Virkkunen et al. 1999), which
offers tools for developing work and work practices in close connection
with the work itself. The method was an application of a developmen-
tal methodology based on the theory of expansive learning initiated by
Engeström (1987). Learning becomes expansive when something that
was not there to begin with is created and extended during the process
of learning.
For the “implementation laboratories,” the provision of medical
care in ten patient cases was followed by interviewing the patient and
professionals involved, videotaping the patient’s consultations with

doctors (if there were any during the period concerned), and examining
relevant patient documents. The criteria for selecting patients in the
project were that patients suffer from diabetes, arthritis, coronary,
lung or renal disease, and that the care requires intensive cooperation
between professionals. The researchers analyzed the disruptions and the
problems relating to the care of patients, and produced a video demon-
strating the interactions. The video was presented to the participants
during the “implementation laboratory,” and this served as a “mirror” of
the participant’s care of the patient. The analysis acted as a basis for
reflection in the discussions that followed. One session was arranged
for each of the patients. The patient and the professionals involved in
the care participated in the laboratory.
The laboratory was tape-recorded and videotaped and the data from
one “implementation laboratory” is used here to illustrate the methodol-
ogy and results from the activity theory analysis of boundaries emerging
and evolving in discussions of patient care. The transcription of the lab-
oratory session includes 513 speech turns. The laboratory took place in
a hospital specializing in renal diseases and arthritis. The patient, Mark,
was present, as well as some of the professionals participating in his care.
Mark is a patient aged 52 years who has multiple diseases and symp-
toms. He suffers from diabetes, arthritis, renal insufficiency, and heart
failure. His primary care was provided by the occupational health serv-
ices in acute problems such as the influenza. The community health
center provided equipment for the care of Mark’s diabetes, and the
health center hospital took the responsibility if Mark had acute heart
pain. At the secondary level of care, the renal disease clinic treated the
renal insufficiency, while the arthritis was taken care of in the clinic
specializing in such cases.
The phases of the discussion at the “implementation laboratory” for
improving Mark’s medical care followed the agenda planned by the
researchers. At the opening of the meeting, the purpose and the agenda
of the meeting were discussed, as well as the “change laboratory”
method. Researchers presented the patient’s illnesses and locations of
care using a care calendar and map that were developed as additional
tools to support the care agreement. The care calendar included the his-
tory of the patient’s illnesses, while the care map contained the loca-
tions of care. The following discussion topics included the main ailment
of the patient, the flow of information, the responsibility for care,
and the care agreement. At the beginning of each topic, the researcher
showed the video-clips related to it.
174 Hannele Kerosuo
Analytical framework
“Landmarks” of boundaries in speech: As discussed earlier, boundaries
emerged at all three levels of activity in discussion requiring analytical
tools that identify or “mark” boundary discussions. For the differentia-
tion of boundaries in speech actions, I have elaborated an analytical tool,
which I call the “landmarks” of boundaries in speech. “Landmarks” in
speech are sign-type phenomena with which the speakers “mark” the
boundaries in their speech. As sign-type phenomena, “landmarks” in
speech are important because of their practical value in sign use. From
the perspective of CHAT, sign use becomes meaningful through artifact
mediation. Although Vygotsky (1978, 52–7) differentiated between
sign use and tool use, he claimed that they were analogous in human
actions with regard to their mediating function. From the activity–
theoretical perspective, artifact mediation should be considered an
ongoing, object-oriented activity. Mediating artifacts are not fixed enti-
ties, and “landmarks” are meaningful for social practices only when
occurring in the context of object-oriented activity.
The “landmarks” of boundaries in discussion may take the shape of for-
mal words such as the terms “boundary,” “border,” or “limit.” For exam-
ple an intern said at a laboratory session: “We get clear boundaries from
the nephrologist.” The nephrologist stated: “There has to be a boundary
set.” Moreover, such terms as “phase,” “grade,” or “stage” may indicate
a boundary, especially in medical discussion. For instance, an intern at
the laboratory session said when the division of care responsibility was
discussed: “A stage of kidney insufficiency remained a little unclear to
me.” Metaphors like “barrier,” “gap,” or “iron curtain” can be applied to
supplement an expression with personal interpretation. “In every health
center a patient’s medical information can be viewed from the computer,
but this iron curtain remains between the university hospital and us.”
Locations of care are differentiated in the patients’ comments. Pro-
fessionals applied expressions referring to professions or persons such as
“me-and-you,” “us-and-them.”3
Boundary expressions: Among recent approaches drawing on
Vygotsky’s ideas of mediation Wertsch (1998, 23–5) has elaborated the
concept of mediated action (agent-acting-with-mediational-means),
which he regarded as a “natural candidate” for a unit of analysis in
socio-cultural research. He considered the agent and the “mediational
means” as basic elements in mediated action. Wertsch completes
Vygotsky’s theory of the mediated action with Bakhtin’s ideas of social
context. According to Wertsch, Bakhtin was able to construct a broader
notion of social context than Vygotsky by addressing questions of class,

ideology, and social consciousness (1991, 46–63).
In her analyses of conversations between doctors and patients in con-
sultations, Ritva Engeström (1995, 1999) studied speech through commu-
nicative, situational actions, or “voices” describing the multi-voicedness
embedded in object-oriented activity. Drawing from Bakhtin, she charac-
terized words as culturally shared and distributed artifacts, and “speaking
with words” or “saying something to somebody about something” as a
central focus of her method. Elaborating the expanded unit of interaction,
Ritva Engeström (1995, 196–8) was critical of Wertsch’s emphasis on medi-
ation as a situational phenomenon that does not take the dialectical rela-
tionship between mediating means and object-orientedness in activity
into account. For Wertsch, collective activity, the community, rules and
division of labor were included in social, cultural, historical and institu-
tional features of situations of mediated activity.
Since the boundaries in this study are discussed in the intervention
with the intention of changing them, I focus on the maintaining, ques-
tioning, or transforming qualities of boundaries. “Boundary expression”
is a unit for analyzing boundaries that emerge through the speech
actions of object-oriented activity. A boundary expression is the result
of a speaker’s speech action. In the boundary expression, the speaker
articulates his/her relationship to the boundary of an entity being
discussed. “Landmarks” of boundaries serve as mediating artifacts in the
activity system with its subject, community, division of labor, and rules.
Boundaries at the activity level: At the activity level, the care of patients
with multiple illnesses can be conceptualized as a socio-cultural context
in which two types of boundary interact. First, there is the institutional
boundary constituted between primary and secondary care systems.
Second, there is the boundary created by the “sovereignty” of medical
specialties between the care of individual diseases and the integrated care
of multiple diseases.
The present institutional boundary between primary and secondary
care originates from the reorganization of health care in the 1970s. Since
then, primary care has been organized into community health centers,
which served the patients in community health clinics, and health-center
hospitals. In the capital region of Finland, the health centers offered basic
primary medical care, with every patient having a personal physician (GP)
and a consultant nurse. The health-center hospitals were primary-level
hospitals with outpatient consultation clinics. Secondary care was the
responsibility of the hospital district to which a municipality belongs.
University hospitals provided the secondary care in the capital regions.
176 Hannele Kerosuo
The boundary between primary and secondary care appears as a con-

tinuum of increasing specialty on the levels of care. The primary level
incorporates general practice and basic-level medical specialties, while
secondary care is directed toward specialized knowledge of diseases.
In everyday work, as well as in the laboratory session reported in this
chapter, primary and secondary carers appear as two separate parties.
The second boundary created by the “sovereignty” of medical special-
ties derives from the history of medicine. The development of a disease-
oriented practice has created the specialties that focus on the treatment
of a single disease at a time (see, for instance, Jensen 1987). The bound-
ary between the care of individual diseases and the integrated care of
multiple diseases becomes evident when the segregated parts of the care
have to be taken into consideration simultaneously. For example, when
a patient with many illnesses requiring specialized care has symptoms
that could be caused by any of the diseases, it is difficult to tell the
specialist to which he should be referred.
The boundaries are depicted as a horizontal dimension consisting
of the institutional boundary between primary and secondary care, and
the vertical dimension representing the boundary created by the “sov-
ereignty” of medical specialties between the care of individual diseases
and the integrated care of multiple diseases (Figure 9.2). The interacting
activity systems with their boundaries constitute the unit of analysis of
Care of individual diseases
Researchers
Primary care Secondary care
Integrated care of multiple diseases
Figure 9.2 The institutional boundary between primary and secondary care, and
the boundary created by the “sovereignty” of medical specialties between the
care of individual diseases and the integrated care of multiple diseases.
“boundary discussions.” Researchers are also included in the unit,

because they are part of the interaction at the laboratory sessions. With
this unit of analysis it is possible to “situate” speech actions at the activ-
ity level.
Five steps of analysis

Systemic analysis of one implementation laboratory session was com-
pleted in five steps after transcribing the meeting. For the analysis, the
transcript was divided into utterances of each individual speaker. Every
utterance which could be heard on the digital recording was considered
a turn. At step one, the utterances were grouped following the phases of
discussion, and the “landmarks” of boundaries marked in bold on the
transcript.
In step two, the categories of boundary expressions were traced by
following the “landmarks.” The “landmarks” made it possible to find
out what boundary was being discussed, and what the subject of the dis-
cussion was. These findings, guided by the “landmarks” led to the for-
mulation of the three major categories of boundary expression: speech
turns aiming to maintain, question, or transform the prevailing bound-
ary. There was also a fourth category that included all the speech turns
which did not include expressions of boundaries. The words referring to
the boundary expression were underlined in the transcript with refer-
ence to the boundary. The boundary expressions were then grouped
into the three categories.
Step three was to repeat the categorization of boundary expressions in
order to make sure of the interpretation of expressions. In step four, the
boundaries expressed in the discussion were adjusted for the boundaries
emerging at the activity level by relating each boundary expression to
the analytical tool depicting the activity level. Finally, in step five, the
analysis at the activity level was completed in order to illustrate the pres-
ent stage of the interaction between activity systems of health care. In
the following discussion, I present the findings from steps two and four.4
Types of boundary expressions

Expressions defending the maintenance of the
prevailing boundaries
Expressions of this type were either indirect or direct. The indirect expres-
sions included accounts, definitions, or statements of the prevailing
178 Hannele Kerosuo
boundaries. An account was typically presented by a researcher during

the third phase of the meeting (description of the patient case), but in
addition, the patient gave accounts of the current arrangements of his
care in various care organizations. For instance, the patient said:
I visited occupational health services here for all my ailments until

1997. But then I got this renal failure, and went to the nephrology
clinic, and since then I have been a patient there at the nephrology
clinic. Here in the kidney clinic, they also found the heart disease.
And then I went from the kidney clinic to the cardiac hospital, and
from cardiology I came back to the kidney hospital, because they
could not treat my diarrhea. Now that they have moved the rheuma-
tology department here, it has also been treated here simultaneously.
(turn 122)
Definitions described the present stages of illness, as well as the respon-

sibility for care at the moment. Generally, it was the specialists who
used definitions. Statements were the most common way of describing
the present stage of boundaries in a neutral way throughout the meet-
ing. Statements were either short or long, and any participant could
make them.
Expressions that directly defended the prevailing boundaries were
defenses, counterarguments, explanations, or justifications. While resem-
bling each other, defenses and counterarguments also differed from each
other in the degree of neutrality in the expression. In defense expressions,
the speaker seemed to be more descriptive, whereas in counterargument
the expression seemed more argumentative. Most often, the defender was
a GP or the patient. For example, the GP from the occupational health
services defended the prevailing care arrangements commenting that:
This kind of acute care has now been given at the occupational health
services. And just these multiple problems have perhaps meant that
they have been left to a more expert level of treatment like here at the
university hospital. (turn 116)
The primary care nurse or the senior nephrologist from secondary care
usually put defensive counterarguments. The nurse seemed to be par-
ticularly personally involved in defense. For instance, when the head
nurse from the secondary care blamed the primary care for not trying
hard enough to support the patient in his attempts to lose weight, the
nurse answered:
It was not that we did not give him the time for physician’s consul-
tation. We had made a plan for his call. But it must be that he felt
that the location was not right for him because he did not arrive for
the consultation as arranged. (turn 262)
The explanations were justifications for the present care arrangements,

or were reasons for the prevailing boundaries in the flow of information.
The patient explained why he did not attend primary care, preferring
secondary care. The specialists gave medical justifications of the current
division of care responsibility. The boundaries in the flow of informa-
tion were defended because it was difficult to arrange the information
exchange otherwise.
Expressions questioning the prevailing boundaries

In CHAT-oriented studies, the potentialities for change and creation of
new expertise between horizontal levels of work practice have been
observed in boundary crossings between organizations (e.g., Engeström
et al. 1995, 1999). Boundary crossings are provoked by collisions between
different perspectives, or “voices,” at encounters on the boundary.
Engeström et al. (1999) found that collisions between the perspectives of
health care professionals could lead to argument and questioning until
shared solutions emerge.
Expressions questioning the prevailing boundaries in the data for this
study appeared mainly as disruptions, questions, dilemmas, or problems.
Some arguments as well as counterarguments were also offered at the
meeting. Statements including indeterminacy, discontinuities, or
ambiguity also indicated unsettled boundaries. Disruptions in boundary
maintenance concerned the flow of information and the division of
responsibility of care. Information was not delivered as was expected,
and there were uncertainties in the division of care responsibility. Most
often, the disruptions were marked by the repeated use of “but,” or “no.”
Questions were mainly the researchers’ means of taking up problem-
atic issues in the discussion, but other participants also posed them. For
instance, when the division of care responsibility between primary and
secondary care was discussed, the representative of the city administra-
tion formulated a question:
How do you see it over here; does every visit in this so-called stage of
pre-dialysis require that you see the patient? (turn 231)
Boundary expressions that included dilemmas expressed indeterminacy
in definitions of the patient’s conditions. For instance, the patient said:
My illnesses are connected to each other. One does not know if

a symptom is caused by diabetes, rheumatism, or what … it is quite
difficult for me to tell, what symptom is caused by what. (turn 100)
180 Hannele Kerosuo
The professionals also admitted that it was difficult to distinguish the

symptoms from each other. For example, the swelling in the patient’s
legs could be caused by renal or heart failure, as well as by arthritis.
There were also questions concerning the availability of the informa-
tion, and the resources needed in the patient’s care.
Dilemmas concerning the flow of information had to do with uncer-
tainties about whether information was available. In many situations,
information was available only if requested. Resources were problem-
atic. The clinic specializing in renal diseases in secondary care had the
main responsibility for the care but did not have enough resources. For
instance they could not follow up heart disease, or support the patient’s
dieting which was important in his care.
The questioning of the prevailing boundaries expressed as problems
was more specific than that for dilemmas. Secondary care lacked an
address or an addressee. Care providers did not have an agreement
regarding when relevant information ought be sent, during or after the
secondary care period. Could some patients convey the information
themselves? Follow-ups of heart disease were not done often enough,
and nobody took responsibility for diet management. Because of the
various specialists, nobody seemed to take overall responsibility for the
coordination of secondary care, whereas primary care could not afford
this as the patient had severe diseases. Some of the problems were
expressed as gaps or discontinuities between boundaries, and led to
arguments and counterarguments.
Expressions intended to transform the prevailing boundaries

Expressions aiming to transform the prevailing boundaries were sugges-
tions that were confirmed, elaborated, or supported by others.
Altogether, there were ten such suggestions. Two suggestions, in which
the type of exchanged information was defined more specifically than
before, focused on the flow of information. The second group of five
suggestions concerned changes in the arrangements for the patient’s
care. All except one were either supported or confirmed by another
party. The primary care member only supported the two suggestions
made by the researchers for preparing a care agreement. Only the
researchers supported the one and only suggestion made by the patient
concerning the new arrangements for his care.
Table 9.1 lists the number of boundary expressions in various boundary
types. Expressions defending maintenance of the prevailing boundaries
were typical at the beginning of the session, whereas the expressions
questioning them began to dominate the middle part of the session.
Table 9.1 The number of boundary expressions in boundary types
Phases of the intervention Turns 1 2 3 4 Sum

meeting
1. Opening of the meeting 1–7 – – – 7 7

2. Introductions 8–45 15 10 – 13 38
3. Description of the 46–99 20 7 – 27 54
patient case
4. The main ailment of the 100–125 17 7 – 2 26
patient
5. Flow of information 126–205 26 36 8 10 80
6. Responsibility for care 206–387 66 91 12 13 182
7. Care agreement 388–513 12 66 35 13 126
Total 156 217 55 85 513
Notes: 1. Expressions defending the maintenance of the prevailing boundaries; 2. Expressions

questioning the prevailing boundaries; 3. Expressions intended to transform the prevailing
boundaries; 4. Non-categorized expressions.
There were more suggestions during the last phase of the session than
during other phases of the laboratory. The noncategorized expressions
were remarks related to the running of the discussion, either the chair
was giving turns to speak, or participants were calling for their turns.
Boundaries evolving in stages of the discussion

In order to find out how the boundaries evolve during the discussion,
the boundaries expressed were adjusted for the boundaries emerging at
the activity level. Each boundary expression was situated on a two-
dimensional “map” (see Figure 9.3) depicting activity-level boundaries.
This was performed for each stage in the discussion. The horizontal axis
represented the institutional boundary between primary and secondary
care, and the vertical axis represented the boundary between a focus on
a particular disease versus the integrated care of multiple diseases.
If the primary care GP was defending the maintenance of the prevail-
ing institutional boundary between primary and secondary care, the
number indicating the speech turn was situated in the upper left quad-
rant. If she was questioning the care of a particular disease, her expres-
sions were put to the left of the upper part of the vertical arrow, whereas
if she was questioning the integrated care of multiple diseases or ill-
nesses, the expression was placed left of the lower part of the vertical
arrow. Expressions aiming to transform the prevailing boundary were
182 Hannele Kerosuo
The care of individual

diseases
375 314 366
261 315 365
263 316 364 369 370 371 372 373 374 376 377 378 381 382
262 264 265 318 363 317
267 379 319 362 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 354
380 320 332 215 216 217 218 219 220 225 226 227
268 213 321 333 330 331
274 273 272 271 269 212 322 334
276 277 278 279
211 323 335
309 308 307 306 305 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244
210 324 337
253 329 209 325 326 232
221 222 223 383 384 385 386 387
266 327 252
254 255 256 257 258 259 260 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292
293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304
245 246 247 248 249 250 251
Primary care 311 312 313 206 208 228 231 233 Secondary care
338
340
207
341
342
357
355
358
359 356
360
361
The integrated care of

multiple diseases
Primary care = Italics, Occupational health care = Bold and italics,
Secondary care = Bold, Patient = Underlined, Researchers = Normal
Figure 9.3 The “major attack” on and defense of the boundaries of secondary
care, and the care of individual diseases.
situated on the arrow representing the boundary. In this way, speech

turns that defend boundaries were depicted further away from the cen-
ter of the diagram. Speech turns that questioned the existing boundaries
appear closer to the boundary axis. Those speech turns that challenged
the existing boundaries appear on the axes. Supplementary, corrective,
and confirmatory expressions were drawn according to the expressions
to which they were attached. Speech turns taken by the patient and
the researchers were put in the “no man’s land” in the middle of the
map because their expressions could not be situated elsewhere. While
maps depicting the early stages of the discussion were of interest to
the research, only the diagram depicting speech turns in phase 6 of
the discussion is included here to illustrate the process and analysis
(Figure 9.3).
During the first phase of the meeting the “developmental environ-
ment” was established by the leader of the research group in presenting
the purpose and the agenda of the meeting, as well as presenting the
intervention method. The social and discursive space was created
during the second introductory phase. Participants “marked” a space of
their own by stating who they were, and their occupation or position in
the organization they represented. In this way, other participants also
became aware of their professional status. The patient’s own introduc-
tion broke the expected introductory pattern:
Yes, I am the patient with all these illnesses mentioned on the

invitation. (turn 21)
During phase three, the patient’s case was “co-constructed,” with the
researchers presenting the calendar and map of the patient’s care. These
acted as shared tools for this co-construction. They were prepared
before the session on the basis of the information gathered in the inter-
views. During this phase the speakers remained in similar positions as
in phase two. Primary and secondary care providers discussed the case
with speakers adopting positions that reinforced existing boundaries.
There was little questioning of existing boundaries in this phase of the
discussion.
During phase four, the main ailment of the patient was discussed.
This phase showed two “basic poles” of boundary positions and two
“voices” questioning them. The representatives of primary care, and
one representative from the occupational health services (OHC), were
grouped in such a way that they wanted to maintain or defend the pre-
vailing institutional boundaries and the integrated care of illnesses.
Secondary care defended their institutional boundary, as well as the care
of particular diseases. There was one turn presented by a specialist,
who oriented herself toward integrated care, and even one turn in
which she questioned the boundary of the care of individual diseases.
The turns expressed by the patient were along the same lines. During
phase five, when the flow of information was discussed, the discussion
was positioned beside the institutional boundary between primary
and secondary care. There were voices raised against the prevailing
boundary.
Phase six showed the major attack on and defense of the boundaries
of secondary care and the care of the individual diseases (Figure 9.3).
This figure shows that the boundaries of secondary care, as well as the
care of particular diseases were “attacked” by primary care. Toward the
end of the phase, suggestions were made with the intent of transform-
ing the boundary in such a way that the secondary care assumed a more
coordinating role in the patient’s care (turns 357–61). The last phase of
the meeting was a negotiation with many attempts to transform the
boundaries.
184 Hannele Kerosuo
Conclusions
The task of the chapter has been to provide an activity–theoretical
methodology for understanding boundaries in organizational interac-
tion. I illustrated this methodology with a case example from an inter-
vention in internal medicine. The task was formulated as two questions:
(1) how do the boundaries appear in discussion according to cultural-
historical activity theory, and (2) how do the boundaries identified
evolve during the discussion?
In order to study the boundaries from the perspective of CHAT, the
researcher needs to focus on the activity systems undergoing transfor-
mation in object-oriented activity. The first research question made
demands on the arrangements for getting the research data. The ana-
lytical framework for the analysis of boundaries at the levels of activity,
actions, and operations were also elaborated. The data for the analysis
of boundaries was obtained from a transcription of an “implementation
laboratory” session in order to illustrate the methodology of the study.
Analytical tools were elaborated for the analysis of boundaries at the
three levels of activity. The tool for the analysis of boundaries in actual
speech actions was “landmarks” of boundaries with which speakers
“mark” the boundaries in speech. A second tool was the “boundary
expression,” a unit for analyzing speech actions in the object-oriented
activity. Speakers use boundary expressions to articulate their relation-
ship to a boundary.
At the level of activity, two interacting boundaries appeared: the
institutional boundary between primary and secondary care, and the
boundary created by the “sovereignty” of medical specialties between
the care of individual diseases and the integrated care of multiple dis-
eases. The two interacting boundaries formed a unit of analysis at the
activity level. This third analytical tool, situated “boundary expres-
sions” on the activity level.
The second research question focused on the evolving boundaries in
discussion. According to CHAT, internal contradictions are the driving
force of change and development within and between activity systems.
The contradictions emerge as tensions in actions and operations. At the
laboratory sessions, such tensions could be observed in the ambiguities
of the boundaries expressed. The boundary expressions were catego-
rized into three groups: (1) expressions defending the maintenance of
the prevailing boundaries; (2) those questioning the prevailing bound-
aries; and (3) those intending to transform the prevailing boundaries.
The findings showed that the unresolved boundaries affect the practices
of health care as disruptions, questions, dilemmas, or problems that are

not easy to resolve. Questioning of the boundaries led to defensive
actions in discussions. The “idea-level” of suggestions needs to be tested
further in practice. The professionals’ need for new tools, rules, and
redefinitions of the care responsibility seems obvious.
The analysis at the activity level illustrated the activity level bound-
aries in their effect on everyday practice. There were seven phases of
boundary expressions in the discussion according to the phases of the
meeting. The distribution of phases showed the strained relationships
between primary and secondary care practitioners. The tensions derive
from the need to reinterpret the object of health care, especially the care
of patients with multiple illnesses. The care of these patients needs to be
coordinated in the system as well as between systems of health care.
Implications for management

The study shows how organizational boundaries manifest themselves at
the (inter)action of participants representing multiple organizations
when working with a shared object. With the activity–theoretical
methodology outlined in this chapter, it is possible to capture the per-
meable nature of boundaries. Boundaries are not only defined in mana-
gerial statements but emerge intertwined in everyday activities. Although
boundaries seem be forced on us and become accepted as a natural phe-
nomenon, they may also be negotiated. Managers and nonmanagers
could benefit from being alert to how boundaries manifest themselves
at the level of verbal interaction, and how they may be reinforced,
defended, or questioned.
Acknowledgments
Many colleagues at the Center for Activity Theory and Developmental
Work Research, as well as EGOS, have contributed to this study in
various discussions. At the Center for Activity Theory and Develop-
mental Work Research, I especially wish to acknowledge my supervisor
Professor Yrjö Engeström for his contribution and encouragement
during the process of developing the methodological tools, Dr Ritva
Engeström for her comments and contribution with the analytical
framework, and Professor Jaakko Virkkunen for his comments. At EGOS,
I wish to acknowledge Professor Susan C. Schneider, Associate Professor
Tor Hernes, Dr M.I. Barrett, and Christen Rose-Anderssen. I thank
the patient Mark for allowing me to intrude into his life burdened by
186 Hannele Kerosuo
illness, and all the participants of the intervention. The editors of

the volume have improved the comprehensibility of the text. Special
thanks to Neil Paulsen for editing the text.
Notes
1 The principles of such a methodology have already been demonstrated in
Engeström (1987).
2 The research group from the Center for Activity Theory and Developmental
Work Research at the University of Helsinki is in charge of the project. The
leader of the research group is Professor Yrjö Engeström. The researchers are
Ritva Engeström, Tarja Vähäaho (until the beginning of 2001), and the author
of this paper.
3 More detailed examples are provided in Kerosuo 2001.
4 Findings based on the first stage of the analysis are in Kerosuo 2001. Those
findings are the basis for the analysis in this chapter.
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10
Discerning Organizational Boundaries
Through Physical Artifacts
Anat Rafaeli and Iris Vilnai-Yavetz
Introduction
The boundaries that separate an organization from its environment are
amorphous and difficult to identify since organizations are open sys-
tems, with constant interface with their environment (Katz and Kahn
1978). Yet, scholars and laypersons continue to view organizations as
integrated entities. Schneider (1987) assumes that management defines
the organizational boundary and claims that boundary management is
essential for differentiation and integration within and between organi-
zational systems. But can management really define the boundaries of
an organization and the people within them? Rafaeli (1996) illustrates
the difficulties of such definitions, arguing that the same individual can
be a member of multiple groups of constituents. For example, employ-
ees are defined as members, but when employees are on strike, or on
holiday, are they still members? What about when on leave without
pay? And what about volunteers? Are they members? Or customers,
who are not paid by the organization, but hold a financial contract and
maintain a physical presence in the organization? As Scott and Lane
(2000) argue, organizations have multiple stakeholders, and only inte-
gration of their appraisals and perspectives can provide a complete
picture of organizational identity. There are multiple ways in which
membership can be construed, and multiple ways of positioning con-
stituents as either “inside” or “outside” the boundaries of an organi-
zation (Rafaeli 1996). But how can constituents, however defined, be
identified? In this chapter we propose analyses of the impact and the
reactions to organizational artifacts as a useful vehicle for identifying
constituents who are relevant to an organization and for unraveling the
set of issues that these constituents bring forth to the organization.
188
Discerning Boundaries Through Artifacts 189
Artifacts and organizations

Artifacts are defined by the Oxford dictionary as “artificial products,
something made by human beings and thus any element of a working
environment” (Hornby 1974, 43). Gagliardi (1992), in a focus on organi-
zational artifacts, adds to this definition that artifacts are always perceived
by the senses and that they have certain intentions, aiming to satisfy a
need or a goal. Bitner (1992) discusses the role of artifacts in service deliv-
ery, while others such as Yanow (1998) and Rafaeli and Pratt (1993)
advance a more general argument that artifacts reflect organizational
issues. Schein’s (1984) classic essay positions artifacts as representations of
core organizational values and assumptions, that is, of the organizational
culture (Gagliardi 1992; Trice and Beyer 1984, 1993; Stern 1988). Ensuing
analyses focus on the values and assumptions intended by managers
displaying artifacts (Peters 1978; Berg and Kreiner 1992; Hatch 1992).
But artifacts, like other stimuli, must also be considered according to
the behaviors or reactions they elicit. Ornstein (1986), for example,
claims that people who see the physical aspects of an organization asso-
ciate the organization with certain qualities. Others have shown how
reactions to an artifact extend beyond the artifact itself. Roy (1960)
describes how employees used bananas and peaches to comprehend
and organize the social environment at work. Pratt and Rafaeli (1997)
illustrate how reactions to an artifact (organizational dress) were actu-
ally part of a conversation about the abstract notion of organizational
identity. Scheiberg (1990) describes how decorations of workstations
manifest personal identity assertions. In this vein, we view artifacts
as tangible objects that provoke reactions, which can be useful toward
understanding the hosting organization.
Designing an organizational artifact

The question we set out to study here was “what can be learned about
the boundaries of an organization from a key organizational artifact?”
While studying this question, we analyzed the reactions of multiple con-
stituents to the color of the buses of a public transportation company.
The company we studied is in the business of providing transportation,
so buses are its key organizational artifact (Ortner 1972), and the color of
the buses provides a powerful case study because of the multiple mean-
ings and influences of colors (see Sassoon 1992). Colors are a dominant
notion perceived by the senses, that both communicate meanings and
190 Anat Rafaeli and Iris Vilnai-Yavetz
influence behaviors. Thus, we expected the color of buses to aptly man-

ifest the dynamics that artifacts can bring about (Malandro et al. 1989).
We found that the color produced multiple responses from multiple
constituents, and that these responses expanded the set of constituents
requiring organizational attention far beyond employees. The responses
also revealed how the set of issues that an organizational artifact ele-
vates can be far broader than what management may have assumed
at the outset. The process we observed affirms previous assertions about
artifacts as indicators of organizational values and assumptions. But
our study also finds the multidimensionality of artifacts (a notion we
explain later, and have described in greater detail elsewhere, see Rafaeli
and Vilnai-Yavetz, in press) to bear a broader impact than previously
recognized. The broader impact is similar to that described by Pratt and
Rafaeli (1997), but at the organizational rather than individual level. We
therefore propose that the artifact is a tangible notion that distills the
set of constituents composing the organizational people boundaries,
and the set of issues composing the organizational issue boundaries.
Buses, the artifact we analyzed, clearly represent a transportation
organization to all constituents, but the color of the bus is less central
and may be construed as marginal or even irrelevant. This marginality
is useful here because constituents did not have to react to the color
in any way. Corporate management adopted the color with the goal
of producing a particular image in a particular group of constituents.
However, when multiple independent dimensions of the artifact were
recognized (Rafaeli and Vilnai-Yavetz, in press) the view adopted by
management was evidenced to be limited. The color drew the attention
of multiple constituents to whom it represented multiple issues that
demanded management attention. We draw on these findings to sug-
gest that an analysis of artifacts and the reactions they produce can pro-
vide useful information about the breadth of organizational boundaries,
both in terms of issues and constituents. We briefly describe our model
of artifacts next. We then illustrate how considerations of these multi-
ple dimensions reveal both people and issue organizational boundaries.
A model for analyzing physical artifacts

Organizational analyses tend to focus on artifacts as symbols (see Schein
1984; Trice and Beyer 1984, 1993). But artifacts are not only symbols,
since they play a part in the performance of various tasks. While theory
and research have recognized that features of artifacts can be aesthetic
or functional, the implicit assumption has been that an artifact can be
categorized into one analytic category – as either aesthetic or functional

(Markus 1987; Goodrich 1982). One exception is Strati (1992), who
argued that such a classification of artifacts is inaccurate and misleading
because both factors are relevant to most artifacts. For example, although
a picture is typically classified as “aesthetic” and a chair as “functional,”
chairs have aesthetic properties and pictures can have functional proper-
ties, like, for example, the picture of a wheelchair, which is instrumental
in informing drivers not to park in a spot for the handicapped. Building
on Strati’s aesthetic perspective, we build on our earlier work (Rafaeli
and Vilnai-Yavetz, in press) to suggest next that organizational artifacts
can and should be simultaneously analyzed on three dimensions, rather
than being classified into a particular dimension. The dimensions, as
briefly described next, are instrumentality (or utility), aesthetics, and
symbolism.
Instrumentality of artifacts
Organizations accomplish tasks, and artifacts can either contribute
to these tasks or hinder their accomplishment. Instrumentality is the
extent to which an artifact helps promote organizational goals. Canter
(1977) suggested that places should be evaluated according to whether
they help people accomplish goals, and Nielsen (1994) asserted that
objects should be assessed according to their “usability.” Gibson (1979)
suggested the concept of “affordance” as an indicator of the extent
to which an environment supports or hampers desired activities. So
usability or “affordance” is one dimension relevant to artifacts. Two
additional dimensions are aesthetics and symbolism.
Aesthetics of artifacts
Artifacts, being tangible physical notions, necessarily trigger sensory
experiences, which may or may not fit specific goals. Artifacts eliciting
joy and delight, for example, are likely to be inappropriate for a funeral
home but appropriate for an amusement park, while artifacts eliciting
sadness seem to be inappropriate for a day care center but fit for a funeral
home. Thus, there are two elements to the aesthetics of an artifact – the
sensory experience it produces and the sensory experience expected
where and when it is present (Lang 1988; Nasar 1997). These two ele-
ments prevailed in the analyses of Strati (1992, 1999) and other scholars,
who recently rejuvenated the importance of aesthetics to organizations
(Gagliardi 1992; Dean et al. 1997; Ramirez 1991), positioning aesthetics
as a second dimension for evaluating artifacts.
Symbolism of artifacts
A third dimension of an artifact is the set of notions it represents, or the
meanings and associations it elicits. Fiske (1989), for example, described
how blue jeans (worn by members of almost all social strata) can repre-
sent multiple and seemingly unrelated notions, including youthful
vigor, activity, physical labor, and ordinariness. Neither one of these
associations captures what jeans symbolize more accurately than the
other. Csikszentmihalyi and Rochberg-Halton (1981) illustrated that
things, even simple or mundane, such as chairs and tables have mean-
ings for people who use or see them. In the organizational context, as
noted above, Trice and Beyer (1984, 1993), Stern (1988), Ornstein (1986),
and Gagliardi (1992) positioned artifacts as symbols representing values
of organizational cultures.
Importantly, the symbolism read in an artifact is not necessarily that
intended by a manager displaying the artifact. Observers make inter-
pretations and attributions that follow a complex and not always pre-
dictable associative process (Davis 1984). In this vein, Gagliardi (1992)
described multiple views of corporations afforded by the symbols and
artifacts they display and Hatch (1992, 1997) reported how attitudinal
and behavioral responses to offices are products of the meanings that
individuals attributed to the work environment, rather than objective
qualities of these environments.
In short, a valid analysis of organizational artifacts needs to recognize
three dimensions: the instrumental dimension, the aesthetic dimen-
sion, and the symbolic dimension. We saw these dimensions as a point
of departure for our analyses of the effects of and reactions to a key
organizational artifact.
Methods
Our data are reactions to the effort of a public transportation organiza-
tion, which we call “The Company,” to improve its corporate image. We
analyzed the reactions of multiple constituents to an attempt of The
Company to create an image of an environmentally friendly organiza-
tion by painting its buses a dark and homogeneous green. The green
color produced a massive set of unexpected reactions, as we learned in
initial meetings with the corporate spokesperson. We did our study as
complete outsiders, with only marginal allowances by The Company to
interview employees and key members of management. We held no
consulting or any other formal role vis-a-vis The Company.
Context
The Company is a large public transportation company in Israel, pro-
viding both intercity and intra-city transportation, with 7800 employ-
ees, most of whom are drivers (5200), and approximately 4000 buses that
provide service to some 1 250 000 passengers a day. The green color was
chosen by the management of The Company and by several consulting
firms, and was declared and bolstered in public relations efforts using the
slogan “Green from now on is [The Company].” The slogan dominated
advertising media and various paraphernalia such as vouchers, tickets,
and leaflets. We collected reactions to the color starting the week the
decision to paint the buses green was publicized. Formal management
intentions were not our focus but rather the backdrop to our analysis.
Data
We collected qualitative data from four sets of sources.
1. Media reports
A public relations firm that scans all public media (newspapers, maga-
zines, radio, TV, Internet) in Israel collected all items mentioning The
Company for us during the seven months following the announcement
of the color (February–August 2000). We scanned these data, sorting
out what was not related to the color in any way. Of the 170 items
we received, 28.8 percent (49) were media reports and 11.8 percent (20)
were letters to the editor addressing the green color. Some of the reports
included quotes from employees, managers, or consultants and some of
the letters to the editor were from the spokesperson. A bit more than
half (59.4 percent) of the media coverage did not refer to the green
color, covering issues such as strike threats or traffic accidents.
2. Interviews with employees

We interviewed formal corporate representatives (Spokesperson,
Marketing VP, PR consultant, and a representative of the advertising
agency). These interviews focused on formal organizational (manage-
rial) intentions in the choice of the artifact. After these interviews
we learned from the media reports we collected about reactions of The
Company employees to the green color. For example, a newspaper
bulletin noted:
There is resentment among many of [The Company’s] members to

the green color and new logo. Employees claim that these cosmetic
changes have no added value for The Company.
We therefore decided to contact The Company employees to obtain

a more in-depth view of their reactions. Additional open-ended inter-
views were conducted with bus drivers (n ⫽ 29) and support staff (n ⫽ 9),
such as administrative employees and engineers. Interviews focused on
two questions: (1) What do you think about the green color of the
buses? and (2) What impact, if any, do you think this color will have on
organizational service?
3. Unstructured questionnaires
To fully understand the usability of the color (see Nielsen 1994), we
asked 135 engineering students the following: Consider the green color
of the buses. Use terms and concepts of usability and utility from the
chapter by Nielsen to analyze the actions of the company, and to bring
two positive aspects and two negative aspects of the implications of
this color.
All but three percent of the students responded to the survey, express-
ing elaborate reactions that were far beyond the question of usability.
Responses included multiple associations, affective reactions, and
cynical comments about the organization.
4. Observations
We conducted unstructured observations inside and outside buses,
noting conversations and nonverbal reactions. Approximately 100 such
observations were made in multiple locations including six central bus
stations, 20 bus stops, and 50 trips in buses.
Data analysis
All interviews were tape-recorded and transcribed verbatim, yielding,
together with the media clips, a large amount of qualitative data that was
analyzed inductively. Following the iterative process recommended by
Strauss and Corbin (1990) and Miles and Huberman (1984), we traveled
back and forth between the data and our emerging theoretical argument.
We began with the understanding that management of The Company
sought the association between green and environmental friendliness as
a way to improve the organizational image, which positions passengers
and potential passengers as the target audience of the color. Our very
early finding was, however, that different and largely unexpected con-
stituents responded to, or had something to say about, the green color.
Constituents include employees (i.e. drivers, technical and administra-
tive staff), pedestrians, drivers of other vehicles, and environmentalists.
Following this initial insight, we noted the different constituents

evident in the data and the issues they raised in their discussion of the
artifact. Some 30 issues were noted, ranging from “poor visibility of the
green color at night” through “green symbolizes hospitals” to “green is
simply ugly.” Three independent research assistants categorized the data
into issue categories. Disagreements were noted and negotiated. This
analysis yielded the idea that reactions of different constituents to the
artifact convey not only the set of constituents comprising the human-
boundaries of the organization but also the set of issues comprising the
Issues
Organizational
image
Customer
service
“Greenwash”
Wild driving Employee–
Management
relations
Constituents
Other
General drivers
public Environmentalists
Bus drivers Organizational

management
Passengers
Pedestrians
Aesthetics Instrumentality
Symbolism
Artifact
Organizational intentions in
introducing artifact
Constituent reactions to
artifact
Figure 10.1 Physical artifacts as triggers that reveal constituents and issues
within the boundaries of an organization.
issue-boundaries of the organization. The analysis also suggested two dif-

ferent patterns of reactions elicited by the artifact. One pattern involved
reactions toward the artifact itself (e.g. “this color is very depressing”).
A second pattern involved the artifact (i.e. the color) as a mediator of
reactions toward the organization (e.g. “this organization is careless
because it ignores legally blind people who cannot see dark green buses”).
The results of our iterative data analysis process are summarized in
Figure 10.1 where we propose that the organizational artifact (which
can only be fully understood if its three dimensions are recognized)
connects to reactions expressed by multiple constituents, and, in turn,
to multiple issues to which the organization needs to attend. Once we
developed this model, we classified all the data into the elements of
the model. The classification provided the foundation of our findings,
presented next, and basically argues that the multiple issues raised by
multiple constituents in reaction to the organizational artifact provide
a way of discerning otherwise amorphous organizational boundaries.
Findings
Reactions to the artifact reveal the boundaries of the organization
Figure 10.1 summarizes the theoretical argument we advance about the
role of physical artifacts in instantiating the issues and constituents
delineating the organizational boundaries. Our argument includes three
seemingly distinct assertions: First, perceptions of the artifact regard
three conceptually distinct qualities of the artifact: instrumental quali-
ties, aesthetic qualities, and symbolic qualities. Second, multiple groups
of stakeholders have distinct perspectives regarding an organizational
artifact; and third, responses to an artifact raise multiple issues, both
about the artifact itself and about broader organization implications.
As Figure 10.1 suggests (in the bold lines), management may view an
artifact as a way of communicating a specific notion to a specific set of
target constituents. But (as the other non-bold lines depict), multiple
constituents may identify additional or alternative aspects of an artifact.
These additional constituents, the aspects of the artifact they note, and
the claims they make are integral to organizational boundaries as much
as the aspects, issues, and constituents initially noted by management.
They demand as much, if not more, organizational attention. Thus, the
artifact can be a vehicle for discerning all constituents and all issues
comprising organizational boundaries above and beyond constituents
and issues targeted by management. Figure 10.1 could also suggest
a feedback process of organizational reactions to constituents regarding

the issues they had raised. This feedback process was not a part of our
analysis however. Hence an arrow representing such potential organiza-
tional responses was not added to the figure.
The amorphous nature of organizational boundaries is evidenced in
the figure by the breadth of constituents who staked a claim about an
organizational artifact and by the breadth of issues they raised for the
organization. It is not the targeted constituents of preplanned issues that
constitute organizations, but rather an emergent set of constituents and
issues, as the open systems approach (Katz and Kahn 1978) would sug-
gest, and as Figure 10.1 summarizes. Artifacts, through their instru-
mental saliency, aesthetic quality, and symbolic associations, can call up
constituents and help reveal issues. Our thesis, as presented in greater
detail below, is that these broad boundaries of an organization can be
identified through an analysis of reactions to an organizational artifact.
Formal organizational intentions versus reactions to an artifact

Artifacts are often a part of what Bromley (1993, 159) labeled the
“organizational visual identity,” explaining the motivation of The
Company to adopt the color because the association between green and
environmental friendliness was expected to improve the organizational
image. Thus, the spokesperson described the choice of the color as
follows:
Our intent was to convey commitment to quality of life and quality

of service. Green represents environmental friendliness.
The artifact was therefore a formal, one-way communication act of

the organization targeted at the public, building on the association
of the color, the artifact, to environmental friendliness. Other aspects of
the artifact were ignored in this communication attempt, including
instrumental aspects (e.g. visibility and heat) and aesthetic aspects
(colors can be more or less pleasant and more or less appropriate for
a certain context). This complexity embodied problems in using the
artifact (the color) because multiple constituents did recognize and react
to the multiple dimensions of the artifact.
The three conceptually distinct dimensions of the green color were
the basis of reactions of multiple constituents to the artifact. The first
dimension to emerge was the functions, tasks, or goals the artifact
helped or hampered. These were noted by constituents, as the following
engineer said:
This dark green color contradicts all traffic safety notions. It blends
in with the asphalt’s colors.
The following journalist noted the second dimension, aesthetics, or the

sensual experience the artifact produces:
The Company buses have a disgusting look … . They look too green,
somehow too green.
Aesthetics were also at the heart of the following letter to the editor:
The company decided to cover its buses with a dark green color,
which is ugly, and creates a feeling of suffocation.
Aesthetic evaluations in our data were mostly but not only negative,
with some (about 30 percent) positive evaluations (e.g. “The green color
is gay and friendly”).
In the third dimension, multiple associations to the green were men-
tioned, including but not limited to the associations expected by man-
agement to environmental issues. Other associations were to religious
issues, racial issues, sports issues, friendliness, cleanliness, garbage col-
lection, medical care, and jealousy. The following represent responses
revealing associations:
“This Green means environmental friendliness” (passenger)

“Green is a symbol of jealousy” (journalist)
“[Green] is identified with hospitals and emergency” (Company engineer)
“This [green] is the color of my favorite sport team” (engineering student)
“Green is the color of garbage trucks” (passenger)
Importantly, as shown in Table 10.1, specific constituents were not asso-

ciated with specific aspects of or associations to the artifact. We found
references to the three aspects of the artifact in the responses of almost
all constituents.
Reactions to the artifact are of interest here because, we assert, they
pave the way for a more comprehensive understanding of the organiza-
tion and its boundaries. As summarized in Figure 10.1, reactions to
the artifact identify what we termed “the human boundaries of the
organization” and “the issue boundaries of the organization.”
Table 10.1 The three dimensions of the artifact in constituent reactions
Constituents Three dimensions of the artifact
Instrumentality Aesthetics Symbolism
Employees It is too dark, should have It’s a real shame they The color gives a sense of
been bright. Does not chose such a color. connection to
sufficiently stand out from It’s disgusting, environmentalism. Green
a safety point of view. repulsive. connects well to things.
Management The color fits the terrain of Green is pretty. [It] Our intent was to convey
this country. Buses are [lit] is another step in the commitment to quality of
as requested by law. Their general set of life and service. Green
visibility is as required on renewal actions of represents environmental
the road. the company. friendliness.
General public There is no danger [in the The green looks so The green color is not
green color]. Buses are lit appalling. It does not associated with Israel,
in front and back, inside belong in our urban which is identified with
and outside, in addition to environment. the colors of blue and
road and streetlights. white.
Customers The color cannot be seen The company took a Now it is more fun to
in the dark. This may huge cultural step in board the buses. The
increase accidents. painting buses in the color conveys cleanliness
pretty and relaxing and freedom.
European green . . .
should be blessed.
Table 10.1 Continued
Constituents Three dimensions of the artifact
Instrumentality Aesthetics Symbolism
Other drivers on The color is low in light — I feel uncomfortable.

the road reflection. It absorbs light This is the color of a local
and cannot be seen in the terrorist group.
dark. It may cause
accidents, especially at
night.
Pedestrians on The green and shiny color The Company made —
the road is difficult to see by a miserable decision
drivers and pedestrians to cover buses with a
when it is dark outside. dark and ugly color.
Environmentalists The dark green color — The Green party
caused a temperature distributed a sticker saying
increase of up to 4 degrees “Black is [The Company].”
inside the buses. A waste The sticker seeks to
of energy and air pollution shatter the green image
in the summer. that the bus company is
trying to wear.
Journalists A vehicle on the road is Maybe the idea is Something symbolic about
safer if its color is bright nice, but the result is environmentalism is
and not uniform. . . . dark pretty ugly. The usually intended to mask
and uniform green is more buses look like a severe damage to the
or less the most dangerous green metal box. environment. Green
option other than black. hypocrisy . . . “greenwash.”
Reactions to artifacts and human boundaries

What gives someone the right to express a reaction? We suggest that
unsolicited reactions – here, to the color but elsewhere, to any artifact –
are assertions of a stake in the organization. Such stake assertions delin-
eate people who should be recognized as organizational stakeholders, or
part of the “human boundaries” of the organization.
A simple artifact, the color green, drew reactions from expected and
unexpected constituents, who seemed to draw on tacit sources of legit-
imacy for expressing their opinions, thoughts, and feelings about the
color. Such tacit legitimacy allowed constituents to assert that the
artifact is “their business.” Common to all reactions is the underlying
assertion that an artifact is not an inherent part of organizations, but
rather is appropriated by the organization to promote certain goals.
What our data reveal is that such appropriation is not always accept-
able, since other people or social entities may also claim appropriation
of the artifact. Through such appropriation individuals and groups posi-
tion themselves as potential stakeholders of the artifact. By extension,
such appropriation positions stakeholders of the organization (Scott
and Lane 2000). Individuals or social entities staking claims about the
artifact draw themselves into a relationship with the organization
through the artifact. Such relationships, we propose, define the human
boundaries of an organization as broader than formally assumed. The
Company did not view the artifact as relating to anyone but passengers
and advertisers. Yet another company, which uses green for its advertis-
ing campaign, disputed the legitimacy of The Company’s use of the
green. Green, they claimed, belongs to Europcar, not to The Company.
This and similar claims about an artifact can be viewed as challenges
to the autonomy of an organization in designating its boundaries
because they are, in a sense, claims for including a new set of con-
stituents in organizational decision making. Of course, an organization
may maintain autonomy and disregard such claims, but such disregard
does not preclude the information regarding the boundaries of organi-
zational issues. The apparent claim in the traditional view of organiza-
tional artifacts is that decisions made by organizational management are
the legitimate agents for determining the artifacts. In some cases con-
sulting agencies may be drawn in to facilitate such decisions. But even in
such cases, the decisions ultimately belong to the organization (Schultz
2000). Through the analysis of constituent claims about the artifact
our data provide some insight for factors that allow constituents to asso-
ciate themselves with an artifact, posing a challenge to organizational
autonomy in decision making.
We propose two sets of factors: claims to prior ownership of the arti-

fact, and claims of impact of the artifact. Both sets essentially challenge
the more simplistic view that organizations and their managers are
autonomous agents in selecting artifacts. An example of the first type
of challenge is the following legal claim presented by several “green
(environmental)” organizations:
The Greens against The Company state: “You stole our color.” The
“Greens” demand the District Court in Tel Aviv to provide a tempo-
rary restraining order and a declaratory judgment that will prohibit
The Company from using the color Green … they must immediately
stop the advertising campaign that is misleading the public.
Likewise, as noted above, a car rental company whose logo is green

presented a legal suit described as follows:
Europcar argues that [The Company]’s campaign, with the slogan

“Green from now on is [The Company]” is identical to the ads “Travel
only in Green” which Europcar advertised in the past and therefore
presents a violation of copyrights.
The fact that the courts did not accept these legal claims did not elimi-
nate the negative impact they had on the organizational image. Rather,
the dispute about the color confronted the organization with a set of
constituents with whom they clearly had to negotiate. From a dramatur-
gical perspective, these constituents suddenly appeared as actors on the
same stage as the organization, increasing the number of actors on this
stage (Brissett and Edgley 1990). Constituents claiming ownership of
the green and the issues they introduce thus become integral to the
boundaries that the organization must recognize.
A second reason for staking claims about the artifact was the asserted
impact of the artifact or the organization on the stakeholder. One case
was the customers, who paid for organizational services and conse-
quently felt a right to be included in organizational decisions. Paying
customers commented on the color and offered opinions about the
appropriateness of the color, frequently suggesting that it was in some
way violating an implicit contract between themselves as customers
and the organization. One passenger noted to a bus driver, for example:
“Why should I ride in such an ugly bus if I am paying for it.” A conver-
sation in a bus stop pronounced a similar sentiment: “I don’t understand
why they chose this color. The color should be pleasant. And the color
should be visible and safe. They don’t care about what we think.” Other
drivers on the road implied the impact of the artifact. They asserted
a right to make claims about the bus color because certain colors were
(instrumentality-wise) more visible than others. Similarly, people on
the street looking at buses referred to the aesthetic properties, saying,
“It’s so ugly it makes me sick.” For example, a woman who explicitly
identified herself (in a letter to the editor) as not a rider of buses said:
It is impossible to ignore [these green] buses. They are very big and
very salient, they stand out in the environment.
Symbolism similarly served as legitimacy for making claims about the

bus color. Angry letters to the editor argued:
How could they even think of painting the buses in such green? This
is a disgusting color. It is the color of the [name of a local terrorist
group] flag and symbols!
In sum, the organization we studied assumed, as many organizations

and scholars assume, independence in the choice of a representative arti-
fact based on an assumption of a limited set of constituents for whom
the artifact may be relevant. But the multidimensionality of the artifact
allowed us to understand that the set of constituents or the human
boundaries of the organization was significantly broader.
Reactions to artifact and issue boundaries of

an organization
Our research methods left open the issues that could be raised by our
informants. What our data reveal is that open-ended references to the
artifact took two distinct routes, as illustrated in Figure 10.1, one of reac-
tions to the artifact itself, and a second using the opportunity afforded
by the artifact to comment on the organization (see Table 10.1). The arti-
fact in the second route functions as a representation, a target, to which
constituents can address their reactions regarding the organization and
its activities. Thus, as suggested by Figure 10.1, reactions to the artifact
provide information to the organization from the multiple elements
within its human boundaries about multiple issues.
In both routes, the artifact provides the organization with a source of
feedback. Some feedback regards the artifact itself, while some feedback
regards aspects of the organization that are not related to the artifact.
Reactions to the artifact therefore reveal issues requiring organizational
attention, serving to identify the broad spectrum of issues comprising
the “issue boundaries” of the organization. Since comments of con-
stituents about the artifact were mentioned above, only a brief illustra-
tion of the second route is provided next. The issues made evident in
this route included aspects of customer service, corporate monopoly,
corporate hypocrisy, and corporate social responsibility, to mention but
a few. Illustrative data is summarized in Table 10.2. Importantly, the
data collected and reported in Table 10.2 was all collected as part of
our study of the green color. Table 10.2 includes but one illustrative
quote regarding each issue, from a large set of quotes on each of the
issues. Our point in this table is, therefore, to illustrate that the discus-
sions of the green color went very far into comments about corporate
actions.
For example, a posting by a group called “Green Mothers and Eco-
Feminists” described the environmental dispute regarding the green
color, in a call for other constituents to harass The Company:
They found it easier to paint their buses green, and claim they are
green. About 190 people die every year from those buses. They make
so much noise you cannot hear yourself drinking coffee. If you ride
a motorcycle, you know pretty well that whatever is coming out from
their exhaust – it’s not green. They have the longest buses in the
world, in one of the cities that has the narrowest streets. So tell them
what you think. Tell them that green is electricity or gas. Tell
them they didn’t fool you.
Similarly, customer service issues appeared in letters to the editor, with

the green color as some part of the teasing embedded in the text. One
such letter posed a question that rhymes in Hebrew (“Yarok O Yorek?”)
to ask if the company was “Green or spitting” [on its customers].
Multiple letters and media reports commented on company subordina-
tion to demands of ultra religious groups, an issue of significant contro-
versy in the Israeli society. Since ultra orthodox people typically wear
black, this segment of society is often referred to as “The Blacks,” allow-
ing multiple notes of criticism to contrast between Green and Black.
What seemed to happen here was that the green color was used as a spike
that people hung on to in staking claims about actions taken by the
organization. Media reports described, for example, actions of a member
Table 10.2 Artifacts as triggers of conversation and stake claiming: An example

of the color green as a trigger of conversation about the bus company
Issues Comments about the organization
The Company The Company as a large, fat, corrupt monopoly is trying to

as a monopoly emphasize positive things. It is trying to be acceptable to
the public by trying to present itself as a Green company.
The Company, like other monopolies, takes care to
improve its image. There is no better lie than the lie of
beauty. With huge advertising budgets it prefers to paint
buses green.
Customer service The color was supposed to be the swallow that heralds the
forthcoming spring of relations between The Company
and its passengers – financiers. But the swallows are here
while the spring of relations is tarried. The Company
acquired tens of thousands of gallons of color but forgot
one basic thing, which is that customer service is what is
needed more than all the colors or commercial logos. …
What is the point of painting a bus green if the driver is
yellow to his passengers and whitens their faces?
Abiding by The Company with the campaign “Green is growth,
traffic laws blooming and renewal. Green is young and fresh.
Green is friendliness” [needs to be reminded] of the cost
of human lives caused by disregard to traffic laws …
Maybe the new green color will remind bus drivers to stop
being wild on the road and to pass only when the light
is green.
Employee– I have no idea about the green. The company didn’t
management bother to involve us in the decisions. They don’t care
relations about us, about what we think, we are worthless, just
members. What are members anyway?
“Greenwash” – Disgusting green … The Company is painting the buses
hypocrisy in (but what is coming out of their exhaust?) How do
public contaminating bodies make us think they are completely
relations green? It’s hypocritical. In green. … a classic of
“Greenwash.” The Company simply chose to “literally”
take a green shower.
of the parliament against subordination to ultra orthodox passengers:
A new arrangement for separating between men and women on buses

generated anger among a member of parliament, Yosef (Tommy)
Lapid, who called to stop the new arrangement. He attacked the bus
color campaign, saying: “[The Company] is Black, not Green.”
The color was also used to spike accusations about legal violations by
The Company management. A news bulletin about suspected embez-
zlement opened with the headline: “Not everything is green in [The
Company]” and then continued:
A senior member of [The Company] was involved in supposed illegal

activities, but corporate management decided to whitewash the issue
and not to pass it on to the police.
How the artifact is related to all the issues that it brought up is a key
question in which our analysis of the multiple dimensions of the arti-
fact is useful. Drawing on our model, one or more of the properties of
the artifact can be seen as being called up in each issue as a stepping
stone to making an argument about the organization. Most illustrative
of this process is the use of the symbolic associations evoked by the
artifact. In this case, the associations to the color serve as a connection,
disputes are asserted with these associations, and the disputes regard
not only the artifact but also the organization. For example, the envi-
ronmental association of the green color is used to make the point that
the organization itself is not environmentally friendly. Similarly, the
aesthetic properties of the color are used to make the point that
The Company and the service it provides are less than pleasant.
Summary
We have described the organizational implications of a selection of a
color for a transportation vehicle. Buses were painted green and we
wrote a chapter about it. A somewhat trivial issue, you might say. Yet
our analyses reveal that the color drew in multiple constituents as well
as multiple issues. The picture our analysis paints is of the artifact draw-
ing together what otherwise appear like disparate and totally unrelated
notions. How are the Green Mothers for Eco Environmentalism related
to the Europcar car rental company? And how come both groups appear
together with discussions of corporate embezzlement, customer service,
and unique color preferences of sports fans and national minorities?
The answer is that the artifact – the color green – somehow pulled
all these groups and issues together, somehow connecting them to
The Company. The Company could simply ignore all these unexpected
implications of the choice of artifact. But we suggest that such an omis-
sion would be ignoring the real though abstract and amorphous nature
of the corporate boundaries. The unexpected connections drawn by the
artifact may have been expected if the multiple aspects of the artifact
had been considered by the organization. In any case, these connec-
tions are integral to both the organizational image (recall the multiple
law suits and multiple claims of faulty service) and to its effective oper-
ation (recall claims that the buses are unsafe, cannot be seen by other
drivers and by passengers, and are too hot in the summer). In other
words, integral to what the organization is all about.
Our analysis shows the importance of understanding boundaries of
organizations from both the “inside out” and the “outside in.” Our view
may be unusual in that it suggests that various stakeholders including
outsiders to the organization take an active role in both the drawing,
and interpretation of boundaries of an organization. Management is
not free to decide upon these boundaries, and may not be in full con-
trol of emergent boundaries. There may be a managerial desire and
attempt to define certain boundaries, but the actual definition is a prod-
uct of some dynamic interplay between the organization, its artifacts, its
constituents, and the issues that they may raise.
There are important implications to this view regarding the overall
theme of this book. Boundaries initially “drawn” by management (in our
case in the form of artifacts) can be found to be contestable through unan-
ticipated consequences. This makes salient the importance of flexibility
on the part of management when drawing boundaries. Such drawing
must assess effects of alternative drawings on both internal and external
constituents, and must grapple with various issues that surface. Initially
intended issues and constituents are only one part of the complete pat-
tern that an organization and its management must consider. Issues
reflected by and stakeholders reacting to managerial actions must also be
incorporated in management conception of organizational boundaries.
We do not wish to take a stand here as to whether the organization
should retain the artifact or change it. Rather, our analysis seeks to posi-
tion physical artifacts as valuable tools for understanding the issues and
constituents pertinent to an organization. We have shown the conver-
sations and analyses of the artifact to reveal multiple and abstract issues,
similar to the role that dress was shown to play for individual level con-
versations about individual role identity (Pratt and Rafaeli 1997). We
suggest that a focus and analysis of conversations about artifacts are
vehicles for managers and scholars to identify potential stakeholders
and to recognize the implicit boundaries of the organization. These
stakeholders and the issues they raise coalesce into the emergent but
amorphous boundaries of the organization with which we opened
this chapter.
Acknowledgment
This research was partially funded by a grant of the German Israel Fund
(#485) and by a grant for the promotion of faculty research at the
Technion, Israel’s Institute of Technology. A previous version of this
chapter was presented at the Annual Meeting of the European Group of
Organizational Studies (EGOS), Lyon, France, July 2001.
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11
Formidable Fences: Organizational
Cooperation and Boundary Bullies in
Zimbabwe
Harry Wels
Introduction1
In the white-dominated wildlife-utilization industry in southern Africa,
farms sometimes pooled their land together to create large areas for
wildlife conservation and wildlife tourism. These were called “private
wildlife conservancies,” or just “conservancies” and developed mainly
in South Africa, Namibia, and Zimbabwe. Electrified fences enclosed
many of these conservancies. Officially, these fences were constructed
for the purposes of keeping foot and mouth disease away from domes-
ticated cattle, and to prevent wildlife (especially elephants) from creat-
ing havoc in the local communities and agricultural fields surrounding
the conservancies. The communities usually perceived fences as an out-
right denial of their access to wildlife, that is, the fences kept people and
cattle out of wildlife areas (Duffy 2000, 98–9). The boundary between
conservancy organizations and the communities is a formidable fence.
This chapter, although it describes a world far away from most
organizations, illustrates how a boundary becomes both symbolic and
physical at the same time. It also shows that physical and symbolic
characteristics of boundaries vary over time. Finally, it illustrates how
boundary setting may lead to unanticipated consequences. In this case
a fence was erected, which is a perfect illustration of a physical bound-
ary. In organizations, boundaries are not as easily detected as are fences
dividing land. Instead, they are blurred and often implicit. Scott (1998,
183) notes that what and where boundaries are in organizations is a
difficult thing. Nevertheless, boundaries do exist, and they are very real
to people inside the organization, although they may be difficult to
211
212 Harry Wels
locate for the analyst. Therefore, I suggest that the study of what hap-
pens around the fence in this anthropological study provides insights to
boundary management in organizations.
The relationship between local communities and wildlife areas in
southern Africa has always been problematic. The reason for this is that,
with the creation of many public wildlife areas by white minority gov-
ernments at the beginning of the twentieth century, for example, Kruger
National Park in South Africa (Carruthers 1995) or Matopos National
Park in Zimbabwe (Ranger 1999), communities were violently forced off
their land (Anderson and Grove 1987). The fence, sealing off national
parks from surrounding areas, was considered by many communities as
a hated symbol of this form of white land appropriation. The same holds
true for conservancies started in the latter part of the twentieth century,
or private wildlife areas, which are usually owned by whites. The com-
munities see the boundary fence as a white “signature” on the land
(Hofmeyr 1994); on land that they consider to be their land; land that
was forcibly taken from them with the advancement of white settlement
in southern Africa. The violence that surrounds these boundaries must
be interpreted in the socio-political context of the Land Question in
Zimbabwe (Hill 1994). The violence of the communities toward the
boundary separating them from the conservancy and “their” land usu-
ally takes the form of vandalizing the fences marking this boundary and
using its wire for setting snares, that is, poaching, in the conservancy.
In this chapter, I present a case study on organizational cooperation
and boundary management between a conservancy, the Savé Valley
Conservancy (SVC), and its neighboring communities, organized as the
Savé Valley Conservancy Trust (SVCT) in Zimbabwe (as detailed in Wels
2000). The case focuses on the deep-rooted intensity and violence gen-
erated by a boundary fence. The fence separates commercial from com-
munal land, and at the same time, the two joint venture partners, SVC
and SVCT. Managing the fence therefore becomes both literally and
metaphorically, the management of the boundary between partners in a
joint venture. The SVC thought that a joint venture would enable them,
amongst other things, to pass on some economic benefits from their
wildlife enterprise to the surrounding communities. The assumption
and expectation of the SVC was that the communities, grateful for this
initiative or “gift” of the SVC, would return the gift with a reciprocal
gesture (see Mauss 1966; Berking 1999; Godbout 1998; Godelier 1999;
Sahlins 1972; Schrift 1996). It was expected that the communities
would reciprocate by not vandalizing the fence and by reducing the
incidence of poaching in the conservancy. In other words, they
Organizational Cooperation and Boundary Bullies 213
expected that their gift would generate a trustworthy relationship

between the partners (Misztal 1996, 16).
The description of this specific joint venture between the SVC and its
neighboring communities concentrates on the role of the fence and
its management as a physical and symbolic organizational boundary
between the two partners. In this rather unique case, the state of the
fence can be perceived as the materialization of the reciprocal relations
and level of (mis)trust between two antagonistic partners on either side
of the fence. The case study shows that reciprocal relations between
partners can be narrated and analyzed by focusing on the physical
demarcation of organizational boundaries. In more general terms, the
study of physical demarcations and their violation (Donnan and Wilson
1999) reveals the processes of symbolic boundary maintenance (Barth
1969; Cohen 1982, 1985), boundary violations, and boundary crossing
or trespassing.
A joint venture between the SVC and

its neighboring communities: Managing boundaries
In 1996, the following report appeared in the Zimbabwean press:
Reports of white-on-black racism abound in the region where sugar

production, game ranching and hospitality industry prop up all
economic activity. Industrial powerhouses Triangle, Hippo Valley
and Mkwasine Sugar Estates have since the great drought of 1991–92
been joined by a host of white-led private animal sanctuaries – called
conservancies – in creating employment. At most farms racism had
become institutionalised (…). Unimpressed by the ethnic composi-
tion of the conservancies, Vice-President Cde. Simon Muzenda,
recently told the white ranchers to include more blacks into their
schemes. (Sunday Mail 1996)
If it were to achieve this, the SVC had two options. The first of these
would be to attract black landowners to the Lowveld. The different
properties within the area of the SVC that were sold in the 1990s had to
be offered to the Government first. This would have given the opportu-
nity to introduce black land ownership into the SVC. But this did not
happen and the Government signed a document declaring no interest
in the land, after which the SVC was free to attract other buyers. All new
buyers turned out to be white. Apart from one property, there was no
black ownership in the SVC at the time this research was conducted.
214 Harry Wels
The second option available to the SVC was to create an organizational

structure in which it could cooperate with its black neighbors. This was
achieved by creating the SVCT. The SVCT was presented to the five
neighboring Rural District Councils (RDCs) at a workshop in Chiredzi
in March 1996 (Metcalfe 1996a). On that occasion the SVCT was
“window-dressed” as a gift of the SVC to the communities. It was pre-
sented as a golden opportunity for the neighboring communities to take
the plunge and participate in the (white-dominated) tourism sector in
Zimbabwe. It was implicitly expected that the communities would, as
a sort of reflex, use the SVCT to relate and communicate with the SVC,
and use it as a platform for their concerns and protests.
After the workshop in March 1996 at which the creation of the Trust
was explained and rationalized, the RDCs requested a follow-up work-
shop, which was held in April 1996. At this workshop, an initial draft of
a “project identification plan” for the RDCs surrounding the SVC was
tabled. This draft plan, developed by a consultant, formulated the ways
in which the communities could benefit from the proposed Trust
(Metcalfe 1996b). The draft plan outlined a range of benefits, including
direct and indirect employment opportunities, meat supply, fuel supply,
technology transfer, developing managerial capacity, and so on. But this
April document also pinpointed constraints placed on the social envi-
ronment by the project: “Local communities have recently witnessed
the erection of a substantial wildlife fence around the conservancy.”
The fence was necessary because of veterinary regulations related to
foot and mouth disease, and the contingent isolation of buffalo from
cattle considered essential by the Conservancy (essential to communal
agriculture). However, “(t)he fence symbolizes a separation between com-
mercial and communal, black and white ethnic groups, and between live-
stock and wildlife as a land use. There is minimal social interdependence
between the conservancy members and the local communities” (Metcalfe
1996b, 14). In line with this observation, Metcalfe concluded that “(i)t
is the complete contrast between these two communities, the conservancy
community and the neighbouring communities, that threatens the stability
of the Conservancy’s plan [that is, to establish a form of organizational
co-operation through the Trust]. The contrast in ethnicity and wealth is
obvious. This combustible reality is what puts an imperative on the cre-
ation of an interdependency between these two primary stakeholders”
(Metcalfe 1996b, 4). A second follow-up workshop was conducted in
May 1996, which reported on the responses in the field, that is, of the
communities surrounding the SVC, to the establishment of the Trust.
As the appropriate authorities on the communal lands and as the
democratically elected representatives of the communities, RDCs specif-

ically requested this report (Metcalfe 1996c). Nearly all respondents to
this fact-finding mission raised a number of issues: the location of the
fence and the related issue that the “project cannot be seen as separate
from the ‘land issue’ but as a progressive response to it” (Metcalfe 1996c,
3, italics added). In other words, the fence issue was tightly interwoven
with the Land Question. This did not mean that respondents “dismissed
the SVC proposal out of hand” but that “the process … by which the
SVC proposal was formulated was flawed [and] the conservancy fence
lacked diplomacy …” (Metcalfe 1996c, 2–3). The striking features of this
document are its straightforward formulations, both by the local
authorities and communities, and by the consultant who wrote the
report. The RDCs were well aware that what the SVC proposed was in
fact based “on a trade off between economic and political strengths,
each party having more of one than the other.” The commercial farm-
ers had economic power, while the communities had political power.
The RDCs thought that they were being bought with economic
incentives by the SVC, and they were not sure that the price the SVC
was prepared to pay was high enough. The way the SVC handled the
presentation of the Trust did not indicate that it rated the communities
and local authorities highly. It did not deem it necessary to commu-
nicate with the communities beforehand in order to negotiate a price
for their goodwill. Instead it gave them a “take-it-or-leave-it” offer,
wrapped up in economic development language. Furthermore, the SVC
did not give the RDCs time to consider their position, and for that rea-
son there was no “courtship ritual” between the partners “to explore
each other’s attitudes and motives” on the other side of the fence
(Metcalfe 1996c).
At the community level the major issue was the fence and the
relationship with their “farmer next door.” The communities did not
relate to the SVC as one organization, but instead tended to deal with
the farmer whose boundary they happened to share. “No amount of
trust-supported development will cover up for bad relations on the
ground” (Metcalfe 1996c, 6). Only interaction on the ground would
build a relationship of trust. This apparently happened with the
Gunundwe property, whose management gave five bulls to the neigh-
boring communities as “an offer of friendship,” not a “once off” gift,
but “hopefully the start of a ‘give and take’ relationship. In return,
the ranch hope(d) to be able to work out ways and means to protect
the ranch from poaching and general hostility” (Metcalfe 1996c, 9,
Appendix I).
216 Harry Wels
This is how the SVC conceived the reciprocal relationship: it offered

the gift of the Trust and the return gift from the communities was a pri-
ori defined as respect for boundaries (i.e. the fences) and no poaching.
The communities obviously did not want to reject the gift straightaway,
but they had a natural suspicion of accepting it because they were not
sure they wanted to pay the expected return gift. Already, the commu-
nities were paying for the SVC by their inability to access SVC land, as
the fence cut them off from their natural resources. Communities
expressed the concern that if they accepted the gift of the Trust to be
like “manna from heaven” they would also have to accept the fence,
which would cede any possibility of claiming the land for resettlement
or other purposes (Metcalfe 1996c, 3, Appendix I). Instead of “manna
from heaven,” the fence was generally seen as a “hard edge,” standing
between the parties. The communities were not particularly willing to
accept the gift and its implications of a return gift straightaway, if at all.
There was no mutual trust to carry the reciprocal relation. The mani-
festation of this mistrust was the “general outcry” over the fence line.
This lack of trust between commercial (white) and communal (black)
farmers can be understood in the historical context of the Land
Question in Zimbabwe.
The Land Question is basically about the land distribution between
black and white in the country; a distribution which has its roots in
the history of white advancement at the end of the nineteenth century.
White settlers took the best land for themselves and removed the
African population to more marginal lands. This was achieved legiti-
mately (and in some cases, forcefully) through the formulation of
accommodating Acts of the State (for detailed historic overviews of the
Land Question in Zimbabwe, see Mutambara 1981; Von Blanckenburg
1994; Moyo 1995). The land issue became one of the reasons for legit-
imizing the Liberation Struggle in the 1970s (Ranger 1985; Kriger 1992).
After Southern Rhodesia became the independent state of Zimbabwe
in 1980, not enough seemed to happen to balance the score. In 1997,
the war veterans claimed material compensation for their role in the
Liberation Struggle, and forcefully reintroduced the land issue in
national politics in Zimbabwe. They received money from the State
and the promise of part of the land, which had to be compulsorily
designated in the following years (Wels 2000). It is from this point in
time that the issue again developed a nasty racial edge, absent since
Independence, on the route to a referendum in 2000 and even more so
in the lead up to the elections in March 2002.
The political escalation of the Land Question,

1997–2003: The socio-political context for
managing boundaries in Zimbabwe
In November 1997, the Zimbabwean Government took a giant step
toward the realization of (some of) its earlier rhetoric about land redis-
tribution. It published a list of 1471 farms in the Government Gazette
on 28 November 1997, to be compulsory designated. The Government
used five criteria to identify land for designation: if it was derelict,
under-utilized, multiple-owned, foreign-owned, or contiguous to com-
munal areas (The Farmer 1998). This step, initiated by President Mugabe,
was hailed by some and abhorred by others. At a ZANU-PF (Zimbabwe
African National Union – Patriotic Front) ceremony to celebrate
National Unity Day in Harare Province in November of that same year,
the speech, which was published in The Herald, said:
On Land Acquisition: We hail the Patriotic stance taken by His

Excellency the President and his People’s Government on the land
designation and acquisition program. We must never listen to the
shrieks and cries of settler white farmers and their lame excuses for
hanging on to the best land whilst our heroic people are packed like
live termites in the tribal trust lands-poverty zones (…) Instead of
extending a reciprocal hand of reconciliation, our white farmers are
trying to amputate the extended hand by (…) trying to turn the
whole land issue into a black and white confrontation. We urge
the Government never ever, to spare the so-called conservancies
which are just white enclaves in this exercise which must be
ongoing. (The Herald 1997)
This directly linked the political exercise to the private wildlife conser-
vancies in Zimbabwe.
From 1999 onwards, the developments around the Land Question
radicalized even more, especially after February 2000 when President
Robert Mugabe lost a referendum for the first time in his career as
President of Zimbabwe. With elections imminent, Mugabe interpreted
this loss as a bad omen. In March, April, and May of that same year
there was an enormous increase in the political rhetoric and outright
violence related to the land issue, initiated and executed mainly by the
so-called war veterans. The war veterans were especially eager to form
a coalition with Mugabe’s attempts to hold on to his position through
218 Harry Wels
playing the Land Question card. In 1997, after violent demonstrations

in which the war veterans demanded financial compensation and
national appreciation for their contributions to the Liberation Struggle,
Mugabe promised “them … Z$50,000 each in gratuities and Z$2000
a month each in pension.” Over and above this, “they were promised
20 per cent of the acquired farms” (African Business 1998, 38). Under the
leadership of the late Chenjerai Hitler Hunzvi, white farmers and black
farm laborers were physically intimidated and in some cases murdered
under the banner of the Land Question. In fact, it could be argued that
this occurred because of their support of the opposition to ZANU-PF, the
Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), led by Morgan Tsvangirai.
From this case study, it is clear that the socio-political context was of
prime importance in the management of the boundaries between these
joint venture partners. Not surprisingly, the SVC was directly affected by
the deteriorating political context in the management of the joint ven-
ture with the neighboring communities. The problems concentrated on
the boundaries, that is, the fences, separating the SVC from its neigh-
boring communities. A climate of strong political intimidation by the
ruling ZANU-PF party was built up all over the country. Poaching and
snaring by so-called warvets was one of the main instruments of intim-
idation on commercial farms, and wildlife farms in particular. In almost
every electronically distributed report of the CFU wire theft and poach-
ing are mentioned. In the report of 2 November 2001 for instance, it is
stated that “(w)ire theft is out of control and cattle are snared on a daily
basis.” After this political intimidation campaign by Robert Mugabe’s
ZANU-PF, leading up to the elections in March 2002 (which were, not
surprisingly, “won” by Mugabe), the SVC had been almost “taken over
by up to 6,000 war veterans. For them, struggling to earn an unfamiliar
living off the land, the animals are free dinners. The Zimbabwe coun-
tryside is full of wire: cattle fencing, telegraph wires, railway and min-
ing cables. Everywhere we went, snaring was rife” (Mills 2002, 66).
Boundaries between (white) commercial and (black) communal land,
which should have become secured, insured, and respected through the
gift of the joint venture to the communities by the SVC, were violently
put on the negotiation table again. The negotiations were primarily and
symbolically done through the fence. The fence was considered the sig-
nature of the white landowner, and this had to be erased. The increased
intensity of black protests against the boundaries on the land of the SVC
(drawn by the whites and signified through fences of barbed wire and
plain electrified wire) could be deduced from the state of the fence and
the increased poaching of animals that were to be kept inside the SVC
by the fence. The state of the fence became a physical and symbolic
expression of the reciprocal exchange between the SVC and neighbor-
ing communities; an indication or communication of the degree of
acceptance or rejection of the gift, or even a return gift; an indication of
the existing level of trust between the partners. This was what became
of the formidable fence in the face of boundary bullies.
Reciprocal exchanges through the fence: The Gudo example

The SVC is 3300 sq. km, the perimeter approximately 345 km long. Along
this fence, many incidents of reciprocal exchange occurred between
white landowners and black neighboring communities, that is, between
the SVC and SVCT. One of them was the Levanga–Gudo case. The infor-
mation in this section is based on personal observations of, interviews
with, and local documents obtained from the various stakeholders.
The events occurred on the northeastern boundary of the SVC where
Levanga borders with the land of the Gudo people. Levanga is one of the
most inaccessible properties of the SVC, but also very beautiful, endowed
with natural pans in which hippos and crocodiles reside. It also contains
most of the elephants in the SVC.
The case of the Gudo people basically concerned a protest to do with
the position of the fence on the land. The Gudo people claimed that
they used to bury their chiefs and perform rituals on certain koppies
on Levanga. Levanga contains particular natural pans at which the
Gudo people performed rain rituals and conducted fishing festivals at
prescribed times. The holding of these ceremonies is a characteristic of
the Gudo people, and part of their cultural heritage and identity. The
people were concerned about the landowner’s plans to cultivate a sugar
plantation on the burial grounds, spoiling the sacred significance of the
site to the Gudo people. On the basis of these arguments, the local ward
councilor wrote a letter about the issue to the District Attorney in
Chiredzi asking him to intervene, and to begin the process of designat-
ing portions of Levanga land for the Gudo people. In the same month,
he took the story to the Zimbabwe Broadcasting Corporation (ZBC),
which put the item on the radio news, emphasizing that a white farmer
was destroying a black cultural heritage. There were two major eco-
nomic developments on Levanga: the introduction of cash crops (citrus
and paprika) on 70 hectares of irrigated land, and a newly built safari
camp which was leased to Senuko (another property within the SVC) for
five years. It was precisely these two economic centers of the property
that were claimed by the Gudo people. The safari camp was built on the
220 Harry Wels
borders of the natural pans and the cash crops were located at the bur-
ial sites that the Gudo people were contesting. The manager of Levanga
tried four times to come to an agreement with the Gudo people about
using the natural pans for their rituals. But, according to the manager,
on each occasion they did not keep their part of the bargain. On the
first occasion that the Gudo people asked him if they could make use of
the pans for ritual purposes in 1989–90, he granted them unconditional
access to do so. They came in, and to his astonishment, caught all the
fish. The same thing happened the second and third time. On the
fourth occasion, a Member of Parliament was invited to participate in
talks designed to negotiate access to the property. The Liaison Officer of
the SVCT also joined the discussions. The Gudo people wanted to nego-
tiate access to the land for three weeks for the whole group, but the
manager refused. The final agreement was that eleven people would be
allowed to come for half a day and to catch eleven to fifteen fish. It was
agreed that they would police the activity themselves. Nothing about
the agreement was committed to paper. Despite the agreement, the
Gudo people came as a whole group and “slaughtered his pond.” In sev-
eral subsequent meetings, the parties tried to settle the conflict without
success. The end result was that the Gudo people claimed the land on
Levanga, that is, they directly challenged the fence as white signature
on the land.
In September 1998, the Gudo people began to organize youngsters
between the age of eight and fifteen to systematically and illegally cut
cane on Levanga at night. They were later seen selling the sugarcane on
the road to Mutare. Six of those youngsters were said to come from one
family, and their father had one house in Chipinge and one in the Gudo
community. Chief Gudo promised the Liaison Officer of the SVCT that
he would talk to the father and warn him that if it should happen again,
he would be expelled from the community. The trouble was that cane-
cutting was not the only problem to beset Levanga. It was alleged that
the Gudo people caused two veldfires and continued to cut the fences
in the cattle section to make snares out of them. Pigs found their
way onto the property through the holes in the fence and proceeded to
forage in the cane fields, uprooting the sugarcane. This continued to
happen despite the fact that meetings took place in which attempts
were made to resolve the matter.
The manager of Levanga said that he tried to make a serious effort to
build up some kind of relationship with the community by sending
the chief meat and supplying the community with building poles,
thatching grass, and firewood. He also arranged transport to take it to
their villages. The minutes of these arrangements state that, despite his
donations and gifts, the Gudo people “repay him” by poaching, cutting
and stealing cane, as well as fencing wire. This was made even worse
because there was “a lack of co-operation to deal with the lawlessness in
the area.” The overwhelming importance of the land as an inalienable
possession taken from them long ago triggered a spiral of negative reci-
procities and mistrust, despite attempts to launch a positive exchange
by supplying gifts and other necessities to the Gudo people.
In October 1998, game scouts followed a group of poachers from the
Gudo people, but all escaped except one. The game scouts on Levanga
were holding the captured poacher overnight so that they could take him
to the police the next day. But, when evening fell, a group of Gudo peo-
ple came to where he was being held bearing bows, arrows, and sticks.
They intimidated the game scouts to release their fellow poacher, and the
game scouts, although armed with rifles, were forced to let him go.
Since the above events took place, land invasions have become more
frequent and far more violent. In personal correspondence after my
fieldwork in 1998, I was told that in July 2000, Levanga had become
“a ‘no-go’ zone [just like during the Liberation Struggle], and the only
people who went there were big hunting groups who alternatively spend
a week at a time snaring and preparing harvested meat for transport by
smoking it.” A report in the media in September 2000 stated that “(t)he
land invaders have launched their assault on the wildlife, indiscriminately
trapping and killing whatever comes to hand (…) and the killing goes on”
(Endangered Wildlife no date, 13). In another conservation oriented maga-
zine it was reported that “(b)etween June and November 2000 on only
one of the (…) [21] management units in the conservancy, 2291 wire
snares were collected. During that same period, 366 animals were found
in snares and 117 poachers were apprehended. (…) The conservancy has
also lost 95 kilometres of six-strand electrified fencing and approximately
160 kilometres of barbed wire fencing to theft” (Michler 2001, 33).
The point is clear. The boundaries of the SVC, and the fences as sig-
nature on the land, were under heavy pressure and started to collapse.
The SVC and the SVCT, officially partners in a joint venture, actually
stood as parties on either side of the battered fence, battling over
boundaries, fighting over fences.
Some tentative conclusions

The joint venture between the SVC and the SVCT contains two partners
literally on either side of the fence. The white SVC members owned the
222 Harry Wels
commercial land on one side of the fence, and the black farmers lived on
communal land on the other. Their antagonistic positions can only be
understood as the outcome of a historical socio-political context in which
black and white fought heavily over the land distribution in Zimbabwe.
The Liberation Struggle was fought in the name of the Land Question.
The struggle over the land continued after the Liberation Struggle, which
officially ended with Independence in 1980. Vandalizing the fences that
marked the boundaries of white commercial land, and using its wire for
poaching, became the medium through which communities communi-
cated their protests regarding the Land Question.
In the early days of nature conservation, management reciprocated
by setting up heavy anti-poaching campaigns through the fences, and
even gave “shoot-to-kill” orders to game guards, in order to safeguard
the boundaries. In the second half of the 1980s, this reciprocation was
no longer politically sustainable. In its place building mutual trust
through community conservation processes and alliances became the
“in-vogue” mechanism to insure, ensure, and manage the boundaries of
National Parks and private wildlife areas (Hulme and Murphree 2001).
The idea was to offer neighboring communities a pecuniary piece of the
wildlife and tourism market. Out of gratitude for the gift of participa-
tion and consequent financial benefits, the communities were expected
to respect the boundaries and the wildlife contained by the fences. The
joint venture between the SVC and the SVCT was one such attempt to
establish this management practice.
The joint venture was the gift of the SVC to the communities. As
a return gift, the communities were expected to respect SVC boundaries
and its fences. This did not eventuate. The socio-political context,
through the rhetoric of the State in Zimbabwe, legitimized the bullying
of the boundaries of commercial land in order to rectify historical injus-
tices. The hope that a partnership, through a joint venture between SVC
and SVCT, would spark a process of balanced reciprocity and mutual
trust has become a vain hope. Negative reciprocity became the norm.
Vandalizing the fence marking the boundary, and using its wire for
poaching, became a primary medium of protest by the communities.
In their battle to try to counter what they perceived to be an absence of
the rule of law in the country, the unequivocal reciprocal reply of the
landowners was to repair and uphold the fence while desperately seek-
ing (international) allies, such as conservation oriented NGOs or multi-
lateral institutions such as the World Wide Fund for Nature ( WWF) and
the International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural
Resources (IUCN). Depending on one’s perspective, the management of
boundaries in this joint venture became the physical maintenance or

destruction of the fence. The fence was both a physical entity represent-
ing the boundary of land ownership and a social, symbolic, and imagi-
native construction of the boundary between joint venture partners.
In the debate on boundaries in the social sciences, many of the bound-
aries discussed are conceptualized as symbolic boundaries between dif-
ferent groups such as ethnic or cultural groups (see Anderson 1983; Barth
1969; Cohen 1985). In an age where virtuality has become a buzzword,
and the Internet seems to provide new paradigms for the way the world
turns, imaginative and symbolic boundaries (and networks) attract a lot
of academic and intellectual attention. But there is a danger that such
discussion of boundaries results in conceptualizations that are some-
times as symbolic and imaginative as the boundaries being described.
The boundaries in the case described here are as much physical as they
are symbolic. Boundary disputes, like the ones in this chapter, put us
squarely in a tangible and physical empirical reality. It is these bound-
aries that remind us of the importance of physical space in understand-
ing the boundaries between groups and competing interests.
This case study highlights the importance of the relationship between
partners in a strategic alliance. Effective management of this relationship
is a critical success factor for any alliance, and this process is clearly
focused on the management of boundaries. Issues of trust and reciproc-
ity imply the need to negotiate and maintain clear expectations between
partners in the relationship. In some cases, the “boundary” that defines
or separates partners becomes a contested domain in itself, and a poten-
tial source of conflict. Finally, the socio-economic and political context
in which strategic alliances are formed will generate environmental
demands that challenge the boundary between partners. Once again,
these dynamics require careful negotiation, clarification, and manage-
ment “at the boundary.”
Note
1 This chapter is primarily based on fieldwork done in 1998. Although the
chapter touches upon the political turmoil leading to the elections in
Zimbabwe in March 2002 and its aftermath, it is not a primary focus.
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12
Merging Identities, Reinventing
Boundaries: The Survival Strategy of
Catholic Development Aid in
the Netherlands
Frans Kamsteeg
Introduction
This chapter presents a detailed study of a merging process of three
Dutch Catholic organizations providing development aid. It is a story
of how the deconstruction of boundaries between organizations pro-
vokes the reinvention of boundaries between different groups of people
within the new organization. This story is put in the context of a society
in which ideological boundaries between population groups gradually
become less visible, but nevertheless continue to be a pervasive organiz-
ing principle. I therefore put Cordaid – the name of the new merger
organization – in the context of the peculiarities of this Dutch “pillar-
ization” model of civil society. Private development aid was shaped by
various ideologies that also shaped any other sector outside the market
and government sector. Ideology, most often religious ideology, was the
dominant source of corporate identity. The discussion in this chapter
presents the Cordaid merger as a management effort to keep up with
the triumph of the market ideology, popular in the last quarter of the
twentieth century, while simultaneously keeping up with the tradition
of pillarization.
This case of what may be called organizational boundary management
is contrasted with the sometimes heated boundary struggles within the
merger organization. For the interpretation of these internal processes
I make use of social identity theory and particularly the work of the
anthropologists Frederick Barth (1969, 2000) and Anthony Cohen (1985,
2000) on ethnicity. I try to elucidate my analysis by presenting several
226
Merging Identities, Reinventing Boundaries 227
incidents to which I give a symbolic interpretation. Dealing with bound-

ary politics at three distinctive levels (context/society, organization, and
group), I try to provide an integral view on what at first hand could eas-
ily be downplayed as just another case of failed management. I end with
a discussion on what the analysis could contribute to the management
of boundaries in organizations.
Merging stories
On 5 January 2000 the personnel of the Dutch Catholic development
organization Cordaid (Catholic Organization for Relief and Development
Aid) were welcomed at the New Year’s reception to celebrate the opening
of a new office. It was the moment that the merger between three
Catholic merging partners became tangible for all organization members.
For many of those gathered, the party became an opportunity to
exchange best wishes with people they had met for the first time. Staff
were recognizable through the badges indicating their organizational
background. Many had also brought their family members to show them
their new workplace, but often it proved difficult to find their offices.
The context in which the merger had taken place was made clear two
weeks later when, on 18 January, Cordaid was presented to the outside
world, including to most of its fellow development organizations, in
speeches by its director, the Minister of Development Co-operation,
and by a well-known Dutch cardinal. The Cordaid director mentioned
that 400 000 individual citizens added 60 million guilders each year to
the 180 million the organization contributed to the budget. He empha-
sized that this demonstrated the massive support private development
aid still enjoyed. He further pictured Cordaid as the perfect mix of dif-
ferent trademarks. Each “brand,” as the merging partners were called,
would continue to supply excellent service, while the joint effort would
produce added value to the target groups and eliminate overheads. The
speech sounded similar to the well-known synergy talk that CEOs in
business firms use to justify a planned merger. The Catholic cardinal
bestowed the Church’s blessing on the Cordaid merger. In passing he
underlined how the Dutch government, by cofinancing the organiza-
tion, fulfilled its public duty of promoting the subject of development
among the Dutch population. The Minister, known for her critical
approach to the development “establishment,” praised Cordaid for the
exemplary function it fulfilled for the divided Dutch private develop-
ment sector. In her opinion, too many organizations were operating in
the sector. At the same time, she demanded that private development
228 Frans Kamsteeg
organizations prove their specific contribution and responsibility. This,

she assured, would be the only guarantee for future financial support.
After this ritual, members of the new organization went back to work,
and the process of unification could start. Several major and minor inci-
dents took place during the first two years.1 I present one that is illus-
trative of the point I want to make in this chapter. In September 2001,
the Dutch Children’s News presented the story of a couple who founded
a children’s hotel in Cuzco, Peru. In passing, Cordaid–Memisa was men-
tioned as one of the sponsors of this wonderful initiative. The item was
full of colorful images of the Peruvian Inca past, which bitterly con-
trasted with the sad conditions hundreds of street kids in Cuzco had to
endure. In the hotel a selected group of these children received a decent
meal and a shelter for the night, on the condition they behave accord-
ing to the house rules. Tourist guests in the same hotel could witness
how daily life conditions of Peruvian boys and girls – whom they nor-
mally only met begging in the streets – could be improved by simple
means. The Dutch couple argued that this was an exemplary case of
successful development.
This case was heatedly debated at the home office of Cordaid. Memisa
had become part of Cordaid during the merger a year before. The officer
responsible for Peru, newly appointed after the merger, inherited the
children’s project and decided to stop it as soon as possible. The project
did not fit into the development criteria adopted as policy by the Latin
America department, which was mainly inhabited by members of the
biggest merging partner, Bilance. It was considered that, at best, the proj-
ect would bring some temporary relief to a select group of children who
would disappear if the couple decided to close the hotel. According to
the responsible officer, this was an old-fashioned charity and definitely
did not fit criteria for sustainable development. However, while she was
busy preparing to cut the project, the Communication Department
reportedly approved of the television broadcast, which it viewed as an
excellent example of the new organization’s development policy. To the
Peru officer, the boundary of good development policy was transgressed,
whereas the Communication Department thought the charity approach
of the older Catholic merging partners such as Memisa could now be
applied as a pan-organizational strategy. Finally, the broadcast took place
(but a second showing was cancelled). The project was also presented in
the Memisa propaganda leaflets. At the same time, the project was
stopped after a symbolic withdrawal of subsidy for the project. The head
of the Latin America Department, however, was brought to account for
the behavior of his officer. It was made clear by the management that
this matter had not served the interests of the Cordaid merger.
This incident reveals how difficult it is to abolish (symbolic) bound-

aries in a merging process between organizations that maintain distin-
guished corporate identities, embodied by their personnel in a set of
work practices. Yet, erasing boundaries between like-minded organiza-
tions in order to create more effectiveness and efficiency seems only
logical, particularly when organizations share the same philosophical
(religious) persuasion. However, economic arguments for merging do not
suffice in describing the Cordaid case. The merger has to be placed within
the Dutch context, where sharing a similar religious orientation has
served for many years as a powerful driving principle behind most civil
society initiatives and organizations. For people who have to start coop-
erating on a daily basis and change accepted development practices, the
economic arguments of managers are not the most relevant. The case
shows the effects of strategic merger politics on people who – to varying
degrees – continue to think along vested ideological lines. This leads, as
we will see, to a complex intra-organizational integration and differenti-
ation process (see Martin 1992). It is an example of how, in a historical
period in which societies and their organizations are presumably becom-
ing ever more boundaryless, traditional boundaries continue to shape the
behavior of organization members, and managers, as well as shop-floor
people.
Dutch private development aid and pillarization

The management of Cordaid has always presented the merger as a
matter of sound economic logic. Though Cordaid is clearly not a business
corporation, its directors argue in the same way that business managers
usually do during a merging process. A cost–benefit analysis of the
Cordaid merger cannot be made yet, but a certain economic gain in
terms of efficiency is indeed to be expected. The main argument for the
merger, however, was a political one. To develop an understanding of the
motives and interests at stake, and to comprehend the underlying strate-
gic (political) aspects of the merger, I briefly outline the peculiar way that
Dutch civil society has been, and, to a large extent, still is organized. The
opening speech by the Director of Cordaid hinted at the political drive
behind the merger. The position of Catholic private development aid
was defended by making an effort to reinforce its social roots. This is very
understandable if we consider that the Netherlands since the late nine-
teenth century constituted a neatly compartmentalized society. Lijphart
(1968, 11) characterizes Dutch society as a peculiar kind of plural society
“divided into clearly identifiable and measurable segments which have
230 Frans Kamsteeg
their own separate social and political organizations.” These segments

have a vertical character (unlike classes), hence they are often called
“pillars” and the segmentation process became known as “pillarization.”
These pillars consist of institutions, organizations, and their members,
delimited from each other in different sectors of society along the same
ideological lines. In the Netherlands the main pillars are the respective
confessional pillars, a traditional liberal pillar, and a socialist/social-
democratic pillar.
For the case presented here, it is relevant to emphasize that the
confessional pillar is traditionally divided into Protestant and Catholic
“sub-pillars.” This social, political, and cultural compartmentalization
produced a wide variety of organizations, such as political parties, sport
clubs, schools, hospitals, unions, newspapers, as well as organizations
for development aid, each linked to one of the pillars. People used to
strongly identify with the organizations from their own particular pillar,
but from 1960s onwards these traditional religious and socio-political
barriers have slowly become less noticeable. Formerly high fences pro-
tected people in the respective pillars from “contamination” by contact
with others. But the erosion of traditional structures and ideologies in
late modern society has supposedly broken down most of these bound-
aries. Yet, Dutch society still abounds with civil society organizations rep-
resenting a broad variety of ideological positions (see Hope et al. 2000).
Development aid in the Netherlands only became well organized after
World War II, that is, in the latter days of pillarization. It almost imper-
ceptibly grew out of the missionary work of the Catholic and Protestant
churches in the (former) colonies. Church medical posts and mission
schools can be considered the first initiatives aimed at “developing”
people. Material and spiritual help were offered as one service package,
initially only to church members or possible adherents. Gradually the
circle of beneficiaries from relief funds was widened. In the 1960s, when
the number of Dutch nongovernmental aid organizations expanded, a
common religious drive and the corresponding purposes among donor
organizations and the recipients of development funds, was still the
fundamental basis of a reciprocal trust relationship (Kamsteeg 1999).
In a way it was viewed as an opportunity to meet Christian obligations
by providing support to Third World groups and organizations living in
socially and economically backward situations.
The Dutch government was prepared to confirm this situation by
accepting and financially supporting four private organizations for devel-
opment aid: a Catholic, Protestant, and later a Humanist and a Neutral
organization; thus the main philosophical (religious) persuasions in
Dutch society received an equal share. The official Co-financing Program

for Development (1968) is the material result of the government’s
recognition of the specific role of these private pillar organizations for
development. From 1968 onwards, these organizations received rapidly
increasing government financial support, which was to be spent in local
Third World grassroots organizations that were out of the reach of direct
government support. The Dutch government thus decided to use these
four organizations as additional vehicles of development. The four
organizations rapidly gained so much government trust that the gov-
ernment consciously economized on its level of (financial) control.
Developments in the Catholic segment of development aid are a fairly
exact copy of this general process. The oldest Dutch Catholic relief
organization is Caritas Netherlands.2 It was founded in 1914 to provide
emergency relief to Third World people through local mission posts.
Emergency aid remained the core business, but food aid and nutrition
programs nowadays take a substantial part of the budget. The vast
majority of its funds are privately raised. Memisa3 was founded in 1925
to provide medical care in backward regions. Voluntary doctors and
nurses are sent abroad, but the organization also invests in the education
of local medical personnel. Most of its activities depend on privately
raised donations gathered through permanent promotion and specific
actions within the Dutch Catholic community. A third organization rais-
ing funds among Dutch Catholics is the Bishops’ Lenten Campaign (1961),
which in 1995 merged with the third merging partner of Cordaid,
Bilance. This latter organization started as a separate task group of the
missionary department of the Dutch Catholic Church. When in 1979 it
became an independent foundation, the greater part of its income came
from the Dutch government through the cofinancing program. In terms
of budget, Bilance is now by far the biggest of the three.
Merging shaking pillars

During the greater part of the twentieth century, organizing civil society
along the pillar model corresponded with massive popular support.
Catholics sent their children to Catholic schools, registered their chil-
dren in Catholic sport clubs, and gave money to a Catholic organization,
for medical aid in the Third World, like Memisa. This is, however, no
longer common practice for ordinary Dutch citizens, whether Catholic,
Protestant, or atheist. The rapid secularization of Dutch society during
the last 30 years has negatively affected public support for the pillar
organizations, something that has not gone unnoticed by politicians
232 Frans Kamsteeg
and government institutions. The confessional cofinanced agencies, of

which Bilance is one, became vulnerable to this reduced support.
The changing social and religious conditions in Dutch society did
have their effects in private development organizations. In the post-
ideological era, particularly from the mid-1980s onwards, organizational
changes taking place on both the donor and the recipient side strongly
reduced the weight of ideological filters in cooperative relationships.
Gradually, these relationships became more pragmatic, and liable to
down-to-earth checks and balances. The political discussion in par-
liament following a critical report on effectiveness and efficiency of
development aid resulted in a demand for more efficiency and profes-
sionalism within the private development sector. In the years following
this so-called impact study (Stuurgroep 1991), control remained a promi-
nent issue on the Dutch political agenda toward development policy, so
that cofinancing organizations gave high priority to the improvement of
the complete process of project identification, monitoring, and control.
Consequently, their clients, the receiving nongovernment organiza-
tions (NGOs), were also urged to embrace professionalism, that is, to
show more efficiency, financial accountability, and measurable results
(Kamsteeg 1998, 1999).
The letter of intent to the Cordaid merger of December 1998 reflects
this general tendency to apply strict cost–benefit analyses. Business
language became acceptable to (the management of) organizations in
a non-business environment such as development aid. The arguments
for the merger express the usual terminology on the comparative advan-
tages of merging. They emphasize the need to create a joint political
lobby and a competitive organization on the “charity market,” improve
business economics, and offer an expanded range of services.
But why should such a business-like development corporation still
wear the Catholic epithet? The reasons are at least twofold. First, the
very tradition of pillarization still makes people (and their organizations)
first look for their own kind when the option of cooperation or merging
comes into view. Catholic organizations share a past, and hence they
possess elements of a shared organizational culture that they do not have
in common with Protestant organizations for development. Yet, for the
Cordaid management, creating an explicit Catholic profile was not
considered to be expedient anymore given the vast impact of the secu-
larization process. Hence, the merger document lacked any clear state-
ment on Cordaid’s Catholic identity. It did not go further than saying
that Cordaid is “inspired by the Gospel,” and added an argument related
to the Catholic identity of most of Cordaid’s Third World partner
organizations. Second, in what seemed the most salient feature, the ini-
tiative for the Cordaid merger came from Bilance. The management of
Bilance, the biggest of the three but lacking any public reputation or
support, was extremely eager to include two successful private fund-
raising organizations from the same Catholic pillar. This conclusion was
drawn from the same merger documents in which the organization’s
private character was exhaustively dealt with, in striking contrast to the
scarce hints at Catholic identity. If the opening speeches I started this
chapter with revealed anything, it was that the number of supporters
the organization could count on within Dutch society was viewed as
decisive for its success. Both Cordaid’s director and the Catholic cardi-
nal gave clear hints into this direction, but the Minister also stressed
that private organizations were to be less dependent on government
revenues. It was exactly this public support and private money that the
fund-raising organizations Memisa and Caritas could add to Bilance.
An analysis of the organization chart only confirmed this interpretation.
It showed that the merger did not do away with the old organizations,
but that they were placed in a new meaningful order (see Figure 12.1).
The Cordaid organization structure roughly contained three seg-
ments. One was dedicated to the internal organization. The biggest
segment consisted of the different regional project departments. This
division was similar to the former Bilance structure to which a depart-
ment for emergencies was added. So far, Cordaid quite resembled the
former Bilance organization. The merger however added a totally new
third segment, in which domestic fund-raising was the core activity.
Board of Directors Supervisory

General Director Board
Director Projects
Finance
Marketing Policy General &
& Project Projects
Policy & Personnel & Technical Secretariat
Compu- Policy Support
Support Strategy Services
terization
Corporate Central Middle Emergen-

Brand West & Latin East and East & Finance
Brand Brand Commu- America Southern cies &
Lenten Central America Central & Asia Credit
Memisa Caritas nications & Africa Eastern Rehabili-
Campaign Africa Program
Cordaid Caribbean Europe tation
Used
Clothing
Campaign
Figure 12.1 Organogram of Cordaid in January 2001.

234 Frans Kamsteeg
This was the section in which the so-called brands (Memisa, Caritas, and
Lenten Campaign) were subsumed. A new Corporate Communications
and Marketing department strengthened the section.
It is striking to note that all former organizations preserved a posi-
tion of their own in the organization chart except Bilance. Bilance
people strongly dominated the core regional departments, but there was
no longer any clear reference to the former organization. To the outside
world, the “brand” section was the new look of the organization. Inter-
nally, however, Bilance people continued to view Cordaid as the
continuation of the cofinancing agency they used to work for.
Boundary identity and community

The actors from the respective merging organizations gave mutually
different meanings to the merger process, whereas for the Cordaid
management the operation was not ambiguous at all. I will therefore
take a closer look at what took place among groups and individuals on
the work floor. The symbolic boundaries from the organization chart
still appear to have considerable force in daily practice.
Rivaling views on development

The merging process itself took about four years of intensive talks
and negotiations on material and strategic aspects. Fear of losing one’s
individual character was a ponderous argument in the negotiations,
particularly from the side of those representing the smaller participants
Memisa and Caritas. Although all of the merging partners had their
roots in the Catholic mission and their network was that of the Catholic
Church, the diversity of financial resources between the respective
organizations had resulted in gradually diverging views on development
and development strategies. Private fund-raising as applied by Memisa
and Caritas made an appeal to the conscience of the individual Catholic
believer for whom relief and charity were familiar words. Bilance on the
other hand had government money at its disposal, and hence its devel-
opment policies could not diverge too much from the official Dutch pol-
icy line. Thus, Bilance’s focus, unlike the practice of the Memisa, Caritas,
and the Lenten Campaign, has always been more on structural than on
individual forms of aid. On the eve of the Cordaid merging process, this
was still more or less common practice. Two organizations shared a work
expertise rooted in a Catholic culture of charity, while the third, though
still Catholic in name, had developed a working practice fairly common
to other (semi-)governmental organizations in which project manage-
ment was the most prominent mode of operation (Table 12.1).
Table 12.1 Merging partners and their characteristics
Context Ideological Power base

position
Bilance Government Contested Biggest

oriented development organization,
Politically discourses government
sensitive sponsored
Lenten Campaign Church organized Charity Church network
Caritas Church rooted Charity Stable network of
Market oriented Philanthropy private donors
Memisa Church rooted Charity Increasing public
Market oriented Philanthropy support, strong
marketing strategy
This characterization was confirmed by a private study by one of the

Bilance regional heads on the topic of merging and organizational cul-
ture. According to this internal research, members of the three organi-
zations that traditionally concentrated on fund-raising demonstrated a
far more developed entrepreneurial spirit than those in the cofinancing
agency Bilance. If the latter possessed any innovative capabilities it was
on the subject of management and control systems. After all, project
management and the accounting of government money have always
been its core business, whereas the others traditionally had to campaign
for their money. This same necessity to fight for the money and win the
favor of Dutch public opinion has made them more action oriented.
When people came to work together in the new office in The Hague
in January 2000 they all brought a mentality and work ethic tainted by
their respective traditions. The culture of the three organizations also dif-
fered as to the appreciation of bureaucratic rules of work control. Memisa
and Caritas people were, according to the same internal report, people
who did not act in the first place on the basis of a strong sense of policy
implementation. Hence, they feared that the majority, that is, Bilance
people, would impose internal working procedures and bureaucratic
control mechanisms that did away with the informal working climate
they so much appreciated. Former Bilance people in the regional projects
section, however, considered their work to be separate and independent
from, and indeed superior to, that which was to be done in the new
domestic department. Meanwhile all staff feared that their position was
under threat, given the prominent position of the others in the organi-
zation structure. Organization members classified themselves in two sep-
arate groups: those who worked at emergency and medical relief tasks
and those who focused on structural poverty alleviation. The mission
236 Frans Kamsteeg
statement in the Cordaid annual report confirmed this. The former

goals of the respective organizations have apparently been juxtaposed:
(1) provide emergency aid and aid to refugees; (2) provide aid to spe-
cial target groups such as the elderly, the handicapped and children;
(3) providing medical aid; and (4) all aspects relating to the structural
alleviation of poverty among marginalized groups, especially in devel-
oping countries and in Central and Eastern Europe (Cordaid 2001, 78).
Every organization member could easily pick and choose according to
his/her roots: (1) and (2) apply to the work of Caritas and the Lenten
Campaign, (3) clearly describes the Memisa work field, while (4) neatly
presents the development view of the former Bilance.
The activities distinguished in this mission statement, as well as the
organization structure itself, reproduced organizational boundaries of
the past. No effort was taken to elaborate a new and systematic body
of working principles and a solid stance on what Cordaid as a Catholic
private organization could actually be. No explicit policy document on
corporate identity and corresponding work practices has so far been
written. The management held the tacit assumption that such a view
should develop in practice. What happens in practice, however, is that
people tend to take offence at each others behavior. Consider the
following incident.
Boundary markers
In the new Cordaid building, it was still possible to locate the merger
partners. Although numbers of individual members from all organiza-
tions were integrated in newly constituted departments, people from
the same organizational background predominantly inhabited these
departments. The physical outlook of the departments also referred to
the divisions of the past. The corridors of the “Memisa” department, for
example, showed attributes and clothes from the past when doctors and
medical goods were sent to Africa. They represented the pride of a gen-
eration of medical development workers. When in 2001 the Minister
came to a working conference at Cordaid, the management (the com-
munication department) ordered staff to put them out of view before
she entered the building. Opinions on this incident were quite diverse.
Former Bilance people thought the contested decorations proved that
Memisa workers were still proud of their “wrong” view on development.
Others considered that the very display was a deliberate Memisa strategy
to defy Bilance people, and they were glad the management decided the
way it did. The Minister came, walked though the building, and when
she was gone, the medicine kit and the tropical helmet reappeared.
This seemingly unimportant incident demonstrated a barely hidden

continuation of internal rivalry. The incident could well be termed a
ritual marker in the sense described by Cohen (1985, 53). It is also
a variant of what this same author calls the symbolic construction of
community. By redecorating the office, a small act of strategic urgency
to make a good impression on the visiting Minister, a temporary com-
munity was suggested by not presenting any specific meaningful expres-
sions. The symbolic “cease-fire” thus underscored the thin line between
building a community and merging an organization.
Without much effort a further list of incidents could be provided that
could be viewed as ritual markers of identity/community. By observing
the different experiences of Cordaid people from the respective merging
organizations, it is noticeable that major controversies over the nature
of development lie hidden behind apparently minor practical behav-
ioral differences.
Another boundary marker is the cyclical process of project approval.
Project officers at the regional departments receive, process, evaluate,
and monitor long-lasting projects and project proposals submitted by
Third World NGOs. In this process, criteria are constantly checked and
cost–benefit analyses executed. This project cycle is the “sacred cow” of
Bilance people in the regional departments. They take great pains to
ensure that the projects they approve meet the department’s standards.
The regular meetings where projects are approved or not have always
been benchmark moments. Individual officers, as well as complete
departments, take the opportunity to prove their orthodoxy (and the
heterodoxy of others). The Latin America and Africa department regu-
larly fight bitter confrontations. The former hold that “those at Africa
accept projects we would not even consider worth discussing” and they
accuse them of being “like those Memisa doctors who really have not the
slightest idea what development is really about.” This stereotyping is
strengthened by the suspicion that the Africa department receives pref-
erential treatment by the management because the official politics of the
Ministry focuses on this poorest continent. Latin America officers, who
consider themselves the true holders of the Bilance tradition, fear a fur-
ther erosion of their position. On the other hand Africa officers, silently
supported by the Cordaid management, consider their Latin America
colleagues to be “development theorists who apparently have no feeling
for what normal Dutch people see as good work.”
This good work, material help, is particularly promoted by Memisa
and Caritas, which Bilance die-hards qualify as missionary – like charity
sold to innocent Dutch citizens by cheap marketing techniques.
238 Frans Kamsteeg
Meetings over project approval abound with this type of discussions and
they therefore increasingly gain the character of a “boundary ritual”
(Cohen 1985, 50). The expression of different sets of criteria ensures that
these become symbolic devices through which boundaries between
groups are affirmed and reinforced. Supposedly measurable quantitative
project outcomes constitute just another bone of contention for some
(Bilance, “they just send money or medicines”) and an object of pride for
others (the Memisa doctors).
The case of the Peruvian children’s hotel makes clear how this internal
rivalry interfered with the management’s merging strategy. The Memisa
project not only proved to be a good television item for children, it
even won an award by the Dutch Catholic Broadcasting Company KRO.
Cordaid’s director joyfully went to the event, at which he was con-
fronted with the decision by the forementioned project officer not
to continue sponsoring the prize-winning project. He was asked for an
explanation, that he could not provide at that moment. Back at the
office the responsible regional head was reprimanded in strong terms.
His policy to build – at least outwardly – a united merger organization
had painfully suffered some public damage. While he viewed Memisa
and the corporate communication department as the ideal vehicles to
attract positive attention for Cordaid in the media and among a broader
public, he had to conclude that other departments, inhabited by faith-
ful Bilance people, were less prepared to support this strategy. In this
particular case the project officer took the opportunity to brush up her
department’s criteria to set a limit for the new organizational policy she
(and her department) rejected.
Identities resisting the merger

All these incidents show that the Cordaid merger complicated work
relations among the personnel. The increase of day-to-day working
contacts between people with different backgrounds and work routines,
in combination with a changing political wind, resulted in the strength-
ening of social identities that before the merger were at best latent.
We have seen that all organizations within Cordaid emerged from the
Catholic mission, but pursued different directions. The Bilance people
knew that their relatives from the Catholic family Memisa and Caritas
operated in their own specific way, but as long as work contacts were
minimal because they represented different organizations, the strange
and outdated policies of the newcomers Memisa and Caritas (this is how
they viewed them) hardly disturbed their lives. The moment people
from different personal, organizational, and religious backgrounds had

to start cooperating and even living together under the same roof, shar-
ing the same family name, established patterns of intra- and intergroup
dynamics were disrupted. In such cases, social identity processes such
as categorization and identification (Tajfel and Turner 1985; Pratt 1998;
Jenkins 1996) receive extra ammunition. This means that categorical
differences become more pronounced, and labeling processes (us–them
stereotyping, and stigmatizing) become more noticeable. In such a situ-
ation, it is no longer just a question of self-definition (who are we?),
but external definition ( by others) starts counting more heavily. The
ever-present power element (“whose definition of a situation counts”)
in social identification as a mix of these internal and external defini-
tions of self (Jenkins 1996) becomes more manifest. The Cordaid merger
proved to be the moment for existing social identities to become more
salient.
One of the central ideas in both ethnicity theory (Barth 1969; Eriksen
1993) and social identity theory (Tajfel and Turner 1985) is that a dis-
ruption of the status quo usually strengthens conversation on and com-
petition over identity. The merger changed the status quo of all three
organizations, and identity became “something over which struggles
take place and with which stratagems are advanced” ( Jenkins 1996, 25).
It is at this point that the typical group-within-a-group dynamics, based
upon the concept of multiple identities, became relevant (Allen et al.
1983). Cordaid workers do have a common organization membership,
but it is clear from the examples given that they lack the kind of work-
ing consensus that enables them to really understand each other. As
Goffman (1971) argues, discussing and quarrelling over identity ques-
tions is hardly possible without such a working consensus. This might
explain why in this particular case there is indeed a growing emphasis
on group characteristics at the subgroup level (fragmentation), but com-
petition over a common organizational identity remains largely absent.
It would probably be even more correct to say that the Cordaid merger
lacks a clear-cut organizational identity in the sense described by Albert
and Whetten (1985). It is difficult to describe what members consider to
be central to the new organization, what it is that makes the organiza-
tion distinctive from other organizations and what, finally, is the endur-
ing feature linking the organization’s past with its future (Gioia 1998,
21). Yet it is only from its historical context that we can understand the
effort spent on building a new Catholic private organization for devel-
opment aid. It is from the pillarization or compartmentalization roots
that Cordaid’s boundaries were built. Secularization and depillarization
240 Frans Kamsteeg
made for a weak construction of these boundaries. In this sense the

Cordaid merger much resembles what Alvesson (1990, 373, 384–90)
describes as the tendency in modern corporate life to make a shift from
“substantive issues to an increased emphasis on dealing with images
as a critical aspect of organizational functioning and management.”
Identity as an object of social (organizational) engineering (Kunda 1992)
is, however, hard to manage. The behavior of Cordaid’s management can
best be considered what Goffman (1971) called “impression manage-
ment strategies” to establish a particular public image at the cost of
a fragmented self-image.
At the level of this fragmented self-image, boundaries at Cordaid
proved less weak. When people from the three development organiza-
tions were put together, their respective cultures and corporate identities
provided sufficient ammunition to reconstruct a sense of self and social
identity strongly enough to reinvent, or reemphasize, old boundaries. As
Barth (1969) has argued, ethnic and other social identities are fluid and
situationally contingent. In this post-merger situation, the struggle over
the hegemonic development discourse by Cordaid’s staff conceals the
frustration over the loss of a power monopoly by the former Bilance
departments. Their reaction was defensive, whereas the smaller merging
partners, riding the waves of privatization, came out and offensively
dared to draw new lines.
The implications for boundary management

It is still too early to evaluate the definitive outcome of the merging
process, which I have tried to interpret from an anthropological per-
spective based on social and organizational identity. In the increasingly
postmodern society we live in, boundarylessness and the presence of a
wide range of multiple identities seem to permit individuals, groups,
and organizations to form only shifting coalitions. Emphasis has shifted
away from deploying an identity by (traditional) affinity to one in
which the bearer of an identity becomes a consumer. A similar process
can be viewed at the level of organizational identities (Pratt 1998).
What does this mean for the future of religion-based civil society
organizations such as Cordaid? We have seen that people still draw ele-
ments from the Catholic tradition to defend their position and define the
boundaries of their group. The merger itself could start because the ini-
tiators considered that ideological organizations still have a role to play
in Dutch society. Discussions on the position of the ideological organi-
zation as a sub-category of the normative organization (Etzioni 1975) are
indeed still topical in the Netherlands. All Christian organizations

coming from the pillarization past have to orient and defend them-
selves. As we have seen in this chapter, this orientation has internal as
well as external aspects. Internally, secularization of the personnel
makes any discussion of a substantially Catholic identity problematic.
This same secularization also calls the legitimacy of religious, including
Catholic, organizations into question. The Dutch government no
longer takes for granted the preferential treatment and financial support
of traditional private organizations. Politicians who want to see results
threaten them with financial cutbacks. This leaves organizations such
as Cordaid trapped within a legitimacy paradox. The only raison d’être
for “pillar organizations” is probably a clear and convincing identity
and a corresponding work practice, but precisely this reinforcement
of the corporate identity brings the employees into serious problems of
(dis)identification.
Boundaries are supposed to set things clearly apart, but as Barth (2000,
28) nicely says: “while some do the boundary imposing, others look
for loopholes.” We have seen that people not only cross boundaries, but
that they use these loopholes to mark the separation of themselves as
a group from others. I view the Cordaid merger as a response to societal
boundary fading, where the management in its effort to create a new
external boundary was confronted with the revival of preexisting ones.
It is, however, by no means evident what the organization should do
with my interpretation. Since the very concept of boundary, just like
identity, points at difference and sameness, being in and being out, any
analysis that is given back to the organization is controversial, particu-
larly when this analysis is presented as a real-life description where
groups and people with their political drives are more or less recogniza-
ble. Anthropologists generally claim they build their argument on “the
natives point of view.” The Dutch version of this chapter was extensively
discussed with several groups of (former) organization members. These
“natives” declared that the analysis helped them to view daily work sit-
uations from a different perspective. It served them to understand better,
delineate, and manage the new organizational relationships they have to
deal with.
When it comes to the management of boundaries, the analysis has
something to offer too. It shows that the identity aspect of Cordaid –
both in terms of social and corporate identity – has been seriously
neglected. The Latin America department adopted some of the views
expressed in this chapter to reflect on the basis for and to generate sup-
port for the new organization. The management refused to consider this
242 Frans Kamsteeg
possibility, similar to the way it received the offer to include my analysis

in the task of a special committee appointed to rethink Cordaid’s orga-
nizational culture. Cordaid’s managers would do well to walk around in
their organization like anthropologists do, in order to detect the (sym-
bolic) boundaries that hamper life and work in organizations, and select
them for discussion in what are sometimes called “communities of prac-
tice.” Managing boundaries in such a way requires a certain amount of
trust, and this means of mapping the territories can serve as a starting-
point for some real boundary crossing.
Notes
1 Views and opinions presented in this chapter are based on my prolonged
interest in the operation of two private Christian-based development organi-
zations, ICCO and Cordaid. For this chapter I did field research at the Cordaid
office in the Hague over the last three years. Sources of data are interviews,
personal observations, website texts, year reports, and internal vision docu-
ments from Cordaid. Conclusions drawn in this chapter are of course totally
my own responsibility.
2 In the Netherlands it is widely known as “Mensen in Nood” (literally mean-
ing “people in affliction”), but the organization itself belongs to the Caritas
International network.
3 Medical Missionary Action. Only the acronym is actually in use.
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13
Colleague, Competitor, or Client:
Social Boundaries in Flexible Work
Arrangements
Christina Garsten
Flexibilization and discontinuity at work

In the world of organizations, a long term, permanent employment
relation has been vital in the maintenance of organizational boundaries.
It has provided a base for organizational action as well as a sense of loy-
alty and community. As organizational fashions and new ways of organi-
zing production lead organizations to change, this model of relationship
is also changing. The idea of “lifelong permanent work” is now increas-
ingly being eroded. Standard contracts covered by collective bargaining
agreements, the concentration of work in large factories or office sites,
and the expectation of permanent employment are being questioned
and increasingly dissolved (Allen and Henry 1996, 67; Beck 1992).
In its place, a new discursive field is emerging, and ideas like “flexibi-
lization,” “employability” and “life-long learning” appear as points
of reference. The contours of a transformed organizational world are to
a larger extent made up by geographical dispersal and organizational
fragmentation of the workplace, interweaving of organizational struc-
tures, and a greater flexibility in employment contracts, in working
hours, and in skills. Employees are today faced with new kinds of
boundaries to deal with, new expectations, and new contexts within
which to construct a sense of identity and community (see Garsten and
Turtinen 2000; Lindgren and Wåhlin 2001).
The flexibilization of employment contracts and ways of work involves
a challenge to established organizational boundaries and structures. The
discourse of flexibility invokes notions of a different, alternative kind of
244
Boundaries in Flexible Work Arrangements 245
labor market and individual disposition. However, it is difficult if not

impossible, to provide a clear definition of what flexibility actually is
(Watson 1994, 239). It is a concept with the capacity to embrace a vari-
ety of meanings, yet at the same time to frame mutual understandings.
It acquires meaning only in the context in which it is used, and in refer-
ence to the position and interest of the actor. Its power to influence orga-
nizational change stems precisely from its multivocal character. It may be
used as convenient shorthand for a cluster of ideas, to legitimate certain
actions, to encourage certain modes of thought and behaviour, and to
close off further arguments. Hence, its inherent conflictual dimension,
raising issues of power and responsibility, should not be underestimated
(Garsten and Turtinen 2000).
Whereas labour unions, employer associations, and corporate leaders
may, and indeed do, differ in their views on what flexibilization should
mean, there is nevertheless a general agreement in the European context
that the labour market needs to encourage mobility and entrepreneur-
ship in order to boost business and to counteract high levels of unem-
ployment. This involves not just the advancement of flexible production
systems in industry, but also the flexibilization of employment contracts
and working hours. While flexible employment contracts is the favorite
topic of employer associations and private business, flexible hours is the
preferred topic on the agenda of labor unions and leftist politicians. The
latter connects to, and is dressed in the language of, a continuous con-
cern for the quality of working life, placing primary stress on flexibility
for workers, not of them. Flexible working hours is seen as an important
part of a more democratic, productive, and fulfilling mode of governing
work, compatible with a more expanded notion of the role of the worker.
It is generally regarded as promoting women’s participation in the labor
market, whilst flexible and contingent contracts are viewed as threaten-
ing to gender equality (Garsten and Turtinen 2000).
This chapter addresses the issue of social boundaries among flexible
employees, defined here as temporary employees working through tem-
porary staffing agencies. By no means does this pragmatic definition
exhaust the variety of flexible employees in contemporary labor mar-
kets. But it does provide a particular empirical material “to think with”;
one that is suitable for the variety of ways in which its actors conti-
nuously challenge established organizational boundary-lines. In rela-
tion to employment contracts, flexibility is understood to mean work
arrangements other than full-time, permanent contracts. Here, we are
interested in a more limited category in the flexible workforce; employ-
ees who are involved in what is loosely referred to as “agency work.”
246 Christina Garsten
This means that a temporary employment agency places an employee

on short-term contracts, during which he, or more commonly she,
is assigned to work for and under the control of the establishment
making use of his or her services.
This category of employment constitutes a small proportion of the
labor force, but one that is growing in importance and numbers on
a global scale. At the time of writing, Sweden has almost 1 percent of its
workforce employed through temporary agencies, while the correspon-
ding number for the United Kingdom is approximately 4 percent, for the
EU in average 1.5 percent and for the United States close to 2 percent (see
http://www.spur.se/branschen.html). This chapter is based on interviews
and some degree of participant observation with temporary agency
workers and staff at Olsten Staffing Services (now Adecco) in Sweden, the
United Kingdom, and the United States, over a number of years from
1996 onwards. As part of the research process, temporary staffing agency
internal documents, such as policy documents, information leaflets,
administrative forms, and promotional material, were also studied and
analyzed.
Temporary agency work puts traditional ways of relating to colleagues
and employers into question. As a modern vagabond of the flexible labor
market, the temporary agency worker (or “temp”) is always on the move;
nowhere of the place he or she works at, but everywhere in it (see Bauman
1995, 94–5). The geographical mobility and the transient character of
temping makes it rather unlikely that temps will strike deep roots in any
of the places they work in, or develop strong attachments to other tem-
poraries and staff at the temporary staffing agency. Expectations that
long-term relations will unfold out of continuous involvement with
others at a single employment setting are no longer there. Instead, temps
expect their stay to be more or less temporary, and hence, they expect
little in the sense of continuity and community to arise out of their
involvements with colleagues, either at the client’s workplace, or at the
temporary employment agency.
Similarly, and related to the lack of organizational community, there
is a striking lack of awareness among temps of the local corporate and
global organizational structures of which they are a part. The episodic
and transient character of their involvement with other temps and with
agency staff makes for a local and individualized perspective, with little
interest in exploring the wider network in which they are enmeshed.
Very few temps in Sweden and the United Kingdom actually knew that
they worked for an American company, whose headquarters at the time
of the interviews were localized in Long Island. They were hardly aware
of the organizational structure outside their local branch, or of its mis-

sion statement. In Hannerz’ (1990) terms, they are “locals” or, we might
add “mobile locals,” yet they are deeply embedded in transnational
organizational structures. To the mobile locals, the global workings of
the enterprise are either hidden from view or too irrelevant for them to
pay it any attention (Garsten and Turtinen 2000).
Flexible work arrangements do not simply draw employees into
a powerful transnational organizational structure. Beyond the need for
adaptation and versatility in relation to market demands, flexibility also
carries the potential for freedom. When asked about the advantages
of temping, temps often referred to the freedom of movement that it
offered them. Niklas, one of Olsten’s temps in Sweden, thought that
temping was a flexible job arrangement, because “it’s easier to ask for
a leave” and “the job allows him to travel around the world.” However,
this potentiality is seldom realized. Niklas, and many others with him
nurture the image of freedom, while going about their everyday work
for the client.
Diasporic organizations and elastic band relations

The discourse of flexibility is powerful in the sense that it challenges
organizational structures and the control they have over their members.
Organizing is a struggle for control and order, an attempt to make sense
of or to rationalize environments, and to reduce uncertainty (Ahrne
1990, 36; Meyer, 1987, 224). Diffuse and variable relations among organi-
zations and among unorganized individuals characterize the environ-
ment in which organizations exist (March and Simon 1958, 4). Thus an
organization constitutes a special entity in the social landscape, or as
Ahrne (1990, 36) puts it, a “sociological unit” characterized by a higher
specificity of structure and coordination than its surrounding environ-
ment. Nevertheless, the boundary of an organization is not always
easily detectable. Following Ahrne (1990, 36), we may conceive of the
boundary of an organization as having to do with the field over which
it has control: “If the essence of organizing is repeated rational control
over certain aspects of human conduct, then the boundary of the organi-
zation is where this control ends.” In the field of flexible tempo-
rary staffing, we will see how organizations may in this sense overlap
with each other, or infringe on each other’s premises, by the location of
members of one organization inside another organization. The bound-
aries of an organization are thus not spatially, but contractually defined.
Temps are affiliated to the agency through employment, which also is
a kind of authority relation. Employment defines the boundaries of the

temporary staffing organization.
To define what is inside or outside the organization as “culture” is
a trickier matter. Cultural boundaries may or may not coincide with the
spatial, legal, or structural boundaries of an organization. Most often,
they tend not to coincide. If culture is defined in ideational terms, con-
sisting of ideas and meanings, rather than people and jobs, boundaries
become permeable. Ideas and interpersonal relations can be imported or
exported from the larger society into or out of an organizational context.
In this sense, boundaries are socially constructed and may be understood
differently among members (Martin 2002, 26). The definition of the
organizational boundary may, and indeed does, differ among different
temps working for the same temp agency. The cultural boundaries of
organizations are fluctuating, permeable, and blurred (Martin 2002,
316). Since the structural boundaries of the organization, based on con-
trol through the employment contract, does not always correspond to
the subjectively defined cultural boundary of the organization, confu-
sion about membership arises. This is expressed in the temps’ under-
standing of concepts such as “colleague,” “client,” and “competitor.”
Every boundary creates an “inside” and an “outside,” the crossing
of which is often ritually circumscribed in some way. From the point of
view of the long-term employee, entering and leaving are significant
and memorable experiences. Entering a new organization sets the initial
psychological and physical boundaries to work. We learn the ropes,
seek the clues to the workplace culture, learning as we go along. Leaving
an organization often entails a significant change, whether it is done
smoothly and comfortably at the end of working lifetime or for a new
job; or harshly as at dismissals (see Sims et al. 1993). For temps, however,
entering and leaving organizational boundaries are rarely surrounded
with much ado. Temps move in and out of client organizations, but their
relation to the employing organization, the temp agency, stays the same.
Hence organizational boundary crossing does not carry the same signif-
icance for temps as it does for regular employees in their client organi-
zations. A temp job is by definition temporary (at least in terms of the
assignment), and leaving is expected.
Entering and leaving the temp agency is seldom a significant event,
either. Entering does entail going through a procedure of skills testing,
learning the normative expectations and the reporting routines, and so
on (see Garsten and Turtinen 2000), but rarely are new temps given par-
ticular attention. With a relatively high turnover of personnel, most
processes of leaving go rather unnoticed. It may mean gradually falling
out of grace and no longer getting assignments, moving into a perma-

nent position with a particular client or elsewhere, or being dismissed
for not fulfilling expectations. The process of “exit” is relatively easy and
used more frequently than “voice” (Hirschman 1970). This means that
leaving the organization is often less costly in terms of time and energy
than engaging in conflictual discussions. The relative ease of boundary-
crossing in temping is to a large extent related to the tripartite relation
between the temporary employment agency, the worker, and the client,
in which entering and leaving is an everyday experience and part and
parcel of the business idea. These processes bring to the fore the charac-
ter of the temporary employment agency as organization. The tempo-
rary employment agency reveals a lower sense of coherence in terms
of space than what is normally attributed to organizations; they are to a
large extent distributed across space; and contract and expand more eas-
ily than many other types of business organizations. They may, by anal-
ogy, be seen as “diasporic organizations,” whose members are widely
distributed but maintain some sense of connection to the organizational
center. Organizational boundaries are not clear-cut phenomena in the
world of temping, but are continuously reworked and challenged. They
also allow for the contraction and expansion of client organizations by
providing them with a degree of flexibility in numbers. As the president
of a Swedish temporary staffing company expressed it: “We want to be
an independent resource for large and medium-sized companies; their
elastic band” (Garsten 1999, 602).
Boundary-breakers and intermediaries in the

organizational world
Arthur and Rousseau (1996) suggest a new lexicon, of meanings old and
new, to understand and promote change in the new organizational era
of boundaryless careers. In their view, the shape of work – how people
organize themselves and each other – is shifting, and shifting is becom-
ing the shape of work (1996, 371). In their new lexicon, “boundary”
is the first concept to be considered: “BOUNDARY Old meaning: a limit;
the division between familiar and hostile territory. New meaning: some-
thing to be crossed in a career behavior, or in managing complexity”
(1996, 371).
In their view, old boundaries, involving time, territory, and technol-
ogy (Miller, 1969), confined people to linear career paths, a functional
focus, and a narrow specialization. Today’s work experiences, involving
nonlinear, cumulative, multifunctional experiences make it difficult to
foresee how one’s skills will be deployed tomorrow. Breaking boundaries

also makes them less easily detectable, and less relevant, in Arthur and
Rousseau’s conceptualization (1996, 371).
Certainly, temps often break boundaries of various sorts. They move
between client organizations and temp agencies, transcending organi-
zational boundaries as they move between assignments. They also break
boundaries around tasks. Temps who have worked for some time in the
business have been exposed to a number of different tasks to be solved
and have gradually learned to master different kinds of tasks. Temps
sometimes transcend sector boundaries, moving across business sectors
and across different industries. Sometimes, they transgress internal
organizational boundaries, as when they move from one department or
division to another as the need for assistance arises. In many ways,
then, temps may be seen as boundary-breakers. To speak with Arthur
and Rousseau (1996), their work experiences are often nonlinear, cumu-
lative, and multifunctional.
Many of the temps interviewed view this boundary-breaking experi-
ence as rewarding. Moving between organizations and sectors gives
them ample opportunity to learn how different organizations work and
what it is like to work in different kinds of industries. Moving across
departments gives them a broad overview of the organization, and
puts them in a favorable position when it comes to acquiring impor-
tant information. It also keeps them at a distance from gossiping and
politics, which are often seen as consuming time and energy from work.
“Boundary breaking makes you feel free,” as one temp put it.
In this sense, temps may be seen as organizational intermediaries,
moving between organizations and carrying with them ideas, informa-
tion, and knowledge. From the agency staff point of view, temps are
important mediators between the temp agency and the client organiza-
tion. They bring to the client organization resources from the agency
in the shape of time, energy, skill, and good attitude. This is how they
often come to be talked about as “ambassadors” of the temp agency,
representing the agency in a professional and representative manner at
the client organization. On the other hand, they also bring “home” to
the temp agency important information and knowledge about the ways
of the client organization and the workings of a particular routine,
process, or technology. Agency staff can in this way stay abreast of the
developments in the field, accommodate the client’s demands more
easily, and anticipate future contract opportunities.
Temps are also often in one way or another, transformers. As they
become more at home in the ways of clients, as they become more
skilful in moving between clients, and more secure in the relation to the
local assignment coordinator, they are also able to put ideas, informa-
tion, and knowledge to use in different contexts. Temps are “creolizing”
agents, who put things together in new and often unanticipated ways.
In Hannerz’ conception (1992, 265), the cultural processes are creative
interplays of center (here; temp agency) and periphery (here; client
organization). Creole cultures come out of multidimensional encoun-
ters, which may or may not involve pressure from center to periphery,
and makes possible the renewal of homegrown organizational modes of
activity through the influx of new knowledge or information. Highly
valued temps may in this way become agents of change across organi-
zations, implementing new routines or suggesting alternative ways
of solving a problem. This is where temps move from being “Lego-
workers,” to be fitted into the organizational structure wherever needed,
to become change agents. In organizational parlance, this is where temps
transgress the boundary to “consulting.” “Creolization also increasingly
allows the periphery to talk back,” Hannerz argues (1992, 265). In this
particular case, it does so by creating a greater cultural affinity between
the cultures of center (agency) and periphery (client organization),
facilitating for the latter an influence on the process of hiring a temp to
better accommodate to its organizational structure. The agencies will
have hundreds, if not thousands, of temps on their books at any one
time and the extent to which agency staff know the temps personally is
limited. On the other hand, the agency will over time acquire a good
deal of knowledge about the requirements of client organizations, at
least where these are regular clients, and will seek to ensure that partic-
ularly difficult jobs or clients are dealt with by “good temps” (Grey and
Garsten 2001). Agency staff know good temps, unlike the mass of the
temping staff, and they will go to great lengths to keep a good temp on
the books of the agency. The attributes of a good temp are not so much
skills as the capacity to accommodate the needs of the client organiza-
tion. Symptomatically, the staff at one of the big staffing agencies in
Sweden sometimes refer to the temps as “chameleons,” with a capacity
to adapt effortlessly to the needs of the customer. Hence, creolizing
serves both the interests of the client organization and those of the
temp agency.
There is thus ample evidence to suggest that the main contribution of
temps in altering organizational structures is that they challenge and
transcend organizational boundaries. They bring in a greater degree of
complexity to established organizational structures. By the same token
they open up for alternative organizational forms and alternative ways
of relating to work and employment. The emancipatory overtones of

believers in the flexibility discourse tend to assert such possibilities of
transcendence and freedom. The other side of the coin is that flexible
work arrangements also contribute to the establishment of new kinds
of organizational boundaries. The debate surrounding issues of “mar-
ginalization” of the flexible workforce and the “two-tier” split of the
workforce into “winners” and “losers” suggest such a scenario. Here,
I will not be concerned with these aspects, but will instead propose
a perspective that allows for the understanding of how flexible work
may lead to the establishment of new organizational boundaries and
new forms of inequality between so-called regulars (people with long-
term contracts with an employing organization at whose premises they
work) and temps (people working on shorter contracts or assignments
through temps agencies at the premises of a client organization). But
first, let us examine how temping may involve a blurring of established
social categories.
Social boundaries and categorical blurring:

The fuzziness of collegiality
With spatial mobility and interweaving of organizational boundaries
built into flexible work arrangements, the notion of “colleague” itself
becomes highly problematic. When asked about whom their colleagues
are, temps often hesitate, then say their “real colleagues” are at the
client’s workplace, since that is where they actually conduct their work.
As Maria at Olsten in Stockholm says:
Right now, I feel as though my colleagues are here, at the client’s. But
then there are also other consultants at the office, and staff, that
I sometimes meet, and that I know, and they are also my colleagues.
But there are also consultants that I don’t know the name of, and
they are in fact my colleagues as well. But right now my colleagues
are here, at XX (client’s name). [My translation]
Following up on the question, many temps begin to hesitate:
But wait a second … my workmates here are actually my clients … My

colleagues, real colleagues, are the other temps who work for XX.
But I hardly know who they are, or what they think, what their
experiences are.
This is a common reaction to the complexity of the colleague – client

relationship as experienced by temps. Especially on long-term assign-
ments, categories begin to blur and the client eventually becomes some-
thing of a colleague. This is often viewed as problematic, since temps are
not supposed to engage with the client in a way that would complicate
the professional relationship between service provider and service user.
With increasing flexible, short-term contracts, work is made more
episodic and a short-term mentality becomes the norm. Temps are
rarely willing to invest in their colleagues at the agency, few of whom
they know anyway, nor are they willing to invest in their clients, since
these are, after all, clients. Moreover, the assignment will sooner or
later come to an end. “There is little chance for mutual loyalty and com-
mitment to sprout up and take root,” as Bauman argues (2001, 25).
Speaking of short-term employment in general, Bauman says:
The place of employment feels like a camping site which one visits
for but a few nights and which one may leave at any moment if the
comforts on offer are not delivered or found wanting when deliv-
ered, rather than like a shared domicile where one is inclined to take
trouble to work out the acceptable rules of interaction. (2001, 25)
Indeed, temps seldom take the trouble to work out the acceptable
rules of interaction. Several temps talked instead of the comfort of not
having to engage in company “politics” or “slander,” since they were
only there to do the job at hand, nothing else. Temp agency advice fur-
ther underlined and encouraged such limited engagement through
introductory texts such as brochures.
There is also the sense that other temp colleagues are simultaneously
their competitors, competing for the appreciation of agency staff, for
good assignments, and for wages. Temps share, however, the concern
with developing and maintaining good relations with the coordinators
at the office during assignments, since being known and appreciated
helps them get the next, and perhaps more fulfilling, assignment. These
shared interests never coalesce into concerted action of any kind, how-
ever. There is a striking lack of ideas regarding the benefits that might
accrue to them as individuals from the backing of a union or collective
bargaining, and even less so regarding what might accrue to them as
a collective. With lack of recognition of union membership, the place of
the temporary agency worker in the community of workers is unclear at
best, evinced in the lack of formation of interest groups along these
lines. In this sense, the temps of Olsten share a categorical identity as
members of a large-scale collectivity in which most of them do not

enter into face-to-face relationships with most others, let alone engage
in the formation of interest groups or other related activities. The
idea of the self-sufficient individual, self-contained and self-moving is
a powerful factor in the organization of flexible labor markets. With
conceptions of the self-sufficient individual go perceptions of the world.
As Calhoun (1995, 254) has it: “Modern individualism … is tied to dis-
tinctive conceptions of the world, conceptions that abandon the notion
of an implicate order or encompassing hierarchy as the basic source of
identity.”
The temporariness of assignments and relations in the workplace is
a powerful individualizing force. It hinders the development of a sense
of community, of common interest, and loyalty. It makes the building of
strong social ties difficult or uninteresting. It divides rather than unites.
The idea of “common interests” is made nebulous, and in the end
incomprehensible (see Bauman 2001, 24–5). We may describe ties in the
blended workforce of temps and regulars as consisting of “fleeting forms
of association” (see Sennett 1998).
Temps and regulars as categorical pairs: Seeds of inequality

In the workplace, temps are often clearly distinguished from regulars.
Temps often occupy particular kinds of positions in the client organiza-
tion, their contract with the client is temporary and subject to further
qualifications, they may carry badges of a differing colour, and they are
not automatically invited to social events at the client organization.
Most often, it is quite clear who is a temp and who is a regular in the
organization. At one of the larger international IT companies in Sweden,
for example, temps carry badges with a red color signal saying non-XX
(name of company), they are not included in all email address lists, and
they may not be included in all the company meetings. We may thus
view temps and regulars as representing two distinct social categories in
the workplace.
However, categories are not specific sets of people or unmistakable
attributes, but standardized, movable social relations (Tilly 1995, 66).
They need not rely on objectively verifiable characteristics. Likewise,
the identities of the temp and the regular are oftentimes culturally
floating. Client organizations vary in their integration of temps. Some
readily invite temps to feel part of the community at the workplace, by
inviting them to parties, sharing access to facilities such as fitness cen-
ters, and not minding too much about who is an insider and who is an
outsider. Temps may not be clearly identifiable as a distinct social category.

As I was interviewing at Apple Computer in Silicon valley, California, it
happened more than once that the Apple employee I was interviewing
turned out to be a temp; a fact that nobody at Apple paid a great deal
of attention to, except in relation to product development and other
sensitive activities (see Garsten 1994). Nevertheless, temps and regulars
may be seen to constitute “paired categories,” with actors on both
sides engaged in mutual labelling. Following Tilly, categorical work
always involves imputing distinctive qualities to actors on either side of
boundaries (1995, 67). The most common situation is, after all, that
temps and regular employees are relatively sure about who is who and
what kinds of qualities may be associated with either side. In the view
of regulars, temps do not show the same loyalty to the company on
whose premises they work as they themselves do; they are not commit-
ted to the company to the same extent; they do not assume the same
degree of responsibility for the job; nor are they as involved with local
coworkers as the regulars themselves.
From the perspective of temps, regulars may be less committed to the
task assigned to them, since they are not dependent upon getting
the job done as quickly and professionally as possible in the same way
temps are. Regulars tend to take their position for granted in a way
that temps do not. Regulars may be polite and welcoming, but they are
often more assured than temps and sometimes tend to treat temps in
a somewhat bullying manner.
It is important to point out that the categories of temp – regular does
not pervade working life so thoroughly as to rule out crosscutting cate-
gorical memberships (see Tilly 1995, 67). In Sweden, temps are often
regular employees of the staffing services and may enjoy the benefits of
regular membership there. This means that temps are both regulars and
temps. They represent at least two categories at the same time; the temp
category being more visible on the premises of the client organization.
Regular contacts with the agency staff services personnel via telephone
and email, as well as on-site visits by assignment coordinators, reassure
and make visible the significance of the temp being both a temp and
a regular at the same time. Temps learn to do the work of two categories
simultaneously by differentiating the categorical ties from each other.
In more extreme cases, categorization of temps and regulars also
involves stigmatization. Stigmata draw the line between the categories,
accentuating attributed characteristics. More than once, I have come
across the expression “just a temp” in conversations with both temps
and regulars. The expression is a clear example of how the temp is
degraded and made inferior in some way to the regular. Pink (2001)
makes the distinction between “high-end” temps and “low-end temps.”
Low-end temps are the temps who do boring work for meager pay in
sometimes grim conditions. They are “temp slaves,” with no security
and no respect. “Temp slaves” frequently report being treated as some-
what less than human because of their status in the workplace (2001,
215–16). In the worst workplaces, “temp slaves” become “non-persons”
in Goffman’s terms (1959) – people who are sometimes treated in their
presence as if they were not there. Some of the temps I interviewed
in Stockholm, Leeds, and Silicon Valley reported being stigmatized
as “just-a-temp.” This entailed not being included in social events, as
lunch companions, or as reliable sources of information. On occasion,
they were used as scapegoats for things gone wrong, regardless of the
mishap being their fault or not. The reason for this, according to the
temps, was the ease with which regulars could escape responsibility and
conflict simply by blaming someone who would in any case not be
there for very long. According to Pink, the stigmatization of temps has
spawned a variety of responses from temps, one of which is a thriving,
often underground, network of “zines” (self-published magazines), web
sites, and popular culture expressions of discontent, let alone a new
vocabulary for disgruntled temps (2001, 217). Likewise, Henson (1996)
says that
When temporary workers interact with others who perceive them as

temporaries, they are confronted with their deviance. Temporaries
cannot simply ignore the stigma of their imputed social identity.
Like other stigmatised groups, temporaries can either internalise
the stigma, incorporate it into their self-concept, or adopt strategies
to deny, deflect, or manage it. (Goffman 1961, 1963; Scott, 1969)
Stigmatization uses attributes to establish relationships and to define

proper and improper relations across the lines (Goffman 1963, 3; Tilly
1995, 65). Regulars aiming for upward mobility in the organization
often make sure they do not socialize too much with temps, since temps
are of little value for their future career opportunities, and are generally
regarded as occupying the lower rungs in the ladder. Rather, they tend
to spend more time networking with other regulars who may be of more
importance to them in the future. Such strategic networking is both an
expression of the stigmatization involved in the categorical relation-
ship of temps and regulars and serves to further accentuate internal
boundary lines. Such dramatic cases of categorization may persist for
longer or shorter periods of time, and may be more or less socially

shared in the workplace. Categories are movable social relations, which
also means that they may be accentuated, and are put to use situation-
ally and strategically depending on the interests of the actors.
Several informants have underlined the complexity of the temp –
regular relation, arguing that temps do not always and in all situations
count as a given identity with particular characteristics. As mentioned
earlier, it happened a number of times that I discovered that the person
I was interviewing at Apple Computer was not in fact an Apple employee,
but a temp, formally “non-Apple.” Such temps, in Pink’s terminology
called “permatemps” (2001, 219), are individuals who work fulltime for a
company, sometimes for years, doing the same job as regular employees –
but who are hired through a temp agency so that the provision of
benefits does not fall upon the company, but upon the temp agency.
Long-term temps melt into the social milieu of the client organization
in a way that makes everyday distinctions difficult to draw. This is con-
firmed by informants at another large IT company, who says long-term
temps are often treated as regulars, until suddenly the distinction is high-
lighted as when sensitive corporate information is to be shared, strategic
decisions are to taken, or the like. In the view of one manager at one such
client organization, “(t)here is a difference between temps and temps.”
Embedded and disjoined temp identities

The categorical distinction between temps and regulars may show
local variation, but this is hardly the result of incremental interaction.
Rather, it is a distinction resulting from the incorporation of categorical
sets that already operate visibly elsewhere (see Tilly 1995, 67). Following
reorganization and reengineering of organizations, managers often
build these categories into their organizations and lock them into place.
Particular services may be designed for outsourcing, particular functions
are externalized, and extra manpower is leased as needed. Good client
organizations to work for are those that have developed a readiness for
receiving temps inside their organizational boundaries, and that have
developed the routines and scripting of relations needed for flexibility
to operate.
Hence, flexibilization also involves a great deal of organization and
standardization on the part of both client organization and staffing serv-
ices. The distinction drawn by Tilly (1995, 219–21) between “embedded”
and “disjoined” identities is informative here. “The distinction between
embedded and disjoined identities marks endpoints of a continuum”
(Tilly 1995, 220). Embedded identities are those that inform people’s
routine social lives: race, gender, class, ethnicity, locality, kinship, and
so on. Disjoined identities, on the other hand, are identities that rarely
or never govern everyday activities: associational memberships, asserted
nationalities, legal categories such as tribe, military veteran, and so on.
Under certain social conditions, people will invoke or deploy different
kinds of identities selectively. Here, I will take some liberty in using the
pair concepts more freely to describe some dynamic aspects of the
temp–regular relation.
The identity based on the location in the categorical pair temp–
regular would count as embedded in a given setting to the extent that
people organize a wide range of routine social interaction around it, and
disjoined to the extent that it becomes salient only on special occasions.
In situations like the one earlier, when a temp has spent a long time
at the client organization and has integrated into the local workgroup
as something like a workmate or even as a colleague, the temp identity
may be said to move from being embedded to being disjoined. I experi-
enced this move myself while I was doing participant observation,
working as a temp, at Apple Computer. As the months went by and
I came to know my workmates more closely, worked overtime with
them, and socialized with them during weekends, my identity as a temp
gradually faded and became one of discursive construction. Only on
rare occasions was the distinction highlighted and referred to as one
of social consequence. What was initially seen as an embedded distinc-
tion based on preexisting differences between the temp-researcher and
the Apple regulars moved from embedded to disjoined, occasionally to
become embedded again, as in front of spatial areas with restricted
access. Further, when temps and regulars with varying types of contracts
and relationships with the organization come together around common
issues, embedded identities may become disjoined. In such situations,
the categorical identity of temp is no longer particularly relevant for
the organization of work. It becomes a latent identity, to be clarified in
relation to particular issues.
The process may also run in the other direction, embedding dis-
joined identities. If reinforced by financial restraints, reorganizations, or
corporate events surrounded by secrecy, disjoined identities may
become salient in everyday social relations and hence embedded in the
organization. Here, the distinction and the boundary between temps
and regulars becomes a politically charged boundary. Representing
oneself as a regular or a temp establishes distance. In such cases, regu-
lars and temps may engage in “authenticating performances” (see Tilly
1995, 219) that establish unity, worthiness, loyalty, and commitment – for
example, by displaying badges, using local slang expression unintelligible
to others, and in other ways displaying difference and inaccessibility.
The degree to which identities are embedded or disjoined in the
workplace is a matter of great significance for the quality of relations
between categories, the kind and amount of information available to
them, and the strength of commitments. As Tilly points out (1995, 221)
the distinction has implications for the effectiveness of different organi-
zing strategies. This is clearly evinced in the case of temporary services,
where temps in clearly embedded collective identity situations express
a greater degree of estrangement and a lesser degree of commitment
to the client organization than do their colleagues with experiences of
disjoined collective identity situations. In the latter, however, other
issues arise, which may be just as problematic to deal with for the client
organization, such as unwillingness to recognize the temping agency as
the employer, low readiness for the closure of an assignment, and
higher expectations of social recognition placed on the client organiza-
tion – issues to do with the blurring of organizational boundaries.
The paired categories of regular and temp mark boundaries of
inequality. The distinction is based upon and facilitated by the inter-
section of the organizations involved, the organizational structures
established to make use of a flexible workforce, and the unequal condi-
tions of regulars and temps at the local workplace. Inequality in this
sense centers on boundaries. Flexible work arrangements may blur
boundary lines between organizations in a variety of ways, but they also
highlight and put into place other boundary lines.
Concluding discussion: Boundary-breaking and

boundary-making in the workplace
At first glance, flexibilization might appear to strike a contrast with
anything that leads in the direction of hierarchy and organization.
However, the case is not as simple as that. Flexibilization goes hand in
hand with the making of new boundaries in the workplace and the
masking of hierarchy and organization by individualizing practices that
are, somewhat paradoxically, organized. There is ample evidence to
suggest that temps contribute to changing organizational structures by
challenging and transcending organizational boundaries. They bring in
a greater degree of complexity to established organizational structures.
They open up the possibility of alternative organizational forms and
alternative ways of relating to work and employment. I have argued
that temps may act as mediators and transformers between organiza-

tions, distributing and “creolizing” information and knowledge. We
have witnessed how boundary-spanning work practices lead to the blur-
ring of established social distinctions between “colleagues,” “clients,”
and “competitors.” However, flexible work arrangements also contribute
to the establishment of new kinds of organizational boundaries. Flexible
work may lead to the establishment of new forms of inequality between
so-called regulars (people with long-term contracts with an employing
organization at whose premises they work) and temps (people working
on shorter contracts or assignments through temps agencies at the
premises of a client organization). The shifting alignments of temps and
regulars allow for a great variety of activities centered on boundaries.
Boundary-breaking and boundary-making thus go hand in hand.
Acknowledgments
The research project reported in this chapter was financially supported
through research grants from the Swedish Research Council and The
Swedish Council for Working Life and Social Research.
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14
Drawing the Line: Organizations
and the Boundary Work of
“Home” and “Work”
Christena Nippert-Eng
Consider your keys; calendars; purse and/or wallet contents; commuting,

drinking, and reading habits; your lunchtime and vacation plans; the
photographs in your living room and work space; and the people with
whom you socialize. These items, along with numerous others, have
one thing in common. They are dimensions through which each of us
draws the line between home and work. Often practical yet eminently
symbolic, publicly visible yet intimately revealing, these are the kinds
of activities through which each of us places a mental, physical, and
behavioral boundary between these two realms.
Home and work: Negotiating boundaries through everyday life (Nippert-Eng
1996) is a project that emerged from my interest in the interplay between
cultural, conceptual boundaries and their personal, practical enactments
(Zerubavel 1991; Douglas 1985 [1966]; Durkheim 1965 [1912]; Durkheim
and Mauss 1963 [1903]; Mannheim 1972; Foucault 1973 [1966]; LaMont
1992.) Each of us actively decides boundaries’ salience and propriety
through our actions, noticed and unnoticed. It is at the level of the indi-
vidual that new ways of looking at things and new ways of making them
real begins, of defining old distinctions/boundaries as less important
and making new ones more so. This happens largely according to very
pragmatic criteria: how well these distinctions and ways of looking at
the world actually mesh with what we and others experienced before
and what we see, feel, and aspire to now (Berger and Luckmann 1967).
Through the aggregation of these personal boundary negotiations, cul-
ture (Spillman 2001) is preserved and changed as conceptual frame-
works are shored up, bent or restructured to accommodate more private
realities and visions.
262
Drawing the Line between Home and Work 263
How do cultural directives, social constraints, and individuals’ different

ways of conceiving and enacting categorical boundaries come together?
The answers to these questions have to do with two related processes.
First, ever-changing social contexts constrain individual visions and
enactments of cultural boundaries. Each of us is immediately caught up
in numerous social dynamics, politics, power relations, commitments,
and conflicts. These unquestionably affect our on-going boundary nego-
tiations, whatever the boundary at hand. Second, these questions are also
concerned with what I now call “boundary work.” This is the never-
ending, hands-on, largely visible process through which boundaries are
negotiated, placed, maintained, and transformed by individuals over
time. “John” and “Ed,” both work at “the Lab.” This is a research labora-
tory located in the United States. Their stories demonstrate both of these
processes.
Negotiating home and work: From integration

to segmentation
“What I want to know is why you didn’t ask me anything about sex,”
John asked. All ears, I stopped putting away my notes and asked what
he meant. “You’re interested in how my personal life and work
life intermingle. All I’m saying is I’ve had my share of sex in the lab over
the years. And I used to keep love letters in my desk drawer, too.
Of course, that was before I was married. But years ago … I’ve done it
in a couple of places. I would think you’d find that interesting. Why
didn’t you ask me about that?”
Why, indeed. On my way home, I thought perhaps that is a starting
point for a book Sex in the Workplace: The ultimate in modern boundary
blurring – between self and others, home and work, private and public.
Mostly, though, the words and image of Ed came to mind as I drove
along, rehashing my last three hours with John. No wonder, Ed had
expressed a very different approach than John. For someone interested
in the process of placing boundaries around home and work, these two
men represented two opposing points of view. Their characters were
quite similar and each provided a vivid example of what the boundary
process entails. But they also showed how very differently this kind of
boundary work might be done.
A machinist, Ed is just as colorful as John, who is an experimental
scientist. They have much in common. I could listen to either for
hours, entertaining me with their vivid narratives, delivered with a
wonderful sense of timing, humor, and intrigue. They share healthy
264 Christena Nippert-Eng
egos, sincere, often teary-eyed devotion to loved ones and an obvious

passion for life.
But that is about where the similarities end. Where John intermingles
the time and space of home and work along so many dimensions – one
of which I had not even included in my interview schedule – Ed draws
it clearly and indelibly, countering John point for point. Until recently,
for instance, John was married to his scientific collaborator. So, not
only did he freely do and discuss his work with his wife, but he also
shared much of what others might consider his “private” life with his
“coworker.” Ed’s wife, on the other hand, has never been to his work-
place and knows little about the actual tasks of machining. He dislikes
talking about work with her, seeing no reason to expose her to much
of what goes on there or the “boring” details of his work. When he
gets home, he wants to forget about work, not drag it into the living
room behind him. Ed also steadfastly refuses to divulge personal infor-
mation to his coworkers. He firmly believes that the less other workers
know about his life outside the Lab, the less they can use that informa-
tion against him. Family photographs taped to his toolbox are his only
advertisements about home.
Over the years, John frequently could be found in his laboratory any
day of the week, any time of the night or day. At other times, he could
be found working at home, reading work materials, puzzling out a prob-
lem, planning strategies, and discussing his work with his wife or visiting
colleagues. And the workday and space were just as riddled with quick,
random phone calls or in-person conversations with his wife about
domestic issues and plans.
Ed, however, clocks in and out of work at the precise times mandated
by his contract, and vehemently insists on his right to evenings and
weekends with his family. He “never” thinks about work while at home
and literally never socializes with colleagues, much less invite them
to his house. His wife calls him only occasionally at work, mostly
during contractual breaks in the day, what Ed calls “my,” rather than
“the Lab’s” time.
The primary reason John works is because he loves the work and the
notoriety it offers. The money is more of a fringe benefit than the driv-
ing rationale behind his effort. In many ways, John’s fusion of self with
work is best represented by the copies of journal articles he proudly
hands out, his name (and his ex-wife’s) prominently displayed on each.
Ed, on the other hand, works only because he needs the money to
support the family he loves. In spite of his dislike of machining, he stays
with it because he can make more money at this than anything else.
In his workplace, the very system of handing out, negotiating, and
collecting assigned jobs seems designed to inhibit Ed’s identification
with his work. For Ed, there is no personal glory at work. On some days,
only love for his family and repeated glances at their photos keeps him
at the milling machine.
Much of Ed’s and John’s lives prepared them for their very different
juxtapositions of home and work. Extensive training in college, gradu-
ate school, and postdoctoral fellowships encouraged John to expect he
would work and live with the same circle of people. The experimental
scientist subculture taught him early on that time and space were inter-
changeable, that, essentially, one could work in bed and bed people at
work. Private offices, secluded laboratories, little immediate supervision
or accountability, a task mix requiring a lot of “thinking” (a highly
mobile activity,) sexually mixed work groups, and hours spent pulling
the experimental night shift encourage John’s more flexible ideas about
the purposes of time and space. This is precisely what allows him to tell
anecdotes about sex in the lab with no more compunction than we
might expect to hear about the journal articles he writes there, or his
experiments with molecular kinetics.
In the traditions and spaces of his occupation, Ed also has fertile
ground for his ideas about the intermingling of home and work, time
and space. However, even if the opportunity presented itself for Ed
to have sex in his workplace, which it never would, chances are that
Ed would not actually do so. Long the backbone of organized labor in
the United States, machinists’ history is predicated on the idea that
a worker’s interests and those of her or his boss are separate and in direct
conflict. One manifestation of this is the clear distinction between
employers’ and employees’ time and space, between public and private
turf. Working in great, huge rooms where privacy is almost impossible,
Ed and his coworkers are closely supervised and their work is carefully
scrutinized, taking place at specific, virtually nonnegotiable times of the
day and week. From the time they begin their apprenticeships, machin-
ists’ folklore, contractual disputes, equipment requirements, and sexu-
ally homogeneous environments continually reinforce the idea that
time and space is dedicated to work or home, public or private pursuits.
The lesson is that, ultimately, these cannot be the same. Because of its
learned, exclusive mental association with one realm and not the other,
then, the more we are like Ed, the more even the thought of sex in the
workplace will be outrageous.
Drawing home–work boundaries

So, how does a sociologist talk about the meaning of “home,” of “work,”
and of the ways they are related, given that people like John and Ed must
be simultaneously, conceptually accommodated (Williams 1985 [1976])?
I have found it useful to see the myriad ways we conceptualize and
juxtapose “home” and “work” as a continuum of inversely, semiotically-
related thoughts and practices (Waugh 1982; Zerubavel 1987). These
possibilities range from “integration” to “segmentation.”
Within the ideal–typical position of “home” and “work” as fully
“integrated,” no distinction exists between what belongs to “home” or
“work” and when and where they are engaged. “Home” and “work” are
one and the same; one giant category of social existence, for no concep-
tual boundary separates its contents or meanings. Within this integrated
paradigm, all the components we usually associate with these different
realms are intertwined and understood with the same mental framework
(Goffman 1974; Bateson 1972 [1955]; Schutz 1973.) People, motives for
involvement, thoughts, tasks, and the intellectual and emotional
approaches used to engage in them, even objects are experienced in the
same way, no matter where we are or what the task at hand. That is, the
extreme integrator possesses a single, all-purpose mentality, one way of
being, one amorphous self. She or he thinks and acts the same way with
anyone, boss, coworker, spouse or child, no matter where she or he is
found, no matter what the social role obligations at hand. Moreover, any
traditional realm contents may legitimately take place, appear, and/or
demand attention in any location. Whether designated by outsiders as
“home” or the “workplace,” for the extreme integrator, all space and
time is multipurpose.
At the other end of the “integration/segmentation continuum,” how-
ever, these aspects of social existence are conceived of and experienced
as completely separate “segmented” worlds. Here, the mental boundary
between realms is clear and impregnable, resolutely preserving the
distinctive characteristics of each sphere. There is no classificatory
ambiguity for the extreme segmentor: everything belongs to “home” or
“work”; two mutually exclusive categories. With no conceptual overlap
between realms and their contents, there is no physical or temporal
overlap between them, either. Moreover, two distinct, realm-specific
mentalities guide the extreme segmentor, so that she or he operates
according to two very different interpretive and behavioral frameworks.
As a result, and unlike the constant, asituational self of the extreme
integrator, the extreme segmentor of home and work alternates between
two different “selves” or ways of being, depending on her or his

location and the realm-specific demands at hand. The ways real people
conceive of and relate “home” and “work” fall somewhere in between
these two ideal–typical approaches. At a given time and repeatedly sub-
ject to change, we are relatively more or less integrating/segmenting in
how we experience home and work, but we fall short of either ideal
type. One’s position along the continuum at a certain time is a com-
posite, then, a summation of how one manages each of these broad
components and their multiple dimensions. Any one of us might be
highly segmenting in how we manage the people of both realms, for
instance, but extremely integrating via the inanimate objects of both
realms, and more in the middle ranges in how we manage our appear-
ance, talk styles, and eating habits.
The full range of integrating/segmenting views and relationships
between home and work is interesting to me because it implies that
these categories, their contents and their boundary, must be negotiated.
These negotiations must be done within a number of constraints, using
a number of “tools.” That is, one’s personal position along the integra-
tion/segmentation continuum is highly dependent on three elements.
The first is the internalized, cultural images of “home” and “work.” The
second is the unique permutations of social-structural constraints that
emanate from both realms. The third is the personal practices through
which we enact and elaborate images of these categories and situational
constraints.
Practices, like surrounding ourselves with different or similar objects
or people at home and work, or developing commuting routines
that help us transform between home and work ways of being, play
an important, mediating role between socio-cognitive constructs and
social-structural constraints. On the one hand, we continually learn
what the concepts “home” and “work” mean, fine-tuning the cultural
images we begin to internalize as children. On the other hand, we
find ourselves continually pressed to meet the expectations of those
around us, and the material constraints that delimit the ways our home
and work may meet.
We concretize the mental territories of “home” and “work” into
physical ones and learn to transcend as well as preserve these realms,
through a process that I call the “boundary work” of home and work. It
is uniquely social, despite its personal appearance. Each of us engages in
it according to specific socio-cognitive and social-structural constraints
and draws from a common repertoire of cultural activities, symbols, and
organizing strategies to do it.
Boundary work: Sculpting home and work

In general, “boundary work” consists of the strategies, principles, and
practices we use to create, maintain, and modify cultural categories.
In this chapter, I focus on a specific case of boundary work: the process
through which we organize potentially realm-specific matters, people,
objects, and aspects of self into “home” and “work,” maintaining and
changing these conceptualizations as needed and/or desired. Through
boundary work, we impose our views of “home,” “work,” and their
relationship on a fairly malleable world of possibilities. (For a different,
yet not inconsistent use of the term “boundary work” see Gieryn, 1983,
on the ways scientists attempt through rhetoric to distinguish between
what they do and what non-scientists do.)
Boundary work is first and foremost a mental activity, but it must be
enacted and enhanced through a largely visible collection of essential,
practical activities. It is this physical side of boundary work (e.g. wearing
different or similar clothes at home and work; using “personal” money
for “work” expenses, or not; listing work and home engagements on the
same or different calendars; having coworkers over for dinner, or not;
bringing children to the workplace, or not; putting a family photo on
one’s desk or colleagues’ pictures on the fireplace mantel, or not; chang-
ing clothes upon arriving home each day, or not; consuming differently
drugged drinks in the morning and evening, or not) that helps us tangi-
bly reinforce and even challenge cognitive and situational distinctions
between “home” and “work”.
There are two kinds of boundary work. The first focuses on boundary
placement. The second focuses on boundary transcendence. Both are
essential to place and maintain boundaries. The former more visibly
draws the line between realms and the latter helps keep it in place by
allowing us to jump back and forth over it. The activities associated
with both forms may be continually adjusted to accommodate different
conceptualizations of these realms.
Both forms of boundary work are affected by and reflected in three
components: (1) the degree to which the people of either realm overlap;
(2) the degree to which the objects (ranging from task-specific “tools,”
in the most general sense of the word, to decorations) and ambiance of
surroundings are similar/different; and (3) the degree to which the ways
we think, act, and present ourselves in either realm are similar/different.
Boundary work may establish the extent of home and work, or allow
us to transcend categorical borders. Yet along each dimension of the
home/work boundary we find a continuum of options that let us set
and reinforce our current position along the integration/segmentation

continuum. Table 14.1 summarizes some of the dimensions and some
of their exemplary manifestations across the continuum.
But what causes us to make certain choices along each facet of per-
sonal boundary work? What encourages us to see and enact the home
and work categories in certain ways, eventually resulting in the weight
and number of our key chains or the nature of our commuting routines,
for instance? To answer these questions, it is necessary to look at the
structural characteristics and cultural assumptions of our home and
work realms.
Structural constraints and personal discretion:

Work stakes its claims
At home and work, discretion to do personal boundary work is offered
or withheld in many forms. These forms may be quite specific to certain
workplaces and families or more universally shared between them. The
observations, illustrations, and sources of discretion discussed here may
be quite specific to the Lab that I studied. Other workplaces, with dif-
ferent goals, organizational structures, and workforces, may have differ-
ent policies, practices, environmental features, and reference groups
that constrain personal boundary work.
What is not specific to the Lab, however, is the general dynamic in
which these structural aspects of work provide a certain amount of discre-
tion for personal boundary work. That is, personal boundary work occurs
within greater or lesser margins of discretionary territory, which are set by
the people and situations of work and home. These margins reflect others’
ideas about where the home/work boundary should go, as well as physi-
cal possibilities for putting this border in certain places, in certain ways.
The discretion to do boundary work is analytically separate from
mandates to do a specific kind of boundary work. It may be fairly obvi-
ous, for instance, that a boss or spouse who insists that we segment
realms at building thresholds does not give us much discretion in how
we do our boundary work. Yet discretion is not the same as the mandate
to do more integrating work, either. If that same boss or that same
spouse demands that we entertain colleagues in our home, talk about
the work over dinner and through vacation, or bring our family along
to corporate business meetings, they are not granting personal bound-
ary discretion, either; they are only inverting more common kinds of
mandates. A closer look at “bureaucratic,” “greedy,” and “discretionary”
workplaces will make this point clearer.
Table 14.1 The boundary work of “home” and “work” along the integration/segmentation continuum
Integration Segmentation
Calendars
pocket calendar two wall calendars, one at home, one at work place, no overlap in contents
Keys
home and work keys on one ring home and work keys on two rings, no overlap in contents
Clothes and appearance
one all-purpose home and work wardrobe distinct uniforms for home and work
changing in morning and evening insignificant changing in morning and evening crucial
many work and home-related items in purse/wallet few work items in purse/wallet
Eating and drinking
same foodstuffs and drinks consumed in same different foodstuffs and drinks consumed in distinctly different,
(un)routinized ways at home and work (un)routinized ways at home and work throughout day and week
throughout day and week
Money
same monies used for personal and work no overlap in accounts or uses of personal and work monies,
expenses incurred at home and workplace places where they are spent or their respective bills, receipts,
multipurpose bills, receipts, and tax forms and tax forms
Talk
cross-realm talk within both realms, and no talk about work at home and no talk about home
about both realms same style of talk used in at work realm-specific talk-styles
both realms
People and their representations
addresses and phone numbers for all acquaintances addresses and phone numbers for work and home acquaintances
kept in one book photographs of coworkers at kept in separate lists, in separate places, photos of coworkers
home, photos of family kept at workplace kept in workplace, photos of family kept at home
coworkers come to house to socialize with family; coworkers socialize together without families, in workplace
family comes to workplace to socialize/work during workday, family does not come to workplace
with coworkers
Reading
“work” and “home”-related material read and “work” material read and stored only at workplace, during worktime;
stored anywhere, anytime “personal” material read only during “personal” time, away
from workspace
Breaks
no distinction between worktime and personal distinct pockets of personal time during workday when no wage
time during day or year labor is done; distinct annual vacations when no wage labor is done
Commutes
“two-way bridges”; no transformative function “one-way bridges”; crucial for achieving transformations
between realm-specific selves
Phone calls
frequent, random cross-realm calls; intra-realm no cross-realm calls; intra-realm calls include only realm-specific
calls include cross-realm subject matter subject matter
The “bureaucratic,” the “greedy,” and the

“discretionary” workplace
The prototypical, “bureaucratic” workplace is a segmentist norm against
which all other discretionary allowances can be measured. It is an
extreme case in which the workplace so thoroughly delimits its side of
the home/work boundary, employees have very little discretion in how
they do personal boundary work. Here, bureaucratic managers carefully
consider and control the presence of virtually all their employees’ cross-
realm contents. Through stringent formal and informal rules about mix-
ing realm contents, the bureaucratic workplace pushes us to distinguish
between what is “ours” and “theirs,” what is “private” and “public,” what
belongs to “home” and “work.”
For instance, Gayle describes a former supervisor, who started sending
out “anti-pollution” memos the day he joined her university depart-
ment. Gayle and her colleagues were surrounded by faculty, classic
occupational “professionals,” who brought dogs and children to work,
lectured in jeans and scruffy beards, seemingly came and went when
they felt like it, and decorated their offices however they wished. When
her new supervisor came on board, however, Gayle and her colleagues
were repeatedly admonished in writing and in person for creating an
“unprofessional” work environment.
By the second week of his tenure, Gayle’s supervisor went so far
as to undertake an inspection tour, pointing out all the “personal” items
around their workspaces that “must go.” He even declared the maxi-
mum size of the few personal items they were allowed to keep on their
desks: small, “tasteful” photographs and plants. Violation of these rules
and others, like putting artwork on the walls, making personal phone
calls, and eating at one’s desk, were now grounds for official reprimand.
It is ironic that this supervisor continued to couch his demands in the
rubric of creating a “professional” work environment. As Gayle’s story
suggests, traditional, powerful, occupational professionals, like academ-
ics, lawyers, medical doctors, and architects, are likely to enjoy much
more discretion than their administrative supporters in how they do
their boundary work. (The burgeoning bureaucracies that increasingly
employ lawyers and medical doctors may undermine professionals’ cus-
tomary power/discretion, however.) Whether self-employed or working
in places like universities, professionals are more powerful than the
administrative staff who support their work and institutions. Indeed,
such professionals are more likely to demand and receive all kinds of
opportunities that allow them to be more integrating than support staff,
should they wish, including on-site daycare and flexible schedules and
workplaces. Rather than a “professional” office, workplace policies like
those of Gayle’s supervisor actually create a “bureaucratic” office con-
sistent with Weber’s (1978, 956–8) analysis. The sense of self these poli-
cies create in employees is bureaucratic, too. Workers are encouraged by
policies like these to create compartmentalized worlds for home and
work, moving sequentially between who they are and what they attend
to over the course of the day and week. The bureaucratic workplace is
analytically countered by the “greedy” workplace. As Lewis Coser (1974)
puts it, “greedy institutions” are those that demand the lion’s share of
our energy, loyalty, and commitment. My notion of the greedy work-
place is based on this concept, and manifested in the way it fundamen-
tally redefines so much of our time and space, so many aspects of our
selves according to its purposes. By extending its demands outside the
time and space of the bureaucratic workplace, the greedy workplace also
limits choice about the home/work nexus. Such workplaces demand
that we be highly integrating, biasing that integration in favor of work.
For the greedy workplace employee, work is liable to be everywhere, all
the time. It infiltrates so much of life that it may be consciously activated
when the employee least expects it, and when it would be unthinkable
for the vast majority of us. Nearly everything one does, everyone one
does it with, reverberates from and through the workplace. Even one’s
family members become fundamentally shaped and defined by the
spouse–parent’s work. A wife becomes a “corporate wife,” with her own
corresponding career and a list of job responsibilities that directly sup-
port and allow the husband’s to proceed and succeed. Children are pres-
ent “at work” from a young age and groomed to support a parent’s work
in myriad ways. The home, itself, may belong to the greedy workplace,
granted temporarily to the employee and her or his family for the dura-
tion of their career here.
Consider, for instance, what we expect of the President of the United
States, the average immigrant family living in back or over top of their
restaurant, or even our clergy. The following case is an extreme one, to
be sure. But it illustrates how even an expectedly greedy workplace can
push its employees too far. After graduation from seminary school,
Mark moved his family to their new home in his Independent church’s
apartment complex. Fully aware of and quite looking forward to the
greediness of Mark’s chosen career, they were soon taken back by the
full extent of it in this particular church. They had already resigned
themselves to certain changes in the life they had envisioned there.
Ruth, for instance, had planned to continue “home schooling” their
eldest child while taking care of the younger ones at home during the
day. This church had a school attached to it, however, and they were
told quite bluntly that it “wouldn’t look good” if the assistant pastor
didn’t enroll his own children. In a short while, it became clear that
home schooling would’ve been quite difficult, anyway. Ruth found
herself constantly baking, cleaning, entertaining, running errands, and
visiting, eager to fulfill the expectations of the congregation and her
husband’s boss.
Before long, the benefits of an integrating workplace, like having
a subsidized apartment to live in, a church car for errands, free school
tuition, and free meals in the school cafeteria, no longer seemed ade-
quate compensation. Mark was working 16-hour workdays, 7 days a week
(with three days off in two years, each denied by the head minister, but
taken anyway). They could never get away from the work. The sense of
being always under scrutiny and never quite committed enough in the
opinion of the head minister, in particular, soon began to take a toll on
the whole family. The couple became physically ill and lost unhealthy
amounts of weight from the stress.
After two years, they left without even waiting for another job to
appear, as had half a dozen of their predecessors. The final straw occurred
when Mark and Ruth heard elements of their most private conversations,
held in their apartment or over the telephone, repeated back to them.
This happened just after they found out that, unknown to anyone else,
the head minister had placed camera monitors and motion detectors
throughout the church offices. Mark and Ruth could not help but won-
der if he also had extended “work” into their phone and apartment
more than they had been aware of, through electronic eavesdropping
devices. Unlike the bureaucratic or the greedy workplace, the “discre-
tionary” workplace leaves employees’ boundary work up to them. The
discretionary workplace offers options in terms of dress, for instance,
whether or not one must use personal or work money for workplace
expenses, the ways one can decorate one’s office or home, make “per-
sonal” phone calls, take a lunch or vacation break, use workplace tools
and resources, bring one’s family into one’s work, bring one’s workmates
into one’s home, etcetera. There are no mandates; “anything goes.”
The most discretionary workplaces offer options like telecommuting,
for instance. A truly discretionary telecommuting option gives employees
an opportunity to mix home and work as they wish. They may choose to
maintain a highly segmentist, traditional commuting relationship
between realm, simply shortening their commute by walking down the
hall in the morning to a separate office from “nine-to-five” – banishing
children, spouse, and all domestic concerns for the duration. They may
choose to work on the kitchen table and throughout the rest of the
house, thoroughly intermixing traditionally domestic and wage work
activities and people. They may choose to work neither “at work” nor “at
home,” nor during any set time of day or night, but at a separately main-
tained office space of their choice, in a community work center (generic
office buildings or rooms wired for telephones and computers,) or a pri-
vately owned or rented space somewhere else. Of course, to obtain the
ultimate discretion in telecommuting, the option to engage in it or not
must be flexible throughout the week, month, year, or even a given day.
The varying options presented by bureaucratic, greedy, and discre-
tionary workplaces are easily seen in workplace childcare policies.
Consider, for instance, the typically bureaucratic way of managing wage
work and parenting identities. Segmentist beliefs generally result in
resistance to on-site childcare, eldercare, and flexible work time and
work place arrangements. This is at least partly because these practices
allow home and work to be intermixed and better accommodated,
ostensibly undermining employees’ single-minded focus on work and
a workplace identity. Such policies provide workers with much more
discretion, which could be used to create a far more integrative arrange-
ment than a bureaucrat would wish. A bureaucratic workplace limits
employee discretion and ensures greater segmentation by refusing to
adopt practices like these. The greedy workplace is just as inflexible, but
in the opposite direction. As a precondition to working here, employees
must enroll their children in on-site daycare centers, schools, or keep
them with them at their workspaces. Communes, close-knit religious
communities, and prestigious private schools whose teachers are
parents, for instance, commonly expect that children will attend the
independent schools they run. In a variety of ways, the children become
a mechanism through which the group asserts increased social control
over all its members.
However, top-down workplace policies also can allow for a much
greater degree of choice. For instance, CMP Publications in Manhassset,
New York, is a technical publications company with the first private, on-
site daycare center on Long Island. Lilo and Gerry Leeds, the company’s
founders and co-chairpersons of the Board of Directors, are responsible
for instigating the daycare center. It is their philosophy, along with their
son’s (company President Michael), that underlies the Center’s goals,
facilities, and activities.
Nothing symbolizes the Leeds’ approach to home and work more suc-
cinctly than the immediate visibility of the daycare center. It is located
on the ground floor of the office building, right next to the entrance.
Through locked, glass doors and windows, employees’ children – and,
by proxy, their home identities – are visible to all who enter this “place
of business.”
Space constraints originally led the Leeds to omit kitchen facilities
for feeding the children. Parents supervised and fed their children at
lunchtime. However, the advantages that resulted from this approach
led CMP to leave this arrangement alone even when they could expand.
This is because lunchtime permits highly integrative activity at CMP,
giving parents a chance to share stories, advice, and moral support
and get to know each other’s children. And, of course, the children get
unique exposure to their parents’ “work.” They see at least some of the
tasks and people important to Mommy or Daddy at work. All of this
occurs whether CMP parents take their children to the firm’s cafeteria
or remain at the Center for lunch.
Through their commitment to daycare, the Leeds enable their work-
ers to be more integrating or segmenting in their home and work rela-
tionships. Employees may put their children in the Center, having
lunch and talking with them and the other families each day. Or, they
may find and even pay a surrogate to sit with their children at lunch, or
refuse to talk to others even if they feed their children themselves. And,
of course, they may keep their children out of the workplace altogether.
At CMP, employees have the discretion to follow any of these paths. CMP
employees’ opportunities for a more segmented or integrated approach
to work and home are seen in other child-related policies, too. While
waiting for substitutes to arrive, sometimes there are staffing problems
in the Center. Because the Leeds allow all employees to juggle their
schedules and be away from their desks during the day, parents can
temporarily help supervise the children, if they wish. And although
CMP also provides an on-site, “After-School-Care” program for older
children, parents are free to keep their children with them in their
offices. Older children are commonly seen doing homework, working
on computers, and otherwise keeping busy in a variety of workspaces.
Moreover, the Clinton Administration’s Family Leave bill had no visible
impact here. Years ago, the Leeds gave their staff four months’ leave of
absence after giving birth, holding their jobs and health insurance
for the duration. Discretion-granting policies like these make it no
wonder that hundreds of people apply for each job opening at CMP,
from the most mundane to technically sophisticated positions. It is
also no wonder that a standing joke has emerged: “CMP” stands for
“Call Me Pregnant.” Eligible to use the daycare center after one year of
employment, newcomers commonly wait exactly three months then

launch into pre-natal parenthood.
By providing an employee with the discretion to be a “good worker”
and a “good parent” in whatever way is best for her or him, the Leeds
directly flout the much more common, segmentist beliefs in practice in
the United States. They are convinced that they help foster an extremely
high-quality workforce this way. They also believe that they help make
happier children, better future workers, and more desirable citizens,
in general.
Policies that permit the selective use and minimal announcement of
vacation days also create more flexibility in the juxtaposition of home
and work. Lab employees may take their vacation in weekly lumps, or
by taking as little as a quarter of a vacation day at a time. For primary
parents, in particular, this policy is invaluable. It gives them the flexi-
bility of using vacation days when children (or aging parents) are ill, or
even if someone simply needs a day off from the stress of both realms.
And policies that ensure supervisors’ receptivity to making part-time,
flex-time, and flex-place work arrangements can be essential for valued
employees trying to maintain work and home roles. Whether a worker
is recovering from a heart attack, the onslaught of new parenthood,
on-going chemotherapy, the illness of a parent, spouse or child, or the
loss of a daycare provider, these policies help determine how segmenting
and integrating workers can be.
In short, the workplace opportunities we provide and the practices
we expect employees to adopt limit the amount of discretion each
employee has for setting the home/work boundary. We increase the
probability of a more segmenting experience, for instance, when we
demand that workers: take breaks at official times of the workday; wear
clothing at work which is inappropriate or undesirable for home; spend
different money on work and home expenses; not receive cross-realm
visitors in person or on the phone; keep photos, mementoes, decora-
tions, and family fundraising forms out of the workspace; keep work
equipment and materials in the workplace, only; not talk about their
“personal” lives during “work” time; seek social and athletic activities
outside the workplace without the coordinating assistance of the organ-
ization; adhere to anti-nepotistic hiring practices and expectations; and
be entirely absent from work for extended periods, from vacations to
children’s early years, because we give them no options to tend to home
and work throughout the day, week, year, and life course. One of the
effects – and rationales – for bureaucratic and greedy workplace rules
is to eliminate the range of scenarios that might emerge if boundary
decisions were left up to individuals. Employers are sometimes afraid

workers will take their work home only in the ways that cost the firm
money and/or prestige, not in the ways that will make money or reflect
well on it. They fear workers will bring home into the workplace in
similarly selective ways. Where organizations can’t or won’t figure out
who they can trust to do personal boundary work in acceptable ways,
segmentist, bureaucratic policies aim to stop the flow of all realm con-
tents between either place, for everyone. Integrating, greedy policies
similarly aim to take choice away from the employee. And by encour-
aging the unrestricted flow of everything between both realms, it is also
much easier for the greedy workplace to control where and when the
line is drawn.
Conclusion
The setting of organizational boundaries happens every day, though
countless, often taken-for-granted practices and policies. The question for
an organization is not whether boundaries will emerge across each of these
dimensions, but whether the overall result should be intentional, acci-
dental, or a combination of more collectively engineered and more indi-
vidual, organic kinds of boundary work. This applies to any of the highly
dynamic, organizational boundaries that are more obvious sources of
contention: the boundary between “employee” and “manager;” the one
between “individual” and “team”; the boundary separating the “work-
place” from the “workday” and the “workday” from the “non-workday;”
and the line demarcating the “organization,” itself – from people like col-
laborating clients or competitors, consultants, and providers of outsourced
services (Nippert-Eng and Fine 2001).
Organizational members concerned with the drawing of the home–
work boundary in particular might ask themselves several questions.
First, how is this boundary being set now, across its many dimensions?
Second, what do individual organizational members envision as a “good”
or “bad” home–work boundary? Third, which of the undoubtedly con-
flicting visions of a good/bad boundary should persist in the organiza-
tion – for an individual, for a work group, for people at different levels in
the organizational hierarchy, and for the organization overall? Fourth,
are there any formal consequences for people when they do and do not
meet the often informal, hidden expectations about what constitutes
“home” and what constitutes “work”? (In other words, who benefits
from the ways in which boundaries are permitted to be drawn?) And
finally, how much discretion could individuals receive in how they
set their boundaries – where and how does the organization absolutely
need to set the boundary and where might it be left up to each individ-
ual? The process of seeking answers to these questions could spark
a rich, categorical dialogue, indeed.
Acknowledgment
This chapter is excerpted from the following book with the permission
of University of Chicago Press.
Nippert-Eng, Christena. 1996. Home and work: Negotiating boundaries
through everyday life. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. © University
of Chicago Press.
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15
Some Organizational Consequences
of Cultural Differences in
Boundary Permeability
Boas Shamir and Yael Melnik1
Globalization means that national and cultural boundaries become more

permeable. People can cross these boundaries more easily than in earlier
periods to work or live in other countries, temporarily or permanently.
However, when they cross national boundaries for such purposes, they
still carry with them some boundaries. We refer to the boundaries that
cultures instill in people. These boundaries are not physical or political
borders but rather mental and social lines of distinction, which are
socially constructed and culturally defined. Culturally defined bound-
aries are learned by people through socialization and reflected in their
mental categories. Indeed, cultures may be characterized in terms of the
boundaries they set for their members, and the whole process of cultural
socialization can be conceived as a process of learning boundaries. Once
learned, these boundaries become taken for granted and guide people’s
thoughts and behavior (Nippert-Eng 1996; Zerubavel 1991).
In this chapter, we do not focus on the boundaries between nations or
cultures, but on the internal boundaries that members of different cultures
bring with them into the multinational or multicultural organizational
arena. We suggest that these boundaries may be no less consequential for
cross-cultural relations in organizations than the boundaries between cul-
tures (for instance, language barriers), which are more commonly empha-
sized. More specifically, we focus on a dimension of boundaries that has
not received much attention – the permeability or rigidity of culturally
defined boundaries.
We propose that cultures differ in the degree to which they are char-
acterized by rigid or more permeable boundaries, namely the extent to
which the culture emphasizes boundaries between people, positions,
281
282 Boas Shamir and Yael Melnik
roles, activities, and spheres of life. We further suggest that this differ-
ence has important implications for cross-cultural relations in organi-
zations. It may therefore be possible to characterize cultures in terms
of their emphasis on boundary rigidity versus permeability, and to
understand difficulties in cross-cultural working relations as stemming,
at least in part, from cultural differences on this dimension.
We base our arguments on a study of cross-cultural working relations
between American and Israeli managers and engineers who work together
in “high-tech” companies in the Silicon Valley, California. We inter-
viewed the participants in an open-ended way asking them about their
self-perceptions, mutual perceptions, and working relations. Through
analyzing the interview transcripts, we gradually came to the realization
that most of the themes mentioned as differentiating Americans and
Israelis and affecting their working relationships reflect the meta-theme
of boundary rigidity versus permeability. There was considerable conver-
gence between the reports of the two groups. Specifically, the Americans
were characterized as relatively “bounded,” while the Israelis were char-
acterized as relatively “boundary-less” in many respects. The Americans
maintained more rigid boundaries between their thoughts and feelings
and their overt behavior, between different organizational positions,
between their different roles and activities, and between types of rela-
tionships. The Israelis tended to disregard these boundaries or bend
them. These differences were reported to have many behavioral mani-
festations, which created difficulties in communication and affected the
level of trust and cooperation between members of the two nationalities
working in the same organizations. We place our findings in a more
general theoretical framework by relating them to the most commonly
used dimensions of cultural differences suggested by prominent writers
(Hall 1966, 1983; Hofstede 1980; Trompenaars 1994), and by showing
that these dimensions reflect differences in the permeability of various
boundaries. We then discuss the implications of our observations and
proposition.
Method
Seventeen Israeli and eleven American high-tech workers employed by
multinational companies in the Silicon Valley, California were inter-
viewed. The participants came from 12 different organizations. Two-
thirds of the participants were men. About a third were senior level
managers, a third mid-level managers, and a third engineers and tech-
nical workers. Their age ranged between early thirties and mid-forties.
Boundary Permeability 283
No systematic sampling procedure was used. Participants were chosen

according to their availability using a “snowball” method. All partici-
pants worked in organizations that employed both Israelis and
Americans and had at least several months (usually more) experience
working with members of the other nationality.
Interviews were conducted in an open-ended manner, using several
general questions and probing for further information where appropri-
ate. Participants were asked about their contacts with colleagues from
the other nationality both at work and outside work, similarities and
differences in work-related behaviors between American and Israelis,
whether national or cultural differences affect their communication and
cooperation with colleagues and in what ways, how they cope with
cultural diversity in their organizations, and whether this diversity
affects the functioning of the organization. Interviews lasted about an
hour and were tape-recorded.
We analyzed the interview transcripts according to themes suggested
by the material itself. In this analysis, we attempted to arrive at what Lee
(1999) has called “meaning condensation.” According to Lee (p. 89),
during meaning condensation, the researcher strives to extract, abridge,
or abstract the most important themes from the data. This process
involves data reduction, while simultaneously articulating the most
important themes in the data. According to Boyatzis (1998) thematic
analysis involves seeing a pattern or a theme in seemingly random
information, giving a label to the discovered pattern and interpreting
the pattern.
Following this analytical strategy, we tried to find categories or con-
cepts that lay beneath the empirical data. First, we organized the material
into superficial content categories such as “modes of communication,”
“working patterns,” “attitudes to work and the organization,” “gender-
related attitudes,” “personal relations,” and “coping with cultural diver-
sity.” We started to organize the material in these categories after
conducting a few interviews, and continued to do so while modifying the
categories as we accumulated more data. We stopped interviewing when
we felt that saturation was achieved, in the sense that further interviews
repeated the contents of former interviews without adding important
contents or insights with respect to the content categories we had identi-
fied. However, while categorizing the data in this manner, we recognized
an overarching theme behind most of the entries in the various cate-
gories, namely the issue of boundary rigidity versus permeability.
Therefore, in the second step of the analysis, we reorganized the
material according to the types of boundaries implied by each entry.
Once we identified a small number of categories of boundary

permeability, the judgment of which interview sections represent each
category became a very simple task and there was almost full agreement
between the authors (who worked independently) regarding the
categorization of the data. In the very few cases where differences of
interpretation emerged, they were resolved by discussion between the
authors.
We found sufficient evidence for differences in boundary permeabil-
ity on four boundary categories: Expressive boundaries, bureaucratic
and role boundaries, time boundaries, and boundaries between work
and non-work roles and relationships. We also found some evidence for
differences in boundary permeability on two additional dimensions,
physical boundaries and boundaries between the individual and the
collective. In the following sections we present in detail evidence for
the first four categories and describe briefly the other two dimensions.
(All participants’ names have been changed to maintain anonymity.)
Where possible, we compare our findings with the observations of other
researchers and writers.
Expressive boundaries
This dimension refers to boundaries between people’s thoughts and
feelings and their overt behavior. There were several manifestations of
this difference between the Americans and the Israelis. The Americans
were characterized as more controlled and restrained, while the Israelis
were characterized as disclosing their opinions and evaluations more
openly, and expressing their emotions more freely, both verbally and
non-verbally.
The Israelis were described both by themselves and by their American
colleagues as more open, candid, and direct. “You know where you
stand with Israelis, while with Americans, you don’t know what they
want or what they are thinking” said Jennie, an American. “Israelis are
very genuine people and what you see is what you get.” According to
Jack, an American senior manager, “With Israelis, you know right away
what position they hold and what kind of people they are. Americans,
if they don’t like what you do they would just be polite.” “The Israelis
are very straightforward people and if they want to tell you something,
they will,” said Eric, an American human resources manager.
In fact, direct and candid speech, or what is called in Israel talking
Dugri, is a salient characteristic of Israeli culture (Katriel, 1986). According
to Erez and Earley (1993) it rests on a belief in Israel that frankness is
conducive to group longevity. For instance, according to Amir, an Israeli

leader of an engineering group, a common reaction of an Israeli who
disagrees with others at a meeting is to interrupt and say “it won’t
work” or “you are wrong.” An American, in contrast, would say “There
might be a different way to do it” or “from my experience, I’ve seen it
done differently” or even, “This is an interesting idea, could you please
explain it a bit more?”
The tendency of the Israelis to talk Dugri, or say what they think, was
often perceived by the Americans as representing impoliteness, rude-
ness, or even aggressive behavior on the part of the Israelis. The Israelis,
from their perspective, sometimes perceived the American tendency
to refrain from direct and candid speech as hypocritical or “phoney.”
“An American will not ask a question that will embarrass you because
they are polite, but they will talk about you behind your back. They
would say positive things about someone when he or she is in front of
them, even when their opinion is the opposite” said Miri, an Israeli soft-
ware developer. Tamir, an Israeli CEO, said “When an American tells
you ‘let’s meet, I will think about it, it’s a good idea – let me get back to
you, or let’s have lunch together’, he actually is not interested in keep-
ing in touch.” Mostly, however, the Israelis found this tendency con-
fusing, at least at the beginning of their work relations with Americans.
For instance, during a presentation that Ora gave, she recommended
using a certain tool, which some of her American colleagues thought
was not a good idea. However, they did not attack the idea directly. One
of them said “this is one possibility … .” Another said, “When I used this
tool in the past, there were a few problems.” At first, these remarks
seemed to her constructive and not very serious, but after a while she
realized what they meant was “you don’t know what you are talking
about and haven’t done your homework.” Before she had experience
working with Americans, when she received a remark like “If I were you,
I would do it differently …” she thought, “… fine, he isn’t me and it is
only a suggestion.” This got her into trouble because after a while her
boss would say “but I told you to do so.” Ora then realized the comment
was a statement and not just a polite suggestion. Her conclusion: “It is
difficult to know if people liked what you said or did, you just have to
wait and see.”
Other Israelis related similar experiences. “They do not use extreme
terminology,” said Miri. For instance, at first, when Miri heard the
expression “I am concerned about …” she did not think the situation
was serious. Now, she says, she knows that when an American uses this
term, he or she perceives the situation as extremely troubling. Ido, an
Israeli CEO of a start-up company, said he had never actually heard the
Americans say “no.” He told us he hired an American consultant who
accompanied him to meetings to help him interpret “the real meaning
of things.”
The greater permeability of expressive boundaries among the Israelis is
manifested not only in the content of their speech but also in their tone.
Ora, for instance, said she realizes now that the Israelis’ tone in meetings
is much more aggressive. Eli, an Israeli senior manager, referred to
another manifestation of this cultural difference in the use of intona-
tion. Since the Israelis are more expressive, they use intonation more.
This can lead to misunderstandings. For instance, according to Eli, in
Hebrew you can say “bring me coffee” without saying “please” or
“would you mind,” and this might sound all right if the intonation is
appropriate. The Americans listen to the words, and it is perceived as
impolite to say to someone “bring me coffee” regardless of the intona-
tion. “There is something in the way Israelis speak that causes us to be
perceived in a different manner than we intend,” said Eli. If he is correct,
the American norm of always saying “please” may be based on the
assumption that people maintain expressive boundaries and do not
express themselves freely in the tone of their voice. It is therefore impor-
tant to include the request in the words, because it cannot be assumed it
will be conveyed by the intonation.
Another manifestation of differences in the permeability of expressive
boundaries is the Israelis’ impatience when others speak and their ten-
dency to interrupt a conversation or a discussion. There were many ref-
erences to this aspect by both Israeli and American participants in our
study. According to Neal, an American Vice President, “It is hard to
finish a sentence before five Israelis argue with you.” Amir, an Israeli,
said that when he goes to Israel for meetings he sometimes ends up with
a headache, because he is no longer used to the high tones and to every-
one interrupting the conversation frequently. Americans often perceived
such interruptions as impolite, argumentative, or even aggressive, espe-
cially if the content of the remarks was critical. Tracy, an American human
resources director, said, “The Israelis are looking for opportunities to
interrupt throughout a presentation. It happened that an American pre-
senter came out of such a presentation in tears feeling rejected and
attacked because they did not let her complete her presentation as
planned. She did not understand that this is the way an Israeli shows his
interest.”
Some Israelis said that the Americans’ avoidance of direct criticism
has negative organizational consequences. For instance, Tamir said that
because Americans refrain from saying unpleasant things in a straight-

forward manner, problems might take longer to be identified and may
not be dealt with in time. According to Tamir, one area in which this
happens is performance evaluations. As a result of the Americans’ ten-
dency to soften their criticism, a worker may not get real and accurate
feedback in time, may not be given an opportunity to improve his or her
performance, and therefore may “fall in an instant.” Other observers
have noted the difference between Israelis and Americans in the extent
to which overt speech and behavior reflect inner thoughts and feelings
(e.g. Eisenberg, 1994; Elron, 1994). Starr (1990) refers to American indi-
rectness versus Israeli bluntness as two different approaches to the use of
language that often engender immense mutual distrust. Tellingly, Starr
titled her book Kissing through glass: The invisible shield between Americans
and Israelis. This followed a comment by a famous Israeli author after his
first visit to the United States that Americans are very polite, but trying
to relate to them is like kissing through glass.
To put these observations in a broader perspective, Trompenaars
(1994) suggests that the amount of visible emoting is a major difference
between cultures. In this regard, he distinguished between neutral and
affective cultures. Members of neutral cultures do not show their feel-
ings but keep them carefully controlled and subdued. In contrast, mem-
bers of affective cultures are less inhibited and reveal their thoughts and
feelings verbally and non-verbally. He characterized Americans as an
affective culture, in comparison with the North European and some of
the Far-East cultures. However, our interviews and the observations of
other researchers (e.g. Starr, 1990) clearly suggest, that in comparison
with the Israelis’ affectivity and expressiveness, the Americans are
relatively neutral and expressively bounded.
Bureaucratic boundaries
Bureaucracy is a boundary-creating device. The principles of division of
labor, hierarchy, standardization, and formalization create boundaries
between departments, between positions, between roles, and between
what is sanctioned and not sanctioned by the organization. Compared
to Israelis, Americans accept these boundaries and find them desirable
and comfortable. The Israelis, in contrast, perceive them as limits and
therefore disregard them and cross them much more frequently.
The Israelis were characterized by our interviewees as less bounded by
the formal definitions of their roles in the sense of limiting themselves
to what is under their formal responsibility and not getting involved in
what is formally other people’s work. Americans, in contrast, were

described as confining their activity to their formal task “The Americans
do what has to be done and nothing further,” Ora said, “In America
responsibilities are clear and people do not interfere with each others’
work.” She gave a small but telling example: she is usually cold in her
office, so when the temperature in the room got too low for her, she used
to raise it up a little. After it happened several times, the system was
locked and now she needs to call a maintenance person to change the
room temperature when needed. Ora said, “They are very strict, even
with things that seem simple,” but she also sees the benefits of these lim-
itations. “For instance, when a machine gets broken, you call the person
in charge, instead of having everyone who passes you, and thinks they
know what the problem is, fiddle with it.”
The Israelis were also portrayed as less observant of departmental
boundaries and hierarchical boundaries, and in general as less confined
to the formal bureaucratic structure of the organization. Jim, an American
manager, said, “They are used to going to whomever they want and come
back and say: this is what I’ve done. In the US this behavior doesn’t work
and is not acceptable.” Neal, another American said, “They do not accept
formal authority and ignore titles,” which echoes the finding that Israeli
culture is very low on the power distance dimension (Hofstede, 1980) and
the observations of other writers (Gardiner, 1994; Meshulam, 1994). One
consequence for the Israelis in not limiting themselves to their roles and
not observing the formal hierarchy is that their American colleagues
sometimes perceive them as promoting themselves to managerial roles
even if they do not occupy such roles formally.
In Israel, we were told, boundaries are more vague, instructions are
given in general, and people are expected to “think big.” While this dis-
turbs the Americans, they also see the potentially positive organiza-
tional consequences of this behavior. For instance, Danny said, “They
talk when there is a problem, they’d ask: what is happening, what is the
problem, why isn’t it ready? While the Americans will keep quiet or ask
a polite question but in many cases will wait almost a year for the
annual report.” Some Israelis perceived the Americans’ tendency to keep
within the boundaries of their defined roles as a tendency to not take
responsibility. Others interpreted it as lack of interest. Several Israelis
reported that as a consequence of the Americans observance of role
boundaries, they could work in the organization for two years without
the people around them knowing what they do.
Another manifestation of the cultural differences in observance of
bureaucratic boundaries was the different attitude toward plans. The
Americans were portrayed as liking to work according to a plan, while

the Israelis as disregarding plans and liking to improvise. For the Israelis,
decisions are never final and plans only constitute a basis for change.
Their attitude was described as “lets do this and see what happens.”
Occasionally, a plan was made and the day after, the Israelis did some-
thing else because they thought it was better. The Americans get very
annoyed by this type of behavior, but to the Israelis, changing the plan
to a better one is perceived as the right thing to do.
According to Dov, an American senior manager, Americans are
function-oriented and work in a structured way following preplanned
stages. For instance, they’ll move to the implementation stage only after
the planning stage. Israelis, he said, are project oriented, which he
thought is good because they adopt a broader perspective. Tracy also said
that for the Israelis, “what is important is the goal and not the way,”
while the American has to work according to structured phases. However,
according to her, this difference has negative consequences because the
Americans view the plan as a kind of an agreement, and when the Israelis
do not follow it, they feel that the word of an Israeli cannot be trusted,
“They say something and do something else.” As a consequence of the
Israelis’ disregard for plans, the Americans sometimes perceive the Israelis
as less reliable, while the Israelis perceive the Americans as “square”
and rigid.
These differences are echoed in the literature. Hall (1959) noted the
value of order for Americans. Many observers have noted the Israeli
emphasis on improvisation. For instance, Hickson and Pugh (1995) char-
acterized the Israeli manager as being “where the action is: persuading,
cajoling, flitting from one topic to another incident, always being inter-
rupted by the telephone, always in demand” (p. 114). They added, “This
style of management clearly puts a lot less emphasis on the planning
and strategic analysis aspects of the task” (p. 115). Zand (1978) attrib-
uted the lack of strategic planning among Israeli managers to the fact
that improvisation for the Israeli manager is not just a management
skill but a norm. In a similar vein, Meshulam (1994) refers to improvi-
sation as a national value in Israel.
An important aspect of bureaucratic boundaries concerns the bound-
ary between what is permitted and what is not permitted by formal
policies and procedures. The Israelis were portrayed as “cutting corners”
and more inclined to bypassing or even bending formal rules and regu-
lations. The Americans, in contrast, were characterized as accepting the
“rules of the game” and adhering to the formal rules and policies. For
instance, in the company that Ora works for, when an employee wishes
to order a certain part, he/she needs to fill up a purchase order, receive

a number and wait for signatures to authorize the request. Some Israelis
have no patience for such a procedure. “When things are urgent, I go
straight to the person who gave me the number and tell him I’ll take
care of the rest. An American won’t do such a thing.” Eli said regarding
“cutting corners,” “We perceive it as demonstrating initiative and an
ability to solve problems, but by the Americans it is perceived as mis-
leading.” Therefore, said Eli, it is difficult for the Israelis to establish
trust with the Americans. Some Israelis, at least in the beginning of their
work with Americans, perceive the Americans as “square,” if they wait
patiently when corners can be cut and procedures bypassed.
Several Israeli writers have mentioned the Israelis’ disregard for rules
or regulations versus the Americans’ emphasis on discipline, order, and
following rules (see Elron, 1994; Meshulam, 1994). These writers refer,
among other things, to the higher tendency among Israelis to evade
paying income tax and their undisciplined and high-risk driving style.
Starr (1990), an American, refers to Israel as a country of “charming
lawlessness” (p. 16), and one of the chapters in her book is titled, “The
Unsystematic System.”
In sum, considerable differences were reported with regard to obser-
vance of bureaucratic boundaries. As a result of these differences, the
Americans were perceived, and perceived themselves, as more struc-
tured, disciplined, methodical, systematic, and committed to role defi-
nitions, written responsibilities, schedules, procedures, and plans, but
sometimes also as more rigid, conservative, “square,” slow, and lacking
initiative. The Israelis perceived themselves and were perceived by the
Americans as “thinking big,” committed to the goals, flexible, and hav-
ing initiative, but also as more sloppy, less respectful, less disciplined,
and less reliable.
Temporal boundaries
Closely related to the issue of bureaucratic boundaries is the issue of
time boundaries. The Americans were characterized by participants in
our study as more punctual and more observant of schedules and time
limits. The Israelis were portrayed as less punctual and not keeping their
schedules. They were also described as tending to do many things at the
same time and consider everything as urgent. For instance, according
to Tracy, it bothers the Americans that Israelis tend to do everything
at the last minute, “Everything is ‘in the air’ until something has to be
dealt with.”
Differences in observance of time schedules are closely related to

differences in following plans, an issue covered in the previous section.
Other observers have noted these differences. For instance, Hickson and
Pugh (1995, 115) write: “Israeli managers do not do much in the way of
time planning … Israeli managers pride themselves on their ability to
improvise.” A tendency to improvise reflects the permeability of both
bureaucratic and temporal boundaries.
However, there were other manifestations of different attitudes to
time. Both the Israeli and the American participants agreed that the
Israelis work longer hours even if not paid for overtime. To some of
the Israelis, it seemed strange that an American employee would take
a lunch break or leave work at five and go home to his family instead
of finishing the task. According to Jack, an American, given a task the
Israelis will work around the clock until it is done. Americans, he said,
will be less willing to stay after five. They prefer to have dinner with
their families, while the Israelis spend more time with their families dur-
ing the weekend, and having a family dinner during the week is not as
common. “The Americans are very strict with their schedule,” said Ora,
“lunch is always between 1200 and 1300. The Israelis are more flexible
and would postpone lunch if they are working on an urgent project.”
Similar cultural differences have been noted by other writers. Hall
(1983) has proposed that there are two major conceptions of time.
People with a monochronic conception of time believe that things should
be done sequentially and that one thing should be the focus of atten-
tion at a time. In other words, monochronism is characteristic of peo-
ple who tend to compartmentalize both time. Planning ahead of time is
highly valued, and things are often done according to a preset schedule.
People with a polychronic conception of time, in contrast, perceive time
to be nonlinear; thus many things can happen at once. Polychronic
people tend to keep several operations going at once, like jugglers, and
unexpected events and interruptions are more accepted. According to
Hall (1983), Western Europe and North America are more monochromic
cultures, whereas Asia, Africa, South America, and the Middle East are
more polychronic. Trompenaars (1994) uses the terms sequential and
synchronic for the same distinction. He suggests that people in sequen-
tial cultures tend to put a high value on punctuality and have a strong
preference for following initial plans, while in synchronic cultures
appointments are approximate, and people tend to flow with the activ-
ity or relationships with which they are engaged. Americans are sequen-
tial, according to Trompennars. Relative to them, the Israelis were
described in our interviews as more synchronic.
Boundaries between work and non-work roles

and relationships
Many of our interviewees reported that the Americans maintain a
separation between their work time and their “private” time, between
their workplace and their homes, and between work relations and per-
sonal relationships. For the Israelis, the boundaries between the life
spheres were much more permeable. First, the Israelis, to a larger extent
than the Americans, tended to view their work relations as personal
relations as well. According to Tracy, “The Israelis want to make per-
sonal contacts at work. They want to chat and find a way of working
together based on a personal relationship. The Americans, in contrast,
separate between work and personal life, and the mixing of the two
bothers them.” Yossi, an Israeli engineer, said, “Americans do not mix
their private lives with their work and won’t ask a new colleague where
he lives, what he does after work hours or other personal questions.” For
Israelis, asking such personal questions is not only permissible but is
viewed as a sign of warmth and personal interest. Starr (1990) observed
similar difficulties in her study, and noted, “Both sides search for a com-
mon ground in communication. The Americans try to keep it on a busi-
ness plane, where they’re more comfortable, while the Israelis vainly try
to unearth family or friendship connections” (p. 43).
Similar differences between American and Israeli organizational
cultures concerning the protection of privacy and confidentiality
boundaries were noted by Meshulam (1994), an Israeli with extensive
experience as an academic and a manager both in the United States and
in Israel.
Our participants also described the Israelis as more inclined to “bring
home to work.” For instance, Ora noted that Americans rarely make
non-work related phone calls at work, and when they make or receive
such calls they keep them very short. For the Israelis, talking on the
phone at length from the workplace with family members, friends, and
other non-work related parties is much more common. Israelis may also
bring their children to the workplace when they have a problem with
childcare arrangements, which the Americans refrain from doing. In
addition, the Israelis were described as more inclined to be involved,
while at work, with non-work related matters, which was discouraged
by their American colleagues and superiors. Ora gave an example:
She used to play a solitaire card game on her computer during her
lunch breaks. One day, her boss called her to his room, closed the door,
and asked if she has an addiction problem. Ora said no and did not
understand what he was talking about. The boss continued and said
that people pass her sitting at the computer and see her playing and it
does not look good. Ora replied that she was not so concerned about
what others think, but if it bothers him, she will delete the game from
her computer.
The greater permeability of the boundaries between home and work
for the Israelis was evidenced not only in their tendency to bring home
to work, but in the other direction as well. It was reported that among
the Israelis, it is more common to discuss work-related issues with
colleagues after work hours. It was also more common for them to call
a colleague at home after working hours to discuss such matters. Some
Israelis learned they have to ask for permission if they want to do so,
and did not understand why calling without permission is not more
accepted by their American colleagues. Several Israelis mentioned they
were rather offended by the fact that their American colleagues almost
never invited them home after work hours. In general the Israelis
were portrayed as more inclined to meet colleagues after work, invite
colleagues to their homes, and participate in family gatherings with
other members of the organization. These differences reflect a distinc-
tion made by Trompenaars (1994), following Lewin’s (1967) life-spaces
approach, between specific-oriented and diffuse cultures. In specific-
oriented cultures, life spheres are segregated or compartmentalized, and
relationships are limited to the specific domain in which they occur.
In diffuse cultures, the boundaries between life spheres are more per-
meable, private and business issues interpenetrate each other, and rela-
tionships take into account the whole person rather than a specific role.
Following Lewin, Trompenaars characterized the American culture as
rather specific and compartmentalized. Our interviews suggest that the
Israeli culture, in comparison, is considerably more diffuse.
Additional boundaries
In addition to the four boundary dimensions covered in the previous
sections, which were strongly emphasized in our interviews, the inter-
views also contained more limited material on differences concerning
two other dimensions. Despite the lack of sufficient evidence on these
dimensions, we mention them briefly in this section because they too
reflect more rigid boundaries in the case of the Americans than in the
case of the Israelis.
Physical boundaries: Hall (1966) drew attention to differences among
cultures in conceptions of personal space. Our interviews did not contain
much material on this aspect of cultural differences, but the remarks

made by our participants on this topic portrayed the Americans as
more observant of physical distance and physical boundaries than the
Israelis. Israelis were described as warmer and tending to touch each
other during a conversation as a sign of interest and enthusiasm.
Americans do not get as physically close to each other or to their Israeli
colleagues.
Boundaries between the individual and the collective: The US culture is
known to be an individualistic culture. In comparison, the Israelis are
more collectivistic (Hofstede 1980). Our participants also characterized
the Americans as maintaining clearer boundaries between the individ-
ual and the collective at various levels. The Israelis were portrayed as
being more strongly identified with their nation, the organization they
work for and their work group or team. For instance, Ora said, “The
Israelis emphasize teamwork and a sense of togetherness,” and Jennie,
an American senior engineer observed that “The Israeli structure is
more supportive and people team up, while in America everyone is to
himself.” She attributed the Israeli collectivistic tendency to family
structure: “People in Israel seem closer to each other, while an American
family can be scattered all over and not even get together on holidays.”
Both the Israelis and the Americans described the Israelis as more
devoted to the companies they work for and more inclined to view the
organization as a family. Perhaps the greater tendency of the Israelis,
noted above, to trespass boundaries of confidentiality and privacy may
also be seen as an indication of a greater collectivistic orientation,
because it reflects a higher legitimacy of bringing private matters into
the public, and therefore collective, domain.
Discussion and implications

The differences in boundary permeability between Americans and
Israelis noted in this study are summarized in Table 15.1.
The relative nature of cultural differences

It is important to note that the differences summarized in Table 15.1
are relative and do not characterize the cultures studied in absolute
terms. For instance, when we characterize the Americans as “reserved”
in Table 15.1, we do no suggest that they are reserved in absolute terms
only that relative to their Israeli colleagues they were perceived, and per-
ceived themselves as reserved. This point suggests a general implication
beyond the findings of the present study, namely that in understanding
Table 15.1 Differences in boundary permeability between Americans and

Israelis
Boundary type Americans Israelis

(More rigid boundaries) (Permeable boundaries)
Expressive boundaries Reserved, indirect Open, direct

Do not interrupt Interrupt
Do not use intonation Use intonation
much
Bureaucratic Limit themselves to Do not limit themselves
boundaries their prescribed roles to their prescribed roles
Rigid, do not show Flexible, show initiative
initiative
Respect titles and Do not respect titles and
authority authority
Follow plans Change plans, improvise
Obey rules Bend rules, “cut corners”
Document their work Do not document
Temporal boundaries Punctual Not punctual
Follow schedules Deviate from schedules
Do things one after Do many things at once
the other
Limit themselves to Work beyond formal
formal working hours hours
Work–Non-work Separate work and Mix personal and work
boundaries personal relationships relationsips
Do not bring home to Bring home to work
work
Do not bring work Bring work to home
to home
Avoid discussing Discuss personal matters
personal matters at work at work
Physical Boundaries Keep distance Do not maintain
distance
Do not touch Touch
Boundaries between Less emphasis on Emphasize teamwork
the individual and teamwork and and togetherness
the collective togetherness
Less identified with Identify with nation
nation and organization and organization
cross-cultural contacts between members of specific cultures one cannot

rely only on the magnitude of the differences between those cultures on
various cultural dimensions, such as the ones suggested by Hall (1966),
Hofstede (1980), or Trompenaars (1994). Even relatively small differ-
ences on these dimensions may be magnified due to the contrast that
can be created in the meeting between the focal cultures, and therefore
be highly consequential for cross-cultural working relations between
members of those cultures.
The extent of cultural differences revealed in this study could be seen
as surprising for the following reasons: Israel is a Westernized country
and Americanized in many respects. Both the Israeli and American
participants were highly educated people who can be seen as being at
the very front of the globalization trend. They belong to the same pro-
fessional communities and received similar professional education.
Israeli management, especially in high-tech firms, has been strongly
influenced by American management theories and practices (Meshulam
1994). It can be assumed that the professionals we interviewed had been
exposed throughout their lives to the same, largely American produced,
films, television programs, textbooks, and other socialization media.
They had also been exposed to messages that promote the value of cul-
tural diversity and recognize the political correctness of upholding this
value. Furthermore, they had considerable experience working with
members of the other cultural group both directly and through telecom-
munication media. The fact that even in such a population, substantial
cultural differences were noticed and reported reinforces our sugges-
tion that relatively small cultural differences may be magnified in the
context of cross-cultural working relations due to a “contrast effect.”
Real differences or stereotypes

The above-mentioned reasons for not expecting major differences
between American and Israeli professionals in high-tech industries raise
the possibility that the marked differences discovered in this study do
not reflect real cultural differences but rather stereotypical perceptions
or exaggerated over-generalizations. In addition, it is not unlikely that
our interviewing procedure, which indirectly asked the participants
to compare the two cultures and therefore perhaps to make generali-
zations, has contributed to the elicitation of stereotypical responses.
Therefore, we cannot rule out the possibility that, at least to some
extent, our findings represent stereotypical perceptions (which usually
are not totally unrelated to real attributes and differences). However, we
believe that to the extent that our findings represent such perceptions,
these mainly reflect natural stereotyping processes that occur under

circumstances of inter-group relations (see Tajfel 1982).
More importantly, it can be argued that stereotypes may affect cross-
cultural relations no less, or even more, than real cultural differences.
Cross-cultural relations are influenced not only by real cultural differ-
ences, for instance in value orientations, but also by cultural identities
and images. In our interviews, the participants revealed their own cul-
tural identity as well as their image of the cultural identity of the other
group and the impact of these images, which are always stereotypical,
on relations between the groups. Therefore, from the viewpoint of
cross-cultural relations, even if the findings are stereotypical in nature,
it does not decrease their importance.
Possible organizational consequences

Indeed, the real or stereotypical cultural differences revealed in this
study were reported to have noticeable organizationally relevant conse-
quences. Mainly, they affected the clarity of communication and the
level of trust between members of the two cultures, thus potentially
affecting their work relationships. Most of the misunderstandings and
communication problems between Israelis and Americans reported in
this chapter were related to the overstepping of boundaries, adhering
to boundaries, or misunderstanding them. Such misunderstandings
could lead to suspicion and distrust. For instance, the difference in main-
taining expressive boundaries was perceived by the Israelis as reflect-
ing greater honesty on their part and dishonesty on the part of the
Americans. The latter perceived the Israelis’ conduct in this regard as
unrestrained and inconsiderate, and sometimes even rude or aggressive.
The Americans perceived the lack of regard for formal role boundaries
by the Israelis as indicating a competitive tendency. In combination with
the lack of observance of time boundaries, it was also seen as disregard
for order and a difficulty to work in a systematic and methodical way.
The Israelis, on their part, viewed the Americans’ adherence to rules as
representing rigidity and lack of initiative.
Such mutual perceptions and attitudes could further affect organiza-
tional conduct and decisions. For instance, mistrust was evident in the
issue of appointments about which some members of both sides admit-
ted to favoritism, American managers preferring to appoint American
subordinates and Israeli managers preferring to appoint Israelis. On the
other hand, to the extent that the differences reported here are real and
not only stereotypical, it should be recognized that the cultural variety
might also have some beneficial consequences for the organization.
For instance, benefits may stem from the inclusion within the organi-
zation of both the American function-orientation, and capability for
planning and maintaining order, and the Israeli project-orientation,
and capability for improvising.
Boundary permeability as a cultural dimension

The focus on boundaries enabled us to organize a multitude of reported
and consequential cultural differences around the single theme of
boundary permeability. Sometimes a single meta-construct may be more
useful for understanding cultural differences than a list of several dimen-
sions. Israel and the United States are quite close to each other on some
of the dimensions specified by Hofstede (1980) and it would be difficult
to predict some of the differences revealed in this study on the basis of
those dimensions, even where differences exist. For instance, relative to
the United States, Israel is high on the dimension of uncertainty avoid-
ance. This could lead us to expect the Israelis to be more rigid than the
Americans and to place a higher value on planning. In fact, the opposite
was found. Apparently, uncertainty avoidance, if it is really high among
Israelis, is not translated into a preference for rigid boundaries.
The theme of boundary rigidity versus permeability may be useful
only for differentiating between the two cultures studied here and for
studying cross-cultural relations between members of these two groups.
Given the limited scope of our study and its emic approach, our findings
cannot be generalized to other populations. However, the boundary per-
meability theme seems to be a common denominator shared by several
prominent distinctions in the literature on cross-cultural differences.
It has recently been implied by Ashforth et al. (2000) that the four
dimensions of cultural differences identified by Hofstede (1980) concern
the rigidity of boundaries. Specifically, the dimension of collectivism–
individualism refers, at least in part, to the rigidity of the boundaries
between the individual and the collective to which s/he belongs (Markus
and Kitayama 1991). Power distance refers to the rigidity of the bound-
aries between members of the culture who occupy different status posi-
tions. The masculinity–femininity dimension refers to the rigidity of the
boundaries between men and women, between the feminine and mas-
culine aspects within a person, and between the work and family spheres
of life. The uncertainty avoidance dimension implies an emphasis on
rules and rituals and, therefore, on clear structures, clearly bounded
roles, and therefore bounded role performance. In this chapter, we
extend this suggestion to argue that the issue of boundary permeability
is also the primary principle behind the cultural dimensions suggested
by other prominent cultural analysts such as Hall (1959, 1966, 1983) and
Trompenaars (1994). Thus this theme may capture several of the cultural
dimensions that have been found to differentiate among societies.
A summary of these dimensions represented in terms of boundary
permeability or rigidity is given in Table 15.2.
The observation that the overarching theme of boundary permeabil-
ity not only enabled us to organize the findings of this particular study,
but also lies behind the most commonly used cultural dimensions,
leads us to suggest tentatively that this theme might have a more gen-
eral applicability and might be useful for understanding other cultural
differences and cross-cultural contacts in organizations. However, we do
not suggest that boundary permeability should replace other cultural
dimensions just because it is more parsimonious. We are fully aware
of the fact that such an argument cannot be made on the basis of one,
relatively small study especially in comparison with the extensive
theoretical and empirical work that supports the existing dimensions.
Table 15.2 Cultural dimensions expressed in terms of boundary rigidity or

permeability
Dimension Boundary implied
Hofstede (1980)
Power distance Rigidity of boundaries between members who
occupy different status and hierarchical
positions
Collectivism Permeable boundaries between individuals and
(versus individualism) the collectives to which they belong
Masculinity Rigidity of boundaries between men and
(versus femininity) women, masculine and feminine aspects,
and work and family
Uncertainty avoidance Rigidity of boundaries between permitted and
prohibited behaviors, and between in-role
and extra-role behaviors
Trompenaars (1994)
Affective (versus neutral) Permeable boundaries between feelings and
manifest behavior (verbal and non-verbal)
Diffuse (versus specific) Permeable boundaries between spheres of life
and different types of relationships
Hall (1959, 1966)
Polychronic Permeable temporal boundaries between
(versus monochronic) activities, and between planning and execution
Personal space Rigidity of physical boundaries between
individuals
We are also fully aware of the fact that the use of a multitude of dimen-
sions will in many cases provide a much richer and more comprehensive
and useful picture of cross-cultural differences and difficulties. Therefore,
we do not wish to argue against the known dimensions, which we accept
as valid and useful, only to suggest that these dimensions may some-
times be subsumed under a more general meta-construct.
This meta-construct may be useful for certain purposes, especially in
the context of studying cross-cultural relations and difficulties, and
especially if it is treated as a relative and not an absolute dimension.
First, it may be useful for organizing a multitude of seemingly unrelated
dimensions under a single meaningful umbrella. Second, it may draw
attention to sub-dimensions that are not fully captured by the existing
dimensions, such as the sub-dimensions of expressive boundaries and
bureaucratic boundaries discussed in this study. Third, it may have a
practical utility. For instance, the parsimonious construct of boundary
permeability may be useful for cross-cultural training. Once managers
and workers grasp the basic concept, they may be able to apply it rela-
tively easily to understand the other dimensions, characterize their own
culture in relation to other cultures, identify difficulties in cross-cultural
communication and coordination, and learn or devise methods to cope
with these difficulties.
Note
1 This chapter is abridged from our recently published article and is published by
permission of Sage Publications Ltd. Shamir, Boaz and Yael Melnik. 2002.
Boundary permeability as a cultural dimension: A study of working relations
between Americans and Israelis in high-tech organizations. International Journal
of Cross Cultural Management 2 (2): 219–38. © Sage Publications Ltd, 2002.
References
Ashforth, Blake. E., Glen E. Kreiner, and Mel Fugate. 2000. All in a day’s work:
Boundaries and micro-level transitions. Academy of Management Review, 25 (3):
472–91.
Boyatzis, Richard. E. 1998. Transforming qualitative information: Thematic analysis
and code development. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.
Eisenberg, Dan. 1994. The image of the Israeli manager in the eyes of American
customers and partners. In Israeli management culture, edited by Aharon
Shenhar and Amos Yarkoni, 141–5. Tel Aviv: Gome (Hebrew).
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cultures: Metaphorical journeys through 17 countries, edited by Martin A. Ganon,
214–32. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.
Erez, Miriam and P. Christopher Earley. 1993. Culture, self-identity, and work.
New York: Oxford University Press.
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Amos. Yarkoni, 99–108. Tel Aviv: Gome (Hebrew).
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Doubleday.
Hickson David, J. and Derek S. Pugh. 1995. Management worldwide: The impact of
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Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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New York: Harper and Row.
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for cognition, emotion, and motivation. Psychological Review, 98: 224–53.
Meshulam, Ilan. 1994. The impact of American management culture on Israeli
firms. In Israeli management culture, edited by Aharon Shenhar and Amos
Yarkoni, 213–24. Tel Aviv: Gome (Hebrew).
Starr, Joyce. R. 1990. Kissing through glass: The invisible shield between Americans
and Israelis. Chicago: Contemporary Books.
Tajfel, Henri. 1982. Social identity and inter-group relations. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Trompenaars, Fons. 1994. Riding the waves of culture: Understanding diversity in
global business. New York: Irwin.
Zand, Dale, E. 1978. Management in Israel. Business Horizons (August).
Epilogue: A Reflection and
Future Directions
An epilogue should be short. It is not our intention here to identify all

of the salient issues raised by the contributors to this volume. As you
read the contributions, it will be obvious that each chapter stands in
its own right as a challenging piece of work that creatively addresses
boundary issues in organizations. Nevertheless, it seems appropriate for
us to reflect on the theoretical and practical issues that have been raised,
and to identify a number of potentially fruitful research directions
derived from the work presented.
Guiding themes
Our intention in this volume was to present a variety of contributions
in which scholars reflect on the notion of boundaries in organizational
life. The result is a kaleidoscope of ideas that explicate alternative uses
of the boundary concept to describe organizational dynamics at the
individual level, at the group and intergroup level, and at the organiza-
tional level of analysis. The book provides illustrative case studies on
boundaries and boundary behavior drawn from a wide range of organi-
zations and countries around the world. Theories of boundaries are
applied and developed, and implications are drawn for the manage-
ment of boundaries in organizations.
Approaches to understanding the nature of boundaries have drawn
on perspectives from a wide range of social science disciplines including
anthropology, sociology, psychology, organization studies, systems
theory, and activity theory. Insights from these disciplines have yet
to be drawn together to provide an understanding of boundaries that
expands our knowledge of management and organization. This volume
is one such attempt to contribute to the conversations in this area.
302
Epilogue 303
“Boundary” serves as a useful metaphor for understanding organiza-

tional dynamics in a range of organizational contexts, and at a number
of levels of analysis. Some writers expound the “boundarylessness” of
contemporary organizations, implying that boundaries may no longer be
important. We argue differently. An understanding of “organization”
is closely linked to ways in which boundaries are interpreted as influenc-
ing actions and social interaction. All action and interaction takes
place inside some sort of boundary. The boundary describes the outer
limit of what one sees as allowable, understandable, or feasible. This
makes boundaries indispensable for any conception of organization. The
authors in this volume argue that boundaries are constantly created and
recreated, drawn and redrawn, constructed and reconstructed, negotiated
and renegotiated. Boundaries are crossed, contested, discussed, and tran-
scended in a range of contexts in the ebb and flow of organizational life.
What is clear from these contributions is that boundaries in organizations
have not disappeared. Far from becoming “boundaryless,” organizations
may be conceptualized as operating within and between boundaries at
many levels of organization. Rather than decreasing in number, bound-
aries proliferate. Rather than becoming simplified, they become more
complex. While a virtual organization may exhibit different boundary
characteristics from the eighteenth-century workhouses described by
Adam Smith, contemporary organizations have traces of boundary char-
acteristics that are composites of different organization types. They are
not pure types of virtual and “boundaryless” realities. Instead, we need to
understand contemporary organization in the light of multiple forms.
Reflections on theorizing boundaries

One could argue that boundaries only exist in a real ontological sense
because researchers and scholars identify and define them for analytic
purposes. In other words, boundaries are only “there” because someone,
often a researcher, draws them or construes them to be meaningful in
some way. In this sense, the identification of boundaries is limited only
by the creativity of researchers to define and conceptualize them.
However, our argument here is that boundaries exist whether we observe
them or not. What becomes crucial for analysis are the multiple ways
in which boundaries are conceptualized and construed in particular
contexts, and whether explanations that utilize boundary constructs are
useful for describing social (and organizational) dynamics.
Taken together, the contributions to this volume argue that bound-
aries are intrinsic to modern organization. However, rather than seeing
304 Neil Paulsen and Tor Hernes
boundaries as rigid and stable descriptions of static entities, boundaries

are conceptualized as subtle descriptions of entities that are dynamic
and elusive. Boundaries are created, constructed, and maintained
through social interaction in socially meaningful contexts (Barth 1969).
While some boundaries may be drawn to ensure that activities or behav-
ior become stable or predictable, those same boundaries can empower
individuals, groups, and organizations to act. As individuals, groups
and organizations act, the boundaries that were drawn originally may
change. For this and other reasons, drawing boundaries around and
defining an organizational entity is sometimes difficult, and determin-
ing what is “inside” the organization as a whole, and what is “outside”
it, is problematic (Rafaeli 1996). As organizations change radically or
incrementally in response to strategic demands, the boundary of the
organization cannot be seen as static and enduring. In fact, one could
argue that this is precisely what drives the relentless pursuit of the
restructure of organizations in order to focus on “core business.”
Restructuring in this sense reflects the fact that constant change at the
periphery of the organization (or on the boundary) becomes tedious,
and managers and employees seek to rediscover that which is enduring
and stable in times of change, or as Albert and Whetten (1985) put it,
the identity of the organization. The same holds true for individuals
and groups within the organization. Boundaries, which are drawn inter-
nally to define groups, teams, or functional units in the interests of
stability and efficiency, actually empower those groups to act, often in
their own interests. Furthermore, internal changes, designed to improve
internal efficiency and external responsiveness, often blur the existing
boundaries between groups. Such changes, including reducing levels in
the hierarchy or the formation of multidisciplinary project teams, alter
the boundaries that define stable and predictable ways of acting and
interacting (e.g. see Cross et al. 2000). This in turn challenges existing
structures, cultures, and group identities. For example, in times of
restructuring including downsizing, the fluidity of organizational
boundaries raises important questions regarding who is “in” the organi-
zation. Conflict can emerge when different perceptions of the boundary
are both tenable and contested. New boundaries often need to be
drawn and negotiated in order to make sense of new ways of acting and
interacting within and across boundaries.
Reflections on practice and future directions

Coping with boundaries is a universal management challenge. The emer-
gence, management, and transformation of organizational boundaries is
Epilogue 305
intrinsic to modern organization and poses one of the most persistent

and potentially rewarding challenges to researchers and managers alike.
Managing boundaries in organizations can occur at the individual,
group, and organization level, sometimes simultaneously.
At the individual level, boundaries emerge in the relationship between
the individual and the workplace. There is no clearer example of this
than in the negotiation of the boundary between home and work. What
is the boundary between home and work? As organizations continue to
adjust to socio-political and economic demands in their environments,
new and changing forms of organization develop that challenge existing
employer/employee relationships. The increased use of “family friendly”
or other flexible work arrangements, and the availability of telework,
mean that the boundary between home and work needs to be redefined.
Employees need to determine the means by which they determine what
belongs at work and what belongs at home, and the degree of interac-
tion between these domains. The boundary varies from individual to
individual, and may be represented in various artifacts (Nippert-Eng
1996, Chapter 14, this volume). Establishing personal boundaries or
personal “space” is a useful mechanism for an individual to determine
an identity separate from work or the organization. Once again, this
boundary does not remain static, as both the needs of the individual
and the organization may change. As new and different ways of work-
ing develop, including working from home, the challenge for managers
is to remain cognizant of the need for individuals to maintain a mean-
ingful boundary between home and work (see also the work on role
boundaries in Ashforth et al. 2000).
At the group level, boundaries emerge in the definition of work groups
or teams, cross-functional teams or project groups, and in other func-
tional arrangements. Social categorizations based on professional identi-
ties, ethnic or racial groups, and national cultural differences can also
define group boundaries, and are more or less salient in particular con-
texts. Such boundaries may also result in unanticipated action. While
boundaries define existing groups, reinforce preferred ways of working,
and support prototypical opinions and behavior; it is somewhat of a par-
adox that boundaries provide a framework for change at the same time.
In the context of change, new boundaries emerge that require differ-
ent ways of acting and interacting, and employees may hold on to exist-
ing boundaries or ways of acting (e.g. see Ashforth and Mael 1998).
While such boundaries may be conceptualized as structures that resist
change, they could provide the impetus that drives it. Capitalizing on
the empowerment that boundary definition and group membership
brings, may be an important strategy for redirecting employee action.
Change strategies that emphasize the “new,” while acknowledging the

strengths and weaknesses of the “old,” are likely to be effective in lead-
ing change efforts. Strategies for change should not ignore the potential
impact of altering structural and cultural boundaries on employees’
identification with the organization.
When individuals join organizationally defined groups, they bring
with them their membership of, and loyalty to other groups that are
important to them. For example, membership of a professional group
with a strong sense of boundary definition or group identity will influ-
ence employee attitudes and behavior. When temporary employees are
hired on short-term contracts, or when part-time or casual employment
arrangements are implemented, the boundary between full-time and
part-time/temporary employees becomes highly salient, perhaps more
so than boundaries that exist because of membership in professional or
ethnic groups. The impact of multiple group memberships and the per-
meability of group boundaries deserve further research attention in the
organizational literature.
Boundaries at the organizational level can be defined at the interface
between two organizations in a strategic alliance, and at the inter-
face between an organization and their clients or other stakeholders. In
collaborative and strategic alliances, whether they are mandated or
intentional, the effective development of trust and reciprocity in the
relationships will require the careful management of power and status
differences, as well as the vested interests of internal and external
stakeholders. In temporary project organizations, or when two or
more organizations are involved in a merger or acquisition, or when
multinational organizations cross national borders, successful outcomes
require the effective management of boundaries at multiple levels.
Organizations that operate increasingly in electronic environments
face particular challenges. Within a computer-mediated environment,
boundaries do not disappear or change in character. In this context,
“seamless” does not mean “boundaryless.” For example, business on
the Internet occurs through fluid and dynamic structures, but this does
not mean that boundaries are not present. In virtual environments, as
in others, customer relationships are managed across complex organi-
zational boundaries, but the electronic environments also create bound-
aries between them as rules for access and inclusion are established
through usernames and passwords. Ways in which trust and customer
loyalty are established in electronic business, for example, have only
recently been the focus of research attention and could benefit from
being studied through the lens of boundaries.
Epilogue 307
Perspectives offered in this volume suggest that organizational artifacts

can play a central role in revealing organizational boundaries. More than
representing or providing clues about the culture of an organization
(Schein 1991), a focus on artifacts can assist in defining how individuals
represent the boundary between home and work, how groups represent
their identities or boundaries within a particular context, or how organ-
izations represent themselves to their stakeholders. As Rafaeli and Vilnai-
Yavetz demonstrate in Chapter 10 in this volume, the latter may provoke
multiple constituents to respond in unpredictable ways and force the
organization to grapple with critical issues at the boundary between
the organization and its constituents. We believe further research from
this perspective will reveal important insights for organization studies.
One of the main themes to emerge from the contributions to this book
is that boundaries are dynamic. The degree to which boundaries enable
rather than constrain action deserves further attention (see Hernes,
Chapter 2, in this volume). Boundaries do not merely separate groups
from each other, but each group develops its own boundaries within
which its members act and interact. It is also from this platform that
groups act outside their own boundaries to influence others. Rather than
focus on the restraining properties of boundaries or the degree to which
they may limit or future possibilities, further research is needed to exam-
ine the ways in which boundaries enable action, or stimulate innovation
and creativity.
As we have read and edited the work of our contributors and grappled
with the issues they have raised, many questions for further research
emerged. What is the purpose of boundary definition? Does it serve a
useful purpose? What is the purpose of boundaries for people in organi-
zations? Is it important for individuals to know where their boundaries
are in order to function effectively? How do boundaries in organizations
change over time? What is the role of language in defining existing
boundaries and in the creation of new and innovative forms of organiz-
ing? What is the role of boundaries in emerging forms of organization?
To what degree does technology influence or help construct useful
boundaries that facilitate action and interaction?
Concluding comments
The management of boundaries has been explored at a number of lev-
els in this volume. Boundaries have been identified and explored in the
relationships between employees and their employing organization,
and between home and work. Boundaries between professional groups,
and between various identity groups such as work units, racial groups,
and nationalities were also examined. Issues in the management of
boundaries affecting interorganizational relationships, and the relation-
ships with customers and other stakeholders were highlighted.
Our hope is that the perspectives offered in this volume will stimulate
further thought and debate. The contributions highlight the importance
of boundaries in the contemporary organization. In the tradition of
Barth (1969), the chapters here demonstrate that a focus on boundaries
themselves reveals fresh insights into contemporary organization. They
demonstrate further that an analysis of the action and interaction at the
“boundary” or “on the edge” of organization will potentially yield as
much knowledge as a focus on what is “inside” or the “stuff” of organi-
zation. The book presents the area of boundaries and organization as a
fertile, interdisciplinary, and methodologically rich area for researchers
and students of organization. We look forward to further work that takes
up this challenge.
References
Albert, Stuart and David A. Whetten. 1985. Organizational identity. In Research
in organizational behavior, edited by L. L. Cummings and B. M. Staw, 263–95.
Greenwich, CT: JAI.
Ashforth, Blake E., Glen E. Kreiner, and Mel Fugate. 2000. All in a day’s work:
Boundaries and micro role transitions. Academy of Management Review 25 (3):
472–91.
Ashforth, Blake E. and Fred A. Mael. 1998. The power of resistance: Sustaining
valued identities. In Power and influence in organizations, edited by R. M. Kramer
and M. A. Neale, 89–120. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.
Barth, Fredrik. 1969. Introduction. In Ethnic groups and boundaries: The social
organization of culture difference, edited by F. Barth, 9–38. Bergen, Oslo:
Universitetsforlaget.
Cross, Robert L., Aimin Yan, and Meryl Reis Louis. 2000. Boundary activities in
“boundaryless” organizations: A case study of a transformation to a team-based
structure. Human Relations 53 (6): 841–68.
Rafaeli, Anat. 1996. What is an organization? Who are the members? In Creating
tomorrow’s organizations: A handbook for future research in organizational behavior,
edited by C. L. Cooper and S. E. Jackson, 121–39. New York: John Wiley.
Schein, Edgar H. 1991. What is culture? In Reframing organizational culture, edited
by P. J. Frost, L. F. Moore, M. Reis Louis, C. C. Lundberg and J. Martin, 243–53.
Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications.
Index
activity networks, 10 collaboration, 47, 115, 120, 125,

activity structure, 129–144 147–67, 172
activity theory, 169–71 collegiality, 252
aesthetics, 191, 198 communication, boundaries in, 177,
anthropology, 3 284
artifacts, 123, 170, 174, 175, 188–207, consensual domains, 15
305, 307 cooperation, 63, 129–45, 173, 211,
232, 282–83
Barth, Frederik, 3, 213, 223, 226, 239, creativity, 65, 67, 117, 120, 121, 123,
240, 241, 304, 308 124, 303, 307
borders, 1, 39, 40, 57, 219, 220, 268, cross-cultural relations, 282
281, 306 cultural boundaries, 248
boundaries customers, 1, 22, 80–6, 93–105,
blurring of, 1, 2 131–44, 188, 202, 204, 308
evolution of, 2
multiple sets of, 2 development aid organizations, 226
stable, 2, 5, 8 diasporic organizations, 247
boundary breaking, 259 downsizing, 14
boundary bullies, 211
boundary crossing, 179, 213, 242, 248 e-business, 93–106
boundary making, 259 economies of scale, 129–44
boundary management, 240 e-loyalty, 93–104
boundary markers, 236 embedded identity, 257
boundary objects, 118, 119, 121 Engeström, Yrjö, 170–79, see activity
boundary permeability, 281 theory
boundary politics, 227 ergonomics, 114, 117
boundary spanner, 41, 122
boundary spanning, 8, 111, 122–23 fence, 211
boundary work, 6, 110–15, 125, 262–78 flexible work, 244–60, 275, 305
boundary workers, 110 Foucault, Michael, 10, 41, 69, 262
boundaryless, 77, 89 functionalist sociology, 6
boundaryless careers, 249
boundaryless organization, 4, 55, 63, gender, 3, 17, 19, 20, 67, 104, 245,
64, 70 258, 283
boundaryless organizing, 124 gender studies, 3
buffering, 41, 89 Giddens, Anthony, 3, 6, 36, 37, 39
buffers, 144 globalization, 1, 63, 102, 296
bureaucracy, 1, 4, 58 Goffman, Erving, 14, 68, 79, 239,
240, 256, 266
CHAT, see activity theory greedy organizations, 269
civil society, 226–40
Cohen, Anthony, 45, 213, 223, 226, Hall, Edward T., 1, 7, 282, 289, 291,
237, 238 293, 296, 299
309
310 Index
health care, 8, 21, 26, 147–67, 169–85 online vendors, 95

Hofstede, Geert, 94, 101, 103, 104, open networking, 124
282, 288, 294, 296, 298 organizational boundaries, 3
home-work boundaries, 262, 292 organizational change, 2, 4, 14,
22, 23, 26, 27, 28, 29, 39,
identification, 14–27, 239 41, 77, 150, 161, 162, 245
(dis)identification, 241 organizational culture, 189, 232,
identity, 3, 10, 14–28, 39, 42, 45, 235, 242
55–71, 234, 238, 241, 257 organizational ecology, 6
ideology, 45, 48, 175, 226, 230 organizational sociology, 10
impression management theory,
76–90, 240 Parsons, Talcott, 6
industrial design, 110 permeable boundaries, 281
industrial designers, 110 personal boundaries, 305
innovation, 40, 47, 95, 110–25, 307 physical boundaries, 4, 37–50, 76,
institutional boundaries, 2, 183 78, 86, 88, 89, 103, 211, 248,
interdependence, 46, 68, 129, 131, 284, 294
132, 138, 139, 140–49, 159, 166, pillarization, 226, 229, 230, 232,
214 239, 241
intergroup, 14–29 political geography, 3
internal boundaries, 281 political science, 3
Israel, 193 population ecology, 9
project organization, 5, 55–67, 306
knowledge, 38, 41, 63–70, 77, 78, 90, properties of boundaries
111–24, 136, 145, 176, 250, 251, constraing and enabling, 41
260, 302, 308 prototype, 118, 119, 124
labour market, 245–46 reciprocity, 61, 222–3

linguistics, 3 relationship marketing, 93–8
localization, 101, 104, 106 religion, 240
restructuring, 3, 14, 15, 22, 23, 63,
mental boundaries, 39 154, 304
mergers, 14, 21, 23, 24, 227, Richardson, George B., 57, 129,
236, 238 130
Mintzberg, Henry, 147, 167
Morgan, Gareth, 4 Schneider, Susan, 5, 36, 169, 188
Moss Kanter, Rosbeth, 38 secularization, 231, 232, 241
multinational, 281 self-categorization, 239
multiple identities, 240 self-categorization theory, 18
signs, 170
national boundaries, 1, 83, 85, 281 social boundaries, 38, 244, 245, 252
national culture, 7, 94, 101, 102, 103 social identity, 239
Netherlands, 226 Social Identity Theory, 15, 18–22
network, 6, 17, 18, 63, 65, 66, 95, social systems, 15
112, 132, 144, 152, 153, 170, 172, sociology, 3
234, 246, 256 space, 4, 7, 36, 38, 40, 41, 42, 49,
network theory, 6 63, 77, 78, 81, 88, 117, 147–66,
networks, 10, 16, 39, 64, 66, 83, 111, 182, 223, 249, 262, 264, 265,
129, 144, 145, 170, 223 266, 273, 275, 293, 305
new institutionalism, 9 stigmatization, 256
Index 311
strategic alliance, 4, 93, 223, 306 trust, 7, 39, 42, 44, 45, 47, 93–106,
strategic alliances, 4, 14, 17, 22, 93, 150, 164, 212–23, 230–31, 242,
223, 306 278, 282, 290, 297, 306
symbolic boundary, 211, 229
symbolism, 10, 191, 192 virtual realties, 6
systems theory, 15 Volvo, 7, 129–45
autopoiesis, 15, 58, 60 Vygotsky, Lev, 8, 169, 171, 174, 175
takeovers, 14 Weber, Max, 2, 37, 130, 273

temporary employees, 245–60 wisdom, 93, 112
temps, see temporary employee
time boundaries, 290 Zimbabwe, 211

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Managing Boundaries in

List of Tables and Figures vii

Introduction: Boundaries and Organization 1

1 “Who Are We Now?”: Group Identity, Boundaries,

2 Enabling and Constraining Properties of

3 Identity and Difference in Complex Projects: Why

4 Virtual Interactions: Creating Impressions of Boundaries 76

5 Building E-Loyalty across Cultures and Organizational

6 Industrial Designers as Boundary Workers 110

7 Organizing Activities in Industrial Networks:

8 Managing Across Boundaries in Health Care: The Forces

9 Boundaries in Health Care Discussions: An Activity

11 Formidable Fences: Organizational Cooperation

Epilogue: A Reflection and Future Directions 302

7.4 A change of the activity structure provided new

This book emanated from the subtheme “Managing boundaries in organi-

NEIL PAULSEN AND TOR HERNES

We acknowledge the following publishers for their permission to use

François Béland is Professor in the Department of Health Administration

Fredrik von Corswant works at the Department of Operations Manage-

Jean-Louis Denis is Professor of Health Administration and member of

Anna Dubois is Associate Professor and Head of the Department

Peter Fredriksson works at the Department of Operations Management

Christina Garsten is Associate Professor of social anthropology and

Birgit Jevnaker is Associate Professor in the Norwegian School of

Frans Kamsteeg is Senior Lecturer at the Faculty of Social Sciences,

Hannele Kerusuo is a PhD student and researcher at the Center of

Ann Langley is Professor of Strategy at École des Hautes Études

Nick Marshall is a Research Fellow in the Complex Product Systems

Yael Melnik holds a Masters degree in organizational behavior from

Christena Nippert-Eng is Associate Professor of Sociology at the Illinois

Neil Paulsen received his PhD from the University of Queensland,

organizational change. He has experience as a successful senior manager

Boas Shamir is a Professor in the Department of Sociology and

Iris Vilnai-Yavetz is a PhD candidate at the Faculty of Industrial

One could spend a lifetime on nothing but boundaries. This

The citation, taken from an anthology edited by Deborah Pellow, reflects

and restraining entities. What emerges is a need for boundaries to be

New organizational boundaries?

In another example, Christina Garsten (Chapter 13) explores how to

Boundaries: Multiple perspectives of conceptualization

prefer to think that boundaries have been elusive and complex

Boundaries: Multiple perspectives of method

organizational sociology (Ahrne 1994), where organizations are mod-

We subscribe to the view that “the organization” as it has existed in

Schwartz, Mildred. 1996. Boundary problems in political organizations. Journal of

and renegotiate group boundaries. Drawing from Social Identity Theory,

Organizations as dynamic social systems

Organizations as intergroup contexts

network structures with an increased reliance on taskforces and cross-

Insights from intergroup relations theory

In a generalized model of intergroup relations in organizations,

Social identity theory

An individual’s membership of, and identification with, such social

Social identity theory and the organization

barriers to change as an intergroup communication and change issue

Organizational change, group identification, and

belong to groups in the organization that compare favorably with other

and it significantly tested existing planning, coordination, and commu-

group identification in influencing employee perceptions and outcomes.

change processes allow high levels of employee consultation (Dunphy

Research on organizational change needs to adopt comprehensive