Childhood and belonging over time: narratives of identity across generations on Tasmania’s east coast

ABSTRACT

This paper explores the ways in which identity and belonging are shaped by connectedness to place in small coastal communities in Tasmania, Australia. Based primarily on biographical interviews across three generations – young people, parents, and grandparents – it reveals centrality of place to a sense of identity and belonging. Two key themes, emerging from the research are explored. First, the consistency in narratives of identity over time, with ‘islander’ and ‘coastal’ shaping the ways in which participants across generations described themselves. Second, the article illuminates the transformation of childhoods over time and between generations, and the associated changes in the expectations and opportunities faced by young people.

KEYWORDS:

• Generation
• identity
• belonging
• changing childhoods
• Tasmania
• Australia

Introduction

Located off the southern coast of the Australian mainland, Tasmania is often represented as a place apart in popular and political imaginings, in literature, and in the telling of history. Separated from the ‘Mainland’ by 240 kilometres of often treacherous water, Tasmania’s connectedness to the rest of Australia is at times considered tenuous. Tasmanian identity is shaped by a sense of separateness and uniqueness (Stratford 2003, 493).

This paper explores narratives of identity and belonging and the nature of childhood across three generations in small coastal communities on Tasmania’s east coast. Based on biographical interviews with 50 individuals across three generations, 10 interviews with teachers and community leaders, and ethnographic observations, I argue that a sense of being both coastal and islander has remained the defining feature of identity over time. Connectedness to nature and the importance of both inter- and intra-generational relationships play out consistently in biographical stories. Yet childhoods have changed markedly as formal education has become a dominant institution in young people’s lives. Moreover, migration, which has always been part of the Tasmanian experience (Easthope and Gabriel 2008, 175), has become an increasing feature of young people’s lives with each generation.

I begin by positioning this paper in the literature on identity, particularly as it is shaped by sensory connection to place (Shamai 1991), and on generation as a lens to illuminate the ways in which socio-historic context shapes experiences of childhood and transitions into adulthood. This contextualisation within the relevant literature is followed by a discussion of the research sites, the broader context of socio-economic changes in Tasmania, and the methodology used. I then turn to the insights and themes that emerged from the biographical interviews, first exploring narratives of identity and belonging across generations, and then uncovering continuities and discontinuities of childhoods over time. In doing so, I explore two key themes emerging from the research: first, the consistency in narratives of identity across generations, which is closely associated with being an islander and being coastal; and second, the transformation of childhoods over time and the associated changes in the expectations and opportunities that young people encounter.

Childhood home, identity, and belonging

Identity and belonging, which are so important in understanding the choices and challenges facing those who grow up in small coastal communities, are closely entwined with the concept of home (Easthope 2004). Yuval-Davis (2011, 18) describes belonging as being not only about ‘social locations and the construction of individual and collective identities and attachments’ but also ‘the ways these are assessed and valued by the self and others … ’. Narratives of both past and present, together with everyday interactions, shape – and are shaped by – belonging. For Taylor (1989, 49) an individual’s sense of self is predicated on ‘a notion of how we have become, and of where we are going’. Often, notions of how we have become are deeply rooted in childhood experiences of play, learning, and interacting with both people and place (Kjorholt 2003).

Belonging brings connotations of safety and connectedness – or a longing for such a state when it is absent. Yuval-Davis (2011) depicts ‘belonging as an emotional (even ontological) attachment, about feeling “at home”’. The concept of home has been used as a metaphor for belonging and a place of safety, or at least a place that generates a sense of safety (Ignaiteff 2001). Home, for Hage et al. (1997, 103), is ‘an on-going project entailing a sense of hope for the future’. Home has also been problematised as a place not only of safety and attachment, but of conflict, control and repression of difference (Martin and Mohanty 1986; Young 1997). Weir (2013, 49) seeks to reconcile opposing interpretations of home, by conceptualising it as a ‘space of mutuality and conflict, of love and its risks and struggles, of caring and conflictual connections to others’. Weir’s characterisation of home resonates with the narratives told by participants in this research. The coast (as both physical and social) was often depicted as home, deeply valued, and idealised as a place of safety and connection. Yet, the exclusive and conflictual nature of home was also apparent. In many cases the hope and promise of home co-existed with painful experiences of exclusion. As will be discussed, home, as a site of belonging, was often discussed by participants in this research in Weir’s terms: as ‘places where we engage in the risk of connection with each other, in the conflictual, messy, and dangerous, and intimate work of engagement with each other’ (Weir 2013, 49). The intimacy of that work was intensified – and made both riskier and more rewarding – by the smallness of the community.

Identity, belonging, and home are each deeply imbued with emotional attachment to communities, ways of life, and physical places, often highlighting what is considered unique or special. To understand the nature of Tasmanian and coastal identities, it is necessary to understand how closely a sense of self is associated with islander status. The physical reality of the island can never be disentangled from the sense of being an islander. Hay (2006, 31) captures the ways in which the concept of ‘island’ embraces both physical place and the human attachment that forms the foundation for identity.

Shamai (1991, 348) argues that place is mediated though experiences and meaningful events. On islands events are bounded and experiences are felt and remembered through the prism of distinctness and separation (Royle 2014). The sense of difference is strong on the Tasmanian east coast where ecosystems – terrestrial and marine; natural and social – are considered by both inhabitants and outsiders as special and distinct. Koch’s depiction of being Tasmanian was reflected in the narratives shared by participants in this research, and was remarkably consistent across generations:

Island people are … different from those belonging to a continent; their feeling for native place isn’t necessarily more intense, but it is perhaps more intimate. The island can be contained in the mind; it's yours, almost as your house is yours; to be away from it is always exile. (Koch 1987, 111)

Yet, islander identity is complex and multifaceted. The idea of islands as ‘complete in and of themselves; and as isolated from others and insular unto themselves’ (Stratford et al. 2011, 115) does not necessarily result in a ‘rootedness to place’ that is instinctive and unreflexive (Rose 1995; Easthope 2004). Rather, islander identity often arises from conscious and active efforts – individual and collective – to engage in meaning-making when constructing a sense of place and self (Rose 1995). Tasmanian identity, while characterised ‘islandness’ (Stratford 2008), is both bounded and networked – whereby not only the geographic insularity of the island is central, but also the possibility of creating ties and opportunities beyond (Easthope and Gabriel 2008, 179). As will be discussed, the life stories shared by participants in this research align with the idea of identity being ‘enacted in daily life, in response to a diversity of contexts, and reacting to changes in the structural environment in which the individual is embedded’ (Gibbons 2010, 166). Over generations, both daily life and the structural environment within which lives play out, have changed markedly.

Identity and belonging across generations

The concept of generation is a powerful analytic tool when understood in Mannheim’s (1952) terms not merely as representing ‘chronological contemporaneity’ but as participation in the same historical and social circumstances. Generation signifies a particular location within social structures that results in shared experiences that arise from social and cultural change (Pilcher 1994). Mannheim (1952, 300) recognises the significance of childhood experiences but contends that it is only from the age of around seventeen years that individuals engage with the socio-historical context that creates generation. Childhood studies, which provides the theoretical foundations for this article, has demonstrated that individuals engage with and shape their contexts at a far earlier age. Moreover, the concept of generation has been retheorised to illuminate the ways in which categories of child and adult are constructed and reconstructed over time (Esser et al. 2016, 7; see also Leonard 2016; Alanen 2009).

Early thinking around what Alanen (2020, 141) describes as the structural sociology of childhood, aimed to uncover ‘the social and cultural structures and their ‘mechanisms’ (ways of operating) which constrain and condition the materialization of (observable) events in children’s lives’. From this work (see Qvortrup [1994]), emerged the concept of ‘generational order’ as a means of illuminating the complexity and range of generational structures that are core elements of social order (Esser et al. 2016). Importantly, Esser et al. observe that ‘the actions of children have a reproductive or transformative effect on generational order’ (2016). Thus, childhood and adulthood are not merely complementary, but deeply intertwined; with children and adults both contributing – from different generational positions – to making and remaking the social milieu. Leonard (2016) reminds us that childhood and adulthood are relational categories that ‘cannot be reduced to a simplistic binary division … [but] … are porous, fluid and constantly shifting and changing’. Interactions between children and adults not only shape intergenerational practices, but also influence broader patterns of social attitudes and behaviours (Alanen 2009). While age-segregated social categories are identified in the literature, so too is there an increasing recognition of inter-generational relations (Bessell 2017; Fattore, Mason, and Watson 2016).

Generation, as shared historical and social circumstances, is critical to shaping identity, both individual and collective. Biographies of self-identity begin in childhood, within the context of particular historical, social, cultural and economic contexts, and childhood experiences often remain a touchstone. Childhood experiences create and contribute to the complex and entwined processes of story-telling that lead to collective belonging. However, as this research highlights, childhood – like adulthood – is not a singular experience common to all those of a shared generational status. Childhood – like adulthood – is shaped by gender, socio-economic position, insider/outsider status, and geographic location (Konstantoni and Emejulu 2017; Rodó-de-Zárate 2017).

Generation, historical moments, and social change

Generation as an analytic lens uncovers not only the ways in which childhood can operate as an age-segregated social category in some areas of life, particularly through education, but also the relational nature of social interactions across age groups, resulting in deep enmeshment of people’s lives, mutual support, and learning (Nilsen 2020). A generational approach enables the analytic gaze to focus on the social, economic and cultural context that shapes childhood and adulthood, moving away from discrete points of transition to a recognition of the messiness of real-life choices, opportunities, and challenges. This in turn illuminates how identity intersects with the broader historic context (Mannheim 1952). It also illuminates the jumping patterns that Brannen and Nilsen (2006) identify, signalling reconfigurations of childhood and youth. As the discussion that follows will highlight, such reconfigurations have resulted from increased focus on the individual and the rise of neo-liberalism, characterised by longer periods of formal schooling, consumerism, and heightened expectations and pressures for ‘achievement’. These trends, which impact far more on young people today than on earlier generations, are often associated with the emergence of the risk society and the theory of individualisation, whereby individuals make their own lives and script their own biographies (Giddens 1991, 51), often independent of structural divisions of gender, class, and age (Brannen and Nilsen 2002, 515; see also Beck [1992]; Beck and Beck-Gernsheim [1995]). The research discussed here contributes to understanding how these trends are playing out and shaping ideas of identity and belonging, challenging the extent to which the decisions of young people today are individualised and the demise of structural divisions.

For the purposes of this article, generation as shared historical and social circumstances is critical to understanding how the context within which life decisions are made has changed over time. Since the 1980s, young people approaching adulthood in the small communities of Tasmania’s east coast have made choices about whether to stay or leave in a world dominated by a neo-liberal paradigm that valorises individual achievement (Beck and Beck-Gernsheim 2002, 24). Hill and Kumar (2009) describe how neoliberalism has broken down the social state and undermined interpersonal connectedness. The result, Giroux (2009, 31) argues, has been ‘atomization [which] is fuelled by rabid individualisation’ and the primacy of individual competition and achievement. In developing the ‘individualisation’ thesis Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (2002, xxi–xxii) identify the ways in which the institutions of modern society are focused on the individual rather than the group. In particular, education and employment require individual commitment and mobility, and a preparedness for ‘disembedding’. For Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (2002), individualisation is deeply structural, and has become institutionalised – it is not a matter of individual choice. One result of individualisation, which is shaping the lives of young people globally, and in this study, is the primacy of narratives that represent remaining in small communities as foregoing opportunities at best, and – at worst – a failure to ‘make one’s own life’. The young people who participated in this study were acutely aware of broad social pressures to ‘make something’ of their lives, but were not the atomised individuals of the neo-liberal storyline. Rather, their decisions about leaving or staying were shaped by both a desire to experience the world beyond their small communities and a deep sense of connection to people and to place.

Concurrently with the rise of neo-liberal ideas of individual achievement (White and Wyn 2004), neo-liberal ideas of efficiency led to transformative changes in Tasmania, and across Australia, particularly in the labour market. This resulted in the decline of some industries and the restructuring of others, including fishing, agriculture and forestry, which were once major employers (McDonald et al. 2013; Broomhill 2001). Thus, the local employment options open to young people from the 1980s onwards were different to those of previous generations. Coupled with a focus on individual drive for success, staying at ‘home’ became a second-rate option, as public and media narratives in Tasmania emphasised the departure of the ‘best and brightest’ to the Mainland (Easthope and Gabriel 2008, 178).

Research participants and sites

This research was carried out on the east coast of Tasmania, which is located off the southeast coast of Australia. With a population of approximately 533,300, Tasmania accounts for just over two percent of the national population (Obaldiston, Denny, and Picken 2020). Tasmania is more homogenous than the rest of Australia, with 80.7 percent of the population born in Australia, compared with 66.7 percent for the country overall. First Nations people make up 4.6 percent of the population, compared with 2.8 percent nationally (ABS 2016). Tasmania, like many regional areas of Australia, has undergone significant shifts in the nature of the labour force, as traditional forms of employment – particularly in agriculture, fisheries, and forestry – have declined, with emerging industries drawing on the State’s clean, green image. Median weekly income is lower than the national average and completion rates for tertiary education and year 12 (secondary school) are also lower (ABS 2016). In 2020, compulsory education was extended from year 10 to year 12, to address low secondary school completion and bring Tasmania in line with other states.

The ‘east coast’ of Tasmania, for the purposes of this research, takes in the 300 kilometres of coastline from the Spring Bay in the south to the Anderson Bay on the northeast coast. Two towns, with populations of 874 and 1449 respectively, are the focal points of the research, but some participants lived along the coast but outside these centres. As elsewhere in the State, the east coast has undergone a significant transition over recent decades. In small communities once reliant on a limited number of industries, the changes have been hard felt. The fishing industry that once dominated the economy and provided employment has transformed, in large part as a result of quotas being placed on catches, and the forestry industry has contracted markedly. Tourism has emerged as a significant source of employment (van Putten et al. 2014). Both towns have among the highest median ages in the state, reflecting both the exodus of young people in search of educational and employment opportunities and the influx of retirees, often from the Mainland.

Fifty individuals (25 female; 25 male) from sixteen families participated in biographical interviews.¹ Participants were from three broadly defined generational groupings. Sixteen young people made up ‘generation 3’, defined from mid-teens to mid-20s. Sixteen participants were ‘generation 2’, ranging in age from early 40s to late 50s. Eighteen people were ‘generation 1’, aged over 60 years; there were two additional participants in this generation, as in two families both grandmother and grandfather elected to be interviewed. Interviews were semi-structured, using an interview guide developed for use in each of the five countries involved Valuing the Past, Sustaining the Future research project. Reflecting the homogeneity of the population, only two participants (one generation 1; one generation 2) were born overseas.²

It is important to note that generation was used in recruiting participants, with only three-generation families approached. There are boundary problems in clearly defining the chronological points of inclusion and exclusion for specific generations. Following Pilcher (1994, 487), this problem was avoided by identifying generation at family level in order to include young people in their mid-teens to early-twenties, a parent, and grandparent. Thus, the problems associated generational boundaries that are ‘“fixed” by the years separating the parent-offspring generation’ were avoided (Pilcher 1994, 487). A generational approach reveals continuities and discontinuities within families and communities, and in the broader historical context (Brannen and Nilsen 2006, 337).

Methodology

Methodologically this study follows Brannen (2013) and Brannen and Nilsen (2002, 2006) in adopting a biographical narrative approach, whereby spaces are created for participants to engage in telling their life stories. Life stories are mediated through memory, necessarily partial, and do not always follow the course anticipated by the researcher (Brannen 2013; see also Atkinson 2005). A biographical narrative generates understanding not only of individual experience across the life-course, but also reflects collective cultural conventions at particular points in time (Atkinson 2005), within shared historical and social contexts. In this study, questions were open-ended and designed to prompt conversation and sharing of stories. Interviews were conducted in a place of the participant’s choosing and were preceded by an informal meeting or phone call to talk about the research and seek initial informed consent. Participants were assured that they could withdraw at any stage of the interview, or choose not to answer any questions. The loose structure of the interviews and the conversational tone was designed to enable participants to move the discussion away from issues they preferred not to discuss, and to have control over the interview process. Images of people, places and events were used by participants alongside spoken narratives. Follow-up walking interviews were held with four participants (two from generation 3 and two from generation 2). The idea of walking interviews originated when a participant offered to ‘take me around town’ and show me the places she had spoken of and that are special to her. Taking the methodological lead from this suggestion, the route was determined by the participants, not the interviewer (see Evans and Jones 2011). The route, as well as the places visited, revealed intimate geographies of location (Clark and Emmel 2008), showing and explaining not only places of importance but also places of belonging and meaning. Additionally, interviews were held with ten individuals with knowledge of particular aspects of life on the coast, including teachers and political and community leaders. Interviews were transcribed and analysed for themes and sub-themes using Excel.

The research was approved by the Australian National University Human Research Ethics Committee in March 2017 (2017/157), with a variation approved in September 2018 to enable the walking interviews, and future phases. All interviews were carried out by the author.

The remainder of this article explores the two key themes emerging from the research: first, the consistency in narratives of identity across generations; and second, the transformation of childhoods over time.

Narratives of coastal identity and belonging across generations

In the small coastal communities that are the focus of this research, island identity is imbued with deep connection to land and sea, providing a sense of emotional attachment to place, defining social positionality, and shaping economic opportunities. Identity is forged by a connectedness to place, deep appreciation of the natural beauty of that place, and a sense of being both unique and separate. Shakespeare (2011, 7) describes Tasmania being a ‘byword for remoteness’. The idea of remoteness shapes identity and belonging across generations. Identity is localised and formed in contrast to the ‘otherness’ of the Australian mainland.

When asked how they describe themselves, all but one participant responded that they are Tasmanian or from the coast – or both. National identity was rarely mentioned, and only one participant described himself as Australian (rather than Tasmanian), in line with Stratford’s (2008) assertion of islandness as the defining and dominant characteristic of Tasmanian identity. Being Tasmanian or, more specifically, from the coast was far more commonly used in people’s stories of self than profession or other possible markers of identity. Lincoln (generation 3), in his final year of high school, was defined by his connection to the Tasmanian coast. He described himself as ‘from the east coast of Tasmania’ adding with deep feeling:

That’s definitely different. We’re treated different … Definitely cut off from the rest of Australia. Definitely.

Like many participants, Lincoln’s sense of self was heightened by his sense of difference from the mainland – and his sense that Tasmania was seen differently by Mainlanders.

Identity, belonging and connection to place

Like many participants, Lincoln’s identity was nested as local, coastal identity within a broader identity as Tasmanian. His sense of belonging and of home shaped major decisions about his life. He valued living on the coast – because of his relationship with family, but also because of his broader relationships and his connection to place, especially to the beach. College (years 11 and 12 of secondary school) is not available on the coast, and rather than move into the city, Lincoln elected to remain at home, and travel a total of four hours daily to and from school. He described his emotional attachment to home:

This place, it almost takes your breath away … . You look out to your right over the water, and you see Maria Island and think wow. Especially when the sun just sits on top of it. I think we take it for granted. But it’s amazing, the beaches are amazing. It’s just all clean. Just a real welcoming and peaceful spot to be.

Lincoln’s articulates the sensory connection described by Shamai (1991). Images are powerful as he describes his connection to place, as is a sense of uniqueness and remoteness highlighted by Stratford (2008) and Shakespeare (2011). The sense of feeling welcome speaks to interpersonal relationships, and to a sense of connectedness to place.

Jenna (generation 3), like Lincoln, travelled over four hours every day to and from school for almost a year during high school. She eventually moved to Hobart (Tasmania’s capital city), as the long days became too much, but she stayed in her hometown for as long as possible and returned whenever she could. Despite the challenges, Jenna described the daily journey along a winding coastal road that skirts the southeastern coast as part of her connectedness to the landscape: ‘That road is my favourite road in the world and I just love it just so much, I’ll never get sick of it’. For both Jenna and Lincoln, the imagery of the road and the sea conjure a sense of openness and remoteness, as a sense of home brings connectedness, belonging and safety.

Narratives of belonging and home were often bound up with the natural environment. Participants’ sense of self was shaped by the remoteness of the landscape, the vastness of the sea, and proximity of the beach. For Lynn (generation 2) her identity as Tasmanian is intrinsically connected to the natural environment:

I call myself a Tasmanian and very proud to be Tasmanian. I think we live in one of the most amazing places, especially here. You can go out to the beach and you're the only person walking along the beach. The environment’s amazing. We’re very blessed. Yeah, definitely, I’m Tasmanian.

This idea of identity as sensory connection – being contained in, perhaps imprinted on, the mind and also the heart – was evident in many of the narratives of self-identity that participants shared and was something they considered to set them apart from others. As Tess (generation 3) explained: ‘It’s really hard to describe it to other people. People that live here get it’. Identity across generations was not merely articulated, it was lived and felt.

Narratives of identity as deeply connected to place were dominant across all three generations. Moreover, the language used by participants across generations to describe their coastal home was similar, drawing on allusions to natural beauty and uniqueness. While islandness delineated identity from the Mainland, coastalness delineated identity from other places within the island of Tasmania. Across generations, the idea of being at the edge – the shoreline, the beach, the sea – was central to the construction of identity, in line with Hay’s depiction (2006, 22).

Growing up in small communities: familiarity and connection

‘Knowing everyone’ intensified the notion of home in the narratives of many participants, creating the sense of safety described by Ignaiteff (2001) as essential to home. Anna (generation 2) described the ways in which belonging, home, and safety are intertwined:

Everyone has got that kind of connection, to look after everyone. You might not be good friends with them, but they know of you. They’ll watch out for you. That’s really comforting, in a small town. Small towns have got their pros and cons, but that’s a good pro to have.

Similarly, Tanya’s (generation 3) childhood memories began with a description of feeling safe and belonging, as a result of connectedness: ‘I just knew everybody and you just had this familiar feeling’.

Each generation of participants described the sense of growing up under the watchful eye of the community as deepening the sense of being at home, cared for, and safe. This transferred from memories of childhood to experiences of parenting, particularly for generation 2. Lynn (generation 2) reflected on her own childhood and on her own children’s experiences, and explained that not a great deal had changed in terms of people ‘watching out for one another’:

It’s been a very close-knit community. You always knew your neighbours. You always felt safe … your parents allowed you to go and wander … and it’s still the same today.

While two parents from generation 2 described being cautious about their children’s safety, particularly during summer when there is an influx of outsiders, most felt their children were safe because there were adults around who knew them and would look after them. All young people interviewed described feeling safe as a result of intergenerational relationships.

While the connectedness of a small community and the sense of being intimately known was described positively by many participants, the accompanying surveillance was not always welcome. Tess (generation 3) described the ways in which the watchfulness that equates to safety in childhood can morph into unwelcome meddling in adolescence:

… because it’s such a small community and everyone knew Nan and Pop, stories would beat me home. If I was at the pub playing pool with this person or getting really drunk with that person well, yeah, the stories would beat me home … . If I got home and lights were on, then I knew they’d had a call … . So yeah, I was just like, I need to get out where people don't know me.

The need to forge an identity independent of her family and her origins was an important part of Tess’s decision to leave home and build a life of her own on the mainland. Yet she described remaining connected to people and place during her absence. This reflects Easthope and Gabriel’s (2008) depiction of the complexity of young people’s migration experiences.

Exclusion in connected communities

A sense of belonging and being connected to people and place was a central theme of self-biographies across generation, regardless of gender, age, level of education, profession, or socio-economic status. Common themes of being coastal and being Tasmanian, of being known and knowing others, of safety and connectedness within individual narratives created a collective narrative of shared identity and belonging.

Yet, there is a dark side to intimate belonging, captured in Weir’s (2013) depiction of home as characterised by both connection and conflict. Acquiring insider status can be a painful process in small communities, where interpersonal relationships represent both care and surveillance, and create patterns of both connection and exclusion. Shelly (generation 2) described the exclusion she experienced when she moved into the community as a child, in part because her southern European complexion marked her as different. These memories remained raw, alongside happy recollections of connectedness. For Shelly, her prowess in sport had ultimately secured her inclusion.

Two participants from generation 1 (both male) explained that they had moved away from their communities as young adults because of bullying and a sense of not fitting in. For one of these men, his own sexual identity had been impossible to reconcile with the conservative small-town values of his youth, and leaving had been the only option. Being known does not always provide a sense of safety, but can manifest as vulnerability and exclusion. Similarly, some young people in generation 3 described bullying or problematic relationships at school as difficult to deal with, because school-based relationships seeped into other aspects of life. In small towns there is intimate belonging, but no escape from the intense scrutiny accompanies such intimacy. Across generations, participants spoke of exclusion – often due to sexuality or race – and the ways in which intersectionality and categories of difference set apart those who are marginalised (Al-Faham, Davis, and Ernst 2019). For all generations, including the youngest, structural divisions continued to shape patterns of inclusion and exclusion; and while some young people described rescripting their lives by leaving their home-towns, processes of individualisation (Beck-Gernsheim and Beck 1995; Giddens 1991) have not rendered difference obsolete or enabled a complete rescripting if connection to home is to be maintained (see also Easthope and Gabriel 2008).

Identity, inclusion, and exclusion

The connectedness and safety described as resulting from familiarity was woven into the fabric of identity for almost all participants. But with familiarity came risks of exposure or exclusion when the unspoken rules of inclusion are transgressed. Yet, even when a small number of participants described the pain and self-doubt that resulted from such experiences, they also spoke of the compensations that still came from a sense of belonging and home. Here, the complexities and contradictions of belonging become apparent. Young’s (1997) depiction of home as a complex site of control and belonging; conflict and safety played out within narratives of identity, regardless of generation. Weir’s (2013) depiction of home as a site of love, and its risks and struggles, speaks to the intimacy with which stories of identity were recalled and shared. Significantly, both of the older men who had moved away as a response to feelings of difference, vulnerability or exclusion eventually returned, in later life. Belonging and connectedness should not be romanticised – and can be denied to some in ways that are devastatingly painful. But in participants’ telling of their biographies these themes were central to identity – within and across generations – and were narrated as highly complex.

Narratives of identity were both deeply personal and collectively experienced, and closely associated with home as a sensory connection (Shamai 1991). Connectedness and belonging encompassed not only human or social relationships, but were deeply entwined with the natural environment: the coast, the sea and the beach. Strikingly, participants’ narratives of self-identity and connectedness were remarkably consistent. Moreover, there were strong claims across generations to the uniqueness of a nested identity of being coastal and being islander/Tasmanian. Uniqueness was described as coming from both collective identity stories remoteness and difference, developed over time, and the intimacy of everyday interactions.

Childhoods over time

While narratives of identity have remained consistent across generations, childhoods have changed. The material deprivation and hard physical work that characterised the childhoods of all participants from generation 1 were not dominant themes for later generations. For generation 1, toys and games were made or invented, rarely purchased. Clothes were handed down from siblings and other relatives or friends, but rarely bought. Aidan (generation 1) described going to primary school in sub-zero winter temperatures without a coat, and experience that was not uncommon for his generation. While most generation 1 participants had completed primary and transitioned into high school, few completed high school. For this generation, school was the site for learning the fundamentals: literacy and numeracy. Rote learning was common, and discipline was often severe by today’s standards. A great deal was learned outside of formal education. Life skills and employment-readiness were learned through intergenerational and peer interactions.

For many participants from generation 1, hardship had necessitated self-sufficiency. Most families had grown vegetables and raised chickens, and occasionally owned a cow. Children contributed to family livelihoods by tending vegetables and animals. Many generation 1 participants recalled having considerable levels of responsibility, even as young children. The shared experience of hardship differentiated the childhoods of generation 1. Later generations did not describe the deep deprivation of their grandparents, nor had they experienced the same levels of responsibility as children.

The most significant change over time has been a shift in the balance of children’s lives, with formal learning becoming more dominant. Sites of learning have been reshaped, as school, work, and play have transformed. For generation 2, socio-economic transformations – often associated with the rise of neo-liberal policies – and increased access to education created greater opportunities and drivers for seeking both education and work outside of their home-towns. For young people of generation 3, these opportunities are even greater than for their parents, and are often accompanied by pressure to take advantage of what is available beyond the coast.

Changing times: generation 2 childhoods

Most generation 2 participants reached adolescence in the 1980s, as neo-liberal policies took hold in Australia (Broomhill 2001), impacting the lives of young people on the east coast of Tasmania. Education became a more significant institution and most young people completed at least 10 years of education, in line with compulsory education policy of the time and reflecting the idea of education as intellectual capital that enables individuals to make their own futures (Roberts and Peters 2008). Generation 2 witnessed significant changes to the economic and employment structures of their communities during their childhoods and youth. Employment opportunities had been readily available to men in generation 1, while women had often worked for short periods before marriage. From the late 1970s, youth unemployment emerged as a significant problem across regional Australia, and particularly in Tasmania (Bessant 2002). Fewer people were employed in farming. The fishing industry, while still significant, was no longer the lifeblood of the community. Employment opportunities diversified and the service industry expanded, but traditional forms of employment that were once assured to young men were no longer certain. Bessant (2002) argues that these shifts brought narratives of unemployed youth as ‘at risk’, with longer periods of education considered the most effective policy to mitigate perceived risks.

As the nature of employment changed, so too did the sites of learning. While generation 2 described learning from their parents, and often grandparents, ‘traditional’ skills (particularly fishing and agriculture) were no longer essential to gaining employment. Formal schooling had become the primary site for learning and required preparation for future employment. Compared with generation 1, childhood freedoms began to narrow, as organised activities took up more time outside of school.

During generation 2’s adolescence, leaving home to gain an education became a more common experience. The tiny local schools that generation 1 remembered had been replaced by district schools. As increasing numbers of young people went to high school, travel became a more common – and time consuming – part of adolescence. Donna recalled fondly travelling about twenty kilometres each way along a mountainous road to reach her high school:

We had such a good bus driver. It was the same bus driver all my high school life, and he was just a marvellous man, and the kids were marvellous. We’d sing, and we’d have experiences of close calls with trucks, bush fires, landslides and everything.

The shared experience of travelling by bus to school strengthened relationships with peers, but the time taken transformed the activities that shaped those relationships and limited the opportunities to be in the bush or on the beach before and after school, which had dominated their parents’ childhoods. Leaving home to complete the final two years of high school became an increasing feature of growing up on the coast. Students from remote regions tended to share hostels, and the sense of being from the coast was maintained – and often intensified. Most described returning home at weekends, even when they finished schooling and entered the workforce:

I came home just about most weekends. It was always home, always wanted to come home, get away from the city, come back for weekends. (Lynn)

Lynn’s experiences were shared by many generation 2 participants, who recalled connection to place and people as structuring their childhoods and youth, and their sense of identity and belonging.

For generation 2, socio-economic changes opened opportunities to move beyond their home-towns for education and employment, and also for adventure and travel, for both women and men. For generation 2, staying or returning was deeply entwined with their sense of identity. Those who had left and later returned, described ‘coming home’ because of their deep sense of belonging and attachment to people and place. Those who stayed, often described their reasons in similar ways. Generally, for generation 2 participants, belonging and connection were as, or more, important than economic opportunities, or the possibility of rescripting their lives, in decisions to stay or to return.

Growing up coastal in the twenty-first century: generation 3

Participants from generation 3 were born in the early twenty-first century, and are approaching adulthood and making life-decisions in a socio-historic context marked by uncertainty, risk and individualisation (Beck and Beck-Gernsheim 2002; Giddens 1991). Yet young participants’ accounts of their lives, priorities, and hopes for the future often challenged the individualisation that characterises late modernity. Formal qualifications and material accumulation are structuring factors in young people’s lives far more than for earlier generations – but strikingly not all young people embraced these changes. Young people were more likely than their parents or grandparents to raise concerns about the environment, and also questioned the trajectory expected in contemporary society. The structured, constrained, and highly individualised activities that are often assumed to characterise contemporary childhood do not fully represent generation 3. Being in nature remained a dominant theme of young people’s self-narratives. The bush and, particularly, the sea remained sites of fun and play, and shaped their sense of belonging. Relationships, including intergenerational relationships, were also fundamentally important to the biographical narratives of young people.

For generation 3, the role of formal schooling occupies a more significant place, within childhoods and within imaginings of the future. School is central to the lives of generation 3; it is the key site for learning and is considered essential for future employment. For some, school creates a world of opportunity. For example, Mackenzie described how her school competed in – and won – a state-wide science competition. This created the opportunity to compete in the national finals in Sydney, as well as a sense of confidence and pride in what a small, public school from the coast could achieve. Success in secondary school, of the kind achieved by Mackenzie, also creates the pressures described by Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (2002, 32–33) whereby ‘individual credentials leading to individualised career opportunities’ are essential to upward mobility, and making one’s own life. Such opportunities are limited in small towns, and the pursuit of individual success signifies necessity rather than personal choice (Beck and Beck-Gernsheim 2002, 20). Several participants from generation 3 described the limitations of the education available to them. Remoteness from major population centres, small school size, and limited resources all impacted on the nature of education and, importantly for many, the subject choices available. Leaving to study in larger cities was the only choice available if dreams of career success and upward mobility were to be achieved. Yet, many were conflicted about leaving their homes.

The social-historical context of the twenty-first century, characterised by the drive for individual achievement and expectations of creating and re-creating one’s own life (Giddens 1991, 54), has resulted in forms of education that are not well suited to those wishing to pursue local futures. Some generation 3 participants considered school irrelevant to their lives, either now or in the future. Thomas, who wants a career in hospitality, struggled to see how high school prepared him to meet his ambitions, as did Thomas, who saw his future as a builder. Both Thomas and Finn wanted to remain in their home-town, but felt they were not learning skills that would enable them to do so.

While sites of learning have reconfigured over generations, with formal school increasingly dominant, the childhoods described by some young people have marked similarities with earlier generations. Inter-generational relationships were important for many young people, and was often a stronger theme than for earlier generations. Most young people described intergenerational learning, particularly cooking (largely but not exclusively for girls), building/construction (largely but not exclusively for boys), and hunting and fishing (both boys and girls). Young people often described strong relationships with their grandparents, necessitated by their own parents work during their childhoods as grandparents took on child-care. The result was often powerful inter-generation transmission of knowledge. Lincoln described how his grandfather had taught him ‘heaps of basic stuff’ that was essential to living locally, as well as teaching him about the wider world. Tess described learning to cook from her Nan, skills learned by simply ‘following her around’ and spending significant amounts of time together.

Notably, some participants from older generations (both generation 1 and 2), described learning from their grandchildren or children. Such learning ranged from IT skills through to new approaches to farming that young people had studied at university and innovations to promote environmental sustainability. Across generations, participants described learning from one another as a cherished part of close-knit relationships, and as central to a sense of identity and belonging.

Discussion: identity and belonging across generations

In exploring the twin themes of narratives of identity and transformations of childhoods over time, this article has revealed consistency in stories of identity, but significant changes in childhoods and transitions to adulthood.

The narratives of identity shared by participants in this research revealed a deeply felt sense of being coastal and Tasmanian across the three generations, reflecting a profound connection to people and place. Identity is shaped by a sense of separateness and distinction associated with islandness and, often more significantly, coastalness – a ‘discrete essence’ that sets people apart and creates deep roots of belonging (Baldacchino 2004, 272). Across generations, participants described what Shamai defines as ‘attachment to place’, that is:

… an emotional attachment to a place at a higher level. A place has a meaning; it is a centre of a personal and collective experience and that identity combines with the meaning of the place and its symbols to create a ‘personality’ of the place. The place is emphasized through its uniqueness and through its difference from other places. (Shamai 1991, 350)

Attachment to place is reflected in Lincolm and Jenna’s decisions to travel four hours a day to and from school, rather than leave home. Significantly, their decisions were based on their strong sense of connection and belonging not only to a human community, but also to the physical environment of land and sea. While both Lincolm and Jenna described some level of pressure to succeed in life as a result of structures of individualisation described by Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (2002), neither were atomised individuals acting only on their own ambitions (Giroux 2009) – rather they spoke of deep and meaningful connections. Finn went further, stating explicitly that he had no desire to accumulate material markers of twenty-first century success, but wanted to remain in the place he felt to be home. Each of these young people challenged the dominant narratives of individual success, and sought to make their lives in ways that were meaningful to them.

The analytic frame of generation used in this study, illuminates the ways in which socio-historic circumstances shape life experiences (Mannheim 1952; Pilcher 1994). While narratives of identity were consistent across generations, childhoods and transitions into adulthood were different, reflecting the dominant social and economic milieu of the time. The influence of neo-liberalism – which structured the choices and opportunities of generation 2 and, particularly, generation 3 – had no influence in the youth of their grandparents. The childhoods of generation 1 were typically shaped by material hardship, rather than pressures for material accumulation that underpins twenty-first century capitalism.

It is not new for young people to leave the coast to seek education, employment, or adventure. Almost all of generation 1 and 2 participants described having left the coast for some time during their youth, but generally with the intent of returning. Generation 1 participants often described knowing that they would have employment ‘back home’ when they returned. Given transformations in local economies and job markets, participants from generation 3 had a stronger sense that their decision could mean a one-way journey, and an accompanying sense of the potential loss of belonging that would ensue.

Young people described a full gamut of emotions resulting from pressures to pursue material and career success. Some, like Finn, actively resisted and sought alternative paths. For others, leaving their communities offered the promise of success and excitement – but these young people were in the minority. Some wanted to stay in their communities but were uncertain about the trade-offs that decision would require. Most knew they would have to leave and felt conflicted. Leaving presented potential disruption in biographies of self-identity, and some generation 3 participants wondered how they would bridge the disconnect between the stories of their past and those they would create in the future. Most reflected that the coast would remain home, even if they were physically absent from it – reflecting both bounded and networked constructions of place and belonging (Easthope and Gabriel 2008, 179).

Concluding comments

In sharing their biographies, participants in this research shared a deeply held sense of identity and belonging that comes from emotional connectedness to their coastal home. The natural environment is central in shaping identity, as are the inter- and intra-generational relationships that characterise small community living. Identity is formed from childhood relationships with both people and place. While childhoods have transformed over time, themes of people and place have remained important to narratives of self-identity, a sense of belonging, and attachment to home.

The smallness of communities is central to the stories of self that participants shared, as is the physical nature of their place, and the sense of difference that comes from being both coastal and islander. These markers and shapers of identity have remained remarkably consistent over time, despite significant changes to life-styles and aspirations.

Despite continuities in narratives of identity, the pressures of the current socio-historic circumstances of young people are starkly different from those of their grandparents and parents. Young people have opportunities that were unimaginable to their grandparents, and uncommon for their parents – including the opportunity to script their future narratives in ways that earlier generations could not. For many, the challenge is how to do so without abandoning their narratives of the past that are so strongly shaped by a sensory attachment to their coastal home.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Spyros Spyrou, Anne Trine Kjorholt, Firouz Gaini, Dympna Devine, Aoife Crummy, Eleni Theodorou and participants at the Valuing the Past, Sustaining the Future workshop held in Torshavn in 2019 for valuable feedback. Thanks, too, to the two anonymous reviewers for helpful comments on an earlier version of this paper. My deepest gratitude is to the people who shared their life stories with such generosity and honesty.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Funding

This research is funded by the Norges forskningsråd through the Valuing the Past, Sustaining the Future research project.

Notes

1 Pseudonyms are used in this article.

2 The phase of the study reported on here did not include any participants who identified as First Nations people and is therefore limited to narratives of non-indigenous identity.