Social spaces for seniors: Exploring seniors’ centres and clubs in Australia

Seniors’ centres and social isolation

Most research on senior-specific spaces has focused on seniors’ centres. It would seem straightforward to define seniors’ centres just as places where seniors go, yet within the gerontological literature there is some debate about their definition (see Havir, 1991; Krout, 1989). John Krout, for example, who has written extensively about senior centres in America, argues that there has been little agreement about what they are, what they offer and what they do, such as their days and hours of operation, or their number and mixture of programs (1989: 3). Krout argues that they require a number of elements including having a set location, a range of activities, and services which are regular and frequent. They have to specifically target older people and be integrated with other community service organizations. He also notes that they should provide ‘opportunities for social interaction, development of strong friendships and the promotion of feelings of self-worth and community belonging’ (Krout, 1989: 12). In the US, state funding is directed to spaces which provide a range of services, including health and nutrition, education programs and recreation activities (Turner, 2004: 38). These centres have become multi-purpose focal points for seniors in their communities to engage in recreation and access age-related services and information (Havir, 1991).

In addition to providing services and recreation, Hege Bøen and her colleagues argue that the central aim of seniors’ centres is to ease loneliness and increase social integration (Bøen et al., 2010). Social isolation and integration have long been a central concern of gerontology. Research into ageing has traditionally been concerned with understanding and relieving the problems of ageing (Victor et al., 2009; Wilson, 2000). Despite the rise of theories of successful ageing (Asquith, 2009; Moody, 2001, 2005; Rowe and Kahn, 1998), the process of ageing remains perceived within the general community as always already unsuccessful. It is widely seen as a period of decline and frailty, where older people lose control over their minds, suffer from ever-diminishing physical capacity and become dependent on others. Gerontology, historically, has focused on these processes of decline, and become an advocate for the elderly. Gerontologists are part of what Carol Estes (1979) has termed ‘the aging enterprise’, which comprises a raft of actors including the elderly themselves, state authorities, medical professionals, academics, and commercial interests such as insurance and pharmaceutical companies. This focus on the negative aspects of ageing has been particularly concerned with highlighting the dangers of a shrinking social world (Unruh, 1983) for older people and, in more severe cases, their social isolation (Victor et al., 2009).

While there are a number of reasons for shrinking social worlds and social isolation, three factors are particularly important in understanding what can be termed ‘unsuccessful ageing’. The first is illness and impairment, which may lead to older people becoming increasingly homebound, which may then affect their confidence and increase their reluctance to navigate the external world. Second, the death of a spouse may radically reduce one’s social world, especially if social contact was primarily through the deceased spouse’s social network. Third, the process of retirement can shrink people’s social worlds by removing constant daily contact with colleagues. One way in which gerontologists have understood this process is ‘disengagement theory’. In the 1960s, Elaine Cumming and William Henry (1961) argued that because elderly workers knew that retirement was most likely to be mandatory, they could prepare for their withdrawal from the social world of work and focus their attention upon developing the self. This was seen as a successful approach to ageing. A competing theory, called ‘activity theory’, was proposed by Havighurst, which saw successful ageing as a process in which individuals held on to their attitudes, behaviours and social networks of middle-age for as long as possible (Havighurst, 1961; Havighurst and Albrecht, 1953). Activity theory has become central to gerontology and its emphasis on healthy, active, productive and successful ageing (Bowling, 2009; Hudson et al., 2009; Moody, 2001, 2005; Rowe and Kahn, 1998).

Social isolation and loneliness among seniors has been well-researched in gerontology. Peter Townsend, in his classic text The Family Life of Old People, writes that: ‘to be socially isolated is to have few contacts with family and community; to be lonely is to have an unwelcome feeling of lack or loss of companionship’ (1957: 166). While he regarded loneliness as subjective and difficult to measure, he saw social isolation as objective. He tried to measure it by attributing scores to the number and types of social contact, such as attending a club or a church, or more instrumental forms of interaction such as work relationships or seeing the doctor. He acknowledged that this failed to account for the ‘function, intensity or duration’ of the various forms of contact (1957: 166–7; see also Tunstall, 1966: 65–6). For Townsend, social isolation emerged from not one, but a combination of factors, with the most socially isolated being those ‘usually living alone, older than average, without children or other relatives living nearby, retired from work, and infirm’ (1957: 169). Following Townsend, Robert Weiss argues that loneliness is not easily overcome through social contact, such as through seniors’ groups. Loneliness is not simply a desire for company, but the desire for specific types of company, or relationships. Once these are found, loneliness can quickly dissolve (1973: 13–19).

While such relationships are not guaranteed in seniors’ groups, within gerontological literature, seniors’ centres are frequently discussed as spaces to reduce social isolation. As Ronald Aday and his colleagues note, seniors’ centres can provide an optimal environment for social support to help reduce loneliness and depression. They offer opportunities for ‘social interaction, friendship, and ego integrity and feelings of self-worth that may successfully counter the social isolation and loneliness’ which can threaten the mental and physical health of seniors (Aday et al., 2006: 58). Meals programs at centres are constantly referred to as important vehicles for reducing social isolation. As Kirk and colleagues (2001: 4) note, they ‘offer opportunities to develop social relationships with other participants’. They argue that sharing a meal can help to establish new connections, but also re-establish connections which may have been slowly eroding through death, relocation or demographic changes in the neighbourhood (2001: 8). K.W. Turner found that the overwhelming majority of her seniors’ centre participants (87%) came ‘as much for the opportunity to socialize as for the meals they receive’ (2004: 43). For more than half, this was their only daytime social interaction, with the majority viewing this personal social contact as important to them (Turner, 2004: 43).

Where social contact is important, social support may be just as crucial a reason for seniors to attend centres and join groups. Social support can be broken into two categories, instrumental and emotional support (Ashido and Heaney, 2008), both of which are found in seniors’ centres and groups. Instrumental support refers to practical forms of assistance, such as helping with transport or financial aid, which can be accessed formally through contact with staff (if available) or informally through other members (Kirk et al., 2001). Emotional support involves the formation of close bonds with others at the centre. We need to be careful in our approach to systems of social support for seniors, including seniors’ centres and groups. Christina Victor and her colleagues have been quick to point out that much work on social support too readily focuses on how social resources are mobilized in times of need. They suggest that this approach can problematize older people’s social relationships as resources which are used to provide care in periods of crisis, like illness, thus reducing social interaction to an instrumental process (2009: 3–4). But we also need to be cautious about celebrating seniors’ centres and groups as spaces of meaningful emotional interaction, for they fluctuate along a continuum of emotional contact and functional interaction, even within a day. I will return to these issues of social interaction later, when exploring the role of community in seniors’ groups, but first I want to explore what forms these groups take.

Mapping seniors’ groups

Where research in the United States and Europe has focused on seniors’ centres, I have found a broader variety of seniors’ groups in the Australian context, which I develop a typology of here. This article emerges out of a larger multi-sited ethnography of retirees and seniors in Melbourne, northern Tasmania and the Gold Coast, which includes ethnographic participant observation and unstructured qualitative interviews. My research has taken me to 12 seniors’ centres and clubs across Melbourne and northern Tasmania. I have undertaken long-term participant observation over 12 months in five seniors’ centres and groups that have engaged in a range of activities, from meals to exercise, bingo and religion. My primary field site is a seniors’ centre in western Melbourne. In addition, I have undertaken qualitative interviews, ranging from one to four hours in length, with 89 participants, many of whom are regular members of these seniors’ groups located in various socio-economic locations in Melbourne. These interviews were also conducted with 30 seniors who were not involved in such groups as well as 23 participants who lived in retirement villages. Rather than focusing on seniors’ centres alone, this article takes a comparative approach and explores a wider range of seniors’ groups. I argue that these various groups serve the same purpose of social participation and interaction for seniors, but concentrate on different activities and services.

There are two broad categories of seniors’ groups which have emerged through my fieldwork. In the first are those that are called seniors’ centres. These involve a bounded group which regularly occupies a particular location, and operates to designated hours – approximately six per day – and generally only on business days. They offer regular services such as meals and recreational activities like bingo, cards or crafts, and the opportunity to drop in for tea and coffee or to use the computers. The crucial difference between the North American and European examples and seniors’ groups in Australia is that the latter offer far fewer social and medical services and concentrate primarily on social interaction through leisure activities. Australian seniors’ centres are run by paid or volunteer staff, with paid employees funded by membership fees, fundraising or local government. In many cases, local councils supply building access in lieu of cash funding. Where councils do provide funding, they have the ability to limit access to seniors who live within the municipal boundaries, although this rule is not always strictly followed. Members generally plateau at approximately 100, although I have attended centres with as few as 25 members. Most major suburbs in Melbourne have a seniors’ centre, but with varying services.

The second broad type of seniors’ group is what I call ‘seniors’ clubs’. These can be split into two sub-categories. The first is the small single-purpose club. These consist of smaller groups of anywhere between 10 and 50 members, which are centred around a single activity like exercise, a group-identification such as ethnic identity, or support-based groups dealing with illness or grief. Like seniors’ centres, they are generally housed in council facilities, although many non-governmental organizations, such as churches, also operate their own seniors’ social clubs. Unlike seniors’ centres, these smaller clubs have more restrictions placed on their times and spaces of operation. They generally meet either weekly or fortnightly at a regularly allotted time, usually for one to three hours. Unlike the seniors’ centre, there is no drop-in component.

The second sub-category consists of larger multi-purpose seniors’ clubs, which are often called retirees’ groups. Unlike the smaller single-activity clubs, they have larger memberships and a greater range of activities, yet they are similarly restricted in terms of time and space, often limited by access to council facilities. Non-governmental organizations also run such multi-purpose clubs, notably the Probus retirees’ clubs run by Rotary. Unlike seniors’ centres, they have no time and space for drop-in visits. Participation is geared around activities. These multi-purpose clubs have memberships which are divided into smaller units which engage in specific activities. These can be ongoing, such as walking groups; term-based, such as adult education classes; or merely occasional outings organized on an ad hoc basis.

These seniors’ clubs, both small single-purpose and large multi-purpose clubs, are generally funded by the members, from fees, user-pays activities and fundraising. In some municipalities, councils offer grants, though according to one informant, the funding is small. Some clubs become incorporated associations which allow them to open a club bank account, provide public liability cover and apply for a greater range of government and non-government grants. But incorporation brings with it additional compliance costs, such as accounting, auditing and annual reporting, with non-compliance resulting in fines (see Consumer Affairs Victoria, 2011). Funding for all seniors’ groups is a contentious issue, with some group officials feeling compelled to provide services, for example using their own personal transport to keep groups running, because of concerns over limited state funding.

Seniors’ groups differ in terms of their organizational structure. In my fieldwork I have encountered two organizational models. The first, and most common, is the committee model, and the second, and least common, is the non-committee model. I will address their characteristics below, but, despite having some differences, both models are similarly deficient in addressing the core problem of Australian seniors’ groups: the focus on leisure over services results in reluctance by members to undertake organizational responsibilities. This creates a division of labour which burdens a core group of committed volunteers (Golden-Biddle and Rao, 1997; Knoke and Wood, 1981; Pearce, 1993; Stebbins, 2007).

The committee model is by far the most common, and is usually associated with seniors’ centres and larger multi-purpose clubs. It involves elections for key organizational positions such as president, treasurer and secretary. Committee elections are held annually, with all members entitled to vote, and voting generally done in person with a show of hands. There are a number of problems with this type of model. First, it can create conflict through the development of factions or voting blocs, with people often only accepting a nomination in order to thwart a rival’s chance. Second, it establishes a hierarchical system between office-bearers and ordinary members. In some instances, prestige – either real or imagined – accompanies positions, with some seeking what one informant called the ‘badge of honour’ of holding office. Third, this system creates a division of labour between ordinary members and the committee, as well as tensions among committee members themselves over work-loads, which can lead to cycles of animosity between the committee and members and among the committee members themselves. Finally, a further difficulty lies with this model when there is also a paid administrator, which can lead to tension over roles between paid and unpaid workers. Committed volunteers have their own views on how the organization should be run and have a sense of ownership that runs deep because of their unpaid commitment (Knoke and Wood, 1981; Kreutzer and Jäger, 2011; Pearce, 1993). For example, in one centre, there was underlying tension over the division of labour. The volunteer committee saw itself as the decision-makers, with the paid administrator charged with mundane affairs. The administrator, however, thought the committee was misused as a place to socialize rather than for work.

This difficulty in getting members to participate – rather than socialize – is quite common within seniors’ groups. The first task in organizing groups is to get people to accept organizational responsibilities. As one former committee member told me, in clubs that are purely for entertainment ‘no-one wants to take office’. The second task is to get them working once there. Some committee members revealed that little is achieved in the committees. When asked what she does on it, one responded: ‘Not much, I say nothing … I sort of sit there. But I’m a person on the committee.’ Yet another committee member from the same group felt they were doing a good job: ‘Some committees, ah, this one here is efficient and quick and that suits me.… I don’t want mucking about. I suppose I don’t suffer fools gladly.’ The centre president, however, revealed he was less concerned with organizational matters, seeing his presidential duties as ‘spreading good will and good cheer and presiding at dinners and cocktail parties’. His position demonstrates the difficulty of running groups for seniors, or any recreation group. The emphasis is often on the pleasurable activities, on the social interactions, not the mundane running of committees and organizational matters. Most members of groups are not interested in such matters because these are meant to be places of leisure, not work. Consequently, the organizational labour rests on a handful of committed individuals who often feel compelled to take on multiple roles, as one former committee member from a retirees’ group explains:

They all thought they knew what they were doing but I’d send a letter saying ‘Please do this and that’ for next year, and they wouldn’t do any of it. So I got a bit sick of that, so I retired from that. But then they couldn’t get a treasurer, and then they got someone who said they’d do it [but didn’t]. And then they couldn’t get a secretary.… So I said ‘All right I will do it for a year’. It nearly killed me, because then they couldn’t get a social secretary and I was doing two jobs.

These problems, however, are not limited to groups with committees. They also occur in the second type of club structure I encountered, which I call the ‘non-committee model’. This involved a large multi-purpose retirees’ group from outer-eastern Melbourne, whose members constantly claimed that their club had a unique organizational structure which avoided the hierarchical and political nature of committee models. This group was member-led; it had no committee, no contentious elections or positions of power. It needs no committee to deal with fundraising and fund allocation because the club does no fundraising. Its user-pays system leads to fewer conflicts over resources. This system, I was constantly and proudly reminded, means that no-one pays for what they don’t like and don’t use, a neoliberal sentiment which expresses their baby-boomer backgrounds (Hostetler, 2011). But there remains a loose structure to deal with the near 100 members. While there are no explicit positions of authority, members can propose and organize sub-group activities, and are then referred to as ‘convenors’. The only formal structure is a monthly meeting for all members, followed by a small ‘casual’ convenors meeting, in which ‘notes are taken and ideas exchanged’.

There is obvious pride among these members who have created a sense of identity through their model of minimal governance. More than any other seniors’ group, the members of this group explicitly referred to a sense of community and an intimate sociality which they ascribed to their minimal club structure. One of the convenors thought the group was special because ‘there’s no power, there’s no committee, there’s no president or secretary, none of that. No-one’s got any power, there’s no politics … [everyone pitches in] because they want the club to be successful’. Yet one problem with this model is the lack of procedures to deal with common organizational problems, such as when convenors quit. Convenors need to inform the group and something will be ‘worked out’, which usually means another member takes up the slack, frequently from a core of committed volunteers. One convenor felt this was a problem of the non-committee model, because there were no structures to compel others to help out. When asked why she thought this happened, my informant responded:

Most of us are doing more than just one thing because of the lack of, I don’t know if it’s a disinterest or what. But you find in such a big group you’ll get 80 come to the monthly meeting, but then they don’t participate in anything else. Like we had a card group going, a good card group, which has dwindled right out and I don’t know, maybe it’s because we’ve been going for ten years now and maybe people are getting fed up with it. I don’t know.

The danger for seniors’ groups is that, regardless of organizational structure, if the workload is not more evenly distributed, committed volunteers may leave through burn-out or because they feel taken for granted. If they cannot be replaced, then the future of many seniors’ groups may be in jeopardy.

Community and conflict

Seniors’ groups are often referred to by council workers, paid-administrators, committee members and sometimes members, as offering a sense of community (Kirk et al., 2001; Turner, 2004). If we understand communities to be to a set of positive social relations where members feel a sense of intimate belonging to the group and understand their obligations and rights as members, then seniors’ clubs or centres do not always fit this mould. But if we understand community to be a complex set of social relationships where power is exercised by some over others, and where patterns of exclusion intersect with feelings of belonging and support, then seniors’ clubs and centres can be understood as communities. In her research on seniors’ centres in the US, Havir notes that her participants regarded their seniors’ centre as ‘a social gathering spot’ and ‘the place to be’. They demonstrated a sense of ownership over it by calling it ‘our place’ and wanting to be actively involved in running and maintaining the centre (Havir, 1991: 365).

By contrast, in my field research there has been a notable absence of an explicit discourse of community among most participants, with conflict and tension just as likely to be present. In seniors’ groups, tension and conflict are driven by two key factors: the formation and maintenance of cliques and the often related conflict over resources, notably space. Sonia Salari and her colleagues (2006) argue that seniors’ centres are a unique type of social space which is neither fully private like the home, nor fully public like the street. They constitute an in-between space utilized by regular or non-regular actors, but where regulars claim their own territory. They argue that people go to some lengths to secure their own regular seating. Some remain constantly seated, which can limit participation in other activities; others may save seats through placing canes or cups on the table. The saving of seats for people in their clique can lead to the exclusion of others, notably newcomers. In their research, these practices occurred more where members had limited opportunities to participate in centre management and decision-making. In centres with greater participation in organizational affairs, they found less competition for seats, with regulars happy to move around. Another factor was that spaces with multi-purpose rooms created more territoriality, as people saved seats during one activity with the intention of using them for the next, compared to centres with multiple rooms (Salari et al., 2006: 237–48).

Conflict over space was common in my fieldwork. At one seniors’ centre which serves meals, one member regularly helps staff set the tables for lunch, including placing the nametags according to the usual seating arrangements, which can be re-adjusted by members except on very busy days. The first conflict involves one member who has a regular seat every Monday and Thursday. However one Thursday, she arrived and found another in her usual seat and became angry. She was told it was just an oversight, but this did not calm her outrage. Ultimately, places were rearranged to accommodate her, despite recognition that she had behaved inappropriately. This was not a unique incident. In most cases the members resolved these issues among themselves, with some members often playing peace-maker by changing their seats. At other times, the centre manager was called to adjudicate on conflicts over seating. This seems petty to an outsider, and indeed to many members, but routine and territory are important issues in places like seniors’ centres, even if members only attend for a few hours per week.

Some of my informants suggested that the administration or committee leaders can set the tone of interaction, which can create or minimize conflict. This was demonstrated in an exchange with a woman who attended a large centre in the city’s north-west:

This woman felt that once a new committee was formed there emerged a much ‘harsher’ culture which eroded the sense of community. This can be problematic because the erosion of community may lead to the exclusion and isolation of seniors, particularly newcomers or those who come alone. This isolation can be pronounced at special events, like celebrations. One example involves a southern European man who was treated badly at a Christmas celebration. His English was poor and the organizers were unsure where to place him. He was eventually placed at a table with just one other woman who was likewise alone and new to the group, as if their ‘loneliness’ was problematic. Another example involves a key informant of mine, a man in his early 60s in very poor health with few friends living nearby. He attends the local seniors’ centre by himself for lunch and social contact, but leaves early with little engagement. Proximity here does not equal quality interaction, merely co-presence. His exclusion and isolation was further pronounced at a recent free luncheon. Over 70 people attended but he arrived late and was placed at a table with unfamiliar people. None of them would include him in their conversation, as they were all there together. He told me he felt really excluded, that he couldn’t believe how badly he was treated. These are exceptions of course, but they alert us to the problem that exclusion and isolation still occur, even when people are physically present with others.

The goal of most seniors’ groups is to help people overcome social isolation through social contact, rather than a sense of community. To achieve a sense of community and in-group status requires groups to move beyond ‘mere proximity’ to generate a greater sense of attachment to and ownership of the group (see Havir, 1991; see also Hazan, 1980). This occurred in one retirees’ club in the outer eastern suburbs of Melbourne. This group – shaped by the non-committee model – was unique in my research for its explicit discussion of a deep sense of community. For this club, a sense of belonging required members to be active and involved. Belonging was dependent not just on turning up to the odd meeting but on helping to organize meetings, or assisting convenors of activities, or even becoming a convenor themselves. One needed to be committed to this group in an active way, unlike most other groups, particularly those where attendance may be sporadic. At this group there was a strict protocol to follow to assure continued membership, which primarily involved attending the monthly meeting. As one member told me: ‘You have to put in an apology if you’re going to be away. If you’re away more than two or three months, without an apology, you’re crossed off the list’, to which another member added ‘just to be assured of your continuing interest and commitment to the group’.

There is a neoliberal ethos which underpins this group. One needs to be active and productive in order to gain the rewards, in this case belonging. This is productive and successful ageing in practice (Asquith, 2009; Moody, 2001, 2005; Rowe and Kahn, 1998). There is an understanding here that the sense of community is reliant upon people making a commitment to the group by carrying out certain obligations (see Knoke and Wood, 1981). But members felt there was more to the sense of community than just commitment. This group was so popular that there was a waiting list to join. Where other seniors’ groups were literally dying off, this one was turning people away, because of limited facilities. Members felt the group was so popular, in part, because of its loose organizational structure, that there was no restrictive committee or opportunities for conflict or to exercise power. As one member said:

I think it’s fair to say that there’s really no-one that we’re aware of that is angling for power.… So we don’t have that kind of politics and tension and stress.… We always come away and just remark on how caring those people are of each other and everybody is treated with respect and dignity, even though we have a lot of fun and we laugh.

Yet it is not all smooth sailing in this group, as the workload problems caused by convenors leaving remind us. While many attempts are made to establish a sense of community in seniors’ clubs and centres, some have been more successful than others. It remains an ongoing struggle, for where people gather and interact, conflict usually follows. This is just one of the many challenges facing seniors’ groups. I wish to conclude by briefly highlighting some of the other challenges which seniors’ groups face both now and into the future.

Conclusion: future challenges

By way of conclusion I will explore some of the challenges which seniors’ groups and clubs face to stay relevant and provide a space for seniors. There are two key challenges. The first and most obvious involves operating costs and funding. This is not a new challenge, but a long-running concern for organizers of seniors’ groups. As previously mentioned, there are different models of funding, and members and administrators of the various types in my fieldwork have expressed concern over current and future levels of funding. Given that much activity in seniors’ groups is already user-pays, any further spread of this neoliberal model may exclude many seniors.

An equally significant concern involves the collective ageing of seniors’ groups and the challenge of attracting new members, notably the so-called ‘youth-oriented’ baby-boomers. Pardasani refers to the increasing average age of members as the ‘greying’ of seniors’ centres. It is increasing because younger seniors are not joining at the rate that older members are leaving through ill-health or death (Pardasani, 2010: 49). Turner refers to the process as ‘age-creep’, which might be rectified by targeting ‘more youthful cohorts of elders’ through developing activities which would interest this cohort (2004: 45). The challenges of attracting and retaining baby-boomers may well be great. Yet the problems of attracting and retaining members have been long-standing. One particular challenge has been attracting committed members. Groups are built on the enthusiasm of their members. They can ebb and flow based on waves of committed individuals, and they can fold if these members are not replaced. Other players may also enter the ‘market’. Membership in one small centre in my fieldwork was shrinking, in part because many former members had moved into retirement villages which offered their own more convenient seniors’ clubs. Other factors include the lack of awareness of groups in the wider community. Many groups have told me of their efforts to resolve this problem, including leaflet drops, or seeking coverage through community newspapers and radio. One club president even had a deal with the local vicar to advertise the group at the end of his sermon!

A significant barrier to attracting people stems from widespread ageism and negative stereotypes about seniors’ groups (Bytheway, 1995; Gullette, 2011). Lund and Engelsrud found a divide between seniors who regard seniors’ centres as places to be active and thrive and connected to a community, and those who felt threatened that they would become old if they attended. The latter distanced themselves from centres as a way of staying young (2008: 675–83). Many seniors in my wider field research were likewise reluctant to participate in seniors’ groups because they regarded them as spaces for ‘old people’. They spoke of fighting or resisting the ageing process, in particular through seeking interaction with non-kin younger people, who cannot be found in seniors-only spaces. One couple, who had relocated once retired, had to develop new social networks within their new church. Previously they were in contact with parishioners of all ages, but now they were positioned as seniors. They actively sought to escape this categorization by joining some of the younger people’s clubs within the church. Even current members of seniors’ groups in my research have spoken of their initial reluctance to attend because of fears it would mark them as old.

Even before the impact of the boomers retiring, there have been strategies to attract younger members. One common strategy has been to change the name of the group. A member of one club describes it this way:

In my day, they were called Elderly Citizens centres, but they’ve changed that. They became senior citizens centres.… They’re not so happy with ‘seniors’ now and they’re coming up with group titles like ‘Enjoy Your Retirement’.

A name change can affect how people see the group. One respondent in Lund and Engelsrud’s Norwegian study felt that the shift in the name from an elderly to a seniors’ centre was important because ‘senior’ was more positive than ‘elderly’, which had connotations of being frail (2008: 684). However, a name change does not always have the desired outcome. In central Melbourne, one club had recently changed its name from a senior citizens centre to the ‘55+ Club’, but has had no significant upsurge in membership.

While my research has found the rhetoric about boomers transforming retirement and the ageing process to be hyperbole, they do offer their own challenges which seniors’ groups will need to meet. Fitzpatrick and McCabe (2008: 200) argue that, despite being fitter and healthier than older cohorts, boomers will still be subject to the ageing process and centres will need to be ‘more proactive’ about reaching out to them. They will need to re-shape programs to suit boomers’ busy and active lifestyles, through flexible scheduling – especially for those still working – as well as addressing boomer-specific concerns with health and well-being through fitness and educational programs (Eaton and Salari, 2005; Fitzpatrick and McCabe, 2008: 201–4). The boomers are also retiring in a period where neoliberal ideology has restricted the welfare state and placed increased pressure on retirees and seniors to care for themselves. Andrew Hostetler has argued that ‘the extension of the individual choice-and-responsibility paradigm into later life threatens the well-being of seniors as they transition to inevitable dependency’ (2011: 166). He argues that general pressures toward a market-driven approach to all areas of life ‘may produce senior centers that look more like health or country clubs than service organizations, with potentially negative consequences for aging baby boomers’ (2011: 166). He suggests that a user-pays system in centres may undermine the sense of community, as it may create a division between those who can afford to attend and those who cannot (Hostetler, 2011). However, as my example of the neoliberal non-committee group has shown, a sense of community does not necessarily dissolve with a user-pays system. Finally, although seniors’ groups must be flexible to accommodate the needs of boomers, they must also be mindful of not creating disaffection among or ignoring the existing members and creating tension or conflict between the younger and older cohorts of seniors (Fitzpatrick and McCabe, 2008: 202; Hostetler, 2011: 173–5; Pardasani, 2010: 64–5).

Seniors’ groups, then, are faced with multiple challenges. They must deal with the ongoing issues over funding and access to space. They must work upon models of governance which encourage greater participation by members to build functioning groups and a sense of commitment, to ensure the survival of the group rests in many hands, not those of just a few committed volunteers. And as seniors’ clubs and centres face these existing challenges, and deal with new ones which accompany the retiring baby-boomers, sociology must also respond to the ‘ageing crisis’ and the challenges it poses for social participation and inclusion.