All societies, and all economic activity, ultimately relies upon “social reproduction” – the work of renewing and maintaining life itself. But what happens when the outflow of this labour exceeds the inflow of resources for those doing the work? Shirin M Rai introduces the lens of “depletion” and explores what this allows us to recognise, assess and address.

In New Delhi, eight women lead very different lives, but they each experience the relentlessness of their social reproductive labour – the labour producing, maintaining and renewing life – as they go about their everyday lives. In Coventry, UK, children look after parents and grandparents who are differently abled or are sick. In the Eastern Cape, South Africa, the Amadiba community worries about the mining company that is about to destroy their entire way of life. These are some of the stories of depletion in relation to social reproductive labour, as it affects individuals, households and communities, discussed in my book, Depletion: The Human Costs of Caring.

How can we understand depletion? Back in 2000, Diane Elson first mentioned depletion as an outcome of overwork. Building on this insight, my colleagues Catherine Hoskyns and Dania Thomas and I have defined depletion as a state when the outflow of social reproductive labour (in terms of time, energy, lack of sleep and rest, for example) exceeds the inflow of resources (such as adequate food, shelter, rest and sleep), tipping those affected over the threshold of sustainability. Consent does not mitigate depletion, just as love does not make social reproduction less depleting. Depletion is also a concept that bridges the worlds of paid and unpaid work – depletion through paid work is affected by unpaid work in the home and vice versa.

Depletion is a state where the outflow of social reproductive labour (time, energy, etc) exceeds the inflow of resources (adequate food, shelter, rest, etc), tipping those affected over the threshold of sustainability

Why does depletion matter? Our lives, and the lives of future generations, are dependent on the work we call social reproduction – the reproduction of life itself. And this can be, and is being, eroded through depletion.

The case for looking through the lens of depletion

The argument at the heart of the book is as follows. Reproduction of life doesn’t just happen. It is laboured over, but unequally. In all countries, in all classes, races, religions and cultures, women perform these labours more than men. On top of this, however, women are classed, raced and located in deeply unequal ways. How women experience depletion therefore varies according to the different contexts they find themselves in, as well as the intersections of these various factors.

Women who cope with this work in contexts of poverty and of violence are constantly told that their everyday labour to maintain the rhythms of life does not count as production. And yet we know that without this work, we cannot survive: as communities, as societies, as a global population. The denial of this work is then institutionalised through the methodologies used to account for work, through our ideological positioning of domestic work, and through gendered cultural and social norms. The exploitation of this labour leads to depletion, generating crises of care that threaten not just livelihoods, but lives. Fundamentally, we continue to take this work as “given” and costless, even as the costs of social reproduction mount up.

Fundamentally, we continue to take this work as “given” and costless, even as the costs of social reproduction mount up.

So, what does the depletion lens allow us to recognise, assess, measure and address?

First, the unequal distribution of social reproduction, that leads to depletion, harms those who care. This harm through depletion is multifaceted – from physical and mental health, through to discursive violence, all the way to citizenship entitlements. These harms can be felt at different levels (individual, household and community). Holding harm central to this debate is important because it reveals the multifaceted nature of depletion, the ripple effects of harm and the urgent need to reverse it.

Second, the strategies for reversing harm – mitigation, replenishment and transformation – can only be successful if society as a whole (individuals, states, markets, and other collective actors) acknowledges this harm, and in measurable ways. Individual strategies for mitigating harm and reversing depletion will always be limited in scope and unequally applied; what’s more, mitigating harm for one individual may unintentionally intensify harm for others. State intervention in addressing the unequal distribution of social reproductive work is therefore essential (if not by itself sufficient) for replenishment as a strategy of reversal of harm.

Third, a transformative vision of a “good life” for all, rather than for some, must include human but also planetary care. Depletion of our environment is entangled with capitalism’s pursuit of cheap nature (Moore, 2015) and harms us and future generations (IPCC 2023). As I show in Depletion, the threat of mining can harm communities whose land and way of life is brought under threat through extractive practices.

Finally, the recognition of depletion as harm must take account of the location and histories of social, economic and political inequalities that cast long shadows over the current care regime. It must take account, too, of how race, gender and class serve as vectors of these inequalities. Care chains that support social reproduction in the Global North leave huge care gaps in the Global South, and migration-related culture wars make care workers vulnerable to violence.

By focusing on depletion, then, we can begin to reveal the full costs of social reproduction. We can start to understand the circuits of power that circulate throughout the regimes of care, and consider how these might be challenged and reversed. Depletion fundamentally affects the material conditions of the reproduction and maintenance of social life, and the struggles for reversing depletion can help us think through the transformation of social reproduction.

The challenges of reversing depletion

The book outlines the different forms which struggles to reverse depletion can take, from individual efforts to develop networks of friendship (or laments against not being able to do so) and support from extended family networks, to strategies of self-care, wherever possible, through to challenging and holding the state accountable via political mobilisations.

Reversing depletion at a collective level is not easy, however. State policies to address issues of social provisioning and welfare are often racialized and do not pay attention to the working conditions of those in the care sector or those who do this work unpaid. Furthermore, discriminatory practices such as migration regimes and austerity measures result in policy outcomes that ignore the needs of those who do social reproductive work.

Reversing depletion is not easy – state policies to address issues of social provisioning are often racialized and do not pay attention to the working conditions of those in the care sector or those who do this work unpaid

Finally, depletion intensifies under crisis conditions, as the everyday resourcing of life becomes extremely difficult and the social infrastructure becomes undermined. I would also note here that if depletion can be read as structural violence, then under the current conditions of unremitting and indiscriminatory bombing of Gaza and now Lebanon that has led to mass killing and displacement, the reproduction and maintenance of life becomes almost impossible. In this tragic case, what we are witnessing is not depletion but a near total collapse of social reproduction.

Despite everything, replenishment is possible

As you can tell, depletion is not a cheery concept, but focusing on the costs of social reproduction does allow for light to be cast on relationships that invoke love as well as pain, joy as well as exhaustion, solidarity as well as exploitation.

As I look back to the life stories of the individuals, households and communities featured in the book, I find much to be hopeful about. This is because despite the challenges of un- or mal-recognised social reproductive work, there are individuals, households and communities struggling against the structures of everyday exploitation who are imagining altogether different lives, and coming together in friendship and solidarity to try and reverse their own and their community’s depletion.

In writing this book I had two objectives: first, mapping and revealing how intensive and extensive the problem of depletion is; and second, to examine and reflect on how it effects our ecologies, at individual, household and community levels and how struggles to reverse it are taking place in different modes, and at different levels.

The book, then, is a plea to recognise the costs of social reproduction, and to stop the harm that accrues to those who do this critical work for us all. By doing so, we can also begin to reimagine radically different ways of making and maintaining not just life but a good life. Such reimagining of caring for our global population and our planet demands alliances for change to be built across social and political boundaries. This is not easy, but it is urgent if we are to transform our approach to social reproduction.

Depletion: The Human Costs of Caring, published by Oxford University Press, is out now.

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All articles posted on this blog give the views of the author(s). They do not represent the position of LSE Inequalities, nor of the London School of Economics and Political Science. 

Image credits: banner image by cabuscaa via Shutterstock. Image of Filipino domestic workers by Jakob Polacsek via Alamy.