This isn't something I've been asked, but often wish some people would. I don't know if this means others assume my motives to be less honorable than they are (which might explain why I've had such a hard time getting interviewees in the first place), or if they think this is normal and acceptable.
If I've learned anything from my study of critical race theory, it's that white researchers often feel the need to study peoples of color and attach their own lens and understanding to the "findings." It IS disturbing, and I do not approach this lightly. There are very good reasons for me no longer using CRT in my study--and one is this: I feel ill equipped to tell where my white privilege and lens ends and the truth of another's experience begins. Another reason is that story--or narrative--is one of the most ancient (and in recent times, sadly devalued) forms of education and it speaks to us in ways most methods of educational research do not. This is the reason I settled on conducting my dissertation research and writing as Narrative Inquiry (See Clandinin & Connelly, 2004 "Narrative Inquiry", for more details). Narrative Inquiry acknowledges--or at least can acknowledge--that the researcher's perspective can alter the narrative's natural flow, not to mention its interpretation. Narrative Inquiry requires of the participants and the researcher to journey together, to seek out truths together and to piece together a multi-layered, multi-dimensional picture of context and people at particular places and times.
But I imagine you still want to know why a white Christian woman in her late 20s is studying women of another faith from halfway around the world. I want to reassure you first that I am NOT seeking to "convert" anyone to faith, or convince them that I am "right." This has been done far too often in the name of 'good Christian action,' and I honestly find it disrespectful, doing more to deteriorate possible friendships and interfaith discussion than any sort of good. The truth is that the faith of my Muslim brothers and sisters has inspired me, especially in the wake of 9/11.
I began teaching Adult ESL in North County St. Louis in 2006. Half of my students were Hispanic (primarily from Mexico, but several were from Cuba and Guatemala), and the other half were Palestinian, Irani and Iraqi women, most of whom were practicing Muslims and wore hijab. It was in the midst of our discussion of small talk that I learned just how hard many were trying to connect with their neighbors, and how they were rejected, spit on, yelled at, and had doors slammed in their faces. And yet they still kept trying to make connections. I was even invited to one of their homes for a baby shower. They knew I was a Christian and often asked questions, sharing their own similarities and differences in faith with me. It wasn't long before I realized that I had better conversations about what we believed in that setting than I had with my students at a nearby christian college--or with members of my church, for that matter.
As I began my studies at UMSL in 2008 (planning to focus on second language acquisition technique differences between my hispanic and Arabic-speaking students), I decided to write a short paper on how 9/11 and the media coverage thereafter had had a negative impact on Arab-Americans and Muslims in the US. The young woman I interviewed left a profound impact on how I viewed things--in fact, I was no longer able to write a paper about the negative impact of 9/11 on Arab American Muslims but rather saw a faith intensified and a greater articulation about her beliefs in general. Here she was, only 2 years older than I was, and much better prepared to explain what she believed and why than any Christian my age.
In the intervening years, as I've gone from my mid-20s and early marriage into my late 20s and mother of a toddler, I've watched as more friends have left the church or stayed with very little reason other than "this has always been my church." I've watched as young families have come and gone, and for the most part have shared little about what they believed, and joined in few activities outside of some Sunday morning services. The church has gone from being full of young families with children to drawing less than 30% of the population through it's doors (and the majority of this number is of an older generation). As I was no longer seeing women like me and their children in the church, talking about what they believed in, I sought to find others who did share faith with their children--teaching them to pray, to read from scripture/bible stories, share songs about faith and tell the story of their faith and their family's faith. I found what I was looking for in those facing religious persecution here in the US, namely my Arab-American Muslim friends.
So in writing this dissertation, I seek to tell the story of refining fire, as we might call it in Christianity--the power of persecution to embolden individuals in their faith, and the power of positive words between friends and colleagues to fight against misinformation and strengthen the religious identity of individuals and communities as well.
I hope, in my narrative inquiry, to show the impact of faith on not only their lives but mine as well, and how even though we come from different faiths that talking together often strengthens our beliefs and interfaith friendship.
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