In a recent conversation with a friend, he reflected on reading The Brothers Karamazov:
I used to think that I wanted to be a lot like Alyosha (who doesn't?).
But I am definitely much more of an Ivan.
I admit now to being less familiar with the book than I should have been (I'd read Crime and Punishment in high school and liked it well enough that I should have known this Dostoevsky work as well), and had to go do some research. I decided it was high time to read this after I found a synopsis of characters.
My friend knows me too well, it seems. Alyosha, the younger, kinder, more innocent and earnest in his faith and love is who I think most of us would like to be. Like my friend, though, I think I've fallen more into the role of the intellectual, cold and academically-minded Ivan. These characters, in a way, represent both the best and worst parts of my dissertation: a study driven by faith, hunger for knowledge and wisdom, and academic study of human development and identity. It's also about trying not to parse every piece to death, making identity and love some sort of rubric or formula, but that nagging worry in the back of my mind that either I lose something academic by assuming bits and pieces about faith, or I lose faith and the wonder of it all by approaching it wholly academically.
Maybe it's in trying to maintain the spirit of Alyosha's approach while being in Ivan's intellectual sphere that I can maintain some semblance of balance and feel fulfilled in this work. Only time (and more writing) will tell.
I think it's time to start reading The Brothers Karamazov and seeing what I can learn from one of my favorite Russian novelists, while I keep transcribing recent interviews.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
....
It's just been one of those seasons.
The words I want to use bounce around and around in my head.
The words I read bounce around and around in my head.
Words.
So many words.
And nothing comes out.
I read the brilliant words of friends.
Of colleagues.
Of Scholars.
Even of students (on occasion).
All I can think is
Where are my words?
The jumbled mess sticks in my thoughts
and in my mouth
Like Peanut Butter
Gluing my trap closed.
And I feel trapped in that closed space.
I shake the walls
I pray
I cry
I scream--and even this is silent
I just can't seem to find the words I need.
Deep breaths.
It will come.
It has to come.
The wisdom
The words
All that I've worked so hard to build up
To connect with
It all requires some faith--and words.
Please, God
I need more articulate words
To help me past this "stuck"-ness.
The words I want to use bounce around and around in my head.
The words I read bounce around and around in my head.
Words.
So many words.
And nothing comes out.
I read the brilliant words of friends.
Of colleagues.
Of Scholars.
Even of students (on occasion).
All I can think is
Where are my words?
The jumbled mess sticks in my thoughts
and in my mouth
Like Peanut Butter
Gluing my trap closed.
And I feel trapped in that closed space.
I shake the walls
I pray
I cry
I scream--and even this is silent
I just can't seem to find the words I need.
Deep breaths.
It will come.
It has to come.
The wisdom
The words
All that I've worked so hard to build up
To connect with
It all requires some faith--and words.
Please, God
I need more articulate words
To help me past this "stuck"-ness.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Kairos: Embrace the Chaortic-ness
About a year ago, Pastor Linda Daniel-Block coined the term “Chaortic” to describe the events of her life at that moment. It wasn’t utter chaos she said. There was beauty to it and a sense of order—somewhere—but it never felt completely within her control. I can think of no better way to explain our life right now. From my husband switching jobs in mid-December to Tristan leaving preschool and becoming obsessed with climbing everything but playground equipment (why do kids always want to climb what they shouldn’t and avoid things that we tell them they can climb on?) to this whole dissertation journey, online teaching and responsibilities within my house and the church, everything has been in a state of chaorticness.
We keep moving forward with some amount of progress, but I think I feel the anxiety and frustration of chronological time and progress more than my other family members right now. For me, hours drag by as I constantly remove my son from his climbing places and try to redirect him to less destructive activities, and as I try to connect with students in my online classes. Meanwhile, my dissertation work, seems to move forward at a snail’s pace as the months fly by. My advisor kept telling me on Monday that I’m doing well, making deadlines and meeting them each month for the most part, assuring me that not every day or week or even month can be productive, “it comes in fits and starts, with highs and lows,” she says, and you have to take breaks for your sanity. In essence, though, I do not want to be in Chaos. I do not even want to be in Chaortic-ness (where there is method in the madness). I just want to feel as if I’m making the best use of time, energy, and talents as possible. I do start mulling over her words though.
That’s really when the word started flitting around in my brain—Kairos. Kairos. Kairos, in greek, means “the right or exact moment.” But I also grew up reading Madeline L’Engle’s Time series, or as it’s sometimes called “the Kairos series,” and her words on time are the ones I turn to so often to make sense of the nature of God, his time and how it contrasts with the way we so often view time.
From Walking on Water, by Madeleine L’Engle:
Kairos. Real time. God’s time.
That time which breaks through chronos with a shock of joy, that time we do not recognize while we are experiencing it, but only afterwards, because kairos has nothing to do with chronological time. In kairos we are completely unselfconscious, and yet paradoxically far more real than we can ever be when we’re constantly checking our watches for chronological time.
The saint in contemplation, lost to self in the mind of God is in kairos. The artist at work is in kairos. The child at play, totally thrown outside herself in the game, be it building a sand castle or making a daisy chain, is in kairos. In kairos we become what we are called to be as human beings, co-creators with God, touching on the wonder of creation.
This calling should not be limited to artists, or saints, but it is a fearful calling. It is both Mana and taboo. It can destroy as well as bring into being.
In Our Town, after Emily has died in childbirth, Thornton Wilder has her ask the Stage Manager if she can return home to relive just one day. Reluctantly he allows her to do so. And she is torn by the beauty of the ordinary, and by our lack of awareness of it. She cries out to her mother, “Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me… it goes so fast we don’t have time to look at one another.”
And she goes back to the graveyard and the quiet company of the others lying there, and she asks the Stage Manager “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?” And he sighs and says, “No. The saints and poets, maybe. They do some.”
Reading this passage reminds me that lent calls us into kairos time, as we follow the journey to the cross. It is in this moment that I realize that this academic endeavor is more than writing about faith and sharing about two faiths that have so much in common. The writing of this itself is happening within kairos time. This is not to say that I do not feel the need to write or push it. I’m a self described “TYPE A” personality and I will always push myself harder, to work faster and more articulately. The funny thing is that this doesn’t always work, even with my own dissertation. I rely so heavily on others for feedback and interviews and even some of my transcription. My son gets sick for a week and a half and then starts climbing the walls and I don’t have time during the day to do much other than care for him and am too tired when he finally goes to bed at night to do much other than get lost in a book. I get pulled into a fiction series…and find myself living in kairos time there as well.
I have to trust that kairos time, in all of the chaortic-ness that I feel, is at work in my work, my life and my words. I just have to embrace it and tell chronos time to stop making me feel like such a loser—that it does not have that sort of power over me anymore. Really, truly doing God’s work takes time. Kairos time. Embrace the chaortic-ness of it all.
Friday, February 24, 2012
More on the Pursuit of Knowledge
A student of mine has been doing a lot of thinking, reading, researching and writing on types of etymology lately. It's not the topic that interests me so much as the this student has gone about it.
While he does try to focus on Greek and latin forms of word and how they're used, his primary reference base seems to be a few books and the internet. I'm not trying to slam the guy here, mind you. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm a few years older and the internet was really only available for research purposes when I was in high school, but I'm always mystified by the use of internet documents as primary sources. Yes, I'm an academic and I tend to lean towards peer-reviewed periodicals on some things, but this is...different.
I was trying to work it out in my own head--Was it that every source he give me make me uneasy, with the banners along the top and advertisements down the side? Somewhat, but it was the author's name I was drawn to in each. Did I know it? No. Could I google it and find out their credentials? No. Did HE know this person and/or their work and methodologies? No. It was this last "no" that was bothering me more than anything.
This reminded me of something I'd heard/seen during interviews with Rose, Amira, and several community members. "Do you know X?" they asked. "Well, he studied with Y and is an important scholar in modern Islam." I was then told to look the person up in some cases, or sent articles by the person (or related to their biographies). When talking about Qu'ranic knowledge, they referenced a well-known scholar's interpretations.
This also made me think of a recent discussion with my advisor. I was again lamenting my choice in schools because of some of the silliness I'd seen recently accepted as "doctoral level work." I told her though that I really loved working with her and that I was so glad I had her pushing me ahead. She confided that she sometimes worried how she was perceived as a scholar when she worked for this somewhat no-name school. "But you look at, okay, I studied under X and Y, who studied under Z and T, who studied with A and hopefully, in the end, its this chain of scholarship that matters."
Hence my revelation today that knowledge itself is important, but far more important seems to be the chain of scholarship and the way in which the story and method is passed down from generation to generation. In our narrative, those we learn from and their approach to research and to stories tell just as much about our world lens as the story itself.
When asked about people other than their families who impacted their identities, Amira, Rose and Hannah all immediately listed teachers. Teachers of faith and Qu'ran, teachers of English language skills and teachers of music, but all were influential in their lives within particular disciplines.
I think the most important thing I drew out of this revelation today is something I've said before but in a different light. Our stories intertwine and overlap and our lives end but the stories continue--this I've said. What I'd never thought about was the importance of previous knowledge and methods coloring those stories in such a way that they flow so nicely together, often in ways that people listen to you and then say, "hey, you're Brian Hartley's daughter, aren't you?" or "You studied under Dr. Dorner, didn't you. I can tell."
I guess that there really is no 'objective' research or search for truth, as all of our methods are shaped and influenced by those who profoundly impact us. Then again, isn't there great value in this shaping along the pursuit for knowledge? I can't help but believe that observed methodologies and practices have been far more helpful to me for really learning and DOING than anything I've read about methodologies over the past 3-4 years. A guiding hand has been worth 10,000 words at times.
While he does try to focus on Greek and latin forms of word and how they're used, his primary reference base seems to be a few books and the internet. I'm not trying to slam the guy here, mind you. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm a few years older and the internet was really only available for research purposes when I was in high school, but I'm always mystified by the use of internet documents as primary sources. Yes, I'm an academic and I tend to lean towards peer-reviewed periodicals on some things, but this is...different.
I was trying to work it out in my own head--Was it that every source he give me make me uneasy, with the banners along the top and advertisements down the side? Somewhat, but it was the author's name I was drawn to in each. Did I know it? No. Could I google it and find out their credentials? No. Did HE know this person and/or their work and methodologies? No. It was this last "no" that was bothering me more than anything.
This reminded me of something I'd heard/seen during interviews with Rose, Amira, and several community members. "Do you know X?" they asked. "Well, he studied with Y and is an important scholar in modern Islam." I was then told to look the person up in some cases, or sent articles by the person (or related to their biographies). When talking about Qu'ranic knowledge, they referenced a well-known scholar's interpretations.
This also made me think of a recent discussion with my advisor. I was again lamenting my choice in schools because of some of the silliness I'd seen recently accepted as "doctoral level work." I told her though that I really loved working with her and that I was so glad I had her pushing me ahead. She confided that she sometimes worried how she was perceived as a scholar when she worked for this somewhat no-name school. "But you look at, okay, I studied under X and Y, who studied under Z and T, who studied with A and hopefully, in the end, its this chain of scholarship that matters."
Hence my revelation today that knowledge itself is important, but far more important seems to be the chain of scholarship and the way in which the story and method is passed down from generation to generation. In our narrative, those we learn from and their approach to research and to stories tell just as much about our world lens as the story itself.
When asked about people other than their families who impacted their identities, Amira, Rose and Hannah all immediately listed teachers. Teachers of faith and Qu'ran, teachers of English language skills and teachers of music, but all were influential in their lives within particular disciplines.
I think the most important thing I drew out of this revelation today is something I've said before but in a different light. Our stories intertwine and overlap and our lives end but the stories continue--this I've said. What I'd never thought about was the importance of previous knowledge and methods coloring those stories in such a way that they flow so nicely together, often in ways that people listen to you and then say, "hey, you're Brian Hartley's daughter, aren't you?" or "You studied under Dr. Dorner, didn't you. I can tell."
I guess that there really is no 'objective' research or search for truth, as all of our methods are shaped and influenced by those who profoundly impact us. Then again, isn't there great value in this shaping along the pursuit for knowledge? I can't help but believe that observed methodologies and practices have been far more helpful to me for really learning and DOING than anything I've read about methodologies over the past 3-4 years. A guiding hand has been worth 10,000 words at times.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
If anyone seeks wisdom...
Amira and I had our second interview in late January, and ended up spending almost 3 hours together, I think. Before I turned on the recorder, we just caught up a bit on life since our first interview three years prior--the interview that started this dissertation process in some ways, but in other ways preceded it. Probably the last hour or so of the recording was just...well, interfaith dialogue. I shouldn't say "just," but as it had less to do with the dissertation questions and more to do with navigating the often difficult waters of being some of the few "Gen Y"ers in our congregations. We both grew up with gay friends who believed in God and had faced very angry elders in the community when they came out. Knowing individuals first as friends made this a bit more difficult and we first turned to scripture and sought first hand knowledge--about what scripture really says and where. As Amira said, "if they were Muslim and came out to me, I told them what scripture said, as we are called to do, then left it at that. If they weren't Muslim, I didn't say anything. It didn't stop us from being friends."
The key here in this story isn't the issue (I'd be happy to talk with anyone about my thoughts on this in relationship to faith, but would prefer to do so in person)--but it's the act of SEEKING KNOWLEDGE. Gen Y folks (which I'm noting here as something in-between or separate from Gen Xers or Millennials because we seem to draw from both sets of characteristics while also being quite distinct. Anyway...) have often been portrayed as this confused bunch, sort of wandering through life and questioning authority but being perhaps less reactive than Gen Xers. We're somewhat obsessed with the search for truth and seeking out answers for ourselves.
I never realized how this might be a generational issue until I observed at Amira's school in early February. I arrived about 10am, checked into the office and then was guided to her room which was only about 3 doors away from the main office. As a music teacher, she instructs several age groups and a class of fifth graders were milling about, grabbing pencils, clipboards and handouts when I arrived. The room was brightly painted with walls of orange and royal blue, covered in posters of chords, a few instruments, red/yellow/green card charts and sticker charts for students to help with behavior management. The students sat on the floor facing the screen while Amira ran the projector from the back of the room. It was a very diverse class of 20 students, almost evenly split between genders and from many ethnic backgrounds. As a well-established city charter school, it had gained respect as a place where students came to get a good education in a somewhat 'strict' environment. They were all required to wear uniforms.
Amira was reading to them about the life of Bach using an illustrated and humorous text, while students followed along on worksheets and answered questions from the text. Most of the lesson involved students who wanted to get drinks of water, go to the bathroom, sharpen pencils, or do just about anything but sit still and listen. The crucial part of this lesson, to me, was what happened in the following dialogue.
Amira: "Back then, they didn't have radios, so the only way to hear music was go to a concert or hire a band to come play for you in your home, which only royals could afford."
Student 1: "Didn't they have a boom box they could shoulder?"
Amira: "No, they didn't have radios or recordings. They didn't even have electricity."
Students: "What?" *frightened/excited murmurs
Amira: "Yeah, I know it's crazy. No electricity."
Student 2: "didn't they have, like, you know, those boxes with a hand crank to make stuff work?"
Amira: "you mean a generator?" (student 2 nods). "No, electricity hadn' even been invented yet. Servants or other people lit candles in homes to provide light."
Student 3: "What did they do for, like, fun?"
Amira: "For fun? They read books."
(student 3 laughs)
Amira: "no, seriously! Haven't you ever read a book you really enjoyed?"
Student 4: NO!
Student 5: yeah (quietly)
Student 3: "well I watch the movie and THEN I read the book."
Amira: "Are you getting this, Mrs. Hager? This is the generation that's going to take care of us. This generation that doesn't want to read."
Student 4: "Yeah! We're the AWESOME generation!"
It both sickened me and surprised me. They thought so highly of themselves because they DIDN'T want or like to read. They thought that life was better with movies telling them how to see or interpret the story. And if a book didn't have a movie? To them it wasn't worth reading.
Perhaps reading is a dying art (I certainly hope not! We're working with our 2 year old to love reading and learning) and the pursuit of knowledge for the sake of truth and discovery is disappearing. However, I know that it isn't among my study participants and that a big part of their identity development has come through listening, through reading, through seeking out scholars and helping that information about faith become part of their own. If nothing else, I hope this search for wisdom and knowledge is something that can be re-established in our schools as part of the purpose (and need for) education. It's about teaching skills and building tools for lifelong learning, not just about minute details like how many children Bach had (17, by the way. 4 by his first wife who died young and 13 by his second. I did enjoy the music class and learning with Amira's guidance :D )
James 1: 18-19 By his own will he brought us into being through the word of truth, so that we should have first place among all his creatures. Remember this, my dear friends! Everyone must be quick to listen, but slow to speak and slow to become angry.
The key here in this story isn't the issue (I'd be happy to talk with anyone about my thoughts on this in relationship to faith, but would prefer to do so in person)--but it's the act of SEEKING KNOWLEDGE. Gen Y folks (which I'm noting here as something in-between or separate from Gen Xers or Millennials because we seem to draw from both sets of characteristics while also being quite distinct. Anyway...) have often been portrayed as this confused bunch, sort of wandering through life and questioning authority but being perhaps less reactive than Gen Xers. We're somewhat obsessed with the search for truth and seeking out answers for ourselves.
I never realized how this might be a generational issue until I observed at Amira's school in early February. I arrived about 10am, checked into the office and then was guided to her room which was only about 3 doors away from the main office. As a music teacher, she instructs several age groups and a class of fifth graders were milling about, grabbing pencils, clipboards and handouts when I arrived. The room was brightly painted with walls of orange and royal blue, covered in posters of chords, a few instruments, red/yellow/green card charts and sticker charts for students to help with behavior management. The students sat on the floor facing the screen while Amira ran the projector from the back of the room. It was a very diverse class of 20 students, almost evenly split between genders and from many ethnic backgrounds. As a well-established city charter school, it had gained respect as a place where students came to get a good education in a somewhat 'strict' environment. They were all required to wear uniforms.
Amira was reading to them about the life of Bach using an illustrated and humorous text, while students followed along on worksheets and answered questions from the text. Most of the lesson involved students who wanted to get drinks of water, go to the bathroom, sharpen pencils, or do just about anything but sit still and listen. The crucial part of this lesson, to me, was what happened in the following dialogue.
Amira: "Back then, they didn't have radios, so the only way to hear music was go to a concert or hire a band to come play for you in your home, which only royals could afford."
Student 1: "Didn't they have a boom box they could shoulder?"
Amira: "No, they didn't have radios or recordings. They didn't even have electricity."
Students: "What?" *frightened/excited murmurs
Amira: "Yeah, I know it's crazy. No electricity."
Student 2: "didn't they have, like, you know, those boxes with a hand crank to make stuff work?"
Amira: "you mean a generator?" (student 2 nods). "No, electricity hadn' even been invented yet. Servants or other people lit candles in homes to provide light."
Student 3: "What did they do for, like, fun?"
Amira: "For fun? They read books."
(student 3 laughs)
Amira: "no, seriously! Haven't you ever read a book you really enjoyed?"
Student 4: NO!
Student 5: yeah (quietly)
Student 3: "well I watch the movie and THEN I read the book."
Amira: "Are you getting this, Mrs. Hager? This is the generation that's going to take care of us. This generation that doesn't want to read."
Student 4: "Yeah! We're the AWESOME generation!"
It both sickened me and surprised me. They thought so highly of themselves because they DIDN'T want or like to read. They thought that life was better with movies telling them how to see or interpret the story. And if a book didn't have a movie? To them it wasn't worth reading.
Perhaps reading is a dying art (I certainly hope not! We're working with our 2 year old to love reading and learning) and the pursuit of knowledge for the sake of truth and discovery is disappearing. However, I know that it isn't among my study participants and that a big part of their identity development has come through listening, through reading, through seeking out scholars and helping that information about faith become part of their own. If nothing else, I hope this search for wisdom and knowledge is something that can be re-established in our schools as part of the purpose (and need for) education. It's about teaching skills and building tools for lifelong learning, not just about minute details like how many children Bach had (17, by the way. 4 by his first wife who died young and 13 by his second. I did enjoy the music class and learning with Amira's guidance :D )
James 1: 18-19 By his own will he brought us into being through the word of truth, so that we should have first place among all his creatures. Remember this, my dear friends! Everyone must be quick to listen, but slow to speak and slow to become angry.
Lenten Journey
Let's face it--I haven't been writing as I should. It's amazing how "stuff" easily crowds out the ability to think and write relating to a dissertation. Between teaching two online classes that I'm forcing myself to engage in right now and commit to caring for my students and taking care of my busy (and this winter sick and clingy just about every other week) 2.5 year old, I find myself just wanting to stare at walls or watch "My so-Called Life" reruns on Netflix.
However, yesterday marked an important point in the Christian calendar. Ash Wednesday calls us to die to our old selves, walk with Christ down the road of the cross and towards renewal over the course of the 40 days of lent. Part of the tradition within more liturgical circles has always been to give up something for these 40 days. Some fast, some give up only items of food--and others take on new disciplines.
In my plan was to take up memorization. In my early teens, I was on a bible quizzing team, learning the books of John, Hebrews and Ephesians. I still remember large portions of these and I want to add to this knowledge base. As Peter says "Always be prepared to give a reason for the hope that you have" (1 Peter 3:15). I think I remember large portions of James as well, but as it's 1) five chapters and this is only a 40 day period and 2) there's so much good in these chapters, full of comfort and challenge, I decided that memorizing James--or at least dwelling in the book of James during lent--should be my goal.
Then a funny thing happened. A friend of mine took up blogging for the 40 days of lent as a discipline. Not only this, My dad and several others made sure I had the link to see what she was doing. It felt like a giant prod from God towards another discipline during these days.
And it hit me. Writing has become difficult because I keep trying to be profound and academic and important. It needn't be all of these all of the time. As Maureen (my friend and new blogger herself) stated, "writing is often the way I pray best." This jumble in my head and thoughts comes out best through my fingers and in talking it out on paper.
So I'm making a promise to "blog it out" this lenten season. Maybe not every day, and maybe not profound or fantastic every time, but it will be on my thoughts, prayers, and reactions to my dissertation questions--and to James as well. I've gotten too wrapped up in trying to make it perfect and find large blocks of time to write on the chapters. I've been too overwhelmed by the beauty and depth of the forest just to take time and describe a tree at a time, so to speak. Hopefully this afternoon I'll have some time to write about my observation experience and last interview with Amira.
As James so kindly reminded me today:
Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. James 1:2-5
This is and has been a trial--the sort I have trouble even putting into words--as I'm emotionally, physically and mentally exhausted by work, family and this project. However, I can persevere and finish this project because I know that the wisdom (and strength) in this isn't mine--it comes from God. This project is a journey of faith and is a calling in itself. I just need to be reminded that I need to get out of the way with all of my insecurities and distractions and let it the words flow.
However, yesterday marked an important point in the Christian calendar. Ash Wednesday calls us to die to our old selves, walk with Christ down the road of the cross and towards renewal over the course of the 40 days of lent. Part of the tradition within more liturgical circles has always been to give up something for these 40 days. Some fast, some give up only items of food--and others take on new disciplines.
In my plan was to take up memorization. In my early teens, I was on a bible quizzing team, learning the books of John, Hebrews and Ephesians. I still remember large portions of these and I want to add to this knowledge base. As Peter says "Always be prepared to give a reason for the hope that you have" (1 Peter 3:15). I think I remember large portions of James as well, but as it's 1) five chapters and this is only a 40 day period and 2) there's so much good in these chapters, full of comfort and challenge, I decided that memorizing James--or at least dwelling in the book of James during lent--should be my goal.
Then a funny thing happened. A friend of mine took up blogging for the 40 days of lent as a discipline. Not only this, My dad and several others made sure I had the link to see what she was doing. It felt like a giant prod from God towards another discipline during these days.
And it hit me. Writing has become difficult because I keep trying to be profound and academic and important. It needn't be all of these all of the time. As Maureen (my friend and new blogger herself) stated, "writing is often the way I pray best." This jumble in my head and thoughts comes out best through my fingers and in talking it out on paper.
So I'm making a promise to "blog it out" this lenten season. Maybe not every day, and maybe not profound or fantastic every time, but it will be on my thoughts, prayers, and reactions to my dissertation questions--and to James as well. I've gotten too wrapped up in trying to make it perfect and find large blocks of time to write on the chapters. I've been too overwhelmed by the beauty and depth of the forest just to take time and describe a tree at a time, so to speak. Hopefully this afternoon I'll have some time to write about my observation experience and last interview with Amira.
As James so kindly reminded me today:
Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. James 1:2-5
This is and has been a trial--the sort I have trouble even putting into words--as I'm emotionally, physically and mentally exhausted by work, family and this project. However, I can persevere and finish this project because I know that the wisdom (and strength) in this isn't mine--it comes from God. This project is a journey of faith and is a calling in itself. I just need to be reminded that I need to get out of the way with all of my insecurities and distractions and let it the words flow.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The ethics of writing about lives
Sikes, Pat (2010). The ethics of writing life histories and narratives in educational research. Exploring Learning, Identity and Power through Life History and Narrative Research. Bathmaker, Ann-Marie and Penelope Harnett (Eds). New York, NY : Routledge.
“Narrativising, like all intentional behavior…is a site of moral responsibility” Laurel Richardson, 1990, p. 131.
Sikes ARGUES first and foremost that “the preliminary jottings we make when first beginning to develop ideas about what we’re going to look at, proposals, notes and references we take from literature, field notes, transcripts, research diary entries and so on, as much as any formal accounts….are, in my opinion, as much a part of the investigation as any data we may collect. I share with Richardson’s belief that writing is a method of inquiry and this view permeates everything I will write.” (p. 12).
She also states that “writing lives is always an auto/biographical process and acknowledging this is, in my view, the first task that ethical researchers must address.” (p. 12). “It seems unethical to offer a version of someone’s life (or indeed of any social phenomenon) without making clear the nature of the gaze that is being brought to bear upon it.” (p. 13) YES. We must ask “what is MY role in this, why was I interested in this topic and how do I fit into the puzzle”—in other words, what is my “voice” and “words,” and what can I fairly attribute to participants?
Ironically, even before I discovered narrative inquiry as a method, I'd FOUGHT to include my own backstory as part of my research proposal and it's something I'm very upfront about with all of my participants when we meet. I'm the eldest daughter of a third or fourth generation minister, a Christian myself who wants to fight for social justice and especially for immigrants and my ESL students. I stumbled into a PhD program not because I wanted the degree but because the stories I was hearing was something I became passionate about and wanted to enter into a conversation about religious identity, emerging adulthood and national rhetoric surrounding these things.
Sikes also reminds us that acknowledging the relationship between participant and research is also key(p. 13). My relationship with all but one of the participants came about solely because of this study--I hadn't known them in advance. It creates an interesting dynamic in our exchanges that I'm not always happy about because it feels somewhat inauthentic...but at the same time, the most difficult interviews have been with the participant I already knew because, well, we've talked about these things off the record before and I think she doesn't see any point in adding to it just for the sake of the recorder (and I understand that...but I also don't want to put words in her mouth based on half-remembered conversations!)
“My bottom-line, acid test for whether or not I consider my own or other people’s research to be ethical is: how would I feel if I, members of y family or my friends were to be involved and treated and written about in the way that the research in question involves or treats or depicts its participants?” (p. 14)
Ah HA. This is where Laibel’s (2000) article, "A loving epistemology" that deals with white women researching people of color and ethics in narrative inquiry collide. From my own comprehensive exam addressing what place/role a white woman might have in critical race theory:
As cited in Julie Laible’s A Loving Epistemology (2000), [the following quote from bell hooks] challenged me as much as it challenged her, when hooks takes on the voice of the white researcher, saying:
No need to hear your voice when I can talk about you better than you can speak about yourself. No need to hear your voice. Only tell me about your pain. I want to know your story. And then I will tell it back to you in a new way. Tell it back to you in such a new way that it has become mine, my own. Rewriting you, I write myself anew. I am still author, authority. I am still the colonizer, the speaking subject, and you are now at the center of my talk. Stop. (pp. 152).
Much like the conclusions Laible (2000) reaches, I believe that I cannot truly research on the other—EVER—and feel justified in doing so. Although traditionally it is perceived that one person writes a dissertation, this cannot be the case in my work, if it is to be done well. If I am to let other voices be heard, I must hear them throughout the process of interviewing, transcribing, data analysis and in drawing conclusions. I must learn to study with those I interview, see myself through their eyes, seek their insight and feedback on whatever I write. As a White woman, it may be true that I will never truly understand in the eyes of some (Williams, 2004), but I will certainly try and do my best to listen, actively resisting the forces of racism”
I don’t think I gave enough space to other voices even in this conception—or maybe it was because as I was writing this, it was still just a proposal in the works or an idea. When people actually began the interview process, I began to feel even more…adamant, I guess I’d say, about including them in every stage. Every thing I’ve written so far has been sent to the person it’s about—and then we sit down for another interview so that I have their feedback, their voice. More than anything, I want each person to feel like this is an empowering experience. Hopefully, in any situation where I’ve taken over too much without acknowledging that it’s my voice, I’ll get pushback. I know that’s the case with Ashley as we’ve worked together for almost three years now and with Amira and Rose who are very outspoken and great activists. I do worry a bit about Hannah, as she doesn’t know me all that well and am not sure she feels comfortable with me. I hope she’s not afraid to tell me off.
My advisor had a brilliant idea about what we’d asked to do through IRB. I’d originally thought a group interview might be a good idea, to draw out perhaps places where they all saw similarities or differences between their stories. I realized how much that would change dynamics and findings though and how much, then, they might want to find similarities if phrased that way. I’d told my advisor that I just wasn’t going to do it—having permission to do something via IRB doesn’t mean it HAS to happen. She, however, encouraged me to do it towards the very end—and have them put me through a preliminary dissertation defense. I would then present to them and any other family members who wanted to come along what I thought I’d found and walk through the regular process of a defense, but then have to answer their questions, concerns and anything else that might come up. Intimidating? Absolutely. But in order to really, truly meet Sike’s (2010) acid test, what better way to do so than actually share this with my participants and their families before sharing it with anyone else?
Stories and lives are intimate things and if we are going to share them in narrative form with others we’d better be awfully sure that we’re 1) being clear about our roles and biases as narrators and 2) not presenting an image of someone that they feel is inaccurate or do not wish to share.
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