Handbook of Research Methods on Gender and Management 1788977920, 9781788977920

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HANDBOOK OF RESEARCH METHODS ON GENDER AND MANAGEMENT

Handbook of Research Methods on Gender and Management Edited by

Valerie Stead Professor of Leadership and Management, Lancaster University Management School, Lancaster University, UK

Carole Elliott Professor of Organization Studies, Sheffield University Management School, The University of Sheffield, UK

Sharon Mavin Professor of Leadership and Organization Studies, Newcastle University Business School, Newcastle University, UK

Cheltenham, UK • Northampton, MA, USA

© Valerie Stead, Carole Elliott and Sharon Mavin 2021

Cover image: © Tom Halsall, Obscured Subject IV, 2019 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Published by Edward Elgar Publishing Limited The Lypiatts 15 Lansdown Road Cheltenham Glos GL50 2JA UK Edward Elgar Publishing, Inc. William Pratt House 9 Dewey Court Northampton Massachusetts 01060 USA A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Control Number: 2021943503 This book is available electronically in the Business subject collection http://dx.doi.org/10.4337/9781788977937

02

ISBN 978 1 78897 792 0 (cased) ISBN 978 1 78897 793 7 (eBook)

Contents

List of figuresvii List of contributorsviii Introduction to the Handbook of Research Methods on Gender and Management1 Valerie Stead, Carole Elliott and Sharon Mavin PART I

AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC METHODS

1

A scholarly journey to autoethnography: a way to understand, survive and resist Juanita Johnson-Bailey

2

Autoethnography in qualitative studies of gender and management Saoirse O’Shea

3

Autoethnography in qualitative studies of gender and organization: a focus on women successors in family businesses Allan Discua Cruz, Eleanor Hamilton and Sarah L. Jack

PART II

10 25

38

PRACTICAL APPROACHES

4

Focus group use in gender research aimed at program innovation Maylon Hanold

5

Using oral history and archival research to advance gender studies in management and organisational studies Hannah Dean and Lorna Stevenson

71

6

Translating gender policies into practice: mapping ruling relations through institutional ethnography Rita A. Gardiner, Jennifer Chisholm and Hayley Finn

86

7

Participant observation in gender and management research Farooq Mughal, Valerie Stead and Caroline Gatrell

8

Gendered encounters in a postfeminist context: researcher identity work in interviews with men and women leaders in the City of London Patricia Lewis v

57

101

115

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9

Being ‘native’: insider research in qualitative studies of gender and management Jouharah M. Abalkhail

130

10

Data with a (feminist) purpose: quantitative methods in the context of gender, diversity and management Anne Laure Humbert and Elisabeth Anna Guenther

145

11

Topic modelling: a method for analysing corporate gender diversity statements Aaron Page and Ruth Sealy

161

PART III CRITICAL APPROACHES 12

Exposing interpellation with dystopian fiction: a critical discourse analysis technique to disrupt hegemonic masculinity Mark Gatto and Jamie L. Callahan

13

Media semiotics: analysing the myth of the corporate superwoman Anita Biressi

14

Intersectional reflexivity: using intersectional reflexivity as a means to strengthen critical autoethnography Mayra Ruiz Castro

182 202

214

PART IV METHODOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENTS 15

Visual research as a method of inquiry for gender and organizations Alexia Panayiotou

16

Understanding the underrepresentation of women in union leadership roles: the contribution of a ‘career’ methodology Cécile Guillaume and Sophie Pochic

17

Phenomenology and autoethnography as potential methodologies for exploring masculinity in organizations, communities and society Joshua C. Collins and Jeremy W. Bohonos

18

Concept as method: ethnography in a posthumanist world Lara Pecis

19

Using the Listening Guide to analyse stories of female entrepreneurship in Saudi Arabia: a diffractive methodology Natasha S. Mauthner and Sophie Alkhaled

232

249

265 281

295

Index312

Figures

6.1

Mapping process at an Ontario university

10.1

Pictogram of a gendered figure

149

10.2

Lithuanian toilet signs

150

10.3

‘It was never a dress’

150

11.1

The topic-modelling process

166

11.2

Probabilistic output from the example study LDA model

171

12.1

Dystopian fiction tropes relevant to gender and management research 188

12.2

Dystopian fiction-inspired critical discourse analysis method outline

189

12.3

Dystopian fiction-inspired CDA framework

192

12.4

DFCDA analysis and discussion phases

193

vii

94

Contributors

Editors Valerie Stead is Professor of Leadership and Management at Lancaster University Management School (LUMS). Valerie is a leading critical scholar, with an international profile in gender, leadership and learning research. Valerie has established, and is Director of the LUMS Academy for Gender, Work and Leadership, a research area of expertise developing and delivering national and international projects, research engagement and scholarly events. She leads the Academy Gender Matters infographics project, producing a biennial review of contemporary organisational gender challenges, and including wide engagement with practitioner and policy communities. Instrumental in shaping research agendas and advancing methodological developments, Valerie’s research on theorising women’s leadership and learning, gendered media representations and critical methodologies has been published widely in scholarly journals, edited collections and handbooks. She is a Consulting Editor (former Associate Editor) of the International Journal of Management Reviews, a member of the editorial board of Gender in Management: An International Journal, a fellow of CIPD, and Senior Fellow of the HEA. Carole Elliott is Professor of Organisation Studies at the University of Sheffield. Carole has an international reputation as a leading management and leadership learning scholar, specialising in gender and leadership research. This has been achieved through a track record of high-quality publications, research funding and an impact on practice. From 2014 to 2017, Carole was the Principal Investigator for the ESRC seminar series ‘Gendered Media Mis(s)Representations of Women Leaders and Professionals’. The seminar series developed rigorous methodologies to interrogate gendered media by bringing together academics from journalism, media and sociology with business and management academics. Her most recent publications are a culmination of work that has contributed significantly to theoretical and methodological developments in the field of gender equality, particularly in relation to leadership. She is former editor-in-chief of Human Resource Development International, and sits on the editorial boards of several top-tier journals. She is a BAM council member, a Fellow of the CIPD, and former board director of the US Academy of HRD. Sharon Mavin is Professor of Leadership and Organisation Studies at Newcastle University following tenure as Director of Newcastle University Business School. Previously, she held Director, Dean and Associate Dean Research roles at Roehampton and Northumbria Universities. Sharon is a Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences, Royal Society of Arts and Fellow of the British Academy of viii

Contributors  ix

Management (BAM). She is passionate about gender on the agenda in Business Schools and in organisations, and has been advocating for gender equity for 25 years. Sharon continues to mentor women academics and coach women MBA students. She is Co-Chair of the University Forum for Human Resources and Development, Chair of the Chartered Association of Business School’s Diversity and Inclusion Committee, Nurture HE Group Ltd Advisory Board member and member of the BAM EDIR Project Advisory Group. Her research interests are in gender and women leaders and managers, gendered media representations, identity, learning, dirty work and organisation studies. She is a Consulting Editor (former Associate Editor) of the International Journal of Management Reviews, former Co-Editor of Gender in Management: An International Journal and member of journal editorial advisory boards. Sharon’s recent research on Covid-19, gender and competition, women elite leaders and identity and vulnerability has been published in Gender in Management, Human Relations, Management Learning, Gender, Work and Organization and the British Journal of Management. Contributors Jouharah M. Abalkhail is an Associate Professor of Management and Leadership at the Institute of Public Administration ( IPA), Saudi Arabia. She is also a Scientific Advisor to the Research and Studies Center at the IPA. She previously held the roles of Director of Research and Consulting and Head of the Organizational Behaviour Department at the IPA. Her particular research interests include leadership style, leadership development, gender diversity in management, as well as gender and management in the Arab Middle East. Dr. Jouharah has published her research in many esteemed journals and recently published a book entitled “Destructive Administrative leadership in organizations”. She co-translated a book titled “Coaching and Mentoring: Theory and Practice (Garvey et al., 2018)” from English to Arabic. Dr Abalkhail is also a professional trainer as well as consultant for public entities in areas of leadership, management and gender development. In recent years, Dr Abalkhail has won the Woman Leader in Education Development Excellence Award (2018) from The Middle East Excellence Awards Institute, and the Institute of Public Administration Research Excellence Award (2019). Sophie Alkhaled is an Associate Professor in Entrepreneurship at the Department of Entrepreneurship and Strategy at Lancaster University Management School. Her research focuses on the intersectionality of gender, entrepreneurship, empowerment and poverty alleviation, and their collective impact as a catalyst for socio-political change and sustainable development in a global context. Within this research area, Sophie has worked on the area of women’s entrepreneurship in the contexts of Saudi Arabia, Sweden and the UK. Her research interests also focus on Syrian women refugees’ cultural heritage entrepreneurship through craftwork as a means of economic survival and cultural revival in the contexts of Jordan, the Zaatari Refugee Camp and the UK. Sophie has a passion for teaching courses on gender, work and

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entrepreneurship, and on research philosophies and method to undergraduate and postgraduate students. Subsequently, she has won two awards; The British Academy of Management’s Management Education Practice Award (2019) and the Lancaster University Management School Dean’s Award (2019). Anita Biressi is Professor of Media and Society at the University of Roehampton, London. She has published widely on her research interests which include documentary and popular factual programming, images of class difference in contemporary British culture and gender, women and political voice. She is an editor of The Journal of Gender Studies. Jeremy W. Bohonos is an Assistant Professor in Adult, Professional and Community Education at Texas State University. He earned his PhD in Education Policy, Organization and Leadership with a specialisation in Human Resource Development (HRD) from the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Much of Jeremy’s research employs intersectional analysis focusing on organizational (in)justice with a special emphasis on race and racism in the workforce. In investigating this topic, he uses several research methodologies, including critical race spatial analysis, ethnography, autoethnography and narrative inquiry. He also conducts research regarding the history of Adult Education, adult learning through music, and mobile learning in sub-Saharan Africa. He has published in journals that include Gender, Work and Organization, Adult Education Quarterly, Advances in Developing Human Resources, New Horizons in Adult Education and Human Resource Development and the Journal of Adult Learning. Jeremy’s service commitments include positions as an Assistant Editor for New Horizons in Adult Education and Human Resource Development, editorial board member for Advances in Developing Human Resources, Chair of the Academy of Human Resource Development’s (AHRD) Critical Theory and Social Justice Perspectives Special Interest Group, and reviewer for several leading journals in Adult Education, HRD, and Gender & Women’s Studies. Jamie L. Callahan (EdD, PhD) is Professor in Business Ethics at Durham University. A USAF veteran, she served as a personnel officer and member of the Pentagon Air Staff Total Quality consultancy team. Her EdD from George Washington University explored systems of emotion in organisational change. Her PhD from Tilburg University addressed issues of power in Critical HRD. Her research addresses issues of power and privilege in organised contexts, leading her to explore marginalised groups’ experiences of leadership, learning, and organisational transformation. Her particular passion is championing gender equity. The former Editor of Human Resource Development Review and current Co-Editor of International Journal of Management Reviews, Jamie has published extensively in journals such as Human Relations, Organization Studies, Violence Against Women, International Journal of Management Reviews, Human Resource Development Quarterly, and Human Resource Development International. She has also earned numerous research awards, including the Academy of Human Resource Development 2020 Scholar of the Year Award and 2015 Outstanding Book of the Year Award. As an educator, she

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has been a visiting professor in Saudi Arabia, France, England, and Thailand. She is a feminist, editor, author, mentor, activist, and educator. Jennifer Chisholm is an Assistant Professor in Women’s Studies at Lakehead University, Ontario. She researches and publishes in a variety of areas including reproductive justice, motherhood studies, feminist pedagogy, gender-based violence and trauma-informed practices. Jennifer is passionate about feminist research methodology in the social sciences, and engages a variety of methods to explore how gender shapes our lived experiences. Joshua C. Collins is an Associate Professor and Graduate Program Coordinator of HRD at the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities. His research explores the learning and work experiences of racial, ethnic, gender and/or sexual minorities. He has served as a reviewer for journals such as European Journal of Training and Development, Human Resource Development Quarterly, Journal of Management Inquiry, Human Resource Development Review, Human Resource Development International and Journal of Homosexuality. He is on the editorial board for Human Resource Development Review, Advances in Developing Human Resources and the organisational psychology section of Frontiers in Psychology. Joshua currently serves as the Associate Editor for Perspectives and Teaching Cases for New Horizons in Adult Education and Human Resource Development and as a Board Member for the Academy of Human Resource Development. Hannah Dean is lecturer of Entrepreneurship, Innovation and Creativity at the University of St Andrews. Hannah’s research focuses on gender and entrepreneurship. Most recently, Hannah started to explore experiences of social entrepreneurs in the light of the current UK economic and political climate. Hannah is interested in applying innovative qualitative research methods including historical approaches to the study of entrepreneurship. Following her PhD, Hannah led a three-year project funded by the British Academy, ‘The journey of female entrepreneurs in Yorkshire: an oral history perspective’. The project collected oral history accounts from female entrepreneurs to capture women’s contributions to the UK economy and society. Hannah has recently secured new funding from the British Academy to lead an interdisciplinary network that explores the intersectionality of female entrepreneurs. Hannah’s paper on discourses of entrepreneurial leadership was awarded the best paper for the International Small Business Journal for 2017. Allan Discua Cruz is a senior lecturer in the Department of Entrepreneurship and Strategy, at Lancaster University Management School, United Kingdom. Allan conducts research on families in business. He studies entrepreneurial stewardship, business diversification, faith-based management and sustainability. His research has appeared in Entrepreneurship Theory and Practice, Journal of Business Ethics, Journal of Business Research, Business History, Journal of Family Business Strategy, International Journal of Entrepreneurship and Behaviour Research, Entrepreneurship Education & Pedagogy, Entrepreneurship and Regional Development and International Small Business Journal.

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Hayley Finn is a PhD student, Critical Policy, Equity, and Leadership Studies, in the Faculty of Education at Western University. Her research focuses on addressing the underrepresentation of women’s leadership in sport, specifically coaching positions at Canadian Universities. Publications include: Winning at Any Cost? Gender Sport and Violence (with Gardiner and Bruijns, 2018), and articles in the Journal of Women and Gender in Higher Education (with Gardiner, Shockness and Almquist, 2019), and Human Resource Development International (with Fox-Kirk, Gardiner and Chisholm, 2020). Rita A. Gardiner is an Assistant Professor in Critical Policy, Equity, and Leadership Studies, in the Faculty of Education at Western University. Publications include Gender, Authenticity and Leadership: Thinking with Arendt (2015), and articles in Business Ethics Quarterly, Leadership, Organization and Gender, Work and Organization. She is Principal Investigator on a Social Science and Humanities funded-project that examines the implementation of gender-based violence policies in Ontario universities. Caroline Gatrell is Professor of Organization Studies at University of Liverpool Management School. Her research centres on work, family and health, exploring the relationships between gender, bodies and employment. From a socio-cultural perspective, Caroline examines how working parents (both mothers and fathers) manage the boundaries between paid work and their everyday lives. Caroline is Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences and Fellow of the British Academy of Management. She was awarded, in 2020, the British Academy of Management Research Medal for: ‘pioneering work, developing the field of gender, work and family from a qualitative perspective’. Caroline presently holds the role of General Editor, Journal of Management Studies and Chair of the Research Committee, Chartered Association of Business Schools. She is past Chair of Northern Advanced Research Training Initiative (NARTI) and was previously Co-Editor in Chief, International Journal of Management Reviews. Mark Gatto is a Lecturer in Critical Organisation Studies in the Faculty of Business and Law, Northumbria University. He does social justice-oriented research, adopting innovative methods, such as integrating dystopian fiction, to examine the influence of patriarchal discourse on working parent experiences. Mark uses dystopian fiction in his research to blur the lines between fiction and reality and ‘subvert’ of the patriarchal gender order. His writing also draws on subversive approaches such as fictocriticism and autoethnography to evocatively problematize gender imbalances in academic research norms. Mark’s research aims to promote more equitable experiences for working parent through organisational culture and policy change and he has consistently contributed to initiatives that address these areas. Mark is an advocate for Equity, Diversity and Inclusion in higher education settings and works alongside staff with students as partners towards greater democratisation of educational experiences. As a working parent, and drawing on his PhD research findings, Mark established a Parents and Carers Network at Northumbria University to provide

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a supportive space for parents to share experiences and collaborate. He believes in collective and emotionally-open responses to societal issues and this is reflected in his critical, action-oriented approach to research. Elisabeth Anna Guenther is a social scientist. She works as a post-doctoral university assistant at the University of Vienna’s Centre for Teacher Education. Her research focuses on gendered practices in and through data, technology, science and organisations. She obtained her doctorate in organisation studies at the Vienna University of Technology (TU Wien). Her work in the GEDII project, which examined the impact of gender diversity in STEM research teams, contributed to the development of the Gender Diversity Index as well as a critical assessment of using sensor data for team research. Elisabeth has received several awards for her research, amongst others the Gabriele Possaner Award from the Austrian Ministry for Science, Research and Economy. Cécile Guillaume is Reader in Employment Relations at Surrey Business School University of Surrey, UK. One strand of her research focuses on gender equality in the trade union context. In a variety of publications – journal articles, book chapters, books – she has explored how and why women embark on trade union careers, women’s union and gender identities, the influence of feminism on union women, and union women’s participation in women’s structures and groups. Cécile’s work has attempted to uncover the ways in which women are constrained and enabled by the male-dominated union movement in the UK and other European countries. Moreover, she has led numerous research projects investigating how trade unions have mobilised legal or non-legal repertoires of action to advance gender equality in the workplace. She is on the editorial board of Work, Employment and Society. Publications include: Organizing women. A study of gender equality policies in French and British trade unions, Bristol University Press (Forthcoming). Eleanor Hamilton is Professor of Entrepreneurship at Lancaster University Management School. Her research focuses on family businesses and entrepreneurial learning as an inherently social rather than individual phenomenon. It also examines aspects of gender and leadership in family business and entrepreneurship more broadly. Eleanor has a record of research-led impact and business engagement, along with a proven commitment to create and evidence effective forms of knowledge exchange between a university and small business. She has published in the Academy of Management Learning and Education, Small Business Economics, Entrepreneurship and Regional Development and International Small Business Journal. Maylon Hanold is Director of the MBA in Sport and Entertainment Management program at Seattle University. She teaches courses in leadership, women and sport leadership, and diversity and inclusion for sport management. In addition to journal articles on ultrarunning, authentic leadership, and leadership and empathy in sport, she has written book chapters in The Embodiment of Leadership (2013), Sport

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Leadership for the 21st Century (2014), and Theorizing Women and Leadership: New Insights and Contributions from Multiple Perspectives (2016). She published World Sports: A Reference Handbook (ABC-CLIO, 2012) and, most recently, Women in Sports: A Reference Handbook (ABC-CLIO, 2018). Maylon has been an invited speaker on many topics including Generation iY, inclusive leadership, and intersections between gender, media and sport leadership. She has conducted diversity, equity and inclusion workshops with several companies including Stevens Pass Resort, Synapse and Rad Power Bikes. She holds a BA in French from the University of Washington, and EdM in learning and teaching from Harvard University, and an EdD in leadership with a cognate in sport from Seattle University. She was a member of the 1992 Olympic Team in whitewater kayak slalom. Anne Laure Humbert, PhD, is Professor of Gender and Diversity and Director of the Centre for Diversity Policy Research and Practice at Oxford Brookes University. Anne is very experienced in gender equality research at national and EU level, policy analysis and assessment as well as gender statistics. She specialises in applying quantitative methods to comparative social and economic analysis, particularly in relation to work and organisations, entrepreneurship, and work-life balance. She holds visiting positions at the Global Institute for Women’s Leadership at King’s College London and at the Center for Feminist Social Studies at Örebro University in Sweden. She has previously held positions at Cranfield University and Middlesex University London. Anne is a regular public speaker on gender equality and she enjoys the opportunity to make connections between theory, practice and activism. Sarah L. Jack is the Jacob and Marcus Wallenberg Professor of Innovative and Sustainable Business Development at Stockholm School of Economics. She is also Professor of Entrepreneurship at Lancaster University Management School. Sarah currently serves as the Division Chair Elect for the Entrepreneurship Division Program Chair for the Academy of Management. Her primary research interests relate to social dimensions of entrepreneurship, including social networks and social capital, using qualitative methods. She has published in Entrepreneurship Theory and Practice, Academy of Management Learning and Education, Journal of Management Studies and Journal of Business Venturing. Juanita Johnson-Bailey holds the Josiah Meigs Distinguished Teaching Professorship and the Distinguished University Professorship at the University of Georgia. She is the recipient of the Eleanor Roosevelt Award from the American Association of University Women. She has worked at UGA for 25 years and currently holds an administrative appointment as the Director of the Institute for Women’s Studies at UGA. Juanita is the author of Sistahs in College: Making a Way Out of No Way (2001), which received the Phillip E. Frandson Award for Literature in Continuing Higher Education and the Sadie T. Mossell Alexander Award for Outstanding Scholarship in Black Women’s Studies. She is the co-editor of Advancing Women in Leadership: Shaping Pathways in the Political Arena (with Rosser-Mims, McNellis, and Eagan, 2020) and the Handbook on Race and Racism

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in Adult and Higher Education: A Dialogue (with Sheared, Colin, Peterson and Brookfield, 2010). Juanita is a member of the International Adult and Continuing Education Hall of Fame, a Houle Scholar, a Lilly Teaching Fellow, and the recipient of the 2018 Career Achievement Award from the Commission of Professors of Adult Education of the American Association of Adult and Continuing Education. Patricia Lewis is a Professor of Management at the University of Kent, UK. Her research has investigated the persistence of the masculine norm in work settings and her 2006 paper ‘The quest for invisibility: female entrepreneurs and the masculine norm of entrepreneurship’ published in the journal Gender, Work & Organization was designated as a Classic in Gender Studies by Google Scholar Citations being placed at no. 5 in the top 10 cited gender papers published in that year. Patricia’s recent research examines the emergence of postfeminist femininities in entrepreneurial and organisational contexts. She edited (with Benschop and Simpson) Postfeminism and Organization, published by Routledge in 2018 and two special issues of Gender, Work & Organization, one in 2017 on postfeminism (with Benschop and Simpson) and a second on moderate feminism(s) in 2019 (with Adamson, Biese and Kelan). Her work has been published in a range of journals including Organization Studies, Human Relations, International Small Business Journal and British Journal of Management. She was joint-editor-in-chief of Gender, Work & Organization, from 2018 to 2020. Her current research, Postfeminism and the City, is supported by a Leverhulme Research fellowship and explores leadership identity in the City of London. Natasha S. Mauthner is Professor of Social Science Philosophy and Method and Director of Research at the Newcastle University Business School. Prior to this appointment, she held research and teaching posts at the Universities of Aberdeen and Edinburgh, and visiting positions at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Carleton University, University of Melbourne and the University of Canterbury. Natasha holds an undergraduate degree in the natural sciences, and a PhD in social and political sciences, from the University of Cambridge. Her doctoral research on women’s experiences of motherhood was published as The Darkest Days of my Life: Stories of Postpartum Depression (Harvard University Press, 2002). She held a postdoctoral fellowship at Harvard University working with Carol Gilligan. She has written extensively on feminist philosophy of science and methodology; qualitative research and research ethics; gender, work and family; perinatal mental health; the philosophy and ethics of data sharing and big data; and technology and social change. Natasha’s current research explores the implications of feminist new materialist and posthumanist philosophies of science for the philosophy of social science, and its methodological and ethical practice. In 2017, Natasha was elected Fellow of the UK’s Academy of Social Sciences. Farooq Mughal is a Senior Lecturer of OB/HRM at the School of Management, University of Bath, UK. His research focuses on understanding people practices in organisations through an interdisciplinary framework that seeks to integrate areas

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of sociology, psychology and management under the aegis of organisational behaviour. He is interested in investigating institutional, social and culture practices that shape work behaviours, leadership approaches, career trajectories and learning and development activities in organisations. Farooq’s work has been published in leading journals such as Human Relations, HRMJ, J-PART, Journal of Business Research, Business History and Management Learning. He also serves on the editorial boards of globally recognised journals including the Academy of Management Learning and Education, Human Relations and the Journal of Management Studies. Saoirse O’Shea is a non-binary person, employed at The Open University as a senior lecturer. Saoirse’s research and writing focuses on vulnerable people and precarity and often uses autoethnography to consider Saoirse’s own experiences as a non-binary person. Saoirse’s work has been published in a variety of academic journals including Organization, Gender, Work and Organization, Sociology and Management Learning, among others. Aaron Page is a doctoral student at the University of Exeter Business School. His research interests lie in the fields of gender and leadership, with a specific focus on gender and corporate boards. Aaron’s research highlights the antecedents and outcomes of gender diversity on corporate boards; the theories and methods employed within his work derive from the academic disciplines of natural language processing, text analysis, social psychology, organisational theory and social network analysis. Alexia Panayiotou is an Associate Professor in the Department of Business and Public Administration at the University of Cyprus. She received her doctorate in Human Development and Psychology from Harvard University. Her research interests include critical pedagogy; gender and work; feminist analysis of organisations; the representation of management and organisations in popular culture; organisational space and symbolism; organisational paradoxes and visuality. Her work has appeared in the Academy of Management Learning and Education, Management Learning, Strategic Organization, Organization, and the Journal of Management Inquiry, among others. Her article ‘Paradoxes of Change’ (co-authored with G. Kassinis) received the 2016 Best Paper Award in the Academy of Management Organizational Development and Change division and was a finalist for the all-Academy Dexter Award. Alexia is currently an Associate Editor of Management Learning. She has also served as Associate Editor of the European Management Review. Lara Pecis is a Lecturer in Organisation Studies at Lancaster University Management School. Prior to joining Lancaster, she was a post-doc at the University of Bath. She was awarded her PhD at Warwick Business School in 2015. In her research, Lara focuses on gender and diversity in organisations with a specific focus on innovation at the margins, as well as technology and trust. Her work has been published in journals such as Human Relations and Gender, Work and Organization, among others. Her current research on inclusive innovation was funded by the ESRC. As engagement plays an important role for Lara, she is actively writing a blog on inclusive innovation and is a member of the Innovation Caucus.

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Sophie Pochic is Research Director in sociology, Université PSL, France. Her main research interest is to use careers’ narratives to compare the evolution of men’s and women’s careers in different and dynamic occupational worlds, taking into account gender and social, national and generation cleavages. In different publications, she has studied the effects of unemployment and restructuring on managerial careers, the influence of equality and diversity policies in corporations and public services, the articulation between occupational career and union involvement, and the making and impacts of gender equality bargaining. Her work has been published in a range of journals including Gender, Work and Organization, British Journal of Industrial Relations and Economic and Industrial Democracy. She serves on the editorial board of Travail, Genre and sociétés. Mayra Ruiz Castro is Senior Lecturer in Ethics at Roehampton Business School, University of Roehampton, UK. She has undertaken research on gender, race and class inequality in organisations and the professions. She has also studied sustainable careers in data science and the career trajectories of Latin American professionals in the UK. She is currently the Principal Investigator for a project funded by the Strategic Priorities Fund programme (UK Research and Innovation), which explores the experiences of working couples in London during the Covid-19 pandemic. Her work has been published in international journals, including Work, Employment and Society, Organizations Studies, Journal of Vocational Behavior, and Gender, Work and Organization. Mayra has served as a research advisor for projects supporting BAME professional women and Latin American students and young professionals in the UK. Ruth Sealy is an Associate Professor of Management and Director of Impact at University of Exeter Business School. Ruth’s research focuses on women in leadership, including multi-level processes that prevent/enable balanced gender representation on boards – e.g. policy-level interventions, appointment processes; board evaluation; role models; and the dynamics of decision-making. In 2018, she authored ‘Board Diversity Reporting’ for the Financial Reporting Council (2018), and in 2020 a review of the role of narrative non-financial reporting for their project ‘The Future of Corporate Reporting’. In 2017, Ruth led the NHS ‘Women on Boards 50:50 by 2020’ research, benchmarking boardroom diversity. The 2020 follow-up report outlined behavioural recommendations on how to diversify NHS trust boards. Prior to Exeter, she was Programme Director of the MSc Organizational Psychology, City University of London. She gained her PhD from Cranfield School of Management, as researcher on the government’s annual ‘Female FTSE Report’, 2007–17, also supplying data for the UK’s Davies Women on Boards Review 2010–15, overseeing the increase of women on boards from 12 per cent to 26 per cent. Publications include articles in journals Business Ethics Quarterly, Human Resource Management Journal, British Journal of Management and Gender, Work and Organization. Lorna Stevenson qualified as a chartered accountant and worked in financial services before becoming an academic. She is currently Professor of Accounting &

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Society at the University of St Andrews in Scotland. For nearly 30 years, Lorna has taught a wide range of undergraduate and postgraduate accounting provision to specialist and non-specialist students; she is interested in the social and environmental effects of accounting, and of accounting’s effects on social and environmental issues. Her critical and interpretive research has examined the interests served through accounting and accounting education, and the governance, values and accountability impacts of accounting. A current project is examining social and academic influences on the development of the accounting discipline in UK universities through oral histories of participants.

Introduction to the Handbook of Research Methods on Gender and Management Valerie Stead, Carole Elliott and Sharon Mavin

The motivation for this Handbook is to provide an essential resource for researchers in gender and management, and for those in other fields of study including adult education, leadership, culture, media and politics. Gender and management research is challenging, conducted in a wide range of geographical and organisational contexts, approached from individual, organisational and social levels of analysis. In this Handbook, contributing authors are unified in understanding gender as a complex, dynamic, socially constructed phenomenon, (re)created through processes and practices that maintain difference. This understanding brings attention to the ongoing ‘doing’ of gender, and how it is socially situated in our everyday practice, including in organisational and workplace contexts. Typically focused upon deeply embedded social issues and structural inequalities, gender and management research is concerned to make these issues and inequalities explicit within a particular socio-cultural and political context, and to provide understandings of how and why they persist in order to inform action for change. Gender and management scholars therefore require a repertoire of methodologies and methods capable of getting under the surface of everyday discourses, practices and processes, organisational routines and systems to access how gender organises, shapes, operates and influences. Evidencing the broad reach and fundamental importance of gender and management research, contributors to the Handbook are internationally diverse and draw on multiple disciplines in their research. These include management; leadership; organisation studies; public administration; sport; critical policy; entrepreneurship; accounting; sociology; cultural studies; adult education; ethics; philosophy; human resource development; media studies; and science and technology studies. The Handbook encompasses methodologies and methods that probe, explore and unearth gendered behaviours, interactions, systems, processes and practices. These include methods and approaches rarely utilised in gender and management research such as oral history, institutional ethnography, and quantitative methods for mining large volumes of data. Our categorisation of chapters emphasising either the autoethnographic, practical, critical or methodological acknowledges a primary focal point in each of the studies. However, we recognise that this is by no means a perfect categorisation and that the chapters, reflective of the multiplicity of gender and management research, may easily span different categories. Nonetheless, we hope this categorisation, and the acknowledgement of their interconnections, is helpful in recognising how gender and management research cannot work in isolation from the broader socio-cultural context, but must continually strive to challenge, question and call to account the wider systems in which we work and live. 1

2  Handbook of research methods on gender and management

In line with our aim to provide an essential resource of methods, contributors explain the method or approach they adopt, and identify its origins and relevance to gender and management research. Contributors provide exemplars and discuss the challenges and opportunities that the method presents in the study of gender and management, drawing attention to ethical implications. There is a focus on methods that help researchers situate themselves and their studies, and that develop knowledge that can push forward new directions and understandings for gender research more broadly. Reflecting such situatedness in research and context, autoethnography in qualitative studies in gender and management is covered in Part I ‘Autoethnographic Methods’ and is also a thread in other section chapters. Parts II, III and IV include chapters that focus on practical approaches, critical approaches and a final section outlining methodological developments.

PART I: AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC METHODS This first section of the Handbook consists of three chapters that interpret and apply autoethnographic methods to experiences the authors have encountered. The autoethnographic method enables authors to connect a personal experience to processes and structures in the wider social context. When we approached potential authors to ask them if they would be interested in contributing a chapter to the Handbook it soon became apparent that autoethnography is increasingly regarded as a method particularly suited to documenting the experiences of individuals who have been largely ignored by the management studies field. Chapter 1 by Juanita Johnson-Bailey positions autoethnography amongst the range of interpretive methods available within qualitative research. Acknowledging the criticisms levelled at autoethnography as a method of scholarly inquiry, Johnson-Bailey nevertheless argues that it holds a unique and progressive position due to the self-critique and reflexivity it encourages researchers to practise. Autoethnography stands at the intersection of the personal and the political, and has been used as a method to study gender by researchers taking an oppositional approach to their social-cultural condition. The method allows Johnson-Bailey to examine gender’s relationship to race, drawing attention to how the intersection of gender with race operates hierarchically in her experiences as a black woman. Chapter 2 by Saoirse O’Shea begins with the reminder that in management studies ethnographic studies of others’ working lives are presented as realist accounts that largely fail to recognise gender’s organising influence. O’Shea explains that autoethnography is important for management studies as it provides an emotional account. This is significant if the field of management studies is to recognise its empirical limitations, particularly with regard to the experiences of minority groups in organised settings. Autoethnography permits a wider range of individual experiences to be heard, allowing women and minorities to ‘speak truth to power’ about their marginalisation within patriarchal and phallocentric settings.

Introduction  3

The setting for Chapter 3 by Allan Discua Cruz, Eleanor Hamilton and Sarah L. Jack is a family business in Honduras. In contrast to Johnson-Bailey’s and O’Shea’s chapters, this autoethnography daws on Discua Cruz’s experience of the practice of primogeniture in family business succession processes. The interpretation process follows Ellis et al.’s (2011) suggestion to write retrospectively, and the focus on examining the performance of gender identity involves Hamilton and Jack working with Discua Cruz to interpret his experience. The chapter describes how autoethnography can be applied within family business as a method to examine either personal or professional experiences, and the different tools that can be used to do this, including journaling, drawings, photographs and letters.

PART II: PRACTICAL APPROACHES The chapters in Part II place a primary focus on issues related to practical aspects of conducting gender and management research. Through these practical approaches, such as the conduct of interviews, the development of action learning groups and the facilitation of focus groups, the authors offer critical insights into the design and dynamics of gender and management research. Two broad concerns connect the chapters. First, the concern of accessing what Hanold terms ‘the important but not easily described’ in her chapter on focus groups, and connecting these to broader organisational and social practices and discourse. Second, attention to the relational and situated nature of gender and management research, both in consideration of the roles and the relationship between researcher and research participant, and in research design including in the use of quantitative methods. In Chapter 4, Maylon Hanold proposes focus groups as a method to enable emergence of deeper meanings of why individuals adopt a particular perspective. Revealing how individuals construct meaning around those perspectives enables the connection of individual experience to larger social constructs. The exemplar of focus groups, utilised on a graduate sports programme to gain insight into the complex gendered phenomenon of confidence, provides the context for a detailed practical guide. Hanold outlines both challenges and opportunities of the focus group method, and the importance of attending to ethical issues of confidentiality and participant contribution. Chapter 5 by Hannah Dean and Lorna Stevenson presents oral history method as a critical feminist method to access experience, and to challenge dominant discourse by giving voice to those marginalised by society. Through two separate UK studies, of female entrepreneurs and of accounting professors, the authors provide extensive detail to guide the researcher in the process, including considerations from planning stages through to data collection. The chapter covers multiple techniques including deep listening and sharing authority, and important ethical and legal implications of accessing oral history archives. In Chapter 6, Rita Gardiner, Jennifer Chisholm and Hayley Finn continue the theme of connecting everyday experience to broader structural concerns to wider

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discourse. Presenting institutional ethnography (IE), a mode of inquiry developed by Dorothy Smith (1987), they draw attention to how institutional relations are mediated by texts and processes. In particular, they highlight the conceptual framework of ‘relations of ruling’ as a means to reveal overarching structures that organise and influence working life. The chapter provides an example of utilising IE by mapping sexual violence policy and process across two higher education institutions in Canada, noting ethical implications including sensitivity to complexities of language, and how it can exclude. Turning to the intersubjective interplay between researcher and participant, Chapter 7 by Farooq Mughal, Valerie Stead and Caroline Gatrell presents participant observation as a method to gain understanding of the situated nature of gender and cultural relations. The authors examine key features of participant observation relevant to gender and management researchers, and reflect on research conducted across three Pakistani business schools, to demonstrate how participant observation requires the researcher’s negotiation of cultural politics and gender. Examples illustrate how this negotiation shapes the design and organisation of participant observation, and adds to knowledge about gender and cultural politics, and power dynamics. Challenges are presented, including ethical concerns of cultural sensitivity and participants’ psychological safety. Chapter 8 by Patricia Lewis also examines issues of power between researcher and participant. Analysing the dynamics of power relations within interview encounters, Lewis draws on her experience of interviewing women and men leaders in the City of London to challenge the view that interviewers hold the position of power in such meetings. She adopts the concepts of encounter and postfeminism to understand interviews with ‘elite’ participants as a theoretical as well as a practical task. Outlining the different subject positions she found herself called into during the interviews, Lewis’ theorisation of the interview process highlights the fluidity of power dynamics, including the constant adjustment of masculine and feminine behaviours, during interview encounters. Chapter 9 by Jouharah Abalkhail takes an ‘insider research’ perspective to explore the researcher’s role. Unlike outsider research, more commonly aligned to objective study, Abalkhail depicts the insider researcher as ‘at-home’; someone situated within, and an active participant in the cultural setting under study. Focused on two studies of Saudi women’s career experiences, the chapter details opportunities afforded to the insider researcher, including shared knowledge and cultural values. Equally, Abalkhail describes practical and ethical challenges of managing researcher positionality, and being open to scrutiny regarding interpretation and validity of findings. Accordingly, Abalkhail recommends researchers adopt a reflective and reflexive stance, reflecting in practice as well as on practice. Part II concludes with two chapters that focus on quantitative methods, noting the scope for gender and management scholars to examine numerical data, existing datasets and large volumes of data that remain relatively unexplored in gender and management research. In Chapter 10, Anne Laure Humbert and Elisabeth Guenther examine the opportunities afforded by quantitative methods more broadly.

Introduction  5

Responding to challenges levelled at positivism by gender scholars, Humbert and Guenther make the case for drawing on feminist ontology and epistemology to inform gender aware design and analyses so that research does not overlook or reproduce inequalities. Adopting a feminist purpose and drawing on gender expertise (that is, in-depth understanding of and engagement with feminist research including gendered, racialised and classed structures, institutions and processes), Humbert and Guenther use linguistic theory processes of denotation and connotation to illustrate how different forms of quantitative data can be harnessed to bring about social change. In Chapter 11, Aaron Page and Ruth Sealy focus on a specific quantitative method. They present a step by step guide to topic modelling as a means to access and analyse increasingly large volumes of gender diversity data. Illustrated through an examination of the content of gender diversity statements in American organisations, they demonstrate how the technique can be used on text-rich data to reveal how organisations construct, manage and communicate gender. Taking into account the need for human interpretation and input at each stage of the process, Page and Sealy recommend applying standards of practice for qualitative research to ensure validity and consistency. Chapters 10 and 11 both offer ethical considerations, emphasising the need to remain critical regarding tacit biases.

PART III: CRITICAL APPROACHES While all of the chapters in this volume assume a critical approach in that they are concerned to give voice to those who are marginalised or excluded from mainstream discourse, the chapters in Part III differ in drawing on theoretical perspectives more commonly associated with other disciplinary fields. These perspectives adopted by the contributing authors are purposeful in enabling the gender and management scholar to challenge taken for granted assumptions and to reveal asymmetric social relations. In Chapter 12, Mark Gatto and Jamie Callahan propose dystopian fiction (DF) as a lens for critical discourse analysis (CDA), in order to gain greater insight into gendered power discourses, and to identify the potential for resistance or change. Enabling the illumination of how language is used in narratives and storytelling to reflect such discourses, this approach draws attention to how ideology is (re)produced through language. Gatto and Callahan provide detailed exemplar cases utilising the narratives of working parents, and outline the formulation of guiding concepts and theories from DF tropes to inform data collection and analysis. Ethical implications are considered including the need to maintain participants’ trust and confidentiality. Chapter 13 by Anita Biressi draws on the work of Roland Barthes to explore the use of semiotic analysis as a set of critical tools to illuminate gendered power relations in the corporate world, and whether they are challenged in the public sphere. The chapter outlines how semiotic analysis examines the processes by which mean-

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ings are produced, circulated and understood, by revealing what is often implicit or masked in media texts and imagery. Through an illustrative case study drawing on the media depiction of British investment fund manager Nicola Horlick, Biressi analyses the myth-making of the corporate superwoman. Discussing the benefits and limitations of the method, the chapter highlights particular ethical considerations in organising and framing the analysis. In Chapter 14, Mayra Ruiz Castro reminds us of reflexivity and intersectionality’s centrality to feminist thought and how these concepts are valuable to autoethnography. She suggests that combining these concepts to create the concept of intersectional reflexivity can strengthen autoethnography as a critical method to interrogate both privileges and disadvantages attached to the researcher. Drawing on her experiences as a dark-skinned professional woman in Mexico and a foreign woman of colour working in UK higher education, Ruiz Castro alerts us to how attention to intersectional reflexivity in autoethnographic accounts lends a richness to interpretations that have remained largely hidden in management studies.

PART IV: METHODOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENTS Part IV provides readers with approaches to methodology in terms of supplying overarching or contextual frameworks for research into gender and management. We did not set out to cover methodology but its importance to gender research cannot be underestimated. The nature of gender research can lead researchers to combine methodology and method as principles of the research approach or to approach these separately. Part IV begins with Chapter 15 by Alexia Panayiotou, which inspires the use of visual methodology and methods for gender and management research. The chapter provides a plethora of research methods and sites where this methodology can be operationalised to develop deeper understandings of gender and management. This chapter highlights how visual research extends our ways of knowing and enables us to study ‘elusive knowledges’ (Toraldo et al. 2018) such as gender, and considers how visual methodology and methods requires researcher self-reflexivity. There is comment on the challenges in analysing and especially producing visual material, and explicit discussion of the power issues involved and how it is important to integrate visual methodologies with feminist epistemologies. Chapter 16 by Cécile Guillaume and Sophie Pochic outlines how a methodology based on the interactionist concept of career enables a comprehensive, situated, multi-space and dynamic understanding of women’s career development. This career methodology enables investigation of different organisational and individual processes reproducing gender inequalities in union leadership positions, while uncovering the equality/diversity policies that have enabled progress. The authors draw on a comparative research project of four unions in France and the UK. The chapter utilises the career methodology through qualitative interview methods and explains how to analyse using biographical tables (work, family, union activities)

Introduction  7

with specific attention given to ‘turning points’. Ethical issues and suggestions of how to overcome these are also provided. Chapter 17 by Joshua Collins and Jeremy Bohonos considers phenomenology and autoethnography as mechanisms for understanding and explaining masculinity. They usefully provide an overview to the historical and current state of masculinity, including toxic masculinity, masculinity, gender identity and expression, masculinity and sexual orientation, and masculinity and race. The chapter explains feminist and queer phenomenology and introduces post-intentional phenomenology. This moves from qualitative interview methods to include the researcher who contributes data alongside participants. Various approaches to autoethnography are covered, along with the need for positionality in relation to their own intersectionality. The chapter raises ethical issues for researchers to take into account. The final two chapters in Part IV mobilise feminist posthumanist philosophy in the context of gender research. Lara Pecis’ chapter provides an illustration of how concept as method can act as a political force for revealing the making of sexual differences, as well as bringing to the fore the politics of production of ethnographic research. Natasha Mauthner and Sophie Alkhaled explore the performative effects of a diffractive methodological practice of the Listening Guide, as an object of study in its own right. Chapter 18 by Lara Pecis is based on reflections on using concept as method. The chapter illustrates how materialities and meanings are constituted in knowledge production through the analysis of a piece of ethnographic work with researchers in a pharmacological institute. This includes how a turn to concepts rather than phenomena shakes the foundations of gender and management research so that researchers engage in concept as method as an embodied reading and writing of ‘real’ events. There is illustration of how the making of sexual differences is performed in the interview and observations process which is valuable for gender and management research. Chapter 19 by Natasha Mauthner and Sophie Alkhaled focuses upon a feminist posthumanist diffractive methodology. Following posthumanist inquiry, researchers are aware that the objects of study they give rise to must be accounted for, not taken as given, and through a feminist posthumanist approach, a diffractive methodology is understood as an inherently ethical practice. The chapter outlines the Listening Guide method by analysing stories of 13 female entrepreneurs in Saudi Arabia. Practically, guiding questions are provided as a means of studying gender and management without taking this as ontologically given. Together, the chapters in this book illustrate the breadth, depth and reach of gender and management research. A constant thread connecting the chapters is the methodological challenge to capture the complex interplay between individual, organisation and management, and broader social relations. The variety of methods and methodological approaches presented in this book illustrates the opportunities available for gender and management scholars to gain critical insights that reveal this complexity and that advance our knowledge, and importantly, reveal potential for change. As

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the gender and management research agenda continues to expand and to gain greater prominence in uncovering and calling to account persistent inequalities, these chapters offer a rich basis from which to develop further methodological knowledge and innovations.

REFERENCES Ellis, C., T. E. Adams and A. P. Bochner (2011), ‘Autoethnography: an overview’, Historical Social Research/Historische Sozialforschung 36(4 (138)), 273–90. Smith, D. E. (1987), The Everyday World as Problematic: A Feminist Sociology, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Toraldo, M. L., G. Islam and G. Mangia (2018), ‘Modes of knowing: video research and the problem of elusive knowledges’, Organizational Research Methods, 21(2), 438–65.

PART I AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC METHODS

1. A scholarly journey to autoethnography: a way to understand, survive and resist Juanita Johnson-Bailey

Autoethnography as a qualitative research method uses the autobiography of the researcher, often highlighting related experiences, and examining those incidences in relation to the cultural context. The process of doing autoethnography is a performative approach that searches for meaning and understanding. This method, which evolved from narratives and the first-person storying of the autobiography combined with ethnographic practices, has emerged slowly over the last two decades from the shadows of the qualitative field. Yet, autoethnography maintains a questionable and tenuous status among the genre of interpretive methods: narratives, biographies, autobiographies, counter stories and oral histories (Denzin, 2013; Ellis, 2001, 2016). Accordingly, the method still exists at the boundaries of scholarly inquiry (Sambrook & Herrmann, 2018; Sparkes, 2007). Autoethnography has not only been termed as experimental, but has been labeled as self-indulgent and narcissistic (Krizek, 2003) and as a method devoid of validity and reliability (Maréchal, 2010). One major argument that is often lobbed against the method is that the “self” is centered and is all powerful since the researcher both generates the data and analyzes it (Coffey, 1999; Denzin & Lincoln, 2002). However, in this chapter, it is argued that autoethnography stands apart in the category of interpretive methods because it occupies a progressive and unique position mainly because of its valiance: that is, it employs not only revelation, reflexivity and self-critique, but goes further by locating the autobiography within a cultural context that is subsequently analyzed. This courageous methodological approach is interactive as the researcher works through the tension within the text in the presence of the other, the reader. Therein, subjectivity is not represented as a stance to be accounted for by the research; it is instead boldly foregrounded as an essential operant. While sharing and reflecting on personal experiences, the researcher, who is using their personal episodes to tell, is scaffolding the autobiography by involving and speaking to the social, political and cultural environment in which the life stories unfold. This practice of platforming ensconces autoethnography in a myriad of dualities, as it is simultaneously a method and a text; a private matter and an issue seen by others; an insider’s perspective and an outsider’s analysis; and an ongoing struggle and yet a fait accompli. The use of autoethnography is clearly visible among feminist researchers in their sociological examinations of a wide range of topics, with lived experiences of the women researchers being assessed using the phenomenon of gender as the culture that frames the assessment (Coia & Taylor, 2013; Edwards, 2017; Griffin, 2012; 10

A scholarly journey to autoethnography  11

Taber, 2005). Indeed, one key characteristic in autoethnographic work is that the research is generated by investigators who possess or take an oppositional standpoint. A second feature that is often linked to this method that merges autobiography with ethnography is that it engenders transformative learning, as the researcher is entering into the process of understanding and is thereby changing their relationship to the phenomenon (Custer, 2014; Ellis & Bochner, 2006; Raab, 2013). Another marker of the method is that its location is dynamic and awash in intersectionality because it is the meeting of the story within a story told by the subject and analyzed by and for the other. Furthermore, autoethnographies occur at the intersection of the personal and the political; they juggle the dimensions of the micro (personal) and the macro (society). Though over the last decade a trend has emerged in autoethnographic work, as autoethnographers are examining the intersection between the individual and the workplace, with the office or the organization representing the cultural community context (meso) to the individual’s experience (Chang, Longman & Franco, 2014; Herrmann, Barnhill & Poole, 2013; Kempster & Stewart, 2010; Ngunjiri & Hernandez, 2017; Parry & Boyle, 2009; Vickers, 2007). This chapter provides a historical picture of my journey from producing and constructing narratives to embracing autoethnography, tracing the progression across 20 years of researching gender. The examination first looks at the common ground shared by narratives, autoethnographies and collaborative autoethnographies, and gives examples of each method. In the next section of this chapter, the methodological and ethical issues of autoethnographic research are discussed.

MAJOR LIFE PARTNERS: GENDER CONSCIOUSNESS, THE NARRATIVE AND THE THEORETICAL FRAME In my research domain, gender is a social construct that extends beyond the notions that women comprise over half the world’s population; it is essential to know that in my life, as a Black woman, gender has an accompanying hierarchical system, race, which disparately influences the lives of many women, especially women of color. So, in this gendered frame, my life and research partners (gender/race) provide an accompanying consciousness that attends to the forces that shape and determine my existence in an androcentric world. Grounding my work in a feminist awareness of gender operationalizes a research focus that recognizes societal power relations and how gender-bound socialization impacts the researcher and the researched, operating in our everyday lives and permeating each stratum. As a woman of color, I am ever mindful that I exist on the margins of society and so I operate with a mindfulness of the world inside of my “province of community” and am ever watchful of the world outside of my circle of familiarity, knowing that beyond that boundary, I am seen as the “other.” Using a theoretical frame that arises from Black feminist thought (BFT) has forged an outlook that holds that “the daily living of Black women in a society that is racist and sexist has produced a collective consciousness that resists being defined as less than, resists being stereotyped as

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undesirable, and seeks to define and empower its members by interpreting existence as a triumph” (Johnson-Bailey, 1998, p. 38). The organic result of operationalizing this premise has been to tell my own story and to practice what hooks (1989) called “talking back” occasionally using “tongues of fire” (hooks, 1990).

MAKING SENSE OF THE WORLD BY STORYING To make meaning of our existence we recall, reflect and review the stories that comprise our lives, grouping occurrences to find patterns and to understand what is happening. Narratives are seen as an intimate expression, a way to reveal, and a way to build a connection between the storyteller and the audience. Additionally, narratives are also a way of deciphering the surrounding world, our communities, our families, and our workplaces. We remember our childhood, our foremothers in the stories that are passed from one generation to the next. Researchers that use life story methodology and oral historians (Clandinin, Caine, Lessard & Huber, 2016; Gluck & Patai, 1991; Witherell & Noddings, 1991) assert that women’s stories are different from those told by men in significant ways: women have an order to language, cultural cues, and reasoning encompassed in storying that is shaped by a gender consciousness that is bounded by a patriarchal world. Accordingly, women tend to speak with an awareness of the others, seldom setting forth an isolationist point of view. It is as Brody, Witherell, Donald and Lundblad (1991, p. 267) remind us, “When given permission to use personal narratives to discover and reorganize the stories of their lives, adults will invariably explore themes of gender and culture.” From my perspective as a woman, narratives have been vital in my life and work, as I have situated myself among my foremothers by the stories told to me by my mother, aunt and grandmother in the pre-civil rights days when they had to fight for dignity and survival in a world that did not value them. In the sharing of these stories and in standing on the knowledge of these stories, I have come to know the power of voice, silence, and resistance. The teachings from their stories have helped me survive in an unfamiliar and occasionally hostile academic world and have become invaluable to my scholarship and research practice. Early in my academic career I used narratives because they possessed a format that had immediacy and a direct presentation style that did not mask truth or lend itself to misinterpretation. The straightforwardness of the narrative format is especially important as a way to define life when one is marginalized or a member of the disenfranchised gendered majority of women. Narrative or stories have a strong tradition among women, both inside and outside of the academy (Gluck & Patai, 1991; Riessman, 1993; Vaz, 1997; Witherell & Noddings, 1991). The wide acceptance of narratives by feminist scholars is grounded in the implicit collaborations and interactive nature of the design. Overall, the narrative research design format is noted for attending to the power disparities because it honors and gives space to the voice or the actual words of the participants. When narrative research is produced as a personal and singular effort, it is routinely framed by the cultural setting. In addition, when

A scholarly journey to autoethnography  13

narratives are done by feminist researchers, the genre requires feminist researchers to depict the circumstances of the women participants by placing the participants, their partners in the process, into a cultural context and to routinely include an exploration of how research can “other” or disempower the participant. In the beginning of my research journey, I used narrative methodology to explore my teaching praxis, as demonstrated in the chapter, “Learning in the Dimension of Otherness: A Tool for Insight and Empowerment” (Johnson-Bailey, 2010). In the following excerpt from the chapter, I discuss my understanding of homeplace (hooks, 1990), while remaining ever mindful of the culture that is casting a gendered and racialized backdrop. Working and researching women of color taught me that these women had developed a consciousness sharpened by their resistant stance to societal subjugation. Interestingly, the concept of community among these women was not based on geography, but was grounded on the ties fastened by positional connectedness. Their standpoint resonated with me, most especially since the women used their place along the margins as a site for learning and transformation. In the following passage, the concept of shared marginality shapes the story and the storyteller’s personal narrative position and is simultaneously being used as a tool in this research study. It is a story within a story, where I talk about the importance of my grandmother, Sarah, to my identity and to my research agenda, which focuses on Black women and their lived experiences: I know this for certain, “I am the granddaughter of Sarah, a functionally illiterate woman who could read people better than I now read books.” It is often my sketchy memories of her and the stories that my mother tells me of Sarah Parks, whom I summon when I need strength of mind or a second sight for finding my way. It is the absence of stories in literature and in popular media of women like Sarah and her front-porch-rocking-chair women of 13th avenue with whom she shared and deciphered life that makes the telling and handing down of stories even more essential in preserving the record of people like me, a Black woman, so that I will know my history and value my legacy. It is through family narratives, the small unit of my parent’s lineage and the larger community of African Americans with whom I am acquainted that I understand my past, my present and where my kin are on their journey in becoming. Any depictions of a people who exist outside of the norm or the mainstream are too often left to the majority to determine and represent. (Johnson-Bailey, 2010, p. 78)

Considering that the stories of women, especially those like Sarah, are missing from the literature, affirms the importance of the autoethnographic-based research that foregrounds the phenomenon of gender. In this work cited above, I clarified how a culturally informed and sensitive lens has guided my research. In continuing to describe my reasoning for using a personal and culturally based methodology, I now offer another excerpt from this same work that reveals how the women participants had a commonly held worldview that directed their actions and coping: In my study of reentry Black women I found that a heterogeneous sampling of Black women arrived at the same way of reacting to their educational dilemmas, through negotia-

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tion, resistance, and silence (Johnson-Bailey, 2001). Each African American woman in the study possessed an understanding of the forces that shape and determine their existences and therefore often assumed an oppositional world view to frame their experiences. Using what Dubois (1953) called “double consciousness” and what Collins (1990) referred to an “outsider-within perspective,” these women seemed ever aware of life outside of the parameters of their lived experiences. These community-based analyses were more pronounced or generationally clear among Black women who can remember drinking “colored water”: those women who were over fifty years old and could recall drinking from “colored only” water fountains of the segregated United States. … This understanding of how the narrative is told and shaped from different perspectives depending on one’s position in society is seen in an African proverb, “The stories of the hunt will be tales of glory until the day when the animals have their own historians.” (Johnson-Bailey, 2010, p. 78)

As expressed in the African proverb that concludes the preceding excerpt, the authority held by the person writing or creating the narrative work shapes the composition, as the narrator determines presentation and the very framing of the story. Consequently, the power that is vested in the researcher further attests to the significance of the contributions being made by the scholars who focus on gendered experiences by turning their research lens inward to conduct autoethnographic work.

A CHALLENGING NEW RESEARCH VENTURE: COLLABORATIVE AUTOETHNOGRAPHY For me it was a natural progression to move from doing narrative research on others using a gender-attentive lens to entering into collaborative autoethnography. I have used reflexivity to explicitly present and explore my connection to the dilemmas in my life (Pillow, 2003), such as managing the promotion and tenure process, surviving being bullied in the workplace, and learning to transition from faculty member to administrator. Autoethnography revealed my personal connection to the problem with the intent to make explicit any inherent biases that I brought to the study, hoping to lay bare any power dynamics. Using my journals, teaching reflections, interviews and personal communications with students and colleagues helped me to look back on and critique problems that have occurred in my praxis or in my career. While individual reflexivity is crucial to the process of autoethnography, the act of recalling took on a more structured path when doing a collaborative autoethnography. The method consisted of discussing our individual lives and finding areas of understanding and difference. As a precursor to writing, my research partner and I talked about our own experiences in the academy, trading stories and learning from one another. We found common ground regarding the role that gender and race played in American society and in our lives. As co-researchers, a Black woman and a White man, we knew that although our perceptions of our gendered and racial differences were a part of our daily interactions, we could connect as people who have the opportunity to reject or reshape our assigned hierarchal relationship. While we are close in age, born two years and four days apart, our narratives of coming of age

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and coming to consciousness were incongruent. However, we learned that the first step in getting beyond the barriers and boundaries is acknowledging that they are present rather than pretending that they do not exist. In fact, by regularly discussing the barriers, we can on occasion choose to ignore them or defy their ability to define us. We found that we shared a sincere and somewhat naive belief that people are free to act beyond the cultural confines imposed by their fears. Although we carried those invisible knapsacks of privilege and disenfranchisement (McIntosh, 1995), we found the common ground of our working-class families, Catholic school histories, first-generation college experiences, leftist political leanings, a passion for Motown, and generational understandings of the world as children marked and forever changed by the U.S. civil rights struggle and the Kennedy and King assassinations as a basis for understanding and developing our collaborative autoethnography. The journey was one of transitions, similarities and differences. The resulting research and my initial foray into collaborative autoethnographic work, “Different Worlds and Divergent Paths: Academic Careers Defined by Race and Gender” (Johnson-Bailey & Cervero, 2008), was a shared study of two professors: Ronald M. Cervero, a White man, and me, a Black woman. Whereas my research partner, Ron, used Critical Theory as his frame, I relied on the tenets of BFT (Collins, 1990), which encouraged the use of personal experiences as a criterion in research, allowing me to analyze my academic life with a lens conversant with societal inequities. We participated in each other’s narratives, using cooperative inquiry (Reason, 1994) to direct a narrative dialogue. The cooperative work developed into a testimonio (Beverley, 1993) that was placed in the larger societal position of how gender and race manifests in the lives of academics. Our autoethnographic work necessitated that we each talked and then talked back in this collaborative effort (Chang, Longman & Franco, 2014). As I walk through the opening of my story, which appears in the beginning of “Different Worlds and Divergent Paths,” note how the narrative stands in dialogue with the academic culture. I began the article: So becoming a full-professor should have been a joyous occasion. Yet between being repeatedly advised, “Don’t go up in your first year of eligibility. People will think you are arrogant;” and … being asked incredulously by a former White woman student, now an assistant professor, “Who did you f _ _ _ to get there in nine years?” and by several Black and White colleagues, “Weren’t you the only Black to make it out of the College of Education this year?” and hearing comments such as, “Really? I can’t believe it. Congratulations!” I am weary and battle-scarred. And so “My soul looks back in wonder at how I got over.” … What I will say of my life as an academic is that it is the best job in the world, but it has a special intellectual and elitist brand of hell. My five years in rank as an assistant professor and five years in rank as an associate professor are not typical for a Black woman in higher education. Women faculty and faculty of color routinely spend more time in rank than their White male counterparts (Menges & Exum, 1983; Ronstein, Rothblum & Solomon, 1993) … For Juanita, a major sub-theme for relationships with colleagues and students is lack of respect and under-respect, which are sometimes manifested as student resistance, stereotyping, a questioning of credentials, and suspicions of research on “otherness.”

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The article (Johnson-Bailey & Cervero, 2008) continues by situating me within the complex culture of academia, as I explain the advantages and disadvantages of membership: The benefits of my job as a faculty member are bountiful: I’ve dipped my toes in the Nile, seen the stars from Down Under, met incredible scholars, and had the wonderful freedom that comes with being in the professoriate – the luxury of being paid to nurture my intellect and live in my own mind. However, I have also faced challenges and suspicions from my colleagues and students about my place and intellect, struggled with self-doubt, and wrestled with my imposed outsider status and my isolation. While these issues are part of the life of many academics, I believe that they are exacerbated by the racism and sexism extant in our society, and that the academy is a reflection of that society.

My collaborator, Ron, joins in the autographic journey by offering his testimony of how he has viewed me moving through our shared academic space: Even when Juanita is carrying out her administrative responsibilities related to student admissions, she is sometimes viewed as hostile if having to reject a White student. Students attempt to bypass her organizationally mandated authority and make appeals to me or higher-level administrators, but these same students never characterize others’ actions in the process as personal or antagonistic.” … The characterization of Black women as angry best defines for these colleagues and students why a Black woman would do research that has critical race theory at its center. Perhaps the only stereotype that does more harm to Black women in the workplace than the angry or loving Black woman is the representation that characterizes Black women as “strong” (Scott, 1991). This interpretation of the Black superwoman forces Black women into a narrow space between heroic imagery and burdensome experiences. “More than once,” Juanita recalls, “I have come out of meetings where I was embattled over one issue or another and colleagues have said, ‘I didn’t speak up because I knew you could take care of yourself.’” The dangers of accepting this myth as accurate is that Black women are perceived as not requiring any safeguarding or considerations, as being capable of fending for themselves, and as being able to endure any hardships confronting them.

This collaborative autoethnography between colleagues (Ron and me) became more than a telling among co-workers because the doing and performative nature was an empowering and transformative act for both of us. The sharing and reflecting on our individual and mutual experiences proved to be a dynamic methodological exercise that bridged and fused our separate narratives into a joint account with our varied societal perspectives (our cultural backgrounds) acting as a validating tool that deepened our understanding of our partner and of ourselves, and explicated how our shared academic environment was a different existence for each of us because one of us was a White man and one of us was an “other” – a Black woman. The power and beauty of this collaborative autoethnographic method is that it unfolds in the course of disclosing and the resulting narrative offering can give the reader an up-close view of an intimate process of shared storing.

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STANDING ON MY OWN: AN AUTOETHNOGRAPHY ABOUT BULLYING The first attempt to create a stand-alone autoethnography was “Academic Incivility and Bullying as a Gendered and Racialized Phenomena” (Johnson-Bailey, 2015). For me, it was an act of bravery because there was no co-creator to offer protection and no way to mask the setting, my workplace. I was not writing about my teaching praxis, but talking about a difficult time in my career. This following excerpt is me telling and me “talking back” to the pain of being alone, vulnerable and afraid. It is my effort to struggle against the stereotyping of me as a woman who does not know her place and it is also an attempt to claim my anger at being bullied, when I had been admonished to be a “strong Black woman” and to “not take is personally” and to “rise above it” and to “make sure I wasn’t misreading the situation.” Griffin (2012) refers to my act of stepping out to say what I know to be true for me, when she writes that such resistance is an endeavor to “critically narrate the pride and pain of Black womanhood.” It is done, as Ngunjiri and Hernandez (2017) say, with an understanding of and despite one’s personal confluent intersection of gender, race and class, and against and amidst the identified organizational setting. As I stood in the space of resistance, I wrote about being bullied in this 2015 article: When I reflect on my twenty-year career in the professoriate, I am delighted that despite my fears, I chose the career of my dreams … In looking back over the years, although I am saturated by the memories of joy and made glad by the journey, most especially the Ph.D.s who I’ve minted, the courses I’ve created, and the publications that I’ve produced. However, my remembrances are somewhat obfuscated by my existence in America as a Black woman in the sacred academic domain. I cannot help but recall the painful moments that left behind broken places. … The complications along the way, the bumps and bruises, the moments of cognitive dissonance when I was forced to confront academic bullying and incivility, were the times when my positional power as the professor did not provide protection. These situations were made all the more devastating because of my naïve assumption that educated people would be progressive and that the academic environment was a place awash with fairness and tolerance. Imagine my astonishment when I discovered that this revered place was not sacrosanct, but an American workplace that did not exist apart and superior to the outside world – above the clouds in an ivory tower. … What happens when you walk into a class prepared to teach a subject that your credentials report that you have mastered and your students refuse to see you as the authority or repudiate your subject mastery? … These instances where a student questions a woman professor’s authority are often scenarios that demonstrate the worthlessness of positional power in certain conflicts (Thomas et. al, 2013; Thompson & Louque, 2005). The literature on Black women’s experiences in academia overwhelmingly posit that Black women professors’ positional power is trumped by the ability of students to activate a powerful system that has a vested interest in protecting its intended consumers, the students (Chepyator-Thomson, 2000; Johnson-Bailey & Lee, 2005; Sheared et al., 2010). I believe that the behavior of this student who constantly and aggressively challenged me was actually a smoke screen for resistance to positional authority and to my mastery (Johnson-Bailey & Cervero, 2008; Maher & Tetreault, 1994; Smith, 1999; Smith, 2004).

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In the act of creating this autoethnographic work about bullying, I knew that I was engaging in a purposeful act of not only telling my story, but was offering a direct critique of my students, colleagues and my workplace. In this instance, as the autoethnographer, I made two deliberate choices. First, I focused more on my incidents involving students because I believe these examples are readily understood by my readers (who would recognize some of the behaviors described) and also because I was more emotionally removed from the students since we don’t share a common identity. Honestly and primarily, I felt there was less risk involved in talking about my dilemmas involving students. Additionally, the examples that I offered – not being recognized as the professor, being interrupted when speaking, and having your knowledge challenged – were gendered microaggressions that are routinely experienced by women professors. Secondly, my next deliberate choice occurred because I struggled with recounting incidents of bullying involving my peers, other professors, where these colleagues identity could be masked. As a researcher, I must have consent from participants and in this case, I decided that I certainly did not want to seek the permission and involvement from people who had bullied me, as the very exercise would have been disempowering. Therefore, I chose a bullying incident involving colleagues that occurred away from my campus and at an academic retreat that was comprised of professors from Southern Africa, the United States, Canada and Latin America, which meant that the varied and large numbers of participants provided a layer of confidentiality. However, I did seek out three conference participants to discuss with them what I believed to be an instance of gender-based harassment; our conversations helped me establish trustworthiness in the recounting the incident. Quite unexpectedly, I found developing the autoethnography on bullying more difficult than doing narrative work or collaborative autoethnography. The stumbling block was not the implicit risk of being the center of the story and of divulging painful situations. The predicament involved in working on this autoethnography concerned the care necessitated in writing about such a volatile and sensitive issue. Bullying is not openly discussed in academic circles; it’s a taboo subject, as the academic environment offers fertile ground for abuse given that professors use subjectivity to guide our votes on our colleagues’ membership, tenure and rank (Keashly & Neuman, 2010). So, in writing about the topic of bullying based primarily on gender, I was going against the accepted notion of higher education as a progressive environment, despite the fact that women are concentrated in the lower ranks of the professoriate and the administration, and notwithstanding the fact that women faculty members still describe the academic climate as chilly (Harper, Baldwin, Gansneder & Chronister, 2001; Maranto & Griffin, 2011). Therefore, I assert that my autoethnographic work that uses a gender conscious lens to examine an under-researched topic takes on special importance. Such research that is being done across the academy by women researchers not only fills a gap in the literature, but also imparts a rare and often absent personal perspective.

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METHODOLOGICAL MATTERS: IS AUTOETHNOGRAPHY REAL RESEARCH? In reviewing the three examples offered, the narrative, the collaborative autoethnography and the autoethnography, a progression is noted. First, there is an increased level of intimacy from the narrative to the autoethnography, as the researcher not only tells the story but interacts with the context to demystify and place the experience into its societal milieu. The narrative relates the setting and uses the literature to support the story. Whereas, in the autoethnography the researcher goes beyond telling what happened, to include why it happened, who watched it happened, and then explains the normativity of the occurrence within the academic setting. Additionally, as one moves from the narrative to the autoethnography, the level of reflexivity deepens, as the narrator stands alone in the recounting and centering of the experiences. Questions of the worth, robustness and ethics in autoethnographic work are topics that are routinely addressed in discussions about the methodology. These concerns stem from the fact that most research is done by empiricists, using traditional tools, such as questionnaires, surveys, and observations – instruments grounded in rationality and structure. Indeed, qualitative researchers using interview formats, focus groups, observations and fieldwork stress the importance of being systematic in the process. Therefore, it is not surprising that a methodology where the researcher tells about their lived experiences through autobiography and simultaneously explores the intersection of that story within the cultural context engenders discussion, debate and unease about veracity. Perhaps the easiest of the concerns to address about autoethnography is that of worth or value. What does autoethnography offer as a method? Unequivocally, the method offers unfiltered direct insight and connection to a story where the meaning and interpretation are embedded. There is no doubt about intent and, as Ellis (2001) maintains, the researcher has done the job of looking inward and then setting the story outward. This state of engaged reciprocity can offer deep understandings of a phenomenon (Raab, 2013). Another issue related to worth lies in the topic being researched. Invariably, the value of knowing about the experiences being studied rests with the readers’ interest in the topic. Certainly, this is true of all research, as there are empirical studies that fail to find an audience. Secondly, issues on the robustness of autoethnography center on discussions of validity, reliability and generalizability. While qualitative work is more focused on trustworthiness than on reliability and validity, admittedly, the common concern across these terms is “Can you prove it and is it real and have others experienced this?” The response as regards validity rests with the connection established between the autoethnography and the reader in assessing the following: did you get it, did you believe it, did it evoke a response? Addressing these areas of understanding is an important litmus test for the autoethnographer and their work. Ellis (2016) says that her ultimate assessment for validity is whether the reader understood the meaning despite the unfamiliarity of the experience being reported. For Denzin (2013), reliability for the autoethnographer is about the narrator’s integrity as the one who has

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lived the experience or observed it and then subsequently recounted it and analyzed it. So a good query regarding reliability is if the story has a richness of details that breathes authenticity. Finally, the third methodological concern, generalizability, is the same across all qualitative studies. It is not the goal of the qualitative research to make claims that the findings from the study can be discovered and/or applied in other settings (Creswell & Poth, 2016; Patton, 2014). However, I would assert, as I do about robust qualitative studies, that a well-done autoethnographic study imparts meaning and understanding that is conditionally applicable. Another often mentioned methodological topic regarding autoethnography is the idea of ethics. On the topic of ethics, the discussion shifts depending on whether the researcher or narrator is relating a singular experience that does not involve others, offering a narrative where others are involved, or doing collaborative autoethnography (including meta-autoethnography). The ethical considerations are the same across the majority of methodologies in the qualitative genre: confidentiality, informed consent, representation, power disparities, control of the narrative, ownership of the story and risk. Primarily, these contemplations are not as prevalent in autoethnography, as the researcher’s experiences are the data and the researcher is the participant. However, the matter of risk looms large for the autoethnographer because of the self-revelatory nature of the methodology. For me, engaging in the autoethnography is a process of dancing with my experiences, memories, thoughts about others, and sometimes my pain. The result of this journey of self-examination and discovery results in new understandings (data/findings/conclusions) that are then presented as my research. Consequently, there is an inherent jeopardy in being so transparent – in revealing what is newly discovered and as yet untold, unknown and unaccepted. Even though matters of confidentiality, ownership and representation seem unlikely in autoethnography, such issues can arise. For example, when other people are represented in the narrative how can you ensure that they are represented in a way that they will perceive as authentic? The answer is that beyond the procedure of self-triangulating, you cannot know if others will see their representation as genuine. Conversely, when the work is collaborative, then it is important to obtain informed consent using traditional human subjects’ methods and to work with any research partners within a framework that Zylinska (2005) calls the “politics of openness” where there are discussions and deliberations about ethical matters.

FINAL THOUGHTS ON AUTOETHNOGRAPHY For the purpose of discussing my use of autoethnography, I studied my list of publications to ascertain when I started using narratives and when and how I made the transition to autoethnography. It was a slow development that started with my doctoral research, where I was discouraged from doing narratives and especially from telling and analyzing my own story. So my venture into narratives and eventually autoethnography started in the public domain, with the publication of my book, Sistahs in College: Making a Way Out of No Way (2001) and continued in articles

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in trade publications, such as Ms. magazine. As non-academic book publishers embraced the narratives because of their public appeal, they grew in popularity. Over the next decade, as the methodology received some acceptance in academia and as I became established in my career, I welcomed the research practice because it had cultural appeal. As a woman, I am comfortable with women’s talk (stories) and as a Black woman from the Southern United States, I hail from a strong oral tradition that is linked to my West African roots. Although I believe that my background and cultural roots provided me a natural foray into the narrative dominion, I’m no different from anyone else. We all have stories to tell, examine and share. A first step is to critically examine a phenomenon that stops you and begs for a closer look – one that leaves you asking: what just happened; why did that happen; what does that mean; how has it affected me? Autoethnographic research provides a scholarly way to ask and attempt to address such questions. Often, I find the beginnings of a narrative expedition in the footnotes of my work, in the margins where I make comments, or in my email exchanges with my students, coauthors and colleagues, or in my journals. After completing an article or a book chapter or any scholarly endeavor there are ideas left unexpressed and unexamined. Those can be the origins of autoethnographic inquiry. While narratives and autoethnographic work comprise only one-third of my publications, it is revealing that I consider the narratives and autoethnographies the most significant work that I have produced and it is interesting that these works are the most often cited of my publications. Moreover, this body of work is what helped me to understand and survive in the ivory tower, where I am an interloper; and in the act of creating the autoethnographic work, I resisted, thrived and was transformed.

REFERENCES Beverley, J. (1993), Against Literature, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Brody, Celeste, C. Witherell, K. Donald and R. Lundblad (1991), ‘Story and voice in the education of professionals’, in Carol Witherell and Nell Noddings (eds), Stories Lives Tell: Narrative and Dialogue in Education, New York: Teachers College Press, pp. 257–78. Chang, H., K. Longman and M. Franco (2014), ‘Leadership development through mentoring in higher education: a collaborative autoethnography of leaders of color’, Mentoring & Tutoring: Partnership in Learning, 22 (4), 373–89. Chepyator-Thomson, R. (2000), ‘Black women’s experiences in teaching Euro-American students in higher education: perspectives on knowledge production and reproduction, classroom discourse, and student resistance’, Journal of Research Association of Minority Professors, 4 (2), 9–20. Clandinin, J., V. Caine, S. Lessard and J. Huber (2016), Engaging in Narrative Inquiry with Children and Youth, New York: Routledge. Coffey, Amanda (1999), The Ethnographic Self: Fieldwork and the Representation of Identity, London: Sage. Coia, L. and M. Taylor (2013), ‘Uncovering our feminist pedagogy: a co/autoethnography’, Studying Teacher Education, 9 (1), 3–17. Collins, P. H. (1990), Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment, New York: Routledge.

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Creswell, J. and C. Poth (2016), Qualitative Inquiry and Research Design: Choosing among Five Approaches, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Custer, D. (2014), ‘Autoethnography as a transformative research method’, The Qualitative Report, 19 (37), 1–13. Denzin, N. (2013), Interpretive Autoethnography (Vol. 17), Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Denzin, N. and Y. Lincoln (2002), The Qualitative Inquiry Reader, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. DuBois, W. E. B. (1953/1903), The Souls of Black Folk, New York: Fawcett Publications. Edwards, J. (2017), ‘Narrating experiences of sexism in higher education: a critical feminist autoethnography to make meaning of the past, challenge the status quo and consider the future’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 30 (7), 621–34. Ellis, C. (2001), ‘With mother/with child: a true story’, Qualitative Inquiry, 7 (5), 598–616. Ellis, C. (2016), Revision: Autoethnographic Reflections on Life and Work, New York: Routledge. Ellis, C. S. and A. P. Bochner (2006), ‘Analyzing analytic autoethnography: an autopsy’, Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 35 (4), 429–49. Griffin, R. A. (2012), ‘I am an angry Black woman: Black feminist autoethnography, voice, and resistance’, Women’s Studies in Communication, 35 (2), 138–57. Gluck, S. B. and D. Patai (eds) (1991), Women’s Words: The Feminist Practices of Oral History, New York: Routledge. Harper, E. P., R. G. Baldwin, B. G. Gansneder and J. L. Chronister (2001), ‘Full-time women faculty off the tenure track: profile and practice’, The Review of Higher Education, 24 (3), 237–57. Herrmann, A. F., J. A. Barnhill and M. C. Poole (2013), ‘Ragged edges in the fractured future: a coauthored organizational autoethnography’, Journal of Organizational Ethnography, 2, 57–75. hooks, bell (1989), Talking Back: Thinking Feminist, Thinking Black, Boston: South End Press. hooks, bell (1990), Sisters of the Yam: Black Women and Self-Recovery (Vol. 66), Boston: South End Press. Johnson-Bailey, J. (1998), ‘Black reentry women in the academy: making a way out of no way’, Initiatives, 58 (4), 37–48. Johnson-Bailey, J. (2001), Sistahs in College: Making a Way Out of No Way, Malabar, FL: Krieger Press. Johnson-Bailey, J. (2010), ‘Learning in the dimension of otherness: a tool for insight and empowerment’, in Marsha Rossiter and Carolyn Clark (eds), Narrative Perspectives on Adult Learning, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, pp. 77–88. Johnson-Bailey, J. (2015), ‘Academic incivility and bullying as a gendered and racialized phenomena’, Adult Learning, 26 (1), 42–7. Johnson-Bailey, J. and R. M. Cervero (2008), ‘Different worlds & divergent paths: academic careers defined by race and gender’, Harvard Educational Review, 78 (2), 311–32. Johnson-Bailey, J. and M. Lee (2005), ‘Women of color in the academy: where’s our authority in the classroom?’, Feminist Teacher, 15 (2), 111–23. Keashly, L. and J. H. Neuman (2010), ‘Faculty experiences with bullying in higher education: causes, consequences, and management’, Administrative Theory & Praxis, 32 (1), 48–70. Kempster, S. and J. Stewart (2010), ‘Becoming a leader: a co-produced autoethnographic exploration of situated learning of leadership practice’, Management Learning, 41 (2), 205–19. Krizek, R. (2003), ‘Ethnography as the excavation of personal narrative’, in Robin Clair (ed.), Expressions of Ethnography: Novel Approaches to Qualitative Methods, New York: SUNY Press, pp. 141–52. Maher, F. and M. K. Tetreault (1994), The Feminist Classroom, New York: Basic Books.

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Maranto, C. L. and A. E. Griffin (2011), ‘The antecedents of a “chilly climate” for women faculty in higher education’, Human Relations, 64 (2), 139–59. Maréchal, G. (2010), ‘Autoethnography’, in Albert Mills, Gabriella Durepos and Elden Wiebe (eds), Encyclopedia of Case Study Research, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, Vol. 2, pp. 43–5. McIntosh, P. (1995), ‘White privilege and male privilege: a personal accounting of coming to see correspondences through work in women’s studies’, in Margaret Andersen and Patricia Collins (eds), Race, Class, and Gender: An Anthology, Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, pp. 76–87. Menges, R. J. and W. H. Exum (1983), ‘Barriers to the progress of women and minority faculty’, Journal of Higher Education, 54 (2), 123–44. Ngunjiri, F. W. and K. A. C. Hernandez (2017), ‘Problematizing authentic leadership: a collaborative autoethnography of immigrant women of color leaders in higher education’, Advances in Developing Human Resources, 19 (4), 393–406. Patton, M. (2014), Qualitative Research & Evaluation Methods: Integrating Theory and Practice, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Parry, K. and M. Boyle (2009), ‘Organizational autoethnography’, in David Buchannan and Allen Bryman (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Organizational Research Methods, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 690–702. Pillow, W. (2003), ‘Confession, catharsis, or cure? Rethinking the uses of reflexivity as methodological power in qualitative research’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 16 (2), 175–96. Raab, D. (2013), ‘Transpersonal Approaches to Autoethnographic Research and Writing’, Qualitative Report, 18 (21), 1–18. Reason, P. (ed.) (1994), Participation in Human Inquiry, London: Sage. Riessman, C. (1993), Narrative Analysis (Vol. 30), Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Ronstein, P., E. Rothblum and S. E. Solomon (1993), ‘Ivy halls and glass walls: barriers to academic careers for women and ethnic minorities’, New Directions, 53, 17–31. Sambrook, S. and A. F. Herrmann (2018), ‘Organisational autoethnography: possibilities, politics and pitfalls’, Journal of Organizational Ethnography, 7 (3), 222–34. Scott, K. (1991), The Habit of Surviving, New York: Ballantine Books. Sheared, V., J. Johnson-Bailey, S. Brookfield, S. Colin and E. Peterson (eds) (2010), The Handbook on Race and Racism in Adult and Higher Education: A Dialogue among Adult Educators, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Smith, R. (1999), ‘Walking on eggshells: the experience of a Black woman professor’, ADE Bulletin, Spring, 122, 68–72. Smith, W. A. (2004), ‘Black faculty coping with racial battle fatigue: the campus racial climate in a post-civil rights era’, in Darrell Cleveland (ed.), A Long Way to Go: Conversations about Race by African American Faculty and Graduate Students, New York: Peter Lang, pp. 171–90. Sparkes, A. C. (2007), ‘Embodiment, academics, and the audit culture: a story seeking consideration’, Qualitative Research, 7 (4), 521–50. Taber, N. (2005), ‘Learning how to be a woman in the Canadian Forces/unlearning it through feminism: an autoethnography of my learning journey’, Studies in Continuing Education, 27 (3), 289–301. Thomas, K., J. Johnson-Bailey, R. Phelps, N. Tran and L. Johnson (2013), ‘Women of color at midcareer: going from pet to threat’, in Lillian Comas-Diaz and Beverly Green (eds), The Psychological Health of Women of Color: Intersections, Challenges, and Opportunities, New York: Guilford Press, pp. 275–86. Thompson, G. and A. Louque (2005), Exposing the “Culture of Arrogance” in the Academy: A Blueprint for Increasing Black Faculty Satisfaction in Higher Education, Sterling, VA: Stylus.

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Vaz, K. M. (ed.) (1997), Oral Narratives Research with Black Women, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Vickers, M. H. (2007), ‘Autoethnography as sensemaking: a story of bullying’, Culture and Organization, 13 (3), 223–37. Witherell, C. and N. Noddings (1991), Stories Lives Tell: Narrative Dialogue in Education, New York: Teachers College Press. Zylinska, J. (2005), The Ethics of Cultural Studies, New York: Continuum.

2. Autoethnography in qualitative studies of gender and management Saoirse O’Shea

This chapter considers gender as a performative practice in relation to the heterosexual matrix (Butler 1990, 1993). Gender as a performative practice is not a fixed identity governed by biological sexed bodies that do not change from birth. Gender instead is considered as an iterative practice that brings together an internalised gender identity with external gatekeeping, acceptance and normalisation from other individuals, groups and society where those practices may change. It is not based on some biological feature or medicalised understanding of our bodies but is something we continually practice and express by and through an unfolding process. Butler (1990, 1993) argues that sex and gender are often considered in binary ways such that there are men/males/masculine on one side of a binary and women/females/ feminine on the other. Her concept of gender performativity challenges the idea that biological sex based on genitalia determines behaviour. We instead are socialised to behave in ways that society associates with genitalia and that socialisation can be questioned and may change. Butler’s argument goes further, though, to suggest that there are potentially more than two, discrete genders. Males may have some attributes associated with femininity and vice versa and some people may not identify as man/ male and woman/female. A performative view of gender allows for non-normative gender and recognises the existence of non cis-gender identities. Gender, as such, is not limited to men and women but also includes other, minority identities including transgender women, transgender men, gender fluid people and non-binary folk. Performativity has become recognised as an important theoretical explanation of gender and in particular transgender people in management studies. Muhr, Sullivan and Rich (2016) presented a study of a transgender woman and manager that demonstrated how gender identity and performance varies situationally. Much more recently there has been a concern that the subjects of research be allowed space to tell their own story, which in turn has led to increased interest in autoethnographic and reflexive academic writing particularly where the individual is part of a minority and vulnerable group (Anteby 2013). Autoethnography has increasingly become an accepted, if not the preferred, method to understand gender and lived experiences for minority and vulnerable people because it allows a marginalised and often silenced group a voice in academic discourse.

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ETHNOGRAPHY, AUTOETHNOGRAPHY AND MANAGEMENT STUDIES Autoethnography is an autobiographical genre of writing and research that displays multiple levels of consciousness, connecting the personal to the cultural. (Ellis and Bochner 2000, p. 739)

Management studies has a history of realist ethnographic research where we tell stories about, or observe, other people’s lives and work including on flight decks (Weick and Roberts 1993), in fire departments (Desmond 2007), on oil rigs (Collinson 1999), factory assembly lines (Delbridge 1998), in Disney (Van Maanen 1990), airports (O’Doherty 2014), public management (Cappellaro 2017), security work (Søgaard and Krause-Jensen 2019), charity and non-profit organisations (Lord 2019) and contemporary politics (Vine 2019). Reflections on our experiences as members of those organisations until relatively recently have been presented as gender neutral in the sense that gender is rarely considered as an issue either to, or for, the researcher attempting to study management. Ethnography, in brief, is important to management and particularly to those interested in its overlap with gender studies because it focuses on the actual lived experiences including those of people who are not the default male. Ethnographic accounts can help centre different gendered and minority experiences of work. Feminist researchers adopt qualitative ethnographic methods to research, for instance, gender power dynamics in organisations (Ely and Meyerson 2010; Ely and Padavic 2007), the sociology of ‘undoing gender’ (Ely and Meyerson 2010), or gendered and embodied labour (Hochschild 1983; Pringle 1988). This is not to say that only feminists and/or women and their experiences of work, management and organisations are important. What is important is that ethnography can question the ‘desexualisation of work’ where work is presumed to be normatively male (Burrell 1984; Sullivan 2014). Kerfoot and Knights (2020) discuss the importance of recognising that there are a range of masculine performativities rather than assuming that there is a single way of being a male at work. The importance of ethnography is that it helps to expose issues of power and provides space for other voices in a patriarchal academic world dominated by white, often anglophone, male academics (Anteby 2013) whose heteronormativity may often leave them blind to issues of gender and divorced from diversity and the lives of minority people (Ellis, Adams and Bochner 2011). It also provides a space to research issues that may otherwise be missed, or dismissed, in a patriarchal world; for example, experiences of miscarriage and profound loss (Boncori and Smith 2019), of being defamed as a female academic researching a controversial subject (Brewis 2016) and gendered bullying at work (Vickers 2007). Ethnography is focused on studying the lives and experiences of other people and social groups where the ethnographer spends an extended period of time living with and observing that group. Autoethnography extends this by requiring the autoethnographer to reflect on their own experiences of being a member of a group. Anteby (2013) argues that management studies needs to be more open to autoethnography as

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a valid research method because the researcher analyses their own lived experience as a member of a minority where autoethnographers have direct access to their experiences and emotions rather than interpreting someone else’s life. Whiteman (2010) argues that autoethnography is important for management as it provides an emotional account. For Watson (2011) it underscores the importance of context. Boyle and Parry (2007) argue that it is a method that connects the ‘everyday, mundane’ personal aspects of organisational life to broader political, strategic and cultural organisational issues; it links the micro with the macro level of organisational life. As a personal account, autoethnography allows one to reflect on one’s gender and gendered and sexualised body (Dale and Burrell 2000) in a manner different to the body of scientific discourse (Pullen 2018). In a patriarchal and phallocentric world, autoethnography provides women and minorities an opportunity to speak their own truth to power that challenges their marginalisation (Martinez 2013). A further value of autoethnography is that it may provide an opportunity to research and discuss highly emotive themes that may otherwise be hidden from view. It opens a space for organisational narratives that may focus on otherwise taboo subjects including sexual harassment and sexual assault at work, emotions, vulnerability and embodiment. Ilaria Boncori and Charlie Smith (2019), for example, write of the experience of miscarriage not in the distanced, objective and neutral manner common to scientific discourse but as an evocative autoethnography that reveals the fragility and pain experienced in a story of loss and grieving that provides a ‘kaleidoscopic and insightful understanding of life in organizations’ (p. 75). Margaret Vickers’ (2007) autoethnographic account describes how a confident and outgoing person became frightened by being bullied at work and the difficulties she had writing and reliving that emotional experience. I have included the first names of these writers to underscore that these are women writing about their experiences as women at work. Autoethnography has also allowed academics to question how a normalised, heteronormative concept of gender pervades much of management in order to call for a more nuanced understanding of male performativity and sexualities (Kerfoot and Knights 2020; Knights, Pullen and Rhodes 2014; Thanem and Wallenberg 2014).

AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC APPROACHES Anderson (2006) argues that autoethnography may be traced back clearly to the work of Hayano (1979); research prior to this either did not make clear the researcher’s involvement in the subject world they studied or were not sufficiently reflexive. Autoethnography is a form of reflexive autobiography that ‘privileges the self-revelatory subject’ (Coffey 1999, p. 118) in a manner that ‘foster[s] reflection and learning’ (Weatherall 2019, p. 102). Autoethnography includes elements of both autobiography and ethnography (Ellis, Adams and Bochner 2011). In the former, the writer reflects on and writes about a past experience, or experiences. These experiences are usually considered to be epiphanic; experiences that had a significant impact on the researcher. The latter is a qualitative form of research to study

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a specific societal culture or group or some aspect of a culture often by participant observation where the researcher immerses themselves in the culture over time. In autoethnography the researcher reflects on their lived experience as a member of a particular group and/or culture and how they may be braided. Denzin (1997) argues that autoethnography must always provide a voice to vulnerable, disempowered and marginalised people and as such is similar to forms of feminist writings concerned with transgressing traditional forms of scientific writing that establish binaries that promote and legitimise dominant voices. Autoethnography is therefore political both in the choices made of what stories to tell and which voices to foreground but also because ‘it challenges, contests, or endorses the official, hegemonic ways of seeing and representing the other’ (Denzin 2006, p. 422). In autoethnography, the researcher reflects on their own experience usually as a marginalised or vulnerable individual. They are the subject of their own research in a narrative where the researcher is no longer absent and silent (Holt 2003). The researcher draws upon their own life reflexively to construct an account that is meaningful for readers who may not have had a similar life or experience (Blenkinsopp 2007). Autoethnography is commonly considered to exist on a spectrum between analytic (Anderson 2006) and evocative writing (Ellis 1999; Ellis and Bochner 2006). The analytic approach attempts to convince a reader of its claims by constructing a theoretically based framework that is evidenced by their reflexive understanding and experience of the social world in dialogue with others. Dialogue prevents a self-absorption, aids generalisability of that framework and foregrounds a social, shared world (Anderson 2006). Evocative autoethnography attempts to convince by establishing an emotional resonance where the researcher explores their own, specific experiences and feelings in relation to a broader, social experience. Katila (2019) provides an example of a detailed, evocative autoethnographic account where her experience is the central focus and the social world is a background for that personal and internal introspection. Thus, whilst analytic autoethnography attempts to convince through generalisability to a shared social world, evocative autoethnography shares an introspection in fine detail in order to achieve an emotional resonance with readers. Many autoethnographic accounts lie somewhere between these two extremes, and in common with qualitative research, the stories told should achieve both specificity and depth, and provide a story that convinces others of their truth. My own autoethnography falls between analytic and evocative accounts but tends towards the latter as I prefer to share the pain, sorrow, heartache and joy of my life.

HOW TO WRITE AN AUTOETHNOGRAPHY Writing, according to Clifford (1986), is one of the main forms of work that an ethnographer does. For many, autoethnography lies somewhere between anthropology and literary studies (Denshire 2013, p. 1) and is often referred to as a ‘creative non-fiction’ (Anderson 2006 accepts this description for evocative autoethnography

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whilst pointedly rejecting it for analytic autoethnography). It may draw on memoirs, diaries, letters and remembered conversations, as well as recorded and transcribed ones, field notes, photographs and poetry (Boyle and Parry 2007; see Denzin 2006 for a discussion). Autoethnographers evoke both an external social world and their internalised world of feelings and affect in a way that resonates with readers to ‘experience an experience’ (Ellis 1993, p. 711). Autoethnography allows the writer ‘to actually write the lived experience and not just write about it’ (Meier and Wegener 2017, p. 193). It is often both an audacious and subjective prose that resonates and emotionally moves the reader (O’Shea 2019). It uses thick description (Geertz 1973; Goodall Jr. 2000) to present a layered and nuanced description of an event from the autoethnographer’s perspective and experience. Autoethnographic writing may be polyphonic, however, and have more than a single subjective viewpoint. It must be plausible to a reader (Ellis et al. 2011) and for many should be a coherent, consistent, convincing and a well-written teleological story ‘capable of being respected by critics of literature as well as social scientists’ (Denzin 1997, p. 200). I question whether an account must be teleological because lived experiences are complicated, often ongoing, full of potential dead ends and repetitions: our lives may appear to be teleological when we look back but may not be so simple as we experience them. Autoethnography is not only judged on its literary merits, however, but also, and sometimes only, in terms of how well it cleaves to academic criteria for evaluating qualitative research method (Bochner 2000; Holt 2003; Richardson 2000). Ellis and Bochner (Ellis, Adams and Bochner 2011), often regarded as two of the most important evocative autoethnographers, argue for criteria for autoethnographic accounts based on validity, verisimilitude, generalisability and reliability. For an autoethnography to have (academic) merit the writer’s account should be valid in that it can evoke appropriate emotions, empathy and a sense that the reader recognises the account (Blenkinsopp 2007) and so avoids self-indulgence (Coffey 1999); it should have verisimilitude so that both the writer and reader believe the account to be true; be generalisable not in terms of how many people participated in the research but how many readers are affected appropriately by the narrative; and be reliable in terms of the available facts (see Bochner 2000 for a nuanced discussion of the limitations of such criteria). The concern for common, judgemental criteria for both analytic and evocative accounts is clearest in those positioned as social science accounts that cleave most closely to academic writing practices (Ellis and Bochner 2000) but may not be a concern for those with literary and political aspirations to tell a story from an otherwise silenced minority (Martinez 2013; Moraga and Anzaldua 1981). Blenkinsopp (2007) argues further that an autoethnography must attend to ethical considerations concerned with what is and is not included in the account. The writer must make choices as to what memories they include. An epiphany may impact their recollection of events in order to provide an account that meets the criteria for a social science account, or an epiphany may be needed for a researcher to question their motives for involving themselves in a research study (Goode 2002). Researchers

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must also consider how, if at all, they maintain confidentiality and anonymity of other people in their account: Goodall Jr.’s (2006) account of investigating his father’s clandestine CIA employment could hardly anonymise his father (see O’Shea 2019, where I discuss the difficulties I had writing an autoethnography that featured my father but without ‘monstering’ him). I will return to these issues when I provide my autoethnographic vignettes below. Management literature has discussed the issue that trans people face with regard to being out at work about their gender identity. This literature focuses mainly on the effect that this has on the trans person’s career, salary, relationships at work and employment (Muhr, Sullivan and Rich 2016; Ozturk and Tatli 2015; Schilt and Connell 2007). With few exceptions (Thanem 2011; Thanem and Knights 2012) what is not discussed is how the trans person feels in the situated contexts they encounter either as ‘out’ or being ‘outed’. What follows is a brief autobiographical account of my experiences of being ‘outed’ at work that provides an illustration of an evocative form of autoethnography.

VIGNETTE 1: TRANSGENDER AND BEING ‘OUTED’ AT WORK I had completed my social transition and had been in medical transition for a number of years when this situation occurred at work. I was and am quite open about my gender identity as a non-binary person. In the words of my gender clinic, I have ‘socially transitioned’. It was a cold Friday at the end of term and attendance for both my 9 a.m. seminar and a male, senior colleague were low. We conferred and decided to team teach a combined seminar group. My seminar students know that I am nonbinary as I tell them at the start of term and so give them time to transfer to another should they so wish. I don’t wish to offend someone because of my gender identity since, apart from anything else, it would not make for a conducive learning environment. We took a coffee break midway through the seminar. Most of the students left the room but a few remained. ‘Saoirse, you’ll appreciate this as a transgender woman. I was in a meeting outside of work and I spoke in favour of trans people and highlighted the difficult lives that many of you have’, and with those words all the students looked at me. I blushed. I didn’t want the attention and I mumbled something along the lines of ‘Thanks for being an ally’. But I’m not sure what I mumbled as, composure spent, I was embarrassed and reacting to a situation not of my making. The seminar restarted and I took my seat. I could feel my face flush once more but not from embarrassment but annoyance. How dare he think it was OK for him to out me! How dare he assume that he had the right to use me to demonstrate his supposed political correctness. How dare he get my gender wrong! But in amongst my annoyance that had moved to anger I felt guilty because I was annoyed over something that is not supposed to matter to me. I am out and make no attempt to hide that I am nonbinary at work. But my annoyance turned again – he had manufactured

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a situation to make himself feel and look good at my expense where if I was to call him out I would be seen as unreasonable and ungrateful for questioning an ‘ally’. He had also got my gender identity wrong because he lacked the courtesy to ask and check his understanding; he just presumed he knew. In a cisgender dominant world he just assumed all transgender people to be the same. A Reflection on Vignette 1 This brief autobiographical vignette may be read in terms of gender and how one person assumes that the other may be spoken to and in particular spoken about. Reflexively it challenges me to question myself why I cared, and still do care, about being outed and about getting my identity wrong. This vignette enables me to both voice and reflect on my feelings of being objectified by him, reduced to an object for his use that he cares so little about that he didn’t bother to check his understanding of my identity, where he lacked the courtesy to discuss it and thought nothing about potential negative consequences for me. (I have been physically and sexually assaulted because of my gender identity.) I was, and remain, upset, annoyed and angry by his lack of care and respect for me. At the time I was shocked into silence by his behaviour and said nothing. Once my initial shock died down I still remained silent at work. I work in a ‘desexualised’ organisation that collects statistical evidence about gender but where I often feel that I am viewed as a problem to be managed and where my concerns are considered as unimportant because statistically I am insignificant, whereas my male colleague is the norm. My example is a form of evocative autoethnography rather than analytic. If it was the latter I might support my vignette with references to relevant literature and also refer to the legality of ‘outing’ an employee in relation to the UK Equality Act 2010. An analytic account might emphasise that although the senior colleague may know that I am a transgender person, he had no right to tell others at work. Such an analytic discussion would consider the objective, structural issues of gender identity and employment, the diverse identities deemed to be part of the transgender umbrella, how they may differ and the legal protections that trans people have at work. The vignette is, instead, more an evocative autoethnography appeal to readers to put themselves in my position and to feel the emotions I experienced and so validate my account. I know what I felt and experienced by being outed – this is a true account of my experience and that has not changed on reflection; I am still annoyed and indeed angry. In terms of gender my account achieves a generalisability because many of us who are female or not normatively male have experience of being talked over and talked about in a patriarchal system.

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VIGNETTE 2: OUTING MYSELF AT WORK I started my social transition a decade ago. One of my first acts was to inform my then employer and as part of that I asked for and was given permission to ‘out’ myself to the students whom I taught. One of my dissertation students contacted my school and copied me in to their email. I no longer want to be supervised by Saoirse.

Up to this point I had supervised this student for many months from their proposal to where they were currently writing up their empirical research. Up to this point this student had requested and received far more time than that officially allocated for supervision. My school emailed the student to ask why and for any evidence that I may not have fulfilled my academic duties. The student replied: I don’t want to be supervised by Saoirse. I will not say why.

I told my school that I would prefer not to supervise the student if they did not want me to. My school told me that I had no say in the matter and had to provide supervision. And then it went quiet. The student didn’t contact me and ignored my offers of supervision. The school responded to me when I logged this by saying that I had to provide supervision. I was never given the final dissertation to assess, if indeed the student submitted one. I didn’t see them congregate for graduation with their peers or at subsequent graduations. I never heard from them and was told nothing about them after that brief email exchange. A Reflection on Vignette 2 In total I supervised to successful completion over 500 postgraduate dissertation students for that employer. I received awards from the University Student Union in recognition of me as a dissertation student supervisor. All of that is diminished for me, however, by this experience. I was left feeling disappointed and hurt that the student no longer wanted me to supervise their work and sorrow for them that the position they took may have prevented them from completing their studies. I still do not know why they decided they did not want me to supervise but I hope that it was worth the possible consequence for them. Reflexively, why should I care that approximately 0.2 per cent of my dissertation students decided that they did not want me to supervise them? Is it because I feel guilt that their decision may have been precipitated by my coming out? Why should I even feel any guilt if their decision was because I came out and they subsequently felt in some way that I was no longer suitable to supervise them? Do I care too much because I didn’t care enough not to out myself to them? I did care enough to ask my school if it was OK to out myself and was assured that it was OK and they would

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manage any potential adverse reaction. Did I then over-rely on the school to do this and so abrogated my responsibility to them? My Reflection on Both of the Vignettes My two vignettes twine around each other because both consider issues of the care we have for ourselves and for others. In the first, I was not cared for and in the second, I did not care enough. Autoethnography has to be honest, true and achieve verisimilitude but it also needs to be reflexive. I feel more objective and ‘distanced’ from the second vignette than the first and in terms of the spectrum between an analytic and emotive account the first vignette is more emotive than the second. I need to learn from my experiences and not just be hurt by them. Autoethnography is generally meant to be presented as a teleological story that moves in a coherent manner towards an end (Denzin 1997). That end, moreover, offers a point for reflexivity not just so that the autoethnographer may understand their journey but also so that they may understand and find some form of closure – autoethnography as therapeutic, as one of the editors of this volume astutely put it. In this brief vignette I have, however, yet to find closure and perhaps may never do so. My life is lived forward and I cannot foresee all the consequences of my actions. Gender performativity is an iterative process (Butler 1990) and because of its iterative nature, gender and how we understand it may change in ways we may not foresee. Autoethnography and Ethics Academic research needs to be conducted ethically and autoethnography is no exception to this. It deals with personal and very often emotional issues where the researcher talks about themselves and, in so doing, also other people. People generally have a right for their privacy to be protected in a way that they should not be identifiable and are not maligned by a story that is inaccurate but those rights need to be balanced with the rights of the autoethnographer to present an account of an event that is meaningful to them. The two vignettes are as ethical as I can make them; I have provided as little information as possible that may identify my male colleague but the difficulty with autoethnography is that my account contains autobiographical material. A reader can look me up, see what university and department I work for and from that identify the 40 or so male academics in my department. I do not believe, however, that there is sufficient information here for a reader to identify the individual. Is it, however, ethical to write an account where other people may be identified? Goodall (2006) and I (O’Shea 2019) have written autoethnographies that include family members as major characters and, at least in my case, been critical of them. Autoethnography is not a neutral, anonymous account (Ellis and Bochner 2000) but one where others may become identifiable as the account becomes more personal: I cannot write an autoethnography of my childhood without talking about my relationship with, and identify, my father. What I can do, however, is discuss how my

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feelings, whilst true to me, are mine and may not provide a full account of the event. My colleague in Vignette 1 may have acted in a way that he thought was inclusive and supportive of me. He was acting quickly and offered to combine classes because he no doubt thought it would make a better learning experience for the students. His assumption that I identify as female is a mistake that many people make when we gender people based on very little information and presume that there are only two genders. Autoethnographers should consider how neutral an account is and whether they allow room for alternative explanations and voices in addition to the accuracy of their account (O’Shea 2019) whilst still maintaining the focus on their account.

WHERE ARE WE GOING? The current state of autoethnography tends to focus on an analytic–evocative binary and attendant demands that the autoethnography be well written, is concerned with generalisable or situated truth and knowledge, and achieves reflexivity concerned with either method and/or experience. Arguably, both these ostensibly different forms presume that the autoethnographer has reached a point where they are able to look back on and briefly step away from their on-rushing life to extract some form of learning and understanding from an important but now concluded event. Does an autoethnography need to be well written in academic terms to have merit? Academics concerned with gender, race and ethnicity have raised questions about who gets to tell a story and how stories are told. As Martinez (2013) argues, there is a need to hear the experiences of minorities told in their authentic voices and not restricted by issues of style. An evocative autoethnography written by, for instance, a woman of colour in their authentic voice may well convey meaning and have a depth that would be lost if presented in ‘academese’ (Martinez 2013). Resonance is not only achieved by stylish writing that evokes a generalisable experience; it may also be achieved by the emotional power and anger expressed by the writing. The various narratives in Moraga and Anzaldua’s (1981) collection resonate for me more because of the raw emotions, including anger, that are expressed than an evocation of a generalisable, shared world that I, a relatively privileged person in the developed world, frankly have limited experience of. The brute power of the emotion helps to close the gap between two very different worlds. But what of analytic autoethnography? Does it need to be stylish or does a concern for style take too much away from a concern for objective analysis more common to academese? What may be more appropriate is for analytic autoethnography to present a powerful account coupled to a more objective analysis. These two distinct forms of writing might be achieved by co-writing similar to Boncori and Smith (2019) where one writer presents their memories of a highly emotional experience and the second helps provide an analytic account. For those of us, including me, who struggle to provide both a powerful and objective analytic account, co-writing may provide a future for autoethnography.

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In this chapter, I have presented a brief history of autoethnography and explained why there is a need for it. I have also described what autoethnography is and how it may be measured in terms of academic concerns for quality. I have presented two brief vignettes concerning how we care for each other as examples of autoethnographic writing and discussed them in relation to concerns with academic writing, how autoethnographic accounts are judged by academics and the ethical concerns surrounding autoethnographic methods. In a patriarchal world where management theory and stories are often desexualised or presented as gender neutral, autoethnography provides a means where women and minority gender people may be able to speak truth to power in their own words.

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Ozturk, M. B. and Tatli, A. (2015), ‘Gender identity inclusion in the workplace: broadening diversity management research and practice through the case of transgender employees in the UK’, The International Journal of Human Resource Management, 27 (8), 781–802. Pringle, R. (1988), Secretaries Talk: Sexuality, Power and Work, Sydney: Allen and Unwin. Pullen, A. (2018), ‘Writing as labiaplasty’, Organization, 25 (1), 123–30. Richardson, L. (2000), ‘Evaluating ethnography’, Qualitatiive Inquiry, 6 (2), 253–5. Schilt, K. and Connell, C. (2007), ‘Do workplace gender transitions make gender trouble?’, Gender, Work and Organization, 14 (6), 596–618. Søgaard, T. F. and Krause-Jensen, J. (2019), ‘Bouncer service work: emotional labour and flexible masculinity’, Journal of Organizational Ethnography, 9 (1): 30–43. Sullivan, K. R. (2014), ‘With(out) pleasure: desexualization, gender and sexuality at work’, Organization, 21 (3), 346–64. Thanem, T. (2011), ‘“Embodying transgender” in studies of gender, work and organisation’, in E. Jeanes, D. Knights and P. Yancey Martins (eds), Handbook of Gender, Work and Organization, Oxford: Wiley, pp. 191–204. Thanem, T. and Knights, D. (2012), ‘Feeling and speaking through our gendered bodies: embodied self-reflection and research practice in organisation studies’, International Journal of Work Organisation and Emotion, 5 (1), 91–108. Thanem, T. and Wallenberg, L. (2014), ‘Just doing gender? Transvestism and the power of underdoing gender in everyday life and work’, Organization, 23 (2), 250–71. Van Maanen, J. (1990), ‘The smile factory: work at Disneyland’, in P. J. Frost, L. F. Moore, M. R. Louis, C. C. Lundberg and J. Martin (eds), Reframing Organizational Culture, London: Sage, pp. 58–76 . Vickers, M. H. (2007), ‘Autoethnography as sensemaking: a story of bullying’, Culture and Organization, 13(3), 223–7. Vine, T. (2019), ‘Brexit, Trumpism and paradox: epistemological lessons for the critical consensus’, Organization, 27 (3): 466–82. Watson, T. J. (2011), ‘Ethnography, reality, and truth: the vital need for studies of “how things work” in organizations and management’, Journal of Management Studies, 48 (1), 202–17. Weatherall, R. (2019), ‘Writing the doctoral thesis differently’, Management Learning, 50 (1), 110–13. Weick, K. E. and Roberts, K. H. (1993), ‘Collective mind in organizations: heedful interrelating on flight decks’, Administrative Science Quarterly, 38 (3), 357–81. Whiteman, G. (2010), ‘Management studies that break your heart’, Journal of Management Inquiry, 19 (4), 328–37.

3. Autoethnography in qualitative studies of gender and organization: a focus on women successors in family businesses Allan Discua Cruz, Eleanor Hamilton and Sarah L. Jack

BACKGROUND In the last 40 years, there have been changes and developments in the way gender is theorized (Acker, 1992, 1995; Gatrell and Swan, 2008; Wharton, 2005). What we have seen is gender theorized in terms of specific traits and behaviors associated with women or men, as a form of social construction and more recently gender as performance, continuously produced through everyday practices and social interactions (Richardson and Robinson, 2008). These various theoretical approaches lead to different debates and new conceptual understandings but more work is needed to incorporate cultural and historical variation. A growing body of scholars have made progress in understanding how gender is socially constructed, with particular attention paid to the dynamics of the subordination of women through the study of language and texts (Ahl and Marlow, 2012; Hamilton, 2014). The post-structuralist stance has challenged essentialist assumptions of gender, and encouraged a view of gender identity as fluid and constructed within prevailing discourses and their associated power relations (Hamilton, 2013a; Stead, 2017). Grounding research in feminist theory has revealed how gendered normative practices are produced and reproduced and has encouraged new methodological approaches (see, for example, Stead and Hamilton, 2018). A drawback in the field of family business is the absence of methodological approaches that connect personal experience with a nuanced understanding of underlying, and relevant, processes (Hamilton et al., 2017; Howorth et al., 2010). This is also the case for the study of gender, where the need for more critical methodologies and greater reflexivity in research design and practice is recognized (Díaz García and Welter, 2013; Henry et al., 2016; Stead and Hamilton, 2018). Stead and Hamilton (2018) argue for empirical studies in gender to consider drawing more widely on accounts of people’s experiences in the micro-practice of the everyday, and to adopt a broad critical intent. In doing so, they argue, researchers must explore techniques that challenge dominant theoretical understandings by unearthing critical gender issues. This chapter focuses on autoethnography (Adams et al., 2014; Holman Jones et al., 2013) as a research method to study women in family business. Such an undertaking 38

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is important, as most businesses around the world are family businesses (IFERA, 2003; Melin et al., 2014). Prior studies suggest that family businesses are often an incubator for new entrepreneurs (Craig and Moores, 2006), and may provide a safe harbor where women have the opportunity to manage existing businesses and create new ventures (Dumas, 1998). Yet, whilst scholars have noted the crucial input of women in the creation and development of family businesses (Alsos et al., 2014), their engagement is not unproblematic (Hamilton, 2006, 2013b). Women in family business are rarely considered as serious contenders to take the helm of established family firms (Dumas, 1998; Martinez Jimenez, 2009). Recent studies argue that the expected role of women in family businesses, believed to be co-constructed over time, could remain unchallenged unless unrestricted insider access is granted (Discua Cruz et al., 2019). There are calls to conduct further qualitative studies in organizations from the perspective of those studied (Pratt, 2009: 856), aiming to provide nuanced explanations of what is going on (Howorth et al., 2005). Such calls are appropriate for the study of gender, as earlier studies point to the centrality of the boundary between family and work in organization for understanding gender relations (Acker, 1998) and the need for a nuanced in-depth understanding of gender dynamics in the family business (Fletcher et al., 2016). The aim of this chapter is to examine autoethnography, which broadly relates to a qualitative approach that helps describe and systematically analyze (graphy) personal experience (auto) in order to understand cultural experience (ethno) (Adams et al., 2014; Chang, 2016; Holman Jones et al., 2013), as a practical methodology to study gender in family businesses. Therefore, this study focuses on the following question: Is autoethnography a viable methodology that can help answer underexplored questions about gender relations in the succession process of family businesses? In the context of family businesses, we argue that autoethnography allows the generation of “theoretically relevant descriptions of a group to which one belongs based on a structured analysis of one’s experiences and the experiences of others from one’s group” (Karra and Phillips, 2008: 547). Badley (2015) calls it a form of adventurous writing, arguing that autoethnographic studies are intended to be truthful and detailed accounts of their authors’ embodied experiences. To support our argument and address our overarching question, we engage in an autoethnographic approach to understand how, why and when women might be considered as successors in the management of existing family businesses. To our knowledge, there are no autoethnographies in family business research that deal with the study of gender and succession. We focus on the context of a family business in Latin America. More specifically, to generate rich data for analysis, a family business was deliberately chosen (Miles et al., 2013) where we could reflect on the family gender dynamic where one of them was an “insider.” We also reflect on the implication of a male “insider” in the context of a study focusing on women in the succession process. Insider research is a category of autoethnographic practice where practitioners are academic researchers and use their insider position as a methodological and interpretive tool (Butz and Besio,

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2009). By being an “insider” the first author had access, knowledge, and freedom of movement which allowed particular access and insight not available to “outsiders” (Karra and Phillips, 2008). Data was gathered through memory (for example, memories of events, conversations, meetings) and emotions, as well as other sources such as field notes and interviews (Holman Jones et al., 2013). The first author, supported by his co-authors (Guyotte and Sochacka, 2016), followed the suggestions of Ellis et al. (2011), to write retrospectively and selectively about reflections on personal experience made possible by being part of a family in business. This material is presented as a vignette below. In this chapter, our interest lies with women in family business and processes of succession. It is helpful in this study to consider the concept of gender identity, performed and interpreted at the individual level, alongside the broader concept of gender relations. Gender relations provide the structural arrangements that shape the material conditions of what it means to be men or women in a particular society (Fletcher and Ely, 2003). Gender relations underpin understandings and assumptions of what is acceptable and what is possible. Gender relations intersect with other social relations such as race, ethnicity and class, and may be culture-specific and bound up with complex disparities in terms of power relations. In family business, a distinct feature of gender relations is the discourse and practice of primogeniture, i.e. the assumption of the right of the eldest son to inherit. This study throws light on the “stubborn and enduring assumption” of primogeniture, a strategy and practice that has been called one of the foundations of patriarchy (Hamilton, 2013b: 92). The chapter contributes to knowledge by arguing the relevance of authoethnography as a methodological tool in the study of gender in family business. We argue that developing an understanding of gender dynamics in family business research might benefit from the features of autoethnography (Adams et al., 2014; Knijnik, 2015). Karra and Phillips (2008) highlight ease of access, reduced resource requirements, increased ability to establish trust and rapport, and reduced problems with translation as strengths of the approach. Conversely, difficulty maintaining critical distance, ongoing role conflict, and the limits of serendipity are acknowledged as difficulties of conducting autoethnographic research. Our chapter highlights that whilst existing family business autoethnographies offer a good start to appreciate the value of the approach, the challenge remains for autoethnographies to be developed by those who experience phenomenon in family businesses first-hand in a co-collaborative effort. Our chapter argues that autoethnography is beneficial for the study of gender in family business; reflecting on our own experiences as gender beings can be a powerful form of developing and sharing knowledge. The remainder of this chapter continues as follows: First, a brief review of autoethnography is offered, followed by a discussion of its relevance around the study of gender in family businesses. Thereafter, an autoethnographic vignette is used to illustrate autoethnography as a method to examine challenges in the continuity of a family business. We then provide a discussion of the challenges and opportunities of this methodology and offer avenues for further research.

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AUTOETHNOGRAPHY Definitions, Origins and Relevance In recent years, autoethnography has become a significant and legitimate method in many disciplines and research contexts (Holman Jones et al., 2013). The term was first used to describe a method of ethnographically studying a group of which the researcher was a part. Nowadays, while it encompasses a multitude of approaches and writing forms, researchers agree that autoethnography gravitates around the use of personal experience to examine and/or critique cultural experience (Adams et al., 2014: 22). Autoethnography allows researchers to produce “meaningful, accessible, and evocative research grounded in personal experience …” (Ellis et al., 2011: 2). It is a research method that relies on lived experiences connected to the broader social and cultural context, and thus can contribute to knowledge by theorizing experiences so that they become embedded in theory and practice (McIlveen, 2008). As a qualitative method, autoethnography offers specific knowledge about particular lives, experiences and relationships rather than general information about large groups of people (Adams et al., 2014: 22). The intentional use of personal experience allows the creation of nuanced, complex and comprehensive accounts of cultural norms, experiences and practices (Adams et al., 2014: 39). Autoethnographic studies facilitate an understanding, and often a critique, of cultural life by encouraging readers to think about taken-for-granted norms, experiences and practices in unique, complicated and challenging ways. Qualitative researchers are searching for more transparent, reflexive and creative ways to conduct research (Adams et al., 2014). A movement towards personalized research called for greater emphasis on the ways in which researchers interacted with the culture being researched (Holt, 2003). Thus, rather than deny or separate the researcher from the research and the personal from the relational, cultural and political, qualitative researchers embrace methods that allow them to explore and understand personal experiences and their relationship with context. Those interested in research that explains how the “self” interacts with “culture” using their own experience to reflect on self-other interactions and the extant cultural meaning would be drawn to writing autoethnograpic texts (Holt, 2003). Autoethnographic texts are usually written in the first person and showcase dialogues, emotions and self-consciousness as relational stories affected by history, social structure and culture (Ellis et al., 2011). Accordingly, Adams et al. (2014: 1–2) advocate autoethnography for several reasons, First, it uses a researcher’s personal experience to describe and critique cultural beliefs, practices and experiences. Second, it acknowledges and values a researcher’s relationships with others. Third, it uses deep and careful self-reflection – typically referred to as “reflexivity” – to name and interrogate the intersections between self and the social context. Fourth, it shows people in the process of figuring out what to do, how to live, and the meaning of their struggles. Finally, it balances intellectual and methodological rigor, emotion and creativity.

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Ellis et al. (2011) highlight that the underlying features of autoethnography lie in its combination of ethnography and autobiography and its methodological and theoretical rigor that illuminates aspects of a cultural experience and makes both (culture and experiences) familiar to others. Autoethnography may appear comparable to ethnography first in terms of following a similar ethnographic research process by systematically collecting, analyzing and interpreting data, and second in attempting to achieve cultural understanding through analysis and interpretation (Chang, 2016: 47).Yet, autoethnography differs from ethnographic inquiries in that autoethnographers use their personal experiences as primary data. Chang (2016) argues that the richness of autobiographical narratives and autobiographical insights is valued and intentionally integrated into the research process, unlike conventional ethnography. Autoethnography celebrates individual stories framed in the context of the bigger story, a story of the society, to make autoethnography ethnographic. In doing so, it focuses on human connections and emphasizes the importance of personal stories (Doty, 2010). Autoethnographies also rely on autobiographical features in its written representation. The ethnographic process can provide an essential way of studying culture, including organizational culture (Fletcher, 2002). Chang (2016: 47) argues that like ethnography, autoethnography pursues the ultimate goal of cultural understanding underlying autobiographical experiences. To achieve this ethnographic intent, autoethnographers experience the usual ethnographic research process of data collection, data analysis/interpretation and report writing. They collect field data by means of participation, observation, interview and document review; verify data by triangulating sources and contents from multiple origins; analyze and interpret data to decipher the cultural meanings of events, behaviors and thoughts; and write ethnography. Yet the purpose of autoethnography is not only to write and reflect on personal stories, but to expand the understanding of social realities through the lens of a researcher’s personal experiences (Chang, 2013: 108). Autoethnography and Gender Studies There are a growing number of autoethnographic studies that have focused on gendered issues. For example, McClellan (2012) describes how her gendered identity as a leader was formed when reflecting on experiences of black men. Her study highlights that identity can be reflected upon when exploring experiences of the opposite gender. McParland (2013) relies on autoethnography to make visible the overlooked experiences of women in sports, highlighting that issues dealing with power structures and conventional theories in male-dominated circles can be problematized through reflection. Sobre-Denton (2012) considers her experiences as a white woman in terms of workplace bullying, highlighting contexts where business ownership and power positions were held by men. These studies highlight the usefulness of autoethnography in gender studies in organizations and show how it provides an opportunity to critique and engage while exploring differences in the study of gender (Boylorn, 2014). Yet, whilst autoethnography has been used in the study of gender,

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there is much work to be done to develop methodologies and theoretical approaches to understand the relevance of gender in the study of family businesses. Autoethnography is a reflexive means by which a researcher-practitioner can consciously embed himself or herself in theory and practice, and by way of an intimate autobiographic account, based on personal lived experiences, explicate a phenomenon under investigation or intervention (Adams et al., 2014; Chang, 2016; Holman Jones et al., 2013; McIlveen, 2008). Autoethnographers are expected to treat their autobiographical data with critical, analytical and interpretive eyes to notice cultural suggestions of what is remembered, observed and told. Thus, the researcher/participant is vital to the story, serves as the primary data source and provides a provocative account of experiences (Holt, 2003). The origins and increasing relevance of autoethnography relate to a crisis of “representation” and “legitimation” (Adams et al., 2014; Holt, 2003), concepts which have significance in terms of gender studies. The crisis of representation refers to the writing practices, i.e. how researchers write and represent the social world (Holt, 2003), and related to researchers recognizing the limits of knowledge claims made about the contexts, subjects and findings of their research. Such an approach considers the limits of what can be discovered, understood and explained about identities, lives, beliefs, feelings, relationships and behaviors through the use of empirical or experimental methods (Adams et al., 2014). Unlike scientific design, the nuance and complexity of gendered identities and gendered relations do not translate easily to experiments, surveys or a structured list of interview questions. Chang (2016: 18) argues that autoethnography emerged as a response to claims that qualitative research (or any research) cannot maintain a distanced, objective, self-serving stance. As autoethnography focuses on a “self-narrative that critiques the situatedness of self with others in social contexts” (Spry, 2001: 707), researchers cannot avoid accounting for their own gendered identities, experiences, relationships, intentions and formative assumptions in their approach to research and the reporting of their “findings.” Autoethnography calls scholars to acknowledge their potentially contradictory positioning as researchers studying subjects of the opposite gender (e.g. women studying men and vice-versa) (Besio and Butz, 2004; McClellan, 2012). In this chapter the “insider” and main autoethnographer is a son and expected successor. In the succession process of a family firm, there is a strong family and social expectation for sons to succeed their fathers in business with women expected to support this process and the outcome (Gupta et al., 2008). As previous studies suggest, the relevance of autoethnography for gender studies is that it allows the exploration of a personal gendered position as a family business member and researcher, and the challenges of succession in academic inquiry (Metz, 2011). As family relationships are so intertwined and knowledge is deeply connected to the cultural context (Howorth et al., 2010), a man, son and successor could reflect on the experiences that connect the narrative of family in business over time (Hamilton et al., 2017). Autoethnographies position researchers as a privileged other, interlocutors and often as advocates (Barrett, 2019). A man can reflect on experi-

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ences with family members and about family members in business, as they become the focal point for examining rigid notions of gender (McClellan, 2012). Autoethnography as a Method for Family Business Research Autoethnography provides a method for exploring and understanding personal experiences in relation to the experiences of others (Adams et al., 2017). Chang (2016: 52) suggests that, methodologically speaking, autoethnography is family-business researcher friendly. It can allow family business researchers’ easy access to the primary data source from the beginning as the source is the researchers themselves. In autoethnography, “proximity, not objectivity” becomes an epistemological point of departure and return and thus “autoethnographers are privileged with a holistic and intimate perspective on their familiar data” (Adams et al., 2014: 23). This initial familiarity gives autoethnographers an edge over other researchers in data collection and in-depth data interpretation. Adams et al., (2014) advocate that underlying reasons for family business researchers to engage in autoethnography may relate to their desire to critique, make contributions to, and/or extend existing research and theory; disrupt taboos; break silences; reclaim lost and disregarded voices; and, finally, make research accessible to multiple audiences. Examples of Applying the Method Current applications of autoethnography in family business research have focused on the processes of entrepreneurship, business identity and succession. Yarborough and Lowe (2007) explored the benefits of autobiographical awareness and managerial development in a family business. By revisiting personal experiences these scholars reflected on dilemmas experienced when considering whether or not to succeed the incumbent generation in a family firm. Meek (2010), relying on an autoethnographic approach, uncovered some of the complexity that arises when business creation and continuity is influenced by the involvement of family members. The active part supporting families play in entrepreneurial ventures was described and theorized. In such studies, autoethnographies allowed the exploration of what happens to family business members, and how sensibilities around business decisions circulate and become collective (Stewart, 2013: 661). More recently, Kuehne (2012) presented personal experiences when selling a family farm. In his study, Kuehne reflects on the cultural influences from family farming that influence continuity and the thoughts and feelings associated with a decision to sell the family business and exit the industry. Emotions experienced are explored and placed in a theoretical context that makes them more accessible to others. The examination of the experiences leading to the decision to sell the family farm also contributes to the limited literature on farmers and retirement. Kuehne’s study suggests that autoethnography has the potential to create knowledge through “relational – familial – connections, focusing on local action and attending to personal experience” (Mingé, 2013: 427). Stewart (2013: 661) identifies that

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autoethnographies allow the describing of a world “disturbed by the singularities of events” inherent to family businesses in ways that can be generative or disruptive (e.g. succession). More importantly, previous studies highlight that autoethnography is a methodology that acknowledges “contingency, finitude, embeddedness in storied beings, encounters with otherness, an appraisal of ethical and moral commitments, and a desire to keep conversations going” (Bochner, 2013: 53). Everyday gender relations and gender dynamics influence long-term decisions within a family business (Hamilton, 2013b). An autoethnography will call upon family and history (Giorgio, 2013). Because autoethnography acknowledges how and why identities matter and interrogates experiences tied to cultural differences (Adams et al., 2014), it can enhance an understanding of links between the individual and an organization or a group (e.g. family business), effectively due to the intensely reflexive nature involved (Boyle and Parry, 2007). Family business autoethnographers can turn to narrative and storytelling to give meaning to identities, relationships and experiences, and to create relationships between past and present, researchers and participants, writers and readers, tellers and audiences, in the context of a family in business. Using narrative and storytelling to research and represent experience, family business autoethnographers may also attend to how narratives and stories are constructed (Adams et al., 2014; Hamilton et al., 2017). Moving forward, autoethnographers may explore diverse questions related to gender (Discua Cruz et al., 2019) and underlying processes in family businesses, such as succession (Howorth et al., 2010), using their own experience to reflect on self and other interactions and the wider cultural meaning. How to Apply the Method Similar to other qualitative methodologies, autoethnography is guided by a specific intention and approaches to data collection, analysis and representation (Butz and Besio, 2009). Chang (2016: 122) suggests that activities often take place concurrently or inform each other in a cyclical process. For a family business and gender autoethnographer this may occur as follows, as was experienced by the first author. First, family business and gender researchers can begin with a purpose or specific area of inquiry involving a level of critical reflexivity (Cooper et al., 2017). Such purpose or area of inquiry may relate to personal experience and/or professional interests in the family business. This approach will demand knowledge and critical reflection on roles occupied (e.g. during a succession process), cultural influences (e.g. social expectations) and how reality is constructed (Spry, 2001). For instance, such initial steps allowed the first author to identify cultural signifiers such as race, gender and socioeconomic status within a context, which can influence a researcher’s identity, informing feelings, emotions and actions (Holt, 2003). Second, authoethnographic data collection will demand family business and gender researchers to provide a personalized account or narrative of the experience. Autoethnographies can benefit from several types of data such as field notes, personal documents and artifacts, as well as interviews (including memories and

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narratives) (Anderson and Glass-Coffin, 2013: 65). Of all these data types, Giorgio (2013: 409) advocates that personal memories are the foundations of autoethnography. Memory represents the act or instance of remembering or recalling; the mental faculty for retaining and recalling a past event; something remembered. In autoethnography, memory becomes the primary data to be collected. Memories open a door to the richness of the past and the past gives context to the present. Giorgio (2013) argues that memory is triggered and stored in various forms: stories, secrets, artifacts, transcripts, observations, journals, conversations. The first author had recorded over time, in different ways, items that allow memories of events, discussions and emotional meetings with different members of the family in business (father, mother, grandmother) which could be interpreted and evaluated. Family business and gender researchers can then use memory to delve into the social (and gender) dynamics of a family in business. Journaling, photography, blogs, drawings, letters, conversations, documents, artifacts and interviews with others can serve as a way of recalling and describing experiences (Clandinin and Connelly, 2000). Through memory, the first author was able to recall and interpret family stories and secrets, and reflect on the use of artifacts that created a connection between him and his father (e.g. stories about ancestors) or the building of memorials (e.g. stone inscriptions on the family farm for our grandparents), revealing meanings within the social world of his family in business. Memory can also help researchers relive tragedies and traumas in a family in business and understand why persons or events deserve to be “remembered and memorialized” (Giorgio, 2013: 411). The meaning in recalled shared stories is a core part of who family business members are in this world, how they became who they are – their identity, including their gender identity. Identity – a collage of meanings – can come through the sharing of stories. At this stage, data collection and interpretation may occur simultaneously. For example, Chang (2016) argues, when autoethnographers recall past experiences, they do not randomly harvest them. Rather, they select some and discard others according to already-set criteria. The lead author engaged in an analytical and interpretive activity of evaluating memories related to the decisions that had to be made after his father was diagnosed with a terminal disease. Memories and letters that ensued about family, a network of businesses and the role of his mother in leading the family in business (Rosa et al., 2014) helped the first author to examine the validity of the criteria set for analysis and revise these experiences accordingly. Third, through analysis of the data, the first author became immersed in the related events and emotions and created opportunities to relive details leading to a recursive process of meaning-making (Ellis et al., 2011), which is represented in the writing of the autoethnographic vignette. This often requires a great level of psychological and emotional participation which can later enlighten writing evocative texts to describe traumatic or emotionally charged moments or events (Ellis and Bochner, 2000). At this stage, triangulation, theory application and epistemology will relate to the broader cultural, political and social context (Cooper et al., 2017). The constant analysis and interpretation of data allowed an understanding of the meaning of their experiences. The first author searched for markers in a large amount of data that

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could explain how his life experiences are culturally, not just personally, meaningful and how such experiences can be compared with others’ in society. In this process, the first author was able to examine the details of his life as a member of family in business and relate it to the broader context. This process helped to connect fractured data to create an intelligible story and cultural explanation. Chang (2016) argues that autoethnographers will then come full circle while writing their texts: beginning from memory, creating meaning for others, and then enacting remembering by memorializing stories not to be forgotten. The data is then represented through diverse writing styles that can incorporate a blend of real descriptions, impressionist images, analytical perspectives and confessional narratives (Chang, 2016). In other words, autoethnographers can combine multiple “voices,” including theory, subjective experience, and even fictional aspects, to increase the authentic quality of their accounts (Rambo, 2005). Chang (2016) argues that autoethnographic writing engages in a constructive interpretation process. The first author engaged with existing notions and theoretical perspectives and used them as investigative tools to produce meaning about lived experiences (Denzin and Lincoln, 2005). The first author experienced that autoethnographic writing does not merely tell stories that are rich in details, but actively seeks to interpret a story to make sense of how it is connected with others’ stories. As a result, autoethnographic writings can allow researchers to interweave stories from the past with ongoing self-discovery in the present. Stories from the past are interpreted in the context of the present and the present is contextualized in the past. Autoethnographic writing becomes, then, a constructive interpretive process because the researcher is transformed during the self-analytical process (Chang, 2016). Interestingly, analysis can also be engaged through collaborative authoethnography (Chang, 2016; Guyotte and Sochacka, 2016) where the expertise of an “interdisciplinary team,” as experienced by the research team in this chapter, can be pulled together, drawing on diverse areas of expertise. The analysis, as suggested by Chang (2016), can be undertaken by all researchers involved, or partially, where one member engages in collecting the data and writing the autoethnographic text while the others help analyze the data. A recent example can be found in the works of Fernando et al. (2019), where researchers produced vignettes from memory and then engaged in analysis collectively. Challenges and Opportunities Autoethnographies have been criticized for being too focused on the self to produce research (Poulos, 2013: 476). Scholars point out that the highly personal, creative, and often unruly nature of autoethnography can be alarming for some scholars, raising questions about its legitimacy (Reed-Danahay, 1997). Traditional criteria such as validity, reliability and transferability are perceived as unsuitable to assess autoethnographies (Ellis et al., 2011). Validity for autoethnography is based on the work presented seeking “… verisimilitude; it evokes in readers a feeling that the experience described is lifelike, believable, and possible, a feeling

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that what has been represented could be true. The story is coherent. It connects readers to writers and provides continuity in their lives” (Ellis et al., 2011: 282). Reliability relates to the “reader’s assessment of the researcher as a primary and reliable source” (Cooper et al., 2017: 46). In terms of transferability, the available nature of the material to its readers is an important component of autoethnographies. When transferability is attained, a reader associates the researcher/participant’s experience with their own and considers parallels and disparities, thus converting the ‘I’ to ‘we’ (Spry, 2001). More specifically, Mingé (2013: 429) suggests that challenges for the family business researcher in using this approach may relate, first, to “messy, complex and multiple realities and knowledge” and, second, to “knowledge construction from a particular point of view within a particular context.” Mingé proposes that being part of a family in business that is complex and complicated can reveal the messy and multiple intersections of knowledge and truth. Moreover, context relates to place, space and time, local detail, and moment-to-moment interaction situated within the personal and the cultural. Knowledge is subjective, deeply connected to the family and in context. The challenge for family business researchers examining gender issues lies in how family business deals with stereotypes for both men and women in the succession process (Discua Cruz et al., 2019). Several studies have highlighted gender issues in family business such as marginality, the role of place, visibility, leadership and expectations (Hamilton, 2006) and thus the challenge for researchers relates to reconciling public and private accounts of family firms (Cramton, 1993) by understanding underlying processes in the family firm through examining the experiences and emotions of those involved. Advice on how to overcome potential pitfalls has been offered; for example, avoiding excessive focus on self in isolation from others; avoiding exclusive reliance on personal memory as a data source; and avoiding overemphasis on narration rather than analysis and cultural interpretation (Chang, 2016: 52). Researchers suggest several opportunities in applying autoethnography to the study of gender in family business research. First, autoethnography provides insight into social experiences that we cannot observe directly, because the experiences occur in their own time, uninterrupted by a researcher’s presence. As autoethnography is considered a rigorous ethnographic, broadly qualitative research method that attempts to achieve in-depth cultural understanding of self and others, it has much to offer social scientists, especially those concerned with raising cross-cultural understanding, particularly in a culturally diverse society (Adams et al., 2014). Second, it can foster a process of collaboration, with scholars “as others,” as well as with the persons we love, work with, and study (Adams et al., 2014: 675). Autoethnography is a method of inquiry but also a method of relating as it allows an opportunity to navigate the world of a family in business through the writing of relationships. Finally, autoethnography offers opportunities for researchers of gender and family business worldwide because of its “relatively low cost compared to other more mainstream quantitative and qualitative methods,” making it particularly suitable for researchers in “resource-poor

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institutions”, thus creating a space for marginalized groups to produce knowledge (Adams et al., 2014: 44).

AN AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC VIGNETTE For women to become leaders of a family business in Honduras it is not easy. I watched how my mom had to sort out issues in terms of management, ownership and family leadership. Reflecting on these experiences suggested a chain of critical events or situations over decades. Several crises appeared unexpectedly and it was assumed that they would be addressed, led and solved by the men in the family. Yet every time a crisis appeared, the responses provided an opportunity to demonstrate that being a woman was no impediment to lead a growing group of family businesses. My earliest recollection of such an experience related to the financial management of existing ventures. On several occasions my father took my mom and I to the bank when the final repayment of loans were made. We always celebrated such milestones as a family. I remember watching how my dad was well received by bank officials. In the 1980s, all bank officials were male. They always congratulated my dad for paying loans on time. I thought it was very unfair for the officials to assume that my mom had nothing to do with it. I knew that it was my mom who administered the businesses and ensured that every penny was paid back. Yet, bank officials assumed that it was my dad who handled all the financial matters with my mom only supporting him as a house mom. It was just expected. I recall that in 1991, as my parents wanted to expand one of the businesses they asked for a large loan with better terms and conditions. For such a large loan the officials wanted to negotiate the terms with my father. But then I recalled him saying in that bank meeting, “Well, I am willing to sign those papers but it is not me who will negotiate those terms, my wife will.” Bank officials were expecting my dad to take responsibility for all financial matters. That incident would reveal my mom as the financial manager of the firms – the person the banks had to convince to take on new loans. Upon reflection, I realize what my dad was doing. Over the years, I was always present in the meetings with men customers and suppliers, and knew how tough my mom was as a negotiator. They always thought they would fool mom because she was a woman. Yet actually such expectation allowed my mom to get the best terms. She would negotiate a deal and get it half-price or with better terms. Many times, when I went with my dad to sign the deals my mom had negotiated, suppliers mentioned how tough my mom was and that they had underestimated her. I realized that my mom had to demonstrate that she was a good negotiator and that she knew how to steward the family business money to be taken seriously in a business context dominated by males. Such reputation would prove crucial when a major transition in ownership happened. In 2006, dad died. In Honduran society this meant that the leader of the family was no longer around. A month before this death he made a decision that would not be common in Honduran culture. He transferred the property rights of our oldest venture, the 111-year-old family farm, to my mom. Mom asked for those rights to be

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transferred to me as the first-born son; that was the tradition under which such property was passed down for generations. Ownership of that property would position mom as the head of a family in business. It was a symbolic transmission of trust in the eyes of society and the business world. It would send a signal that she could not only be trusted to steward the family heirloom but that she could improve it for the next generation – for my sister and I. That was the expectation in our family, an ownership responsibility that was always associated with men. Being the owner of such property would legitimize her in business. Soon after dad died, we received formal letters from our business network (customers, suppliers) expressing that they were looking forward to working with mom as the owner and manager of our family ventures. Yet the extended family had a hard time accepting my dad’s decision. In a family gathering soon after my father died, extended family members questioned whether ownership of the family farm by a woman was best for the family moving forwards. It was a venture that was still expected to be owned and managed by men. Despite mom having complete property rights over the farm, I realized she was expected to maintain family traditions and harmony. Mom told the family members that she was mainly the caretaker and that all decisions about the farm would be decided with me as the future successor. The family then expressed their satisfaction as an expectation for ownership by sons in the family succession was deeply ingrained in our family. I was the son expected to take ownership of the farm and to make the immediate decisions after my dad died. The collective nature of the stereotypical Latin American family, where all business is family business, implied that ownership succession should be from father to son. Yet the decision was taken in the family, my sister, my dad, my mom and I, concerning what would happen in the future in terms of ownership succession. It was agreed during emotional conversations what was going to be the future ownership structure after the death of my father. I recall vividly when Dad said “… look, I am not sure how long I will live, the doctors said it can be a few weeks, a few months or a few years, we have to be prepared. I will not leave you with the burden of not being able to decide what to do … we have met with the lawyers and this is what is going to happen, your mom will become the sole owner of all the firms, with arrangements in place for you and your sister in terms of ownership after she dies.” Such experience made me realize that whilst critical incidents would allow women to advance in management and ownership of family business, the family dimension, which carries an anticipation of how things are supposed to be done, was still influenced by gender expectations. This vignette depicts not only experiences of the first author, but also demands reflection of such experiences in the social world. It helps to illustrate the use of autoethnography as a method to examine challenges in the continuity of a family business by women, as unintended successors, in a wider social and cultural context. Moreover, there is more than meets the eye in terms of what happens in the private and public sphere of families in business (Cramton, 1993). Writing the vignette brought back many emotional memories about events and conversations that only autoethno-

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graphic accounts could shed light on, as I was the only person with the access to such experiences. Such experiences could then also be analyzed and reflected on with my co-authors in response to the review process (Fernando et al., 2019). Ethical Implications Ethical considerations when studying gender issues apply to autoethnography as we involve others as the source of data or as co-participants (Ellis and Berger, 2003). Hernandez and Ngunjiri (2013: 269–70) suggest that university committees may be more concerned about the reliability and validity of data, and therefore both procedural issues and ethics in practice must be acknowledged. The former deals with formal applications to research committees for approval before the commencement of studies involving human subjects; this is a key step in ensuring that research adheres to broad ethical principles. The latter deals with the obligation of researchers to protect the identities and vulnerabilities of those involved or implicated in our studies, calling for critical reflection throughout the research process. Writing autoethnographies about gender issues in family businesses requires an ethical approach that honors and respects those we write about, while staying true to the meaning of the story (Giorgio, 2013: 413). Giorgio suggests that the ethical implications of conducting autoethnographic studies can be conceptualized as a “balancing act,” one that mediates and re-imagines what is remembered and told and that which is forgotten or left out. In multiple reflections this balancing act attends to each person in the story with gentle yet honest treatment, keeping the meaning of the story intact, while protecting those we write about. Moreover, Giorgio (2013: 415) argues that when we use memory as our data, we must take special care to work with it critically and responsibly. Writing from memory also reveals how elusive the memories of our experiences related to gender issues truly are; for we know that our memories are inaccurate “pixels” shared by others who may fairly contest their accuracy. Memories are intangibles, not static as we are not static, taking shape over time and reshaped by circumstances and conversations. Yet, Giorgio (2013) suggests that, when handled carefully and ethically, such memories reflect the lived experiences as a shared experience with multiple meanings and multiple reflections. Finally, Chang (2016: 52) argues that researchers should consider the personal, relational and institutional risks and responsibilities of doing autoethnography. Such engagement requires researchers to work with participants in a less researcher-centered and more participant-oriented way, treating participants humanely and respectfully before, during and after research projects (Adams et al., 2014). This chapter contributes to literature on research methods on gender and management by shedding light on a unique research method such as autoethnography. With autoethnography, family business and gender researchers can interpret a narrative of a family in business (Hamilton et al., 2017) according to their personal perspectives, without removing themselves from what is being studied. The researcher becomes an actor, and protagonist, of the study, and in doing so can understand the meaning of what they think, feel and do (Ellis and Bochner, 2000) in terms of their experiences.

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REFERENCES Acker, Joan (1992), ‘Gendering organizational theory’, in Albert Mills and Peta Tancred (eds), Gendering Organizational Analysis, London: Sage, pp. 248–60. Acker, Joan (1995), ‘Feminist goals and organising processes’, in Myra Marx Feree and Patricia Martin (eds), Feminist Organisations: Harvest of the New Women’s Movement, Philadelphia: Temple University Press, pp. 137–44. Acker, Joan (1998), ‘The future of “gender and organizations”: connections and boundaries’, Gender, Work & Organization 5(4), 195–206. Adams, Tony E., C. Ellis and S. H. Jones (2017), ‘Autoethnography’, in The International Encyclopedia of Communication Research Methods, American Cancer Society, pp. 1–11. DOI: 10.1002/9781118901731.iecrm0011. Adams, Tony E., S. H. Jones and C. Ellis (eds) (2014), Autoethnography: Understanding Qualitative Research. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ahl, H. and S. Marlow (2012), ‘Exploring the dynamics of gender, feminism and entrepreneurship: advancing debate to escape a dead end?’, Organization 19(5), 543–62. Alsos, G. A., S. Carter and E. Ljunggren (2014), ‘Kinship and business: how entrepreneurial households facilitate business growth’, Entrepreneurship & Regional Development 26(1–2), 97–122. Anderson, L. and B. Glass-Coffin (2013), ‘I learn by going’, in Stacy Holman Jones, Tony E. Adams and Carolyn Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography. New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 57–83. Badley, G. F. (2015), ‘Playful and serious adventures in academic writing’, Qualitative Inquiry 21(8), 711–19. Barrett, E. (2019), ‘Tied to the worldly work of writing: parent as ethnographer’, Journal of Intellectual Disabilities 23(2), 190–202. Besio, K. and D. Butz (2004), ‘Autoethnography: a limited endorsement’, The Professional Geographer 56(3), 432–8. Bochner, A. P. (2013). ‘Putting meanings into motions: autoethnography existential calling’, in Stacy Holman Jones, Tony E. Adams and Carolyn Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography. New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 50–56. Boyle, M. and K. Parry (2007), ‘Telling the whole story: the case for organizational autoethnography’, Culture and Organization 13(3), 185–90. Boylorn, R. M. (2014), ‘From here to there: how to use auto/ethnography to bridge difference’, International Review of Qualitative Research 7(3), 312–26. Butz, D. and K. Besio (2009), ‘Autoethnography’, Geography Compass 3(5), 1660–74. Chang, H. (2013), ‘Individual and collaborative autoethnography as method’, in Stacy Holman Jones, Tony E. Adams and Carolyn Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography, New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 107–22. Chang, H. (2016), Autoethnography as Method. New York: NY, Routledge. Clandinin, D. J. and F. M. Connelly (eds) (2000), Narrative Inquiry: Experience and Story in Qualitative Research. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass Publishers. Cooper, J. N., R. S. Grenier and C. Macaulay (2017), ‘Autoethnography as a critical approach in sport management: current applications and directions for future research’, Sport Management Review 20(1), 43–54. Craig, J. and K. Moores (2006), ‘A 10-year longitudinal investigation of strategy, systems, and environment on innovation in family firms’, Family Business Review 19(1), 1–10. Cramton, C. (1993), ‘Is rugged individualism the whole story? Public and private accounts of a firm’s founding’, Family Business Review 6(3), 233–61. Denzin, N. and Y. Lincoln (2005), ‘Introduction: the discipline and practice of qualitative research’, in Norman Denzin and Yvonna Lincoln (eds), The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research, 3rd edition. London: Sage, pp. 1–32.

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Díaz García, M.-C. and F. Welter (2013), ‘Gender identities and practices: interpreting women entrepreneurs’ narratives’, International Small Business Journal 31(4), 384–404. Discua Cruz, A., E. Hamilton and S. L. Jack (2019), ‘Understanding women’s entrepreneurial leadership in the context of families in business’, in Alexander-Stamatios Antoniou, Cary Cooper and Caroline Gatrell (eds), Women, Business and Leadership. Cheltenham, UK and Northampton, MA, USA: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 140–57. Doty, R. L. (2010), ‘Autoethnography – making human connections’, Review of International Studies 36(4), 1047–50. Dumas, C. (1998), ‘Women’s pathways to participation and leadership in the family-owned firm’, Family Business Review 11(3), 219–28. Ellis, C., T. E. Adams and A. P. Bochner (2011), ‘Autoethnography: an overview’, Historical Social Research/Historische Sozialforschung 36(4 (138)), 273–90. Ellis, C. and L. Berger (2003), ‘Their story/my story/our story’, in James Holstein and Jaber Gubrium (eds), Inside Interviewing: New Lenses, New Concerns. London: Sage, pp. 467–93. Ellis, C. and A. P. Bochner (2000), ‘Autoethnography, personal narrative, reflexivity: researcher as subject’, in Norman Denzin and Yvonna Lincoln (eds), Handbook of Qualitative Research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 733–68. Fernando, M., J. Reveley and M. Learmonth (2019), ‘Identity work by a non-white immigrant business scholar: autoethnographic vignettes of covering and accenting’, Human Relations, DOI: 10.1177/0018726719831070. Fletcher, D. (2002), ‘A network perspective of cultural organising and “professional management” in the small, family business’, Journal of Small business and Enterprise Development 9(4), 400–415. Fletcher, D., A. De Massis and M. Nordqvist (2016), ‘Qualitative research practices and family business scholarship: a review and future research agenda’, Journal of Family Business Strategy 7(1), 8–25. Fletcher, J. and R. Ely (2003), ‘Introducing gender’, in Robin J. Ely, Erica Foldy and Maureen Scully (eds), Reader in Gender, Work and Organization. Malden, MA: Blackwell, pp. 3–9. Gatrell, C. and E. Swan (eds) (2008), Gender and Diversity Management: A Concise Introduction. London: Sage. Giorgio, Grace A. (2013), ‘Reflections on writing through memory in autoethnography’, in Stacy Holman Jones, Tony E. Adams and Carolyn Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography. New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 406–24. Gupta, V., N. Levenburg, L. Moore, J. Motwani and T. Schwarz (eds) (2008), Culturally Sensitive Models of Family Businesses in Latin America: A Compendium on the Family Business Models Around the World. Hyderabad: ICFAI University Press. Guyotte, K. W. and N. W. Sochacka (2016), ‘Is this research? Productive tensions in living the (collaborative) autoethnographic process’, International Journal of Qualitative Methods 15(1). DOI: 10.1177/1609406916631758. Hamilton, E. (2006), ‘Whose story is it anyway? Narrative accounts of the role of women in founding and establishing family businesses’, International Small Business Journal 24(3), 253–71. Hamilton, E. (2013a), ‘The discourse of entrepreneurial masculinities (and femininities)’, Entrepreneurship and Regional Development 25(1–2), 90–99. Hamilton, E. (2013b), Entrepreneurship Across Generations: Narrative, Gender and Learning in Family Business. Cheltenham, UK and Northampton, MA, USA: Edward Elgar Publishing. Hamilton, E. (2014), ‘Entrepreneurial narrative identity and gender: a double epistemological shift’, Journal of Small Business Management 52(4), 703–12.

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Hamilton E., A. Discua Cruz and S. Jack (2017), ‘Re-framing the status of narrative in family business research: towards an understanding of families in business’, Journal of Family Business Strategy 8(1): 3–12. Henry, C., L. Foss and H. Ahl (2016), ‘Gender and entrepreneurship research: a review of methodological approaches’, International Small Business Journal 34(3), 217–41. Hernandez, K. C and F. W. Ngunjiri (2013), ‘Relationships and communities in autoethnography’, in Stacy Holman Jones, Tony E. Adams and Carolyn Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography. New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 262–80. Holman Jones, S., T. E. Adams and C. Ellis (eds) (2013), Handbook of Autoethnography. New York, NY: Routledge. Holt, N. L. (2003), ‘Representation, legitimation, and autoethnography: an autoethnographic writing story’, International Journal of Qualitative Methods 2(1), 18–28. Howorth, C., S. Tempest and C. Coupland (2005), ‘Rethinking entrepreneurship methodology and definitions of the entrepreneur’, Journal of Small Business and Enterprise Development 12(1), 231–44. Howorth, C., M. Rose, E. Hamilton and P. Westhead (2010), ‘Family firm diversity and development: an introduction’, International Small Business Journal 28(5), 437–51. IFERA (2003), ‘Family businesses dominate: international family enterprise research academy (IFERA)’, Family Business Review 16(4), 235–41. Karra, N. and N. Phillips (2008), ‘Researching “back home”: international management research as autoethnography’, Organizational Research Methods 11(3), 541–61. Knijnik, J. (2015), ‘Feeling at home: an autoethnographic account of an immigrant football fan in Western Sydney’, Leisure Studies 34(1), 34–41. Kuehne, G. (2012), ‘My decision to sell the family farm’, Agriculture and Human Values 30(2), 203–13. Martinez Jimenez, R. (2009), ‘Research on women in family firms: current status and future directions’, Family Business Review 22(1), 53–64. McClellan, P. (2012), ‘Race, gender, and leadership identity: an autoethnography of reconciliation’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education 25(1), 89–100. McIlveen, P. (2008), ‘Autoethnography as a method for reflexive research and practice in vocational psychology’, Australian Journal of Career Development 17(2), 13–20. McParland, S. (2013), ‘The gender game: rewriting the rules of basketball through autoethnography’, Sport History Review 44(1), 25–37. Meek, William R. (2010), ‘The role of family member support in entrepreneurial entry, continuance, and exit: an autoethnography’, in A. Stewart, G. T. Lumpkin and J. Katz (eds), Entrepreneurship and Family Business (Advances in Entrepreneurship, Firm Emergence and Growth, Vol. 12). Bingley: Emerald Group Publishing, pp. 87–111. Melin, Leif, Mattias Nordqvist and Pramodita Sharma (eds) (2014), The SAGE Handbook of Family Business. London: Sage. Metz, J. L. (2011), ‘Dancing in the shadows of war: pedagogical reflections on the performance of gender normativity and racialized masculinity’, Cultural Studies ↔ Critical Methodologies 11(6), 565–73. Miles, Matthew B., A. Michael Huberman and Johnny Saldana (2013), Qualitative Data Analysis: A Methods Sourcebook, 3rd edition. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Mingé, Jeanine M. (2013), ‘Mindful autoethnography, local knowledges: lessons from family’, in Stacy Holman Jones, Tony E. Adams and Carolyn Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography. New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 425–42. Poulos, Christopher N. (2013), ‘Writing my way through memory, autoethnography, identity, hope’, in Stacy Holman Jones, Tony E. Adams and Carolyn Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography. New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 465–77. Pratt, M. G. (2009), ‘For the lack of a boilerplate: tips on writing up (and reviewing) qualitative research’, Academy of Management Journal 52(5), 856–62.

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Rambo, C. (2005), ‘Impressions of grandmother: an autoethnographic portrait’, Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 34(5), 560–85. Reed-Danahay, Deborah (1997), Auto/ethnography: Rewriting the Self and the Social. Oxford: Berg. Richardson, Diane and Victoria Robinson (2008), Introducing Gender and Women’s Studies, 3rd edition. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Rosa, P., C. Howorth and A. Discua Cruz (2014), ‘Habitual and portfolio entrepreneurship and the family in business’, in Leif Melin, Mattias Nordqvist and Pramodita Sharma (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Family Business. London: Sage, pp. 364–82. Sobre-Denton, M. S. (2012), ‘Stories from the cage: autoethnographic sensemaking of workplace bullying, gender discrimination, and white privilege’, Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 41(2), 220–50. Spry, T. (2001), ‘Performing autoethnography: an embodied methodological praxis’, Qualitative Inquiry 7(6), 706–32. Stead, Valerie (2017), ‘Belonging and women entrepreneurs: women’s navigation of gendered assumptions in entrepreneurial practice’, International Small Business Journal 35(1), 61–77. Stead, Valerie and Eleanor Hamilton (2018), ‘Using critical methodologies to examine entrepreneurial leadership’, in Richard T. Harrison and Claire Leitch (eds), Research Handbook on Entrepreneurship and Leadership. Cheltenham, UK and Northampton, MA, USA: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 87–105. Stewart, K. (2013), ‘An autoethnography of what happens’, in Stacy Holman Jones, Tony E. Adams and Carolyn Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography. New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 659–68. Wharton, Amy S. (2005), The Sociology of Gender: An Introduction to Theory and Research. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. Yarborough, J. P. and K. B. Lowe (2007), ‘Unlocking foreclosed beliefs: an autoethnographic story about a family business leadership dilemma’, Culture and Organization 13(3), 239–49.

PART II PRACTICAL APPROACHES

4. Focus group use in gender research aimed at program innovation Maylon Hanold

Researching women’s experiences in organizations can be complex because gender as a social construction means that gender is lived uniquely by individuals through a combination of cultural and biological experiences. On the one hand, gender shapes workplaces because attributes and behaviors associated with men and women produce stereotypes and expectations about roles that are reproduced in the workplace (Koburtay et al., 2019). On the other hand, individuals have an internal felt sense of gender based on the extent to which they are connected to ‘woman-ness’ and ‘man-ness’ based both on social constructions of gender which intersect with their biological sex of female and male (Hyde et al., 2019). Furthermore, gender overlaps with other deep level and social identities, resulting in highly individualized experiences. Although research has identified many discriminatory practices and unconscious biases that predictably emerge in workplaces (Steele Flippin, 2017), we know much less about women’s micro-level experiences. Focus groups offer the possibility of looking deeper into these variations. The format allows researchers to be deliberate in the make-up of the focus group while allowing for multiple views to emerge via highly interactive and spontaneous interactions. The knowledge that is co-created through the focus group contributes more nuanced understandings of how women experience organizations. In this chapter, I describe one approach to employing focus groups in which the aim was to generate ideas for programmatic changes that would lead to ‘confidence’ building. The context was a graduate sport management for young professional women looking to work in the sport industry. Recent research about women’s experiences in sport management programs suggests that these women face social exclusion and overt questioning by men classmates as to their legitimacy as sport management majors and eventual employees in sport organizations (Sauder et al., 2018). Given the masculine normed culture of sport and the persistent questioning of women’s legitimate place in sport workplaces, there is little culturally or institutionally that provides women the foundation upon which to be ‘confident’ that they can not only work but also become effective leaders in sport. Focus groups were employed to learn more about how these young women understand and experience confidence, a highly complex and individualized phenomenon. The focus group provided an interactive platform to build on each other’s ideas, explore meanings, share experiences and become part of the process for making program improvements. The hope was that through this participatory process, meaningful and practical strategies 57

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could emerge that would contribute to building confidence as part of their preparation for working in a highly masculine industry.

FOCUS GROUP ORIGINS As early as the 1920s, group interviewing, later known as focus groups, was a research technique or method used to collect qualitative data in academic research. Focus groups were viewed as an effective data collection method because it adhered to the scientific process but attended to the ‘local knowledge’ of participants (Cornwall & Jewkes, 1995). Primarily used in the social sciences such as sociology and psychology in the early 1900s, focus groups have a history of being a technique that is highly useful for getting at a wide range of lived experiences. Despite this early adoption of focus groups in the academic setting, few studies using this technique were published from 1950 to 1980. Morgan (2011) speculates that academic researchers became more interested in interviews and participant-observation and simply ‘neglected’ focus groups. In the business context, focus groups have been a regular part of marketing efforts to learn more about people’s opinions and preferences. Typically, focus groups are considered an efficient way to gather responses to ad campaigns, get feedback on products or understand opinions on services in order to adjust marketing messages or refine products and services (Goldman & McDonald, 1987; Morgan et al., 1998). In this setting, focus groups are considered to be cost-effective ways to reach a wide audience in a short period of time. In contrast to the academic setting, facilitators in business focus groups often gather a diverse group of people in order to get a wide range of views and opinions about a particular advertisement, product or service. Whether in the academic or business context, focus groups have been found to generate deeper understandings of groups of people. Since the 1980s, focus groups have grown in popularity and been a common method of data collection in areas such as media studies (Foxwell, 2012; Lunt & Livingstone, 1996), communication (Greeff & Barker, 2014; Jansz et al., 2015), and education (Kearney & Maher, 2019). For instance, focus groups have been used to gain deeper understandings of lived experiences from historically marginalized groups such as LGBTQ populations (Reisner et al., 2018), culturally diverse groups (Calderon et al., 2000) and women (Jackson et al., 2005; O’Shaughnessy & Krogman, 2012). For these marginalized populations, focus groups have been used to reform curricula and be an effective method for conducting needs assessment for programming across a range of organizations. Thus, focus groups are an effective method for drawing on lived experiences around marginalized social identities, such as gender, to inform organizational processes and workplace initiatives.

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FOCUS GROUPS AS A QUALITATIVE DATA COLLECTION METHOD Morgan (1996) defines focus groups as “a research technique that collects data through group interaction on a topic determined by the researcher” (p. 130). The key feature of a focus group compared to other group discussions is that the discussion is led and guided by a researcher. Similar to interviews, the researcher asks questions about a particular phenomenon that participants answer. In this instance, the phenomenon being explored was ‘confidence.’ Instead of the researcher and participant going back and forth with new or follow-up questions, other participants become part of the process. One aim of the focus group is to get the group to a place where the participants are responding and building off each other’s thoughts and perceptions. Because the researcher moderates the discussion, focus groups are dependent upon the natural interplay of participants (Morgan et al., 2008). This aspect distinguishes focus groups from naturally occurring conversations, which are entirely spontaneous. The strength of a focus group is the ability of the researcher to explore a specific phenomenon (in this instance, confidence) in a context that lies somewhere between the formal interview and an informal conversation that a researcher might encounter during participant-observation. While the interactive dynamics result in much more spontaneous conversations than in one on one interviews, focus groups are structured and planned. This approach was particularly helpful in determining the various ways that confidence was defined, how it developed, when it was lacking and how participants responded in situations of feeling not confident. That is, the focus group allowed the researcher to keep the discussion focused on confidence, but also allowed multiple aspects of confidence to emerge. Although these various perspectives may have emerged during in-depth interviews and participant observation, the focus group was a highly efficient process taking less time than the other methods. Focus groups are useful for gathering data that meets a variety of qualitative research aims. For instance, focus groups can be used as the only data collection method or function as a way to gather comparative data (Morgan & Bottorff, 2010). As the only data collection method for gaining a deeper understanding of lived experiences, focus groups can be effective means for engaging underserved communities in action research (Makosky Daley et al., 2010; Mkandawire-Valhmu & Stevens, 2010). This approach allows the participants to express thoughts among people similar to themselves, often resulting in confirmation of their collective experiences which creates a sense of psychological safety. In this approach, possible intentions of researchers may be to inform policymakers, provide a report, or allow communities to determine their own best practices around a particular challenge or issue (Morgan & Bottorff, 2010). In addition, focus groups are highly effective in discerning discursive constructions; that is, how meaning is constructed within a particular group of people. Researchers can explore the connections among different perspectives that participants make themselves due to the highly relational nature of the focus group (Inglis, 1992). Finally, focus groups can provide a way to compare data, which allows for deeper and nuanced understandings of a topic. For example, focus group data can

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be compared to a collection of individual interviews, which functions as a form of triangulation. Focus groups can also be compared to each other for the purpose of analyzing different perspectives (Barbour & Kitzinger, 1999). For example, Moen, Antonov, Nilsson and Ring (2010) conducted separate focus groups with patients and doctors to explore any differences in qualities of interactions. Focus groups can also be an effective means of triangulation. Frequently used in conjunction with interviews, surveys, observation and participant-observation in case studies or ethnographic research, focus groups provide an efficient means to explore researchers’ emerging thoughts about a phenomenon. Finally, focus groups allow for a wide array of methods and approaches to be used within this structure such as concept mapping and vignettes, introduction of materials such as music and images, and even inclusion of participants in the analysis of data (Morgan & Bottorff, 2010).

EXPLORING THE IMPORTANT, BUT NOT EASILY DESCRIBED Focus groups are useful for revealing participants’ perspectives about phenomena that are widely understood as being important but about which little is known or easily described (Küpers, 2015; Morgan, 2007). In other words, they are particularly useful when wanting to learn about opinions, concerns, experiences and desires of groups of people and how those perspectives are constructed. In comparison to other qualitative methods of data collection, Morgan (2011) argues that focus groups are less naturalistic than participant-observation, but more naturalistic than interviews. There are several advantages to collecting data in a naturalistic but focused setting. First, the focused aspect of the data collection allows researchers to keep the discussion centered on a particular topic or phenomenon. Second, due the fact that they “shift the balance of power away from the researcher towards the research participants” (Barbour & Kitzinger, 1999, p. 65), participants are much more likely to be open about a particular topic. Third, this spontaneity results in a natural fluidity as participants not only respond to the researcher’s questions, but also compare their own experiences to others’ in the group. As different perspectives are articulated, participants naturally build off of each other, which brings forth deeper articulations of a phenomenon. Such interplay of perspectives allows for deeper meanings to emerge such as how participants view a particular phenomenon, why they have that particular perspective and how they construct meaning around those perspectives (Barbour & Kitzinger, 1999; Inglis, 1992; Morgan, 2007). Focus groups have been especially helpful in understanding how experiences that are assumed to be widely understood may be nuanced and different for individuals in marginalized social identities. Due to the non-hierarchical and highly contextualized process, focus groups have been considered an appropriate means by which to explore women’s experiences, especially from a feminist perspective (Barbour & Kitzinger, 1999). With respect to the above advantages, I detail the focus group method for qualitative data collection using examples from a research project that explores how women

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understand and experience confidence. The focus group provides the platform for women to explore the ways they experience a particular phenomenon with other women, such that nuances and micro-level understandings come to the surface. Kay and Shipman (2014) highlighted confidence as something that women in the workplace should develop in order to attain desired leadership roles. They argued that a lack of confidence was keeping women working in the shadows of successful male counterparts because they were less likely to self-promote and make others aware of their accomplishments. In other words, confidence was something women should work on by owning their accomplishments in a public way. However, more recent research suggests that women feel just as confident as their male counterparts (Guillén et al., 2018). Lindeman, Durik and Dooley (2019) noted that some women may experience cognitive dissonance when they self-promote if they believe this behavior is inconsistent with how they should behave. Furthermore, they also note that women often experience backlash when they take on ‘confidence’ as an action to self-promote, resulting in the opposite of what they set out to achieve. In this instance, ‘confidence’ to self-promote can be at odds with her self-efficacy, which is the belief that one can influence outcomes or accomplish a task (Bandura, 1997). While self-efficacy is a measured psychological construct, confidence is a phenomenon that is widely talked about but difficult to describe and emerging as a highly complex experience for women. It is the social construction of ‘women’ versus ‘men’ that creates these questions of legitimacy for women students, not biological differences in skill sets, content knowledge, or aptitude for becoming leaders in sport organizations (Norman, 2010). These views, whether conscious or not, shape how women are treated, supported and valued in the workplace, which in turn influences their confidence. To learn more about how women experience confidence, that is, to dive deeper into their own felt senses of confidence, the focus group method facilitated insights into not only the state of feeling confident, but more importantly to the research aims of understanding how confidence might be supported better within a sport management graduate program.

ENGAGING THE FOCUS GROUP METHOD Preparation and Recruitment Preparing for the focus group involves steps similar to other data collection methods as well as a few distinct aspects. Once focus groups have been selected as either the only or one of several data collection methods, preparation begins with determining an easy way to frame the aims of the study. Being able to articulate the research aims in non-technical or academic language provides greater clarity to prospective participants about what to expect should they decide to participate. While this aspect is crucial in any research, it is particularly important given that focus groups are by definition a group setting. Clarity and transparency help potential participants make

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a better choice about whether or not they would be comfortable discussing sensitive issues in that setting. In the instance of understanding confidence among women enrolled in a graduate-level sport management program, I paid particular attention to clarity and transparency about the purpose of the focus group. First, I made it clear that the topic, confidence, was a phenomenon which we all assume we understand, but about which we know little among women enrolled in sport management programs. Second, I talked openly about the fact that the process would be interactive so that they could build on each other’s ideas. This transparency helped prospective participants feel as though they would play a significant role in producing knowledge about the topic. This aspect was particularly important to this age group, which has “an enterprising spirit and wants to influence the world” (Andrea et al., 2016, p. 94). One of the key steps is determining the participant profile. Focus groups work best when they are fairly homogeneous. That is, bringing together individuals who share at least one common social identity and have shared a common experience is likely to provide in-depth information about a very specific phenomenon (Woods-Giscombé, 2010). Although used widely in other qualitative research data collection methods, purposive sampling is key to participant recruiting in focus groups. Purposive sampling means that participants are chosen because of specific characteristics (Etikan et al., 2016). These attributes are deliberate choices and nonrandom depending on whose perspectives are desired. In the case of focus groups, homogeneous sampling regarding certain characteristics was critical to the relevance of the data collected. In general, determining the participant profile can be based on a range of social identities and contexts, but generally both aspects are critical to identify as the combination will result in slightly more homogeneous groups. The more specific these are, the better the information that is likely to be gathered about these particular groups. For example, I was interested in talking not only to women pursuing graduate degrees in sport management, but women in a specific program, since the aim was to understand more about what experiences beyond the classroom might be developed to help support women and their aspirations of working in sport. The social identity salient to my research was gender, so I did not limit other social identities such as race, ethnicity and sexual orientation. Here, the context was the primary concern as the specificity of program improvement narrowed the context considerably. Ultimately, the variables to consider are many, but within the context of research with women, deliberate choices should be made when thinking about which women should be part of the focus group, keeping social identity and context in mind. Once the message about what the research entails is clear and the recruiting profile has been determined, the next step is to find potential participants and make final selections. In the case of my study, the participants were graduate-level students in a single sport management program. Thus, the recruiting process was as simple as a direct email sent out in which I explained the topic, process and time expectations. In other cases in which the recruiting profile is less context-specific, putting up flyers in places where the particular demographic is highly likely to be found is a common practice. For example, in her study exploring the phenomenon of the ‘strong black

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woman,’ Woods-Giscombé (2010) distributed flyers strategically at locations known to serve the local African American community such as a historically black university campus, hair salons and civic centers. Once potential participants express interest, the use of a screening questionnaire (Jarrett, 1993; Woods-Giscombé, 2010) can be used to be sure that participants meet your specific requirements. Asking simple questions about their background can help sort participants. It is often the case that multiple contexts are desired, so this process can also help create several different focus groups that are each homogeneous. For example, after Woods-Giscombé (2010) collected questionnaires, she used that information to create eight different focus groups based on specific demographic details among black women in a specific community. After selecting participants, giving participants more information about the topic to be explored prior to the focus group session helps ‘sensitize’ the participants to the topic, allowing them some time to ‘mull it over’ and bring more ideas to the session (Zeller, 1993). This approach can be helpful for participants who function better with some time to ponder versus thinking on the fly (Chase, 2000). Conducting the Focus Group While there is some recent exploration with conducting virtual focus groups (Nicholas et al., 2010; Tuttas, 2015), the reliance on the relational and interactive process to elicit data makes the in-person focus group a preferred format. The ideal number of participants varies, but 5–10 has been found to be a good range (Nicholas et al., 2010; Nyumba et al. 2018). The group should be large enough to have multiple perspectives emerge, but small enough that everyone feels as though they get a chance to speak and be heard. I found that 5–6 participants is a good size for accomplishing these aims. An additional consideration was the fact that most of my participants were enrolled in the same graduate program and most had many years of playing on sports teams. Thus, these women already had a comfort level with each other and in a group setting. This aspect meant that they were very engaged in the conversation. Having more than six participants would have likely extended the focus group session time as they all had much to contribute to the conversation. In general, Morgan (2011) suggests that recruiting 2–3 more participants than is ideal is a good practice since there is likely to be attrition on the day the focus group is scheduled. In addition, expect the focus group to last 90–120 minutes. Determining the setting for the focus group is another important consideration. Traditional focus groups are often conducted in highly private settings with groups in circles in a room and either audio or video recorded with the facilitator asking questions. I decided to conduct the focus group in a setting that was different from the classroom, which would set up the psychological assumptions inherent in classroom settings. I used a room in the business school reserved for higher level administrative meetings such as the university cabinet, advisory boards and department meetings. The aim here was to destabilize the dynamic of the social construction of the word ‘study’ and ‘classroom’ by engaging directly in the process of curriculum design in a space that was reserved for higher level decision-making (Makosky Daley et al.,

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2010). Pointing out the significance of the space we were in provided a context that let the participants know their voices mattered. In particular, I made it clear that the design process was about confidence and how to develop it within an educational program. I also employed several tactics such as question-storming (Gregersen, 2018) and concept mapping (Guichard et al., 2017). To illustrate how these techniques integrated with the focus group method, I describe the basic flow of the focus group, which lasted two hours. First, I began the session with the simple open-ended question: “What is confidence?” In other groups, there is likely the need for a simple icebreaker activity or question because the group members do not necessarily know each other. Initially, one participant said that “knowing you can do something” was an element of confidence. Other participants nodded and there seemed to be agreement on this aspect of confidence. After about 15 minutes, I asked participants to think of as many questions about ‘confidence’ as they could. Participants listed the questions on a flip chart that was placed next to the table around which we all sat. The questions were generally about why confidence matters, how it develops, and whether or not it is based on internal, external or both kinds of conditions. Because I had prepared an extensive list of interview questions, I was able to interject from time to time with a few questions that guided general topics. For instance, I introduced the question, “Where does confidence comes from?” From this, participants generated more specific questions, such as: “Is confidence an internal thing? Does confidence depend on others? How is confidence built? Why do guys seem to have confidence?” and “How much is confidence about accomplishments?” This step was crucial because it helped participants think beyond their initial thoughts about confidence. While there was considerable jumping back and forth among the questions, the written questions kept the discussion focused on the phenomenon well. As answers to the questions were explored, the concept of confidence became significantly less of a coherent experience and nuances emerged out of commonalities. For example, the questions about where confidence comes from revealed multiple and sometimes contradictory beliefs. All participants spoke about their upbringing as a key to their confidence. Some mentioned the work ethic that was instilled growing up, others talked about their faith in god as being a grounding factor for confidence, and one mentioned that she was not exactly sure where her confidence came from, but that she had always been driven by proving people wrong. Nuances along the lines of race and ethnicity surfaced as these women built on one another’s stories. Lucy, who self-identified as a black woman, talked about how her mother always told her that she would have to work harder than all the other white women and men in school in order to attain success. She connected her confidence to being prepared. However, she also expressed frustration in that she noticed that other students would come into class on test day boasting how they did not study. At this point, I asked who those other students were. She sighed and said, “White men.” She continued, “I don’t know how they do it, but I wish I didn’t feel as though I need be so prepared, but I do, and accepting myself in terms of knowing what works from me helps with my confidence.” At that point, Martha spoke directly to her whiteness and

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her experience of growing up attending schools that were predominantly black and Hispanic. She commented, “Wow, my experience is so different because of being white even though I grew up with mostly black girls. I wish I had that work ethic, but I’m never prepared.” After talking about how these work habits add stress in her life, another participant asked how she can be confident. She replied, “My faith in god. I just know at the end of the day it’ll all work out.” Susan drew on the mention of religion and connected to race and ethnicity, describing her early experiences of confidence. She noted that as a Latina growing up in East Los Angeles, her family was religious because it was part of her culture. Then, she shifted to the cultural narrative she grew up with in that particular suburb of Los Angeles. She described confidence as growing out of the fact that she knew her family loved her, but that she was always told that she would be a mom at 15 years old. She went on to explain, “I don’t know why, but when people tell me I can’t do something, I get this adrenaline going and, I don’t know how it works, but I get fired up and I want to prove them wrong.” The natural flow of conversation that the focus group method facilitated brought forth widely different understandings of where confidence comes from as participants had the freedom to connect to any thread they found salient. In this instance, race and ethnicity was a thread that the participants drew on without the interjection of the researcher. As the differences were highlighted, the focus group format also elicited strong commonalities. I asked how these different experiences help them be confident in their current internships in sport organizations. They all believed they were just as capable as any man, and they were all keenly aware that the system did not always treat women and men similarly in terms of job opportunities and responsibility. However, because most of them viewed challenges in the sport domain as cultural, they did not view these as a personal lack despite the fact that their daily confidence would wax and wane. They talked about an underlying confidence that “was always there,” but that on a daily basis they would “get knocked down.” I asked directly about how confidence played into their resilience. As former athletes, they drew on sport examples and how they had similar self-talk or beliefs that the current situation was temporary. Here, the similar background as women and as former athletes elicited similar attitudes toward confidence and its role in resilience. As a data collection method, focus groups can be part of a range of research designs, approaches and techniques. The critical distinction is that the particular phenomenon to be explored remains in the forefront. In order to keep the phenomenon in the forefront of the discussion and elicit multiple views, the researcher needs to be prepared to not only ask content questions but also manage the process. This process is very similar to preparing interview questions for individual interviews. However, in the focus group, the ability of the researcher to know all the questions ahead of time in order to avoid reading them verbatim is critical to creating a more natural, relational setting (Greenbaum, 1998). It is preferable to be prepared with specific ways to get the conversation back to the focus should it digress too far or become fixated on one aspect. This may mean looking for the in-between moments to interject another question or redirect the conversation back to the topic. One example

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of this redirection technique was when participants began talking extensively about sport and the confidence that built. As a researcher, I knew the common narrative about how sport builds confidence, and it was easy to identify the point at which this narrative was gaining momentum. As I noticed this, I wanted to bring the conversation back to more nuanced understandings about the sport connection to confidence. I interjected with, “Tell me how sport didn’t help with your confidence.” This question prompted an inflection point at which participants shifted conversations to the physicality of confidence. For example, Lucy talked about how although she identified as a black woman, her body did not look like the typical black athlete. She talked about how she developed a lack of confidence because although her body aligned more with “white beauty,” it did not align with her primary identity as a black athlete. She added that learning to own her body and resist comparisons through self-awareness and self-talk became acts of confidence and improved overall confidence. Martha noticed the reference to Lucy’s body and built on her story. She added that she experienced disparaging comments as a white girl playing basketball. However, she noted differences in how she responded to those comments. She said, “I’m not someone who processes easily with words. What works for me is to get a hug from a teammate, to walk together, not talking, when things are tough.” Here, the focus group format allowed for the researcher to redirect conversation, but still hold the spontaneity of group conversation in order to bring forth more nuanced understandings. While focus groups are primarily a facilitated discussion, they have the flexibility to include all kinds of activities. In this study, one aim was to explore what activities might be helpful to support women in a sport management program that would help develop and shape their confidence in a masculine domain. For this reason, I incorporated a concept mapping activity. I asked participants to identify the key concepts in confidence and how it is developed. Then using these concepts, create a ‘map’ that shows how the concepts are related. As participants identified discrete concepts, the lines and connections among them became messy. Participants noted that there were so many ways that confidence was sustained, brought back, and experienced. As the map developed, I asked, “What activities should we be doing in the program to attend to confidence as women working in sport?” Initially, responses were tentative in that the complexity was so great that they could not identify specifics things that could be done. They noted that their own backgrounds, families, current work opportunities, mentors and experiences all contributed to their confidence. Eventually, as they recalled the past 80 minutes, one participant said, “This, this is what we should be doing. Talking with each other, learning more intimately about our experiences.” Several others added that an informal group that was not tied to official program options would be useful and an important addition to their graduate experience. I left much more aware of what was possible to discuss along the lines of confidence as well as what format these discussions should take moving forward.

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CHALLENGES AND ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS The primary challenges of focus groups are logistical. First, getting people together for a one- to two-hour focus group session can be very difficult. The barrier is that potential participants need to find the topic compelling enough to be willing to allocate that amount of time. Often, monetary or other forms of compensation need to be considered (Morgan, 2011; Woods-Giscombé, 2010). Second, finding a time and place for the session presents real challenges. People are busy and schedules can be difficult to align. Utilizing time management and calendar tools can help with this. If participants are meeting face to face, location can be a challenge. Is the location easily accessible for participants? Timing around workdays creates other questions to consider, such as are participants traveling during rush hour, taking time off work, or willing to dedicate a weekend day? Other significant challenges revolve around the inherent nature of groups. Sim and Waterfield (2019) note that focus groups face a unique set of ethical challenges. The question of confidentiality is unique in focus groups. By nature, confidentiality in focus groups is much more difficult to ensure. In fact, it is better for researchers to fully disclose that there is no guarantee of confidentiality. During the actual session, it is best to provide clear rules and expectations about confidentiality and directly stating that opinions and ideas shared in the session are to be kept confidential. In addition, the group dynamic can make it difficult for a participant to contribute ideas because they may be reluctant to articulate ‘polarizing’ views or agree too quickly (Morgan, 2011). As a result, it is possible for only a few people to dominate the discussion. As a facilitator, it is imperative to be ready to invite others gently into the conversation, ask dominant participants to allow others to speak and introduce any new questions at appropriate times or be clear about the transition. Finally, talking about sensitive issues such as those related to gender as a social identity can create vulnerability. Sim and Waterfield (2019) note that embarrassment, stigmatization or discrimination may occur more easily in focus groups due to the public sharing of information. One aspect that mitigated this challenge for the focus group highlighted in this chapter was that participants were already familiar with each other, they were all interested in similar career paths, and most of them had been athletes growing up.

FINAL REMARKS This chapter details the focus group method as a “pragmatic approach” (Morgan & Bottorff, 2010) to understanding complex and paradoxical experiences. Specifically, focus groups can be useful in reconsidering how to shape programs intended to prepare young women for the workplace. More importantly, the focus group can be effective at exploring hard to describe attributes such as ‘confidence.’ It allows participants themselves to define and detail what matters to them in terms of developing, maintaining or building an attribute such as confidence. Although there are key challenges and ethical issues to address, the flexibility of focus groups in terms of

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specific techniques and activities provides an efficient format for gathering relevant, practical information that can inform curricula and programs designed to help young women navigate the workplace.

REFERENCES Andrea, B., H. C. Gabriella and J. Tímea (2016), ‘Y and Z generations at workplaces’, Journal of Competitiveness, 8(3), 90–106. Bandura, A. (1997), Self-efficacy: The Exercise of Control, New York: W.H. Freeman and Company. Barbour, R. and J. Kitzinger (eds) (1999), Developing Focus Group Research: Politics, Theory, and Practice, London: Sage Publications. Calderon, J., R. Baker and K. Wolf (2000), ‘Focus groups: a qualitative method complementing quantitative research for studying culturally diverse groups’, Education for Health, 13(1), 91–5. Chase, L. A. J. (2000), ‘Internet research: the role of the focus group’, Library & Information Science Research, 22, 357–69. Cornwall, A. and R. Jewkes (1995), ‘What is participatory research?’, Social Science and Medicine, 41(12), 1667–76. Etikan, I., S. A. Musa and R. S. Alkassim (2016), ‘Comparison of convenience sampling and purposive sampling’, American Journal of Theoretical and Applied Statistics, 5(1), 1–4. Foxwell, K. (2012), ‘Community radio in an Australian city: the Melbourne experience’, Radio Journal: International Studies in Broadcast & Audio Media, 10(2), 161–72. Goldman, A. E. and S. S. McDonald (1987), The Group Depth Interview: Principles and Practice, Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall. Greenbaum, T. (1998), The Handbook for Focus Group Research (2nd edn, rev. and expanded). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Gregersen, H. (2018), ‘Better brainstorming’, Harvard Business Review, 96(2), 64–71. Greeff, W. J. and R. Barker (2014). ‘Communicating for survival in the mining and construction industries: northern conversations and southern contextualisations’, Communicatio, 40(2), 191–205. Guichard, A., É. Tardieu, C. Dagenais, K. Nour, G. Lafontaine and V. Ridde (2017), ‘Use of concurrent mixed methods combining concept mapping and focus groups to adapt a health equity tool in Canada’, Evaluation & Program Planning, 61, 169–77. Guillén, L., M. Mayo and N. Karelaia (2018), ‘Appearing self‐confident and getting credit for it: why it may be easier for men than women to gain influence at work’, Human Resource Management, 57(4), 839–54. Hyde, J. S., R. S. Bigler, D. Joel, C. C. Tate and S. M. van Anders (2019), ‘The future of sex and gender in psychology: five challenges to the gender binary’, American Psychologist, 74(2), 171–93. Inglis, S. (1992), ‘Focus groups as a useful qualitative methodology in sport management’, Journal of Sport Management, 6(3), 173–8. Jackson, F. M., C. R. Hogue and M. T. Phillips (2005), ‘The development of a race and gender-specific stress measure for African-American women: Jackson, Hogue, Phillips contextualized stress measure’, Ethnicity & Disease, 15(4), 594–600. Jansz, J., M. Slot, S. Tol and R. Verstraeten (2015), ‘Everyday creativity: consumption, participation, production, and communication by teenagers in the Netherlands’, Journal of Children & Media, 9(2), 143–59. Jarrett, R. L. (1993), ‘Focus group interviewing with low-income minority populations: a research experience’, in David L. Morgan (ed.), Successful Focus Groups: Advancing

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the State of the Art, Sage focus editions, Vol. 156, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, pp. 84–201. Kay, K. and C. Shipman (2014), The Confidence Code: The Science and Art of Self, New York: HarperCollins Publishers. Kearney, M. and D. Maher (2019), ‘Mobile learning in pre-service teacher education: examining the use of professional learning networks’, Australasian Journal of Educational Technology, 35(1), 135–48. Koburtay, T., J. Syed and R. Haloub (2019), ‘Congruity between the female gender role and the leader role: a literature review’, European Business Review, 31(6), 831–48. Küpers, W. (2015), Phenomenology for Embodied Organization: The Contribution of Merleau-Ponty for a Carnal Organisation Studies and Practice, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Lindeman, M. I., A. M. Durik and M. Dooley (2019), ‘Women and self-promotion: a test of three theories’, Psychological Reports, 122(1), 219–30. Lunt, P. and S. Livingstone (1996), ‘Rethinking the focus group in media and communications research’, Journal of Communication, 46(2), 79–98. Makosky Daley, C., A. S. James, E. Ulrey, S. Joseph, A. Talawyma, W. S. Choi and M. K. Coe (2010), ‘Using focus groups in community-based participatory research: challenges and resolutions’, Qualitative Health Research, 20(5), 697–706. Mkandawire-Valhmu, L. and P. E. Stevens (2010), ‘The critical value of focus group discussions in research with women living with HIV in Malawi’, Qualitative Health Research, 20(5), 684–96. Moen, J., K. Antonov, J. L. G. Nilsson and L. Ring (2010), ‘Interaction between participants in focus groups with older patients and general practitioners’, Qualitative Health Research, 20(5), 607–16. Morgan, D. L. (1996), ‘Focus groups’, Annual Review of Sociology, 22(1), 129–52. Morgan, D. L. (2007), ‘Paradigms lost and pragmatism regained: methodological implication of combining qualitative and quantitative methods’, Journal of Mixed Methods Research, 1(1), 48–76. Morgan, D. (2011). Focus Groups as Qualitative Research, Thousand Oaks, CA. Sage Publications. Morgan, D., C. Fellows and H. Guevara (2008), ‘Emergent approaches to focus group research’, in S. Hesse-Biber and P. Leavy (eds), Handbook of Emergent Methods, New York: The Guilford Press, pp. 189–206. Morgan, D. L. and J. L. Bottorff (2010), ‘Advancing our craft: focus group methods and practice’, Qualitative Health Research, 20(5), 579–81. Morgan, D. L., R. A. Krueger and J. A. King (1998), The Focus Group Kit (Vols. 1–6), Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Nicholas, D. B., L. Lach, G. King, M. Scott, K. Boydell, B. J. Sawatzky and N. L. Young (2010), ‘Contrasting internet and face-to-face focus groups for children with chronic health conditions: outcomes and participant experiences’, International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 9(1), 105–21. Norman, L. (2010), ‘Feeling second best: elite women coaches’ experiences’, Sociology of Sport Journal, 27(1), 89–104. Nyumba, T. O., K. Wilson, C. J. Derrick and N. Mukherjee (2018), ‘The use of focus group discussion methodology: insights from two decades of application in conservation’, Methods in Ecology and Evolution, 9(1), 20–32. O’Shaughnessy, S. and N. T. Krogman (2012) ‘A revolution reconsidered? Examining the practice of qualitative research in feminist scholarship’, Signs: Journal of Women in Culture & Society, 37(2), 493–520. Reisner, S. L., R. K. Randazzo, J. M. White Hughto, S. Peitzmeier, L. Z. DuBois, D. Pardee and J. Potter (2018), ‘Sensitive health topics with underserved patient populations: method-

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ological considerations for online focus group discussions’, Qualitative Health Research, 28(10), 1658–73. Sauder, M. H., M. Mudrick and J. R. DeLuca (2018), ‘Perceived barriers and sources of support for undergraduate female students’ persistence in the sport management major’, Sport Management Education Journal, 12(2), 69–79. Sim, J. and J. Waterfield (2019), ‘Focus group methodology: some ethical challenges’, Quality & Quantity, 53, 3003–22. Steele Flippin, C. (2017), ‘The glass ceiling is breaking, now what?’, Generations, 41(3), 34–42. Tuttas, C. A. (2015), ‘Lessons learned using web conference technology for online focus group interviews’, Qualitative Health Research, 25(1), 122–33. Woods-Giscombé, C. L. (2010), ‘Superwoman schema: African American women’s views on stress, strength, and health’, Qualitative Health Research, 20(5), 668–83. Zeller, R. (1993), ‘Focus group research on sensitive topics: setting the agenda without setting the agenda’, in David Morgan, SAGE Focus Editions: Successful Focus Groups: Advancing the State of the Art, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, pp. 167–83.

5. Using oral history and archival research to advance gender studies in management and organisational studies Hannah Dean and Lorna Stevenson

INTRODUCTION This chapter advocates oral history as a critical feminist method that can advance gender studies in Management. We define gender as the socially constructed meanings assigned to masculinity and femininity by different cultures and dominant discourses. Gender is therefore conceptualised as a mode of social situation; it is what societies make of sexual differences in terms of assigning different norms and roles to men and women on the basis of real or imagined sexual characteristics. Masculinity and femininity are not therefore fixed by nature, nor are they embedded in the behaviour of separate gender roles. Instead, they and their features are historically and culturally bounded and can be enacted by men or women in almost any roles (Keller, 1992). Oral history calls for those marginalised by society, including women, to be given a voice. As oral history validates women’s experiences, it is considered to be potentially transformational and emancipatory (Dahl and Thor, 2009). In addition, by seeking to uncover stories from the past, oral history brings to the fore new understanding of women’s lives (Janesick, 2007). However, unlike in other social sciences, oral history has rarely been used in management to challenge existing knowledge and (mis)assumptions about women’s lived experiences (Dean, 2013). In recent years, an increased number of researchers in entrepreneurship and organisation studies have been advocating the adoption of oral history research (see, for example, Maclean et al., 2018). However, the method is still not widely used to research private business across Europe (Keulen and Kroeze, 2012) and most importantly not as a critical feminist method to advance gender studies in management (Dean, 2013; Dean et al., 2019). Also, the oral history method is notably absent from teaching in UK business schools (Perks, 2010). Perks (2010) characterises this omission as due to the close association of UK oral historians with the socialist movement that depicts the corporate world as the oppressive elite. As a result, UK oral history projects have largely been limited to studies of trade unions, working-class people and the political role of organisations. The scarcity of oral history projects in management is perceived as a major gap in the field, notably following the 2008/09 economic crisis which has had, and continues to have, a great impact on the lives of ordinary people. Perks (2010) therefore urges researchers in the UK to adopt the oral history method to 71

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demystify and understand the complexity of business-related activities, including its influence upon individual’s agency. In these ways, studies adopting the oral history method address important gaps not only in gender studies in management and organisation studies but also in oral history literature. This chapter aims to address this gap and draws on two complementary research projects to elaborate our approach. We focus on our experiences of the method in different arenas in order to highlight the challenges and opportunities oral history techniques offer. The first study, conducted by Dean between 2015 and 2018, involved eliciting oral histories via interviews with 40 women entrepreneurs in the North of England, collected with a view to depositing the interviews into a public archive.1 This project, together with previous research undertaken by the same author and colleagues (Dean, 2013; Dean and Ford, 2017; Dean et al., 2019), demonstrates ways in which the voice of the woman entrepreneur has largely been silenced and her experience overshadowed by a dominant masculine hegemony which associates entrepreneurial success primarily with economic growth. By collecting and documenting the oral history accounts, the project contributes to the destabilisation of stereotypes and assumptions that undermine women entrepreneurs, thus opening the space for better understandings of their lived experiences. These accounts shed original insights into the complexity of women’s entrepreneurial experiences; they bring to light their inter-relations with the environment, their struggles, their coping strategies and their agency. Moreover, the study captures the richness of the varied experiences of different generations of women entrepreneurs. The second study which informs this chapter was carried out in two phases (2005–09 and 2018–20) by Stevenson and colleagues using the oral history method to explore the experiences of the ‘second wave’ of male and the ‘third wave’ of women accounting professors in the UK. The presence of accounting as a university academic discipline in the UK is relatively recent: in 1947, Professor William Baxter was appointed to the first full-time accounting chair in the UK at the London School of Economics (LSE). Under his leadership at the LSE, a dedicated Master’s degree programme was launched, the graduates of which were often closely involved in developing the academic discipline of accounting more widely in the United Kingdom. Following Baxter’s initial chair appointment in the 1940s, these individuals represent the second wave of accounting professors in the UK. The third wave commenced with the appointment of the first woman, Susan Dev, to an accounting chair in the UK in 1979 at the LSE (see also Parker, 1978). By 2000, some 22 women had chairs in accounting at UK universities (British Accounting Review Research Registers, 1994–2000). Such a relatively recent phenomenon means that it is possible to speak to individual men and women who were active in shaping the developing and evolving academic discipline.2 Seeking and hearing the oral histories of these two sets of individuals has revealed notable differences, for example in terms of amenability to sharing their experiences, the challenges faced in their professional and working lives, and in their career advancement. The chapter begins with background context to the emergence of the method of oral history. We then discuss our experiences of key aspects of its use, highlighting

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the significance and relevance of this method for gender and management, before exploring ethical issues associated with archiving oral histories. Finally, we offer concluding comments about the future of oral history.

BRIEF BACKGROUND INFORMATION ON ORAL HISTORY Oral history was used thousands of years ago, variously in China, by ancient Egyptians, as well as by Greek and Persian historians. The creation of the German School of Scientific History in the late nineteenth century led historians to begin to rely more on written sources as oral history was perceived to be less scientifically objective. However, by the 1940s, the oral history method started to regain its popularity and in 1948 Columbia University in the USA established the first modern oral history archive. In line with traditional historical research, oral historians started by advocating objectivity. They were seen as objective observers and documenters of verbal behaviour. The main focus of the oral historian’s interview was to collect accurate information and data from eyewitnesses about a particular event that was of interest to the researcher. Thus, there was limited discussion of the subjectivity (and indeed intersubjectivity) of the oral history interview. However, in the late 1970s a number of disciplines such as anthropology and sociology started to problematise the scientific objectivity of knowledge generation. Consequently, the critique of the objectivity of historical resources, including verbal accounts, started to emerge and by 1987, the subjectivity of the oral history was discussed in almost every article in the dedicated journal Oral History Review (Armitage and Gluck, 1998). Initially, oral historians in America focused on eminent personalities while the Europeans adopted a more critical stance by focusing on labour and feminist histories to capture the voices of the less privileged. However, the rise of civil rights, anti-war and feminist movements led American oral historians’ projects to become more inclusive (Ritchie, 2014). Indeed, the scholarly work of UK and US feminist oral historians has been shaped by their participation in Women’s Liberation Movements in the 1970s and their advocacy for women’s empowerment. Many feminist scholars apply oral history as a radical and democratic method to reclaim the history of women and raise women’s consciousness (Gluck, 2011), and to address women’s hitherto invisibility (Armitage and Gluck, 1998). By attending to women’s voices, researchers can revisit received knowledge about women and challenge dominant ideologies (Sullivan and Stevens, 2010). Oral history therefore offers a ‘very critical re-visioning of women’s history’ (Gluck, 2011: 64) by bringing to light women’s lives and the various forms of oppression and resistance they experience. In addition, feminist oral historians often strive to make their work accessible to the public by presenting their works in communities and to wider audiences beyond the academy, as explained in more detail later in this chapter. Oral history has therefore been part of a ‘huge social and cultural shift that changed how we think about women’ (Gluck, 2011: 65). Although earlier users – starting in the 1970s – of the oral history method focused on women’s experiences, it was not until the 1990s that oral historians

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began to examine the intersectionality of class, age, race/ethnicity and sexuality with gender. The rise in the number of different local and social movement groups where women played leading roles has led to a new generation of oral feminist historians that have aimed to capture the voices of these heterogeneous women and to record, and share, their experiences (Gluck, 2011). Oral history is known as ‘history from below’ because its strong critical stance seeks to address imbalanced power relations by foregrounding the experiences of ordinary people (Thompson, 2000). It rejects the notion that the experiences of ordinary people can be reduced to statistics as traditionally professed by the discipline of history. Users of the oral history method consider this reduction to be political and oppressive as it reinforces power structures and the standpoint of authority. For instance, traditional accounts of the experiences of women entrepreneurs over the last 40 years are mainly documented and evaluated as part of statistical aggregates on economic growth (Dean et al., 2019). Further, the accounting literature has seen calls to give voice to the ‘lived experiences of ordinary people who are affected by accounting and shape its development’ (Hammond and Sikka, 1996: 79). Stevenson et al. (2018) noted the existence of a number of studies deploying oral history to critically examine the role of accounting in relation to race (Hammond, 2002), gender (Haynes, 2008a, 2008b), the intersection of gender and race (Fearfull and Kamenou, 2006; Kyriacou, 2000; McNicholas et al., 2004) and disability (Duff and Ferguson, 2011). In other words, oral history opens history to new areas of, and means of, inquiries, and returns their voices to women and other minority groups so they can (re‑)write their own history based on their own experiences (Thompson, 2000).

WHAT IS ORAL HISTORY? Despite the clear lineage of the method, there is nonetheless some confusion in defining oral history. In her review of oral history meanings, Janesick (2007) came across 70 different overlapping definitions. As a qualitative research method that emphasises interviewing people about their past experiences, oral history has been used interchangeably with other terms including autobiography, life history and life story, as these methods also seek to explore stories from the past (Bornat, 2004). Although attempts at definitions can lead to false boundary constructions, for us, oral history can be defined as ‘a research method that draws on memory and testimony to gain a more complete or different understanding of a past experienced both individually and collectively’ (Thompson, 2000, cited in Bornat, 2004: 35). Interviews can be very extensive life history interviews, starting from the interviewee’s childhood up to the present day. Alternatively, interviews can focus on an important event (Abrams, 2010) or experience. Thus, oral history interviews differ from other qualitative interviews in that participants/eye-witnesses talk in great depth about their lives in relation to past events. In addition, preparation for the interview often involves conducting background research on the participant and the event(s) of interest in order to locate the interview in a meaningful context. Oral history,

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therefore, focuses on understanding in depth the complexity of people’s lives and how they are shaped by their past, and by their environment. This is key for feminist oral historians who emphasise that the knowledge of women’s pasts is necessary to illuminate our understanding of their present situations. Therefore, what is consistently clear for feminist oral historians is that oral history is associated with a strong critical stance (Geiger, 1990). Another major difference between oral history interviews and other qualitative interviews is that oral history interviews are not always analysed by the interviewing researcher – they are often transcribed and archived so that they can be accessible and used by other parties. Oral history interviews therefore have lasting value. Oral history interviews can comprise part of a bigger oral history project where documentary analysis complements collecting of different materials including photographs, films and other related documents (Gluck, 2011). As a research tradition, oral history is therefore very diverse. In the following section we explore different ways of conducting oral history interviews.

ORAL HISTORY INTERVIEW Planning the Interview Oral history interviews can be digital audio or video recorded. An oral history interviewee can also be referred to as participant, informant, respondent, witness or narrator (Ritchie, 2014). As discussed, oral history interviews are often deposited into a library, archive or other repository so that the voices of the participants can be retained (Daley, 1998). Oral history projects strive to include diverse voices including those of marginalised people, by collecting and archiving their oral history accounts and/or by analysing them. What is important for oral historians, therefore, is the ability to capture the uniqueness of each narrative including the interviewee’s subjectivity in terms of how they make sense of their life (Abrams, 2010). Furthermore, researchers are encouraged to explore in their interviews the interaction between the narratives and the interviewee’s wider social environment to enrich the critical stance of oral history projects (Sullivan and Stevens, 2010). Oral history projects often aim to record as many different participants as possible (Ritchie, 2014). Wishing to capture the diversity of women entrepreneurs, Dean (2015–18) sought to interview women entrepreneurs from various backgrounds and who operated in different sectors using snowball sampling to recruit participants. While this selection method enabled her to access a sufficient number of women entrepreneurs within the project’s timeframe, it nevertheless affected the diversity of the sample as it led to an over-representation of interviewees with similar characteristics. One aspect of emancipating and empowering those who have been traditionally marginalised resides in carrying out an oral history interview that gives interviewees the chance not only to tell their stories but to also reflect deeply on related events

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(Anderson et al., 1991). When the story is told with much reflection, it can be transformational for the participant, and then generate new information for the researcher. However, a high level of professional skill is required in such interviewing, with clear considerations of when to stop or limit questioning. Though the interviewer may feel a responsibility to make sure that the interview brings to the fore hitherto neglected aspects of the past in order to preserve it for posterity (Atkinson, 2001), they also have a responsibility to be aware of support that might be required following the interview. We highlight such ethical considerations below. In order to encourage the participant to reflect deeply on his/her personal life, it is recommended that oral historians meet with each interviewee for an informal chat prior to the recording of the interview. As the interview can be an emotional place, meeting beforehand can help establish trust and encourage the interviewee to relax during the interview (Ritchie, 2014). Despite the importance of these meetings, it may not always be possible to arrange them due to time and resource constraints. In the case of Dean’s women entrepreneurs project, for instance, most of the participants had very busy schedules which precluded separate prior meetings. However, before carrying out most of her interviews, she met with the interviewees for a coffee where brief introductions and initial talk about the project could take place. Despite the limited time of these coffee meetings, they were still very beneficial as precursors to the interviews, and for establishing rapport. It is notable that there is great variation in the features and characteristics of oral history projects. In the literature there is no agreement regarding the number of interviews that are, or should be, carried out. While some researchers advocate interviewing a small number of participants (Armitage and Gluck, 1998; Thompson, 2000), others have carried out large studies involving hundreds of interviews (see, for instance, Jessee, 2011). It is also common in oral history to see a series of long interviews with one person (see, for example, Dahl and Thor, 2009; Mumford, 2007; Walker, 2005). Such decisions may depend on the study aim, including the final outcome of the oral history project, as well as on how many interviewees are available. In addition, some sizable oral history projects may focus on analysing only a small number of interviews while depositing the entirety of a larger number of oral histories (with their transcripts) in a public archive. Although there is no uniform way of undertaking oral history, there is an implied understanding amongst oral historians that it is better to carry out the interviews with each participant more than once (Thompson, 2000). In general, oral historians seek to interview their participants using different combinations of long interview(s) and shorter interview(s) (Jessee, 2011; Thompson, 2000). However, carrying out more than one interview with the same narrator is not always feasible as it depends on the participants’ time as well as, inevitably, on the availability of funding. The interviewees in both Dean’s (2015–18) and Stevenson et al.’s (2018) work found it difficult to commit to more than one interview meeting. The impact of being unable to carry out multiple interviews is usually offset by supplementing the interview with other resources often collected prior to the interview, as discussed above. Practically,

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each interview situation should ideally not last more than two hours so that both the narrator and the interviewer do not tire (Ritchie 2014). When oral historians are able to carry out more than one interview with each of their participants, the time lapse between the interviews can vary from one project to another depending on the study’s objective and how important it is to capture changes in behaviour or in phenomena over time. For instance, Dean (2013) carried out a small oral history study, twice interviewing three women entrepreneurs with a gap of 18 months between the first and the second interviews. This break enabled her to capture the dynamic nature of the entrepreneurial experience over the time period. In line with other studies, the first interview focused less on questioning and more on listening, encouraging the participant to reflect on her life experiences in order to gain a detailed understanding of her life including how she became an entrepreneur. The second interview explored in more depth how the participant made sense of her entrepreneurial journey and of her success. These different approaches all seem to be valid, as debates around what constitutes the ‘right’ number of narratives are almost non-existent in this body of literature; our view is that the research intentions, timeline, access to participants and funding combine to influence what is an appropriate number of narratives in any situation. One advantage of oral history projects is that they can start small and then grow, for example when more funds become available (Straker, 2011). Deep Listening In order to be more inclusive and to collect material that captures women’s voices (Yow, 1997), feminist scholars advocate the oral history interview as a cooperative dialogue where the researcher and the narrator collaborate and become a ‘storytelling team’ (Janesick, 2007: 115). In this sense, the oral history narrative becomes a historical document that is co-created by both the interviewee and the interviewer (Parry and Mauthner, 2004). Each participant should be offered the freedom to tell their story on their own terms (Thompson, 2000). It is, therefore, important that the narrators are allowed to name their own struggles and lived experiences as opposed to researchers constructing their stories using narratives derived from their own cultures. In other words, the researcher needs to understand how each woman constructs her lived experience in relation to the social relations and structures surrounding her past as well as present life (Sangster, 1994). To achieve this, the researcher listens deeply to the narrator whilst resisting categorising emerging stories according to prevailing ideologies and taken-for-granted assumptions (Anderson and Jack, 2002). In order to transform her interviewees into such collaborators, Dean (2015–18) emphasised at the beginning of each interview that she was not the expert, and that she was there to learn from the women entrepreneurs about their experiences and their businesses. In line with Atkinson’s (2001) recommendations, she endeavoured to relinquish her control over the research by asking open-ended questions and by being adaptable to the emerging story. Oral history interviews are therefore often characterised by enabling the talking to be carried out largely by the interviewee (High, 2018). The

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interviewer needs to repress their need to talk, limiting their interventions to probing, without infringing the participant’s privacy and with respect to their choice to hold back parts of their stories as they deem necessary (Sullivan and Stevens, 2010). Oral history interviews also involve using ordinary language that is easily understandable by the narrator and the widest possible audience (Janesick, 2007). Throughout the interview, the interviewer should strive to establish good rapport with the narrator by expressing interest in what they are saying and empathising with their emotions when they are narrating their stories. This can be achieved by making silent gestures, using responsive body language and meeting the narrators face to face. The latter is key as this enables the interviewer to get closer to the interviewees to more fully explore the meanings of their experiences (Ritchie, 2014). However, being too close to the narrator can impede the research as the researcher may become reluctant to challenge the participant’s narrative and to ask difficult questions that may surface their own prejudices. Furthermore, the practices of deep listening which are at the core of the oral history interview technique are likely to encourage the interviewee to talk about profound and traumatic past experiences (Vickers, 2019). When listening to extreme human experiences, both the narrator and the interviewer may feel distressed. For example, when Dean (2013, 2015–18) was interviewing women entrepreneurs, she found that their stories revealed how entrepreneurship could be a very emotional space where extreme human experiences such as suicide might take place. It is therefore important that the researcher acknowledge and carefully consider and manage this risk and responsibility; such ethical considerations are discussed further below. Sharing Authority Within a critical feminist stance, the oral history is not perceived as a neutral transcript but as a text, or artefact, that has been shaped by the interview process. Any oral history narrative offers only a partial story that is shaped by both the interviewee’s and interviewer’s own world views, and personal and social conditions (Parry and Mauthner, 2004). Stories are told in different ways to different audiences. The interviewer is therefore a co-author of the stories created through the interviews. The researcher is implicitly present in the stories as they are told to the kind of person the interviewee thinks they are (Portelli, 2005). In gathering the accounting chair oral histories, the research team always comprised a male and a female accounting academic and it appeared that participants relied on these shared identities when constructing their narratives. Researchers are therefore encouraged to reflect on their own personal, social and political positions and how they may shape the story told by the narrator (Sangster, 1994). The interaction between the interviewer and the narrator in a given context privileges some stories over others given that both the interviewer and the narrator are complex political actors who, inevitably, carry their own agendas for the interview. The interviewer, for instance, has research questions that he/she tries to address. At the same time, the interviewee may perceive the research as an opportunity to promote his/her particular perspective, and version of events (Jessee,

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2011) or identity. On some occasions, for instance, Dean (2015–18) found it hard to interview renowned women entrepreneurs as well as those who worked in certain professions (such as marketing or PR consultant roles). During these interviews, her impression was that the participants perceived the interview as an opportunity to promote themselves and their firms as they delivered a largely well-rehearsed script. In order to overcome these challenges, she tried to gently challenge inconsistencies and probe further. However, even when she felt that she managed successfully to break through the interviewees’ veneer, some of these participants later requested that their interviews be withdrawn. Construction of Memory To gain insights into how the social and material environment shapes women’s consciousness, feminist oral historians are keen to explore how women construct their memories and make sense of their past. Oral historians are also keen on exploring how gender, class and race, as structural and ideological relations, shape the construction of historical memory (Sangster, 1994). For example, it was notable that some men and women accounting professors recounted their past experiences in distinctly different ways (Stevenson et al., 2018).3 Men interviewees appeared content to explore their professional histories in the singular context of their working lives, with little mention of family, relationships or non-career matters. In contrast, some women participants explicitly constrained the scope of the discussion for what they described as personal or emotional reasons, or they explained their professional choices and experiences in the context of events in their lives beyond the professional, such as pregnancy, child-rearing and caring responsibilities. The way in which some women accounting professors told their stories may indicate how some women have internalised sexism. For example, by maintaining and conforming to social expectations around nurturing and putting others’ needs before their own, these participants revealed asymmetrical power relations in their lives; an alternative interpretation is that they simply articulated the reality and consequences of their wider life choices. In Dean’s (2015–18) study, she found that the intersectionality of gender, ethnicity, class, sexuality and age created significant differences in how the participants remembered their lives and constructed their narratives, including their career choices and their motivations to set up their own businesses. The interweaving of gender and class strongly dominated the narrative of a participant who came from a poor working-class background with clearly defined family gender roles and norms. Her life story was told in terms of how she managed to overcome two painful events that shaped her childhood. The first was the humiliation she felt at school when she had to show coupons for her free meals. The other was the way her mother was not able to enjoy their days out to the beach because she had to take care of her husband’s and children’s belongings. Throughout her interview, this participant benchmarked her decisions and achievements in relation to how far her own life had deviated from these two earlier experiences.

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At the same time, the experience of racism in different public institutions, for instance, shaped the memories of one of Dean’s participants who was black and who framed her story as a strong resilient black woman whose life since early childhood had been the scene of protest and resistance against racism. It is common for oral historians to explore in depth areas of contradictions in the narratives whilst fully respecting the interviewee’s right not to answer any question. Given that oral historians deal with an individual’s memory which can be nostalgic, the interviewer may therefore need to encourage the interviewee to confront their past critically (Anderson et al., 1987). In Dean’s study, her black participant’s memories of her dad were positive and emotionally charged. He was portrayed as offering her excellent support in her fight against racism, including financial assistance for her education, which was key for her social mobility. The married participant did not, however, talk about her marriage and her husband until she was asked about this by the interviewer. It emerged that as her husband was white, the silence around her marriage was due to her dad’s disagreement with her marriage and the subsequent loss of her relationship with him. Clearly, then, metaphors, silences and omissions offer clues on what is felt or perceived to be acceptable and not acceptable to recount, and these can shape the way women narrate their stories (Sangster, 1994). One of Dean’s participants, for instance, who was a single mum for a period of her life, in the pre-recording meeting told her story in relation to her son’s growing up. However, when Dean started recording the interview, the participant’s story was told in terms of her career progression. The contradiction between her two narratives may indicate that she felt some ambivalence about society taking her working-life experience seriously if her career choices were seen to be influenced by her parenting responsibilities. Similarly, pre-interview correspondence with one accounting professor provided anticipation that she would reveal experiences of systemic discrimination, which she only alluded to and would not pursue when the tape was recording her story. Fundamentally, as dealing with past experiences makes it hard to predict the narrators’ stories, the interviewer should therefore be open to explore unexpected statements and interesting developments by probing further (Gluck and Patai, 2016). As indicated earlier, exploring people’s memories can be an emotional experience for both the participant and the researcher. When dealing with the ethical concerns associated with emotional vulnerability, oral historians adopt different strategies. Before collecting the interviews, researchers familiarise themselves with the availability of relevant counselling and supporting services in case any party faces emotional distress. It is also common for oral historians to undertake counselling training and assume a counselling role while interviewing. Furthermore, oral historians’ reflexive accounts usually discuss the emotional responses generated during the research process. Despite the potential tension inherited in collecting oral history interviews, it’s important not to be overcautious about how the interviewee may relate to their distressing life events. By making their story public, oral history can be a potentially powerful therapeutic and transformational tool. Shifting the story

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away from the status of private distress to a public account can be self-affirming and a source of new insights into the interviewee’s life events (Rickard, 1998).

ARCHIVING ORAL HISTORY INTERVIEWS AND RELATED ETHICAL ISSUES In order to carry out social transformational work, oral historians aim to disseminate the data collected and make it accessible to a wider audience, such as other researchers, as well as local and international communities. Oral history interviews are therefore often preserved in archives and libraries where they are catalogued and increasingly available via websites. There are a large number of different oral history archives in the UK that can be accessed online; for example, the British Library Sound Archive has more than 2,500 in-depth interviews in its National Life Stories covering different aspects of British life. The Heritage Lottery Fund (HLF) has also funded thousands of oral history projects that have been conducted and preserved by local museums and libraries. For feminist scholars, there are feminist archives across the UK including Feminist Archive North and Feminist Archive South. These archives offer a wealth of resources for researchers. Even today, however, access to a large quantity of archival materials including oral history interviews is still available offline only. The researcher may therefore need to arrange access with the archive centre which holds the material.4 Furthermore, as oral historians aim to empower and engage, researchers often look beyond analysing oral history accounts for academic publication. It is common for oral historians to collect and deposit, in addition to the interview and transcript, other materials such as photographs, artefacts and documents. This collection of materials, including extracts of the interviews, is often exhibited in museums and features as part of performances. It is also common to broadcast an oral history collection on radio or television. However, knowing that the interviews will be available to a wider audience in this way can be daunting for both the interviewer and the interviewee. There are a number of important points that both parties have to take into consideration when recording the interviews. First of all, it is important to ensure that the quality of the recording is excellent and that there is no background noise. If it is going to be deposited in an archive, specific recording equipment may be needed as some archives will not accept MP3 format and will ask for interviews to be recorded using WAV format. In addition, the archivist often seeks to establish the circumstances under which the records were created. They therefore usually ask for a summary sheet for each interview whereby the interviewer gives a short account of the interview, and brief background information about the interviewer and the project. It is seen as good practice to deposit transcripts of the interviews with the recordings for the archive’s wider audience (Ritchie, 2014). As we have indicated, the conduct of oral history interviews requires ethical consideration as the interviews are often designed to challenge, to probe and to uncover

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past events and experiences. There are, however, more ethical implications related primarily to the formal and legal production of the interviews, including the confidentiality of the interviewees. Although oral history interviews can be anonymous and, for example, the prominence of the accounting professors meant that often they agreed to be interviewed on condition that their anonymity was maintained, this, however, is quite unusual for archived interviews. In general, archived oral history interviews will have the personal details of the interviewee. When the interviewee wishes their details not to be disclosed, the researcher usually agrees to maintain the confidentiality of the interviewee by sealing the recordings and transcripts for safe periods, such as until the events have passed into history or until the death of the interviewee. Oral historians also have to be careful about legal and ethical implications in terms of whether something said in the interview can be considered defamatory. The researcher should keep copies of the different ethical and legal documents. In addition, the archivist will often ask for copies of the legal agreements bounding the recording, including who owns the data, copyright and a declaration about plagiarism. It is therefore key to obtain the necessary advice and guidance from the ethical and legal departments within the interviewer’s research institution (Ritchie, 2014).

THE FUTURE OF ORAL HISTORY There has been a history of support for oral history-based research in the UK, as reflected in the significant number of oral history projects that are funded publicly and through private foundations. Despite this support, oral historians fear that they may encounter further ethical dilemmas due to the increased corporatisation of universities and higher education in the UK, and globally. The corporatised university’s economic determinism involves making profit from teaching, research and other campus activities (Buikema and Van der Tuin, 2013; Cuádraz, 2012). In this atmosphere, the humanities and social sciences are losing ground as funding is skewed towards programmes and research centres that are technologically and/or commercially oriented. Feminist researchers may therefore find it increasingly hard to secure the funding necessary to carry out critical oral history projects that expose certain power relations and engage with grassroots communities (Gluck, 2011). The corporatised university, however, in general emphasises excellence in its research, access to its educational resources and achieving positive impact on social and economic development (Cuádraz, 2012). Given the strong engagement, inclusive and transformational nature of archived oral history projects, researchers are therefore in a position to work on projects that are mutually beneficial for universities and for their communities of research. For example, the 2014 Research Excellence Framework (REF) exercise included a number of successfully submitted impact case studies which were based on oral history projects (Research Excellence Framework, 2014). Therefore, although the corporatised university may in one sense constitute a threat to oral historians’ abilities to undertake radical projects, researchers can

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nevertheless consciously position themselves strategically within this environment so they can continue to promote social justice, including women’s rights.

CONCLUSION Oral history has attracted limited attention in management and organisation studies and is rarely taught in business schools. This chapter argues that the adoption of oral history as a critical feminist research method can advance gender studies in management and organisation studies. By documenting their diverse accounts, oral history valorises women’s experiences and voices. In addition, by connecting the past with the present, oral history exposes why and how dominant ideologies prevail and how particular power structures maintain women’s subordination. Oral history therefore opens the door for more critical studies that challenge the authority of dominant discourses and ideologies within management and organisation studies. It allows for multiple realities and multiple perspectives to emerge and offers an opportunity to re-visit women’s struggle, oppression and agency. Furthermore, a key aspect of oral history is to make the collected stories accessible to a wider audience. This renders oral history a powerful tool for public engagement.

NOTES 1. This work was funded by the British Academy (grant number pf150111). 2. This aspect of the chapter is based on Stevenson et al. (2018), and ongoing oral history work with women in the third wave of chair appointments. 3. The study on men professors has been published (Stevenson et al., 2018) but the one on women has not yet been published. 4. The following link offers (at the time of writing) a list of the different archives in the UK and their locations: http://​discovery​.nationalarchives​.gov​.uk/​find​-an​-archive.

REFERENCES Abrams, L. (2010). Oral History Theory, Abingdon: Routledge. Anderson, K., Armitage, S., Jack, D. and Wittner, J. (1987). Beginning where we are: feminist methodology in oral history, The Oral History Review, 15(1), 103–27. Anderson, K. and Jack, D. C. (2002). Learning to listen: interview techniques and analyses. In L. Abrams (ed.), Oral History Reader (pp. 171–85), Abingdon: Routledge. Anderson, K., Jack, D. C., Gluck, S. B. and Patai, D. (1991). Women’s words: the feminist practice of oral history. In L. Abrams (ed.), Oral History Reader (pp. 11–26), Abingdon: Routledge. Armitage, S. and Gluck, S. B. (1998). Reflections on women’s oral history: an exchange, Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies, 19(3), 1–11. Atkinson, R. (2001). The life-story interview’. In J. Gubrium and J. Holstein (eds), Handbook of Interview Research: Context and Method (pp. 121–40), Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

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Bornat, J. (2004). ‘Oral history’. In C. Seale, G. Gobo, J. F. Gubrium and D. Silverman (eds), Qualitative Research Practice (pp. 34–47), Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Buikema, R. and Van der Tuin, I. (2013). Doing the document: gender studies at the corporatized university in Europe, European Journal of Women's Studies, 20(3), 309–16. Cuádraz, G. H. (2012). Ethico-political dilemmas of a community oral history project: navigating the culture of the corporate university, Social Justice, 38(3), 17–32. Dahl, I. and Thor, M. (2009). Oral history, constructions and deconstructions of narratives: intersections of class, gender, locality, nation and religion in narratives from a Jewish woman in Sweden, Enquire, 2(1), 1–20. Daley, C. (1998). ‘He would know, but I just have a feeling’: gender and oral history 1, Women’s History Review, 7(3), 343–59. Dean, H. (2013). (Re)Visiting female entrepreneurs: an emancipatory impulse, PhD thesis, University of Bradford, UK. Dean, H. and Ford, J. (2017). Discourses of entrepreneurial leadership: exposing myths and exploring new approaches, International Small Business Journal, 35(2), 178–96. Dean, H., Larsen, G., Ford, J. and Akram, M. (2019). Female entrepreneurship and the metanarrative of economic growth: a critical review of underlying assumptions, International Journal of Management Reviews, 21(1), 24–49. Duff, A. and Ferguson, J. (2011). Disability and the professional accountant insights from oral histories, Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal, 5(1), 71–101. Fearfull, A. and Kamenou, N. (2006). How do you account for it? A critical exploration of career opportunities for and experiences of ethnic minority women, Critical Perspectives on Accounting, 17(7), 883–901. Geiger, S. (1990). What’s so feminist about women’s oral history? Journal of Women’s History, 2(1), 169–82. Gluck, S. B. (2011). Has feminist oral history lost its radical/subversive edge? Oral History, 39(2), 63–72. Gluck, S. B. and Patai, D. (2016). Women’s Words: The Feminist Practice of Oral History, Abingdon: Routledge. Hammond, T. A. (2002). A White-Collar Profession: African American Certified Public Accountants since 1921, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Hammond, T. and Sikka, P. (1996). Radicalising accounting history: the potential of oral history, Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal 9(3), 79–97. Haynes, K. (2008a). (Re)figuring accounting and maternal bodies: the gendered embodiment of accounting professionals, Accounting, Organizations and Society, 33(4–5), 328–48. Haynes, K. (2008b). Transforming identities: accounting professionals and the transition to motherhood, Critical Perspectives on Accounting, 19(5), 620–42. High, Steven (2018). Listening across difference: oral history as learning landscape, Learning Landscapes, 11(2), 39–47. Janesick, V. J. (2007). Oral history as a social justice project: issues for the qualitative researcher, The Qualitative Report, 12(1), 111–21. Jessee, E. (2011). The limits of oral history: ethics and methodology amid highly politicized research settings, The Oral History Review, 38(2), 287–307. Keller, E. F. (1992). Secrets of Life, Secrets of Death: Essays on Language, Gender, and Science, Abingdon: Routledge. Keulen, S. and Kroeze, R. (2012). Back to business: a next step in the field of oral history—the usefulness of oral history for leadership and organizational research, The Oral History Review, 39(1), 15–36. Kyriacou, O. N. (2000). Gender, ethnicity and professional membership: the case of the UK accounting profession, Doctoral dissertation, University of East London, UK.

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Maclean, M., Harvey, C., Sillince, J. A. and Golant, B. D. (2018). Intertextuality, rhetorical history and the uses of the past in organizational transition, Organization Studies, 39(12), 1733–55. McNicholas, P., Humphries, M. and Gallhofer, S. (2004). Maintaining the empire: Maori women’s experiences in the accountancy profession, Critical Perspectives on Accounting, 15(1), 57–93. Mumford, M. J. (2007). Their Own Accounts: Views of Prominent 20th Century Accountants, Edinburgh: ICAS. Parker, R. H. (1978). British men of account, Abacus, 14(1), 53–65. Parry, O. and Mauthner, N. S. (2004). Whose data are they anyway? Practical, legal and ethical issues in archiving qualitative research data, Sociology, 38(1), 139–52. Perks, R. (2010). The roots of oral history: exploring contrasting attitudes to elite, corporate, and business oral history in Britain and the US, The Oral History Review, 37(2), 215–24. Portelli, A. (2005). A dialogical relationship: an approach to oral history, Expressions Annual, 14, 1–8. Research Excellence Framework (2014). REF impact found 2440 Case Studies for: oral history and gender. Accessed 20 September 2019 at https://​impact​.ref​.ac​.uk/​casestudies/​ Results​.aspx​?val​=​oral​%20history​%20and​%20gender. Rickard, W. (1998). Oral history – ‘more dangerous than therapy’?: interviewees’ reflections on recording traumatic or taboo issues, Oral History, 26(2), 34–48. Ritchie, D. A. (2014). Doing Oral History, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sangster, J. (1994). Telling our stories: feminist debates and the use of oral history, Women’s History Review, 3(1), 5–28. Stevenson, L., Power, D., Ferguson, J. and Collison, D. (2018). The development of accounting in UK universities: an oral history, Accounting History, 23(1–2), 117–37. Straker, G. (2011). Shaping subjectivities: private memories, public archives, Psychoanalytic Dialogues, 21(6), 643–57. Sullivan, L. G. and Stevens, G. (2010). Through her eyes: relational references in black women’s narratives of apartheid racism, South African Journal of Psychology, 40(4), 414–31. Thompson, P. (2000). Voice of the Past: Oral History, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vickers, E. L. (2019). Unexpected trauma in oral interviewing, The Oral History Review, 46(1), 134–41. Walker, S. P. (2005). Giving an Account: Life Histories of Four Eminent CAs, Edinburgh: ICAS. Yow, V. (1997). ‘Do I like them too much?’: effects of the oral history interview on the interviewer and vice-versa, The Oral History Review, 24(1), 55–79.

6. Translating gender policies into practice: mapping ruling relations through institutional ethnography Rita A. Gardiner, Jennifer Chisholm and Hayley Finn

This chapter illustrates the ways in which institutional ethnography (IE) is a promising approach for interrogating organizational policies through a gendered lens. Rather than a research method or methodology in any traditional sociological sense, Dorothy Smith (2005) argues that IE is “oriented by a problematic, namely, the everyday experience of people active in an institutional context” (p. 104). A research problematic refers to a puzzle that emerges from people’s lived experience in diverse contexts and organizational settings. As such, IE can be a useful approach for gender and management researchers interested in dismantling sexism in the workplace. Specifically, IE can help us understand how organizational policies and practices operate in particular local settings, and how they are experienced differently by individuals within an institution (Eveline, Bacchi & Binns, 2009). Furthermore, Smith (1990) argued that women’s diverse ways of knowing are often marginalized in organizational life. In particular, IE can assist in a detailed investigation of specific institutional practices that serve to uphold institutional sexism. This approach has value for scholars interested in gender and management research who seek to explore the “stickiness” of institutional sexism. The specific research problematic or puzzle that orientates our research is the challenge involved in translating Ontario’s sexual violence policies into action to effect institutional change in higher education. In particular, we outline how IE can help us understand the effects on organizational change efforts following the introduction of new government legislation in Ontario, Canada, that mandates new reporting mechanisms, and detailed policies and plans to deal with sexual violence issues on university and college campuses (Alani & Jeffery, 2015; Browne, 2014). Our guiding question is: How can IE help us understand the ruling relations that underpin the policy-making efforts and practical decisions taken to attempt to eradicate sexual violence on campuses? Here we focus on institutional mapping, a form of IE that helps researchers to illuminate hidden or invisible structures of power. After discussing how we conducted our IE, paying particular attention to institutional mapping, we explore some of the challenges, limitations and opportunities of using IE that touches on ethical issues, and conclude by considering how IE could be used in future research in gender and management. The authors of this chapter are three white cisgender women. Two of the authors are tenure-track professors while the third author is completing her doctorate. We 86

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follow Judith Butler (1990, 2011) in seeing gender as a relational and performative concept. That is, how we act serves to produce and reproduce gendered ways of being. While a person’s sex is linked to biology, we recognize gender as a social construct, supported by norms of behavior that serve to classify individuals as either feminine or masculine. Gender refers instead to a complex system of socio-cultural relationships that inform our attitudes, rather than an innate or biological part of who we are. How we understand gender, then, is as a fluid concept constructed through cultural norms that change over time and space (De Souza, Brewis & Rumens, 2016). In addition to gender, we acknowledge that sexual violence is impacted by intersectional factors, such as race, ability and age (among others) and that individuals can experience a wide range of responses and remedies to the violence they experience. In part it was this attention to the intersections of identity that led us to use IE as a mode of inquiry. Rather than drawing prescriptive conclusions that can work to reinforce a white cisgendered world view, IE helps us explore the lived experiences of those engaged with a particular institution or policy. In the following section, we explore the genealogy of this mode of inquiry.

INSTITUTIONAL ETHNOGRAPHY AS A MODE OF INQUIRY In the early 1980s, the British-born Canadian sociologist Dorothy Smith noticed certain tensions within the field of sociology (DeVault, 2006). Smith (2005) argued the realities of people’s daily lives were being ignored by sociological approaches that privileged objectivity; this objective stance served to ignore the specificity of people’s lives. Smith (1994) became “preoccupied with sociology’s strange divorce from the local actuality of people’s lives” (p. 54). To deal with this problem, Smith developed an alternative mode of inquiry that begins from people’s actual doings and everyday lives, to address what she regarded as the shortcomings of sociological inquiry (Smith, 1990, 2005, 2006). Smith (1987) created an outline for this research approach, which she called institutional ethnography. In her view, IE is a mode of inquiry that researchers could build on collaboratively, and take in diverse directions. Specifically, researchers can adapt their project as the research develops (DeVault, 2006). At its core, IE uncovers the social organization of knowledge by mapping out what happens to people in specific contexts, and how their actions shape those contexts (Smith, 2005, 2006). What happens to people within organizations is not only perceived as a result of these actions, but also related to the specific policies, practices and processes that reflect dominant ideologies. Smith (1990) refers to these dominant ideologies as the “relations of ruling.” We will explain this term in depth later, but, in brief, “relations of ruling” work to organize and construct our lives as social beings vis-à-vis specific regimes of power. By examining institutional texts and processes, Smith suggests, we can better understand the social world, and how it is structured by diverse power

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relations. As such, IE is a useful approach for understanding gender and management issues. When using IE’s design, researchers need to recognize that research participants are the expert knowers of their experiences (Smith, 2005). Practically, this means rooting the research questions and objectives in the lived experiences of those we research with or about, rather than approaching research with the questions and objectives already defined. Ethnographic methods, such as interviewing and conducting focus groups, can then be carried out with a research problematic in mind, and a set of guiding questions that focus on the lived experiences of participants, rather than a pre-defined objective or hypothesis. In common with feminist standpoint theorists such as Sandra Harding (2004) and Patricia Hill Collins (1997), Smith (1990) critiques positivist approaches to research for perpetuating the false binary of objective researcher/knower, and subjective research participant/knowledge seeker. One of the ways we can destabilize this binary within research, Smith proposes, is by using IE. Although IE begins with individual experience, it moves beyond individual experiences toward an interrogation of particular institutional practices. IE allows researchers to investigate the processes and practices that are informing and coordinating action within complex organizations (Neitz, 2014; Smith, 2006). This investigation highlights power relations, and how these relationships are embedded within organizational talk, action and texts (Campbell & Gregor, 2004; Smith, 2001). Recognizing the complexity of power relationships in the actuality of everyday experience is thus an important aspect of this mode of inquiry. Using IE as our guide, we consider the effects that sexual violence policies and practices have on different groups of individuals in the workplace. Within a university setting, individuals may be divided based on their roles as students, staff or faculty. Through an understanding of how these policies work to coordinate and organize actions in local settings, it might then be possible to find sites for key intervention and revision such that mechanisms for reporting and responding to sexual violence on campus may be improved. In addition to traditional ethnographic methods, such as interviews and participant observation, IE encourages researchers to develop a fine-grained analysis of documents. This in-depth analysis helps researchers ascertain whose voices are privileged in institutional texts, and whose voices are silenced. IE can thus help researchers obtain an understanding of how policies coordinate action within institutions. IE begins from the standpoint of research participants whom, in the case of our research, are tasked with implementing sexual violence policies, and trying to effect institutional change. It is through listening to their narratives, and examining the texts that mediate them, that we can identify how institutional processes affect individuals’ ability to promote institutional change. The policies and procedures of an institution, for example, are texts that mediate relations within the institution and, as such, become an important site for analysis. In analyzing texts, researchers obtain insight not only with regard to who is tasked with effecting institutional change, but also how they are situated within an institution. In the next section, we concentrate

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on how Smith’s (2005) relations of ruling offers a conceptual framework that focuses not only on individuals’ experiences, but also helps us to address underlying organizational inequities.

RELATIONS OF RULING IN ORGANIZATIONAL LIFE Fundamental to IE is for researchers to comprehend how the relations of ruling, that is, the overarching structures that organize and influence our working life, are coordinated (Smith, 1990, 2006). Specifically, the relations of ruling name the socially organized exercises of institutional power relations that shape people’s action and their lives, including work, schools, and governments (DeVault & McCoy, 2012). Research that accounts for the relations of ruling seeks to identify how individuals are coordinated in the everyday operation of their work (Campbell & Kim, 2018; Smith, 2005). This is particularly useful when researching gender in diverse organizations. For instance, Smith’s concept of ruling relations is a useful conceptual tool to illustrate reasons why, among other gendered issues, women’s access to senior management and leadership roles is still an issue in many workplaces (Elliott & Stead, 2009; Gardiner, 2015; Madsen, 2018). Additionally, IE offers an alternative approach researchers can undertake to analyze why gender inequities continue to be a salient factor, not only negatively affecting diverse women’s access to diverse leadership and managerial opportunities, but also influencing the marginalization of scholarship on gender and management topics, to which we now turn. In their 25-year review of the literature, Broadbridge and Simpson (2011) maintain that research in gender and management is still marginalized. The reason for this ongoing marginalization, these authors contend, is because some scholars view the gender issue as solved, while others perceive the gender differential as related to an individual’s choice of career. For some young women, questions related to “gender disadvantage and the glass ceiling” (p. 475) are regarded as part of the past, and irrelevant to their careers. Another problem is that discourses around meritocracy are sometimes used as reasons why some women fail to advance in organizations (Broadbridge & Simpson, 2011). Yet, notions of meritocracy are built upon a neutral idea of organizational structures. Such neutrality masks the heteronormative, patriarchal structure that underpins organizational life. Moreover, as Smith (1987) argues, there are times when broader societal responsibilities between men and women are ignored. For example, women are still the main caregivers not only for children, but also for aging relatives. These broader societal issues influence gender dynamics within organizational life. In addition, organizational scholarship on masculinities has broadened our understanding of how gender socialization influences male subjectivity (Hearn, 2019). By focusing our gendered lens on men’s experience in the workplace we see how “masculine discourses and practices, and even their openly macho celebration, have come to dominate organizations and institutions” (Knights, 2019, p. 26). However, a focus on men’s experiences may overlook gendered power relations and, at times, serve

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to suppress the specificity of women’s voices, thus contributing to ongoing gender inequities (Broadbridge & Simpson, 2011; Campbell, 2016). Hence, Broadbridge and Simpson (2011) contend that future research in gender and management must draw on methodologies and epistemologies that privilege women’s diverse voices, as well as monitor how gender is an influencing factor on policy and practice (DeVault & McCoy, 2012). Scholars using IE are well-suited to engage in this gendered work. By monitoring workplace gender inequities, scholars can offer policymakers evidence-based research on how gender issues influence organizational life (Broadbridge & Simpson, 2011, p. 478). Policies, according to Bacchi (2017), are gendering practices; thus, it is important to understand how policies shape the gendered relationships and actions between people in the workplace. It is the nexus between policy and practice where we situate our research. Next, we focus on the particular context for our IE study, before turning to a discussion of how we used IE to map institutional relations.

RESEARCH CONTEXT Sexual violence on college and university campuses in Ontario, Canada is identified as “any sexual act or act targeting a person’s sexuality, gender identity or gender expression, whether the act is physical or psychological in nature, that is committed, threatened, or attempted against a person without the person’s consent, and includes sexual assault, sexual harassment, stalking, indecent exposure, voyeurism, and sexual exploitation” (Ontario Ministry of Training, Colleges and Universities, 2019). Sexual violence continues to be a major problem in Canadian universities, causing greater public demand for institutional accountability and action (Garcia & Vemuri, 2017). In recognition of this issue, the provincial government of Ontario passed the Sexual Violence and Harassment Action Plan (Supporting Survivors and Challenging Sexual Violence and Harassment; hereafter SVHAP) on March 8, 2016. The SVHAP requires all publicly-funded colleges and universities in the province to adopt a policy that addresses all forms of gender-based sexual violence involving students. While colleges and universities are encouraged to adopt similar policies regarding sexual violence affecting faculty, staff and community members, the Ontario Ministry of Training, Colleges and Universities (OMTCU) has identified students as in need of particular protections (OMTCU, 2016). Included in the SVHAP is a requirement that institutions “appropriately accommodate the needs of students affected by sexual violence” (OMTCU, 2016). Such accommodations include academic support, counselling, advocacy and awareness campaigns, as well as sexual violence prevention and educational training. Yet while there has been an increase of formal support on college campuses, it has been shown that few sexual assault survivors actually use them (Holland & Cortina, 2017). Furthermore, although some institutions report that informal processes offer a more private way of dealing with complaints, scholars contend that the major reason that complaints about sexual violence are not made public is to protect the

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organization’s image (Ahmed, 2017). So while institutions argue that handling cases in an informal manner is in the best interest of survivors, the emphasis on secrecy is potentially harmful both to survivors and others whose future safety may be at risk if the institution masks the extent of the problem. In some cases, there appears to be an institutional silence with regard to gender-based sexual violence on campus; such silencing perpetuates sexism in the university (Whitley & Page, 2015). Another form of silencing is that, by focusing solely on gender, some researchers have ignored other identity characteristics. As a result, the prevalence of sexualized violence against people of colour, indigenous people, and those who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer and/or transgender is under-researched and under-reported. Without focused attention on expanding organizational knowledge of the dynamics of sexual violence beyond the experiences of the dominant group, institutions risk perpetuating “intersectional inequalities” (Harris, 2016). Using IE as the research mode of inquiry to interrogate campus sexual violence has the potential to mitigate some of these concerns, because of its focus on the lived experiences of individuals within institutional processes. In this section, we have identified the context for our current research. We do not mean to imply, as some scholars have (Cantalupo, 2011; Janosik & Gregory, 2009), that policy is a solution to sexual violence, or that policy alone can curb or eliminate sexual violence. While policy efforts often focus on risk reduction (for the university, as well as for individuals) and deterrence, we agree with Iverson and Issadore (2018) that “these efforts alone will not prevent or end sexual violence” (p. 60). What policies can do, however, is to elevate a wider conversation about campus sexual violence, institutional culture, and the mechanisms in place to respond. Policies may also help mitigate the re-victimization of survivors by, for example, minimizing the number of individuals to whom a person must disclose, and providing a range of institutional support, such as academic accommodation, counselling, and referrals. Additionally, policies can work to inform the campus community, as well as the broader public, about how the institution views the problem of sexual violence. In what follows, we share how we applied IE in our research.

APPLYING INSTITUTIONAL ETHNOGRAPHY For Smith (2006), institutional relations are always mediated by texts and processes through which the actual is translated into the institutional. In this way, the text becomes an “actor” within social relations – that is, the text works to organize the experiences of individuals within the institution. Smith understands texts to be words, images or sounds that are in material form so that they can be read, seen, heard or watched. Analyzing these texts as part of an ethnographic investigation is an essential step in exploring how the organization not only shapes individual experiences, but also how these texts affect people’s agency (Smith, 2005, 2006). Analyzing texts also enables the researcher to see how practices are repeated in diverse settings (Norstedt & Breimo, 2016). The central point is that our lives are

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organized around particular knowledge and organizational systems. These ruling relations privilege particular subjectivities and experiences, while erasing others. Using IE, we can trace hidden links and practices so that the extra-local connections become visible to those who are locally situated (Eveline, Bacchi & Binns, 2009). In particular, texts are identified as actors within the relations of an organization, as they work to shape the experiences of individuals working within it (Smith, 2006). For the purpose of our study, the texts we worked with were the SVHAP provincial mandate, institutional campus sexual violence policies and, in the case of the two universities in our study, all associated documents including complaint and reporting forms, supporting documents and website content. As “actors,” these texts work to organize and inform the experiences of individuals with respect to sexual violence on campus. For example, through a standardized reporting form, we learned what information is pertinent to those in power (that is, those instituting and enforcing the policy) as a means of deciding both if an incident of sexual violence occurred, and what, if any, consequences would be enforced. Information like when and where the incident happened, who was involved, and other narrative explanations are prompted and communicated via the reporting form, available on each university’s website. In this section, we have outlined the main components of IE and the centrality of text-based analysis to IE research. Next we turn to a more in-depth discussion of one element of IE, that is, institutional mapping. Mapping helps researchers discover how texts work to organize people’s doings within an organization, and can illuminate areas or people within organizational structures that may be able to provide more information and/or context in an in-depth interview or focus group setting.

INSTITUTIONAL MAPPING Smith (2001) argues that it is possible to trace sequences of action from a particular text. This is done by identifying where and how the institutional texts produce the standardized controls of everyday work activities within institutions. To trace these sequences in our research, we used the technique of mapping. Susan Marie Turner (2006) has written extensively on mapping as a method for IE. She argues that mapping institutions as work and texts is distinct from other forms of organizational mapping, because it focuses on an analysis of how the work is taking place with/ through texts. It is the analytic work of mapping that makes it possible to situate texts within institutional processes such that the researcher can discover how individuals take up texts and coordinate their actions. It is important to note that mapping is not about creating an organizational flow chart, but instead constitutes an analytic approach to account for the “day-to-day text based work and local discourse practices that produce and shape the dynamic ongoing activities of an institution” (Turner, 2006, p. 139). The analytic goal of mapping, therefore, is to situate the text back into the action in which it is “produced, circulated and read, and where it has consequences in time and space” (Turner, 2006, p. 140). What is significant here is not only what the texts tell us, but also how

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individual actions are directed by these texts. In other words, our daily activities are organized and coordinated by a set of texts that produce standardized practices. In the case of these campus sexual violence policies, the policy (or text) works to organize relations between students, staff and faculty, such that some relations are defined as violent, discriminatory or unprofessional, while others are understood to be within the bounds of appropriate behavior. These texts bring people together in a set of actions that may involve such activities as filing a report, making an anonymous complaint, being interviewed by an investigator, taking part in an assessment and/or adjudication committee, meeting with campus personnel such as a Sexual Violence Prevention Officer or Human Rights Officer, and discussions around the imposition of various supports and sanctions. This process implicates many actors within the university structure, whose actions are coordinated by the policy they are upholding. Mapping institutional processes involves a step-by-step account for how an individual navigates institutional processes, which texts are present in or required for these institutional processes, and how they connect with each other. The process of mapping involves both an analysis of how the policy works to coordinate individual actions (for example, university sexual violence policies will include information about how and to whom a complaint may be made, which then coordinates the actions of individuals wishing to file a sexual violence complaint), and the creation of a visual representation of the policy in action. By mapping the sexual violence policies at two Ontario universities, we attempted to move through the policy as would a person who has experienced an incident of sexual violence on campus, and who may wish to make a complaint about the incident. What results from the process of mapping is a visual representation of the policy in action. Figure 6.1 provides a visual map of the reporting process at the second, larger university. To create our map, we first examined the university’s sexual violence policy. From this policy, we identified various reporting options for students and employees. Next, to find out more about the reporting process itself, we turned to the university’s “safe campus” website page, where an online reporting form is located. This website page also highlights various resources available to individuals who chose to file a formal report. With the policy information and the information showcased on the university’s sexual violence website page, we identified four main pathways. These pathways are as follows – the pathway for students who wish to issue a formal report, the pathway for employees who wish to issue a formal report, and two additional pathways for students and employees who do not wish to issue a formal report, but may wish to take advantage of counselling services or other resources. Figure 6.1 shows these separate pathways on the map; we created specific symbols for each phase of the reporting process. Once symbols were created, then we connected them so as to illustrate each distinct pathway for individuals, based on the policy and other university resources. The map of the reporting process at the larger university, represented by Figure 6.1, illustrates how our “small hero” moves through the policy. The term “small hero” was coined by Smith (1987) as a way to describe the difficulties an individual

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Figure 6.1

Mapping process at an Ontario university

faces navigating institutional processes. It is especially apt in regard to discussions of campus sexual violence policies, as it often takes “heroic” efforts on the part of those who wish to make a complaint to engage with these processes. One finding from our mapping exercise was that the provincial policy is interpreted differently at these two institutions. The mapping process thus illuminated separate paths for students and employees at each university. Specific to the larger university, for example, employees who wish to make a complaint are directed to the Equity and Human Rights Office. This Office has separate policy procedures in place in line with different provincial legislation, specific to employees. If a student is an employee at the time an incident takes place, their pathway is similar to that of an employee; however, the reporting process is very different if they are deemed a student. In short, the institutional route for students who make a complaint, or have a complaint made against them, will be different if they are an employee, such as a teaching assistant, or if they are students at the time the alleged incident occurred. The complexity of the reporting structures, due to these different legal and institutional factors, can create confusion amongst students as to where to go to report an

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incident of sexual violence. This confusion may act as a deterrent to some students who wish to make a formal report. The process at the smaller university is quite different from the one at the larger university showcased in Figure 6.1. For example, the smaller university has an assessment committee, established to review all complaints of sexual violence. This committee issues a judgment as to whether they believe an incident of sexual violence has occurred. Next, an independent investigator is brought in to review the complaint, interview the survivor, the accused perpetrator, and any relevant witnesses. The investigator then issues a determination as to whether an incident of sexual violence occurred, based on a balance of probabilities. Once this determination is made an adjudication panel is then established. This panel reviews the initial complaint, as well as the reports from the investigator and assessment committee and then determines if an incident of sexual violence took place, and what, if any, sanctions can be imposed on the offending party. This three-step process is the same regardless if the complainant is a student, or staff or faculty member. Initially, we assumed that universities were dealing with complaints in a similar fashion. But, through our detailed mapping process, we discovered considerable differences in terms of which offices handle complaints, and the pathways that are followed. Our findings from the mapping process at the two institutions also exemplified the varying ways in which sexual violence policies are written and implemented. Despite being responses to the same SVHAP mandate, both policies we reviewed were markedly different from one another, approaching the problem of sexual violence on campus in distinct ways. Mapping also exposed gaps in the policies, as well as gaps in the explanations of the policies such that even the researchers were confused by the steps involved in reporting and filing complaints. Furthermore, mapping exposed how experiences of sexual violence on university campuses are text-mediated. In addition, mapping has helped us determine who to interview in our organizations, as we were able to clearly identify those offices/group involved with the reporting process. As previously mentioned, our study makes use of a variety of qualitative methods to investigate the implementation, or lack thereof, of campus sexual violence policies. In our next research phase, we interview key policy actors who have been identified through our IE mapping exercise.

CHALLENGES, LIMITATIONS AND OPPORTUNITIES In this chapter, we have outlined our specific approach to IE, which we believe provides a useful alternative approach for gender and management research. In showing how IE can be used to explore gender relations within organizations, we have sought to better understand how campus sexual violence policies coordinate individual and organizational action. IE enables us to comprehend how policy actors understand, interpret and enact policies at the institutional level, and how notions of sex, gender and gendered embodiment come to bear on policy implementation. Additionally,

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using IE has sensitized us to the complex and, at times, contradictory nature of policy implementation. Through the process of mapping these policies, a series of ethical questions arose regarding policy gaps and points of confusion or contradiction. One key contradiction relates to the language used in these policies. Although the original act specified sexual violence, as did our original research, as the policy is being implemented across the different university systems, the naming of the violence changed. So what began as “sexual violence” in one university’s texts was altered to the term “gender-based sexual violence,” the latter term being seen as more inclusive of people’s diverse experiences. This inclusivity is important because the violence that is experienced by students and others may not be encapsulated by the term “sexual.” Moreover, the language of the policy may be contested by non-binary and some trans individuals as too narrow to fit their lived experience. Researchers involved in IE must be cognizant of the ways in which the language we use affects not only policy implementation in our organization, but also how we may unintentionally marginalize individuals. Our research has shown just how sensitive researchers need to be to the complexities of language. These ethical issues are ones that we are still grappling with in our research. In our view, IE is a helpful addition to the methodological toolkit of gender researchers, because it allows scholars to connect individual experiences in the workplaces with broader structural concerns. That said, there are some challenges with using IE. There continues, for example, to be questions around whether or not IE should be defined as a theoretical perspective, a methodology, or a mode of inquiry. This tension has allowed IE to be taken up in a variety of ways, including a sole approach or methodology, a guiding framework or foundation, or in combination with other methods (Malachowski, Skorobohacz & Stasiulis, 2017; Tummons, 2010). Thus, the use of IE varies across research, making a clear definition and application challenging and, at times, confusing endeavor (Stanley, 2018). Furthermore, as with other ethnographic research, IE is a complex mode of inquiry that requires researchers to commit substantial time and effort. As an example, the mapping of one institutional policy in two different university locations took close to a year to complete. However, the time spent on mapping the ruling relations at the organizational nexus of policy and practices enabled the team to think through the complex ways in which institutional processes can both help and hinder the reporting of gender-based sexual violence. The knowledge obtained has not only proved useful in perceiving the different ways that two universities approach this topic; it has also helped us reshape the next phase of our research, including interviews and participant observation. Finally, reflexive and iterative approaches to research are hallmarks of feminist research methods, and IE provides a roadmap for how to engage in this kind of scholarship. IE’s potential for gender and management scholars is substantial, not least because there is limited research in this field (Eveline, Bacchi & Binns, 2009; Lund, 2019). Although our focus is higher education, we see this mode of inquiry as translating to different organizational problems in gender and management research. A review

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of recent scholarship indicates that scholars have used IE extensively in Canadian health care research (Campbell, 2016), while medical professionals in Ireland have taken up IE as a way to improve policies and practices within health care reform (Kearney et al., 2018). In organizational studies, IE has been utilized to look at the effects of gender versus diversity mainstreaming in policy settings (Eveline, Bacchi & Binns, 2009). Additionally, IE has been used extensively in education by Smith working with diverse colleagues, as well as to investigate organizational challenges when universities try to move up the global rankings (Lund, 2019). As Amanda Sinclair (2019) notes, we need “alternative methods of organizing guided by feminist ethics and values” (p. 151). IE offers a complementary alternative to organizational ethnography, one initially founded on an activist feminism (Stanley, 2018). This activism is important, not least because IE is a form of ethnography about social change. Although Smith has been classified as a “feminist poststructuralist” by some organizational scholars (Sykes & Treleaven, 2009), this label fails to incorporate the many diverse strands that influence Smith’s thinking, including Marxism, ethnomethodology, existential phenomenology, Foucauldian discourse analysis and, last but by no means least, her own second-wave feminist activism. All these diverse strands are important to understanding the radical potential of IE. Smith (2005) refers to IE as an alternative sociology, a bold claim but one that has resonance for those involved in gender-based projects that try and mobilize institutional change. We want to advocate for more scholars to become engaged with this form of ethnography. In our view, IE could complement gender and management research that examines the visible and (invisible) structures that affect organizational life, and serve to marginalize women’s diverse voices and ways of being (Lewis, 2017; Stead, 2013). This mode of inquiry could also be used to build upon scholarship that illustrates the effects of violence in organizational life on relationships that occur not only between, but also among, genders (Mavin, Grandy & Williams, 2014). Finally, IE lends itself well to exploring issues of diversity, equity and inclusion. In short, scholars working in diverse areas of gender and management research may benefit from considering IE as a mode of inquiry. In conclusion, our present understanding of gender relations in organizations is “more complex, more contested, [and] less certain” (Hearn, 2019, p. 31) than in the past. Consequently, researchers must recognize the complexities of gender as it intersects, not only with other identity characteristics, but also with the complexities of twenty-first-century organizational life. IE provides one concrete approach to further understanding how the relations of ruling underpin gender relations in organizational life (Campbell, 2016; Lund, 2019; Smith, 2009). As such, IE holds much promise for future research in gender and management.1

NOTE 1.

This research was supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

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REFERENCES Ahmed, S. (2017), Living a Feminist Life, Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Alani, T. and N. Jeffery (2015), ‘Responding to sexual assault on Canadian university campuses: promising policies and future directions’, Psynopsis, Spring. Bacchi, C. (2017), ‘Policies as gendering practices: re-viewing categorical distinctions’, Journal of Women, Politics & Policy, 38 (1), 20–41. Broadbridge, A. and R. Simpson (2011), ‘25 years on: reflecting on the past and looking to the future in gender and management research’, British Journal of Management, 22, 436–78. Browne, R. (2014), ‘Why don’t Canadian universities want to talk about sexual assault?’ Macleans, accessed October 30, 2019 at http://​www​.macleans​.ca/​education/​unirankings/​ why​-dont​-canadian​-universities​-want​-to​-talk​-about​-sexual​-assault/​. Butler, J. (1990), Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, London and New York: Routledge. Butler, J. (2011), ‘Your behavior creates your gender’, Big Think, accessed September 15, 2019 at https://​www​.youtube​.com/​watch​?v​=​Bo7o2LYATDc. Campbell, M. (2016), ‘Intersectionality, policy-oriented research and the social relations of knowing’, Gender, Work & Organization, 23 (3), 248–60. Campbell, M. and F. Gregor (2004), ‘Theory “in” everyday life’, in W. K. Carroll (ed.), Critical Strategies for Social Research, 170–80, Toronto: Canadian Scholars Press. Campbell, M. and E. Kim (2018), ‘The (missing) subjects of research on gender and global governance: toward inquiry into the ruling relations of development’, Business Ethics: A European Review, 27 (4), 350–60. Cantalupo, N. C. (2011), ‘Burying our heads in the sand: lack of knowledge, knowledge avoidance, and the persistent problem of campus peer sexual violence’, Georgetown Law Faculty Publications and Other Works, 634, https://​scholarship​.law​.georgetown​.edu/​facpub/​634. Collins, P. Hill (1997), ‘Comment on Hekman’s “Truth and Method: Feminist Standpoint Theory Revisited: Where’s the Power?”’ Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 22 (2), 375–81. De Souza, E., J. Brewis and N. Rumens (2016), ‘Gender, the body and organization studies: que(e)rying empirical research’, Gender, Work and Organization, 23 (6), 600–614. DeVault, M. L. (2006), ‘Introduction: what is institutional ethnography?’ Soc. Probs., 53, 294. DeVault, M. L. and L. McCoy (2012), ‘Investigating ruling relations: dynamics of interviewing in institutional ethnography’, in J. F. Gubrium, J. A. Holstein, A. B. Marvasti and K. D. McKinney (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Interview Research: The Complexity of the Craft, 381–95, London: Sage. Elliott, C. and V. Stead (2009), Women’s Leadership: Sociological Constructions of Women’s Leadership, New York and London: Palgrave Macmillan. Eveline, J., C. Bacchi and J. Binns (2009), ‘Gender mainstreaming versus diversity mainstreaming: methodology as emancipatory politics’, Gender, Work & Organization, 16 (2), 198–216. Garcia, C. and A. Vemuri (2017), ‘Theorizing “rape culture”: how law, policy and education can support and end sexual violence’, Education & Law Journal, 27 (1), 1–17. Gardiner, R. A. (2015), Gender, Authenticity, and Leadership: Thinking with Arendt, New York and London: Palgrave Macmillan. Harding, S. G. (2004), The Feminist Standpoint Theory Reader: Intellectual and Political Controversies, London: Psychology Press. Harris, Lockwood K. (2016), ‘Re-situating organizational knowledge: violence, intersectionality and the privilege of partial perspective’, Human Relations, 70 (3), 263–85. Hearn, J. (2019), ‘Gender, work and organization: a gender–work–organization analysis’, Gender, Work & Organization, 26, 31–9.

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Holland, K. J. and L. M. Cortina (2017), ‘“It happens to girls all the time”: examining sexual assault survivors’ reasons for not using campus supports’, American Journal of Community Psychology, 59, 50–64. Iverson, S. V. and M. N. Issadore (2018), ‘Going upstream: policy as sexual violence prevention and response’, New Directions for Student Services, 161, 59–69. Janosik, S. M. and D. E. Gregory (2009), ‘The Clery Act, campus safety and theperceptions of senior student affairs officers’, NASPA Journal, 46 (2), 208–27. Kearney, G. P., M. K. Corman, G. J. Gormley, N. D. Hart, J. L. Johnston and D. E. Smith (2018), ‘Institutional ethnography: a sociology of discovery—in conversation with Dorothy Smith’, Social Theory & Health, 16 (3), 292–306. Knights, D. (2019), ‘Gender still at work: interrogating identity in discourses and practices of masculinity: anniversary edition’, Gender, Work & Organization, 26, 18–30. Lewis, P. (2017), ‘Visibly different from the academic norm’, Gender in Management: An International Journal, 32 (7), 476–87. Lund, R. (2019), ‘Passion, care, and eros in the gendered neoliberal university’, Organization, 26 (1), 98–121. Madsen, S. (ed.) (2018), Handbook of Research on Gender and Leadership, Cheltenham, UK and Northampton, MA, USA: Edward Elgar Publishing. Malachowski, C., C. Skorobohacz and E. Stasiulis (2017), ‘Institutional ethnography as a method of inquiry: a scoping review’, Qualitative Sociology Review, 13 (4), 84–121. Mavin, S., G. Grandy and J. Williams (2014), ‘Experiences of women elite leaders doing gender: intra-gender micro-violence between women’, British Journal of Management, 25 (3), 439–55. Neitz, M. J. (2014), ‘Doing advocacy from a feminist standpoint’, Religion, 44 (2), 259–75. Norsted, M. and J. P. Breimo (2016), ‘Moving beyond everyday life in institutional ethnographies: methodological challenges and ethical dilemmas’, Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung/Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 17 (2), https://​doi​.org/​10​.17169/​fqs​ -17​.2​.2539. OMTCU [Ontario Ministry of Training, Colleges and Universities] (2016), Sexual Violence and Harassment Action Plan, accessed September 20, 2019 at https://​www​.ontario​.ca/​laws/​ statute/​90m19​#BK29. Sinclair, A. (2019), ‘Five movements in an embodied feminism’, Human Relations, 2 (1) 144–58. Smith, D. E. (1987), The Everyday World as Problematic: A Feminist Sociology, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Smith, D. E. (1990), The Conceptual Practices of Power: A Feminist Sociology, Boston: Northeastern University Press. Smith, D. E. (1994), ‘A Berkeley education’, Gender and the Academic Experience: Berkeley Women Sociologists, 45–56. Smith, D. E. (2001), ‘Texts and the ontology of organizations and institutions’, Studies in Cultures, Organizations and Societies, 7 (2), 159–98. Smith, D. E. (2005), Institutional Ethnography: A Sociology for People, Lanham, MD: Rowman Altamira. Smith, D. E. (2006), ‘Incorporating texts into ethnographic practice’, Institutional Ethnography as Practice, 65–88, https://​www​.researchgate​.net/​publication/​303423061​_Incorporating​ _texts​_into​_institutional​_ethnographies. Smith, D. E. (2009), ‘Categories are not enough’, Gender & Society, 23 (1), 76–80. Stanley, L. (2018), Dorothy E. Smith, Feminist Sociology & Institutional Ethnography: A Short Introduction, X Press. Edinburgh and Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Stead, V. (2013), ‘Learning to deploy (in)visibility: an examination of women leaders’ lived experiences’, Management Learning, 44, 163–79.

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Sykes, C. and L. Treleaven (2009), ‘Critical action research and organizational ethnography’, in S. Ybema, D. Yanow, H. Wels and F. Kamsteeg (eds), Organizational Ethnography: Studying the Complexities of Everyday Life, 215–31, London and New York: Sage. Tummons, J. (2010), ‘Institutional ethnography and actor-network theory: a framework for researching the assessment of trainee teachers’, Ethnography and Education, 5 (3), 345–57. Turner, S. M. (2006), ‘Mapping institutions as work and texts’, in D. E. Smith (ed.), Institutional Ethnography as Practice, 139–61, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Whitley, L. and T. Page (2015), ‘Sexism at the centre: locating the problem of sexual harassment’, New Formations, 86, 34–53.

7. Participant observation in gender and management research Farooq Mughal, Valerie Stead and Caroline Gatrell

INTRODUCTION The purpose of this chapter is to direct attention towards the organization of participant observation as a research method for qualitatively studying gender, through a case example of exploring intra-group dynamics on an action learning (AL) programme across three Pakistani business schools. We discuss participant observations in the context of management education research, with the understanding that the design and process of both the learning intervention and qualitative inquiry are influenced by gendered and cultural assumptions (Mughal et al., 2018). Thus, we recognize that the subjective positioning of the researcher (as a facilitator) and participants (as learners) on an AL programme, which encourages group reflection, can reflect broader discourses (e.g. Vince & Reynolds, 2004). As such, researchers and participants frequently meeting and interacting in AL sets by exchanging ideas, and through enactment of their social identity (for example as a male Pakistani academic or student), may both produce and reproduce particular sociocultural discourses throughout fieldwork (e.g. Järviluoma et al., 2003; Willmott, 1997). Well documented in the literature, qualitative inquiry in the field of management eductaion is powerful in gaining insights into social and cultural issues through the process of knowledge exchange and generation (Cassell et al. 2009; Richardson & Jordan, 2017). Often intertwined with a learning agenda, qualitative inquiries in this respect are likely to create intersubjective spaces where meanings, ideas and beliefs are often co-constructed between researchers and their participants. We consider qualitative research as a process in which (re)production, exposition or positioning of the subjective and relational selves occur (e.g. Cunliffe, 2008). The researcher’s subjective positioning including their beliefs and values is therefore a complex yet central consideration in the development of any qualitative research activity with implications for both the research process and the study of gender. What underpins the manifestation of subjective beliefs and ideologies in a research process are perhaps the tendencies that (re)produce power structures and relationships, which then traverse different fields of everyday life practice (Mumby & Stohl, 1991). It is, therefore, difficult to position individuals (i.e. researchers and participants or learners) outside the force fields of power and culture (e.g. Parameswaran, 2001). This, however, means that the construction of meanings and (re)production of the self during a research process is constrained by preconcieved cultural notions and the hierarchical positioning of individuals in a social space (Hickson et al., 1971). 101

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Many scholars pursuing research in the field of management and organization studies (MOS) have been interested in the notion of gender as an object or subject of their research. However, many undermine the significant impact of gender on the practice of research itself from a cultural viewpoint when acquiring data from the field (e.g. Ashmos Plowman & Smith, 2011). Pursuing research around gender requires researchers to consider their role in the design and process by which such subjective constructions are investigated. It is only in recent times that MOS has begun to consider issues like scientific reflexivity and reflexive practice (Alvesson & Sköldberg, 2017; Cunliffe & Easterby-Smith, 2004), particularly with the use of techniques like participant observation in which the role (and gender) of the researcher in relation to that of participants is critical in shaping the outcomes of a study (e.g. Maton, 2003). Of particular importance in the context of this chapter is our ability to highlight cultural politics, and to underline specifically how gender relations (and positions) are studied as well as negotiated from a researcher’s viewpoint (e.g. Gatenby & Humphries, 1999; Tedlock, 1991), and how participant observation is of value in this regard. Participant observation remains a well-documented method with many textbooks available that demonstrate both the design and use of this technique (see e.g. Guest et al., 2013; Musante & DeWalt, 2010; Spradely, 2016). We add to this literature through a focus on the particular use of participant observation in the study of gender and management. In so doing, we present a reflexive model of participant observation from a gendered perspective through our own experiences of organizing research in Paksitani business schools. An important consideration in our study of gender as an observer, is that the immersion of one’s self within certain contextual settings does not mean relegating one’s own identity as a researcher in favour of one truth. Rather, our own subjective positioning and identity acts as a medium of interpreting contextual meanings unfolding in those settings. Directing attention towards the reflexive process in participant observation, therefore, adds value for gender studies because it encourages a focus on the interplay of subjective dimensions of power (e.g. positionality, identity and tendencies) unfolding between the researcher and those being researched. To discuss how these dynamics offer an opportunity to the gender researcher and how they also complicate the study of gender, there are four sections to this chapter. The first two sections explore what is meant by participant observation and why is it of value to studying gender in management. Third, we present a case example where we demonstrate the design and process of undertaking participant observation with the specific goal of gaining insight into gendered power relations. Here, we also illuminate the conscious and unconscious practices performed by the researcher immersed in the field through the illustration of three key stages in participant observation: entering, processing and exiting the field. The fourth and final section discusses the implications of using participant observation with a specific focus on the ethical considerations in relation to gender studies.

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WHAT IS PARTICIPANT OBSERVATION? AND WHY USE IT? Historically, participant observation has been used by sociologists and anthropologists across an array of studies primarily focused on understanding culture and the cultural habitat (Malinowski, 1922 [1961]). These studies often portray the researcher as ‘going native’, that is, becoming consumed within a culture (Tedlock, 1991: 69) and often perceived as carefully sat along with their diary, taking notes of each and every frame of social reality unfolding in front of their eyes. Guest et al. (2013) refer to this as sketching an ‘iconic image’ of a researcher in the field – i.e. endeavouring to address a range of research objectives by producing insights and contextual understandings from the most complex to mundane activities. Researchers engaging in participant observation are particularly interested in understanding the ‘meanings of human existence as they are constructed and enacted by people in everyday life situations’ (Jorgensen, 2015: 1). Participant observers interact with people and their social conditions while recording their encounter as they immerse deeper into the research context in order to get a sense of the thoughts, feelings and experiences underpinning social practice (Smith, 1978; Wacquant, 2004) in a range of settings including organizations and their everyday business. In this sense, participant observation perhaps ranks as one of the most challenging and demanding forms of fieldwork in qualitative research. It acts as a bridge, connecting the researcher with their subjects’ experiences through the act of participating and immersing concomitantly in a given context (Atkinson & Hammersley, 1998). This is something we do most commonly, and unconciously, throughout our lives, that is, trying to become members of our workgroups, social circles, families and communities of interest. However, as participant observers, we are guided by our research interests in which we try to organize, manage and systematize the inherently fluid process of observing social reality. We often find participant observers not only trying to seek memberships of groups and communities but also recording notes, writing-up feelings, taking pictures and asking questions that are designed to make sense of this question: ‘what’s happening here?’. Key Features of Participant Observations Based on our extensive review of literature around participant observations, we identify three pairs of features all of which are interrelated and have particular value for studying gender in management and organizations: ●● The first pair is: immersion and time. Interacting with people and situations to collect in-depth highly contextualized data is a significant characteristic of participant observation (Seale et al., 2004). This highlights the embedded and often informal nature of participant observation in which the researcher attempts to immerse within the context for a period of time to acquire a sufficient understanding of human behaviour and experiences (Schatz, 2013). Immersion is central to

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participant observations when studying the life of a group and sharing their lived experiences. For example, Stead and Elliott (2013) discuss how through informal everyday observations during their teaching they came to recognize that the use of a typology of women’s leadership experiences in the classroom intended to stimulate discussion on the complexities of negotiating gender in organizational life often had the opposite effect. Their informal observations of how student groups engaged with this learning approach, their interactions and discussions, revealed a tendency to encourage binary thinking and to produce further gendered categorizations, perhaps an observation that would have been difficult to make using other forms of research methods like interviewing. Depending upon the nature of research, the time spent could possibly range from days to years with multiple visits (Musante & DeWalt, 2010). ●● The second pair is: trust and identity. Building trust and assuming a situational identity allows the generation of rich data. This refers to the ability to work through the insider vs outsider dilemma as observers (Bonner & Tolhurst, 2002). Seeking to immerse oneself in a research context requires the ability to build rapport with people involved in the study (Berger, 2001). Observations can be intrusive and disruptive, meaning people are likely to alter their ways of doing especially when their actions are being recorded (Laurier, 2010). In their study on gender and entreprenuerial networks, Hanson and Blake (2009) note that trust and legitimacy are two key elements to establishing rapport with participants. This process is, however, influenced by gender and social relationships (Hanson and Blake, 2009). Likewise, entering a social context for the purpose of engaging with individuals requires a level of trust and an understanding of ‘how fieldwork identity dynamics’, including gender and social relationships shape the research process (Huggins & Glebbeek, 2009: 9). When studying gender, and to avoid disruptions caused by social hierarchies, it is important to negotiate a trustworthy situational identity, which allows other people to be themselves. In this vein, Frank (2002) offers three ways of understanding the identity negotiation process in observational studies by indicating how researchers can assume ascribed (based on their physical traits and appearance, e.g. mother, wife, husband, father), selective (based on the situation or problem, e.g. demonstrating characteristics like being a working-mum or a single-dad), and enforced (assigned by the participants, e.g. being a fatherly figure or a young lady) identities to study gender. ●● The third pair is: membership and location. These refer to situating the researcher where the action is taking place (Guest et al., 2013). This points towards the inward movement of the researcher within the context of research, that is, attaining core membership of the workgroups, organizations, communities or social circles, etc. The ability to contextually position in the right location will result in the production of thick descriptions to make sense of the highly contextualized data acquired as a result of spending enough time in the field (e.g. Geertz, 1973). For example, Stead and Elliott’s (2013) study on women’s leadership experiences demonstrates unique insights from UK classroom locations, whereas Huggins and Glebbeek’s (2009) research focused on construction of identities in the

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South Asian context. Studying gender and culture using participant observation therefore means directing attention on how the members of a group/community obtain, produce and reproduce gendered values, beliefs, symbols and patterns of behaviour (e.g. Gherardi & Poggio, 2001). Achieving legitimate participation or core membership within a community (Lave & Wenger, 1991) as an observer can, therefore, enable researchers to see how segregation and behavioural conformity in cultural settings might occur in gendered relationships. For example, in our study of MBAs in Pakistani business schools, access to the community and acceptance within it was possible as the main researcher conducting participant observations was Pakistani, had achieved an MBA and was therefore recognized as a potentially legitimate member of the MBA community. These differences are often constructed, sustained and consolidated by means of various types of symbolic interaction and mediation (e.g. through language, rituals, norms). Participant observations can thus enable researchers to engage with gender at a deeper level.

PARTICIPANT OBSERVATIONS AND STUDYING GENDER IN MANAGEMENT For gender and management researchers, the political nature of conducting participant observation as part of a research paradigm like ethnography is important to take into account. Bell et al. (2013: 1) write, ‘the dilemma confronting the ethnographer, as participant-observer, is both detached and engaged, an element of study and the instrument of its articulation has generated a considerable body of literature’. The need to immerse within the field gives rise to issues of gender, as ethnographers seek to perform fieldwork by ‘establishing relationships, and by learning to see, think and be in another culture’ (Bell et al., 2013: 1). Our ways of doing ethnography and our use of participant observation as a means to understand what is going on is by virtue of who we are, for example as individuals of a particular social class, age, lineage and ethnic, racial or gender identity. To give voice to gender-related issues of participants, the gender-inflicted voice of the researcher cannot be silent (e.g. Kanpol, 1999). The way we interpret gender, irrespective of being an insider or outsider, is dependent upon our historical and cultural affiliations. Using the notion of token women, for example, Brewis and Pecis (2019) draw on Rosabeth Moss Kanter’s work around gender to describe the disproportinate respresentation of women in the workplace. They elaborate on an ethnographic study undertaken by Kanter (1993) which demonstrates how women became symbolic – thus giving them more visibility. Subsequently, these women were subject to assimiliation (stereotyping) and polarization (exageration) when compared to men and the dominant masculine culture in organizations. However, the most important finding comes from an observation, as noted by Brewis and Pecis (2019: 55), that ‘the performances of camaraderie and prowess by men were observed in groups where women were present but not in sufficient numbers to intorudce a “hybrid of

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conversation themes”’ (Kanter, 1993: 22). Gender scholars can use participant observation as a means to observe gender-induced behaviours and patterns, so directing our attention towards the disparity that exists between the different classifications of gender (see e.g. Kanter, 1977). While showing similarities, our case example from Pakistan, drawn from a design-based ethnographic study, further highlights some of the obstacles and way forward for observing gender dynamics in a tightly knit, high-power distance culture. Drawing on the key features and using participant observation as a field-method to study gender, our case can possibly be viewed as an investigative activity unfolding in three interconnected phases: entering (gaining access, building trust and immersing within the field), processing (identifying roles, relationships and assuming/ negotiating an identity), and exiting (leaving the field) (e.g. Warren et al., 2000). We argue that gender and culture are likely to shape the design, process and outcome of the study at each of these points, among which the most salient concerns are pertinent to the identity of the researcher and participants involved and their relationship in a given context (Turnbull, 1986). The most pressing issue in gaining deep insights about gender, as Adler and Adler (1987) write, requires an understanding of the roles and identities of those involved in the research process; gender being one particular aspect that either creates distance or resistance in scientific investigations. In some contexts, gender might be considered a biological status that is further classified (and socially constructed) into culturally ascribed roles (e.g. mother, wife, sacred) (e.g. Sørensen, 1996), while others may not have a clear distinction between biological and cultural roles, promoting a more egalitarian view of society (Gornick & Meyers, 2008). Yet gender remains a dominant aspect that organizes participants into biologically, culturally and/or historically asigned identities that make fieldwork a complicated process in management studies (e.g. Watson & Till, 2010). Gaining access to experiences of participants from a gendered perspective, therefore, requires a deeper level of immersion (Nader, 1972) – one that provides access to values, beliefs, norms and attitudes which only makes sense to those who live (or at least co-create) this reality for themselves (Hoffman, 1990). Participant observations provide contetxual insights and the flexibility to alter one’s position in the field in an attempt to associate meanings with highly contextualized behaviours and practices that other approaches fail to do. It helps formalize and transform social reality into meaningful knowledge. Spending a greater amount of time in the field creates more accuracy in accounts and avoids risks of self-reported data (Guest et al., 2013). When studying gender, certain behaviours might go unreported. Seeing and living these through the eyes of locals can help integrate observed behaviour into its cultural setting. Obtaining full access or membership as a researcher will require a degree of trust and rapport with participants. From a gendered perspective, this can be accomplished through the identification of the self with the setting and participants. A degree of similarlity with the context and participants, for example values, age, physical appearance, social class, gender, and ethnic or racial differences, can strike a positive note in assuming a situational identity.

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However, with participant observations, researchers are driven by their objectives having a particular role in mind that matches with the social context in which participants are situated (Bonner & Tolhurst, 2002). On the one hand, researchers entering a known setting (or culture) can aim to become a participant in a learning group, to perform volunteer work, or hang-out with a group of teenagers to observe their social habits and so on (Labaree, 2002). On the other hand, stepping into a different setting (or culture) might be slightly less comfortable for others as coping with strangers (researchers) is likely to result in the construction of identity based on an existing stock of knowledge (Bucerius, 2013). Role-taking in participant observation offers an avenue to connect and interact with participants as they are bestowed with the responsibility to accept or reject the researcher in their natural settings (e.g. Warren, 1982). Once the role is assigned and entry gained into the setting, keeping the role or negotiating a new one becomes inherently important. Trying to study gender by way of immersion requires an understanding of the ‘self, setting and passage of time’ (Warren et al., 2000: 13): participant observation provides the opportunity to the researcher to make themselves seen and relatable to others (e.g. Back, 2013). From fitting into the role to exiting the field, participant observations can be of value to gender studies as it helps identify gender behaviour, norms and relationships not only from a social structural perspective but also from the perspective of deep human experiences, that is, subjectivities (e.g. Atkinson, 2016). Next, we aim to demonstrate these considerations in practice by shedding light on three key phases to offer insights into the design and process of undertaking participant observations.

STUDYING GENDER IN PAKISTANI BUSINESS SCHOOLS We discuss the use of our participant observation technique in our study in three broad stages. First, we provide insights on how entry was gained to Pakistani business schools. Second, we highlight the process of studying gender-in-action on the Pakistani MBA and third, we describe key challenges of exiting the field. In so doing, we provide insights to readers on how we designed the participant observation in order to be able to reveal gendered dynamics within a particular cultural setting. We draw on our experiences to identify ethical implications discussed in the final section of this chapter. Reflecting on Gaining Entry to Pakistani Business Schools Participant observations require a considerable amount of time being spent in the field with the researcher adopting various roles in an attempt to gain a comprehensive understanding of the social phenomena being studied (e.g. Baker, 2006). Gold (1957) suggested four different roles that a participant observer can adopt, ranging from complete participation to complete observation. Our study aimed to use MBA programmes at three Pakistani business schools as research sites to study AL group dynamics (see Mughal, 2016). The epistemological grounds for using participant

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observations was based on minimizing the ‘distance’ and ‘separateness’ between the researcher and the researched (Karnieli-Miller et al., 2009: 279). Although the lead author (Farooq) was already a member of the cultural setting in which the study was being conducted, gaining access was still a challenging process for an ethnographically driven qualitative study employing an observational component. Drawing on Farooq’s cultural knowledge, we identified persuasion and diplomacy as essential skills to convince Pakistani business school deans to use AL, on an experimental basis, as a way to (study and) encourage self-directed learning among MBA students. Writing letters along with detailed research plans that set out the study objectives of running AL sets and observations on the Pakistani MBA proved essential to gain access resulting in recruitment of 31 MBA students (22 men, 9 women) split into four AL groups across the three business schools. During the entry phase, it is important to recognize the politics of participant observations given its time-consuming, intrusive and immersive nature. One might be involved in having informal conversations, developing rapport and building relationship with gatekeepers of organizations to set the context of the activities that are to follow, especially negotiating issues related to power, control, and ownership of the study. Marshall and Batten (2004) emphasize the need for considering power issues in researching across different cultures. This seems paradoxical; as cultural insiders we are predominantly ignorant of the taken-for-granted beliefs, while as outsiders we are too biased to fully understand the context (Marshall and Batten, 2004). With regard to respecting the internal cultural and belief system of the research setting (Hudson and Taylor-Henley, 2001) we recognized power to be a critical component shaping the outcome of this study as it involves cultural transition of AL from the western frontiers to eastern borders of Pakistan. The employment of AL, given its purpose of questioning taken-for-granted assumptions can be demanding in cultures where high student/teacher power distance or notable gender differences influence learners in their quest for learning (Mughal, 2021). These can also reinforce or mask subjective understanding of gender and social identity of individuals, jeopardizing the outcomes of a research study. Reflecting on the Process of Conducting Observations in Action Learning Sets During participant observations, the positionality of the observer is critical to study. Our understanding of ‘positionality is […] determined by where one stands in relation to the other’ (Merriam et al., 2001: 411, emphasis added). The dual role of a researcher (observer) and facilitator as adopted by Farooq further complicated the research process and Farooq’s perceived positionality, revealing an insider/outsider dilemma. In Farooq’s position as a researcher, he presented as an outsider coming into the business schools with the intention of taking something away from them, i.e. their experiences and accounts of AL. Adopting a facilitator role, however, he presented himself as an insider, a participant, working with Pakistani MBA students. From a practical point of view, given his work experience, age, gender and foreign exposure, he could see himself as hierarchically placed in relation to the partici-

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pants, adding to his outsider status. Yet the role of facilitator meant that Farooq had a responsibility to ensure that the AL sets met their goals and were safe places for participants to learn. As facilitator, he tried to emphasize his insider status, as being in a similar position to the Pakistani MBA students, someone who had done his MBA in Pakistan and knew the setting well. Thus, managing both roles was complicated, juggling the role of researcher in order to capture data and that of facilitator to start off the sets in the right direction and each with particular responsibilities. As researcher, Farooq’s aim was to gain insight into how relationships unfolded, while as facilitator, it was his responsibility to look after participants’ physical and emotional well-being during and after the sets and to ensure that the AL sets were developmental. It seemed that the pressure to ensure that sets were fruitful but also meaningful for the researcher in terms of data required Farooq to too often switch off from one or other role at times. Audio-recordings were essential here, to enable revisiting of events and incidents. A key conflict was feeling that by devoting too much attention to ensuring that the sets worked as they should, would result in not being able to observe in detail, and vice-versa. A particularly challenging aspect was intervening as a facilitator when gendered conflicts emerged in group discussions. This was tricky from two perspectives: as a researcher, he wanted to capture the entirety of the situation and its natural end, while as a facilitator he felt responsible for ensuring that the sets were safe places for participants. Situational awarness in assessing each event (e.g. individuals, relationships, verbal and non-verbal cues) emerged as key to striking a balance between the facilitator vs observer dilemma. Overall, facilitating a socially inclusive approach in AL sets on the Pakistani MBA, which consisted of mixed gender groups, was significantly challenging because gender as a socially constructed phenomenon is shaped by the dominant social and cultural perceptions (e.g. Gatrell & Swan, 2008). These perceptions do not merely surface from an individual’s biological state, but from the ‘set of expectations about the body, which are […] deeply socialized’ (Gatrell & Swan, 2008: 27). The positioning of gendered bodies in a social space, such as the AL set, within its entirety (i.e. social conditions, historicity and relations) produces an explicit set of cultural values. For example, one of the male participants described how, in his home town in a rural area, educational institutions and even households are segregated between men and women, and where direct interaction is prohibited in public. Even from more urbanized backgrounds, one female participant described being schooled in a girls’ only institution with a dupatta (veil) being a necessary accessory. These dispositions can become problematic for researchers whose study objectives consist of observing interpersonal relationships and intra-group dynamics in a non-traditional learning environment. Reflecting on Exiting the Field and Post-observations The exit phase is critical to participant observation, including if the study involves further investigation into participants’ post-learning experiences. In the case of our

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study, we expected that Farooq’s position as a male academic who knew the MBA process would aid him in acquiring post-observational data from male participants, but would require more effort in connecting with the females in his one-to-one interactions. Our expectations were grounded in the logical assumption that individuals with similar identities connect well (e.g. Fries-Britt & Turner, 2002). However, what we found was the opposite: the female participants were forthcoming in their post AL set interviews about how they were treated as individuals and learners, while the males generally described events and process without digging deep to connect with their emotions. As a Western educated male academic of Pakistani orgin, Farooq felt surprised to see such role reversal. For example, one of the female participants had recently lost her father and broke down in tears during a de-briefing session, saying how helpful the AL sets were in bringing her back into the MBA studies when the loss of her father had had such a huge impact upon her that she was drifting away. We believe that Farooq might have taken his position for granted while interacting with male participants as, in the case of females, he was more cautious about overstepping boundaries and posing any threats in his capacity as a male researcher. Perhaps Farooq’s assumption was grounded in the idea that individuals with different gendered identities would relate less to one another. Thus, taking the cultural context into acccount, and how femininity rather than masculinity is associated with emotion, is critical to the research process. It became apparent in the AL groups that men shy away from displaying emotion so they might be percevied as masculine whereas women displaying emotions would be seen as congruent with prevailing ideas of feminine behaviour. These dynamics differed in AL sets and the post-AL interviews, as men were provocative in groups and women were forthcoming in one on one interviews. Women were conscious of their position in the set but in the interviews it seemed that positional realignment with cultural expectations and group dynamics was not in play. There are two key takeaways for researchers in this case: first, to understand one’s own position and the relational dynamics of different cultural groups; and second, to (re)consider how femininity rather than masculinity is associated with expression of emotions with the changing landscape. If this is the case, then developing trust with men in interviews and women in groups demands more labour by a male qualitative researcher.

CONCLUDING THOUGHTS AND ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS FOR STUDYING GENDER IN MANAGEMENT LEARNING AND EDUCATION Finally, we direct attention towards the ethical considerations for engaging in participant observation raised by our study. Our case example illustrates how cultural values pertaining to role positions of both the observer and participants have been embodied during their upbringing and socialization. The challenge for the researcher is to make sense of these complexities and how they might shape practice in the light of cultural norms and hierarchies, and the forces which preserve gender and power relations in

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the research process. In light of this, we highlight three areas for consideration in the use of participant observation to study gender in the field of management learning and education, and the associated ethical considerations: 1. Studying gender through participant observation can raise significant challenges depending on the cultural context. Our study illustrates the complexity of negotiating cultural dispositions. For example, meeting with silence may be construed by observers as failure of the learning intervention and research method. However, this could be considered as a way of developing/demonstrating sensitivity towards issues of gender and power. One important ethical consideration, therefore, is that raising issues such as gender and power may have consequences for psychological safety in cultural contexts like Pakistan. The question then arises of how such participant focused management pedagogies can be used with participants in the conduct of research in a way which ensures the welfare of members. Rigg and Trehan (2004) note, in their work on critical AL research, that discussing issues of racial discrimination and gender might act as developmental on some levels but may have serious implications in terms of diversity and equality within the sets. As participant observer (researcher) and facilitator, ensuring that research sites provide a safe space to explore these important social relationships is a significant characteristic of its methodology (e.g. Vince, 2004). Our study, therefore, highlights the tension in striking a balance between the research agenda and well-being of participants – perhaps requiring a more careful handling of the dual role of researcher/facilitator in the process. 2. In addition to the psychological safety of participants, a further ethical consideration is that suppressing cultural norms or ignoring them may create tensions and friction among participants. For example, classical AL and other participatory models fail to provide any guidelines to facilitators and researchers on how to handle the unfolding of embodied social dynamics in gender-sensitive contexts and how such tensions might be handled. An important ethical consideration from our study was providing sufficient space to reflect on issues raised outside of the formal classroom setting and this was enabled through post-observational meetings and interviews in informal settings. We also found it was important for the researcher to adopt a reflexive approach, ideally with support of peers that provides the researcher with opportunity to reflect on how the process may unsettle their own assumptions. 3. Neglecting to address beliefs about gender or hierarchy which are created through social and cultural constructions may create ambiguity or vagueness. In our study, we found that a key challenge of studying gender in Pakistani business schools was the inherent difficulty in separating gender and power from the dominant cultural beliefs about management practice. An important concern for researchers and facilitators here is to balance their role by working within the cultural boundaries to direct attention towards such beliefs and so enhance the possibility of revealing gender relations. The participatory process underpinning the AL pedagogy in our study attempted to challenge the functionalistic views

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of management which reinforces a gender-neutral and an apolitical view of management and organizations. From an ethical perspective, then, the researcher must be aware of how cultural values shape the organizations and the phenomena they study in order to be able to craft a design that respects values but nonetheless enables the study of gender.

REFERENCES Adler, P. A. and P. Adler (1987), ‘Role conflict and identity salience: college athletics and the academic role’, The Social Science Journal, 24(4), 443–55. Atkinson, P. and M. Hammersley (1998), ‘Ethnography and participant observation’, in G. Guba and Y. Lincoln (eds), Handbook of Qualitative Research, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 248–61. Alvesson, M. and K. Sköldberg (2017), Reflexive Methodology: New Vistas for Qualitative Research, London: Sage. Ashmos Plowman, D. and A. D. Smith (2011), ‘The gendering of organizational research methods: evidence of gender patterns in qualitative research’, Qualitative Research in Organizations and Management: An International Journal, 6(1), 64–82. Atkinson, M. (2016), ‘Ethnography’, in B. Smith and A. C. Sparkes (eds), Routledge Handbook of Qualitative Research in Sport and Exercise, Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 71–83. Back, L. (2013), ‘Gendered participation: masculinity and fieldwork in a south London adolescent community’, in D. Bell, P. Caplan and W. J. Karim (eds), Gendered Fields, Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 231–49. Baker, L. (2006). ‘Observation: a complex research method’, Library Trends, 55(1), 171–89. Bell, D., P. Caplan and W. J. Karim (eds) (2013), ‘Introduction’, in D. Bell, P. Caplan and W. J. Karim (eds), Gendered Fields, Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 1–18. Berger, L. (2001), ‘Inside out: narrative autoethnography as a path toward rapport’, Qualitative Inquiry, 7(4), 504–18. Bonner, A. and G. Tolhurst (2002), ‘Insider-outsider perspectives of participant observation’, Nurse Researcher, 9(4), 7–19. Brewis, D. N. and L. Pecis (2019), ‘Rosabeth Moss Kanter: revolutionary roots and liberal spores’, in R. McMurray and A. Pullen (eds), Power, Politics & Exclusion in Organization and Management, Abingdon: Routledge. Bucerius, S. M. (2013), ‘Becoming a “trusted outsider”: gender, ethnicity, and inequality in ethnographic research’, Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 42(6), 690–721. Cassell, C., V. Bishop, G. Symon, P. Johnson and A. Buehring (2009), ‘Learning to be a qualitative management researcher’, Management Learning, 40(5), 513–33. Cunliffe, A. L. (2008), ‘Orientations to social constructionism: relationally responsive social constructionism and its implications for knowledge and learning’, Management Learning, 39(2), 123–39. Cunliffe, A. L. and M. Easterby-Smith (2004), ‘From reflection to practical reflexivity: experiential learning as lived experience’, in M. Reynolds and R. Vince (eds), Organizing Reflection, Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 44–60. Frank, A. W. (2002), ‘Why study people’s stories? The dialogical ethics of narrative analysis’, International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 1(1), 109–17. Fries-Britt, S. and B. Turner (2002), ‘Uneven stories: successful black collegians at a black and a white campus’, The Review of Higher Education, 25(3), 315–30. Gatenby, B. and M. Humphries (1999), ‘Exploring gender, management education and careers: speaking in the silences’, Gender and Education, 11(3), 281–94.

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Gatrell, C. and E. Swan (2008), Gender and Diversity in Management: A Concise Introduction, London: Sage. Geertz, C. (1973), The Interpretation of Cultures, New York: Basic Books. Gherardi, S. and B. Poggio (2001), ‘Creating and recreating gender order in organizations’, Journal of World Business, 36(3), 245–59. Gold, R. L. (1957), ‘Roles in sociological field observations’, Social Forces, 36(3), 217–23. Gornick, J. C. and M. K. Meyers (2008), ‘Creating gender egalitarian societies: an agenda for reform’, Politics & Society, 36(3), 313–49. Guest, G., E. E. Namey and M. L. Mitchell (2013), Collecting Qualitative Data: A Field Manual for Applied Research, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Hanson, S. and M. Blake (2009), ‘Gender and entrepreneurial networks’, Regional Studies, 43(1), 135–49. Hickson, D. J., C. R. Hinings, C. A. Lee, R. E. Schneck and J. M. Pennings (1971), ‘A strategic contingencies theory of intra-organizational power’, Administrative Science Quarterly, 16(2), 216–29. Hoffman, E. (1990), Lost in Translation: A Life in a New Language, New York: Penguin Books. Hudson, P. and S. Taylor-Henley (2001), ‘Beyond the rhetoric: implementing a culturally appropriate research project in First Nations communities’, American Indian Culture and Research Journal, 25(2), 93–105. Huggins, M. K. and M. L. Glebbeek (eds) (2009), Women Fielding Danger: Negotiating Ethnographic Identities in Field Research, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Järviluoma, H., P. Moisala and A. Vilkko (2003), Gender and Qualitative Methods, London: Sage. Jorgensen, D. L. (2015), ‘Participant observation’, in D. Pecher and R. Zeelenberg (eds), Emerging Trends in the Social and Behavioral Sciences: An Interdisciplinary, Searchable, and Linkable Resource, London: John Wiley & Sons, pp. 1–15. Kanpol, B. (1999), Critical Pedagogy: An Introduction, Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey. Kanter, R. M. (1977), Men and Women of the Corporation, New York: Basic Books. Kanter, R. M. (1993), Men and Women of the Corporation, new edition, New York: Basic Books. Karnieli-Miller, O., R. Strier and L. Pessach (2009), ‘Power relations in qualitative research’, Qualitative Health Research, 19(2), 279–89. Labaree, R. V. (2002), ‘The risk of “going observationalist”: negotiating the hidden dilemmas of being an insider participant observer’, Qualitative Research, 2(1), 97–122. Laurier, E. (2010), ‘Participant observation’, in N. Clifford, S. French and G. Valentine (eds), Key Methods in Geography, London: Sage, pp. 116–30. Lave, J. and E. Wenger (1991), Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Malinowski, B. (1922 [1961]), Argonauts of the Western Pacific, Abingdon: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Marshall, A. and S. Batten (2004), ‘Researching across cultures: issues of ethics and power’, Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung/Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 5(3), http://​www​ .qualitative​-research​.net/​index​.php/​fqs/​article/​view/​572. Maton, K. (2003), ‘Reflexivity, relationism, & research: Pierre Bourdieu and the epistemic conditions of social scientific knowledge’, Space and Culture, 6(1), 52–65. Merriam, S. B., J. Johnson-Bailey, M. Y. Lee, Y. Kee, G. Ntseane and M. Muhamad (2001), ‘Power and positionality: negotiating insider/outsider status within and across cultures, International Journal of Lifelong Education, 20(5), 405–16. Mughal, F. (2016), ‘Can the reflective practice of AL enhance criticality in MBAs? A Bourdieusian analysis of organizing learning sets in the Pakistani business schools’ (doctoral dissertation, Lancaster University, Lancaster, UK).

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Mughal F. (2021), ‘When global meets local: action learning, positionality and postcolonialism’, Management Learning, 52(1), 65–85. Mughal, F., C. Gatrell and V. Stead (2018), ‘Cultural politics and the role of the AL facilitator: analysing the negotiation of critical AL in the Pakistani MBA through a Bourdieusian lens’, Management Learning, 49(1), 69–85. Mumby, D. K. and C. Stohl (1991), ‘Power and discourse in organization studies: absence and the dialectic of control’, Discourse & Society, 2(3), 313–32. Musante, K. and B. R. DeWalt (2010), Participant Observation: A Guide for Fieldworkers, Lanham, MD: Rowman Altamira. Nader, L. (1972), Up the anthropologist: perspectives gained from studying up. ERIC (28 pages), https://​eric​.ed​.gov/​?id​=​ED065375. Parameswaran, R. (2001), ‘Feminist media ethnography in India: exploring power, gender, and culture in the field’, Qualitative Inquiry, 7(1), 69–103. Richardson, S. L. and L. S. Jordan (2017), ‘Qualitative inquiry of sibling relationships: reinforcement of disability devaluation through the exclusion of voices’, Disability & Society, 32(10), 1534–54. Rigg, C. and K. Trehan (2004), ‘Reflections on working with critical action learning’, Action Learning: Research and Practice, 1(2), 149–65. Schatz, E. (2013), Political Ethnography: What Immersion Contributes to the Study of Power, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Seale, C., G. Gobo, J. F. Gubrium and D. Silverman (2004), Qualitative Research Practice, London: Sage. Smith, L. M. (1978), ‘An evolving logic of participant observation, educational ethnography, and other case studies’, Review of Research in Education, 6(1), 316–77. Sørensen, P. (1996), ‘Commercialization of food crops in Busoga, Uganda, and the renegotiation of gender’, Gender & Society, 10(5), 608–28. Spradley, J. P. (2016), Participant Observation, Long Grove, IL: Waveland Press. Stead, V. and C. Elliott (2013), ‘Women’s leadership learning: a reflexive review of representations and leadership teaching’, Management Learning, 44(4), 373–94. Tedlock, B. (1991), ‘From participant observation to the observation of participation: the emergence of narrative ethnography’, Journal of Anthropological Research, 47(1), 69–94. Turnbull, C. M. (1986), ‘Sex and gender: the role of subjectivity in field research’, in T. L. Whitehead and M. E. Conaway (eds), Self, Sex and Gender in Cross-Cultural Fieldwork, Urbana: University of Illinois Press, pp. 17–27. Vince, R. (2004), ‘Action learning and organizational learning: power, politics and emotion in organizations’, Action Learning: Research and Practice, 1(1), 63–78. Vince, R. and M. Reynolds (2004), Organizing Reflection, Farnham: Ashgate. Wacquant, L. (2004), ‘Following Pierre Bourdieu into the field’, Ethnography, 5(4), 387–414. Warren, C. A., J. K Hackney and C. A. Warren (2000), Gender Issues in Ethnography, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Warren, R. (1982), ‘Schooling, biculturalism and ethnic identity: a case study’, in G. Spindler (ed.), Doing the Ethnography of Schooling: Educational Anthropology in Action, New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, pp. 382–409. Watson, A. and K. E. Till (2010), ‘Ethnography and participant observation’, in D. DeLyser, S. Herbert, S. Aitken, M. Crang and L. McDowell (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Geography, London: Sage, pp. 121–37. Willmott, H. (1997), ‘Critical management learning’, in J. Burgoyne and M. Reynolds (eds), Management Learning: Integrating Perspectives in Theory and Practice, London: Sage, pp. 161–76.

8. Gendered encounters in a postfeminist context: researcher identity work in interviews with men and women leaders in the City of London Patricia Lewis

INTRODUCTION Mobilising the notion of postfeminist encounter, I explore researcher identity work as one aspect of the research relationship when interviewing men and women elite respondents. Scholarly considerations of relationships in interviews tend to emphasise the vulnerability of interview subjects, arguing that irrespective of research topic or interviewees, the power dynamic always acts in favour of the researcher as s/he controls the interview (Stanley & Wise, 1993). In contrast, elite interviewing is said to have a distinctive power dynamic with the interviewer occupying a weaker position and the interviewee being the dominant party (Boucher, 2017; Empson, 2018; Mason-Bish, 2019). However, elite status is not the only characteristic that is perceived to reverse the claimed conventional power dynamics of the interview. Cross-gender interviewing where women interview men has also been documented as a research context steeped in power struggles with the gender of the researcher influencing how informants respond in the interview. Discourses of masculinity are said to bestow greater authority on men respondents allowing them to gain the upper hand during the interview interaction (Pini, 2005; Vahasantanen & Saarinen, 2013). Accounts of women researchers’ experience of interviewing men highlight how men respondents can respond negatively to a woman researcher’s subjectivity, particularly where the research takes places in a masculine environment. This manifests not only in a man respondent adopting an authoritative position in relation to knowledge about the research topic but may also materialise in attempts to control the conversation through interruptions, directing criticism at the questions asked, belittling the research topic or sexualising the woman researcher (Chiswell & Wheeler, 2016; Pini, 2005; Presser, 2005). Co-existing with the critique above, other considerations of cross-gender interviewing emphasise the positive effects of the femininity of a woman researcher in research interactions. When women interview men, it is argued that men respondents may be more likely to perceive the interview as a shared collaborative event (Gatrell, 2006). As such, men respondents can act to downplay controlling behaviours associated with masculinity. They may not be inclined to engage in traditional masculine behaviours and may prefer to speak to a woman as opposed to a man interviewer, 115

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particularly in relation to personal matters (Arendell, 1997; Gatrell, 2006; Padfield & Procter, 1996; Williams & Heikes, 1993). Thus, being a woman and doing femininity can mean that men respondents treat a woman researcher as non-threatening, a good listener and a facilitator of their narratives (Pini, 2005). Power dynamics associated with femininity have also been considered in relation to same-gender interviewing. According to Oakley (1981, 1998) a non-hierarchical interview is more likely between a woman interviewer and woman interviewee. Additionally, she argues that data collected in this more ‘equal’ interview situation is likely to be innately more valid. What is clear from many accounts of elite and (some) cross-gender interviewing is that there is a tendency to view power relations within the interview context as a zero-sum game – if one party has the power they exercise it at the expense of the other. However, increasingly understanding interviewers and interviewees in these terms is seen as short-sighted, as neither party is likely to be all-powerful or always vulnerable. Consequently, recognition that interview situations are not characterised by static power lines is growing (Cunliffe & Karunanayake, 2013). Likewise, there is a questioning of assertions that same-gender interviewing is always characterised by a ‘level playing field’ between interviewer and interviewee. The impact of social similarity between interviewer and interviewee is said to go beyond gender to include other aspects of difference further complicating relationships within interviews (Tang, 2002). From this perspective, the impact of femininity in same-gender interview interactions can also be shaped by its intersection with other forms of difference such as class, race, and age (McDowell, 1998). Accordingly, assumptions regarding the equal status of interviewer and interviewee in same-gender interviews are open to question. Taking these challenges into account, I argue that it is more fruitful to interpret the power embedded in interview interactions as fluid, dynamic, dispersed and contested with the research hierarchy always in process, moving between the researcher and the respondent (Tang, 2002). Starting from a position of understanding interviews as fluid encounters (MacDonald, 2020), I explore my identity work as the interviewer as one aspect of the research relationship in elite cross-gender and same-gender interviews. I begin by providing some background to the interviews that are drawn on in this chapter. Drawing on the concepts of encounter and postfeminism, I next reveal the importance of approaching elite interviews as a theoretical and not solely a practical task. I suggest that theorising my identity work as a gender and management researcher makes visible the subtleties of interview encounters, alerting me to the shifting power dynamics of the interaction which would otherwise remain opaque. I conclude with a consideration of the issues raised.

POSTFEMINISM IN THE CITY This chapter derives from a project that explores the experience of leadership in context where the latter is understood as the economic setting of the City of London

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and the cultural location of a postfeminist gender regime. Working out of a postfeminist frame, the research conceptualised leadership as a negotiation between masculine and feminine norms with both men and women doing masculinity and femininity when leading. Accordingly, adopting a focus on the insurance market centred around the 333-year-old institution of Lloyd’s of London, 22 men and 26 women mid to senior leaders from underwriters, brokers, insurance sector bodies, Lloyds, a law firm and technology company (two respondents) both of which work with the insurance market, were interviewed. Of the sample of 48 interviewees, 26 of the respondents were in senior leadership positions which included one recently retired individual. Twenty-two respondents were in mid-leadership positions meaning they had high status function and/or section responsibility with some having significant industry experience and often long tenure in the insurance market (Welch et al., 2002). The respondents occupied various leadership roles such as being CEO of an organisation or holding responsibility for areas such as Finance or Operations at board level. Mid-leadership roles included leading a particular business area within the insurance field which required high levels of expertise and which often included responsibility for a team of people. Interviewees were sourced through a mixture of personal and professional contacts which supported the construction of a snowball sample which yielded 47 out of the set of 48 cases with only one person responding to a cold call email (Small, 2009). Following this snowball procedure, the interviews began in March 2019 and continued throughout the year into early 2020. The interviews took place in a range of locations with 35 respondents inviting me to meet in their buildings – either in their personal office (4), a meeting room (26) or a coffee area (5) – which facilitated viewing and observation of corporate spaces which are normally secure and not open to the public. The remaining 13 interviews took place in coffee shops (7), members’ clubs (2), restaurants (2), my university office as one (retired) respondent offered to meet there and one in the home of a respondent as this was their only availability. With the exception of one meeting, all interviews were recorded and transcribed verbatim with extensive notes of the non-recorded interview written up directly after the interview interaction. Following each interview, a summary note was written up capturing reflections on the interaction. These varied in length with some notes being longer than others. As the interviews progressed, consideration of interviewer and respondent interaction drew on the experience of McDowell (1998) in her study of workplace culture in banks in the City of London. In interviews with bankers, McDowell (1998: 2138) details how she varied her personal presentation to her interviewees based ‘… on a quick initial assessment of a range of visual and verbal clues and an establishment of a relationship as we progressed through the interview …’. Consequently, in some interviews she took up a conventional feminine role to complement the traditional masculinity of her respondents; in others she enacted an efficient woman persona to facilitate interaction with senior ‘fierce’ women; with women similar to herself she was more ‘sisterly’; and finally with younger men she presented herself as a ‘super-fast’ and ‘super-informed’ woman researcher (p. 2138). In approaching inter-

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views in this way McDowell’s enactment of different woman researcher positions was a response to the practical interview situation she faced. In considering variations in my enactment of femininity within the interviews, my account differs from McDowell in two ways. First, I approach my ‘doing’ of various femininities when in the field as researcher identity work and as such it is more than a practical response to the interview situation. Here, emphasis is placed on the contradictions surrounding the constitution of an appropriate interviewer identity within the context of elite interviews. As such, my interviewer identity was not simply chosen by me (as McDowell suggests) or allocated by powerful respondents (as conventional elite interview literature claims) but rather is the outcome of processes of acceptance, adjustment and distancing emerging out of my identity work within interview encounters (Brown, 2017). Second, consideration of my identity work in the interviews is, as said above, viewed through the conceptual lens of postfeminism understood as a cultural phenomenon which has reconfigured contemporary femininity. Women are now interpellated by discourses of masculinity and femininity and engage in ongoing, careful movement between masculine and feminine behaviours when ‘doing’ gender. In exploring the identities and relationships I was called into when interviewing men and women leaders in the City of London, I highlight how I was interpellated by postfeminist discourses and constituted in particular ways which varied across the interviews. In doing this my aim is to provoke reflection on the complexities of the research relationship with elite respondents in both cross-gender and same-gender interview encounters and to highlight the importance of thinking theoretically and not just practically about conducting elite interviews.

INTERVIEW ENCOUNTERS OF THE POSTFEMINIST KIND In considering the issue of researcher–respondent relationships, it is argued that it is important to understand that the processes of gaining access, engaging with respondents, and exiting interactions with them is primarily a relational endeavour (Cunliffe & Karunanayake, 2013). When conducting interviews I did not approach the issue of research relationships, particularly within the context of elite interviews, as essentially a series of tactics for gaining investigative advantage. Rather, I viewed the research relationship as an issue of researcher and respondent identity that is multifaceted and intricately interwoven. To understand the multi-layered aspects of this relationship, postfeminism as an analytical concept is drawn on to frame the identity work I engaged in during the interviews. While there has been much debate and contestation of the interpretations attached to the notion of postfeminism, the most drawn upon elucidation is one which views it as a mode of governance which has given rise to the reconfiguration of the feminine subject (Gill et al., 2017; Lewis, 2014, McRobbie, 2009). Understood as a discursive formation, the emergence of postfeminism is attributed to the actions and influence of ‘… a range of semi-autonomous institutions, bodies of knowledge, disciplines, organizations and agents who may

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deliver the same message across public discourse without necessarily organised co-operation’ (Riley et al., 2019: 7). When drawing on postfeminism as a theoretical resource, a central question posed regarding its use is whether or not it should be treated as a theoretical perspective. Scholars who draw on postfeminism as an analytical device are adamant that it should not be treated as a feminist perspective in and of itself but also highlight that as a critical concept it is informed by and operationalised via the principles of poststructuralist feminism (Lewis, 2014; Lewis et al., 2017). Consequently, consideration of my identity work as interviewer is also informed by poststructuralist principles, an approach which had a threefold impact on the research. First, I conceptualised the interviews as encounters as opposed to formal hierarchical meetings. Following MacDonald (2020), I adopted the notion of encounter to move away from the conventional understanding of elite interviews as static meetings controlled by all-powerful influential respondents. Treating interviews as encounters means moving ‘… beyond notions of division or asymmetry to focus on attachments, affective relations and narratives of being alongside …’ (Wilson, 2017: 454). Accordingly, the interview is understood as an arena within which interviewer and interviewee as subjects encounter one another in multiple and fragmented ways. Within the encounter, they are called into relationship with history, culture, and particular socio-economic and political contexts as well as with each other so while power dynamics persist, the shape of encounters cannot be predicted in advance (MacDonald, 2020). Second, in emphasising the fluidity of the interview relations, the dynamics of power are understood to be less fixed and more volatile, moving between the interviewee and interviewer as opposed to statically remaining with the elite respondent throughout the course of the interview. Here, positionality and status are approached as porous and dynamic, and the elite respondent is not treated as an object from which the researcher excavates knowledge but as a subject of the research underlining the multiplicity, fragmentation, relationality and subject-making that characterised the interviews (Mason-Bish, 2019). As well as depicting the leadership experiences of my respondents, I also approached the interviews as sites for my own biographical work, particularly as one of my key personal contacts who facilitated connection with respondents was my husband (Cunliffe & Karunanayake, 2013; Mason-Bish, 2019). Accordingly – and from the point of view of the respondents – I was connected to the insurance world and involved in the mediation of meanings between them as interviewees and academic conventions (Cunliffe & Karunanayake, 2013: 369). Third, in approaching the interviews as encounters ‘… inflected with history between differently positioned subjects’ (MacDonald, 2020: 253), I treat gender as a performance which is culturally and historically situated within (postfeminist) discourses but not wholly determined by them (Hekman, 2014). Treating the interviews as postfeminist encounters, I place an emphasis on what Cunliffe and Karunanayake (2013: 365) refer to as the spaces of possibility between researchers and respondents and the way in which ‘… researcher–respondent relationships are often emergent, multiple and agentic in the sense that researchers and respondents shape each other’s identities and actions’.

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In taking this approach to researcher identity work when conducting interviews, two particular concerns must be considered. First, are there any additional ethical issues that emerge when doing identity work in the interview and second, how can this identity work be captured? Ethically, the issue that is potentially pertinent here is whether this approach to the research relationship should be discussed with the interviewees either prior to or as part of the interview. This question relates to how much of the approach taken to the interviews should be disclosed to respondents. While a summary of the research should always be provided to participants, even with the most comprehensive synopsis, a gap in understanding on the part of interviewees is always possible connected to their lack of knowledge of the academic literature on something like research relationships. Arguably, such a gap is not outside the expectations of respondents who would not presume to have the same experience of research interviews as the researcher. While they can reasonably anticipate that a researcher will engage with them in a professional and serious manner, there is also likely to be understanding that a researcher may have a different interpretation of the interaction in the interview as it will be viewed as part of a series of conversations and not just a single discussion (Taylor & Smith, 2014). In relation to the capture of the identity work of the researcher, I would suggest engagement in two key research practices when completing the interviews. First, data collection via interviews should be firmly located within the theorisation of the research. This means ensuring that prior to the interviews consideration is given to ontological, epistemological and theoretical aspects of the research and that these feed into the preparations for data collection. Second, directly following each interview and using an A5 notebook, the researcher should write up impressions of the interviews in practical terms – where the interview took place, how long it lasted, the engagement of the interviewee, how the questions worked. Following these ‘technical’ reflections, the researcher should then turn an ‘academic eye’ to the interview experience, viewing it through the theoretical framework of the research and pondering the ontological and epistemological elements of the interaction. From these two before-and-after research practices, the researcher can surface the identity work they engaged in during the course of the interviews and, drawing on these practices, it is this aspect of my own research that I now address. Postfeminist Research Femininities Emblematic of the discursive formation of postfeminism is its reconfiguration of femininity such that the constitution of postfeminist femininities is exemplified by the intertwining of feminine ideals with masculine marked practices (Carlson, 2011; Lewis, 2014, 2018). This postfeminist co-existence of the discursive dimensions of masculinity and femininity is revealed in a collection of stable features, empirical regularities and material affects which according to Gill (2007, 2016) connect to each other in a patterned way. These include individualism, choice, empowerment, ‘natural’ sexual difference, self-surveillance, and valorisation of home and family. Interpellated by postfeminism, I drew on discursive resources associated with dis-

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courses of masculinity (e.g. individualism, agency, control) and femininity (e.g. care, interdependence, nurture, empathy) which constituted (but did not entirely regulate) my interview subjectivity. While other commentators in the gender and organisation studies field (e.g. Byrne et al., 2019; Lindgren & Packendorff, 2006) have argued that men and women have access to femininities and masculinities when doing gender, viewed through the prism of postfeminism, it is important to note that while women are interpellated to constitute their subjectivity through discourses of masculinity this must be done interdependently with femininity (Carlson, 2011; Lewis, 2014, 2018). The compulsory intertwining of masculine and feminine behaviours means that they do not just occur concurrently and should not be understood as a type of androgyny based on complementary performances of agentic and communal behaviours. For this reason, combining the different discursive dimensions of masculinity and femininity when constituting the postfeminist subject requires vigilance and suitable modification of self-regulatory behaviours on an ongoing basis. Assessing my interview experience, the masculine identity of academic researcher was enacted alongside the feminine identities of wife and therapist giving rise to separate but overlapping research identities – researcher as wife and academic and researcher as academic and therapist – which I moved into and out of both within and across the interviews. These identities were enacted through a calibration of the masculine enactment of academic expertise and the feminine performance of listening and empathising during interviews. In understanding the constitution of these postfeminist research femininities, they are not presented as ‘types’ which are clearly bounded from each other. Rather, there is a blurring of the boundaries and they are better understood as available bodily and relational performances which I entered into by drawing on postfeminist discursive resources or was moved into by respondents during the interviews. Researcher as Wife and Academic In setting up the interviews, initial contact with potential respondents was made through my husband who works in the insurance market. I emailed these contacts, using my husband as the means to gain access, thereby constituting myself as ‘wife’. At the same time, I outlined the purpose of my research, inviting them to participate in a one-hour interview and provided a summary description of the project and through this constituted myself as ‘academic’, calibrating feminine and masculine behaviours as the following email illustrates: Email Example 1 Hello ___________, Please allow me to introduce myself to you. You work with my husband ______________ in _____________ and he suggested that I contact you about research that I am currently completing. I work in the Kent Business School at the University of Kent in Canterbury and I have recently been awarded research funding to complete research on leadership within the City of London which provides support for data collection. I am interested in looking at the experience of leadership for men and women

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working in the insurance market and your leadership experiences in insurance make you an ideal and valuable respondent …

The vast majority of the individuals emailed in this way agreed to the request for an interview, an agreement which was largely based on their acquaintance with my husband and without which I would not have secured a high response rate. Indeed, I was told by some of the respondents that the reason they agreed to the interview is because I was ‘one of them’ through my husband and that they normally delete the type of email request I sent. However, while I was constituted by them and by myself as ‘wife’, there were also questions about what the research was about and what I was seeking to achieve, along with questions about where I worked. Therefore, prior to meeting respondents and during the interview my researcher identity was a calibration of ‘wife/academic’ where I enacted both feminine (connection, relationality, family) and masculine (agency, knowledge, expertise) behaviours to secure access and to manage the interview. Yet, despite the importance of my own personal connection to respondents through my husband, this is not the only reason why the identity of ‘researcher as wife’ was key to gaining access as there is also a significant contextual reason. The London insurance market is the only face-to-face market in the world with business normally enacted daily through person-to-person meetings within the Lloyds building and surrounding area. Respondents constantly referred to the market in terms of ‘a family’, ‘a village’, ‘human connection’, with one female senior leader from a broker stating: … it’s all about the humans. You know there’s nothing else to say, it would be great to go sit in a closet and you know move assets around but unfortunately, it’s all about the humans …

The building of human connection through regular interaction and activities such as travel, drinking, golf, shooting expeditions, charity dinners and other philanthropic activities was cited as key to success within a sector where business is literally done socially in a relational way on a daily basis. As time went on, I established contact with respondents not directly through my husband but from the respondents I interviewed – see email Example 2 – who also drew on my marital relationship to introduce me. However, in constituting me as ‘wife’ we can also see in this email the high level of sociality which circulates throughout the insurance market and works to support business activity. It is this sociality which underpinned the ‘snowballing’ of respondents: Email Example 2 (email sent on my behalf by one of my interviewees) Good morning all, Some of you will know __________ of ___________, his wife Patricia is at the University of Kent in Canterbury and is doing an academic project on leadership in the financial services sector in the City of London with a particular focus on the insurance market. She is particularly keen to talk to successful women in the sector as well as chaps; she did interview me for this (for some reason). She asks if I might put her in touch with some market leaders and hence this email. Would it be possible for her to contact you with a view to her interviewing you for this project? FYI, she comes to London or wherever it

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mutually suits and she and I did it over a (very pleasant) lunch. Would be grateful if you could let me know if it is OK for her to get in touch with you – a summary of the project is below. Best regards & thanks …

From this email and also from the illustrative quote from an underwriter CEO respondent below, we can see the importance of relationships in the insurance market. Within this context, ‘wife’ is a particular subjectivity which is understood as part of the maintenance and development of social relationships and this underpinned people’s willingness to speak with me. One of the things (wife’s name) found I think since I joined the insurance company Patricia is that people are just so much nicer than in banking and it’s a very charitable industry, so she goes to many more dinners and events within insurance than we ever did in banking and she really enjoys spending time with the brokers and other carriers and so on. So she knows, I know most of my competitor CEOs and she knows most of them as well plus spouses and she knows lots of brokers plus spouses …

Additionally, within the interviews when discussing issues connected to work–life balance, male respondents often referred to an ‘understanding wife’ who facilitated the long hours work culture of the insurance market as the following comments from two male CEOs illustrate: But so she understands the business so she’s sort of been out of it for a long time but she, her father was an insurance broker as well so she understands sort of the demands that the business has in terms of travel and client entertainment and all this sort of stuff so she’s very tolerant … (Wife’s name) leads the family. Perhaps, that’s one of the things about it being, it can become a bit tiring, when I go home at the weekend I don’t want to make any decisions, I don’t want to [laughs], I’m decisioned out … I think it seems to work …

Thus, within the insurance market the presence of the subjectivity of ‘wife’ is quite strong and I was interpellated to take up this position as a means to secure access and to engage with respondents. In doing this, I located myself between the relational, marital figure of ‘wife’ and the masculinised agentic, individualised figure of the ‘academic researcher’ constituting a postfeminist research feminine subjectivity which required movement from the realm of femininity into the arena of masculinity. While I sought to calibrate the juxtaposition of the masculinised academic researcher and the feminised wife, in the interviews arranged via my husband I was often positioned by respondents in the traditional realm of family with a strong emphasis on the doing of femininity as a ‘wife’. Respondents were extremely polite and supportive and frequently asked if their responses were helpful. For them, the aim was clearly to help me as much as possible – support I appreciated – while I sought to ensure that I was addressing the needs of the project. Thus, for many of the interviews, I moved between the subject positions of wife and academic, calibrating my feminine and masculine behaviours to ensure that I fulfilled the requirements of the research.

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What of the power relationships between me as interviewer and elite interview respondents? While clearly it could be argued that being located in the realm of femininity as ‘wife’ placed me in a less powerful position than my respondents, it also meant that the interviewees were extremely open in their responses. For example, in one interview with a mid-level leader at a brokers, a young man who was on an internship was also present. At one point in the interview, the intern reached over to turn the recorder off as the interviewee recounted private details of how he lost a previous job: Respondent: Interviewer: Respondent: Interviewer: Respondent: Interviewer: Intern: Respondent:

Well I was fired actually. Am I allowed to ask what happened there? Well yeah, I shagged my boss’ mistress. Oh goodness. And she obviously wasn’t very impressed because she told him. Oh goodness! This is off the record No, it’s on the record, no, I woke up one morning and this woman said ‘do you know a bloke called _________ ’ and I said ‘Oh __________, he’s a colleague, he’s my boss actually’ and she said ‘Oh dear’ and the next thing I knew he had shipped me off to the States for six months and then when I came back he said ‘you’re off’ [all laugh].

In this exchange, there is clearly no attempt made to sanitise the account or conceal the reason why this respondent lost his job, despite having the opportunity to avoid providing a detailed response. It could be argued that this type of openness indicates a lack of hierarchy in the interview, an equality which may be connected to my identity as ‘wife’ and thus being seen as non-threatening or simply him feeling comfortable enough to be open. It also aligns with previous research on cross-gender interviewing which emphasises how the doing of femininity in terms of a willingness to listen and sympathise can facilitate data collection. Researcher as Academic and Therapist As the data collection moved on, I became less reliant on my husband for sourcing respondents. I had one professional contact who I met through a women’s business network in Kent and as a senior figure in the insurance market she agreed to be interviewed while also providing me with two further contacts. Another contact initially secured via my husband was also involved in looking at issues of leadership within the insurance market and she acted as a connection point to 12 senior leaders. Through this source, I was also invited to participate in a focus group on diversity and leadership in the insurance market and connected with three other senior leaders at this meeting. While these respondents were aware that my husband worked in the insurance market, this was more of a background identity and central to my engagement with them was the subjectivity of academic. Here, demonstration of an agentic,

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knowledgeable persona was essential. For some of the senior leaders, both men and women, there was an openness to considering the gender issues circulating around the market with concern expressed about the homogeneity of leadership: On my board there’s me and one other female and I have three Matthews and three Andrews and two Davids – that’s lonely. Especially when the Bloomberg thing, the Bloomberg article recently came out, the sexism in the market, and you know, one tries to subtly say, yes, this is real and you need to acknowledge it, when you’re overwhelmed and being beaten around the head with – and it was a badly-written article – ‘that doesn’t happen anymore, that’s rubbish’. Yes it does, I’ve seen it. So it’s a challenge from that perspective too, the loneliness and the, the female aspect … (female CEO) … you listen to other CEOs around the table, they’re all talking in similar ways and they talk inclusiveness … I think that when we’ve had issues of diversity, gender equality, I’ve almost never heard them discussed at senior levels until the last five years or so and now they’re just front and centre and there’s been some good initiatives … [W]e want to be the last generation of old white men, we think we must be more diverse going forwards but it’s easier to say much harder to do … (male MD)

Within this context, the research relationship within the interview was characterised by a sense of professionalism. Discussion centred on an exchange of views about the nature of leadership in the insurance market and the current attempts being made to open up senior positions to non-traditional individuals. In this sense I was firmly engaged in doing masculinity through the enactment of academic researcher as the difficulties involved in changing the status quo were considered. On occasion, I was also ‘brought back’ from the doing of masculinity as academic researcher to the feminine subject of wife and mother as a means of turning a question I asked back to me. For example, in relation to the consideration of what it takes to be a successful leader, one man respondent who was a CEO positioned me as ‘mother’ and argued against a conventional ‘motherly’ view of wanting your children ‘to be happy’: Respondent: Do you have children? Interviewer: Yes, I have a son. Respondent: OK, your goal is to make them a balanced individual with a good balance and a good temper and a … you know work hard-play hard and not be obsessed about everything. Interviewer: Yes, to be happy. Respondent: People like that achieve nothing in life. They are very happy people but in terms of driving and building, everyone, the most successful people I’ve come across have got some chip [on their shoulder] which has driven them … In arguing that children reared to be ‘happy’ could not be successful because they are not driven, this respondent is asserting a hierarchy in the interview in two ways: first, my approach to motherhood is deemed problematic (despite being the norm, i.e. most mothers want their children to be happy) if I want my son to be successful in the

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future. Second, the view expressed is contrary to contemporary academic arguments about running successful organisations where an emphasis is placed on ‘harmony’, ‘balance’ and valuing the ‘whole’ person. From the perspective expressed here, recognising and developing ‘driven’ individuals with something to prove is perceived as the key to successful leadership. All of the respondents in this study were involved in the leadership of multi-million/ multi-billion pound businesses with significant numbers of employees and full awareness of this responsibility. Given this, in constituting my identity in the interview as academic researcher, I was also called into the feminine position of therapist as I listened to respondent’s reflections on their leadership experiences. This required an ability to attend to the interviewee’s account of leadership and to remain quiet while also responding sensitively as they reflected on some of the challenges they faced. This included personal issues such as divorce connected to the long hours work culture, managing the daily challenges of family life and responding to the numerous challenges which businesses in the insurance market are currently facing. As one male CEO commented: … I want people who are passionate about this organisation, you know, I go, my wife says ‘_________ why do you care about it so much?’ and I say ‘do you know what, I don’t know’. I feel a sense of obligation and duty and a sense that, you know, it’s like a mission and I think this is ridiculous …

The deep level of commitment to the business and the recurrent expression of a desire to leave the organisation in good shape for their successor along with a distaste for careerist leaders who are mainly concerned with themselves, contributed to a high level of self-reflection in the interviews. The emotion expressed by a large number of respondents during their accounts of their leadership experiences interpellated me to take up the subject position of therapist which I calibrated alongside academic researcher. While there is certainly overlap between the subjectivities of ‘wife’ and ‘therapist’, when I took up the subjectivity of the former it was mainly in relation to my own husband. In contrast, the identity of ‘therapist’ relates to responding to the emotions and thoughtfulness which many respondents expressed when considering the leadership challenges they face.

CONCLUSION Drawing on the concepts of encounter and postfeminism, this chapter explores research relationships in elite interviews with men and women leaders in the insurance market of the City of London. Focusing on the subjectivity of the researcher, it draws out the variability in my positionality, outlining the different subject positions I was called into during the course of the interviews. In doing this, the chapter contributes to understanding of the ‘doing’ of gender research in two specific ways. First, the chapter adds to the growing body of work (e.g. Cunliffe & Karunanayake, 2013;

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MacDonald, 2020) which highlights the fluidity and agentic nature of researcher– respondent relationships. By treating the interview as an encounter (MacDonald, 2020) as opposed to a formal meeting, the varying degrees of power and influence that I experienced in relationship with my respondents were made visible. In contrast to conventional considerations of elite interviews, which assume that the power in the interview interaction is static and largely lying with the elite (usually) masculine respondent, the account of my interview experiences demonstrates the fluid nature of the power dynamics of the interviews both within and between them. It also emphasises the variety of ways in which researchers position themselves and are positioned by respondents, making visible the need to consider the impact of this on the research study itself. For example, the construction of the sample for this study relied heavily on personal connections, both my own and those of the respondents who recommended other potential interviewees. While this means that respondents in the study are highly likely to know each other and to form a type of social network, in the context of this study this can be justified as it is reflective of the nature of the insurance market in London. Nevertheless, while acknowledging this, it is, as Small (2009) argues, important to seek to understand, develop and incorporate this aspect of the research design into my understanding of the research context and not to try to ‘control away’ or ignore its impact. The second contribution of this chapter is to demonstrate the benefits of theorising an interviewer’s role when interviewing – here the combination of encounter and postfeminism – instead of approaching it only in terms of a practical response to an interview situation. Much of the literature on elite interviewing takes the form of ‘methodological advice’ to secure investigative advantage but such an approach has the potential to misrepresent the reality of the elite interview with a potentially negative impact on the research. By reading my researcher identity through the lens of a postfeminist encounter, I am able not only to draw out how I engaged with respondents, but also to demonstrate the centrality of external subjectivities such as ‘wife’ to the doing of gender within this particular business context. As an analytical concept, postfeminist encounter acts as a means to highlight the way in which my researcher subjectivity took shape in the interview encounter through an active calibration of masculine and feminine behaviours. Together, the notions of encounter and postfeminism enabled me to see how I am in relation with the leaders I interviewed and the context of the insurance market. Accordingly, as gender and management researchers, we should be aware of the importance of approaching research interviews theoretically as well as practically so as to sensitize ourselves to the intricacies of the interactions that take place when interviewing.

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Boucher, A. (2017), ‘Power in elite interviewing: lessons from feminist studies for political science’, Women’s Studies International Forum, 62 (May–June), 99–106. Brown, A. D. (2017), ‘Identity work and organizational identification’, International Journal of Management Reviews, 19 (3), 296–317. Byrne, J., M. Radu-Lefebvre, S. Fattoum and L. Balachandra (2019), ‘Gender gymnastics in CEO succession: masculinities, femininities and legitimacy’, Organization Studies, DOI: 10.1177/0170840619879184. Carlson, J. (2011), ‘Subjects of stalled revolution: a theoretical consideration of contemporary American femininity’, Feminist Theory, 12 (1), 75–91. Chiswell, H. M. and R. Wheeler (2016), ‘As long as you’re easy on the eye: reflecting on issues of positionality and researcher safety during farmer interviews’, Area, 48 (2), 229–35. Cunliffe, A. L. and G. Karunanayake (2013), ‘Working within hyphen-spaces in ethnographic research: implications for research identities and practice’, Organizational Research Methods, 16 (3), 364–92. Empson, L. (2018), ‘Elite interviewing in professional organizations’, Journal of Professions and Organization, 5 (1), 58–69. Gatrell, C. (2006), ‘Interviewing fathers: dilemmas in feminist fieldwork’, Journal of Gender Studies, 15 (3), 237–51. Gill, R. (2007), ‘Postfeminist media culture: elements of a sensibility’, European Journal of Cultural Studies, 10 (2), 147–66. Gill, R. (2016), ‘Post-postfeminism? New feminist visibilities in postfeminist times’, Feminist Media Studies, 16 (4), 610–30. Gill, R., E. K. Kelan and C. M. Scharff (2017), ‘A postfeminist sensibility at work’, Gender, Work & Organization, 23 (4), 226–44. Hekman, S. (2014), The Feminine Subject, Cambridge: Polity Press. Lewis, P. (2014), ‘Postfeminism, femininities and organization studies: exploring a new agenda’, Organization Studies, 35 (12), 1845–66. Lewis, P. (2018), ‘Postfeminism and gendered (im)mobilities’, in Patricia Lewis, Yvonne Benschop and Ruth Simpson (eds), Postfeminism and Organization, New York: Routledge, pp. 21–42. Lewis, P., Y. Benschop and R. Simpson (2017), ‘Postfeminism, gender and organization’, Gender, Work & Organization, 24 (3), 213–25. Lindgren, M. and J. Packendorff (2006), ‘What’s new in new forms of organizing? On the construction of gender in project-based work’, Journal of Management Studies, 43 (4), 841–66. MacDonald, K. (2020), ‘Towards a transnational feminist methodology of encounter’, Qualitative Research, 20 (3), 249–64. Mason-Bish, H. (2019), ‘The elite delusion: reflexivity, identity and positionality in qualitative research’, Qualitative Research, 19 (3), 263–76. McDowell, L. (1998), ‘Elites in the City of London: some methodological considerations’, Environment and Planning A, 30 (12), 2133–46. McRobbie, A. (2009), The Aftermath of Feminism: Gender, Culture and Social Change, London: Sage. Oakley, A. (1981), ‘Interviewing women: a contradiction in terms’, in Helen Roberts (ed.), Doing Feminist Research, London: Routledge, pp. 30–61. Oakley, A. (1998), ‘Gender, methodology and people’s ways of knowing: some problems with feminism and the paradigm debate in social science’, Sociology, 32 (4), 707–31. Padfield, M. and I. Procter (1996), ‘The effect of interviewer’s gender on the interviewing process: a comparative enquiry’, Sociology, 30 (2), 355–66. Pini, B. (2005), ‘Interviewing men: gender and the collection and interpretation of qualitative data’, Journal of Sociology, 41 (2), 201–16. Presser, L. (2005), ‘Negotiating power and narrative in research: implications for feminist methodology’, Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 30 (4), 2067–90.

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Riley, S., A. Evans, E. Anderson and M. Robson (2019), ‘The gendered nature of self-help’, Feminism & Psychology, 29 (1), 3–18. Small, M. L. (2009), ‘How many cases do I need? On science and the logic of case selection in field-based research’, Ethnography, 10 (1), 5–38. Stanley, L. and S. Wise (1993), Breaking Out Again: Feminist Ontology and Epistemology, London: Routledge. Tang, N. (2002), ‘Interviewer and interviewee relationships between women’, Sociology, 36 (3), 703–21. Taylor, S. and R. Smith (2014), ‘The ethics of interviewing for discourse analysis: responses to Martin Hammersley’, Qualitative Research, 14 (5), 542–8. Vahasantanen, K. and J. Saarinen (2013), ‘The power dance in the research interview: manifesting power and powerlessness’, Qualitative Research, 13 (5), 493–510. Welch, C., R. Marschan-Piekkari, H. Penttinen and M. Tahvanainen (2002), ‘Corporate elites as informants in qualitative international business research’, International Business Review, 11 (5), 611–28. Williams, C. and E. J. Heikes (1993), ‘The importance of researcher’s gender in the in-depth interview: evidence from two case studies of male nurses’, Gender & Society, 7 (2), 280–91. Wilson, H. F. (2017), ‘On geography and encounter: bodies, borders and differences’, Progress in Human Geography, 41 (4), 451–71.

9. Being ‘native’: insider research in qualitative studies of gender and management Jouharah M. Abalkhail

1. INTRODUCTION The insider vs outsider position of the researcher is a recurring topic concerning qualitative methods in anthropology and sociology (Merton, 1972). However, the subject of insider vs. outsider positions has received relatively little consideration as a theme in gender, management and organisational research (Alvesson, 2003; Brannick and Coghlan, 2007; Cunliffe, 2003). Several scholars have discussed and defined the insider and outsider dichotomy. Labaree (2002), for instance, defined insider research as being the study of one’s own social group or society, and Merton (1972) defined outsider research as being carried out by non-members of the target social group or society who do not have prior knowledge of the community under study. There has been a debate about the boundaries between the insider and outsider positions. Alvesson (2009) argued that the distinction between insider and outsider research is clear, and that therefore researchers are either insiders or outsiders. However, some scholars have argued that the researcher’s position is determined by where (s)he stands in relation to the other, a perspective that shifts throughout the process of conducting research (Mercer, 2007). Several scholars have suggested that within each position a researcher can experience degrees of insiderness and outsiderness, depending on how (s)he is socially situated towards informants when conducting the fieldwork (Labaree, 2002). The status of being an insider or outsider carries with it certain benefits and drawbacks (Dwyer and Buckle, 2009). Within the general framework of the discussion about insider vs outsider qualitative research, this chapter addresses insider qualitative research in gender and management. Familiarity with language, culture, values, class, gender roles, politics, religion and other factors is central to this discussion, as is access to the field by means of membership within the community and its people (Merriam et al., 2001). Accordingly, I reflect on my experience of insider qualitative research focusing on women in management and women’s career development within the Arab Middle East, specifically Saudi Arabia. The chapter explores methodological insights and challenges that result from being an insider researcher and suggests techniques and tools to use in the process of knowledge production (Knorr-Cetina, 1999; Latour, 1987). These strategies can be used to improve fidelity and increase credibility of the field data. I use the term gender to refer to the socially acceptable roles and responsi130

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bilities differently associated with men and women within the cultural context. I use the labels men and women to refer to people performing activities in a social setting in a way consistent with their sociocultural norms and beliefs. The primary importance of this chapter is its contrast with most studies in the field of gender and management within the Arab Middle Eastern context, which tend to be quantitative or a combination of quantitative and qualitative elements, with emphasis on the former. The chapter therefore makes the following contributions. First, it addresses the gap within the gender and management literature on qualitative research based on an insider role. Many studies on insider or outsider qualitative methods have documented the experiences of scholars from Western countries while at home or abroad; most of these works come from anthropology or auto-ethnographies (Alvesson, 2003; Giazitzoglu and Payne, 2018). Second, the chapter calls attention to the depth of insight researchers can gain from fieldwork by understanding their positions and roles in the process and production of knowledge. This reflexive approach to the setting, as Alvesson (2003) points out, supports theoretical development. The chapter is structured as follows: in Section 2, I illustrate the insider and outsider debate, with a focus on the advantages and disadvantages of both insider and outsider qualitative research. Then I discuss the methodological opportunities and challenges associated with being a qualitative insider researcher in the field of gender and management, based on my two empirical studies. In Section 3, I address the procedures followed in conducting qualitative insider research. The chapter concludes in Section 4 with a discussion of broader implications.

2.

INSIDER AND OUTSIDER QUALITATIVE RESEARCH

2.1

Insider and Outsider Debate

Beginning in the 1960s, a body of literature has addressed insider and outside perspectives as a question in qualitative research (e.g. Adler and Adler, 1994; Geertz, 1973; Merton, 1972). Early discussions in anthropology and sociology of the insider and outsider focused on the definition of what constitutes an ‘insider’ and an ‘outsider’, the relationship between these types of people, the advantages and disadvantages of each in terms of access to information; and the ethics and politics of representation (Labaree, 2002). Merton (1972) viewed the insider vs outsider position as an epistemological principle centred on the issue of access. According to Merton, an insider researcher is someone who has a close knowledge of the community and its members based on a previous and ongoing association with that community. The key assumption is that intimate knowledge of the community under study provides insights that are hard for an outsider to acquire. Alvesson (2009) proposed using the position one is in, which the researcher describes as being in a cultural setting to which (s)he has natural access and in which (s)he is an active participant, fitting a conventional role

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with regard to other participants. This suggests that researchers are either insiders or outsiders – either at home or abroad. Here, the concept of being an outsider refers to traditional positivist science, in which the researcher’s relationship to the setting is detached and neutral. By contrast, the concept of insider involves researchers as actors immersed in local situations generating contextually embedded knowledge that emerges from experience (Brannick and Coghlan, 2007). Insider researchers are well positioned to understand the experiences of groups and societies. Therefore, insider qualitative researchers have advantages that outsiders may lack (Alvesson, 2003; Labaree, 2002). An insider researcher has access to the field based on familiarity with the community, as noted above (Merriam et al., 2001). Access refers to the ability to undertake research on the employees of an organisation (Alvesson, 2003). Bhopal (2001), as a South Asian woman researching South Asian women in East London, with whom she shared a cultural background, was able to gain access to their space more easily than outsider researchers could have done. The insider researcher’s sense of belonging to a community serves as social capital for accessing the organisational site or informants. Yet, accessing specific privileged information and/or interviewing elite individuals in organisations may not be possible. Brannick and Coghlan (2007) reported that ‘access at one level automatically may lead to limits or access at other levels. The higher the status of the researcher, the more access she has or the more networks she can access, particularly downward through the hierarchy’ (p. 67). However, access to informants does not necessarily ease the interview process or dissolve power hierarchies. Another advantage of insider researchers is they have a ‘preunderstanding of people’s knowledge, insights and experience before they engage in a research programme’ (Gummesson, 2000, p. 57), which implies that researchers and participants share a body of knowledge (Labaree, 2002). In this sense, insider researchers understand the verbal and non-verbal language of participants, which is essential to understanding the life experiences of the people in the study. Altogether, insider research has the potential to add richness, trustworthiness and authenticity to the information gathered. Although insider status can produce greater depth of knowledge and nuance, it has its own problems, mostly in how outcomes are presented and perceived by other researchers who presume there exists an objective stance. Anderson et al. (1994) suggest that native researchers may find it difficult to maintain the social distance of outsider researchers and to control “subjectivity”. Also, insider researchers may find it difficult to distance their emotions from their own communities (Anderson et al., 1994) or to be able to ‘liberate oneself [themselves] from some taken-for-granted ideas or to view things in an open-minded way’ (Alvesson, 2003, p. 183). This may imply that ‘when insider researchers are interviewing, they may assume too much and so not probe as much as if they were outsiders or ignorant of the situation’ (Brannick and Coghlan, 2007, p. 12). For example, insider researchers’ knowledge may lead to assumptions and to overlooking potentially important information; they might misrepresent the data because of their moral, political or cultural standpoint (Abalkhail, 2018). Moreover, the need for insider researchers to fill different and sometimes contradictory roles – such as those of native, researcher, and/or translator

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– may influence the quality of the data when it is translated and reported in another language. They may think they know the answer and not expose their current thinking to alternative reframing. The discussion above highlights the general benefit of insider research and some of its drawbacks. Both insider and outsider qualitative research pose questions in relation to the researcher’s reflexivity, which needs to be acknowledged throughout the process to ensure that the data collected during fieldwork is faithful (Latour, 1987). Chavez (2008) states that ‘qualitative researchers, outsiders or insiders, cannot be assured that their observations, interpretations, and representations are not affected by their various identities or positionalities’ (p. 475). In this regard, some scholars argue that instead of looking at insiders and outsiders as a dichotomy, it is better for researcher positioning to be conceptualised on a continuum of insiderness/outsiderness (Mercer, 2007). This insider/outsider dichotomy can be viewed as a continuum with multiple dimensions. Identities of researchers are not static and can change according to time, place, power, positionality and topic (Mercer, 2007). While it is acknowledged that some characteristics like race and gender will likely remain constant throughout researchers’ lives, the significance of those characteristics can change, depending on the research situation (Mercer, 2007). Dwyer and Buckle (2009) reported that all researchers fall somewhere between complete insiders and complete outsiders. Hence, both insiders and outsiders can be unpopular or in a weak position and therefore outside the circle of knowing. Accordingly, because of the fluidity of insider–outsider distinctions, several scholars suggest that a researcher can experience degrees of insiderness and outsiderness, depending on how s(he) is situated socially with respect to informants in the fieldwork (Labaree, 2002). For example, Chavez (2008) studied her multigenerational Mexican–American family and reported that ‘insider researchers can be total insiders, where researchers share overlapping identities (e.g. race, ethnicity and class) or key experiences (e.g. wars and family membership), or they can be partial insiders, who share a single identity or identities with a degree of distance or detachment from the community’ (p. 475). Building on Chavez’s (2008) work, Giazitzoglu and Payne (2018) propose a model of insider ethnography that differentiates between three levels of insiderness: (1) shared markers of identity represented by gender and ethnicity, (2) shared cultural capital and the ability to enact routine collective behaviour, general discourses, and core styles in a given cultural field, (3) active and authentic participation in the studied group’s central behaviour. These three levels of position are not necessarily found in all insider ethnography studies but may occur individually or in combination (Giazitzoglu and Payne, 2018). Section 2.2 provides a discussion of challenges and advantages of being an insider qualitative researcher, drawing on my own research experience as a sole investigator.

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2.2

Challenges and Opportunities of Insider Qualitative Research: Example from Fieldwork

This section covers my experience of conducting insider research using qualitative methods. Abalkhail (2017, 2019) comprises two studies that form the basis for the following discussions. The first study (2017) explored challenges and opportunities faced by Saudi women in their career paths towards leadership positions in Saudi Arabia. The data come from face-to-face interviews with 22 women managers. The findings provide a view into Saudi women’s experience of management in higher education. The findings showed that women face challenges that prevent them from achieving equitable representation in higher-level leadership positions. These challenges include recruitment and promotion, gender segregation, discriminatory practices and lack of training. Conversely, women do have opportunities which help them in their careers. These opportunities include access to education, family male members’ support and individual self-confidence. The second study (2019) explored women’s career development in the Arab Middle Eastern context of Saudi Arabia. I used in-depth, semi-structured interviews with 24 academic women working in Saudi Arabia’s higher education sector. The findings revealed several culturally adaptive strategies for supporting the advancement of women into leading positions in higher education. These strategies were found to include removing alwilaya, or male guardianship authority, breaking the patriarchal cycle, engaging in career development training, and engaging in self-empowerment. In both studies, I interviewed women in Arabic in their offices or at homes. I audiotaped most of the interviews, transcribed them verbatim, and translated them from Arabic to English. I used an interpretive phenomenological analysis, a thematic analysis, and a template analysis process (King, 1998; Smith and Osborn, 2008). The discussion highlights some of the challenges – all of which were surmountable – as well as the advantages incidentally arising from them. 2.2.1 Positionality In both studies, I considered my position in the research process to be that of an insider native who shares cultural characteristics with participants, including gender, values, history, language and profession. As a qualitative insider researcher, I experienced three different layers of insiderness in the field, at different degrees and moments (Chavez, 2008; Giazitzoglu and Payne, 2018). The first layer of insiderness was shared gender identity with participants. As a woman interviewing Saudi professional women, I was privileged to access spaces and establish rapport in a way that outsiders might have found challenging. Most of the interview sessions were socially pleasant, and I was able to build intimacy and share sisterly relations. Feminist scholars have pointed out that women researchers more readily access and understand women’s experiences (Cooper and Rogers, 2015; Oakley, 2016), and commonalities elicit a deeper connection in terms of knowledge shared. For example, one interviewee asked me to pause the recorder because she wanted to have a woman-to-woman talk related to herself and her family. Along with telling

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me their life and work stories, respondents gave advice on how to navigate career obstacles and build bridges with senior people in the workplace. It has been argued that the notion of women having insider advantages when studying other women is faulty, and that gender is not enough to establish a good relationship with participants (Riessman, 1987, p. 173). However, shared experiences between researcher and participants can form the basis ‘for dismantling the hierarchies, fictions, and avoidances of research based on positivist frameworks and [can facilitate] more complete interpretations of data based on a shared understanding of women’s experiences in society’ (DeVault, 1996, p. 37). The second layer of insiderness comes from shared cultural values, language and religious beliefs. As a member of Arab society, I am aware of how Arab culture is characterised by Arabic language, Islam as a religion, a common cultural identity, and strong solidarity between group members, or alsabiyya (Ibn Khaldun, 1967). Therefore, I could understand participants’ narratives as well as recognise the meaning in patterns more quickly than an outsider researcher might (Altorki, 1988). In the second study, when the participants talked about the patriarchy pattern in the workplace, I knew precisely what they meant. Within an organisational context, the patriarchy pattern refers to patriarchal values embedded in organisational life, whereby some men display a demeanour that encodes women as incapable of taking on leadership roles. It seems there are fluid boundaries between assumptions about gender roles in private spaces with regard to gender roles, and in public spaces with regard to leadership roles that merge seamlessly to produce gender inequality at work in relation to women assuming leadership positions. My membership in the culture helped me to analyse and interpret assumptions about gender roles within the organisational setting. For example, the idea of power in organisation is linked directly to the idea of qiwama, which has different interpretations in Islam, but it is widely understood to mean that men are privileged with greater abilities over women. Hence, ‘the man is assigned to care for and have guardianship rights over his women – wives or daughters … this idea is found … also in the workplace, where men carry the idea of qiwam with them and think that they have a right to be the “guardians” or controllers of women’ (Abalkhail, 2017, p. 173). As an insider researcher, I also recognised culturally based cues and terminology and non-verbal communication in interviews that might not be accessible to an outsider. However, at some point, I found it difficult to maintain social distance and feel in control of subjectivity. I was emotionally engaged with the participants’ stories to the extent that I found the boundaries between myself as researcher and my personal relationship with participants eroding. The third layer of insiderness was related to shared academic identity with informants. Academic identity is a complex concept because the development of scholarly identity is located within a specific discipline and scholarly community, based on research contribution. This encompasses the activities associated with being a teacher, researcher, writer or administrator (Clarke et al., 2013). As a member of the academy, I had the third layer of insiderness because I shared an academic identity with the informants in the two case studies, which encouraged further information

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about their work stories. The distinctive feature of this insiderness is the ability to engage in university-related activity. I could teach, lecture and train on topics related to gender in management and organisations, topics like leadership and gendered hierarchies in the workplace. As well, I was willing to participate in university-related activities such as lectures. This helped me achieve rapport and establish legitimacy with informants and other participants. This third layer of insiderness meant that participants viewed me as being “one of them” or as a total insider (Chavez, 2008) based not only on shared gender identity and cultural background, but also on shared professional competency. In this sense, I gained access to and rapport with participants not only on ‘the basis of talking the talk … but also [on the basis of] walking the walk’ (Giazitzoglu and Payne, 2018, p. 1154). Without insider status, the data would likely have been less in both volume and level of detail. 2.2.2 Power dynamics The power-based dynamic during data collection of insider qualitative research is something researchers must account for. It can be negotiated between the interviewer and the interviewees. Power was a factor in both studies; I was conscious of it because of my cultural knowledge as an insider and my knowledge about the subject of gender issues. The power of my position as a researcher working in the public sector facilitated connections with gatekeepers to gain access to participants. Access to field sites requires good personal connections and functioning links, to avoid dependence on official gatekeepers (Easterby-Smith and Malina, 1999). This was a positive power relationship in terms of the research goals. Some participants I interviewed, however, subtly negotiated my power as a researcher by deciding where and when the interview would be held, when to start or to stop recording, when to end the interviews, and what information to control or share. For example, I sensed that a few interviewees positioned themselves as superior in rank, due either to higher professional positions, special skills, degrees from top-rated universities, or greater experience. This might materialise in the form of personal questions outside the scope of the interview; however, it occurred rarely. Alvesson (2003) reports that ‘when elites are being studied, it is normally [permitted to occur] in the form of interviews where they themselves control the situation and produce their own versions of the world’ (p. 179). Other interviewees assumed postures subordinate to me, as I was the researcher or the expert, for instance by asking for advice on how to deal with workplace conflict, or how their stories might help other women gain power within the patriarchal society. In any interview situation, things may not go as planned. A researcher needs to be sensitive to power dynamics that can be a factor in the outcome. Researchers must have general strategies for building relationships and maintaining rapport with participants. Oakley (2005) suggests that a balance must be then struck between the warmth required to generate ‘rapport’ and the focus on the data sought from the encounter. 2.2.3 Data representation: transcript, translation, analysis and interpretations Generally, insider qualitative researchers struggle with representing their findings credibly and interpreting their participant perspectives correctly (Geertz, 1973), as well as allowing the voices of participants to be clearly heard. It becomes even more complex

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to represent participants’ insights in research accounts that resonate meaningfully for readers when language must be translated. In the two studies above, I conducted all the interviews in Arabic. I transcribed relevant findings into Arabic and then translated them into English. Then I analysed, interpreted and presented the data in English. During the translation process, there were Arabic proverbs, idioms and metaphors with no equivalent expression in English, which could have led to distortions of meaning. For example, the word wasta, which is derived from the Arabic verbal root wast, means ‘to be in the middle’. Also, wasta culturally refers to an individual’s mediation on behalf of a family member in order to help achieve a certain goal or to strengthen a network of family or friends (Abalkhail, 2018, 2019). In the workplace, wasta (family networks) may facilitate women’s career progression, particularly for women who are supported by their male family members and by strong family connections (Abalkhail and Allan, 2016). I therefore explain them in terms of their embedded meaning in the context of the participants’ experiences. As ever, I had to engage thoroughly with the transcripts to capture the meaning of the respondents’ experiences, including the social, religious, economic, political and emotional aspects of those experiences. Translating qualitative data can be challenging, since it not only involves meaning within its own socialcultural background, but also the structure of languages and other methodological problems (Abalkhail, 2018). These values of insiderness assisted me in contributing and producing new forms of knowledge and detailed descriptions. Thus, it takes skill to write good insider qualitative research that provides a window into the richness of the phenomena being studied – offering analyses which ‘are reflexive in/about the process, and offer[ing] insights and ideas that resonate with a wider audience’ (Cunliffe, 2010, p. 227). 2.2.4 Validity: objectivity/subjectivity of knowledge creation Establishing validity in qualitative studies can be challenging (Saunders et al., 2012). Other terms should be considered. As an insider qualitative researcher, I have inevitably been influenced by the tales I was told during fieldwork and how the participants’ stories connected to me (e.g. values, behaviours, beliefs, and knowledge of the cultural community and its language), and the narratives they craft and share with others (e.g. academic audiences). My personal status as insider researcher connected me to participants through a trusted social network that granted me access to and rapport with members. Although, as Van Maanen (1995) recommended, my attempt was on ‘making the familiar strange’ (p. 20) within my own context – defamiliarization – I found that my familiarity with the participants’ context ethically bound my research in ways outsider researchers might not experience. For example, as Saudi Arabia is a collectivist and hospitable society, participants offered help in personal ways, like inviting me to dinner at their homes. This might put me under an obligation, whereby culturally I would be expected to return favours to the people who helped me. If I did not follow the rules of reciprocity, I might be viewed for some time as unappreciative. Whereas my subject–object position benefited me at the beginning, it then obligated me, upon leaving, to reciprocate in various ways, much of which came from self-pressure. An outsider might not experience this degree of obligatory reciprocity. These gestures were made by participants not out of convention, but rather out of genuine friendship, affection and appreciation.

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Furthermore, my insider status constrained me from asking the types of questions that technically (though not advisably) I could have asked. For example, it is not acceptable to ask questions about informants’ tribe of origin, because, as an insider researcher, it is assumed that the researcher knows these answers. Another example is when I asked informants about their perspectives on the gender-segregated workplace. Some were open to discussing the negative and positive impacts of gender segregation on women’s career development. But others suggested I should not ask such questions, because I should already know that gender-segregation is not just a religious obligation, but also a social one, based on urf (custom), to protect women from sexual harassment and, in turn, to protect family honour (Abalkhail, 2017) . To avoid interpersonal tensions that might occur between informant and researcher I developed a culturally appropriate strategy to respond to this. I avoided asking direct questions and instead, at the beginning of the interview, used statements like “I know that …” and “I am familiar with …”. This technique helped me tactfully gather significant details about informant perspectives (Chavez, 2008). My insiderness in qualitative research raised several methodological questions. For example: Does my cultural knowledge lead me to overlook particularities of the field? Was I able to break out of or defamiliarize myself from the study’s context? Did my translations of the transcribed data influence the epistemological aspects of the research? Were my interpretations of the collected data coloured by my personal belief in relation to the limitation of women’s empowerment in the workplace? Did the production of knowledge reflect the realities of women’s experiences in the workplace? Therefore, as a qualitative insider researcher, I acknowledge that the concept of validity is problematic. Consequently, I tried to assure the reliability of the research process by using several techniques. For example, I adopted Guba and Lincoln’s (1994) criteria for evaluating qualitative research by achieving an account that can be considered trustworthy. This entails four principles: credibility, transferability, dependability and conformability. I achieved credibility by gaining full access to the respondents’ knowledge and the meaning of their responses, writing detailed field notes, providing rich descriptions, and using peer validation and partial member validation (Creswell, 2007). I achieved dependability by adopting an auditing approach, which refers to the interview recordings, field notes, journals, memos and transcripts. I attained transferability by providing detailed descriptions of the findings, thus encouraging generalisation within, rather than across, cases (Geertz, 1973). This principle, when applied, strengthens a study by providing others with what they refer to as a database for making judgements about the possible transferability of findings to another environment (Guba and Lincoln, 1994). I achieved conformability by not allowing my personal values to bias the conduct of the research or its findings. In other words, I tried to be reflective and reflexive. I also tried to maintain authentic voices of the informants in the two case studies.

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3.

PROCEDURES FOR CONDUCTING QUALITATIVE INSIDER RESEARCH

Generally, there is no single, definitive way to do insider or outsider qualitative research (Watson, 1994). Watson (1994) pointed out that ‘as a piece of research proceeds in its crafting through planning, fieldwork[,] and [being written] up, the “what?” “why?’” and “how?” questions are asked and re-asked until the answers are expressed in [the] final form of a thesis … together with the “findings”, analyses and conclusions which emerge from them’ (p. S79). In this section, I describe ways to conduct insider qualitative research that have worked for me (see Table 9.1). Other researchers may find these procedures useful, at least for comparison, or they may have their own personal ways of working. Table 9.1

Procedures for conducting insider qualitative research

Main Questions

Characteristics

Researcher Actions

What do I want to know? Statement of the problem (purpose of the research)

1. Map the literature to identify the gap in knowledge. 2. Define the research problem/research question.

How do I conceptualise my research?

Methodology

Choose the philosophical assumption (e.g. interpretive phenomenological analysis).

How do I gain access to information resources?

Data collection

1. Different methods for data collections (e.g. interviews, observation and documents). 2. The process of data collection using in-depth interviews: a. Prepare the initial interview questions. b. Undertake a pilot study. c. Design the final interview protocol. d. Field access. ●●Learn before entering the field. ●●Look for insider assistance. e. Conduct the actual interview sessions (using a digital recorder).

How do I analyse the collected data?

Approaches to analysing qualitative data

1. Preparation for Data Analysis: a. Transcribe the collected data in the language spoken during the interview. b. Translate the transcribed data if the outcome of the study is going to be presented in another language, (e.g. English). c. Validate the interview transcripts and translation. 2. Analysing the collected data: a. Choose an approach for data analysis (e.g. interpretive phenomenological analysis or template analysis). b. Procedures for interpretive phenomenological analysis: ●●Initial reading of the text: read and reread each transcript closely. ●●Identification of themes: reduce and organise the data. ●●Grouping of themes: make sense of what the respondents are saying and check his/her own sense-making against what they are saying. c. Produce summary tables of themes. d. Interpretation: describe the participants’ accounts with verbatim quotations from respondents; add critical analysis of the accounts. e. Write up the findings.

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4. DISCUSSION This chapter discusses qualitative insider research. Using two of my studies (Abalkhail, 2017, 2019), I explored qualitative insider research within the gender and management domain, discussed the major advantages and disadvantages of the approach, and suggested useful procedures and tools to provide direction for researchers preparing to conduct methodologically and ethically sound insider qualitative research studies of their own. Consistent with other scholars (Adler and Adler, 1994; Alvesson, 2003; Brannick and Coghlan, 2007; Merton, 1972), I defined insider qualitative research as being a methodology whereby researchers undertake to study their own societies, communities and groups. In this context, that means having insider knowledge and access to organisations and participants. Based on my two studies, I discussed both strengths and drawbacks of my insider position. I believe insider researchers are in a better position to explain meanings of events with which they are already familiar. Also, being a researcher at home in a collective society like the Arab world requires good social capital to gain access to hard-to-reach organisations, elite interviewees or even government documents. This facilitates the production of a rich knowledge store. The challenges of being an insider researcher include positionality, power dynamics, how to present findings, and validity issues. First, the construct of insider positionality applies here at three layers of insiderness. These layers are (1) shared gender identity with participants, (2) shared cultural background, and (3) shared professional identity with informants. The shifting nature of holding multiple identities as a woman researcher interviewing other professional women with whom I shared a cultural background provided a unique positionality. One of the risks of the third insider position is that it is not easy to escape political and social accountability related to the study findings and publication (El-Solh, 1988). Second, power dynamics during data collection pose another challenge, even as the insider position facilitates access to both the organisation and participants. Participants negotiate the power dynamic by deciding their own positions as a superior, a subordinate or a natural equal. Third, presenting insider qualitative data faithfully and interpreting participant insights correctly is complex, particularly when it involves language translation. The difficulty arises because the researcher must engage with the transcripts at two levels to convey both explicit and embedded meanings of respondent stories. Finally, an insider qualitative researcher is challenged epistemologically because of her/his closeness to the subject field, and the question of distance, sometimes framed as “validity” arises. Therefore, in considering qualitative insider research projects, potential researchers need to be aware of four main tasks: (1) knowing how to do fieldwork; (2) knowing how to analyse the data and write up the findings; (3) knowing themselves, and (4) knowing the interconnection between others and themselves (Goodall, 2008). The thread running through these four tasks implies reflectivity and reflexivity. Finlay and Gough (2003) suggest that the concepts of reflectivity

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and reflexivity are best viewed on a continuum, where reflection is at one end and is defined as “thinking about” something after it occurs. Reflexivity is at the other end of the continuum and involves a more immediate, dynamic and continuing self-awareness. It is about the politics of positionality and the acknowledgement of a researcher’s own power, privileges and biases in all phases of the research process (Madison, 2005). Therefore, awareness of reflectivity and reflexivity are important features in validating the research and thus underpin the quality of the research. It is important to be explicit about these criteria for addressing the questions of validity, to establish one’s research credentials by building credibility, transferability, dependability and confirmability (Lincoln and Guba, 1985). This chapter offers insights into qualitative insider research based on personal experience. It is intended to contribute to the literature on qualitative research within gender and management. It reviews the roles and positions of insider research by examining the advantages and disadvantages of conducting research as a native female researcher within the context of the Arab Middle East, where studies in this field are limited. The chapter also provides fresh insight into the influence of gender and insider research on the research process, e.g. data collection, fieldwork ethics, data analysis and interpretation, and epistemology of knowledge creation. It is hoped these insights will help insider researchers or those planning to study the Arab Middle Eastern context. In addition, this chapter identifies ethical and practical implications of conducting insider research, with recommendations that may be used in the process of narrating and sharing participants’ life stories. In brief, conducting insider qualitative research is a multifaceted process with great benefits and some challenges. Along with other scholars (e.g. Alvesson 2003; Brannick and Coghlan, 2007), I believe that at home or insider qualitative research provides unique insights into the dynamics of individuals, organisations, and the embeddedness of cultural values and gender-related issues in the workplace. It is an important counterpoint to outsider research, which may miss implicit cultural understandings. Still, the insider researcher must be reflective and reflexive in accurately and assessing research findings. An insider researcher is potentially better situated than an outsider researcher in terms of access to participants’ personal stories, particularly in terms of in-depth access or stories on sensitive matters (Alvesson, 2003). In sum, ‘the trick is to try to get away from the inclination to see things only in a specific light – as this means that one’s personal and paradigmatic-cultural blinders tend to shadow [aspects other] than those preferred’ (Alvesson, 2003, p. 185).

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REFERENCES Abalkhail, Jouharah M. (2017), ‘Women and leadership: challenges and opportunities in Saudi higher education’, Career Development International, 22(2), 165–83. Abalkhail, Jouharah M. (2018), ‘Challenges of translating qualitative management data’, Gender in Management: An International Journal, 33(1), 66–79. Abalkhail, Jouharah M. (2019), ‘Women’s career development in an Arab Middle Eastern context’, Human Resource Development International, 22(2), 177–99. Abalkhail, Jouharah M. and Barbara Allan (2016), ‘“Wasta” and women’s careers in the Arab Gulf States’, Gender in Management: An International Journal, 31(3), 162–80. Adler, Patricia and Peter Adler (1994), ‘Observational techniques’, in Norman Denzin and Yvonna. Lincoln (eds), Handbook of Qualitative Research, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 377–92. Altorki, Soraya (1988), ‘At home in the field’, in Soraya Altorki and Camillia El-Solh (eds), Arab Women in the Field: Studying Your Own Society, Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, pp. 49–68. Alvesson, Mats (2003), ‘Methodology for close up studies: struggling with closeness and closure’, Higher Education, 46(2), 167–93. Alvesson, Mats (2009), ‘At-home ethnography: struggling with closeness and closure’, in Sierk Ybema, Dvora Yanow, Harry Wels and Frans Kamsteeg (eds), Organizational Ethnography: Studying the Complexity of Everyday Life, London: Sage, pp. 156–74. Anderson, Gary, Kathryn Herr and Ann Nihlen (1994), Studying Your Own School, Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. Bhopal, Kalwant (2001), ‘Researching South Asian women: issues of sameness and difference in the research process’, Journal of Gender Studies, 10(3), 279–86. Brannick, Teresa and David Coghlan (2007), ‘In defence of being “native”: the case for insider academic research’, Organizational Research Methods, 10(1), 59–74. Chavez, Christina (2008), ‘Conceptualizing from the inside: advantages, complications, and demands on insider positionality’, The Qualitative Report, 13(3), 474–94. Clarke, Marie, Abbey Hyde and Jonathan Drennan (2013), ‘Professional identity in higher education’, in Barbara Kehm and Ulrich Teichler (eds), The Academic Profession in Europe: New Tasks and New Challenges, Dordrecht: Springer, pp. 7–22. Cooper, Linda and Chrissie Rogers (2015), ‘Mothering and “insider” dilemmas: feminist sociologists in the research process’, Sociological Research Online, 20(2), 1–13. Creswell, John W. (2007), Qualitative Inquiry & Research Design: Choosing among Five Approaches (2nd edn), London: Sage. Cunliffe, Ann (2003), ‘Reflexive inquiry in organization research: questions and possibilities’, Human Relations, 56(8), 983–1003. Cunliffe, Ann (2010), ‘Retelling tales of the field in search of organizational ethnography 20 years on’, Organizational Research Methods, 13(2), 224–39. DeVault, Marjorie (1996), ‘Talking back to sociology: distinctive contributions of feminist methodology’, Annual Review of Sociology, 22, 29–50. Dwyer, Corbin and Jennifer Buckle (2009), ‘The space between: on being an insider-outsider in qualitative research’, International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 8, 54–63. Easterby-Smith, Mark and Danusia Malina (1999), ‘Cross-cultural collaborative research: toward reflexivity’, Academy of Management Journal, 42(1), 76–86.

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El-Solh, Camillia (1988), ‘Gender, class, and origin: aspects of role during fieldwork in Arab society’, in Soraya Altorki and Camillia El-Solh (eds), Arab Women in the Field: Studying Your Own Society, Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, pp. 91–114. Finlay, Linda and Brendan Gough (2003), Reflexivity, Oxford: Blackwell. Geertz, Clifford (1973), The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays, London: Fontana Press. Giazitzoglu, Andreas and Geoff Payne (2018), ‘A 3-level model of insider ethnography’, The Qualitative Report, 23(5), 1149–59. Goodall, Harold (2008), Writing Qualitative Inquiry: Self, Stories, and Academic Life, Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Guba, Eugon and Yvonna Lincoln (1994), ‘Competing paradigms in qualitative research’, in Norman Denzin and Yvonna Lincoln (eds), Handbook of Qualitative Research, London: Sage, pp. 105–7. Gummesson, Evert (2000), Qualitative Methods in Management Research (2nd edn), Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Ibn Khaldun, Abdalrahman (1967), The Muqaddimah: An Introduction to History, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. King, Nigel (1998), ‘Template analysis’, in Catherine Cassell and Gillian Symon (eds), Qualitative Methods and Analysis in Organizational Research: A Practical Guide, London: Sage, pp. 118–34. Knorr-Cetina, Karin (1999), Epistemic Cultures: How the Sciences Make Knowledge, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Labaree, Robert (2002), ‘The risk of “going observationalist”: negotiating the hidden dilemmas of being an insider participant observer’, Qualitative Research, 2(1), 97–122. Latour, Bruno (1987), Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers Through Society, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lincoln, Yvonna and Guba Eugon (1985), Naturalistic Inquiry, London: Sage. Madison, Soyini (2005), Critical Ethnography: Methods, Ethics, and Performance, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Mercer, Justine (2007), ‘The challenges of insider research in educational institutions: wielding a double-edged sword and resolving delicate dilemmas’, Oxford Review of Education, 33, 1–17. Merriam, Sharan, Juanita Johnson-Bailey, Ming-Yeh Lee, Youngwha Kee, Gabo Ntseane and Mazanah Muhamad (2001), ‘Power and positionality: negotiating insider/outsider status within and across cultures’, International Journal of Lifelong Education, 20(5), 405–16. Merton, Robert (1972), ‘Insiders and outsiders’, American Journal of Sociology, 78(1), 9–47. Oakley, Ann (2005), The Ann Oakley Reader: Gender, Women and Social Science, Bristol: Policy Press. Oakley, Ann (2016), ‘Interviewing women again: power, time and the gift’, Sociology, 50(1), 195–213. Riessman, Catherine (1987), ‘When gender is not enough: women interviewing women’, Gender and Society, 1(2), 172–207. Saunders, Mark, Philip Lewis and Adrian Thornhill (2012), Research Methods for Business Students (6th edn), Harlow: Financial Times Prentice Hall.

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Smith, Jonathan and Mike Osborn (2008), ‘Interpretative phenomenological analysis’, in Jonathan Smith (ed.), Qualitative Psychology: A Practical Guide to Methods (2nd edn), London: Sage, pp. 53–80. Van Maanen, John (1995), Representation in Ethnography, Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Watson, Tony (1994), ‘Managing, crafting, and researching: words, skill and imagination in shaping management research’, British Journal of Management, 5(s1), S77–S87.

10. Data with a (feminist) purpose: quantitative methods in the context of gender, diversity and management Anne Laure Humbert and Elisabeth Anna Guenther

INTRODUCTION Quantitative methods are central to contemporary research, and ostensibly more likely to succeed in (‘mainstream’) journals because of the insights and the status associated with ‘hard’ data. With rising computer-power, increased availability of data and evermore sophisticated methods for analysis, quantitative methods have a growing field of applications, business and management being no exception. Even though many gender scholars criticise the constrictions quantitative approaches enforce upon complex social constructions like gender, they are still crucial for management scholars. Quantitative methods can be used to unveil inequality structures and dynamics within organisations. Some examples are research on the pay gap (Clayton-Hathway et al. 2020; Leslie et al. 2017; Woodhams et al. 2015) or barriers for women leaders (Eagly and Karau 2002; Humbert et al. 2019; Ryan and Haslam 2007). This chapter argues that using data with a (feminist) purpose relies on gender expertise, so that research neither overlooks nor reproduces inequalities. First, we want to clarify our terminology. In this chapter, we refer to gender, making specific reference to diversity (or the intersectional issues this entails) where possible. Gender refers to a social construction on the basis of sex that operates along lines of power (Guenther et al. 2018), and which are entangled with other forms of power (Crenshaw 1989; The Combahee River Collective 1979). Furthermore, we need to question the role of researchers. The intent is to distinguish between scholars who engage superficially with gender (e.g. naively considering sex as an additional variable) from those who adopt a more critical approach and aim at transforming power relations. We refer to the latter as gender scholars. We argue it is crucial to include gender expertise when making use of data with a purpose. Gender expertise refers to an in-depth knowledge, understanding of, and engagement with feminist research, including gendered, racialised and classed structures, institutions and processes. This chapter makes the epistemological case for combining gender expertise and quantitative methods. To do so, the relationship between gender scholarship and quantitative methods is discussed. Next, we use linguistic theory to demonstrate the importance of in-depth gender expertise for quantitative analysis, especially through the processes of denotation and connotation. We then illustrate this by bringing 145

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in examples of our own research using quantitative methods in the field of gender diversity and management.

QUANTITATIVE METHODS AS A POSITIVIST EXPRESSION OF POWER The relationship between gender scholarship and quantitative methods is historically complex and nuanced (Stauffer and O’Brien 2019). Gender scholars have been vocal in rejecting positivism as an expression of patriarchal power over the research process (Harding 1987; Maynard 1994; Millen 1997; Oakley 1981). Quantitative methods have been perceived as an expression of positivism, and as such are rejected en bloc by some. To reject quantitative methods was seen as rejecting the dominant system, as well as leaving space for alternative, critical scholarship, giving space and voice to other standpoints. Vickers (2015) speaks of the rejection of positivism, and the quantitative methods that underpin it, as a form of ‘methodological rebellion’ (Stauffer and O’Brien 2019). Gender scholars have long pointed out the link between knowledge and power, as well as the danger of reifying social inequalities through research (Butler 1990). How researchers frame questions and address social phenomena constructs and influences lived realities. Consequently, a positivist approach, assumed to objectively capture social processes, can be problematic if it leaves inequality structures unquestioned and/or unaddressed. Moreover, the idea of placing people in categories – and thereby putting them into boxes – can be seen as running contrary to feminist theories that emphasise fluidity or performativity of social categories (Butler 1990, 2004; West and Zimmerman 1987). Leveraging Quantitative Methods to Understand Gendered Work, Organisations or Institutions Despite these limitations, there is great scope for gender scholars to leverage quantitative methods to analyse and tackle gender inequalities. The challenge is to both build upon the (rightful) challenges to positivism and quantitative methods while also using these methods to understand – and ultimately work towards transforming – gendered work, organisations and institutions. For instance, income inequality is often demonstrated by a quantified gender pay gap, while further understanding of its persistence might be achieved through qualitative methods (Clayton-Hathway et al. 2020). Others have adopted a feminist quantitative approach such as in the field of Feminist Economics to provide insights on inequalities related to gender and the economy (e.g. Benería et al. 2015; Himmelweit 1995; Sigle-Rushton 2010). These bodies of work demonstrate the need not only for data, but also for a recognition that data can hardly be separated from the political constructions they are the result of. Data production and their analysis call for gender expertise: the way categories are defined and how people are assigned to specific categories instead of others are as crucial as what categories to include in the analysis and how the results are inter-

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preted (for an in-depth discussion see D’Ignazio and Klein 2020). By pigeonholing complex processes in quantifiable categories, researchers risk reproducing their own stereotypical perception, including not questioning the implied masculine norm in business and management. To overcome this risk, many gender scholars have called for standpoint epistemological positions that involve qualitative inductive approaches (Acker et al. 1983; Gorelick 1991). Other gender researchers aim for a reconciliation of quantitative and qualitative approaches by flagging up the benefits of a mixed methods approach. Maynard (1994: 14), for example, emphasises that the “polarization of quantitative versus qualitative impoverishes research, and there have been calls for the use of multiple methods to be used in a complementary rather than a competitive way”. Gender research – quantitative or otherwise – challenges mainstream theories developed ‘on men, for men, by men’ (Stevenson 1990). This involves paying attention to topics that are ignored. Domestic work (Oakley 1974), motherhood (Miller 2005), or violence against women (Walby 2013) are crucial topics to many women but do not conform to the lived reality of the hegemonic man in management, and are therefore ignored by major organisational theories (Acker 1973, 1992; Bendl 2008). Feminist research ought to acknowledge the different power relations between both gender and hierarchic positions (May 2001; Maynard 1994). This might mean aiming for an equal relationship between researcher and respondents to produce more meaningful information (Maynard 1994; Oakley 1981), possibly difficult to achieve because of knowledge gaps between the researcher and respondents (Maynard 1994; Millen 1997). Finally, for feminist research to capture the complexity of social lives, it needs to recognise heterogeneity and the intersectional nature of social practices and subjectivities (Acker 2006; Crenshaw 1989; Rodriguez et al. 2016). This is challenging within quantitative methods since the approach enforces categorisation. However, sufficient disaggregation in the data can go some way towards inclusive measurement and analysis. For instance, in 2019, Kenya decided to recognise the intersex population by including them in the census. One aim was to learn more about the needs of intersex people and destigmatise the topic (Bhalla 2019). This shows that an inclusive data production can enable policymaking that benefits marginalised or neglected communities. Moreover, large enough datasets such as those obtained through a census or used in data analytics, can allow for more nuanced analyses and enable research on inter-categorical intersectionality (McCall 2005). Quantitative gender research in business and management needs to challenge androcentricity, tackle the exclusion of women and minoritised groups, promote reflexivity among its researchers, and work towards social change and transformation. Researchers should consider the relationship between themselves and their participants, not simply seeing survey respondents, for example, as passive data providers. Consequently, doing gender research goes beyond adding sex as a variable. Rather, gender scholars apply feminist knowledge to challenge inequality regimes. It is a mindset, undergirded by feminist theories, which is translated into research practice.

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Gender Expertise as a Precondition: Gender, Language and Statistics A basic condition for using data with a feminist purpose, we argue, is gender expertise and a feminist mindset. One of the first questions is how are variables and categories constructed and defined? To make it quantifiable, a social phenomenon has to be split into different, distinguishable units (Espeland and Stevens 2008). Quantitative measures therefore function as ‘words’ in a wider ‘language’, in that what they capture has to be understood and be perceived as legitimate by others. Quantitative measures are part of a wider system of sense-making, and thus words and numbers are similar in this regard. Both aim to categorise, label and describe social phenomena (Foucault 1966). To illustrate the importance of how specific units – be they words or numerical categories – are constructed, we briefly elaborate on some fundamental linguistic concepts: denotation and connotation, as crucial elements in the sense-making process. Saussure (1916) explains the process of ‘signification’ in linguistic theory. Saussure differentiates two sides of a sign: the ‘signified’, which is the concept represented and the ‘signifier’, which is the form it adopts. The process of ‘signification’ is one of sense-giving, and thus not necessarily the same for everyone. Different people, based on their background and context, can easily have different interpretations of the same signifier. For example, different meanings and concepts are conflated within the term ‘gender’ (Guenther et al. 2018; Ridgeway and Smith-Lovin 1999), including, at the most basic level, the distinction between sex and gender. Sex refers to a biological classification, rooted in a binary understanding of bodies as either female or male. Gender is socially constructed, and builds upon this original binary categorisation. However, it corresponds less to a biological reality than to an identity when understood at the individual level. At societal level, gender operates as one of the predominant organising principles. Individuals express and perform their gender in relation (even if that means opposition) to their sex. This extends to sexual orientation, in so far as society expects that individuals will conform to the norms of heterosexuality (Butler 1990, 2004; Rumens et al. 2018). When people talk about women, they might either be referring to the social or biological, or both aspects of gender/sex, which influences their interpretation. Differences within the ‘signification’ process happen through denotation (e.g. representing gender through a woman/man in pictograms, choosing sex/gender categories for a questionnaire) and connotation (e.g. different understandings and interpretations of gender as equality, equity or transformation). Signification is also influenced by context. In Figure 10.1, the concept of ‘woman’ is denoted through a white drawing against a black background. It represents a person wearing a dress, which implies the sex of the person, using a stereotypical code of femininity. It is interesting to note that ‘man’ is denoted by a contrasting absent dress. Connotation relates to the meaning attributed to the sign itself. It can be understood in a variety of ways, such as when placed on a door to indicate the entry points to the women’s toilets. Connotation is so strong that there is no need for the sign to make any mention of toilets for the association to exist in most people’s mind. But connotation varies

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across contexts. In Lithuania, for example, you would easily recognise Figure 10.2 as signs on toilet doors. For many other people, these signs can be rather obscure, showing the importance of a shared ‘expertise’ to make sense of a sign. Connotation can take many other different interpretations, such as the one shown in Figure 10.3, in which stereotypical perceptions are problematised and turned on their head, saying the supposedly dress is actually a super heroine cape (but with femininity nonetheless marked by a narrow waistline). Feminist knowledge, here combined with emotions (laughter), contributes to the process of sense-making. To understand the process of signification, Jakobson’s (1960) model can be useful. This states that the process of signification needs to be put in relation to the context, the code and the channel. To share a similar interpretation of a signifier, people should be familiar with the same context. Although management and organisations scholars use the same terminology, their interpretations vary. Talking about performativity might evoke different associations for someone familiar with Butler’s work than for someone focusing on performance evaluation. In addition, the form of contact, the channel, can have an influence in the signification: people might be more willing to acknowledge the need for implementing gender change policies if they recognise the gender scholar as an expert and their results as legitimate. They might listen more

Figure 10.1

Pictogram of a gendered figure

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Figure 10.2

Lithuanian toilet signs

Figure 10.3

‘It was never a dress’

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carefully if the person who talks about gender issue is a public figure, a professor or a well-established scholar. A message might be heard differently if one perceives the counterpart as authentic and sympathetic or as questionable and ill-informed. When writing or lecturing, academics often consider the audience to convey their message. It appears to be sensible to adapt the use of signifiers, and this is as true for words as for numbers. Yet we do not often stop to ponder how we might move from discourses based on words to discourses based on numbers. It is this bridge that we see gender scholars making in engaging with quantitative methods in business and management. Denotation and connotation are important for data production and analysis. While feminist research has shown that there is a continuum of sex (Fausto-Sterling 2000), the labels women, men, transgender or intersex still group people, and therefore distinguish them. This denotation takes place when questions are developed. Here, gender scholars have to decide on whether to use binary categories (such as woman and man) and how items are defined. Denotation continues when data are collected (which social reality is captured, and in what ways), and further in the analysis of the data, for instance when it is disaggregated by (binary) sex. When interpreting the data – as part of the sense-making process – further knowledge on the underlying social constructs is needed. Quantitative analysis cannot take place without the ability to provide a gender-aware connotation. This means that to understand and capture the lived realities of gender constructs, one needs to base the analysis and interpretation on existing (feminist) theories and research. For instance, when gendered processes within teams are analysed, it is necessary to understand that the overall division of labour, the image of ‘ideal’ workers, and an unequal distribution of power are at play (Acker 1992, 2006); not doing so results in missing out crucial aspects of gender connotations. This is why the approach to just ‘add sex and stir’ does not work, and why gender scholars need to be involved in feminist quantitative research.

OLD AND NEW QUANTITATIVE METHODS Gender expertise that is informed by feminist ideas is thus crucial in the use of quantitative methods for business and management, through the denotation and connotation of data. Using examples from our own research, we illustrate why gender expertise is important when engaging with quantitative methods. Our examples show how quantitative data can be harnessed to bring about social and political change, through being used within a wider feminist epistemological framework. To do so, we look at how old and new quantitative methods help us gain insights on gender in business and management. After a brief outline of ethical considerations, we offer three examples: the use of surveys and own data production, the use of large-scale secondary data, and big data analysis.

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Research Ethics in Quantitative Studies of Gender in Business and Management While there is much to be said about research ethics, we only briefly mention key principles. We consider the following four principles as key for research, which empowers marginalised groups and generates insights that matter: respect for persons, beneficence, justice, and respect for law and public interest (Salganik 2018). Respect for persons shows in the way individuals are treated as autonomous and how their wishes are honoured. Participants should be presented with all relevant information and researchers should seek informed consent. As for beneficence, researchers need to ensure a study does not harm people. This involves assessing the risk and benefits of the research. This can be especially relevant when it comes to releasing data. Research, furthermore, should distribute risks and benefits fairly, so it becomes just. This means that no group – especially not a vulnerable or marginalised one – should bear the costs of research while another benefits from the results. Researchers should also consider laws and the public interests. This goes beyond regulations about privacy and data protection, and asks for compliance with terms of services, for instance when it comes to analysing data that was actually collected for other purposes. Finally, from a feminist perspective, researchers should ask whether the research has potential to empower marginalised groups and challenge existing inequality regimes. Questionnaires and Surveys Traditionally, a common approach in quantitative studies has been to collect data through questionnaires. Surveys can help to capture empirical evidence on a broad scale, and thus provide a wealth of information and be a catalyst for change. How a survey is designed – who it targets, what questions are asked – can reproduce (gender) inequalities and stereotypes. To illustrate the challenges of using surveys for gender research in business and management, we turn to our experiences with a large-scale cross-country survey of gender and diversity in relation to team performance (Müller et al. 2019a). One of the first challenges was to distil our understanding of gender and diversity, and how to capture this quantitatively. This meant deciding what we were considering, such as either looking at gender diversity in the sense of different gender identities (woman, man, intersex, transgender, queer, etc.) or on differences within gender groups (a woman without care responsibilities, a man with a chronic illness, a black woman, etc.). It also meant deciding on whether to focus on both women and men, or on women only. We also considered the questions, how to phrase them, and how to denote what we wanted to measure. We needed the data to reflect our understanding, feminist objectives and ethics. Nonetheless, we were aware that the interpretation of our question would be influenced by the gender connotation of our respondents. For example, should the question ask a respondent to reveal their sex or their gender? Should the question impose a binary system on the respondent? Could the question

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generate harm, especially within marginalised groups? Would we neglect lived realities by not explicitly providing space outside of the gender binary? In designing the questionnaire, extensive discussions within the project team and with the advisory board took place on what kind of gendered processes to capture and how we could operationalise them. The discussions revolved around whether the question should ask about sex or gender, whether it should impose a binary response, or whether respondents ought to self-identify outside of any prescribed categories. In the end, it was decided that the question would not make explicit reference to either sex or gender, and simply be phrased as ‘Are you …’ with three response items ‘A woman’, ‘A man’, ‘Other’. Using this self-defined question about identity was justified as not imposing a conceptualisation of sex and/or gender onto the survey respondents. However, from an empirical viewpoint, the inclusion of three categories was problematic for the analysis. In fact, much of quantitative gender research is limited at the empirical level to a binary analysis. It is assumed that there is a large degree of correspondence in the population between one’s sex and one’s gender (although we recognise that this varies and that it is far from a perfect correspondence) and that sub-sample sizes for ‘Other’ categories are often too small for meaningful analysis. This is to be contrasted to the greater freedom available at conceptual and/or theoretical levels, but also within the repertoire of qualitative methods. To solve this dissonance, we decided to add a follow-up question where respondents had opted for ‘Other’. In that case, the respondent was provided with an explanation of our gender-based analysis and the need to rely on binary categories for some parts of the analysis. The respondent was then asked which category they would prefer to be recorded as in the analysis. Respondents were also given the option to still select ‘Other’, although it was explained to them this meant that they could not be included in this part of the analysis. Out of 1,472 respondents, 11 selected ‘Other’ at the first step, and subsequently five opted for ‘Other’ in the second question and were therefore excluded from the analysis. While we recognise the limitations of this approach, we feel that it offers a good compromise in allowing respondents to self-define. It is also transparent in its adoption (and inevitably reification) of a binary system, which is a crucial element for informed consent. We nevertheless recognise that rendering some people invisible and excluding them from the analysis is problematic. Another approach discussed was to merge ‘Other’ with ‘Women’ on the basis of contrasting the hegemonic vs the minoritised group. A benefit of this approach would be to define binary gender groups in a new form and avoid exclusions. However, concerns were raised about subsuming ‘Other’ to ‘Women’ and thereby imposing specific realities on the ‘Other’ category, which is why this approach was dismissed. This issue is not restricted to our experience alone, and has been the subject of reflection from other researchers and organisations. A noteworthy development has been the work of the ONS (Office for National Statistics) in the context of the UK census (Randall 2019). Noting the conflation between sex and gender within surveys, and the lack of space for other categories such as intersex or transgender, the ONS put together a working group to discuss potential approaches. The approaches discussed included adding ‘other’, asking both a binary and a non-binary question, and

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asking a binary question followed by a trans-status question. While the issue has yet to be fully resolved, and importantly for consensus to be reached within the community of scholars, it appears that the next UK census will rely on a binary sex question, with an explanation that a gender question follows and which includes an open-ended trans-status question to capture gender identity. In summary, the use of a survey instrument for gender research is invariably problematic because of the way in which sex and/or gender are captured through the data collection. We recognise the limits of the binary system and would urge other scholars to take these adequately into consideration and embed them within a wider feminist framework. At the same time, we want to emphasise the need to be able to capture the effects of gendered processes on a larger level. We therefore encourage researchers to focus their data collection on not just adding a disaggregation by sex in their analysis, the so-called ‘add sex and stir’ approach, but instead to embed feminist theories and literature in their methodological and analytical strategies throughout. Large-scale Secondary Data Sources Quantitative research is not limited to surveys. Gender scholars can use large-scale secondary data sources to generate insights on gender within business and management. Using Humbert et al.’s (2019) work on gender beliefs and attitudes towards legislated board quotas in Europe, we show how secondary data sources can be used to provide a deeper understanding of gendered processes and their social embeddedness. Humbert et al.’s research sought to further our understanding of resistance to legislated board quotas, by examining how it relates to essentialist and discriminatory beliefs about gender. Its aim was to examine these relationships in the context of the taken-for-granted assumption that organisations are meritocratic. In a second step, the research examined these dynamics specifically among men leaders – as opposed to views from the overall adult population – since they are the group often hailed as potential change enablers (de Vries 2015; Kelan and Wratil 2018). Conducting a secondary analysis of Eurobarometer 76.1, a large-scale (n = 26,856) survey conducted in the EU in 2011 (European Commission and European Parliament 2014), the research demonstrates a positive link between essentialist gender beliefs (believing women and men are essentially different) and failing to support legislated board quotas. It shows that essentialist gender beliefs are positively linked to discriminatory gender beliefs, which in turn are associated with lower support for legislated board quotas. Furthermore, the negative relationship between essentialist gender beliefs and support for quotas or other legislated measures is stronger among men leaders (n = 275 leaders, 183 of which are men). Resistance, particularly within organisational leadership is thus apparent, prompting the urgent need to tackle essentialist gender beliefs at that level before any real change in practice can be achieved. There are several layers of gender analysis present in this study. First, the study makes explicit use of binary sex categories (women and men). However, it goes beyond the ‘add sex and stir’ approach by actively modelling gendered processes

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using variables linked to gender beliefs. In doing so, it responds to the call to use quantitative methods that go beyond solely disaggregating by sex (Kelan and Humbert 2016). At the heart of the conceptual framework is a strong engagement with literature on how organisations are gendered (Acker 1992) and the assumption of meritocracy (Castilla and Benard 2010; Scully 2002). Analytically, the research problematises gender beliefs, differentiating between essentialist and discriminatory gender beliefs. Thus, the aim is to demonstrate how essentialist beliefs about gender differences can fuel discriminatory beliefs and ultimately hinder any real change for gender equality in organisations. Finally, we find it noteworthy that the article focuses on men, but within the view that the transformation needed is to tackle the imbalance of power for women. This showcases that feminist gender research does not necessarily need to focus on women. Altogether, we believe that there is great potential for gender scholars to better engage with secondary data sources. They are easily available to researchers (e.g. via the UK Data Service or GESIS) and cover a wealth of different topics of relevance to the gender transformation of the economy and society. It provides a valuable opportunity to conduct gender analysis of datasets where the issue has not been considered. The availability of such datasets has vastly increased as technological advances have been made, and repositories have become more systematic. While open data benefits research, scientists need to be aware of ethical issues – especially aspects on how to protect privacy – before data are released. Potential from Data Analytics, Machine Learning and Algorithms As our last example, we want to discuss the potential use of big data and data analytics for conducting gender research in business and management. Looking at current developments, we expect that data analytics, machine learning and algorithms will pose new challenges as well as opportunities for gender scholars. Despite the claim that data analytics are a neutral and objective way to deliver better answers and enable new questions (George et al. 2016; Mcafee and Brynjolfsson 2012), several studies have pointed out that machines learn and thereby reify biases (Caliskan et al. 2017; Zou and Schiebinger 2018). Zou and Schiebinger (2018) emphasise that it is crucial to evaluate the data that is used to train machines for potential biases. This means, however, that data analysts need to realise what kind of biases they might have themselves as well as which biases might be in the data. Here, critical gender scholars could contribute to ensure a more comprehensive and inclusive analysis. This could be achieved by bringing their gender expertise into the denotation and connotation of the data. We illustrate this through our work using new data sources. New technological developments allow (gender) researchers to capture social phenomena with innovative tools, sensors being one of them. Several scholars point out that subtle practices (re)produce gender inequality in academia (Morley 1999; van den Brink and Benschop 2012). So far, mainly qualitative data has been used to examine these kinds of subtle practices. However, ethnographic studies need many resources, and observers cannot always catch small gestures. Some believe that

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sensors might be able to collect more ‘honest signals’ (Pentland 2008), as it would be too difficult for humans to trick a sensor even if validation studies have shown that so far sensors might not be as reliable as their producers claim (Kayhan et al. 2018; Müller 2018). While it is possible that technical issues can be solved, a more crucial problem needs to be tackled in conducting research with sensor data. One has to be clear what kind of social construct can be captured by a sensor (Müller et al. 2019b). For instance, a Bluetooth signal can provide a measure of proximity. Can proximity provide information on collaboration, friendship or advice-seeking behaviour within working teams (Müller et al. 2021)? Often, it can be useful to combine sensor data with other data; however, this reintroduces the bottleneck of less-automated data generation as well as challenges, such as to combine different temporalities and levels of data (Müller et al. 2019b). Moreover, issues of privacy, consent and benefice need to be taken into account. Which kind of data is used? Could the results potentially harm marginalised groups or expose stigmatised people to persecution? Despite the issues machine learning, algorithmic data processes and sensor data have, we suggest feminist scholars should step up their engagement with data analytics. For one, data analytics is likely to stay, and it has already proven to be a powerful tool. Some of the technologies can be used to undo gender inequality, by tracking subtle practices or providing systematic overviews of existing inequalities. Our own work engages with the potential that sensors could have to provide data on gendered micro-interactions within teams. Applications of this would, for example, allow us to quantify who speaks and/or interacts with whom, and to analyse this in relation to categories such as sex and professional status. Questions that may be answered are the extent to which power and gender can influence deference to others within groups. Such data could provide useful insights into the context in which so-called ‘manterruptions’ can occur in communication patterns. While the technology is still in development, and not yet a sufficiently valid instrument to answer these questions (Müller 2018), we see great promise from these new development for gender scholars. For this potential to be tapped into, gender scholars need to make use of these tools, while remaining critical regarding tacit biases. Artificial intelligence can be used to promote diversity if it is designed that way, if the data are chosen carefully, and if different voices are allowed (Daugherty et al. 2019). To do so, gender scholars need to provide important context. For instance, an algorithm implemented to objectivise promotion decisions on the basis of data of past promotions might replicate past discriminatory behaviour. Moreover, if the criteria (signifiers) used to select someone for specific positions are implicitly biased (Acker 1992), then the result appears objective but actually is discriminatory. Here, gender expertise can prove to be crucial for more objective and unbiased data analytics.

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CONCLUSION In this chapter, we have illustrated the need for and benefits of gender scholars engaging with quantitative methods. While we acknowledge – and to some extent agree – with gender scholars’ critics of simplistic, positivistic approaches and their limitations, we also call for gender scholars to inspect and use the quantitative tools available. Gender scholars, by which we mean researchers who critically assess power relations associated with gender and other social markers, can contribute their expertise in the use of numerical data. Quantitative data can be used to reproduce or challenge power dynamics. We see the role of gender scholars to use quantitative data for the latter. To this end, gender scholars can use existing datasets, ask new, critical questions, and thereby generate answers to formerly neglected phenomena. They can contribute to research design, in a way that it is not discriminatory but which contributes to a more just society. To do this, it can be useful to consider data and statistics as another type of language. Gender scholars can play a key role in denotation and connotation in quantitative methods, for example, through designing gender-aware questionnaires and conducting analyses that go beyond the ‘add sex and stir’ approach. We consider the involvement of gender scholars key to challenging inequalities and biases in (quantitative) management research. They can take on a key role in broadening the management field beyond sex and gender, in order to address existing diversity and include intersectional perspectives. We therefore encourage other gender scholars to engage with data, statistics and quantitative methods more generally, to provide a field of research that is more inclusive and to use data with a (feminist) purpose.

REFERENCES Acker, Joan (1973), ‘Women and social stratification: a case of intellectual sexism’, American Journal of Sociology, 78 (4), 936–45. Acker, Joan (1992), ‘From sex roles to gendered institutions’, Contemporary Sociology, 21 (5), 565–9. Acker, Joan (2006), ‘Inequality regimes: gender, class, and race in organizations’, Gender & Society, 20 (4), 441–64. Acker, Joan, Kate Barry and Joke Esseveld (1983), ‘Objectivity and truth: problems in doing feminist research’, Women’s Studies International Forum, 6 (4), 423–35. Bendl, Regine (2008), ‘Gender subtexts – reproduction of exclusion in organizational discourse’, British Journal of Management, 19 (Suppl. 1), accessed at https://​doi​.org/​10​.1111/​ j​.1467​-8551​.2008​.00571​.x. Benería, Lourdes, Günseli Berik and Maria Floro (2015), Gender, Development and Globalization: Economics As If All People Mattered, London: Routledge. Bhalla, Nita (2019), ‘In a first for Africa, Kenya census to count intersex people’, Reuters, 20 August, accessed at https://​www​.reuters​.com/​article/​us​-kenya​-lgbt​-rights/​in​-a​-first​-for​ -africa​-kenya​-census​-to​-count​-intersex​-people​-idUSKCN1VA1VM. Butler, Judith (1990), Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, New York and London: Routledge.

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Butler, Judith (2004), Undoing Gender, New York and London: Routledge. Caliskan, Aylin, Joanna J. Bryson and Arvind Narayanan (2017), ‘Semantics derived automatically from language corpora contain human-like biases’, Science, 356 (6334), 183–6. Castilla, Emilio J. and Stephen Benard (2010), ‘The paradox of meritocracy in organizations’, Administrative Science Quarterly, 55, 543–76. Clayton-Hathway, Kate, Heather Griffiths, Sue Schutz, Anne Laure Humbert and Rachael Mcilroy (2020), Gender and Nursing as a Profession: Valuing Nurses and Paying Them Their Worth, London: Royal College of Nursing. Crenshaw, Kimberle (1989), ‘Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: a black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory and antiracist policies’, The University of Chicago Legal Forum, 1989 (1), 139–67. Daugherty, Paul, James H. Wilson and Rumman Chowdhury (2019), ‘Using artificial intelligence to promote diversity’, MIT Sloan Management Review, 60 (2), 1. de Vries, Jennifer Anne (2015), ‘Champions of gender equality: female and male executives as leaders of gender change’, Equality, Diversity and Inclusion: An International Journal, 34 (1), 21–36. D’Ignazio, Catherine and Lauren F. Klein (2020), Data Feminism, Cambridge, MA and London: MIT Press. Eagly, Alice H. and Steven J. Karau (2002), ‘Role congruity theory of prejudice toward female leaders’, Psychological Review, 109 (3), 573–98. Espeland, Wendy Nelson and Mitchell L. Stevens (2008), ‘A sociology of quantification’, European Journal of Sociology, 49 (3), 401. European Commission and European Parliament (2014), Eurobarometer 76.1 (2011). TNS Opinion & Social, accessed at https://​www​.europarl​.europa​.eu/​at​-your​-service/​files/​be​ -heard/​eurobarometer/​2011/​europeans​-and​-the​-crisis​-iv/​aggregate​-report/​en​-aggregate​ -report​-europeans​-and​-the​-crisis​-iv​-201201​.pdf. Fausto-Sterling, Anne (2000), Sexing the Body. Gender Politics and the Construction of Sexuality, New York: Basic Books. Foucault, Michel (1966), Les Mots et Les Choses, Paris: Gallimard. George, Gerard, Ernst C. Osinga, Dovev Lavie and Brent A. Scott (2016), ‘Big data and data science methods for management research’, Academy of Management Journal, 59 (5), 1493–507. Gorelick, Sherry (1991), ‘Contradictions of feminist methodology’, Gender & Society, 5 (4), 459–77. Guenther, Elisabeth Anna, Anne Laure Humbert and Elisabeth Kristina Kelan (2018), ‘Gender vs. Sex’, in Ramon J. Aldag (ed.), Oxford Research Encyclopedias, Vol. 1: Business and Management, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harding, Sandra G. (ed.) (1987), Feminism and Methodology: Social Science Issues, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Himmelweit, Susan (1995), ‘The discovery of “unpaid work”: the social consequences of the expansion of “work”’, Feminist Economics, 1 (2), 1–19. Humbert, Anne Laure, Elisabeth Kelan and Marieke van den Brink (2019), ‘The perils of gender beliefs for men leaders as change agents for gender equality’, European Management Review, 16(4), 1143–57. Jakobson, Roman (1960), ‘Closing statement: linguistics and poetics’, in T. A. Sebeok (ed.), Style in Language, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 350–77. Kayhan, Varol Onur, Zheng (Chris) Chen, Kimberly A. French, Tammy D. Allen, Kristen Salomon and Alison Watkins (2018), ‘How honest are the signals? A protocol for validating wearable sensors’, Behavior Research Methods, 50 (1), 57–83. Kelan, Elisabeth K. and Anne Laure Humbert (2016), ‘Editorial: gender in management research’, British Journal of Management (virtual issue: Gender in Mangement Research), accessed at https://​doi​.org/​10​.1111/​1467​-8551​.12163.

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Kelan, Elisabeth K. and Patricia Wratil (2018), ‘Post-heroic leadership, tempered radicalism and senior leaders as change agents for gender equality’, European Management Review, 15 (1), 5–18. Leslie, Lisa M., Colleen Flaherty Manchester and Patricia C. Dahm (2017), ‘Why and when does the gender gap reverse? Diversity goals and the pay premium for high potential women’, Academy of Management Journal, 60 (2), 402–32. May, Tim (2001), Social Research: Issues, Methods and Process, 3rd edition, Buckingham and Philadelphia, PA: Open University Press. Maynard, Mary (1994), ‘Methods, practice and epistemology: the debate about feminism and research’, in M. Maynard and J. Purvis (eds), Researching Women’s Lives from a Feminist Perspective, Abingdon and New York: Taylor & Francis Group, pp. 10–26. Mcafee, Andrew and Erik Brynjolfsson (2012), ‘Big data: the management revolution’, Harvard Business Review, accessed at https://​hbr​.org/​2012/​10/​big​-data​-the​-management​ -revolution. McCall, Leslie (2005), ‘The complexity of intersectionality’, Signs, 30 (3), 1771–800. Millen, Dianne (1997), ‘Some methodological and epistemological issues raised by doing feminist research on non-feminist women’, Sociological Research Online, 2 (3), 114–28. Miller, Tina (2005), Making Sense of Motherhood: A Narrative Approach, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Morley, Louise (1999), Organising Feminisms: The Micropolitics of the Academy, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Müller, Jörg (2018), Using Wearable Sensors in Gender Research: Comparative Case Study Report, accessed at https://​doi​.org/​10​.5281/​zenodo​.1442701. Müller, Jörg, Ulrike Busolt, Anne-Charlott Callerstig, Elisabeth Anna Guenther, Anne Laure Humbert, Sandra Klatt and Ulf Sandström (2019a), GEDII Survey on Research Teams Dataset, accessed at https://​doi​.org/​10​.5281/​zenodo​.2545196. Müller, Jörg, Sergi Fàbregues, Elisabeth Anna Güenther and María José Romano (2019b), ‘Using sensors in organizational research – clarifying rationales and validation challenges for mixed methods’, Frontiers in Psychology, 10, DOI:​10​.3389/​fpsyg​.2019​.01188. Müller, Jörg, Julio Meneses, Anne Laure Humbert and Elisabeth Anna Guenther (2021), ‘Sensor-based proximity metrics for team research. A validation study across three organizational contexts’, Behavioural Research, 53, 718–43. Oakley, Ann (1974), Woman’s Work: The Housewife, Past and Present, New York: Vintage. Oakley, Ann (1981), ‘Interviewing women: a contradiction in terms’, in H. Roberts (ed), Doing Feminist Research, London: Taylor & Francis, pp. 30–61. Pentland, Alex (2008), Honest Signals, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Randall, Melissa (2019), ‘Office for National Statistics: filling the gaps in gender identity data’, Gender Data Gaps Workshop, 12 June 2019, University of Kent. Ridgeway, Cecilia L. and Lynn Smith-Lovin (1999), ‘The gender system and interaction’, Annual Review of Sociology, 25 (1), 191–216. Rodriguez, Jenny K., Evangelina Holvino, Joyce K. Fletcher and Stella M. Nkomo (2016), ‘The theory and praxis of intersectionality in work and organisations: where do we go from here ?’, Gender, Work & Organization, 23 (3), 201–22. Rumens, Nick, Eloisio de Souza and Jo Brewis (2018), ‘Queering queer theory in management and organization studies: notes toward queering heterosexuality’, Organization Studies, accessed at https://​doi​.org/​10​.1177/​0170840617748904. Ryan, Michelle K. and S. Alexander Haslam (2007), ‘The glass cliff: exploring the dynamics surrounding the appointment of women to precarious leadership positions’, Academy of Management Review, 32 (2), 549–72. Salganik, Matthew J. (2018), Bit by Bit: Social Research in the Digital Age, Princeton, NJ and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Saussure, Ferdinand de (1916), Cours de Linguistique Générale, Paris: Payot.

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Scully, Maureen A. (2002), ‘Confronting errors in the meritocracy’, Organization, 9 (3), 396–401. Sigle-Rushton, Wendy (2010), ‘Men’s unpaid work and divorce: reassessing specialization and trade in British families’, Feminist Economics, 16 (2), 1–26. Stauffer, Katelyn E. and Diana Z. O’Brien (2019), ‘Fast friends or strange bedfellows? Quantitative methods and gender and politics research’, European Journal of Politics and Gender, 2 (2), 151–71. Stevenson, Lois (1990), ‘Some methodological problems associated with researching women entrepreneurs’, Journal of Business Ethics, 9 (4–5), 439–46. The Combahee River Collective (1979), ‘A black feminist statement’, Off Our Backs, 9 (June), 6–8. van den Brink, Marieke and Yvonne Benschop (2012), ‘Gender practices in the construction of academic excellence: sheep with five legs’, Organization, 19 (4), 507–24. Vickers, Jill (2015), ‘Can we change how political science thinks? “Gender mainstreaming” in a resistant discipline’, Canadian Journal of Political Science, 48 (4), 747–70. Walby, Sylvia (2013), ‘Violence and society: introduction to an emerging field of sociology’, Current Sociology, 61 (2), 95–111. West, Candace and Don H. Zimmerman (1987), ‘Doing gender’, Gender & Society, 1 (2), 125–51. Woodhams, Carol, Ben Lupton, Graham Perkins and Marc Cowling (2015), ‘Multiple disadvantage and wage growth: the effect of merit pay on pay gaps’, Human Resource Management, 54 (2), 283–301. Zou, James and Londa Schiebinger (2018), ‘Design AI so that its fair’, Nature, 559 (7714), 324–6.

11. Topic modelling: a method for analysing corporate gender diversity statements Aaron Page and Ruth Sealy

INTRODUCTION In recent years, corporate disclosures have become more engaged with the issue of gender diversity, with many large organisations reporting text-based disclosures that outline opinions, practices and progress regarding gender diversity within the workplace (Sealy, 2018). Text-based disclosures on gender diversity, referred to as ‘gender diversity statements’, often subsumed within corporate documents, such as annual reports, can offer an intriguing window for researchers to observe how gender diversity is defined, valued and managed by organisations across the business world. Such statements reflect a vast corpus of rich text-based data that warrants the attention of management scholars. Traditionally, the analysis of gender diversity disclosures has promoted the use of qualitative methods, such as manual qualitative content analysis (e.g. Singh & Point, 2006). However, based on current reporting practices across Europe (Windscheid et al., 2017), the ever-increasing number of gender diversity statements has the potential to exceed the capabilities of manual coders. Accordingly, researchers need to embrace methodological advances from the area of computational text mining, where computer scientists have developed machine learning techniques capable of analysing large quantities of text documents. This chapter provides a methodological framework that allows the researcher to understand and apply such techniques – namely, topic modelling. The rest of the chapter includes a brief review of existing literature on gender diversity statements; an overview of topic modelling; and a user-friendly ‘step-by-step’ guide to stages of the topic modelling process, along with a relevant example. Finally, the chapter considers the limitations, ethical challenges and future opportunities of this approach.

GENDER DIVERSITY STATEMENTS The concept of gender is widely considered to reflect the social and cultural perceptions of what it means to be either ‘a man’ or ‘a woman’ in modern society. Perceptions of gender are constructed and communicated through the promotion of gender specific roles by significant social influencers (West & Zimmerman, 1987). In the business world, leadership and management positions are roles typically associated with men, such that many perceive the attributes of a ‘typical manager’ 161

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as similar to the attributes of a ‘typical man’ and dissimilar to a ‘typical woman’ (Schein, 1973). Hence organisations can be viewed as inherently gendered, reflecting environments where women are underrepresented in positions of power and authority. Corporate gender disclosures serve as important linguistic and visual frameworks that allow organisations to construct, communicate and manage perceptions of gender within their operating environments (Grosser & Moon, 2008). Therefore, regardless of intent, organisations that publically disclose information on gender could shape perceptions of what it means to be ‘a man’ or ‘a woman’ within the workplace, and, as a result, such disclosures could alter perceptions of gender across wider society. Tinker and Neimark (1987) were amongst the first scholars to investigate how gender is portrayed within corporate disclosures. Using a longitudinal content analysis, they studied how women were represented within the annual reports of a large American corporation. From 1917 to 1976, annual reports communicated and perpetuated patriarchal beliefs regarding women’s minority status, playing a vital role in the social production of gender. Gender-related discourse within annual reports served as “ideological weapons in manipulating the social imagination about women” (Tinker & Neimark, 1987, p. 86). Building upon this, research notes how textual (e.g. Adams & Harte, 1998; Helms Mills, 2005) and visual (e.g. Anderson & Imperia, 1992; Benschop & Meihuizen, 2002) components of annual reports reinforce traditional gender-role stereotypes, depicting occupational environments as masculine, male dominated spheres. Changes to the UK’s Corporate Code of Governance in 2010 and 2014 led to gender diversity statements becoming common practice within annual reports and websites of large organisations (Sealy, 2018). A growing number of studies have used gender diversity statements as a tool for exploring how organisations construct and communicate the issue of gender within the workplace. Using qualitative content analysis methods, research reveals that organisations often present gender as a concept that helps generate a competitive business advantage (Jonsen et al., 2019; Pasztor, 2016; Singh & Point, 2006). However, this approach is often found to be nothing more than window-dressing, as many organisations use disclosures to declare gender diversity management efforts as successful, despite women remaining heavily underrepresented in the workplace (Windscheid et al., 2017). Although research analysing text, images and diversity statements has done much to explain how organisations communicate and construct perceptions of gender within the workplace, this body of literature is not without its limitations. Traditional qualitative methods of analysis have received criticism for the high human effort required to code text documents, which often restricts studies to the use of small sample sizes (Jung et al., 2009). As more texts on gender diversity are published, researchers become increasingly constrained by the human processing power required to read and code large volumes of text documents. For example, in the United Kingdom and Germany publicly listed organisations are required to report statements on gender diversity for upper management and board-level positions (Sealy, 2018; Windscheid et al., 2017). This potential dataset could contain thousands of text-based documents. In recent years, machine learning

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researchers have developed a suite of algorithms that allow researchers to inductively analyse such large amounts of qualitative data. We propose the use of such algorithms, specifically topic modelling, for the future analysis of gender diversity statements.

TOPIC MODELLING: AN OVERVIEW Probabilistic topic modelling can be conceptualised as machine learning algorithms that aim to discover and identify themes embedded within large archives of text documents. The themes, known as ‘topics’, emerge from data rather than being predetermined by a researcher. Therefore, topic modelling can be viewed as an automated inductive method for analysing large qualitative datasets in an objective, fast and replicable manner (Doldor et al., 2019; Székely & vom Brocke, 2017). In practice, topic modelling algorithms create a set of topics (i.e. multinomial distributions over words) and assume each document within a dataset can be described using a mixture of these topics (Blei, 2012). Such algorithms, rather than focusing on semantics and grammar, are built upon the assumption that meaning is grounded in the co-occurrence of words rather than residing within the meaning of individual words. For example, certain co-occurring words (e.g. women; female; chairman; male; men) can be interpreted to reveal the meaning of a common topic (e.g. ‘gender’) within a dataset. Furthermore, using this example, it is clear to see that a common topic (e.g. ‘gender’) will account for a higher proportion of words within some documents (e.g. ‘gender diversity statements’) relative to others (e.g. ‘environmental disclosures’). A topic model, therefore, uses word co-occurrence to enable researchers to automatically organise and summarise text documents at a scale that would be impossible by human annotation. Latent Dirichlet Allocation (LDA; see Blei et al., 2003) is the simplest and most popular topic modelling technique used by researchers. Without exploring the complex mathematics that underpin this algorithm (for a detailed description, see Blei, 2012; Blei et al., 2003) LDA can be broadly understood using two principles: Principle 1: each document in a dataset contains a distribution of topics. A document consists of multiple topics of different probability distributions, and these probabilities reflect the number of words within a document that have been assigned to each topic. Ultimately, every word within a document is assigned to a topic. For example, an LDA model using two topics could be interpreted as Document 1 contains 70 per cent of Topic A and 30 per cent of Topic B, Document 2 contains 50 per cent of Topic A and 50 per cent of Topic B, and so on. This is the defining characteristic of LDA; all documents within a dataset share the same topics, but each document exhibits topics in different proportions. Principle 2: each topic contains a distribution of words. A topic is essentially a list of all words ordered by their probability of co-occurrence. For example, a two-topic model could be interpreted as Topic A – labelled ‘gender’ – contains words like female, male and women; whereas, Topic B – labelled ‘environment’ – contains words like ocean, pollution and atmosphere. Importantly, LDA also allows words to ‘overlap’ between topics. Using the example above, the word diversity could apply to both the topics of ‘gender’ and ‘environment’.

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Taken together, these principles represent the two types of statistical output produced by LDA, a ‘per-document topic distribution’ and a ‘per-topic word distribution’. The per-document topic distribution, building upon Principle 1, is a matrix where each row is a document, each column is a topic, and each cell within the matrix is a probability reflecting the occurrence of a topic within a document – the total probability of topics contributing to one row (i.e. a document) always sums to 100 per cent. Likewise, the per-topic word distribution, building upon Principle 2, is a matrix where each row is a word, each column is a topic, and each cell within the matrix is a probability reflecting the occurrence of a word within a topic – the total probability of words contributing to a column (i.e. a topic) always sums to 100 per cent. Taken together, these two matrices contain the output of an LDA model, providing a quantitative summary of the content within a large dataset of text documents. Using the extracted content from an LDA model, researchers can explore the qualitative content of topics emerging from the LDA analysis. This qualitative interpretation of results could be done by identifying key words that contribute to a topic, and, using a similar logic, a topic could be interpreted by viewing key documents that contain a high proportion of a specified topic. Once coded, topics can be combined with document-level metadata (i.e. information about each document), allowing researchers to analyse topics for descriptive, predictive and explanatory purposes (Debortoli et al., 2016). Thus, LDA can help provide new insights through the discovery of topics within large volumes of text data, and, when complimented with existing statistical methods, LDA output can also be used to explore the relationship between topics and document-level metadata. Since LDA was first introduced by Blei et al. (2003), the standard LDA model has been subjected to a number of extensions. One large body of extensions imposes new structures on the topics (e.g. correlated topic models), whilst other extensions incorporate additional document-level data (e.g. time) into the LDA model (Nikolenko et al., 2017). LDA extensions may be of use to social scientists as such extensions allow researchers to investigate the relationship between document metadata and content. For instance, in a recent paper in the field of leadership, researchers used Structural Topic Modelling (Roberts et al., 2014) to investigate how leader gender influenced the content of text-based departmental feedback (Doldor et al., 2019). For further reading on LDA extensions, see Schmiedel et al. (2019) and Nikolenko et al. (2017).

TOPIC MODELLING WITH LDA: A STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE The following aims to serve as an introductory tutorial and application of the method, covering each step of the topic modelling process. The cornerstone of a new project is the creation of the research question – a critical early signal that provides a point of direction for an imminent investigation. The example within this guide is embedded in the field of gender and corporate governance, exploring the research question: What are the key topics within web-based diversity statements?

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Step 1: Data Collection The data collection phase of a project requires researchers to identify and locate variables that could help answer the research question. LDA is no exception to this rule. However, there are some unique challenges researchers must overcome. Sample size The sample of text documents must be large enough to ensure the LDA model produces meaningful and accurate results. What is deemed an appropriate sample size is dependent upon the number of topics a researcher wishes to extract from the data. However, the number of topics used within an LDA model is determined by an iterative process during model construction (see Step 3). As a result, literature is yet to outline theoretically justified guidelines regarding a minimum sample for LDA modelling. Currently, it is accepted that the accuracy and interpretability of results stabilise when a study uses a sample of 1000 text documents (Debortoli et al., 2016). Response length The number of words within each document must be long enough to ensure the LDA model produces accurate and meaningful results. Again, as of yet, there is no accepted single value for a minimum word count within a document. Extant research indicates that datasets should contain at least 100 words per document (Schmiedel et al., 2019). Collecting text data Since LDA models produce valid results when datasets are sufficiently large (i.e. n > 1000), researchers have developed automated methods (e.g. web-crawlers) to retrieve large quantities of text from websites (see Debortoli et al., 2016) and PDF files from annual report archives (see Székely & vom Brocke, 2017). Other methods of data collection could include data retrieved by the researcher themselves (e.g. interview transcripts or online surveys). Ultimately, researchers should collect data in a way that best suits their research question. Collecting metadata In addition to discovering topics, researchers often want to incorporate document-level metadata (e.g. document statistics) with topics for exploratory, explanatory or predictive purposes (see Step 4). In practice, researchers should have an advanced understanding of the phenomenon of interest, and use this knowledge to identify and collect metadata relevant to answering the research question.

Figure 11.1

The topic-modelling process

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BOX 11.1 EXAMPLE STUDY This example analysed the diversity statements of large US organisations. Data were manually downloaded from publicly listed company websites. A sample of 500 diversity statements was collected, with an average document length of 281 words. No document-level metadata was collected, as the study aimed to explore the content of diversity statements. The number of documents used falls below the sample size recommended by literature (n > 1000). However, the goal of this example is to illustrate how topic modelling is generally used in a research project. Step 2: Pre-processing Data The data pre-processing stage of an LDA project reflects one of the most effortful steps of the research process (Kurgan & Musilek, 2006). Text-based data is highly complex and unstructured. Therefore, in almost all projects an extensive amount of data pre-processing is necessary before researchers can analyse data using a topic model. The data pre-processing steps are as follows. Data formatting Most documents need to be formatted to allow the data to be processed by statistical programmes. This formatting depends upon the type of data collection method used. For instance, data obtained by automated web-crawlers are typically stored within individual flat files. Other methods, such as online surveys, can automatically collapse text-based data and metadata into a single file. For the analysis process, as well as pre-processing, data should be stored using a wide format, where each column represents a variable (e.g. id, text, and other items of metadata) and each row represents a single observation (e.g. id1, id2, id3 and so on), using a comma separated value file (i.e. .csv). Also, to ensure clarity and transparency, each stage of data pre-processing should be documented and saved, allowing reviewers, as well as other interested parties, to see the original source of any new data created. Data cleaning Data cleaning is a term used to describe the removal of ‘noise’ and duplicates within the dataset. Large text documents frequently contain duplicate documents (e.g. an individual may send the same email to multiple users) and contain high levels of ‘unclean’ data (e.g. HTML and date tags might be left from automated web-crawlers). If left unattended, ‘noise’ and duplicates could lead LDA models to produce biased, incorrect results. Natural language processing Natural language processing (NLP), in its widest sense, concerns any use of computers in the manipulation of natural language. There are no ‘universal standards’

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for applying NLP to text documents. However, there are several commonly applied NLP strategies used by researchers to help remove ‘noise’ from documents and gradually transform unstructured qualitative datasets into numerical representations. The most commonly applied NLP strategies, along with recommendations for their application, are as follows. Tokenisation. Tokenisation is the splitting of text documents into sentences and sentences into words. The process of tokenisation is mandatory for the extraction of topics using LDA models, as LDA topics derive from the co-occurrence of a collection of individual words (Jurafsky & Martin, 2009). This process requires important choices; researchers must choose how to split up strings of words. Simply treating text separated by white spaces as separate words, referred to as uni-grams (e.g. ‘New’, ‘York’), is often sufficient to explore meaning within textual data. However, this approach may be unpalatable as it essentially discards the order in which words occur within documents. If this is the case, researchers can retain some word order by including word pairs or triads, referred to as bi-grams or tri-grams, into the analysis (Miner et al., 2012). The use of bigrams, for example, would allow researchers to distinguish ‘New York’ from the adjective ‘New’ and the English city ‘York’. The use of n-grams is still widely debated in literature. Some scholars argue that n-grams do little to enhance the performance of topic models (Manning et al., 2010; Schmiedel et al., 2019), whilst others recommend the use of n-grams as a tool for improving the coherence of extracted topics (Debortoli et al., 2016; Miner et al., 2012). In summary, researchers must tokenise text into uni-grams, whereas the use of bi-grams (or tri-grams) could be helpful when humans are interpreting extracted topics. Text Normalisation. Text normalisation typically includes the conversion of all characters into a lower-case format, punctuation removal, number removal, and stemming. Stemming removes the ends of words to reduce the total number of unique words within a dataset. For example, the Porter stemming algorithm (Porter, 1980), which is a widely used approach (Grimmer & Stewart, 2013), combines the words analysis and analysed into the single stem analys. Despite stemming being the most popular word shortening tool used amongst researchers, other methods such as lemmatisation – which combine words using a dictionary base – have been cited as better, less aggressive tools for simplifying words (Lifchitz et al., 2009). The use of stemming and lemmatisation can add clarity to topic models by reducing the scale of input data, but such algorithms have the added cost of removing important function words (e.g. nouns, verbs, adjectives) in a given context. Researchers are advised to convert characters to lower-case, remove punctuation, and remove numbers within the dataset – the use of lemmatisation and stemming is optional. Word Removal. The removal of words is typically done by discarding stop words (i.e. words that serve as common grammatical functions), as well as removing very common and uncommon words. Many researchers remove stop words (e.g. ‘the’, ‘and’, ‘of’) from datasets as such words are common within natural language (Grimmer & Stewart, 2013). The inclusion of very common and uncommon words can bias the output of the LDA model. As a result, researchers also typically remove words which appear in less than 1 per cent and more than 99 per cent of the documents. This reduces the scale of input data. TF-IDF Weighting. The term frequency by inverse document frequency (tf-idf) weighting is a numerical statistic that weights words by their importance within a dataset (Salton & McGill, 1983). The tf-idf weighting is an alternative method of representing data in topic models, and, in some cases, this could help produce more coherent results (Manning et al., 2010). However, as of yet, there is no single universally accepted optimal term-weighting (e.g. word count or tf-idf) for topic models. As a result, researchers are advised to use data weighted by word counts and tf-idf values in their analyses, comparing the coherence of the resulting outputs.

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BOX 11.2 EXAMPLE STUDY To complete data pre-processing, this example used the statistical programming language R, specifically the textmineR package. The dataset was cleaned to remove as much noise as possible, including: (1) n-gram tokenising, splitting words into uni-grams (e.g. ‘female’) and bi-grams (e.g. ‘female_leaders’); (2) removing stop words (e.g. ‘and’, ‘the’); (3) removing common and uncommon words; (4) removing numbers (e.g. ‘2019’); (5) removing punctuation; and (6) converting characters to lower case. After pre-processing, the dataset contained 500 documents with an average length of 163 words per document. After running preliminary LDA models, it was determined that models with the most coherent results used word count (rather than tf-idf) values. Step 3: Data Analysis and Interpretation of Topics The process of building, selecting and interpreting LDA models can be very challenging. The LDA algorithm is sensitive to changes in its parameters (i.e. number of topics; hyperparameters) and ‘noise’ within the input dataset, which, for example, could be introduced from the absence (or presence) of certain pre-processing methods. The journey towards achieving coherent and valid results, therefore, often reflects an iterative rather than linear process; key stages are outlined below. Model building A crucial part of LDA model building concerns how many topics are to be extracted by the model (Blei et al., 2003; Boyd-Graber et al., 2014). If too many topics are chosen, the LDA algorithm will extract a number of topics that are barely distinguishable. But, if too few are chosen, the LDA algorithm will be put under unnecessary constraint, reducing the overall exploratory power of the model. It is, therefore, common practice to vary the number of topics and evaluate the quality of the extracted outputs based upon the research question (Debortoli et al., 2016). In addition, a second part of LDA model building concerns the hyperparameters alpha (α = influences the distribution of topics across documents) and beta (β = influences the distribution of words across topics). Although the selection of hyperparameter distributions can be done using various approaches (see Asuncion et al., 2009), it is common practice for researchers to use established standardised hyperparameter values (e.g. α = 0.1, β = 0.1; or, α and β = 1 divided by number of topics) (see Debortoli et al., 2016; Nikolenko et al., 2017). Researchers are advised to test alternative models using between 10 and 100 topics (in steps of 10) using established hyperparameter values for all models.

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Model selection Choosing the correct topic model is a difficult process. There are currently no universal ‘gold standards’ for evaluating the results of LDA models. In response to such problems, computer scientists have developed tools for evaluating the quality of topic models, such as measures assessing ‘semantic coherence’. Semantic coherence is a measure for analysing if common words in a given topic actually co-occur in a reference piece of the original dataset, reflecting a measure of construct validity (for more, see Lau et al., 2014). However, a common problem with such calculations is that models with the highest accuracy are not necessarily the models most well suited for human interpretation (Chang et al., 2009). Given that LDA models are often interpreted by humans, Boyd-Graber et al. (2014) provide two useful considerations for researchers during the model evaluation phase of a study: first, are the extracted topics meaningful, interpretable, coherent and useful?; and second, are the assignments of topics to documents meaningful, appropriate and useful? Using these considerations, researchers can identify a model that contains coherent topics applicable to the research question. However, there are many threats that could interfere with researchers’ abilities to evaluate models (for a guide on LDA model problems, diagnostics and improvements, see Boyd-Graber et al., 2014). Therefore, researchers should view LDA modelling as an iterative process in which problem solving (e.g. removing additional words; including n-grams; lemmatising words) and the re-running of analyses is common practice. Model interpretation Once a coherent topic model has been created, researchers must interpret the output of the model (see Figure 11.2). When interpreting the meaning of a topic, a researcher is advised to look at the words with the highest probability of occurrence within a given topic (using the output within ‘the per-topic word distribution’ matrix), as well as documents that contain a high proportion of a given topic (using the output of ‘the per-document topic distribution’ matrix). Often, as is the case with traditional qualitative methods, researchers use the LDA output to assign descriptive labels that best represent the meaning of topics. To ensure this process is reliable, the interpretation and labelling of topics should be completed by at least two coders, with inter-rater reliability reported.

Figure 11.2

Probabilistic output from the example study LDA model

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BOX 11.3 EXAMPLE STUDY Using the textmineR package, this example tested alternative models ranging between 10 and 100 topics (in steps of 10). The cohesiveness of each LDA output was evaluated to determine the best model. It was determined that the best model contained 30 topics, as larger topic models (40–100 topics) produced results with an increasing number of duplicate topics, and smaller topic models (10–20 topics) failed to produce clearly distinguishable topics. To establish the best model, additional models were tested ranging between 25 and 35 topics (in steps of 2). Ultimately, a model containing 25 topics was identified as the best model; this model was coherent and produced clearly distinguishable topics. For the labelling of topics (see Table 11.1), the coders interpreted the output of the topic model, using the weightings of the most important words per topic (i.e. per-topic word distributions) and the most important documents per topic (i.e. per-document topic distributions). Each topic was coded by examining the top five words associated with the topic, along with the diversity statements most strongly associated with a given topic. For example, the words associated with Topic 6 (T_6) included president, chief, officer, executive, and vice_president, and, in addition, the diversity statements most closely associated with this topic included commitments and comments on diversity from members of senior leadership. Thus, Topic 6 was labelled executive intervention. Overall, 23 topics were considered relevant to answering the research question; the coders discarded two topics that were not relevant. Discarded topics, for example, referred to structural components of the diversity statements that directed website users to ‘click’ or ‘read’ other resources listed on the corporate website. Following on from the identification of relevant topics, this example went on to use a descriptive analysis of topics to answer the research question. Step 4: Analysing the Relationship Between Topics and Metadata The analysis of the relationship between topics and metadata is dependent upon the research question. Prior to analysing data, researchers should have a comprehensive understanding of literature relating to extracted topics and the phenomenon of interest. Such an understanding will facilitate the development of meaningful hypotheses about potential relationships within the dataset. There are multiple methods for analysing LDA output. The three most common approaches are presented below. Descriptive modelling Descriptive modelling is aimed at summarising and representing the LDA output in a concise manner. This form of modelling is useful for exploratory purposes, when reliance upon a causal theory is absent from the research question. For some researchers, the reporting of discovered topics within a given collection of text

T_17

T_13

(BEN) mission is to recruit, retain,

employee_network

year for any potential unexplained

equal

has been named one of the best

magazine, logo

(Organisation 196)

Disabilities and Disability”

Association of People with

places to work by the American

“[Organisation 196] Incorporated

top, companies, women, named,

(Organisation 165)

any gender, or race, pay gap issue”

assist in identifying and addressing

analyses and monitoring in place to

165] has internal processes,

race. To this end, [Organisation

differences in pay by gender or

“We review our pay practices each

pay, equity, gender, pay_equity,

(Organisation 13)

and empower Black employees”

“Black Employee Networks

network, employee, networks,

Example text

Top words

T_25

Example of topic labelling process

Topic ID

Table 11.1

Signalling awards

94* documents contain topic

101* documents contain topic

107* documents contain topic

Diversity networks

Pay gap

No. of documents

Topic label

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and CEO: We stand for equality

vice president, ceo

(Organisation 218)

our communities and one another”

interaction with our customers,

commitment guides every

at [Organisation 218]. That

“a Message from our Chairman

president, chief, officer, executive,

retaliation” (Organisation 146)

of discrimination, harassment or

a zero-tolerance policy for any form

(COBC), which includes

125* documents contain topic

106* documents contain topic

Equal rights

Executive intervention

No. of documents

Topic label

Notes: * γ > 0.05. γ (‘gamma’), obtained from the ‘the per-document topic distribution’ matrix, is a proportion indicating the prevalence of a given topic within a document. Therefore, γ > 0.05 means more than 5% of the words within a document have been assigned to a given topic.

T_6

and diversity is embedded in

rights, employees our Code of Business Conduct

“Our commitment to equality

rights, equality, human, human

T_24

Example text

Top words

Topic ID

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documents could be the sole objective of a research study – as is the case with our example. Alternatively, a researcher could perform more sophisticated descriptive analyses by aggregating topics based upon different aspects of document metadata (i.e. information about each document). All discovered topics are numeric datapoints standardised as a probability, enabling researchers to easily compare topics across document subgroups and to track the evolution of topics over time. Székely and vom Brocke (2017), for example, explored how the prevalence of certain topics within corporate sustainability reports changed over a 15-year period, a notable finding highlighted how the topic of ‘economic sustainability’ increased in prevalence after the global financial crisis of 2008. Explanatory modelling Explanatory models are typically used to test causal hypotheses; in such models variables x (e.g. topics) are assumed to cause an effect on variable y (document metadata – e.g. number of women in leadership positions). Researchers who aim to test an explanatory research question, using methods such as linear regression, tend to use LDA models with fewer topics (e.g. 10–50 topics) in order to present results in a full and coherent manner (see Debortoli et al., 2016). Since standard forms of regression are not well suited for the analysis of datasets with high dimensionality (i.e. large numbers of variables), researchers performing explanatory models are advised to use appropriate statistical methods (e.g. Ridge and LASSO regression: for an illustration, see Yoon et al., 2016). Predictive modelling Predictive models use data mining algorithms for the purpose of predicting or classifying new observations of data. In such models, an algorithm is ‘trained’ on a subsample of the dataset, with the aim of accurately predicting the variable y (e.g. author gender = male or female) for a test dataset using observations of a given set of x variables (e.g. topics). For example, a common application of predictive modelling is email spam detection, where linguistic components of spam emails are used to ‘train’ an algorithm to classify future emails as either ‘spam’ or ‘not-spam’. However, these models may have limited use for social scientists. Predictive models reflect a complex ‘black box’ technique that simply provides a score of classification accuracy, and, as a result, such methods give researchers little information for descriptive and exploratory purposes (see Martens & Provost, 2014).

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BOX 11.4 EXAMPLE STUDY This example sought to explore the key topics embedded within web-based diversity statements. Using a descriptive analysis, where topics were interpreted by researchers, LDA modelling revealed that diversity statements communicated a wide range of discourse on diversity. They include, for example, topics associated with an organisation’s activities directed towards external stakeholders (topics: ‘corporate citizenship activities’, ‘customer diversity’, ‘supplier diversity’) and employees (topics: ‘external diversity associations’, ‘diversity programmes’, ‘executive intervention’, ‘gender-related policies’, ‘diversity networks’, ‘equal opportunity policies’). Furthermore, other topics were associated with diversity being part of the ‘identity’ of an organisation (topics: ‘culture of diversity’, ‘valuing diversity’, ‘supporting diversity’, ‘diverse working environment’). The remaining topics referred to anti-discrimination legislation (topics: ‘equal rights’, ‘pay gap’, ‘protected characteristics’), diversity management (topics: ‘diverse perspectives’, ‘reflecting customers’, ‘developing talent’, ‘diversity monitoring’), and the promotion of diversity-related achievements (topic: ‘signalling awards’). These findings reflect the key topics discussed within the web-based diversity statements of large US organisations. Overall, this short example demonstrates how topic modelling can be used as an inductive, automated method for extracting meaningful topics from a large collection of diversity statements. Our sample was relatively small (n = 500), but we could use this on, for example, all 2800 companies listed on the UK stock exchange. This example, along with the step-by-step guide, outlines each stage of the topic modelling process, illustrating how researchers can use this methodology as a tool for investigating corporate diversity disclosures.

DISCUSSION Opportunities for Topic Modelling The use of topic modelling allows researchers to analyse large quantities of gender diversity statements, without sacrificing the in-depth qualitative insights embedded within the textual data. Topic models combine the rich inductive insights gained from traditional qualitative content analysis with the benefits of examining data on a large scale. Furthermore, topic modelling complements existing statistical methods of analysis, to gain new insights from gender diversity statements. To date, the main focus of research in the field has been upon the inductive analysis of content within gender diversity statements. As a consequence, a wealth of explanatory questions remain unanswered regarding the relationship between what organisations disclose and actual practice towards promoting gender equality. For instance, two qualitative

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studies, separated by 15 years, both highlighted the need for research to investigate how gender diversity statements are related to organisational outcomes in the workplace, such as the representation of women in senior positions, career aspirations of young women, or financial performance measures (Point & Singh, 2003; Windscheid et al., 2017). Future research could use predictive modelling techniques – such as linear regression – to explore the relationships between corporate disclosure (e.g. topics) and practice (e.g. company metadata). Therefore, the use of topic models alongside existing statistical methods can produce new insights, such as investigating whether the topics embedded within gender diversity statements influence actual gender-related practices or outcomes for companies, shareholders or prospective employees. Another key advantage of topic modelling concerns the scope and range of data that can be analysed by researchers. To date, research analysing corporate disclosures on gender has fallen into three main categories: analysing pictures, texts, and gender diversity statements published within annual reports and websites. However, given that topic models are suited for the analysis of any ‘naturally occurring’ data (Müller, et al., 2016), the scope of research could extend to different forms of textual data published by organisations on the issue of gender; for example, posts on social media or the discussion of gender at annual general meetings. Topic modelling grants researchers the ability to analyse a wide range of data including previously unexplored sources. Future research can build upon the points discussed to develop a more detailed, advanced understanding of gender diversity statements. Limitations of Topic Modelling Although referred to as an automated technique, topic modelling is a method still heavily influenced by the input of human researchers. The complex mathematical algorithms support, rather than substitute, the human researchers who use this methodology. Researchers must make a number of important decisions throughout the course of a topic modelling research project, e.g. ranging from the selection of an appropriate sample size for the study, to choosing the most coherent model. Therefore, topic modelling does not eliminate the risk of researcher bias influencing extracted results. Ultimately, topic modelling should not be viewed by researchers as a method that immediately produces objective interpretable content from a collection of documents, but instead as a tool that makes large collections of data more manageable for human coders. A second limitation concerns the complexity associated with applying the method. The process of going from a set of raw text-based data to an effective topic model may be extremely challenging for new users. Rather than reflecting a linear process where researchers can complete the analysis at a ‘touch of a button’, topic modelling instead reflects an iterative process where researchers often repeatedly pre-process and analyse data prior to obtaining useful results. In time, however, this process may become more seamless as tool builders develop programmes capable of reducing the need for human input.

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A key ethical implication of topic modelling is the potential for humans to influence results. Topic modelling requires human interpretation and input at each stage, from model specification to topic interpretation. Researchers can lessen the impact of human influence by following common standards of practice for qualitative research, such as using multiple human interpreters and report inter-rater agreement to ensure validity and consistency (see Silverman, 2015). As topic models create topics based upon word co-occurrence, it is likely that the topic modelling algorithm extracts topics that are not relevant to the phenomenon of interest. Addressing this ethical issue, researchers must determine the extent to which extracted topics relate to the research question, omitting irrelevant topics from the main analysis. To uphold ethical standards, researchers should be transparent and rigorous regarding the use of human input and interpretation (see Aguinis & Solarino, 2019) and make raw data available for public access.

CONCLUSION This chapter provides a methodological framework that allows researchers to interpret and use topic models for the analysis of large corpuses of gender diversity statements. Although the advantages of the proposed method are numerous relative to existing methods employed within the field, researchers should be wary of the limitations and challenges associated with any project that uses topic modelling. In summary, the use of topic modelling, along with complementary statistical methods, allows future research to explore and study gender diversity statements in a way that can help provide new insights and advance theory on the ways in which organisations communicate and construct gender within corporate disclosures.

REFERENCES Adams, C. A. and G. Harte (1998), ‘The changing portrayal of the employment of women in British banks’ and retail companies’ corporate annual reports’, Accounting, Organizations and Society, 23 (8), 781–812. Aguinis, H. and A. M. Solarino (2019), ‘Transparency and replicability in qualitative research: the case of interviews with elite informants’, Strategic Management Journal, 40 (8), 1291–315. Anderson, C. J. and G. Imperia (1992), ‘The corporate annual report: a photo analysis of male and female portrayals’, The Journal of Business Communication, 29 (2), 113–28. Asuncion, A., M. Welling, P. Smyth and Y. W. Teh (2009), ‘On smoothing and inference for topic models’, The Proceedings of the Twenty-Fifth Annual Conference of the Uncertainty in Artificial Intelligence, pp. 27–34. Benschop, Y. and H. E. Meihuizen (2002), ‘Keeping up gendered appearances: representations of gender in financial annual reports’, Accounting, Organizations and Society, 27 (7), 611–36. Blei, D. M. (2012), ‘Probabilistic topic models’, Communications of the ACM, 55 (4), 77–84.

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Blei, D. M., A. Y. Ng and M. I. Jordan (2003), ‘Latent dirichlet allocation’, Journal of Machine Learning Research, 3 (4–5), 993–1022. Boyd-Graber, J., D. Mimno and D. Newman (2014), ‘Care and feeding of topic models: problems, diagnostics, and improvements’, in E. M. Airoldi, D. M. Blei, E. A. Erosheva and S. E. Fienberg (eds), Handbook of Mixed Membership Models and Their Applications, Boca Raton: CRC Press, pp. 3–34. Chang, J., S. Gerrish, C. Wang, J. L. Boyd-Graber and D. M. Blei (2009), ‘Reading tea leaves: how humans interpret topic models’, in Y. Bengio, D. Schuurmans, J. Lafferty, C. K. I. Williams and A. Culotta (eds), Advances in Neural Information Processing Systems, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 288–96. Debortoli, S., O. Müller, I. Junglas and J. vom Brocke (2016), ‘Text mining for information systems researchers: an annotated topic modeling tutorial’, Communications of the Association for Information Systems, 39 (7), 110–35. Doldor, E., M. Wyatt and J. Silvester (2019), ‘Statesmen or cheerleaders? Using topic modeling to examine gendered messages in narrative developmental feedback for leaders’, The Leadership Quarterly, 30 (5), 101308. Grimmer, J. and B. M. Stewart (2013), ‘Text as data: the promise and pitfalls of automatic content analysis methods for political texts’, Political Analysis, 21 (3), 267–97. Grosser, K. and J. Moon (2008), ‘Developments in company reporting on workplace gender equality? A corporate social responsibility perspective’, Accounting Forum, 32 (3), 179–98. Helms Mills, J. (2005), ‘Organizational change and representations of women in a North American utility company’, Gender, Work and Organization, 12 (3), 242–69. Jonsen, K., S. Point, E. K. Kelan and A. Grieble (2019), ‘Diversity and inclusion branding: a five-country comparison of corporate websites’, The International Journal of Human Resource Management, https://​doi​.org/​10​.1080/​09585192​.2018​.1496125. Jung, T., T. Scott, H. T. Davies, P. Bower, D. Whalley, R. McNally and R. Mannion (2009), ‘Instruments for exploring organizational culture: a review of the literature’, Public Administration Review, 69 (6), 1087–96. Jurafsky, D. and J. H. Martin (2009), Speech and Language Processing: An Introduction to Natural Language Processing, Computational Linguistics, and Speech Recognition, London: Pearson. Kurgan, L. A. and P. Musilek (2006), ‘A survey of knowledge discovery and data mining process models’, The Knowledge Engineering Review, 21 (1), 1–24. Lau, J. H., D. Newman and T. Baldwin (2014), ‘Machine reading tea leaves: automatically evaluating topic coherence and topic model quality’, The Proceedings of the 14th Conference of the European Chapter of the Association for Computational Linguistics, pp. 530–39. Lifchitz, A., S. Jhean-Larose and G. Denhière (2009), ‘Effect of tuned parameters on an LSA multiple choice questions answering model’, Behavior Research Methods, 41 (4), 1201–9. Manning, C., P. Raghavan and H. Schütze (2010), Introduction to Information Retrieval, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Martens, D. and F. Provost (2014), ‘Explaining data-driven document classifications’, Management Information Systems Quarterly, 38 (1), 73–99. Miner, G., J. Elder, T. Hill, R. Nisbet, D. Delen and A. Fast (2012), Practical Text Mining and Statistical Analysis for Non-structured Text Data Applications, Waltham: Academic Press. Müller, O., I. Junglas, J. vom Brocke and S. Debortoli (2016), ‘Utilizing big data analytics for information systems research: challenges, promises and guidelines’, European Journal of Information Systems, 25 (4), 289–302. Nikolenko, S. I., S. Koltcov and O. Koltsova (2017), ‘Topic modelling for qualitative studies’, Journal of Information Science, 43 (1), 88–102. Pasztor, S. K. (2016), ‘Exploring the framing of diversity rhetoric in “top-rated in diversity” organizations’, International Journal of Business Communication, 56 (4), 455–75.

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Point, S. and V. Singh (2003), ‘Defining and dimensionalising diversity: evidence from corporate websites across Europe’, European Management Journal, 21 (6), 750–61. Porter, M. F. (1980), ‘An algorithm for suffix stripping’, Program: Electronic Library and Information Systems, 14 (3), 130–37. Roberts, M. E., B. M. Stewart and D. Tingley (2014), ‘stm: R package for structural topic models’, Journal of Statistical Software, 10 (2), 1–40. Salton, G. and M. McGill (1983), Introduction to Modern Information Retrieval, New York: McGraw-Hill. Schein, V. E. (1973), ‘The relationship between sex role stereotypes and requisite management characteristics’, Journal of Applied Psychology, 57 (2), 95–100. Schmiedel, T., O. Müller and J. vom Brocke (2019), ‘Topic modeling as a strategy of inquiry in organizational research: a tutorial with an application example on organizational culture’, Organizational Research Methods, 22 (4), 941–68. Sealy, R. (2018), Board Diversity Reporting, London: Financial Reporting Council. Silverman, D. (2015), Interpreting Qualitative Data (5th edn), London: Sage. Singh, V. and S. Point (2006), ‘(Re)presentations of gender and ethnicity in diversity statements on European company websites’, Journal of Business Ethics, 68 (4), 363–79. Székely, N. and J. vom Brocke (2017), ‘What can we learn from corporate sustainability reporting? Deriving propositions for research and practice from over 9,500 corporate sustainability reports published between 1999 and 2015 using topic modelling technique’, PloS One, 12 (4), https://​doi​.org/​10​.1371/​journal​.pone​.0174807. Tinker, T. and M. Neimark (1987), ‘The role of annual reports in gender and class contradictions at General Motors: 1917–1976’, Accounting, Organizations and Society, 12 (1), 71–88. West, C. and D. H. Zimmerman (1987), ‘Doing gender’, Gender and Society, 1 (2), 125–51. Windscheid, L., L. Bowes-Sperry, J. Mazei and M. Morner (2017), ‘The paradox of diversity initiatives: when organizational needs differ from employee preferences’, Journal of Business Ethics, 145 (1), 33–48. Yoon, H. G., H. Kim, C. O. Kim and M. Song (2016), ‘Opinion polarity detection in Twitter data combining shrinkage regression and topic modelling’, Journal of Informetrics, 10 (2), 634–44.

PART III CRITICAL APPROACHES

12. Exposing interpellation with dystopian fiction: a critical discourse analysis technique to disrupt hegemonic masculinity Mark Gatto and Jamie L. Callahan

INTRODUCTION … predicting the future isn’t really possible: There are too many variables and unforeseen possibilities. Let’s say it’s an antiprediction: If this future can be described in detail, maybe it won’t happen. (Atwood, 2017)

Our discourses – what and how we ‘talk’ – help construct our futures (Sambrook, 2000). Discourse analysis, a process which could be said to have developed from hermeneutics (knowledge interpretation) theorists such as Heidegger (2008/1927), emerged as a means to interpret the ways in which ‘talk’ shaped our interactions. While important for understanding social contexts, discourse analysis developed as a cross-disciplinary approach to humanities and social sciences, incorporating anthropology, sociology, linguistics, psychology and communication studies; it was not always centred on questioning the role of power in language and communication (Van Dijk, 2011). Critical discourse analysis (CDA) addresses that gap by exploring the power dimensions of the way language is applied and how ideology is produced and reproduced through language. This chapter extends our understanding of CDA by demonstrating how integrating dystopian fiction (DF) reveals new perspectives on subject interpellation (Althusser, 2014). CDA also addresses a ‘social wrong’ through critical analysis of social events, practices, and structures in discourse (Fairclough, 2013). In this chapter, we focus on the social ‘wrong’ of imbalanced gender discourses that typically benefit men in management contexts. We propose that the perceived ideal of ‘hegemonic masculinity’ (Carrigan et al., 1985; Connell, 2005; Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005), which promotes a ‘superior’ model of masculinity that protects men’s interests in the workplace as the ‘breadwinner’, is a constraining factor for women’s career prospects in management. We highlight this issue through the crucial career juncture of parental decision-making (especially concerning managerial support for caregiving). Through our CDA, we problematise this gendered discourse and promote DF as a unique inspiration for subversive (and constructive) responses in academic contexts. This chapter provides an overview of CDA and then articulates a rationale and procedure for incorporating dystopian fiction as a mechanism to advance CDA. 182

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Understanding the linkages between CDA and dystopian fiction is particularly salient when viewed relative to the growth of ‘stories’ in organisational research in the last decade. As Beigi, Callahan and Michaelson (2019) observed, women are finding their voice through and with storytelling and their voices often engage critical perspectives. Historically, the tenor and tone of storytelling has gendered implications (Harvey, 1989), with men and women telling different kinds of stories in different ways. Because gendered marginalisation features prominently in dystopian fiction, the genre can serve as a powerful lens to complement these stories. As a result, the link between dystopian fiction and CDA offers a nuanced tool for peeling back layers of gendered power discourse in organisations. Using examples of an empirical study exploring parental experiences at work, the chapter demonstrates the use of dystopian fiction in conjunction with CDA through the application of fertility and hegemonic masculinity (HM) tropes derived from DF. We explain the methodological choices that enable a dystopian fiction-inspired CDA (Fairclough, 2013) as a means of appraising the lived experiences and expectations of parents with a critical lens. Using examples from the first author’s research, we briefly outline the methods for interviewing, which elicit stories of interviewee’s parental expectations and experiences. We use our adapted CDA to access hidden meaning behind the surface of parental experiences in the workplace, guided by DF tropes. We provide illustrative examples of coding and interpretations of interview transcripts from the first author’s study of a gendered phenomenon within an organisation. This example of applying the method with data demonstrates the effect of this dystopian fiction-influenced CDA method. The examples were mindfully chosen to serve as an exemplar of the methodological process, but also because of their relevance for explicating the influence of HM as a barrier to women’s success in organisations.

ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS The method we present in this chapter is centred on the principle of social justice as an integral aim of CDA (Fairclough, 2013). By integrating DF with CDA we can further honour the respect, justice and beneficence we owe to our participants (Glesne, 2016). The ethical considerations of this approach are largely consistent with other qualitative methods. With CDA, there is no requirement for expressing a commitment to achieving social justice for participants directly as we seek their informed consent. It is, however, important to ensure the content of the study be clearly articulated to be respectful of the participants who are volunteering their time. In the example for this chapter, for instance, participants were accurately informed that the study was about their experiences as working parents; they were not, however, told of the intent to use DF to critically analyse their discourses. This is an important ethical distinction in the justification for using this method for a longer-term social research agenda, rather than the unrealistic and impractical resolution of individual problems (Glesne

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& Peshkin, 1992, p. 113). Instead, this method aims to reveal patterns of discourse that can generate a broader picture of a group of interconnected participants. Through this process, the layered analysis CDA method enables researchers to investigate deeper insights than the immediate meanings of participant’s shared discourse and potentially reveals shared stories that can contribute to social justice agendas in organisations. It is important, though, to also consider the justice due to the participants themselves as individuals. As they share potentially sensitive information and vulnerabilities, participants are due the respect of fair representation and a level of reciprocity for their time, effort and willingness to openly share with researchers (Glesne, 2016). Further, in creating the characters from a DF lens, it is important to be thoughtful in considering the way we represent the voices of participants. We want to honour participants, not alienate them by creating caricatures instead of characters. Because we draw on DF tropes and characters at the analysis and discussion phases, the principle of beneficence through privacy is enhanced. This approach facilitates greater masking of individual identity and aides the construction of shared macro discourses from participants. Thus, this DFCDA method, though characterised by a potentially biased presupposition of social injustice, maintains the trust and confidentiality with individuals to ‘do the right thing’ towards a mutually beneficial, social justice goal for participants, in the case of our example for this chapter – working parents.

CRITICAL DISCOURSE ANALYSIS AND INTERPELLATION Before outlining the combination of DF and CDA, it is important to first describe CDA as a relative of discourse analysis and briefly review its origins. Additionally, we will provide a brief overview of ‘interpellation’ to explain why we wish to expose it through our adapted CDA method. Firstly, discourse analysis has been theorised in relation to language use and ideological influences related to state hegemonic power by philosophers such as Althusser (2014) and Foucault (1980), whose post-structuralist theories aimed at deconstructing normalised meanings of discourse. Discourse analysis also finds its routes in linguistic scholarship including ‘sociosemiotic discourse’ (Halliday, 1978), which theorises language in relation to context-dependent usage and interpretation, and the symbolic of localised influences. A founding discourse analysis theory book Language and Control (Fowler et al., 1979), includes a chapter which references language control techniques in Orwell’s 1984 (1949) such as ‘doublethink’ and ‘newspeak’ as means of manipulating mass conformity and constraining dissenting opinion through language. In this chapter, we view discourse as ideology-bound with socially constructed influences (such as hegemonic masculinity and patriarchy). These norms create a problematic inequity for those for whom the common language in their context cannot adequately represent their disadvantage, or actively acts to alienate them from a dominant group.

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CDA is a process which, at its core, is concerned with the examination of dominant power abuses, injustices and ideological influence in society (Van Dijk, 1993) as seen through discourses (be they verbal, written or visual) and social relations (Fairclough, 2013). Specifically, CDA in social contexts provides a method for exposing and changing the inequity in social contexts through critical understanding of discourse (Van Dijk, 1993). CDA presupposes that dominant discourses constantly influence our language choices to reproduce the social inequalities of dominant social forces. These dominant discourses (such as patriarchal terms like ‘breadwinner’) can be identified more clearly in discourses such as populist political speeches, which draw on nationalistic rhetoric (such as the ‘Glorious British Empire’) to stir emotional attachment to ideas of patriotism, but simultaneously obfuscate historic abuses associated with nationalistic values such as colonial exploitation. CDA is not limited to deconstructing the manipulative discourse markers of powerful political speeches. It can also be used to examine the everyday ‘naturalised’ discourses of a social group to identify the influences affecting their attitudes and behaviours. This is done by examining their discourse (language choices and their wider meanings in context) and what that can reveal of their conscious and unconscious thought processes. Often, CDA enables researchers to trace socially bound, cultural ideologies that run through discourses, a process comparable to the ideas of ‘interpellation’ (Althusser, 2014). ‘Interpellation’ (Althusser, 2014) can be loosely defined as the reproduction of ideology through the acceptance and legitimising discourse of the oppressed, dominated groups. When dominated groups, such as new working mothers, embrace normalised gendered power dynamics, their discourse can legitimise their own oppression by taking sole responsibility for childcare. An example includes referring to fathers ‘babysitting’ their own child, rather than simply ‘looking after’ them as an equal parent. Such symbols of ‘interpellation’ act to reinforce social inequity where women’s primary role is to look after children and men’s primary role is to earn larger wages for the family through prioritised career advancement. In this sense, the examination of interpellation in CDA is a process of identifying and exposing examples of subjects’ subconscious reproduction of their own subordination. We seek to highlight conformity to patriarchal ideology as an internal barrier to women’s success in organisations alongside men’s complicity (conscious or unconscious) to this barrier. A CDA researcher is sympathetic to the plight of subordinated groups and aspires to change social inequities through their research findings and by raising collective awareness of such inequities in discourse. The lens of justice runs throughout the CDA process and motivates the researcher in their pursuit of meaningful change. This change-orientation is reflective of the subversive intent inherent in many characters inhabiting DF societies and marks one of the important tropes that characterises this method.

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WHY DYSTOPIAN FICTION, AND WHAT DOES IT BRING TO THE TABLE? Broadly recognisable and popular DF novels such as 1984 (Orwell, 1949) and The Handmaid’s Tale (Atwood, 1985) provide a commonly understood cultural reference to totalitarian, hyper-masculine and ideological societal rule. They also offer the prospect of gendered resistance from oppressed lead characters (Winston and Julia; Offred and Mayday), which can inspire subversive action in contemporary contexts. A common understanding of the subversive message encoded into DFs is one that speculates on future societies and ‘the hegemonic order and … resistance’ (Baccolini & Moylan, 2003) and describes societies favouring ‘a particular segment of society’ (Gordin et al., 2010). A sense of injustice predicates most DFs and the reader is invited to imagine themselves in the position of the subversive protagonist resisting injustice. Such imaginative and liminal spaces allow the researcher to pursue new perspectives on persistent problems. When researching gender imbalance and injustice in organisational contexts, unconventional methods can enable researchers to look again from a new critical angle and challenge the primacy of mainstream qualitative research by using a critical fiction genre (DF). Using fiction and storytelling in organisational research is not a new method. Rhodes and Brown (2005a) reviewed a growing body of research adopting fiction in organisational contexts up to 2005. A related paper (Rhodes & Brown, 2005b) promoted the validity of fiction in organisational research across three aspects: ‘fictionality’ in research writing in general terms, the appropriateness of fiction as empirical material, and fiction genres as legitimate modes of writing research (p. 469). In this chapter, we address the first and second points, while alluding to the valence of point three with fiction as a legitimate mode or writing through the subversive message this method aims to produce. There are some prominent examples of organisational researchers using fiction and specific genres as empirical or allegorical sources, and inspiration for resistance (Griffin et al., 2017; Rhodes, 2001a, 2015; Rhodes & Brown, 2005b). Czarniawska-Joerges and De Monthoux (1994) raised the subversive potential of fiction by attributing ‘rebel’ status to the voice of the novelist who can legitimately ‘oppose the organisation and its power’ (p. 10). Czarniawska (1999) cited the abductive reasoning of detective fiction character Sherlock Holmes to illustrate the ‘problem solving’ intent of organisations. In this example, detective fiction provides a means of revealing the hidden narratives of organisational reality. Czarniawska also cites postmodern detective fiction’s treatment of reality as provocation for further critical thought, stating that ‘behind a fiction there is always another fiction’ (p. 29). This is an important point and we use this lens to highlight how DF can assist CDA in organisational, and gender and management research to reveal aspects of fiction in our reality where dominant patriarchal ideology influences, or is revealed, through our actions and discourses. Indeed, recent analyses of storytelling in organisations suggest that critical perspectives are taking a more prominent space against dominant ideologies. Beigi,

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Callahan and Michaelson (2019) reveal the emergence of women’s critical voices as authors in organisational storytelling research. They propose this occurred in the aftermath of the Rhodes and Brown (2005a) paper, which forms the inciting incident in the organisational research narrative as a critical space and method for organisational research. Beigi, Callahan and Michaelson’s identification of this critical space inhabited by women writers supports the use of DF in gender and management research; it is a genre whose unique message can further enhance critical approaches to storytelling in organisational research.

TROPES OF DYSTOPIAN FICTION To integrate DF with CDA, we draw on Gatto’s (2019) identification of a range of tropes, associated with contemporary and canonical DFs, as a means of opening up the critical space. We present some of these tropes in Figure 12.1 as an outline of the connectedness of dystopian fiction to critical organisational research, which aims to address the contemporary ‘wrongs’ (Fairclough, 2013) in organisational reality. In this radial diagram, all tropes are interconnected and flow to and from each other to illustrate the relatedness of each trope. These tropes conceptualise an insight into some of the landscapes of dystopian fiction relevant to this method and the use of CDA to research gender in management contexts. We used these DF tropes as starting point concepts analogous to social phenomena in our contemporary organisational realities; some have direct crossover (masculinity), while others (fertility) required translation (parenthood) to clarify our focus on the ‘motherhood penalty’ and ‘patriarchal dividend’. We position parenthood, especially new parenthood, as a vital gender management issue because it is a crucial time when workers experience a gender imbalance which disproportionately damages women career progression, creating a leaky pipeline of female managers. The next section provides an overview of the steps of this method (summarised in Figure 12.2) to establish the broader context to the research, including formulating guiding concepts and theories from DF tropes, which inform the data collection and analysis phases. We then present an exemplar of the theoretical and conceptual basis for this method, particularly pertaining to gender.

METHOD OUTLINE An Exemplar To demonstrate how this approach can be applied as an analytical method, we provide exemplar cases selected from emerging data in Gatto’s PhD in progress (2018–21). We also draw on Gatto’s theoretical framework to highlight the integral role of relevant theory in formative stages of the CDA method. Gatto’s research seeks to identify the influence of masculinities and hegemonic masculinity as a symbolic

Figure 12.1

Dystopian fiction tropes relevant to gender and management research

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Figure 12.2

Dystopian fiction-inspired critical discourse analysis method outline

ideology of patriarchy on the decision-making of expectant and new working parents. The aim of the research is to influence and inform improvements in management policy concerning parental rights. A further aim is to contribute to greater equity in wider cultural discourse surrounding constructions of gender roles and parenting. Drawing on dystopian fiction characterisation, the research develops concepts building on theories of masculinity and offers a useful exemplar for this chapter to examine the intrinsic role that dystopian fiction plays in directing the research at all stages – conceptual, theoretical and methodological. Developing the Theoretical and Conceptual Framework To demonstrate the use of this method, we first describe the development of the theoretical and conceptual framework supporting the methodological exemplar we provide. As Figure 12.1 shows, we begin with a DF-informed ‘conceptual map’ of tropes from DF stories that are relevant to our gender topic. We translate these DF tropes into a meaningful conceptual framework applicable to gender critical research into parenting in organisations. Figure 12.3 shows the three central concepts (parenthood, masculinities and subversion), translated from the original DF tropes, that guide this analytical method. We chose these concepts due to their common intersections between prominent dystopian fiction novels and gendered experiences

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in organisations. The parenthood concept (translated from the fertility trope) is integral to this conceptual framework as it represents the site of inequity between men and women in career progress and management experiences, namely the gender pay gap and promotion success rate. Importantly, parenthood qua ‘fertility’ exists as an important trope in many DFs (see The Handmaid’s Tale (Atwood, 1985)) and this relationship between DF and organisational phenomena is pivotal to this disruptive and transdisciplinary approach. Parenthood represents our central lens through which we problematise gender and management. The other concepts of masculinities and subversion are also interrelated with the DF tropes in Figure 12.1 (‘hegemonic masculine leadership’ and ‘subversion’). We translate HM leadership into ‘masculinities’ to highlight the important contemporary distinction between patriarchal models of an idealised fantasy of HM and the accepted reality of multiple masculinities that characterise men as workers, fathers and friends. HM is semiotic of totalitarian, ideological male leadership, or patriarchy, within DFs (see 1984 (Orwell, 1949)), whereas ‘masculinities’ problematise a unitary model of masculinity and open up broader discourses of gender roles, attitudes and behaviour, especially pertinent to parenting. Examining wider discourses is very important when we consider our third trope and concept, ‘subversion’. Subversion, as a DF trope, describes acts of rebellion and the desire to overthrow the existing societal order typified by authoritarian control; it is a term evocative of resistant acts and covert action to overthrow of an existing system (see The Children of Men (James, 1992)). As a concept, ‘subversion’ provides a guiding social justice instruction for our method and takes inspiration from DF-inspired approaches to achieving change through collective action and creative solutions. We align this approach to disruptive and covert acts in academic writing (Gatto, 2020) and management consciousness to highlight inadequate patriarchal parental policies, cultures and management structures that currently reward adherence to HM ideals. Our conceptual framework is underpinned by two critical theories concerning gender and ideology that problematise hegemony. Firstly, Connell’s ‘masculinities theory’ incorporates the concept of ‘hegemonic masculinity’ (Carrigan et al., 1985; Connell, 2005; Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005) and the subversive potential of ‘re-embodied masculinities’ (Connell, 2005). Secondly, Althusser’s (2014) theorising of ideology serves as a means of explaining the process of reproduced power and influence in society, in this context, the power of patriarchal social structures in management. Patriarchy, when framed by ideology theory, is a socially constructed order, which influences individual and collective decisions in favour of those who benefit most (men), as the embodiment of patriarchy, can be viewed as a dominant, ideological influence on organisational norms, especially parental decision-making. This is especially pertinent as fathers disproportionally benefit from their gender role as ‘breadwinner’ through a career ‘boost’ associated with this role. Fairclough (2013) neatly summarises the ideological power relationship in some organisations:

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institutions construct their ideological and discoursal subjects; they construct them in the sense that they impose ideological and discoursal constraints upon them as a condition for qualifying them to act as subjects. (p. 43)

Most organisational subjects, regardless of the discipline, can be described as constrained by the HM order. This is exemplified clearly in the context of organisational experiences of parenthood, especially in professions where men dominate leadership roles, such as higher education institutions.1 Parental decisions in these organisations are predominantly characterised by incidents of controlling behaviour as a majority of women are coerced into secondary roles as primary caregiver, often at the expense of their career progression, while their partners (predominantly men) are constrained into the role of provider. Additionally, women in these organisations may also still feel the controlling pressure to plan or curtail their parental leave to align with the organisation’s priorities (Acker & Armenti, 2004; Acker & Dillabough, 2007). Gendered parental roles directly influence the career pathways of men and women after childbirth as men benefit from the ‘patriarchal dividend’ (Connell, 2005; Hodges & Budig, 2010), which rewards fathers with increased pay and promotions in congruence with their ‘breadwinner’ role while new mothers experience the ‘motherhood penalty’ (Budig & England, 2001) which widens their pay-gap and inhibits their career progress (Cahusac & Kanji, 2014; Correll et al., 2007). DF can contribute to the growing body of research disrupting our hegemonic social science methodologies to discover something new and subvert the gender norms of organisational reality, especially concerning experiences of fertility (as a DF proxy for parenthood) based mistreatment as exemplified in prime examples like The Handmaid’s Tale (Atwood, 1985), The Children of Men (James, 1992) and more recent offerings like The Book of the Unnamed Midwife (Elison, 2016) and Red Clocks (Zumas, 2018). All these novels identify the essential physical barrier of fertility in women’s experiences. This fertility/parenthood barrier to managerial and organisational equity, alongside masculinities and subversion, form the three conceptual frames of the method we discuss in this chapter.

DYSTOPIAN FICTION-INFLUENCED CDA FRAMEWORK The dystopian-fiction-inspired CDA framework (Figure 12.3) establishes a direct interaction between parenthood, masculinities and subversion to resist and navigate hegemonic experiences. This conceptual framework is the guiding lens for our method, which started with the identification of DF tropes (Figure 12.1). Referring back to Figure 12.1, the trope we have not discussed yet is ‘control’. ‘Control’ is especially relevant to CDA as it symbolises the influence of ideological language discourses relevant to gendered management experiences which contribute to constraining patriarchal attitudes to new parents in organisational contexts. Patriarchal, parental ‘control’, inclusive of incidences of ‘interpellation’, is therefore the gender management problem we wish to uncover and subvert through our CDA method.

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Figure 12.3

Dystopian fiction-inspired CDA framework

This conceptual framework provides the lens through which we encode micro linguistic analysis, meso whole conversation themes and macro cultural-level CDA. This lens helps identify language use and constraint evidence of ideological, HM influences on parental decision-making and the role, relationship and perceptions of organisational policies and processes. Althusser’s (2014) theory of ideology is a guiding basis for this approach. His concept of the ‘Ideological State Apparatus’ places the family, education and culture at the heart of ideological ‘interpellation’. Interpellation describes an inculcation process of influence and internalisation. Citizens are influenced by powerful forces such as the state and big business whilst internalising ideological principles. In this process of internalisation, they become complicit with power wielders and active reproducers of the rules of HM. In this respect, patriarchal ideology is the dystopian fiction ‘wrong’ (Fairclough, 2013) that we seek to identify and expose. We do so through disruptive and shocking comparisons between organisational reality and speculative, ‘counterfactual imaginings’ (Stock, 2017) of dystopian fiction societies.

DYSTOPIAN FICTION-INSPIRED CRITICAL DISCOURSE ANALYSIS (DFCDA) In this section, we first review one DF example (Case 1) and then one couple (Cases 2a and 2b) taken from a series of interview transcripts (Gatto 2019) to illustrate the process of dystopian fiction-inspired critical discourse analysis (DFCDA) and its unique utility in critical subversive gender and management research. We include a DF example (taken from the novel The Handmaid’s Tale) for two important

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Figure 12.4

DFCDA analysis and discussion phases

reasons: firstly, it integrates a fiction-based example of the DFCDA method into this chapter which intentionally blurs the lines between fictional and ‘real’ discourse. Secondly, we use this example as a starting point for the examples of DFCDA to pay tribute to our DF roots before we present our empirical case examples of DFCDA (a new parent couple). The couple we analyse as our empirical examples (Cases 2a and 2b) were recent new parents; the mother was on new parent leave from an external, private organisation at which she was employed and the father was working full-time in a higher education organisation. Their responses were based on reflections of their expectations and their actual experiences as working parents. For all our examples we follow a systematic process of analysis which incorporates our three concepts (parenthood, masculinities and subversion). We then show three layers of analysis for the focus transcript (Figure 12.4). This demonstrates the process of analysis from linguistic to socio-cultural concerning ideological influence from micro- to macro-level of analysis. All participants consented to their responses being used in the research project and their names and contributions have been anonymised. Names of dystopian fiction characters serve as pseudonyms for the participants.

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Case 1: Offred (Infertility Victim) – see The Handmaid’s Tale This DF case asks the reader to reflect on the representative ‘truth’ we bestow on the empirical stories we find, which may be just as fictional as this example; here we further ‘blur the lines’. This case serves as an introduction to the DFCDA method prior to empirical examples and offers an explicit introduction into the impact of parenthood on social norms. Offred’s account recalls her time as a Handmaid in a patriarchal family in a strictly Christian fundamentalist society (Gilead). Here, she recounts the moment when she sees a pregnant woman amongst other women who are potentially infertile. Her response is indicative of the pivotal role ‘fertility’ and parenthood can play in changing societal attitudes to gender roles.

CASE 1: OFFRED One of them is vastly pregnant […] There is a shifting in the room, a murmur, an escape of breath; despite ourselves we turn our heads, blatantly, to see better; our fingers itch to touch her. She’s a magic presence to us, an object of envy and desire, we covet her. She’s a flag on a hilltop, showing us what can still be done: we too can be saved. Micro Level – lexical Masculinity – The conditional clause ‘despite ourselves’ illustrates the degree of control and constraint applied to the ‘we’ as the female handmaid collective. Parenting – hyperbolic ‘vastly pregnant’ emphasises the unusual presence of a pregnant woman against an infertility context. Subversion – ‘we too can be saved’ highlights the sole route to freedom via pregnancy – a highly restrictive context that justifies subversion. Meso Level – Discursive Masculinity – The military metaphor, ‘A flag on the hilltop’ evokes HM constructs of conquest and domination in describing the pregnant woman. Parenting – ‘envy and desire’ represents shared discourses in the society from women towards pregnancy. Subversion – Offred’s recording is an illegal act in Gilead. Her act subverts the Gilead gender control regime.

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Macro Level – Social Masculinity – Offred’s recording creates a counter-narrative to the patriarchal norms of the Gilead society where women are silenced. Parenting – Offred evokes the ‘magic’ of pregnancy as an almost biblical event, which links to the ideological dogma Gilead apply to reproduction rituals. Subversion – Her internal monologue describes essentialised women in servitude to Gilead societal norms; while recording it for a future audience to resist that servitude. Case 2a: Winston (the Oppressed Critic) – see 1984 This is the first empirical example and concerns Winston’s reactions to becoming a father and his emotion management that both contrasts and mirrors that of Offred’s. Winston was a recent father with Julia of baby ‘Alex’ (gender neutral pseudonym). In this case he refers to an image metaphor of blind monks examining an elephant (an image elicitation interview technique). Winston’s response is evocative of parenthood as a proxy for a large, ‘unwieldy’ animal, something difficult to control. He also describes a sense of the unknown, ‘daunting’ parental landscape for a new father as his experiences highlight the absence of support offered to new fathers in the workplaces. In an illustration of ‘interpellation’, Winston describes ‘muddling along’ in acceptance of his ‘daunting’ circumstances, which alludes to the normalised hegemonic organisational culture, systems, policies and structures with limited scope for accommodating individual vulnerability.

CASE 2A: WINSTON Winston: This was a, a, a good, er, picture to describe my expectations of my role, as a, a, working parent, because both, I, I …, I only started at [HE] less than a year ago, so in August of last year, and we had Alex in October. Erm, so, there’s sort of a dual perspective there, of, erm, engaging in two, two very new things that were quite daunting. Daunting, erm, I, I yeah, daunting experiences, erm, so … I kind of felt like, you know, kind of grappling in the dark with a very large kind of unwieldy thing that I er wasn’t quite sure how to deal with … … Erm, again for both the job and in terms of having a, having a child. Erm, just muddling along and trying to just trying to, erm … just yeah, just just, get by … In in in areas that, er, were very new and were, you know, quite scary and quite, you know, were quite daunting.

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Micro Level – Lexical Masculinity – repetition of ‘daunting’ displays a willingness to share emotional vulnerability akin to ‘caring masculinity’. Parenting – noun choice ‘working parent’ indicates willingness to identify as a ‘parent’ not a father. Subversion – semantic field of vulnerability (muddling, scary and grappling) suggests a parent willing to be open and honest about their emotions and subvert HM expectations of assertive masculinity. Meso Level – Discursive Masculinity – the interview confessional form taps into discourses of incompetent dads and super mums in Western portrayals of gendered parenting. ‘Dual perspective’ also evokes ‘separate spheres’. Parenting – the idiomatic phrase ‘grappling in the dark …’ discursively references the elephant image sympathising with the compromised blind monks. This description is reminiscent of Josef K in The Trial (Kafka, 1925) who also grapples with obscurity when confronted with his new reality. Subversion – in the context of prevailing breadwinner attitudes and policies toward working parents, this expression of openness challenges the expected role congruity of a working father. Macro Level – Social Masculinity – Winston describes navigating ‘hidden rules’ (von Alemann et al., 2017) of the masculine social order, which creates an obscure context for new fathers. Parenting – Winston’s circumstances are doubly challenging as a new employee too and he draws on this shared understanding of daunting social practices to emphasise the acute nature of his experience. His willingness to share this vulnerability demonstrates personal reflexivity and the social acceptability of parental vulnerability for fathers. Subversion – this counter-narrative to HM ideology raises awareness of masculine vulnerability which can open up further subversive parental discourses. Case 2b: Julia (the Subversive Antagonist) – see 1984 Our third case is Winston’s partner, Julia, a recent mother on parental leave, who discusses her experiences of policies and processes for working parents. Julia’s response

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highlights negative aspects of policy uniformity, which could be interpreted as a negative ideological force applied to individual circumstances through ideological HM. Importantly, we noted that Julia’s responses are indicative of ‘interpellation’ and language control through her choice of juxtaposing descriptions of the policy as simultaneously fair, while also demonstrably not working well for her individual circumstances. Here, she demonstrates a willingness to defend a policy for which she has experienced detrimental effects. Such dichotomies of cognitive dissonance are evocative of the doublethink concept famously coined by Orwell in 1984. ‘Doublethink’ cognitive dissonance is seemingly a common process for two of the cases we present in this chapter. Offred and Julia demonstrate interpellation with their willingness to reproduce and support the ‘norms’ of their experiences, while simultaneously producing subversive discourse. Both challenge the ‘norms’ of their experiences through their discourse; Offred through her illegal recording of her experiences, Julia by questioning the fairness of the policies she experienced.

CASE 2B: JULIA Julia: Well, the reason I’ve picked this one really is that … in terms of the policies and practices they’ve … erm of Winston’s, Winston’s job and my own you’re not counted as an individual in any way. It is kind of policy for the masses. … Interviewer: So, it’s uniformity? Julia: Yeah. That you, in terms of policy, you’re not an individual and it seems in general, and particularly big companies that your policy doesn’t consider you as an individual, it has to consider everybody … all as equals. And, in some ways that’s a good thing and in others that not such a good thing. Interviewer: Would you mind describing where it’s a good thing and where it’s not a good thing? Julia: Yeah, I suppose in terms of erm, it being a good thing it, it keeps everything bla … very black and white, and you know exactly where you’re at. Interviewer: Mmm, mmm. LL: That, there’s no feeling of anything being unfair, that you are all treated just the same. Erm … but in terms of it being a bad thing I think that particularly when it comes to bringing children into the world, it’s such a very very individual thing and rigid policies don’t necessarily erm … [MG comment: pause as being careful with her words here] sort of … the fact that they don’t have any flexibility doesn’t always work in terms of individual circumstances.

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Micro Level – Lexical Masculinity – ‘all as equals’, and ‘black & white’ evoke a semantic field of rigidity and HM workplace norms. Parenting – juxtaposition between collective ‘masses’ as the intended audience of policies, versus the ‘individual circumstances’, for which she suggests such policy ‘doesn’t always work’. Subversion – the abstract pronoun ‘they’ creates a sense of anonymity to the ‘organisation’ as mysterious and dystopian controlling force. Meso Level – Discursive Masculinity – ‘you’re not counted as an individual’ draws on discursive homogenised policies applied with a patriarchal lens. Parenting – ‘policy for the masses’, a borrowed idiom from ‘religion is the opiate of the masses’, which denigrates the individual agency of people as malleable to social influence. Subversion – Julia’s supportive description of the policies is similar to Offred’s public conformity to Gilead rules, while harbouring subversive ideas in private. Language control. Macro Level – Social Masculinity – Julia’s description of ‘fairness’ is juxtaposed to her descriptions of the rigid policy for the masses. This highlights her interpellation into ideological patriarchy and structural inequity. Parenting – the overarching impression Julia creates is one of ‘rigid policies’, which draws on neo-liberal ideological policies surrounding governance in the age of austerity. Such policies place the burden of responsibility on the individual parents, against social justice. Subversion – Julia clearly indicates this form of ‘policy for the masses’ as incompatible with actual individual experiences of parenthood. Julia also states ‘the fact that they don’t have any flexibility’ after a lengthy pause. These statements justify subversive action.

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DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION An important distinction of DFCDA is the integration of dystopian fiction tropes, characters and plots into the analysis. All three of these examples do this to emphasise the value of DF as a source of empirical data (Rhodes & Brown, 2005b). We chose these examples due to their relevance to the theoretical influence of HM (a fantasy ideal of masculinity) on working or expectant parents as a barrier to women’s success in organisations. By highlighting issues such as ‘daunting’ fatherhood, and ‘rigid’ policies versus ‘individual’ experiences, these DFCDAs generate a collective, disruptive argument for more ‘individual’, compassionate and humanistic approaches to organisational attitudes to parenthood. This method intentionally ‘blurs the lines’ (Phillips & Knowles, 2012) between what is real and what is fiction to disrupt perceived and rhetorical reality in organisations. It does so by highlighting the comparable nature of empirical data from transcripts and empirical data from novels. This method also aspires to disruptive, subversive, change oriented outputs akin to critical discourse analysis (Fairclough, 2013), by addressing a social ‘wrong’ of workplace parenthood inequity in an unconventional, and even starkly shocking, way which challenges the reader to re-evaluate their own perceptions of reality. The illustrative examples for this DFCDA are intended as an overview of the method, which is intentionally critical. It alludes to comparable DF examples to emphasise the similarity between real-life and fictional societies, where women are subjugated based on their fertility status. The value of this in raising collective consciousness of the existing problem and our ‘interpellation’ (Althusser, 2014) as coerced reproducers of our own ideological reality. Once we raise awareness, the next step is to further subvert. To take the DFCDA further, researchers can further fictionalise the data to create a more compelling fact/fiction blur. In doing so, it is vitally important to take responsibility for the truth of what is being written (Rhodes & Brown, 2005b). Examples of such work include ‘ethnographic fiction science’ (Watson, 2000) and ‘re-presentation’ of organisations (Rhodes, 2001b) which reimagine organisational evidence in fictional form. Such approaches can further disrupt and subvert the gendered organisational space and promote new awareness of our dystopian fiction/ reality towards a new narrative of subversive resistance.

NOTE 1.

See https://www​.hesa​.ac​.uk/​news/​18​-01​-2018/​sfr248​-higher​-education​-staff​-statistics.

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REFERENCES Acker, S. & Armenti, C. (2004), ‘Sleepless in academia’, Gender and Education, 16(1), 3–24. Acker, S. & Dillabough, J. A. (2007), ‘Women “learning to labour” in the “male emporium”: exploring gendered work in teacher education’, Gender and Education, 19(3), 297–316. Althusser, L. (2014), On the Reproduction of Capitalism: Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses, London: Verso Trade. Atwood, M. (1985), The Handmaid's Tale (new edn), New York: Vintage. Atwood, M. (2017), ‘Margaret Atwood on what “The Handmaid’s Tale” means in the age of Trump’, The New York Times. Retrieved from https://​www​.nytimes​.com/​2017/​03/​10/​ books/​review/​margaret​-atwood​-handmaids​-tale​-age​-of​-trump​.html​?​_r​=​1. Baccolini, R. & Moylan, T. (2003), ‘Introduction : dystopia and histories’, in R. Baccolini & T. Moylan (eds), Dark Horizons: Science Fiction and the Utopian Imagination, London: Routledge, pp. 1–12. Beigi, M., Callahan, J. & Michaelson, C. (2019), ‘A critical plot twist: changing characters and foreshadowing the future of organizational storytelling’, International Journal of Management Reviews, retrieved from https://​onlinelibrary​.wiley​.com/​doi/​abs/​10​.1111/​ijmr​ .12203. doi:​10​.1111/​ijmr​.12203. Budig, M. J. & England, P. (2001), ‘The wage penalty for motherhood’, American Sociological Review, 66(2), 204–25. Cahusac, E. & Kanji, S. (2014), ‘Giving up: how gendered organizational cultures push mothers out’, Gender Work and Organization, 21(1), 57–70. Carrigan, T., Connell, B. & Lee, J (1985), ‘Toward a new sociology of masculinity’, Theory and Society, 14(5), 551–604. Connell, R. W. (2005), Masculinities, Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: Polity Press. Connell, R. W. & Messerschmidt, J. W. (2005), ‘Hegemonic masculinity: rethinking the concept’, Gender & Society, 19(6), 829–59. Correll, S. J., Benard, S. & Paik, I. (2007), ‘Getting a job: is there a motherhood penalty?’ American Journal of Sociology, 112(5), 1297–338. Czarniawska, B. (1999), ‘Management she wrote: organization studies and detective stories’, Studies in Cultures, Organizations and Societies, 5(1), 13–41. Czarniawska-Joerges, B. & De Monthoux, P. (1994), Good Novels, Better Management: Reading Organizational Realities in Fiction, London: Routledge. Elison, M. (2016), The Book of the Unnamed Midwife, Seattle, WA: 47North. Fairclough, N. (2013), Critical Discourse Analysis: The Critical Study of Language, London: Routledge. Foucault, M. (1980), Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings of Michel Foucault, New York: Vintage. Fowler, R., Hodge, B., Kress, G. & Trew, T. (1979), Language and Control, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Gatto, M. (2019), ‘Interpellating with dystopian fiction: a critical discourse analysis technique to disrupt hegemonic masculinity’, paper presented at JUC Public Administration Annual Conference, Newcastle upon Tyne, UK. Gatto, M. (2020). Parenthood demands: resisting a dystopia in the workplace. Human Resource Development International, 23(5), 569–85. Retrieved from https://​doi​.org/​10​ .1080/​13678868​.2020​.1735832. doi:​10​.1080/​13678868​.2020​.1735832 Glesne, C. (2016), Becoming Qualitative Researchers: An Introduction, 5th edn, Boston, MA: Pearson. Glesne, C. & Peshkin, A. (1992), Becoming Qualitative Researchers: An Introduction, White Plains, NY: Longman. Gordin, M. D., Tilley, H. & Prakash, G. (2010), ‘Introduction: utopia and dystopia beyond space and time’, in M. D. Gordin, H. Tilley & G. Prakash (eds), Utopia/Dystopia:

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Conditions of Historical Possibility, Princeton, NJ & Woodstock: Princeton University Press, pp. 1–20. Griffin, M., Harding, N. & Learmonth, M. (2017), ‘Whistle while you work? Disney animation, organizational readiness and gendered subjugation’, Organization Studies, 38(7), 869–94. Halliday, M. A. K. (1978), Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning, London: Edward Arnold. Harvey, C. B. (1989), ‘Some Irish women storytellers and reflections on the role of women in the storytelling tradition’, Western Folklore, 48(2), 109–28. Heidegger, M. (2008/1927), Being and Time, New York: HarperPerennial/Modern Thought. Hodges, M. J. & Budig, M. J. (2010), ‘“Who gets the daddy bonus?” Organizational hegemonic masculinity and the impact of fatherhood on earnings’, Gender & Society, 24(6), 717–45. James, P. D. (1992), The Children of Men, London: Faber & Faber. Kafka, F. (1925), The Trial, Potters Bar: Naxos Audiobooks. Orwell, G. (1949), 1984 [Nineteen Eighty-Four], London: Penguin Modern Classics. Phillips, M. & Knowles, D. (2012), ‘Performance and performativity: undoing fictions of women business owners’, Gender, Work & Organization, 19(4), 416–37. Rhodes, C. (2001a), ‘D’oh: The Simpsons, popular culture, and the organizational carnival’, Journal of Management Inquiry, 10(4), 374–83. Rhodes, C. (2001b), Writing Organization: (Re)presentation and Control in Narratives at Work, Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Rhodes, C. (2015), ‘Writing organization/romancing fictocriticism’, Culture and Organization, 21(4), 289–303. Rhodes, C. & Brown, A. D (2005a), ‘Narrative, organizations and research’, International Journal of Management Reviews, 7(3), 167–88. Rhodes, C. & Brown, A. D (2005b), ‘Writing responsibly: narrative fiction and organization studies’, Organization, 12(4), 467–91. Sambrook, S. (2000), ‘Talking of HRD’, Human Resource Development International, 3(2), 159–78. Stock, K. (2017), Only Imagine: Fiction, Interpretation, and Imagination, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Van Dijk, T. A. (1993), ‘Principles of critical discourse analysis’, Discourse & Society, 4(2), 249–83. Van Dijk, T. A. (ed.) (2011), Discourse Studies: A Multidisciplinary Introduction, London: Sage. von Alemann, A., Beaufays, S. & Oechsle, M. (2017), ‘Involved fatherhood in work organizations: sense of entitlement and hidden rules in organizational cultures’, Zeitschrift fur Familienforschung, 29(1), 72–89. Watson, T. J. (2000), ‘Making sense of managerial work and organizational research processes with Caroline and Terry’, Organization, 7(3), 489–510. Zumas, L. (2018), Red Clocks (ePub edn), New York: Little Brown & Company.

13. Media semiotics: analysing the myth of the corporate superwoman Anita Biressi

MEDIA SEMIOTICS: METHOD, ORIGIN AND RELEVANCE This chapter introduces a method of analysis widely used in media studies to analyse the processes by which meanings are produced, circulated and understood; a process known as signification or semiotics. Drawing on the influential work of Roland Barthes, it demonstrates how a semiotic analysis of media myth-making can expose what is often implicit or masked in media texts which represent successful working women. This chapter outlines this method and then demonstrates its application through a critical analysis of the media representation of the corporate ‘superwoman’ (CSW); a figure defined as someone who is conspicuously successful in business, corporate leadership and entrepreneurship. Focussing on the CSW demonstrates the application of the semiotic media mythology approach and reveals the challenges and opportunities this approach affords in the study of gender and management. Critical approaches to issues of representation take many forms in media studies. This chapter focuses on one established method of analysis which describes and deconstructs media myth-making. This approach is useful for gender and management scholars because it provides a set of critical tools with which to expose how the gendered power relations enacted in the corporate world are established, communicated, reinforced or even challenged in the public sphere. A solid understanding of gendered symbols, images and media messages allows scholars to properly contextualise the relations of power experienced in organisations and management in specific historical moments and to appreciate how these become embedded in workplace cultures. In media studies, myth ‘is a way of conceptualising a subject that is widely accepted within a particular culture and a particular historical period’ (Macdonald 1995, p. 226). The concept of media mythologies was developed by Roland Barthes (1957/1993) in his influential essay collection Mythologies and in other essays such as ‘The Photographic Message’ (1961/1977) and ‘Rhetoric of the Image’ (1964/1977). He drew heavily on the work of linguist Ferdinand de Saussure who developed a theory of language as a system of signs (called semiotics) through which the world is constructed and apprehended. Saussure’s view of language is essentially structural; in other words, there is a ‘grammar’ or set of rules which govern language and the chosen combinations of words (or images) produce the meaning. Meanings can be conveyed in written or visual form (such as the language of clothes, of traffic signals or the language of advertising). 202

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Barthes drew on Saussure’s ideas but stressed that any analysis of meaning-making had to be set firmly in its historical context. In Mythologies, Barthes presented short essays (originally published in the press) which critically analysed a variety of pop culture phenomenon to challenge what he called ‘the falsely obvious’ or ‘myths’ which they conveyed (Barthes 1993, p. 11). His examples included adverts, travel guides, political campaigns and magazine stories and images. Barthes’s main objection to myth was that it evacuated history and specificity and made phenomenon appear to be given, natural and thereby incontrovertible. Once a myth has been established is becomes difficult to argue against or challenge because it seems to be quite obviously true. Myth reduces complex events, things or subjects into a few characteristics which are taken to be as definitive. For Barthes, every cultural product has meaning, and this meaning is conditioned by ideology and therefore any cultural product can be the subject of mythological analysis and review. Mythologies continues to offer a model for media analysts. Later scholars have revisited it to produce new case studies and to track the ways in which long-established and new and emergent myths are played out in media and popular culture (e.g. Bignell 2002; Bennett and McDougall 2013; Houze 2016). Barthes’s case studies, which often focused on everyday texts, provided an analytical toolkit to feminist scholars seeking to expose the ideological burden carried by women as they were represented in the media and popular culture. Barthes refused to take for granted the ‘natural’, obvious or supposed eternal truths which the media peddled about key formations of identity such as nationality, taste and cultural distinction, motherhood, masculinity and femininity. For example, his essay ‘Novels and Children’ asked why Elle magazine’s feature article on 70 women novelists listed not only the number of books written by each author but also the number of children each writer had delivered. He argued that this insistence on positioning the women as producers of children as well as producers of books helped sustain a myth that women can only be recognised for their accomplishments in the public sphere if they consent to be linked to motherhood and the domestic at the same time. He argues that the deeper message, the connotations, of the magazine story were that women must accept that they will be judged and socially positioned in relation to men and patriarchal culture and, what’s more, that this is entirely natural. Elle’s story, therefore, also serves the purpose of warning its women readers: ‘Women … play at being men, write like them; but never get far from them; enjoy a free rein for a while, but quickly come back to your condition. One novel, one child, a little feminism, a little connubiality’ (Barthes 1993, p. 50). He implies that women’s public success is always compromised, always under erasure by this cultural reminder that the domestic and the maternal are never far away. Barthes undertakes deep structural readings of texts such as these and arrives at insights which are clearly political in nature; allowing him to challenge ‘truths’ organised to sustain systems which he regarded as oppressive such as colonialism, capitalism and patriarchy. This analytical method appealed to early feminist media and communication scholars because gender justice, which is principally a political project, has always been the driver of feminist media research; values which are also

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fundamental to gender and management scholars’ research agendas. One of the goals of feminist management researchers has been to examine how gender relations are represented, how women are represented in relation to power structures and how we, as audiences, are invited to make sense of these (see Dunn-Jensen and Stroh 2007). In other words, feminist media and management scholars share the aim of unpacking the ways in which meaning is made through representation (image, text, language, cultural objects) and then asks how these meanings build into narratives, myths and ‘common sense’ ideological stories about the place, purpose and possible futures of women in the world. In the longer term, all ‘feminist communication research is tied to a political movement for structural social change rather than individual change’ (Mendes and Carter 2008, p. 1702; Biressi 2020). This critical approach is aimed at highlighting how the media obscures wide structural inequalities (for example, gender inequality within the home, in the places and spaces of work, in politics, sports or the news). Hence, many analysts continue to use the terms ‘woman’ and ‘man’ in their discussions as I will do below. They do not do this because they consider these to be adequate or inclusive terms – on the contrary. The study of representations of gender in the media understands gender to be socially constructed; that is, an ongoing process of learned sets of conduct, expectations, perceptions and subjectivities that describe and define what it means to be a woman or a man. According to Barthes, someone who consumes a myth, for example in a news story, may not recognise its construction as a myth. They may see the image simply as the presence of the essence it signifies. Indeed, it is because the media insists on constructing ‘woman’ and ‘man’, ‘womanliness’ and ‘manliness’, and ‘femininity’ and ‘masculinity’ as relatively stable, common-sense and desirable essences or categories that feminists make it their business to deconstruct them.

FEMINIST RESEARCH AND THE ANALYSIS OF MEDIA MYTHS Feminist analysis of gendered representation have drawn strategically on Barthes’s model to explore how women are either praised and promoted if they adhere to certain social ideals or positioned as subjects of critical judgement if they do not conform to the models of femininity promoted by media culture. Ground-breaking studies include Judith Williamson’s (1978) Decoding Advertisements which examined ideology and myth-making in advertising to show how advertising was not simply selling us things but also selling us the idea that the economic basis of society was both natural and fair. In her analysis of dozens of adverts, she showed how myths (including those about individualism and choice, beauty, femininity and empowerment) are played out through the signs, codes and conventions of promotional culture. Myra Macdonald’s (1995), Representing Women is another key text in this field. Macdonald (1995, p. 2) established solid ground for this type of analysis through a series of studies which explored myths of femininity in the popular media to show how ‘the diversity of real women, potentially challenging to male authority,

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is transformed into manageable myths’ of femininity. Other classic feminist texts include British journalist Joan Smith’s two Misogynies collections published in 1989 and 1996; together with her later book entitled The Public Woman (2013). Smith, whose books are aimed at a general readership, acknowledges her debt to Barthes and chooses to undertake trenchant social critiques of the way in which women are subject to sexist judgement, criticism and prejudice in politics, in the workplace and in everyday life. Other feminist scholarship adopting a Barthesian semiotic approach includes Emad (2006), Prügl (2012), Åhäll (2015) and Jansens (2019). Mitra Emad traced the histories of the myth of the comic book superhero Wonder Woman. Here she explored Wonder Woman’s body (appearance, costume and actions) as an historical site for the interplay of culturally oppositional spheres: private femininity and sexuality versus masculine nationhood and public politics/war. Elisabeth Prügl’s article also adopts a discursive approach situated in its historical context. Her research examined the rhetoric of ‘responsible women’ that accompanied the 2008/09 global financial crisis and the public conversation which suggested that if women had run large financial institutions then the credit crunch might never have happened. She explores the myth that women are cautious and fiscally prudent and that they exert a civilising influence on men and masculine culture. In keeping with the Barthesian approach, she asks what purpose these myths serve and how and why they might perpetuate the notion that women in business and finance are fundamentally different or ‘other’ to their male counterparts. Linda Åhäll’s (2015, p.136) book entitled Sexing War/ Policing Gender examined stories of women involved in war and political violence to show how myth continues to insist that women, whether they are active agents, ‘victims’ or monstrous ‘others’ are nonetheless aligned with life-giving, nurturance and maternity. Freya Jansen’s (2019) article on the media coverage of Australian politicians draws on Barthes’s book The Fashion System (1967/1990) to reveal how the attention paid to the clothing women choose to wear in public is problematically gendered. More positively, she also shows how politicians use their own sartorial choices to challenge the marginalisation of femininity in the political sphere. The critical approaches adopted by these scholars intersect pertinently with some of the driving research interests of those working in gender and management. Gender and management scholars have long signalled the importance of critiquing the media representation of women in business, leadership and the professions. For example, McGregor (2000), Dunn-Jensen and Stroh (2007), Elliott et al. (2016) and Elliott and Stead (2018) have all demonstrated the importance of taking account of how the media frames the public understanding of women leaders, managers, entrepreneurs and workers, and the obstacles experienced by women forced to negotiate negative stereotypes. Most notably, Elliott et al.’s (2016, pp. 1–2) edited collection Gender, Media, and Organization: Challenging Mis(s)Representations of Women Leaders and Managers demonstrates through a series of erudite arguments and case studies the power of the media to shape individuals’ realities, to inform interpersonal relations and to impact on how organisations and businesses make sense of women professionals. The Barthesian approach equips gender and management scholars with

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a well-established analytical framework and mode of enquiry which can help them to identify case studies and subject them to a robust and systematic method critique. Taken together, the routes of inquiry pursued by the scholars above suggest four key ways into understanding the media construction of the corporate superwoman. First, we can consider her as the site of binary opposites including the public versus the private and the business realm versus the domestic realm. Second, we can consider how she is defined in relation to her male counterparts and whether she is assumed to have ‘civilising’ characteristics. Third, we can consider the importance of the myth of the maternal to media constructions of the CSW. Finally, we can consider the centrality of the CSW’s fashion, image and sartorial choices to media myth-making. Having undertaken this four-pronged approach we would then step back to draw larger conclusions about the social function of this myth and its relation to gender and management concerns.

APPLICATION OF METHOD: THE CORPORATE SUPERWOMAN This chapter looks at myth-making of the corporate superwoman using the example of the media depiction of Nicola Horlick. Horlick is a British investment fund manager who attracted considerable media attention during the late 1990s and the journalistic appellation ‘City Supermum’ or ‘Superwoman’ because of her ability to ‘balance’ a successful career with bringing up five children. In 1997, she attracted additional press coverage when she was suspended as a managing director of a pension fund and chose to fight her suspension publicly. The focus of the analysis is a consideration of Horlick’s 1997 autobiography Can You Have It All? How to Succeed in a Man’s World. It might be argued that analysing one example in detail is problematic. But there are no rules about how many texts are needed to produce a credible analysis or how these should be organised. Both MacDonald and Williamson (above) refer to dozens of examples in a single chapter while other scholars, such as Barthes himself, often focus on just one image, advert, persona (such as the film star), an object (such as a car) or an abstract idea (such as a nation’s national dish). The first approach helps build a strong overview argument (albeit with examples sometimes treated superficially) while the latter offers an in-depth consideration (while sacrificing scope and potential reproducibility). Whichever approach is adopted, it is crucial that the analyst familiarises themselves with the historical context, the setting and the codes and conventions of the subject. If they do not, they will miss many of the connotations of the text. So, for example, to produce an effective and convincing in-depth and insightful analysis of Horlick’s image, research is needed into the historical period prior to and during the 1990s, the gender politics of the time, the place of women in the higher levels of business, codes of dress, journalistic codes and so on. Even if one chooses to focus on a single public figure, a single biography, a press interview or even just one photograph, it is essential to research these carefully so that one can develop

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a view of their typicality or representativeness and understand where and how they are located in the wider history of representation and cultural context.

CONTEXT Begin by establishing the context of the study. In this example, it is evident that the so-called superwoman was an iconic figure who emerged into popular media visibility at the tail end of second-wave feminism from the late 1970s onwards . Her arrival also coincided with the rise of post-feminism. Negra and Tasker (2007, p. 2) describe post-feminism as a ‘… culture [that] works in part to incorporate, assume, or naturalize aspects of feminism; crucially it also works to commodify feminism via the figure of woman as empowered consumer’. Post-feminism strongly situates women in the public space and stresses that women are empowered which seems positive. But this phenomenon has also been criticised for undoing the progressive politics of the second wave through its championing of neoliberal consumer and individualist values which arguably overemphasise competition, rivalry and the ‘self’ in ‘self-empowerment’. For those in gender and management studies, postfeminism notably fuelled the construction of entrepreneurial femininities and helped to define and shape the types of feminine subjectivities welcomed into the business arena (Lewis 2014; Lewis et al. 2017). From this period onwards, the adjective ‘super’ was attached to women in a variety of fields. For example, the term supermodel became prominent in 1980s and 1990s media commentary and was used to describe internationally recognised catwalk models usually working for leading fashion designers and clothing brands. It was also attached to women in management who held positions in the public or private sector controlling human, financial or technical resources (Pringle and O’C. Gold 1990, p. 5). The adjective ‘super’ has connotations of the exceptional and the superior which already positions superwomen as both untypical and aspirational; as role models and as people we might aspire to be. Media accounts suggested, both in the UK and in the USA, that women had finally made it out of the kitchen and into the boardroom, into politics and into entrepreneurial leadership more generally. The superwoman was figured as someone who could run her own home, her own company and even her country with efficiency, self-discipline and aplomb. Popular histories of life in Britain and the United States during the late 1970s and 1980s commonly depict this period as one in which women emerge triumphant into the public sphere. The media showcased new, but soon to be iconic, figures such as the domestic superwoman brilliantly balancing work and life (made famous by British journalist Shirley Conran (1975)), the power-dressing independent woman who featured in primetime American soaps and the first British female prime minister. Commentators aligned these figures with the achievements of second-wave feminism even as they were being re-framed by postfeminism (Entwistle 2000; Campo 2009; D’Amore 2012). The legacy of these figures and their various iterations were evident in the 1990s media coverage of the corporate ‘supermum’ or corporate super-

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woman and, more recently, of the postfeminist executive (such as Sheryl Sandberg) and the power wife (such as Michele Obama).

CASE STUDY Having researched the historical and cultural context of the broad area of interest, it is time to establish the kinds of questions which will help direct and focus attention and organise interpretation. First, establish a research question such as ‘how was the successful professional woman mythologised in the 1990s?’ or ‘what codes were commonly used in the representation of the professional working woman in the 1990s and what meanings did they generate?’ Then move on to define the object of analysis more exactly by identifying particular media figures who offer a rich opportunity for analytical engagement. In this case we are considering the representation of Nicola Horlick and, specifically, the role of her autobiography in the manufacture of her media image. Up until 1997 Horlick had been lionised in the press for her extraordinary business achievements as a Fund Manager. Through a series of complicated events she found herself accused of trying to defect to a rival company, along with her team. Horlick’s autobiography was published in 1997 in the wake of the scandal over her suspension by employer Morgan Grenfell. Her biography’s title asks whether ‘you can have it all’; inviting the reader to consider her own position (the implied reader is female) in relation to work, family and social success. But the subtitle already offers a reassuring reply by suggesting that by reading this book readers will learn ‘how to succeed in a man’s world’. The dust jacket description declares: … it is the story of a woman who never doubted that she could do what a man can do … It is an account of a female warrior who fought for justice when she felt her job was unfairly taken from her. But most of all it is the poignant account of a mother dealing with the terrifying ordeal of her child’s illness.

The Acknowledgements note that profits from the book will go the children’s hospital who cared for her sick daughter. Following the example of Barthes, we need to describe the literal meaning of the images and text and then move on to infer their connotations which is more a matter of interpretation. The hermeneutics of this exercise operate as a way of thinking from the particular to the general, allowing analysts to extrapolate from a close description of one woman in the media to the wider myth-making of women in the business arena during this period. Begin by describing what is shown and then what is implied. In other words, examine ‘the ways in which the various elements of the text work together and interact with our cultural knowledge to generate meaning’ (Stokes 2003, p. 72). The book’s front cover image is important in anchoring, amplifying and consolidating the meanings and mythmaking produced by the book. It features a three quarters portrait shot of Horlick. The setting is formal with a backdrop of dark panelling. Horlick wears a blue long-line City-style suit jacket typical of the period

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and a string of pearls. Her jewellery is conservative and discrete, and her wedding ring is visible. She is smiling directly at the camera with her mouth closed. She is conventionally made up and wears her brown hair in a tidy bob. She holds a copy of the Financial Times and tucked under her arm is a teddy bear. The back cover image employs the same setting but this time the subject rests her clasped hands on a dark brown leather document case and she is surrounded by colourful children’s toys and a school lunch box. The next stage is to draw out the cultural codes and to situate these in the context of a wider understanding of gender and management. We might argue that the front cover image reinforces the notion that the realms of business and domestic/private life are fundamentally opposed by establishing the stark contrast between the sombre setting and the brightly dressed woman. The dark wood panelling is suggestive of a gentlemen’s club or the boardroom of an established corporation. The setting, together with the copy of the Financial Times, connotes the insider knowledge and access conventionally associated with masculine endeavour. The fact that Horlick seems to be able to comfortably hold the newspaper and the teddy bear implies that she is relaxed in both worlds and that she can work across them effectively. Horlick’s narrative account of her early days as a fund manager and mother both underscores these divisions and explains how she overcame them. She recalls how becoming a mother required ‘large amounts of extra administration’, good organisation and the employment of a sensible and reliable nanny. She stresses the need to compartmentalise her domestic and working life: ‘I could not have played either role properly if I had allowed the two to merge …’ (Horlick 1997, p. 135). But the narrative is also threaded through with the troubling account of her daughter’s treatment for leukaemia, constructing Horlick as someone equally devoted to career and family but also as someone whose family remain her priority. Although her autobiography aims to combat the ‘cartoon character’ of superwoman (dustjacket) it also stresses that she has, in fact, effectively managed it all. Her values, however, come under review and ultimately the narrative prioritises her status as a mother; her story stresses that ‘her child must come first’ (dustjacket) and this is reinforced by our contextual knowledge that the book’s profits will go to a children’s hospital. The dress code on the cover is significant. Horlick wears a simply cut longline dress-coat that signals ‘corporate-ness’. It is formal, modest and unfussy. This sartorial choice allies her with her male colleagues because this is the feminine version of a suit. The fabric is a vibrant turquoise blue which is typical of the ‘power-dressing’ of the period. This choice, together with the string of pearls, also implies confidence and queenliness and the civilising influence which accompanies modest femininity. The cut and colour are reminiscent of the clothes worn by the Queen. Historically, blue has also been associated with the maternal through the image of the Virgin Mary. Pearls are also significant because they are considered by working women to be a safe and conservative choice, adding middle-class femininity without frivolity. The expectation that women smile is embedded in the gender politics of Western cultures. The smiling woman wards off criticism that she may be aloof, humourless or uncaring and accords with a long-held cultural expectation of feminine warmth

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(Holland 2002). Her smile reassures the onlooker that she is approachable and capable of the emotional labour associated with women.

THE SOCIAL FUNCTION OF THIS MYTH In this example, Horlick as the corporate superwoman is clearly distinguishable from the ‘career woman’ who was also mythologised throughout the 1980s. The phrase ‘career woman’ has been used to position a woman as exceptionally focused on her career (we do not have the term ‘career man’ because his status as a dedicated professional is regarded as ‘typical’) to the extent that she has sacrificed everything for workplace success. Career women have been mythologised as being either childless or else selfishly putting their own needs before those of their families. The popular cultural stigmatisation of working women was particularly vicious during the 1980s when films and TV dramas depicted career women negatively. Movies depicted single women who rejected heterosexual domestic femininity in search of a career as lonely, neurotic, selfish and/or wicked (Genz and Brabon 2009, p. 56). Whelehan (2005, p. 141) notes that there was a prominent cultural script which maintained that women were paying too high a personal price for their professional success. In contrast to this narrative, the myth articulated in Horlick’s book (both image and text) suggests that to be considered genuinely successful one must embrace motherhood, femininity and the domestic. Like the book writers discussed by Barthes (above) a woman’s success is measured by her ability to produce professionally and to reproduce maternally. And, she must reassure herself and others that in the final analysis her values are fundamentally family values. This then invites the question: what is at stake for women in management who are invited to engage with this myth? This is neatly answered by Pringle and O’C. Gold (1990, p. 8) who note: ‘The “superwoman” approach undermines the self-concept of most working women who survive by trade-off, compromise, or pure panic. Significantly, because the superwoman has so many areas in which she must succeed, failure in any one of them implies failure as a person’. In the final analysis, then, it might be argued that this is a damaging and disabling myth shot through with ideologically problematic contradictions. Even while Horlick reassures readers that they can ‘succeed in a man’s world’ it arguably reinforces the notion that her success is exceptional and her credibility rests, above all, on her ability to perform a socially acceptable femininity.

STRENGTHS AND LIMITATIONS OF THE METHOD There are several advantages to employing a semiotic analysis. This approach supports research which uses relatively few material or financial resources; it is time and cost effective and requires no co-investigators. As noted, the researcher can engage with a single image, news report or other text. This will produce a credible analysis but not necessarily a generalizable outcome. Stokes (2003, p. 72) notes: ‘The gen-

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eralizability of semiotics is not always relevant, making this method appropriate for studying a limited number of texts’. Having said this, it can also be used as a pilot exercise or the launching point for a larger project which may be more generalizable. Scholars can aggregate case studies to develop a more systemic, structural account of how professional women are typically depicted in the media across time, across genres or even across media platforms. So, having analysed Horlick’s biography (in far greater depth than above) the researcher could undertake a more extensive analysis of her image by collating all public photographs, news reports, book reviews and so on. The researcher might then extend further by analysing other corporate superwomen of the period or by contrasting the CSW with other myths (such as that of the career woman). The semiotic method is also effectively employed in mixed-method research to produce a more substantial project with multiple outcomes. The researcher might choose to undertake a semiotic analysis of the media coverage of a successful public figure and combine it with content analysis of written news coverage or with focus group audience research or other field work methods. As a mode of textual analysis, semiotics avoids the more obvious ethical concerns inherent in other areas of qualitative research, such as field work involving interviews, participant observation or focus groups where scholars need to take account of consent, health and safety, confidentiality and so on. The ethical challenge is both subtle and challenging when undertaking textual analysis. The researcher must take care to organise and frame the analysis carefully to acknowledge, throughout, that she is critiquing a representation and not the subject of that representation. This critique carefully avoided criticising Nicola Horlick personally and avoided undermining her expressed values, her lifestyle, her social class or her personal testimony as a financier, wife and mother. Instead this study critiqued the mythological narrative of the CSW as it is articulated in Horlick’s media image and in her autobiography, which is quite a different matter. Horlick is the vehicle of the analysis and not its target. Feminist management scholars need to be mindful that their methods should extend from a position of respectful recognition of those women whose representations are under analysis. The semiotic analyst seeks to expose myths so that they can be seen for what they are and then further interrogated, resisted or challenged. Gender and management scholars can work within this paradigm to produce case studies which effectively describe the tensions, contradictions and complexities of women’s (self)representation and their navigation of the gendered terrain of the media, domestic and business/ corporate realms. These studies offer a point of departure for wider considerations of the relationship between the media and the lived experience of women in management. The fact that the method is heavily interpretive and driven by a research agenda founded in feminist politics may be regarded as a weakness by some critics who would question its methodological rigour on the grounds of partiality. This criticism can be countered by avoiding unsupportable claims to scientific objectivity and by ensuring that the topic, the historical period and the codes and conventions being analysed have been thoroughly researched. Ultimately, the success of the research is dependent on the analyst’s skills and attention to detail and their ability ‘to argue

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its case’ (Bignell 2002, p. 39) as a uniquely important contribution to the project of gender and management studies.

REFERENCES Åhäll, Linda (2015), Sexing War/Policing Gender: Motherhood, Myth and Women’s Political Violence, London: Routledge. Barthes, Roland (1957/1993), Mythologies, London: Vintage. Barthes, Roland (1961/1977), ‘The photographic message’, in Image, Music, Text, essays selected and translated by Stephen Heath, London: Fontana Press, pp. 15–31. Barthes, Roland (1964/1977), ‘Rhetoric of the image’, in Image, Music, Text, essays selected and translated by Stephen Heath, London: Fontana Press, pp. 32–51. Barthes, Roland (1967/1990), The Fashion System, Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Bennett, Pete and Julian McDougall (eds) (2013), Barthes’ “Mythologies” Today: Readings of Contemporary Culture, London: Routledge. Bignell, Jonathan (2002), Media Semiotics: An Introduction, 2nd edn, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Biressi, Anita (2020) ‘Framing women’, in Polly Russell and Margaretta Jolly (eds), Unfinished Business: The Fight For Women’s Rights, London: The British Library, pp. 20–38. Campo, Natasha (2009), From Superwomen to Domestic Goddesses: The Rise and Fall of Feminism, Bern: Peter Lang. Conran, Shirley (1975), Superwoman, London: Sidgwick and Jackson. D’Amore, Laura Mattoon (2012), ‘The accidental supermom: superheroines and maternal performativity, 1963–1980’, The Journal of Popular Culture, 45(6), 1226–48. Dunn-Jensen, Linda and Linda Stroh (2007), ‘Myths in media: how the news media portray women in the workforce’, in Diana Bilimoria and Sandy Piderit (eds), Handbook on Women in Business and Management, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 13–32. Elliott, Carole and Valerie Stead (2018), ‘Constructing women’s leadership representation in the UK press during a time of financial crisis: gender capitals and dialectical tensions’, Organization Studies, 39(1), 19–45. Elliott, Carole, Valerie Stead, Sharon Mavin and J. Williams (eds) (2016), Gender, Media, and Organization: Challenging Mis(s)Representations of Women Leaders and Managers, Charlotte, NC: Information Age. Emad, Mitra (2006), ‘Reading Wonder Woman’s body: mythologies of gender and nation’, The Journal of Popular Culture, 39(6), 954–84. Entwistle, Joanne (2000), ‘Fashioning the career woman: power dressing as a strategy of consumption’, in Margaret Andrews and Mary Talbot (eds), All the World and Her Husband: Women in Twentieth-Century Consumer Culture, London and New York: Cassell, pp. 224–38. Genz, Stephanie and Benjamin Brabon (2009), Postfeminism: Cultural Texts and Theories, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Holland, Patricia (2002), ‘The politics of the smile: “soft news” and the sexualisation of the popular press’, in Stuart Allan, Gill Branston and Cynthia Carter (eds), News, Gender and Power, London: Routledge, pp. 29–44. Horlick, Nicola (1997), Can You Have it All?: How To Succeed in a Man’s World, London: Macmillan. Houze, Rebecca (2016), New Mythologies in Design and Culture: Reading Signs and Symbols in the Visual Landscape, London: Bloomsbury Publishing.

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Jansens, Freya (2019), ‘Suit of power: fashion, politics, and hegemonic masculinity in Australia’, Australian Journal of Political Science, 54(2), 202–18. Lewis, Patricia (2014), ‘Postfeminism, femininities and organization studies: exploring a new agenda’, Organization Studies, 35(12), 1845–66. Lewis, Patricia, Yvonne Benschop and Ruth Simpson (eds) (2017), Postfeminism and Organization, London: Routledge. Macdonald, Myra (1995), Representing Women: Myths of Femininity in the Popular Media, London: Arnold. McGregor, Judy (2000), ‘Stereotypes and symbolic annihilation: press constructions of women at the top’, Women in Management Review 15(5/6), 290–98. Mendes, Kaitlynn and Cynthia Carter (2008), ‘Feminist and gender media studies: a critical overview’, Sociology Compass, 2(6), 1701–18. Negra, Diane and Yvonne Tasker (2007), ‘Introduction: feminist politics and postfeminist culture’, in Yvonne Tasker and Diane Negra (eds), Interrogating Post-Feminism, Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 1–25. Pringle, Judith and Una O’C. Gold (1990), ‘Women in management: strategies for survival or success?’, Women in Management Review, 5(4), 5–14. Prügl, Elisabeth (2012), ‘“If Lehman Brothers had been Lehman Sisters …”: gender and myth in the aftermath of the financial crisis’, International Political Sociology, 6(1), 21–35. Smith, Joan (1989), Misogynies, London: Faber and Faber. Smith, Joan (1996), Misogynies: Reflections on Myths and Malice, London: Vintage. Smith, Joan (2013), The Public Woman, London: The Westbourne Press. Stokes, Jane (2003), How to Do Media and Cultural Studies, London: Sage. Whelehan, Imelda (2005), The Feminist Bestseller: From Sex and the Single Girl to Sex and the City, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Williamson, Judith (1978), Decoding Advertisements, London: Marion Boyars.

14. Intersectional reflexivity: using intersectional reflexivity as a means to strengthen critical autoethnography Mayra Ruiz Castro

INTRODUCTION The aim of this chapter is to introduce intersectional reflexivity as a means to strengthen critical autoethnography, illuminate the researcher’s intersecting identities, and investigate how these identities attach privilege and disadvantage to the researcher’s lived experience in specific contexts. As a ‘dark-skinned’ (morena) professional woman in Mexico and a foreign woman of colour working as an academic in the UK, I have had to navigate the cultural, social and organisational structures that shape how I experience the intersection of two salient categories of difference, gender and race, in different contexts. By using critical autoethnography, the stories and experiences of those, like myself, who are underrepresented, silenced or ignored, can be investigated, documented, analysed and heard. In this chapter, I refer to gender as the social and cultural construction of a supposed binary of male and female. I understand race as the historical, social and cultural differentiation of people on the basis of both visible physical characteristics, including skin colour, hair colour and facial features (Loury, 2009) and invisible cues, such as language and accent (Alim et al., 2016). Gender is understood as racialised and therefore experienced individually. In the first section, I introduce autoethnography as a research method that utilises data about the self and its context, detailing its opportunities for gender, management and organisation research. I then propose that, as a reflexive, critical and experiential research method, autoethnography can particularly benefit from engaging in intersectional reflexivity. The second section expands on the idea of intersectional reflexivity and provides some guidelines for its use in autoethnography. I also present short autoethnographic accounts as illustrations of how intersectional reflexivity has helped me reflect on, question, critique and act upon the ways in which my intersecting identities can affect and are affected by research activity, including the power structures within which it takes place. In the third section, I discuss the ethical implications and limitations of autoethnography and intersectional reflexivity. Finally, I present some concluding remarks and suggest further uses of intersectional reflexivity.

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AUTOETHNOGRAPHY Autoethnography is both a qualitative research method and a genre of writing (Foster et al., 2006; Haynes, 2018). It brings together the intentions of ethnography (looking at the world outside one’s own) and autobiography (looking inward and creating a story of one’s self) (Schwandt, 2001). Autoethnography ‘begins with the self’ (Glesne, 2006, p. 199), displaying multiple layers of consciousness, thoughts, feelings and beliefs that connect the self to the broader context (Ellis, 1997; Ellis & Bochner, 2000). The intention of autoethnography is not to be ‘objective’ or ensure ‘validity’ (Ciuk et al., 2018). Rather, it uses the researchers’ familiarity – the intimate self-knowledge that researchers have about their own experiences (Davies, 2012) – to extend our understanding of a particular social issue (Foster et al., 2006) and ‘to reveal and revise the world’ (Holman Jones, 2005, p. 767). In autoethnography, researchers act as initiators, subjects and objects of their self-exploration (Chang & Bilgen, 2020). The primary data is their own personal experience (Chang, 2016). Data collection is done through personal biographies and essays, autobiographical accounts, narratives, reflections, tales, short stories, memoires, vignettes, journals and other forms of fragmented writing. These are written over time, expanded and revised for greater identification, clarity and depth. Autoethnography can present an argument and serve as an empirical basis to research (Taber, 2010), but it can also be messy, visceral, brutal and non-concluding (O’Shea, 2018, 2020). While autoethnography has long been used in anthropology, sociology, communication and cultural studies (e.g. Anderson, 2006; Ellis, 2007; Reed‐Danahay, 2009), it is still relatively innovative in management and organisation studies (some recent examples include Callahan & Elliott, 2020; Ford & Harding, 2008; Haynes, 2013; Huopalainen & Satama, 2020; Johansson & Jones, 2019; Long et al., 2019; O’Shea, 2018, 2020; Pechenkina & Liu, 2018; Porschitz & Siler, 2017; Prasad, 2019). Yet, autoethnography ‘offers another lens through which to better understand organisation and management’ and allows researchers in these fields to ‘tell stories otherwise silenced’ (Doloriert & Sambrook, 2012, p. 83). Autoethnography thus allows researchers to connect their everyday experiences in organisational life, whether experienced as mundane or complex, with a wider cultural, social, political and organisational context. Doloriert and Sambrook (2012) identified three streams of autoethnography in organisation research: (i) the exploration of the researchers’ experience while engaging with an external organisation (e.g. while conducting fieldwork or collecting data); (ii) the exploration of the culture of self, work and relationships within researchers’ current Higher Education (HE) organisations; (iii) the interpretation of past critical moments within the researchers’ career trajectories outside HE (such as careers in the private sector). These three streams might overlap in autoethnographic research, such as when gender, organisation and management scholars interpret their academic careers or research processes and past work experiences simultaneously (e.g. Haynes, 2011, 2013; Learmonth & Humphreys, 2012).

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Autoethnographic research in gender, management and organisations can explore a wide range of topics, including identity and identity work, bodies in management, organisations and education, careers successes and failures, job roles, organisational life and culture, interpersonal relations, employment relations, and work and family issues (Boyle & Parry, 2007; Humphreys & Learmonth, 2012; Reed‐Danahay, 2001). A more critical form of autoethnography in organisations and organisational life involves the exploration of discrimination, oppression, marginalisation, white supremacy, sexual harassment, bullying, violence and organising in the workplace, which have long been treated as ‘taboo topics’ (Boyle & Parry, 2007), especially within business schools. However, in the light of the existing gender wage gap and collective movements (e.g. Black Lives Matter, Building the Anti-Racist Classroom) these issues can no longer be ignored. Critical autoethnography can help answer to calls for individual and collective action aimed at dismantling racialised (and heterosexual) power structures within academia (Dar et al., 2020). Since critical research into organisations can be perceived as a threat to organisational leaders and powerful groups, autoethnography allows researchers to ethically critique organisational life and culture by analysing the self in alignment with the researchers’ own ontological, epistemological and theoretical grounding (Taber, 2010). For example, when denied access to military personnel, having previously requested permission to carry out qualitative interviews, Taber realised that by researching others, she was ‘finding a way to hide from [her] own experiences’ (Taber, 2010, p. 8). She chose instead to use her own experience as an ex-military employee to study gender and militarism. She concluded that ‘the most respectful and rigorous way for [her] to proceed was to explicate how [her] own life was interrelated with military institutional ruling relations’ (Taber, 2010, p. 8). Turning to the self is, in some instances, the most valuable and desirable research method.

AUTOETHNOGRAPHY AND INTERSECTIONAL REFLEXIVITY Autoethnographic narratives or stories are analysed and interpreted to achieve understanding of organisations, culture and society through the self (Boylorn & Orbe, 2014). This process is assisted by reflection and reflexivity (Chang & Bilgen, 2020). Reflection encourages researchers to use memories and recollections to construct stories as close to the experience as they can remember it (Ellis & Bochner, 2000), including who said and did what, how, when, where, and why (Bolton, 2010). Reflexivity urges researchers to question or interrogate, not only the truth claims of others or specific situations, but also the truth claims we make about ourselves (Cunliffe, 2003). Reflexivity and intersectionality are at the heart of feminist thought and methodology. They are intrinsically related and have high utility value in autoethnography. Intersectionality is recognised as central to the study and understanding of the lives of individuals as unique and multidimensional, shaped by social inequality, oppres-

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sion and discrimination (Crenshaw, 1989). The development of intersectionality as a concept can be considered ‘as a reflexive move’ (Carstensen-Egwuom, 2014, p. 267), which rejected the neutralisation and generalisation of the experience and knowledge of black women (Harding, 1991) and encouraged researchers to use their own subjectivity, positioning and perspectives in interpretative research (Collins, 2002). There are two key considerations of intersectional inquiry. The first consideration is its focus on the interaction between categories of difference (e.g. gender, race/ethnicity, social class, age, sexuality, disability, nationality, parental status) instead of paying exclusive attention to the categories themselves (Rodriguez, 2018). The second consideration is the identification of difference and the unequal outcomes of power structures and social locations in everyday life, as determined by an individual’s intersecting identities. The idea of intersectional reflexivity was developed to encourage scholars to precisely acknowledge and critique their own intersecting identities, and the privilege and disadvantage they represent in specific contexts (Rodriguez & Ruiz Castro, 2014). Scholars can integrate intersectional reflexivity into autoethnography as a developmental tool to achieve four key aims: (1) to explore, express and interpret their intersecting identities and how these shape interpersonal relationships, (2) to explore and question their own lived experience in specific sociocultural contexts and structures of power, (3) to reflect upon and critique their own research activity in connection with their intersecting identities and, (4) to critique their environment and explore how their intersecting identities influence specific phenomena and settings: [H]ow we – seemingly unwittingly – are involved in creating social or professional structures counter to our own values (destructive of diversity, and institutionalising power imbalance for example). It is becoming aware of the limits of our knowledge, of how our own behaviour plays into organisational practices and why such practices might marginalise groups or exclude individuals. (Bolton, 2010, p. 14)

An intersectional reflexive treatment of autoethnography as a method would require researchers to situate and immerse the self within the sociocultural context of a location, culture, organisation or group, in which research is conducted or in which researchers are embedded. It would also require scholars to link personal identity narratives with the existing power structures (Collins, 2015; Holvino, 2010). In addition, it would require researchers to acknowledge their position of privilege and marginalisation in specific contexts (Boylorn & Orbe, 2014) and its influence on how they conduct research, work, organise and develop. These insights can only be achieved through ‘reflexivities of discomfort’ (Pillow, 2003, p. 188), which encourages autoethnographers to transcend self-indulgent storytelling and explore the unfamiliar and uncomfortable as practices of ‘confounding disruptions’ (Taber, 2010, p. 192). These disruptions impact scholars’ actions, i.e. how they relate to, include, value and support others, or challenge discriminatory practices within their own HE institutions or workplaces. Autoethnography that is supported by intersectional reflexivity, like

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intersectional research and methodology, can be emancipatory ‘for the lives, experiences, and circumstances of participants and researchers’ (Rodriguez, 2018, p. 446). Intersectional reflexivity can be used in the different streams of autoethnography in management and organisation research identified by Doloriert and Sambrook (2012). Those scholars exploring the self in relation to the research process or activities, involving methodological or analytical reflexivity (e.g. Anderson, 2006; Johnson & Duberley, 2003), are encouraged to acknowledge that their research ideas, analysis and interpretations derive from their personal experience and own intersecting identities. This includes the expectations and reward systems imposed by their institutions and their own positioning within the broader research system. Researchers can consciously become more aware of ‘power and class differentials between themselves and participants’, by exploring interviews or other research methods ‘as a microcosm of the wider social world where privileged and oppressed meet’ (Harding, 2018, p. 145). Oftentimes this reflexivity is conducted from the position of privilege occupied by researchers (e.g. as ‘experts’ or ‘evaluators’), creating ‘an unconscious conviction of being in control of the Other’ (Josselson, 1996, p. 65). However, the intersecting identities and lived experience of some researchers do not always locate them in an advantaged position in relation to participants. They might instead share the experience of study participants (Berger, 2015), thus becoming the ‘other’ researcher researching the ‘other’. Integrating intersectional reflexivity into autoethnography that explores the self in relation to the research process requires questioning this assumed privileged position of the researcher within the researcher– participant configuration. Intersectional reflexivity in autoethnography which focuses on scholars’ experiences in their current or past employing organisations can be used to explore scholars’ intersecting identities. It can help to unpack the challenges, responses and experiences associated with navigating their socially stigmatised or privileged identities. This is achieved by providing description and analysis of empirical data that can increase our understanding of diverse ways of being and living (Boylorn & Orbe, 2014). An intersectional reflexive approach to autoethnography can adopt and contribute to feminist, postfeminist, postcolonial, gender, queer, Marxist or post-Marxist perspectives. It can be used to explore and bring new understandings of organisational life and ‘new or neglected phenomena into the focus of existing organization theory’ (Linstead et al., 2014, p. 180). Intersectional reflexivity can be used by researchers from underrepresented groups as a developmental tool to find greater value in their experiences, knowledge and contributions, and to make these visible. It can also be used by researchers in a more privileged position to explore their advantage. For example, Learmonth and Humphreys used autoethnography based on their academic lives as middle-class, male and ‘full’ professors at research-intensive universities to develop knowledge in the area of identity work in organisations. Although they

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had left their previous jobs in the private sector in search of more meaningful jobs, they soon found themselves playing the academic ‘career game’. The authors rightly argue that ‘intimate stories of the academic self, must be subjected to critique and analysis’ (Learmonth & Humphreys, 2012, pp. 111–12). However, engaging in intersectional reflexivity would have strengthened their autoethnographic accounts by enabling them to critique how ‘the game’ they play, characterised by ‘competitive and manipulative masculinity’ (2012, p. 101), rewards and excludes specific groups of academics, and how their advantaged position, determined by their racialised gender (white male) as well as class, has allowed them to succeed at the ‘career game’.

APPLYING INTERSECTIONAL REFLEXIVITY While methodological and critical autoethnography make important contributions to management and organisation studies (Doloriert & Sambrook, 2012; Johnson & Duberley, 2003), ‘how’ such autoethnographic work can be conducted is less clear. In the following section, I illustrate the use of intersectional reflexivity through three autoethnographic accounts, written in the past and more recently, in order to contribute to this gap and strengthen critical autoethnography in management and organisations. These accounts are based on my experience of conducting research with professionals in Mexico, and of being a minority group academic in the UK. For some of the research projects to which I refer below, I had employed methodological reflexivity to acknowledge how my positioning affected how I designed, conducted, interpreted and presented my research. This reflexivity was expanded upon by exercising intersectional reflexivity to explore disadvantage and empowerment in organisations through examining my own experiences. First, I reveal my intersecting identities and reflect on how these have shaped my self-perception and lived experience. I then describe and analyse some of the emancipatory relationships and experiences I have encountered in my engagement with research on gender, race and class in organisations as a senior lecturer and research advisor. Boxes 14.1 and 14.2 include guideline questions that I used to practice intersectional reflexivity, and which gender, management and organisation autoethnographers can also use for their own self-exploration.

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BOX 14.1 A GUIDE TO INTERSECTIONAL REFLEXIVITY IN AUTOETHNOGRAPHY: THE RESEARCH PROCESS Autoethnography focused on the research process and the relationship between researchers and research participants. • Who am I? • How do I see myself? What identities do I consider more salient? • How am I constructing my own identity? How are others constructing my identity? (Cassell, 2005) • Who am I when I consider multiple and intersecting identities? (Jones et al., 2012, p. 703) • How do I experience my identity at the intersections? (Jones et al., 2012) • What are the sociocultural contexts and structures of power and privilege [and disadvantage] that influence and shape [my] identity? (Jones et al., 2012, p. 703) • What was my positioning at the time I conducted research? • What was my view of the world? What was my relation to the wider sociocultural context? • What brought me to this line of enquiry and helped me craft my research questions? (Taber, 2010) • How do I know the research field/context? • Who do I conduct research with and collaborate with? • What identities, perspectives and experiences do I share, or not, with research participants? • How does who I am, who I have been, who I think I am, and how I feel affect data collection and analysis? (Pillow, 2003: 176) • What aspects of my intersecting identities am I hiding? To what end? • Who and what topics do I value or favour through my research project? • Who and what topics do I exclude from my research project? • How do my self-perception and view of the world change as a result of the research I have conducted? What new research questions and theoretical groundings does it make me consider and explore? • What do I learn about myself? • How do I want to use or materialise the new insights that originate from this research project? • What actions do I take or what new practices do I adopt as a result of these new insights?

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BOX 14.2 A GUIDE TO INTERSECTIONAL REFLEXIVITY IN AUTOETHNOGRAPHY: ORGANISATIONAL LIFE Autoethnography focused on organisational life and conducted within our current or past HE institutions/workplaces. • Who am I? • How do I see myself? What identities do I consider more salient? • How am I constructing my own identity? How are others constructing my identity? (Cassell, 2005) • Who am I when I consider multiple and intersecting identities (Jones et al., 2012, p. 703) • How do I experience my identity at the intersections? (Jones et al., 2012) • What are the sociocultural contexts and structures of power and privilege [and disadvantage] that influence and shape [my] identity? (Jones et al., 2012, p. 703) • Who am I within my HE institution or workplace? • How do I construct relationships with others? • Which of my identities and abilities have I been neglecting? • What challenges or problems am I facing? How do I internalise them or solve them? (Dunbar-Hall, 2009) • What are my goals and aspirations? What do I want my legacy to be? How could my research help towards this end? • What new understanding of myself do I develop? How do I become a different person? How do I recognise myself? • How does what I experience benefit my professional responsibilities and opportunities? (Dunbar-Hall, 2009) • How do I want to use or materialise the new insights that originate from this experience or situation? • What actions do I take or what new practices do I adopt as a result of these new insights?

AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC ACCOUNTS Account 1: Acknowledging my Silent Identities I describe myself as a Mexican woman, born to parents who at times struggled to keep what would be considered middle-class living standards in Mexico City. I am morena, or dark-skinned, and I was always very self-conscious of that fact. In the Mexican context, as in many other countries, whiteness is glorified. Research has linked dark skin colour to poverty, low education and limited employment oppor-

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tunities (Villarreal, 2010). I grew up hearing demeaning comments and jokes about dark, poor and uneducated Mexicans. Although I had access to relatively good education and held professional jobs, I simply felt less attractive, less valued, less ‘taken seriously’ because of my skin colour and phenotype (more indigenous rather than European-looking). After graduating from a Mexican university, I obtained a scholarship from the British Council to complete a masters’ programme in London. Once in London, I decided to stay in and pursue a doctoral degree, funded by the Mexican government. Although I always felt I belonged in London, I now understand that it was not a sense of belonging that I was experiencing, but a sense of invisibility and anonymity which created a false sense of freedom. I did not feel the insecurities or oppression I had experienced in Mexico. Instead, I was attending a world-leading university and ‘becoming’ an academic. However, the same identity insecurities, as a woman of colour, accompanied me during my search for academic jobs in Germany, the USA and the UK. This was worsened by my self-evaluation of having strongly accented English (and German while working in Germany). During much of my academic career outside of Mexico, I let my identity as an academic surpass the salient identities that had marked much of my life in Mexico. Upon reflection, I believe sweeping my salient identities under my ‘new’ identity as an academic allowed me to put myself in a ‘safer’ place (i.e. academia), a place falsely promising objectivity, meritocracy and inclusion. Account 2: Recognising Discrimination in my Home Country For my PhD project, I researched empowerment and gender inequality in an IT firm and a professional service firm, both based in Mexico City. My former employee status at these organisations facilitated access to potential interviewees and secondary data. Like many researchers, my choice of research topic and settings was a reflection of my own experience and view of the world: I had experienced violence and discrimination against women in Mexico, and was aware of discriminatory, exploitative and marginalising practices in some workplaces. I wanted to find explanations to my anecdotal observations and hoped to contribute towards alleviating these issues through my research. In the methodological chapter of my PhD thesis (Ruiz Castro, 2009), I discussed my standpoint and how my positioning might have influenced the research design and interpretation of data. This was methodological reflexivity. I acknowledged that the way I had experienced both organisations as my workplace could have influenced how I interpreted the data. After re-reading this material, however, I realised that I was also acknowledging how conducting my PhD project had helped me understand my past experiences as a dark-skinned employee in Mexico. Referring to the IT firm (SDC), I wrote: I regarded [the IT firm] as having a friendly working environment. I did not perceive hierarchical barriers to interact with people, and I felt welcome to express concerns and propose solutions. Furthermore, I felt trusted by supervisors when they assigned to me important responsibilities and almost tripled my salary in one single increase, especially

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considering that I had not concluded my undergraduate studies and was only 21 years old. My experience at SDC taught me the values of self-determination and open communication, which I have kept with myself to date. Overall, I remember my experience at SDC as life enriching. (Ruiz Castro, 2009)

My reference to the professional service firm was less positive: [The auditing firm] is a hierarchical organisation, and my experience there contrasted considerably [to the IT firm]. I was not used to an environment where staff do not get to interact with people in high-rank positions. I did not feel welcome to express what I was thinking and feeling. I simply felt I was there to do my job, and not to participate. (Ruiz Castro, 2009)

I recognised little about race and class issues in the above accounts; however, my data pointed clearly to the disadvantage women in the professional service firm experienced at the intersections of gender, class and racio-ethnicity. An article on intersectionality and career advancement processes (Ruiz Castro & Holvino, 2016), looked at the data from an intersectional perspective, exploring how the intersections of these categories of difference (re)produced inequality, showing how career trajectories, career advancement and work interactions were overdetermined by employees’ identities. Instead of collecting or consulting our data for pre-determined categories of class and race, we proposed to use the construct of ‘markers of inequality’ to capture the simultaneous construction of differences specifically in the Mexican sociocultural context. In our findings, we wrote: [T]wo female managers discussed how (male) partners demanded that they ask women staff to change the way they dressed, for example, from a simple jumper to ‘a more feminine suit’. Another male partner asked that a young woman’s employment be terminated because, given her appearance [dark-skinned], ‘she could not represent the firm properly’. (Ruiz Castro & Holvino, 2016, p. 339)

Analysing this type of interview data from an intersectional perspective was fascinating in a theoretical sense. At a personal level, learning about these situations stirred a range of emotions in me, from anger to sadness. In the methodological chapter of my PhD thesis, I wrote: [My] knowledge of both organisations was very much limited to Human Resources operations. While conducting this research, I actually learned of many other experiences that I had not realised before. Certainly, I also identified myself with some of the interviewees’ experiences … I … believe that the interviewing process had been [reflexive] for both [participants] and myself. (Ruiz Castro, 2009)

While the study showed how intersecting identities determine career opportunities to different groups of individuals in different degrees of privilege and disadvantage, it also revealed in the clearest, most brutal way how I might have been perceived and valued by others. This research on intersectionality in a professional service firm and more recent research that I have conducted on gender, race and class in

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multinational corporations in Mexico, suggest that the ‘markers of inequality’ I carry would expose me to discriminatory practices and prevent me from advancing to the higher hierarchical levels. Conducting this type of research and reflecting on it from my own intersecting identities has allowed me to gain a clearer understanding of my possibilities and limitations afforded by this particular sociocultural context. This understanding also influences my professional identity as a researcher, my academic practice, and my approach to teaching and researching, including integrating an intersectional and de-colonising perspective into the curriculum, and recognising that gender is not a unifying factor. Account 3: Becoming a Foreign Woman of Colour in the UK In 2018, I was invited by a group of black practitioners and activists to be a research advisor for a project aiming to explore the experiences of BAME women working and living in the UK. The people behind the project (to whom I shall refer as ‘Special Women’ hereafter) have transformed lives and fought to challenge and change the status quo with their heart, body and minds. Though fully committed to the project, I perceived my role merely as a research advisor. In meetings, I introduced myself as a ‘Senior Lecturer from the University of Roehampton’. My contributions to the discussion were mostly in relation to research design and relevant lines of enquiry. I talked about findings from past research and the publications that could potentially derive from this research project. I was so invested in my academic career and reputation as a researcher and research advisor that I had completely left out my salient identities. In a context where academics are increasingly measured on the basis of rapid publication, highly competitive research funding, and other ‘objective’ metrics, my main tool in navigating my academic life was through the creation of knowledge and tangible outcomes, rather than through aligning my research with my salient identities. As I continued advising the research team, I had the opportunity to learn from the experiences of BAME women in the UK, not only through the interviews and surveys that the research team had conducted, but also through ‘being’ who I was and being ‘seen’ for what I am. I started reconnecting with those salient identities, i.e. being a foreign woman of colour, which I had chosen to silence, or had consented to allow the system to subtly marginalise, stigmatise and silence. Among the gender and management/organisations research community in the UK, I am the ‘other’. This area is overwhelmingly dominated by white and native English-speaking women. Instead of making a huge effort to blend in and to manage impressions (those ethnic minority academics who do it on daily basis know how exhausting and demoralising this can be), the ‘Special Women’ team saw me in a way I am not usually seen in academia. They saw me not only as an ‘expert’ in the field, but also acknowledged and valued the strengths associated with me being a ‘different’ woman researcher. The project team organised an event, attended by more than 200 professional women, most of them BAME women, to present the project’s findings. I was invited not only as a member of the research advisory team, but also as a BAME woman. On the run up to the event, I received an email from the project team, inviting me to par-

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ticipate in a flash mob. They asked if I could say some lines in my native language, Spanish. I accepted the invitation with some hesitation (wasn’t I only a research advisor?). I then received the lines, which read: I am a different woman. My difference is my strength. I bring all that I am, to all that I am called to be, and do. This is my story, my voice, my truth.

Which I translated into Spanish as: Soy una mujer diferente. Mi diferencia es mi fuerza. Llevo comigo misma todo lo que soy, a todo lo que se me pide ser, y hacer. Esta es mi historia, mi voz y mi verdad.

The experience that has resulted from this research activity has been emancipatory and transformative. It has encouraged me to recognise the power and uniqueness of my own gender, race and nationality and how, at their intersection, they strengthen my role as a researcher and lecturer. This does not mean that I now ignore how those identities can put me at a disadvantage in different contexts, e.g. how ‘professional’ I am perceived by students in the classroom or how ‘valid’ my expertise as a researcher is perceived by more privileged colleagues. Nor does it mean that my identity as a gender and organisations scholar isn’t important to me. Rather, this means that I have found the strength to bring myself out of the ‘comfortable invisibility’ I was experiencing as a foreign woman of colour working as an academic in the UK. I have purposefully taken on roles within my own institution that allow me to use my voice and potentially influence processes (something I had previously avoided). I actively reach out to colleagues from ethnic minorities, to include, connect and collectively empower each other. I have found it easier to collaborate with white female scholars because I no longer undermine the strength of my identities before them. During that event, I listened attentively to the presentation of the project findings, which focused on the lived experiences of BAME women professionals – a picture of blatant discrimination and micro-aggressions, but also of resilience and strength. I remember that a white woman near me introduced herself. I responded, ‘I am Mayra … I am a Senior Lecturer at the University of Roehampton, but I’m here today as a woman of colour.’ I wanted the white woman to also ‘see’ me for what I am. I refused to hide my core identities or allow the white woman to ignore them. In that moment, I chose not to push race away. In the midst of having to meet institutional expectations of excellence and performance in academia and the resulting high workloads, I often let my researcher identity overtake my core identities. Once, during such a time, I decided to skip an event organised by the ‘Special Women’, but they would not allow me to disconnect. Their response was: ‘The voice of Latin American women is absent in this space, and you contribute to that, and so much more to where we are today and where we’re going … I won’t rest until you’re in the room, so will circle back to you shortly’. In the end, I attended the event.

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Ethical Considerations in Autoethnography and Intersectional Reflexivity Conventional ethnographic studies, in which the focus of the inquiry is on understanding a specific culture or setting, might be regulated and protected by procedural, conventional ethical frameworks (Doloriert & Sambrook, 2009). Within autoethnography, where the focus is on the researcher’s experiences, regulation is less tangible. There are, however, a number of ethical issues that need to be considered. These issues relate to the self and other parties revealed in autoethnographic accounts. In relation to the self, or ‘auto’ ethics (Doloriert & Sambrook, 2009), anonymity is one of the major issues. Within autoethnography, anonymisation of the researcher is not a feasible option as the identity of the researcher is revealed (Haynes, 2018). The level of exposure of the self in autoethnography makes it ‘the most dangerous fieldwork of all’ (Parry & Boyle, 2019, p. 695). It is, therefore, crucial that scholars are aware of their vulnerability and protect the self from any potential pain or distress (Doloriert & Sambrook, 2009; Haynes, 2011). This potential pain or distress is even more latent when using intersectional reflexivity as emphasis is put on revealing, questioning and critiquing the self and the power structures that hold it. Doloriert and Sambrook (2009) regard the issue of harm as being more closely associated with ‘Health and Safety at work’ rather than with ethics. Researchers need to decide whether they are ready to put themselves ‘out there’ and consider how autoethnography could affect them physically, psychologically and emotionally. My guess is that many gender, management and organisation scholars choose not to engage in autoethnography, especially when a reflection on their intersecting identities is involved, because of the pain that self-discovery can carry. There is also the risk of presenting our vulnerabilities to the institutional actors, who, through their power, privilege, ignorance and ‘unintended’ actions perpetuate marginalisation and discrimination in our institutions. In addition, revealing the autoethnographer's identity jeopardises the blind review and publication process (Doloriert & Sambrook, 2012). In relation to others, or relational ethics (Ellis, 2007), ethics lies in the recognition and valorisation of ‘mutual respect, dignity, and connectedness’ between researcher and researched, and with those work colleagues, students, managers, relatives or friends we talk about in our autoethnographic accounts (Doloriert & Sambrook, 2012; Ellis, 2007). Relational ethics calls us to recognise that when writing about others, autoethnographic accounts need to consider how others would feel about what they read. Consideration should be given to whether the identity of individuals, groups or organisations is being revealed, and whether revealing their identity is absolutely crucial or relevant to the analysis. As such, in the autoethnographic accounts that I presented above, I chose to pseudonymise organisations and people, focusing on reflexively writing and analysing my own experience. In addition, I approached the ‘Special Women’, whose words I used, to ask for their approval.

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CONCLUDING REMARKS In this chapter, I have introduced autoethnography as a valuable research method for gender, management and organisation research that allows the exploration, expression and interpretation of individual experiences and organisational life within academics’ own HE institutions and workplaces. I have also proposed the use of intersectional reflexivity (Rodriguez & Ruiz Castro, 2014) as a conscious, intentional and developmental tool in critical autoethnography. I provided some guideline questions, which can be used by scholars to acknowledge their lived experience as determined by their intersecting identities, and how that experience is shaped by power structures and systems of oppression and privilege. The autoethnographic accounts show how, by engaging in intersectional reflexivity as a dark-skinned woman in Mexico and a foreign woman of colour in academia in the UK, I have been able to reconnect with my core identities, find my place within my own institution, and attach a new meaning to my academic role. This approach can be adopted by other minority scholars. Equally, engaging in intersectional reflexivity has value for white, privileged scholars interested in consciously revealing power, control and inequality, and committed towards overturning and disabling unequal systems of power. A good starting point is to reflect on and acknowledge how they have benefitted from existing power structures and through the interaction (or lack of interaction) with those who they might construct as the more disadvantaged within the research process or HE institutions. I hope that this chapter has shown how scholars can consciously adopt an intersectional reflexive approach to critical autoethnography. The ‘key questions’ listed in Boxes 14.1 and 14.2 provide a frame for critical autoethnography through intersectional reflexivity. These questions can be expanded and modified to better fit individual experiences, determined by identities that I did not directly address, including sexuality or disability. Intersectional reflexivity can strengthen other reflexive research methods (e.g. action research) and other creative channels (e.g. blogs). It can also be conducted collaboratively by a group of autoethnographers with a shared line of inquiry (see Chang, 2013). Adopting intersectional reflexivity to conduct autoethnography enables researchers to critically acknowledge and embrace their intersecting identities. Treating themselves as subjects and objects of self-exploration in connection with the wider sociocultural and organisational context can result in the conscious transformation of individual and organisational practices.

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Berger, R. (2015), ‘Now I see it, now I don’t: researcher’s position and reflexivity in qualitative research’, Qualitative Research, 15 (2), 219–34. Bolton, G. (2010), Reflective Practice: Writing and Professional Development (3rd edn), London: SAGE Publications. Boyle, M. and K. Parry (2007), ‘Telling the whole story: the case for organizational autoethnography’, Culture and Organization, 13 (3), 185–90. Boylorn, R. and M. Orbe (eds) (2014), Critical Autoethnography, New York: Routledge. Callahan, J. L. and C. Elliott (2020), ‘Fantasy spaces and emotional derailment: reflections on failure in academic activism’, Organization, 27 (3), 506–14. Carstensen-Egwuom, I. (2014), ‘Connecting intersectionality and reflexivity: methodological approaches to social positionalities’, Erdkunde, 68 (4), 265–76. Cassell, C. (2005), ‘Creating the interviewer: identity work in the management research process’, Qualitative Research, 5 (2), 167–79. Chang, H. (2013), ‘Individual and collaborative autoethnography as method’, in S. Holman Jones, T. E. Adams and C. Ellis (eds), Handbook of Autoethnography, New York: Routledge, pp. 107–22. Chang, H. (2016), Autoethnography As Method, New York: Routledge. Chang, H. and W. Bilgen (2020), ‘Autoethnography in leadership studies: past, present, and future’, Journal of Autoethnography, 1 (1), 93–8. Ciuk, S., J. Koning and M. Kostera (2018), ‘Organizational ethnographies’, in C. Cassell, A. L. Cunliffe and G. Grandy (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Business and Management Research Methods, London: SAGE Publications, pp. 270–85. Collins, P. H. (2002), Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment, New York: Routledge. Collins, P. H. (2015), ‘Intersectionality’s definitional dilemmas’, Annual Review of Sociology, 41, 1–20. Crenshaw, K. (1989), ‘Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: a black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory and antiracist policies’, The University of Chicago Legal Forum, 1, 139–67. Cunliffe, A. L. (2003), ‘Reflexive inquiry in organizational research: questions and possibilities’, Human Relations, 56 (8), 983–1003. Dar, S., H. Liu, A. Martinez Dy and D. N. Brewis (2020), ‘The business school is racist: act up!’, Organization, online first, https://​journals​.sagepub​.com/​doi/​full/​10​.1177/​ 1350508420928521. Davies, C. A. (2012), Reflexive Ethnography: A Guide to Researching Selves and Others, New York: Routledge. Doloriert, C. and S. Sambrook (2009), ‘Ethical confessions of the “I” of autoethnography: the student’s dilemma’, Qualitative Research in Organizations and Management: An International Journal, 4 (1), 27–45. Doloriert, C. and S. Sambrook (2012), ‘Organisational autoethnography’, Journal of Organizational Ethnography, 1 (1), 83–95. Dunbar-Hall, P. (2009), ‘Music autoethnographies: making autoethnography sing/making music personal’, in B. Bartleet and C. Ellis (eds), Music Autoethnographies, Brisbane: Australian Academic Press, pp. 153–66. Ellis, C. (1997), ‘Evocative autoethnography’, in W. G. Tierney and Y. S. Lincoln (eds), Representation and the Text, New York: State University of New York Press, pp. 116–39. Ellis, C. (2007), ‘Telling secrets, revealing lives: relational ethics in research with intimate others’, Qualitative Inquiry, 13 (1), 3–29. Ellis, C. and A. P. Bochner (2000), ‘Autoethnography, personal narrative, reflexivity: researcher as subject’, in N. K. Denzin and Y. S. Lincoln (eds), Handbook of Qualitative Research, Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, pp. 733–68.

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Ford, J. and N. Harding (2008), ‘Fear and loathing in Harrogate, or a study of a conference’, Organization, 15 (2), 233–50. Foster, K., M. McAllister and L. O’Brien (2006), ‘Extending the boundaries: autoethnography as an emergent method in mental health nursing research’, International Journal of Mental Health Nursing, 15 (1), 44–53. Glesne, C. (2006), Becoming Qualitative Researchers: An Introduction, Boston, MA: Pearson. Harding, N. (2018), ‘Feminist methodologies’, in C. Cassell, A. L. Cunliffe and G. Grandy (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Business and Management Research Methods, London: SAGE Publications, pp. 138–52. Harding, S. (1991), Whose Science? Whose knowledge?: Thinking From Women’s Lives, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Haynes, K. (2011), ‘Tensions in (re)presenting the self in reflexive autoethnographical research’, Qualitative Research in Organizations and Management: An International Journal, 6 (2), 134–49. Haynes, K. (2013), ‘Sexuality and sexual symbolism as processes of gendered identity formation: an autoethnography of an accounting firm’, Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal, 26 (3), 374–98. Haynes, K. (2018), ‘Autoethnography’, in C. Cassell, A. L. Cunliffe and G. Grandy (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Business and Management Research Methods, London: SAGE Publications, pp. 17–31. Holman Jones, S. (2005), ‘Autoethnography: making the personal political’, in N. K. Denzin and Y. S. Lincoln (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Research (3rd edn), Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, pp. 763–91. Holvino, E. (2010), ‘“I think it’s a cultural thing and a woman thing”: cultural scripts in Latinas’ careers’, CGO Insights, 30, 1–6. Humphreys, M. and M. Learmonth (2012), ‘Autoethnography in organizational research: two tales of two cities’, in G. Symon and C. Cassell (eds), Qualitative Organizational Research: Core Methods and Current Challenges, London: SAGE Publications, pp. 314–27. Huopalainen, A. and S. Satama (2020), ‘“Writing” aesth-ethics on the child’s body: developing maternal subjectivities through clothing our children’, Gender, Work & Organization, 27 (1), 98–116. Johansson, M. and S. Jones (2019), ‘Interlopers in class: a duoethnography of working‐class women academics’, Gender, Work & Organization, 26 (11), 1527–45. Johnson, P. and J. Duberley (2003), ‘Reflexivity in management research’, Journal of Management Studies, 40 (5), 1279–303. Jones, S. R., Y. C. Kim and K. C. Skendall (2012), ‘(Re‑)framing authenticity: considering multiple social identities using autoethnographic and intersectional approaches’, The Journal of Higher Education, 83 (5), 698–724. Josselson, R. (1996), ‘On writing other people’s lives: self-analytic reflections of a narrative researcher’, in R. Josselson (ed.), Ethics and Process in the Narrative Study of Lives, Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, pp. 60–71. Learmonth, M. and M. Humphreys (2012), ‘Autoethnography and academic identity: glimpsing business school doppelgängers’, Organization, 19 (1), 99–117. Linstead, S., G. Maréchal and R. W. Griffin (2014), ‘Theorizing and researching the dark side of organization’, Organization Studies, 35 (2), 165–88. Long, Z., J. R. Linabary, P. M. Buzzanell, A. Mouton and R. L. Rao (2019), ‘Enacting everyday feminist collaborations: reflexive becoming, proactive improvisation and co‐learning partnerships’, Gender, Work & Organization, 27 (4), 487–506. Loury, G. C. (2009), The Anatomy of Racial Inequality, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. O’Shea, S. C. (2018), ‘This girl’s life: an autoethnography’, Organization, 25 (1), 3–20. O’Shea, S. C. (2020), ‘Isolation’, Gender, Work & Organization, 27 (5), 717–22.

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Parry, K. and M. Boyle (2009), ‘Organizational autoethnography’, in D. Buchanan and A. Bryman (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Organisational Research Methods, London: SAGE Publications, pp. 690–702. Pechenkina, E. and H. Liu (2018), ‘Instruments of white supremacy: people of colour resisting white domination in higher education’, Whiteness and Education, 3 (1), 1–14. Pillow, W. (2003), ‘Confession, catharsis, or cure? Rethinking the uses of reflexivity as methodological power in qualitative research’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 16 (2), 175–96. Porschitz, E. T. and E. A. Siler (2017), ‘Miscarriage in the workplace: an authoethnography’, Gender, Work & Organization, 24 (6), 565–78. Prasad, A. (2019), Autoethnography and Organization Research: Reflections from Fieldwork in Palestine, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Reed-Danahay, D. (2001), ‘Autobiography, intimacy and ethnography’, in P. Atkinson, A. Coffey, S. Delamont, J. Lofland and L. Lofland (eds), Handbook of Ethnography, London: SAGE Publications, pp. 407–25. Reed-Danahay, D. (2009), ‘Anthropologists, education, and autoethnography’, Reviews in Anthropology, 38 (1), 28–47. Rodriguez, J. K. (2018), ‘Intersectionality and qualitative research’, in C. Cassell, A. L. Cunliffe and G. Grandy (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Business and Management Research Methods: History and Traditions, London: SAGE Publications, pp. 429–61. Rodriguez, J. K. and M. Ruiz Castro (2014), ‘Intersectional reflexivity in organizational research’, paper presented at the Gender, Work & Organization 8th Biennial International Interdisciplinary Conference, Keele University, UK, 25 June. Ruiz Castro, M. (2009), ‘Empowerment and gender in the workplace: experiences in accounting and IT firms in Mexico’, PhD thesis, University College London, UK. Ruiz Castro, M. and E. Holvino (2016), ‘Applying intersectionality in organizations: inequality markers, cultural scripts and advancement practices in a professional service firm’, Gender, Work and Organization, 23 (3), 328–47. Schwandt, T. A. (2001), Dictionary of Qualitative Inquiry, Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Taber, N. (2010), ‘Institutional ethnography, autoethnography, and narrative: an argument for incorporating multiple methodologies’, Qualitative Research, 10 (1), 5–25. Villarreal, A. (2010), ‘Stratification by skin color in contemporary Mexico’, American Sociological Review, 75 (5), 652–78.

PART IV METHODOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENTS

15. Visual research as a method of inquiry for gender and organizations Alexia Panayiotou

This chapter discusses the use of visual methods in gender research. Although ‘seeing comes before words’ as Berger (1972, p. 7) famously noted, the visual as a way of exploring and understanding gender in organizational research has, until relatively recently, taken a backseat to linguistic and verbal enquiries. Although other disciplines, from psychology to film studies, have provided ample evidence that visual thinking shapes our understandings and mental models of reality, as well as guides our choices and decisions (Carroll, 1996), organization studies has been relatively slow in accepting the status of the visual as knowledge. Yet, with several organizational researchers advocating for a careful examination of the ‘hegemonic effects of the visual’ (Meyer et al., 2013, p. 515), in the last few years we have seen not only a significant increase in the number of scholarly articles showcasing visual research methods, but also books (e.g. Bell et al., 2014), special issues of journals (e.g. Qualitative Research in Organizations and Management), and workshops, conferences and research networks (e.g. inVisio) (for a summary, see Bell and Davison, 2013). Researchers have noted, therefore, a ‘visual turn’ in organization studies (Bell et al., 2014) which could address what Strangleman (2004) aptly called a ‘blind spot’ in our field. Studying as well as using the visual to understand gender, gendering and gendered processes in management and organizations is even more important in today’s ‘visually rich’ world where meaning is cognitively and aesthetically produced and re-produced through social media, websites, ads, films, cartoons, logos and pictures. As Bell and Davison (2013) write, we are faced with a proliferation of visual practices and artefacts along with an increase in the complexity of visual technologies; as such, societies now seem to be shaped more by images than written words. Visuality shapes both the cultural meanings and our understanding of gender in complex ways. Gender is treated here as ‘a constitutive element of social relationships based on perceived differences between the sexes … and a primary way of signifying relationships of power’ (Scott, 1986, p. 1067). A focus on gender-ing highlights that gender is not only something we are but something we do (Martin, 2003). In this light, organizations are considered to be gendered processes (Acker, 1990) as construction of divisions occurs along lines of gender—be they labour, behaviours, space or power. Of particular importance in this chapter is ‘the construction of symbols and images that explain, express, reinforce or sometimes oppose those divisions’ (p. 145), processes which also ‘help to produce gendered components of individual identity … and presentation of self as a gendered member of an organization’ (p. 146). 232

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Visuality and gender are inextricably linked. Ever since feminist theorists exposed and problematized ‘the male gaze’ (Mulvey, 1975), we have understood that the visual is inherently political: what do we see or not see? and, who sees what, in whom, and how? The purpose of this chapter is therefore twofold: (1) to explain the importance of incorporating the visual in our research, thereby shedding light on the aforementioned questions; (2) to present the richness of visual research methods now employed, especially as these are used (or could potentially be used) in the study of gender, organizations and management. Specific examples are discussed, both in regard to the use of existing visual data to study gender and management (e.g. photographs, film, architecture) but also how visual data can be generated for the study of gender and management (e.g. visual ethnography, photography, drawing methods). This chapter highlights, then, not only a variety of visual methodologies and methods, but also emphasizes how such methods can lead to a deeper understanding of gender and gendering in organizations. Before continuing, I note that the chapter is not meant to be exhaustive of work on visuality. I focus mainly on visual artefacts as used by Warren (2009) and concentrate on the fact that studying and/or producing these artefacts offers ‘alternative possibilities for generating knowledge’ (Bell et al., 2014, p. 6) about gender and organizations. Furthermore, I do not just present works that have gender at their core. The vast majority do, but I also discuss a few that in employing visual research methods could be beneficial to those of us who do place gender at the centre of our research agenda. I now turn to a brief discussion on why visuality and gender should be included in any feminist inquiry.

THE VISUAL IS POLITICAL The visual as a form of knowledge and understanding of and in organizations has, until relatively recently, taken a backseat to linguistic enquiries. Even though we are constantly experiencing and interpreting the world through visual filters, this type of knowledge is rarely regarded as ‘evidence’ and is often epistemologically questioned (Panayiotou, 2019). Historically, it has been devalued, associated with the feminine, the corporeal and the mundane and in contrast to knowledge elevated by the rationalist paradigm and produced in academic settings. Of course, this polemic on valuing different forms of knowledge is not new in organization studies, as it goes as far back as Weber’s critique on the ‘dehumanizing rationality’ of bureaucracies (Strati, 2007) and has been echoed by critical feminist educators later on (e.g. Swan, 2005). It can be argued, therefore, that merely placing the visual centre stage in our research agendas is, in itself, a radical feminist act. One question to ask is, what do we see in regard to gender in organizations and what do we not see or choose not to see? Can we use vision itself—or draw upon visual methods—to shed light on our organizational and managerial ‘blind spots’? When Schyns et al. (2012), for example, used participant-generated drawings to illustrate students’ and executives’ implicitly held assumptions about leaders, they

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found that the ‘Think-Manager-Think-Male’ phenomenon is still prevalent as most drawings produced precluded women. The authors argue that drawings enabled them to access ‘the implicit aspect of leadership images’, which in turn helped them to draw attention to the gendered notion of leaders and ‘to make this implicit aspect explicit’ (p. 19). Similarly, by analysing CEO-produced corporate videos, Mccabe and Knights (2016) found that leadership discourses are still replete with masculine norms, images and metaphors, understood as ‘hidden aspects of gender’. The videos were inundated with military, sport and war images and ‘the theme of masculinity leapt out … (in how) leadership was represented’ (p. 183). Videos in this case provided a ‘unique artefact for studying the culture of the organization’ (p. 184) as images gave ‘a more subtle understanding of the contextual relationships within the social setting under investigation’ (Kunter and Bell, 2006, p. 179). These initial examples show how paying attention to the visual can reveal gendered practices in organizations that would often go unnoticed. Another important question addressed by visual methods in organizational research is, who sees what, in whom, and how? Manning’s (2018) ethnography of indigenous Mayan women working in weaving groups in remote Guatemalan communities is an excellent example of how visual methods can bring these questions to the foreground. Being a decolonial feminist ethnographer, she says, mandated that she work through the ethical implications of (mis)representation. What power did her position as a white, middle-class, educated, European, heterosexual researcher give her? What was she seeing and why was she seeing it? Consciously deciding not to write about the ‘Other’ women but with the women she was researching, Manning notes that her photographs detailing the women’s work enabled her to ask these difficult questions and to address the issue of representation. Ultimately, visual methods allow researchers to extend our ways of knowing, to incorporate knowledge that may not be accessible verbally (Pink, 2004) or, perhaps more importantly, to study what Toraldo, Islam and Mangia (2018, p. 438) call ‘elusive knowledges’, ‘tacit, aesthetic and embodied aspects of organizational life that are difficult to articulate in traditional methodological paradigms’. These ‘elusive knowledges’ are especially important when discussing gender and gendering in the workplace, phenomena and practices that go unnoticed as they are assumed to be ‘natural’. I now turn to presenting the richness of visual research methods. I focus largely on empirically driven methods (Bell and Davison, 2013) and showcase mainly two types of studies: those which use existing visual data and those in which the data is generated, either by the researcher or the participants.

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CONDUCTING VISUAL RESEARCH Using Existing Visual Data to Analyse Gender Pre-existing visual material can be two-dimensional, such as pictures (photographs, paintings, cartoons, maps, diagrams) and moving images (film, television and video), which may also be combined in multimodal spaces (web pages), and three-dimensional, either ‘lived’ (e.g. architecture), or ‘living’ (e.g. dress and other aspects of the body) (Bell and Davison, 2013). Research using two-dimensional visual material Studies employing two-dimensional visual material are perhaps the most common type of research using visual methods on gender and organizations. An organizational artefact frequently used to explore representations of gender is corporate annual reports (CARs). These studies show consistently similar results over the decades, regardless of the type of methodology used. For example, Anderson and Imperia, as far back as 1992, analysed the annual reports of 25 airline firms over a six-year-period to find latent messages of sex-role stereotyping: women were consistently portrayed in subservient, less-serious roles than men. Similarly, Benschop and Meihuizen (2002), using the annual reports of 30 corporations to study how the representations of gender in their texts, statistics and images contributed to the gendering of organizations, argued that the ‘masculine connotation of financial reports thwarts a more diverse representation of gender in organizations’ (p. 611). Both studies used quantitative pictorial analysis and content analysis of the photos used. In addition, Benschop and Meihuizen (2002) included weighted logit regression results to show that women were not only grossly under-represented, but when they were featured, their role, location and dress differed significantly from men. The choice of photograph locations, for example, implicitly cast women as ‘outsiders’, ‘reduced to their attractive or even sexy bodies, devoid of power of speech or the power of the gaze’ (p. 632). Comparable findings were reported by Duff (2010) who investigated representations of gender and race in 19 Big Four UK accounting firms’ published annual reviews, as well as Kuasirikun (2011) who used pictorial analysis of CARs to reveal the hidden attitudes towards women in the Thai workplace despite apparent successes in gender equality. Another study of CARs by Bujaki and McConomy (2010) explored the gendered nature of interactions in mixed sex photographs. Their quantitative content analysis of 106 photographs revealed, unsurprisingly, the under-representation of women as well as a common composition—women as largely passive, smiling subjects, few of whom are talking or in positions of authority. Returning to the questions posed above—what do we see and what do we not see?—the authors point out that ‘the way women are depicted in CAR photographs represents the way women in business are perceived and valued at a societal level’ (p. 120). Ubiquitously, the producers/authors of CARs (who sees what, in whom, and how?) seem to present a certain view of gender and gender relations that becomes normal-

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ized, unquestioned and, according to Benschop and Meihuizen (2002), potentially dangerous in its wide-reaching effects on women’s careers. It is in this light that some researchers suggest that photographs in CARs be part of a firm’s disclosure literature and subject to scrutiny as they reveal much about the company, its values and culture; in other words, it is important to examine who chooses the specific photos and why. Brochures have also been used as a site of inquiry for the representation of gender in organizations. Sirakaya and Sonmez (2000), for example, examined pictorial displays in state tourism promotional materials. Using Goffman’s (1979) framework, the authors investigated latent (i.e. facial expressions, gestures) and manifested (i.e. roles, activities) characteristics delineating relationships between men and women and the roles and meanings associated with these depictions. Unsurprisingly, the results showed that women were depicted in subordinate, submissive and dependent roles disproportionately more often than men. The seminal work of Goffman (1979) has influenced many studies on gender depictions in advertising, an area too vast to cover here. Examples of application include the work of Bell and Millic (2002) who combine content analysis with semiotic analysis to a representative sample of 827 advertisements from Australian magazines. The authors confirmed most of Goffman’s (1979) findings, even 23 years later. Of additional interest in this study is the application of Kress and van Leeuwen’s (2006) system of analysis which ‘concentrates on the grammar of visual design’. As Kress and van Leeuwen write (2006, p. 1), their visual semiotic method pays attention to ‘the way in which (various visual) elements (such as symbols, colors and photographs) are combined into meaningful wholes’. Similar, then, to the way in which grammars of language describe how words combine in sentences, visual grammar describes how depicted elements—people, places and things—combine in visual ‘statements’. Although the work of Kress and van Leeuwen does not explicitly mention gender, it is a valuable resource in understanding visual design. As noted, advertisements are a fruitful site of inquiry for the depiction of gender, a discussion which could easily form a chapter on its own. Most of these studies include the collection of a large number of images, often through several years. Some rely on content analysis and quantification (e.g. Zhou and Chen, 1997), while others use interpretive methods that draw on social psychology, feminist theory and art history (e.g. Schroeder and Borgerson, 1998). Fashion magazines and catalogues are often used, while the body is frequently a site of central concern (e.g. Stern, 1993), a discussion I return to later. It is worth mentioning here that the Global Media Monitoring Project (GMMP) has been providing longitudinal data on gender representations in world media since 1995. This vast project which focuses on gender bias and stereotyping in news media content has repeatedly shown that the news paints a picture of a world in which women are virtually invisible.1 Using GMMP data, French and Webster (2016) examined the cover of Time magazine from 1923 to 2014 to show that men appeared on the cover 4,292 times while women appeared only 763 times; of these covers, only six featured female corporate leaders. In analysing the photographs of these women, the authors also highlight that men and women are presented differently, concluding

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that ‘women constantly walk a tightrope of balancing inclusion and exclusion’ (p. 46), echoing the findings discussed above. At the same time, Mavin, Elliott, Stead and Williams (2019, p. 1159) argue that those women who feature in the media are hyper-visible, ‘their bodies seen as commodities (as they) face personal criticism and sexist and gendered representations, rather than a focus on legitimacy and credibility’. Poignant examples are Scotland’s First Minister Nicola Sturgeon and the UK’s ex-Prime Minister Theresa May who, while meeting prior to the triggering of Article 50 as part of the UK departure from the EU, were scrutinized by the media not for their positions but for their appearance. Perhaps the most blatant display of such sexist coverage was the front page of the Daily Mail on 28 March 2017 which featured a photo of the two political leaders with the headline ‘Never Mind Brexit. Who Won Legs-it!’ The media both informs organizational life and constructs it, as Elliott and Stead (2018) argue, so using it as a means to examine the relationship between socio-cultural assumptions and the position of women is important. Studying the UK business press during the global financial crisis (GFC) of 2008–12, the researchers focus on how women’s leadership was presented as an antidote to the male-dominated crisis. Through multimodal discourse analysis, they show how female and feminine forms of gender capital operate dialectically to both promote and hinder women leaders—although women leaders were construed by the media as ‘disruptive’ and potentially desirable, they were still positioned in a wider discourse that treated them as conflicting with the leadership norm. Similarly, Liu et al. (2015), writing within the same context of the GFC, use multimodal analysis to discuss how two banking CEOs, one male and one female, perform their ‘authenticity’ for the media and the way in which the media draws on gendered stereotypes to construct the leaders as authentic or inauthentic. Popular culture has been another fruitful ground of inquiry. Studies investigating gender and gendering in popular culture, especially through films and television, have resulted in several seminal books, edited volumes and journal articles. Rhodes and Westwood (2008) argue that popular culture is uniquely placed to offer a critical commentary on work and organizations, including on gender relations and ‘the reproduction of particular forms of masculinity and phallocentric social structures’ (p. 2). They provide a fascinating analysis of masculinity in the film Glengarry, Glen Ross as well as other plays by David Mamet (ch. 4) and an analysis of British sitcoms over time (ch. 6). Bell (2008) also shows how film can be used like an ethnography or other forms of interpretive research to provide a descriptive account of lived experience. Treating films as ‘narratives’, an approach also followed by Brewis (1998), McDowell (1998), Panayiotou (2010; 2012; 2015), Rhodes and Parker (2008) and others, Bell argues that film provides an audience with an accessible, even entertaining, way of making sense of their own experiences. As such, it can be a ‘safe’ way of learning what it feels like to work in an organization but also sheds light on matters not easily discussed, e.g. sex and violence in organizations (see Brewis, 1998, for an analysis of Disclosure).

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Bell’s (2008) analytical techniques for the more than one hundred films she studies rely on semiotics and deconstruction as well as audience analysis, to bring to the forefront certain ‘signifiers’ that create ‘the organization man’ as ‘a discursive category that celebrates the corporate managerial values of hierarchy, bureaucracy, loyalty and authority’ (p. 89). ‘Organization man’ is a gendered ideological formation constructed by ‘othering’ women, not unlike what Kanter (1977) presented in her analysis of the American corporation and its ‘masculine ethic’. The consistency observed between empirical studies of women’s experience of organizations and the representation of these experiences in film may be more than indicative of a widely shared experience; these representations may also be ‘partially responsible for constituting this reality’ (p. 159). As such, they are an important area of study. The method I used in Panayiotou (2010, p. 666) shares several common features with Bell (2008). In writing about competing masculinities in popular films, I used a variation of Rose’s (2001) method of discourse analysis which pays attention to the notion of discourse as articulated through various kinds of visual images and visual texts. Like Bell (2008), one of the steps I followed pays special attention to the visual imagery surrounding linguistic constructs, which included, among others, dress, spatial décor and way of moving in space, and possessions such as watches and cars. I discuss these categories in the sections below as they can serve as independent sites of inquiry beyond film. Television series have also been used to discuss gender and gendered practices in organizations, sometimes showcasing the subversive potential of popular culture. For example, in analysing the Danish television drama series Borgen, Bell and Sinclair (2016) shed light on the visual representation of women leaders and how women leaders’ bodies and sexualities are rendered visible or invisible in specific ways. Showing how popular culture can also provide alternative representations of women leaders as embodied and agentic (not just stereotypical representations), the authors argue that ‘a popular television series can reveal the metapicture of women’s embodiment in leadership in a way which disrupts the conventional representation of treating women as spectacle that has dominated popular culture’ (p. 334). Other examples of TV series analysis include Yost’s (2016) examination of science fiction narratives (long considered the domain of boys and men), in which she discusses the representation of strong and powerful women in Star Trek (e.g. Uhura), Babylon 5 (e.g. Commander Susan Ivanona), and Survivors (e.g. the government official Samantha Willis who is a survivor of a pandemic and attempts to restore order and rebuild society), among others. Lastly, in analysing the TV dramas produced by ShondaLand, the production company of Shonda Rhimes, Wilson-Brown and Szczur (2016) show how the strong African American female characters of Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal and How to Get Away with Murder can alter women’s representation in several professional arenas (law, politics, medicine), while simultaneously ‘demonstrating the very real and significant challenges that African American women in leadership positions face’ (p. 226). One site of inquiry that seems unexplored in organization studies is video games. Considering that gaming is a multi-billion dollar industry,2 as well as its

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centrality in popular culture and therefore its significant influence on meaning and perception-making,3 the absence of this type of data in visual methods on gender research is rather odd. One notable exception is the fascinating study of the so-called ‘Gamergate scandal’ which discusses how an online analyst of gender in video games, Anita Sarkeesian, was severely harassed (Schroeder and Borgerson, 2015). Sarkeesian, who uses videos in the style of a university lecture to get her message across, draws on cultural studies, feminist theory and film theory to bring attention to themes and conventions in video games that are harmful to women. Another site of inquiry which remains curiously under-explored is websites, including corporate websites. One study by Singh and Point (2006) notes this omission, claiming that corporate websites must be treated as ‘artefacts that reveal information about the corporate culture’ (p. 363). Their paper aims to ‘unravel the specific notions of gender and ethnicity promoted by companies in web-based diversity statements’ (p. 364). Although these researchers do not conduct an analysis of images but of text, I include their work as an example of how websites can offer critical insights into the construction of gender. At the same time, Elliott and Robinson (2012) and Kassinis and Panayiotou (2017) do not discuss gender but their methods which rely on Kress and van Leeuwen’s (2006) ‘visual grammar’ presented above, can be useful for further research into websites. Research using three-dimensional visual material Research using three-dimensional visual material to study gender and organizations is relatively scarce compared to those employing the methods described above. Here I refer to the use of architecture, space, dress and bodies/embodiment as sites of inquiry. I begin with the example of Panayiotou and Kafiris (2010) where we actually used two types of visual artefacts, film and space, to argue that the way organizational space is constructed in popular films reflects the way that power relations are produced and reproduced in organizational contexts. Adopting a socio-semiotic view of space, we showed that the meanings of organizational spaces (as shown in film but resembling real life) are created in ways that are grounded in specific social relations, including asymmetrical relationships of power built along the lines of the gender binary. As space is rarely the focus but a mere backdrop to action, gendered spatial practices remain hidden. In Panayiotou and Kafiris (2011), we argued that ‘who enters which space and who sits where’ are questions we must ask as we explore the stories that organizational space tells, especially as we seek to fully understand the interplay between meaning, practice and outcome. Interestingly, few studies lie at the cross-section of the literatures on space and gender, despite the appreciation that space is not gender-neutral. Dale and Burrell (2008, p. 43) is one of the earlier studies to note that the built world ‘influences what we do or not do through structures that can be described by the most mundane of terms: walls, doors, windows, corridors and steps’. In fact, they are ‘part and parcel of power relations’. While these authors discuss gender primarily in the context of the gendered, spatial segregation of the workplace (which follows Kanter, 1977), their discussion of the kitchen as ‘a meeting

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place of reproduction, production and consumption’ (p. 189) is both fascinating and important. Following a similar approach but this time working with popular films with a female executive in the central role, in Panayiotou (2015) I took a performative practice approach to the study of both gender and space and explored how the protagonists’ spatial practices could subvert, intentionally or unintentionally, organizational patriarchal structures. The study traced both how space is gendered through particular situated social practices and how gender is spaced, or how gender performativity is materialized in and through space. Elsbach (2004) also studied how office décor (e.g. furniture, photos and personal mementos)—what Dale and Burrell (2008) have called ‘the most mundane of terms’—served as an indicator of workplace identity. Although gender is not a central tenet in this research, Elsbach’s findings that décor results in central and enduring categorizations regarding employees’ status is crucial; thus, I refer to it since it highlights the importance of bringing the ‘hidden backdrop’ under (visual) scrutiny, especially when stereotypical gendered assessments are made. In asking, then, ‘what do we see in organizations and what do we not see?’, it is important to emphasize that visual aspects of office space ascribe power onto some and take it away from others. To quote Edenius and Yakhlef (2007), ‘As a vehicle of power, the visual features of architecture inscribe into the incumbents’ bodies specific types of behaviour and rules.’ In their case study, these researchers explore how a shift to an open-plan office environment brought about a new visibility, which led organizational members to enact new rules, routines and procedures. Although gender is not a tenet of this study, I mention it here as it highlights how bodily practices—a fundamental aspect of a feminist research agenda—produce certain discourses. In other words, by paying attention to three-dimensional dynamics evolving in the open-plan office, the authors are able to go beyond the oppressive power of space to discuss how the body ‘triggers discourses, rather than just being their target’ (p. 208), a finding similar to Panayiotou (2015) above. Bodies and space are inherently tied since, as Merleau-Ponty (1962, p. 148) writes, ‘to be a body is to be tied to a certain world’. Furthermore, as Alvesson and Willmott (1992, p. 5) note, spatial practices ‘produce people’. Yet, the physical body has been curiously absent from organizational theory; the female body even more so, often regarded as ‘at odds’ with the modern workplace (McDowell and Court, 1994). As Brewis and Sinclair (2000, p. 201) write, ‘The body is a powerful signifier of gender and the strategies that women may have to adopt to undermine the meaning-laden properties of their biologically sexed bodies’ deserve attention. Work that utilizes the body and/or embodiment as a site of inquiry (not the representation of the body) is, however, surprisingly limited. As Bitbol-Saba and Dambrin (2019) document, much research in this area tends to focus on organizations’ internal environment, rather than on bodies in space. Their study looks at how the bodies of female auditors are brought into play in situations involving interactions with clients. Drawing primarily on observations and interviews, these authors reveal the gendered dynamics contributing to the ‘masculinity of accountancy’ through the

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hierarchy formation process between female and male auditors when interacting with clients; how female bodies are used by female auditors and instrumentalized by their organizations to satisfy the supposed expectations of clients; and how female auditors are set up as sexual objects in their interactions with clients. Relying on Goffman (1977), Bitbol-Saba and Dambin’s (2019) analysis concluded that ‘femininity can be “used” in a variety of body techniques, as a resource that female auditors are encouraged to draw on in their professional practice’ even if these ‘body techniques feed an interaction order which works to the detriment of the female auditor’ (p. 16). Dress has been the specific focus of a few studies on gender and organization. Rafaeli, Dutton, Harquail and Mackie-Lewis (1997), for example, discuss how professional attire is used by female administrative support staff in a business school to facilitate the performance of their organizational roles—dress as a symbol feeds into specific cognitive schemata that aid women navigate the complexity of their work demands. The researchers, who used both interviews and observations, which they then analysed thematically, show that ‘appropriate dress’ becomes a way of dealing with the tensions that women experienced between their gender role and their organizational role. In fact, dress can reflect and create a variety of organizational dynamics, so studying women’s attire choices becomes a way of shedding light into oppressive organizational structures (Rafaeli and Pratt, 1993). Lastly, a study that stands out for its multi-methodological approach is Rippin, Shortt and Warren (2016) which employed two levels of visual methods to explore the style advice features in Working Woman, a magazine aimed at aspiring female professionals in the 1980s. First, the researchers relied on the techniques described above to view the photographs displayed in the magazine. Second, to accentuate the key points their analyses had generated, one of the authors ‘hand drew a series of stylized sketches based on specific images from the magazines, chosen to exemplify a particular element’ (p. 99). In this way, drawing became a powerful analytical device as the original images were ‘stripped bare of their more entertaining semiotic associations that cloud the key images (the researchers) want to convey’ (p. 100). Producing Visual Data to Analyse Gender Although generated visual data can expand the methodological repertoire of researchers and extend the epistemological foundations of management knowledge, it remains scarce in studies of gender and organizations. I discuss two broad types of such visual data: researcher-generated and participant-generated. Not all studies below have gender at their core; however, they can serve as possible inspiration. Researcher-generated visual data To discuss women’s ‘lived experience of Otherness’ in the workplace, Tyler and Cohen (2010, p. 176) explored how gender is materialized in and through workspaces using art and photo elicitation. They ask, ‘What do organizational spaces demand of us, in terms of the ways in which we perform gender in accordance with (or in opposition to) established power relations?’ (p. 175). The authors used a visual

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artefact—the work of video artist Sofia Hulten called Grey Area—as an ‘inspiration’ to discuss the diverse roles that women perform within a university setting. In this artwork, Hulten performs in a grey suit used as camouflage, hiding in various office spaces, until she eventually gets into a bin liner and throws herself away. The effect is ‘both comical and disturbing because of what it seems to suggest about the way women feel about themselves and about each other in the workplace’ (Tyler and Cohen, 2010, p. 193). Still images of the artwork were used as the basis for several focus groups and individual interviews to discuss women’s workplace experiences. Grey Area enabled the researchers to access that which is normally unseen, hidden or overlooked: artistic materials become then ‘powerful tools of exposure’ that serve ‘to open up the methodology to a more dynamic and dialogical engagement than might otherwise be the case’ (p. 194). Other elicitation methods include paintings, cartoons, and public displays such as graffiti or billboards which may be photographed by the researcher and inserted into an interview (Harper, 2002). This can be especially helpful when seeking to ‘go deeper’ into a subject or when feelings and memories need to be assessed, especially for difficult subjects such as sexual harassment. Visual organizational ethnography is another method that offers a ‘withness’ that is important in accessing disempowered or marginalized organizational actors (Hassard et al., 2018), especially related to everyday experiences (Pink, 2004). Participant-generated visual data Participant-generated visual data is even more rare in studies of gender and organization, despite its feminist underpinnings where, as Manning (2018) notes, power dynamics are questioned and research is conducted with participant-subjects rather than on participant-objects. One of the first studies to use such data is Warren’s (2002) inquiry into what the workplace feels like. Warren argues that visual methods are especially useful in enabling analysis of experiences that are non-rational and ineffable. In this study, she equipped participants with cameras and asked them to take photographs showing how they felt about their place of work. These photos were then used in interviews in which the participants talked about the pictures they had taken and explained their choices. Although Warren’s study does not discuss gender, it paves the way for work that does. Shortt’s (2015) study of hairdressers, in which participants were given a disposable camera and asked to capture images that were ‘meaningful to them and said something about who they are’ (p. 639), is another example of how respondent-led photography can generate rich data that is valuable for research on identity at work. Even though gender is not a core discussion in this study either, Shortt argues that this method ‘foregrounded the participant’s voice’ and helped their experiences to be communicated, creating a more balanced power dynamic between participant and researcher. As such, I believe that it is an essentially feminist research method. Page, Grisoni and Turner (2014) used arts-based visual methods to revitalize equality and diversity organizational practices, arguing that ‘aesthetic inquiries can have

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a transformative potential’ (p. 580). Convening several workshops with researchers and others working with equality and diversity initiatives, the authors used visual inquiry to draw out meanings and develop new diversity practices. Working with collage, for example, participants reflected on and sought meaning on a practice that had ‘lost meaning (and had) become ossified, stifled by performance and compliance culture’ (p. 590). The data evidenced a deep sense of injustice, rooted in awareness and experiences of discrimination, as well as a deep sense of organizational failure. The authors claim that visual methods tapped into many aspects of lived experience that were ‘tacit, unavailable for learning or thinking within organizational contexts’ (p. 590), which, I add, are key for unravelling gendered organizational experiences.

ETHICS AND CONCERNS IN CONDUCTING VISUAL RESEARCH There are several challenges in analysing and especially producing visual material, including legal and ethical considerations regarding confidentiality, anonymity, copyrights, and permissions (Warren, 2009). Photographic images are instantly recognizable so care must be taken not only to ask for permissions but also to acknowledge potential harm to respondents. Warren (2002) and others choose to safeguard anonymity by blurring images or omitting certain details. Others have purposely distorted images (Pink, 2001). Legal and copyright issues can be complex in visual research (Kunter and Bell, 2006) since researchers cannot simply assume they own the photographs they took, especially if these involve branding, logos or other copyrighted work. Furthermore, there are clear issues of power that necessitate the use of reflexive methodologies when working with visual data. As Warren (2002, p. 240) aptly notes, ‘the very act of holding a camera up to one’s eye and pointing it at someone is an obvious and potentially intrusive activity which cannot be “disguised” in the same way as making fieldnotes in a journal or even tape-recording an interview.’ The very questions that visual methods can help explore in organizational studies (the questions with which I began this chapter) are the same questions that must be asked of the methods themselves; in other words, in conducting visual research, it is important to ask what the ethical implications may be for generating and using visual data and to re-ask the questions ‘who sees what in whom and how?’ from the perspective of the (feminist) researcher. Lastly, it is important to question the power of the image in all its forms. Images are by nature polysemic and open to multiple readings (Bell and Davison, 2013). Questions of truth and representation are an inevitable part of any visual research which means that researchers must be aware of the theories that inform their own exploration and practice, as well as their relationships with their photographic subjects (Pink, 2001). Who is doing the looking (Rose, 2007) must always be part of the ‘data’ used. As such, visual methodologies utilized in the study of gender and organizations must go hand in hand with feminist epistemologies to deliver the insights or in-sights we hope for.

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CONCLUSIONS Bell and Davison (2013, p. 171) argue that ‘expanding the methodological repertoire of management researchers to include visual methods is not simply a response to the increasing prevalence of visual representation and communication in organizational contexts. It is also a means of extending the epistemological foundations of management knowledge in order to generate insights into aspects of organizational life that have remained under-explored.’ In this chapter, I have looked at two interrelated questions: (1) What can the study of the ‘visual’ reveal for the study of gender in organizations? and (2) How can visual research methods help us to learn more about gender in organizations? In this regard, I have focused both on the visual as a fruitful site of inquiry and on the visual as a method of inquiry. I have showcased a variety of methods currently used, hoping that these can serve as an inspiration for researchers. Of course, as Pink (2007) notes, despite the multiplicity, inventing one’s own is often necessary, thereby giving researchers lots of room for innovation and creativity. Visual research methods can serve both to shed light on our ‘blind spots’ in regard to gender and to produce alternative discourses that effect change in gendered and gendering practices in organizations. As such, they can extend our conceptualizations of (in)visibility in the workplace (Stead, 2013). In ending, I stress that the ability to read visual images—or ‘videocy’—is as important a skill as literacy in today’s society where our understandings are shaped increasingly by moving images as much, if not more than, written words.

NOTES 1. 2. 3.

See http://​whomakesthenews​.org/​gmmp. See https://​www​.forbes​.com/​sites/​kevinanderton/​2019/​06/​26/​the​-business​-of​-video​-games​ -market​-share​-for​-gaming​-platforms​-in​-2019​-infographic/​#759a58517b25. For a wider discussion of the importance of popular culture, see Panayiotou (2010; 2012).

REFERENCES Acker, J. (1990), ‘Hierarchies, jobs, bodies: a theory of gendered organizations’, Gender and Society, 4(2), 139–58. Alvesson, M. and H. Willmott (1992), ‘Critical theory and management studies: an introduction’, in Mats Alvesson and Hugh Willmott (eds), Critical Management Studies, London: Sage, pp. 1–20. Anderson, C. J. and G. Imperia (1992), ‘The corporate annual report: a photo analysis of male and female portrayals’, International Journal of Business Communication, 29(2), 113–28. Bell, E. (ed.) (2008), Reading Management and Organization in Film, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bell, E. and J. Davison (2013), ‘Visual management studies: empirical and theoretical approaches’, International Journal of Management Reviews, 15, 167–84.

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Bell, E. and A. Sinclair (2016), ‘Bodies, sexualities and women leaders in popular culture: from spectacle to metapicture’, Gender in Management, 31(5/6), 322–38. Bell, E., S. Warren and J. Schroeder (2014), ‘Introduction: the visual organization’, in Emma Bell, Samantha Warren and Jonathan Schroder (eds), The Routledge Companion to Visual Organization, London: Routledge, pp. 1–16. Bell, P. and M. Milic (2002), ‘Goffman’s gender advertisements revisited: combining content analysis with semiotic analysis’, Visual Communication, 1(2), 203–22. Benschop, Y. and H. E. Meihuizen (2002), ‘Keeping up gendered appearances: representations of gender in financial annual reports’, Accounting, Organizations and Society, 27, 611–36. Berger, J. (1972), Ways of Seeing. London: Penguin. Bitbol-Saba, N. and C. Dambrin (2019), ‘“It’s not often we get a visit from a beautiful woman!” The body in client-auditor interactions and the masculinity of accountancy’, Critical Perspectives on Accounting, 64(1), 1–21. Brewis, J. (1998), ‘What is wrong with this picture? Sex and gender relations in Disclosure’, in John Hassard and Ruth Holliday (eds), Organization Representation: Work and Organization in Popular Culture, London: Sage, pp. 83–100. Brewis, J. and J. Sinclair (2000), ‘Exploring embodiment: women, biology and work’, in John Hassars, Ruth Holliday and Hugh Willmott (eds), Body and Organization, London: Sage, pp. 192–214. Bujaki, L. M. and B. J. McConomy (2010), ‘Gendered interactions in corporate annual report photographs’, Gender in Management: An International Journal, 25(2), 119–36. Carroll, N. (1996), Theorizing the Moving Image, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dale, K. and G. Burrell (2008), The Spaces of Organisation and the Organisation of Space: Power, Identity & Materiality at Work. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Duff, A. (2010), ‘Big four accounting firms’ annual reviews: a photo analysis of gender and race portrayals’, Critical Perspectives on Accounting, 22(1), 20–38. Edenius, M. and A. Yakhlef (2007), ‘Space, vision and organizational learning: the interplay of incorporating and inscribing practices’, Management Learning, 38(2), 193–210. Elliott, C. and S. Robinson (2012), ‘MBA imaginaries: projections and internationalization’, Management Learning, 43(2), 157–81. Elliott, C. and V. Stead (2018), ‘Constructing women’s leadership representation in the UK press during a time of financial crisis: gender capitals and dialectical tensions’, Organization Studies, 39(1), 19–45. Elsbach, K. D. (2004), ‘Interpreting workplace identities: the role of office décor’, Journal of Organizational Behavior, 25(1), 99–128. French, S. and L. Baker Webster (2016), ‘Who’s that girl? The (mis)representation of female corporate leaders in Time’, in Carole Elliott, Valerie Stead, Sharon Mavin and Jannine Williams (eds), Women and Leadership: Research, Theory, and Practice, Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing, pp. 37–48. Goffman, E. (1977), ‘The arrangement between the sexes,’ Theory and Society, 4(3), 301–31. Goffman, E. (1979), Gender Advertisements, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Harper, D. (2002), ‘Talking about pictures: a case for photo elicitation’, Visual Studies, 17(1), 13–26. Hassard, J., D. Burns, P. Hyde and J. P. Burns (2018), ‘A visual turn for organizational ethnography: embodying the subject in video-based research’, Organization Studies, 39(10), 1403–24. Kanter, R. M. (1977), Men and Women of the Corporation, New York: Basic Books. Kassinis, G. and A. Panayiotou (2017), ‘Website stories in times of distress: learning from liquidity’, Management Learning, 48(4), 397–415. Kress, G. and T. van Leeuwen (2006), Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design, 2nd edition, London: Routledge.

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Kuasirikun, N. (2011), ‘The portrayal of gender in annual reports in Thailand,’ Critical Perspectives on Accounting, 22(1), 53–78. Kunter, A. and E. Bell (2006), ‘The promise and potential of visual organizational research’, M@n@gement, 9(3), 177–97. Liu, H., L. Cutcher and D. Grant (2015), ‘Doing authenticity: the gendered construction of authentic leadership’, Gender, Work and Organization, 22(3), 237–55. Manning, J. (2018), ‘Becoming a decolonial feminist ethnographer: addressing the complexities of positionality and representation’, Management Learning, 49(3), 311–26. Martin, P. Y. (2003), ‘“Said and done” vs “saying and doing”: gendered practices, practicing gender at work’, Gender and Society, 13(3), 342–66. Mavin, S., C. Elliott, V. Stead and J. Williams (2019), ‘Economies of visibility as a moderator of feminism: “Never mind Brexit. Who won Legs-it!”’, Gender, Work and Organization, 26, 1156–75. Mccabe, D. and D. Knights (2016), ‘Learning to listen? Exploring discourses and images of masculine leadership through corporate videos’, Management Learning, 47(2), 179–98. McDowell, L. (1998), ‘Fictional money (or, greed isn’t so good in the 1990s)’, in John Hassard and Ruth Holliday (eds), Organization Representation: Work and Organization in Popular Culture, London: Sage, pp. 167–84. McDowell, L. and G. Court (1994), ‘Performing work: bodily representations in merchant banks’, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 12(6), 727–50. Merleau-Ponty, M. (1962), The Phenomenology of Perception (trans. Colin Smith), London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Meyer, R., M. Hollerer, D. Jancsary and T. van Leeuwen (2013), ‘The visual dimension in organizing, organization and organization research: core ideas, current developments and promising avenues’, The Academy of Management Annals, 7(1), 489–555. Mulvey, L. (1975), ‘Visual pleasure and narrative cinema’, Screen, 16(3), 6–18. Page, M., L. Grisoni and A. Turner (2014), ‘Dreaming fairness and re-imagining equality and diversity through participative aesthetic inquiry’, Management Learning, 45(5), 577–92. Panayiotou, A. (2010), ‘“Macho” managers and organizational heroes: competing masculinities in popular films’, Organization, 17(6), 659–83. Panayiotou, A. (2012), ‘Deconstructing the manager: discourses of power and resistance in popular cinema’, Equality, Diversity and Inclusion: An International Journal, 31(1), 10–26. Panayiotou, A. (2015), ‘Spacing gender, gendering space: a radical “strong plot” in film’, Management Learning, 46(4), 427–43. Panayiotou, A. (2019), ‘Introduction to the virtual special issue on sensory knowledge’, Management Learning, https://​journals​.sagepub​.com/​page/​mlq/​collections/​virtual​-special​ -issues/​sensory​_knowledge. Panayiotou, A. and K. Kafiris (2010), ‘Firms in film: representations of organizational space, gender and power’, in Alfons van Marrewijk and Dvora Yanow (eds), Organizational Spaces: Rematerializing the Workaday World, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 174–99. Panayiotou, A. and K. Kafiris (2011), ‘Viewing the language of space: organizational spaces, power, and resistance in popular films, Journal of Management Inquiry, 20(3), 264–84. Pink, S. (2001), Doing Visual Ethnography: Images, Media and Representation in Research, London: Sage. Pink, S. (2004), ‘Performance, self-representation and narrative: interviewing with video’, in C. Pole (ed.), Seeing is Believing? Approaches to Visual Research, New York: Elsevier, pp. 61–77. Pink, S. (2007), Doing Sensory Ethnography, London: Sage. Rafaeli, A. and M. Pratt (1993), ‘Tailored meanings: on the meaning and impact of organizational dress’, Academy of Management Review, 18(1), 32–55.

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Rafaeli, A., J. Dutton, C. V. Harquail and S. Mackie-Lewis (1997), ‘Navigating by attire: the use of dress by female administrative employees’, Academy of Management Journal, 40(1), 9–45. Rhodes, C. and M. Parker (2008), ‘Images of organizing in popular culture’, Organization, 15(5), 627–37. Rhodes, C. and R. Westwood (2008), Critical Representations of Work and Organization in Popular Culture, New York: Taylor & Francis Group. Rippin, A., H. Shortt and S. Warren (2016), ‘Dress and the female professional: a case study of Working Woman’, in Carole Elliott, Valerie Stead, Sharon Mavin and Jannine Williams (eds), Women and Leadership: Research, Theory, and Practice, Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing, pp. 95–110. Rose, G. (2001), Visual Methodologies: An Introduction to the Interpretation of Visual Materials, London: Sage. Rose, G. (2007), Visual Methodologies: An Introduction to the Interpretation of Visual Materials, 2nd edition, London: Sage. Schroeder, J. E. and J. L. Borgerson (1998), ‘Marketing images of gender: a visual analysis’, Consumption, Markets and Culture, 2(2), 105–231. Schroeder, J. E. and J. L. Borgerson (2015), ‘Critical visual analysis of gender: reactions and reflections’, Journal of Marketing Management, 31(15/16), 1723–31. Schyns, B., A. Tymon, T. Kiefer and R. Kerschreiter (2012), ‘New ways to leadership development: a picture paints a thousand words’, Management Learning, 44(1), 11–24. Scott, J. (1986), ‘Gender: a useful category of historical analysis’, The American Historical Review, 91(5), 1053–75. Shortt, H. (2015), ‘Liminality, space and the importance of “transitory dwelling places” at work’, Human Relations, 68(4), 633–58. Singh, V. and S. Point (2006), ‘(Re)presentations of gender and ethnicity in diversity statements on European company websites’, Journal of Business Ethics, 68, 363–79. Sirakaya, E. and S. Sonmez (2000), ‘Gender images in state tourism brochures: an overlooked area in socially responsible tourism marketing’, Journal of Travel Research, 38(4), 353–62. Stead, V. (2013), ‘Learning to deploy (in)visibility: an examination of women leaders’ lived experiences’, Management Learning, 44(1), 63–79. Stern, B. (1993), ‘Feminist literary criticism and the deconstruction of ads: a postmodern view of advertising and consumer research’, Journal of Consumer Research, 19(2), 556–66. Strangleman, T. (2004), ‘Ways of (not) seeing work: the visual as a blind spot in WES?’, Work, Employment and Society, 18(1), 179–92. Strati, A. (2007), ‘Sensible knowledge and practice-based learning’, Management Learning, 38(1), 61–77. Swan, E. (2005), ‘On bodies, rhinestones and pleasures: women teaching managers’, Management Learning, 36(3), 317–33. Toraldo, M. L., G. Islam and G. Mangia (2018), ‘Modes of knowing: video research and the problem of elusive knowledges’, Organizational Research Methods, 21(2), 438–65. Tyler, M. and L. Cohen (2010), ‘Spaces that matter: gender performativity and organizational space’, Organization Studies, 31(2), 175–98. Warren, S. (2002), ‘Show me how it feels to work here’: using photography to research organizational aesthetics’, Ephemera, 2(3), 224–45. Warren, S. (2009), ‘Visual methods in organizational research’, in David Buchanan and Alan Bryman (eds), The Sage Handbook of Organizational Research Methods, London: Sage, pp. 567–82. Wilson-Brown, C. and S. Szczur (2016), ‘Working in Shondaland: representations of African American women in leadership’, in Carole Elliott, Valerie Stead, Sharon Mavin and Jannine Williams (eds), Women and Leadership: Research, Theory, and Practice, Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing, pp. 225–42.

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Yost, K. (2016), ‘Mediating the future: women political leaders in science fiction television’, in Carole Elliott, Valerie Stead, Sharon Mavin and Jannine Williams (eds), Gender, Media and Organization: Challenging Mis(s)Representations of Women Leaders and Managers, Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing, pp. 197–208. Zhou, N. and M. Y. T. Chen (1997), ‘A content analysis of men and women in Canadian consumer magazine advertising: today’s portrayal, yesterday’s image?’, Journal of Business Ethics, 16(5), 485–95.

16. Understanding the underrepresentation of women in union leadership roles: the contribution of a ‘career’ methodology Cécile Guillaume and Sophie Pochic

INTRODUCTION For the past 20 years, a vast literature examining women’s participation in trade unions (Cunnison & Stageman 1995; Munro 1999; McBride 2001; Colgan & Ledwith 2002; Kirton 2006a; Kirton & Healy 2013; Guillaume 2018a) has explored the permanence of gender inequalities. Despite their increased presence in the labour market and among union members, women still have difficulty accessing positions of leadership and reaching the ‘critical mass’ (Kanter 1977) that could significantly advance equality. This convergent observation may come as a surprise, as trade unions can be very different, whether in terms of size, constituency, political orientation/affiliation, level of feminisation or equality policies. How can we explain the permanence of gender inequalities within the union movement? This chapter argues that a methodology based on the interactionist concept of career (Barley 1989) developed by Everett Hughes (1958) and Howard Becker (1960, 1966), offers an innovative research design that enables us to understand the (un)making of women’s underrepresentation in union leadership positions. Muriel Darmon (2008) claimed that the concept is particularly interesting for analysing careers in ‘areas where this notion is not already a conventional term or idea’. Actually, the concept of career is most often absent from the vocabulary of trade unionists, probably because it is usually associated with paid work and most union activity is unpaid and voluntary (Kirton 2006b). However, by emancipating itself from the categories used by trade unionists themselves, which often borrows from the repertoire of ‘vocation’ (Fillieule et al. 2019), the concept of career allows us to explore how union activism is built and maintained in a ‘permanent dialectic between individual history and institution, and more generally the contexts’ (Fillieule 2010). The objective of this contribution is to illustrate the usefulness of a ‘career’ methodology for investigating how different institutional, organisational and individual processes help to reproduce gender (race and class) inequalities within trade unions, while unveiling the conditions, including individuals’ agency and equality/ diversity policies, that have enabled progress to be made in some unions. Previous articles (Guillaume & Pochic 2011, 2013) have laid the foundations of this approach, inspired by the founding work of Sue Ledwith and Fiona Colgan (Ledwith et al. 1990). This chapter provides an illustration of this methodology drawing on a com249

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prehensive research project that investigated four unions in France and the UK (Guillaume 2018a).

WOMEN AND LEADERSHIP IN UNIONS: SOME METHODOLOGICAL IMPLICATIONS Previous research has exposed the various structural factors that explain the underrepresentation of women in trade unions. They include the gender segregation of the labour market, with women concentrated in precarious and part-time work, and the gendered division of domestic labour. Women’s work patterns are more likely to be discontinuous and located in non-unionised contexts. Low-skilled, precarious and migrant women working in the private services sector and small businesses have fewer opportunities to get involved in trade unions. Having a stable, skilled job, or a supportive partner or grown-up children help to maintain women’s union participation. These structural difficulties have been further exacerbated by labour market deregulation and the decline of trade union membership in all European countries and particularly in France (Lescurieux 2019). Moreover, previous research has described the context of gendered barriers and constraints that women activists and union leaders have to navigate. It has highlighted the role of the organisation of union activity and the masculine construction of trade union careers in explaining women’s lower participation in union structures. In particular, the informal nature of union recruitment, the role of (male) mentors, the importance of ‘time served’ as a critical marker of career promotion, the permanence of a charismatic definition of leadership and the importance of personal power, the absence of a formal definition of authority and a lack of training, as well as the requirement to work long hours and to be geographically mobile, all contribute to the distinctive nature of union leadership (Pocock & Brown 2013) and explain the gendered aspects of that experience. However, scholars have also argued for contextually/historically grounded analysis as a means of understanding the structure and dynamics of unions’ ‘inequality regime’ (Acker 2006) defined as the ‘interlocked practices and processes that result in continuing inequalities in all work organizations’. Studies have shown that a number of institutional characteristics influence the extent to which equality is achieved in different union contexts. They include size (Kirton 2018), unions’ internal labour markets (Guillaume & Pochic 2011) and internal democracy (Healy and Kirton 2000; McBride 2001), the framing of gender equality strategies as more or less feminist and/or intersectional, and the interlinking of class and gender framing (Dean 2015; Guillaume 2018b). Furthermore, research has pointed to the importance of women’s agency in the union context (Briskin 2006; Kirton 2006b); how women negotiate the barriers and constraints; how they seek to challenge the existing gendered culture and masculine practices; and what kind of individual resources and strategies might help them, including job qualification (Guillaume & Pochic 2013) and feminist orientations (Kirton & Healy 2012, 2013; Pochic 2014). This abundant literature has called

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for a methodology attentive to the interconnectedness of structural, organisational and individual dimensions in the making and/or weakening of gender inequalities in trade unions, depending on period and organisational context. Moreover, the investigations of women’s trade union careers have emphasised two aspects that are often under-analysed in the case of men. First, far from a restrictive vertical and homogeneous vision that does not adequately reflect the characteristics of union careers (especially those of women), which can be horizontal and discontinuous (Kirton 2006b), research has pointed to the need for women to balance multiple parallel careers, which can come into conflict with each other, while at other times being mutually supportive (Kirton 2006b; Lescurieux 2019). Second, some authors have emphasised the complex interaction of these different life careers over the life cycle, depending on objective and perceived constraints and opportunities in the work, union and family contexts of individual women (Kirton 2006b; Guillaume & Pochic 2013; Guillaume 2018a). This points to a dialectical and dynamic relationship between the subjective/moral career of the self and the objective circumstances of the career path and to a specific focus on processes of ‘adaptation in the making of careers where individuals modify their aspirations to fit the circumstances they perceived themselves to be in’ (Kirton 2006b). Through a dual process of aggregation and comparison of individual experiences (Crompton 2001; Darmon 2008), a career methodology seeks to investigate the link between contexts of action and individual dispositions, adopting a dynamic approach that is attentive to the plurality of potentially conflicting sites in which social actors are involved and to the ways in which individuals’ representations, values and strategies have evolved depending on their experiences. By comparing different organisational settings, it seeks to explore what is common and specific to unions’ ‘inequality regimes’ (Acker 2006) while at the same time emphasising differences and to understand the conditions, always specific and historically/nationally located, that have enabled progress in some unions.

METHODOLOGY This chapter builds on a comparative research project undertaken between 2008 and 2015 in four unions: Confédération Démocratique Française du Travail (CFDT) and Solidaires in France; GMB and UNISON in the UK (Guillaume 2018a). It is based on 104 qualitative interviews with women activists at different stages of their union career: activism, consolidation and directing (Ledwith et al. 1990). Each of these stages may encompass very different situations in terms of union time (full-time or not) and type of status (paid, elected, seconded). We chose to focus on formal and consistent levels of activism in order to understand the characteristics and challenges women union leaders face in different union contexts, as well as the role of equality/ diversity policies and women’s agency in the promotion of equality. All these interviews were analysed using biographical tables (see Table 16.1), divided into three columns (work, family, union activities) with specific attention given to ‘turning

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Table 16.1

1968

Example of Corinne’s biographical table Education and profession

Family and residence

Union

Born in Paris.

Initially inactive migrant mother   who fought against her husband in order to be able to work.

1985

Obtains the French baccalaureate  

 

and begins a course in foreign languages. 1987

Passes the Customs Officers

Moves to La Rochelle for six

 

exam and undergoes training for months. six months in La Rochelle. 1988

1989

1990

 

Is assigned to a brigade on the

In a relationship with a customs

northern border of France, as

officer who works in a small

office head.

town in the Alpes.

 

Gets married and asks for

Major dispute begins at the

a transfer to be close to her

Ministry of Finance. Two-week

partner.

strike. Joins the CFDT.

Gets her transfer and falls

Remains unionised, but not very

pregnant.

active due to her family life and

 

the geographical remoteness of her workplace. 1991

1992

Complicated and alternating

Birth of her first child. Both

shifts (night/day) with weekend

spouses take turns taking care of

and public holiday work.

the child.

 

 

 

Becomes secretary of the CFDT local union following the retirement of the former male secretary. Election of Nicole Notat, first female general secretary of the CFDT.

1993

 

Birth of her second child.

Intense internal political tensions in the CFDT. Participates in the national bodies of the federation and confederation. Her local union opposes the confederal line.

1996

 

 

Leaves the CFDT and sets up SUD-Douanes (i.e. Customs) with other trade unionists. Period of very intense union participation at the local and national levels.

1997

 

Divorces and moves to a bigger

Loses all her elected union roles

town with her new partner. Wins because SUD-Douanes is not custody of her children.

recognised by the administration, but maintains a SUD-Douanes local representation with few members.

Understanding the underrepresentation of women in union leadership roles  253 Education and profession

Family and residence

Union

2000

 

Birth of her third child.

 

2006

 

Birth of her fourth child.

 

2007

Changes to part-time work

Tries not to attend too many

Manages to be re-elected

(25%) because she gets 75%

union meetings far from her

thanks to changes in the

facility time for her union roles.

home until her youngest child

electoral system following the

turns 3.

regionalisation of her department and successful legal battles leading to the recognition of SUD-Douanes. Becomes secretary of the regional union, following the retirement of her colleague and sits on many regional bodies.

2013

2014

Fails the inspector exam

Constantly travelling for her

Elected as national secretary.

(necessary to get promotion).

union roles. Her spouse, who is

Four women out of 11 members

also a customs officer, is very

sit on this national committee.

supportive and takes care of the

Agrees to sit on Solidaires

children.  

women’s national commission Wants to carry on with her union

Evidence of union discrimination. Her career

career but does not see herself

progression has been much

becoming the general secretary

slower than that of her

of her union.

non-unionised colleagues. She is considering taking legal action, but hopes to pass the inspector’s exam, which will make up for her accumulated salary discrimination.

points’ (Abbott 1997) defined as ‘an alteration or deflection in a long-term pathway or trajectory that was initiated at an earlier point in time’ (Sampson and Laub 2005: 16). Other examples – marriage, birth of a child, loss/obtaining of job, moving house, experience of a strike, new union role, among others – can constitute turning points that can alter the course of a lifetime. However, these are not isolated events; they are embedded in social contexts that need to be analysed and understood, especially when it comes to unions’ institutional dynamics, including the existence and framing of equality policies. Taking four individual careers as examples, the following sections intend to show what this approach brings to the understanding of the (un)making of women union leaders’ careers and reflect on what the study of trade unions, as specific organisations, reveals about women’s difficulties in gaining access to leadership positions and the limitations of equality policies. These lessons will also certainly be useful for the analysis of other organisations, with regard to the challenging issue of the implementation of equality policies (Mazur 2017).

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THE FEMINISATION OF GOVERNANCE BODIES In comparison with other types of organisation, trade unions are meant to be democratic. It is in the name of this aspiration that feminist researchers have criticised the ‘gender democracy deficit’ (Cockburn 1995), a term that denotes the underrepresentation of women in union decision-making structures. Consequently, in order to get women and their concerns onto their agendas, most unions have developed a range of policies and practices aiming at promoting women’s participation and inclusion. Amongst the four unions investigated, UNISON, one of the biggest and a highly feminised union (77 per cent of women members in 2016) in the UK, is often cited as an example, due to the precedence of its radical constitutional changes and the resources dedicated to its equality/diversity policy (McBride 2001). First, UNISON has introduced measures aimed at achieving proportional representation for women and other minority groups in the form of reserved seats on elected bodies (National Executive Committee, NEC). Second, UNISON has gradually adopted ‘fair representation’ objectives in order to ensure that all members are represented, regardless of their age, salary level, working time, sector of activity, race, sexual orientation, gender identity or disability. These objectives take the form of reserved seats for low-paid women, BAME (black, Asian and minority ethnic), young people and pensioners. Finally, UNISON has set up separate structures, called ‘self-organised groups’ for women, BAME, people with disabilities and LGBTQ+ members. The results of this policy are incontestable, with women making up 61 per cent of the NEC. As Charlotte’s career illustrates, the opening up of numerous participation opportunities for elected women and minority groups, through radical measures, has enabled many grassroots activists, with enough biographical availability (McAdam 1986), a stable job and supporting family, to get involved in the union’s governance structures, even when they were working in low-skilled jobs.

CHARLOTTE, ‘TOP LAY MEMBER’ Charlotte was born disabled. She was educated in specialised institutions. She learned shorthand typing and started working at the age of 19 in 1976. She was lucky and found a job quickly because the council where she lived near London was recruiting. She worked in a team of secretaries for 13 years. She did not join the union immediately, but eventually joined the Transport and General Workers’ Union (TGWU) in 1987 because one of her colleagues was rude to her. ‘I thought I’d better organise myself to protect myself, I didn’t know exactly what I needed to protect myself from, but it seemed like a good idea. And then my colleagues were unionised too’. Her parents were both union members, ‘but they were not activists and we had little discussion on the subject at home’. She then applied for a position in the Child Protection Department. Her boss was not very supportive, and she asked for a transfer to the social services unit. She also became more active in her union and

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became a shop steward in order to make sure that, in case of harassment, she would know how to act. In 1994, she decided to change union and joined UNISON, which had organised a pay strike that the TGWU did not support. She was also attracted by UNISON’s equality policy, which took into account her disability, something the TGWU had never done. She quickly became a shop steward and disability officer. She obtained seven hours of facility time per week for her union roles and was also asked to sit on the branch committee, then on the Regional Disabled Members’ Committee. She joined the Women’s Committee shortly after. In 2006, she was asked if she would like to run for a seat on the National Executive Committee. She was elected to one of the seats reserved for women. She also sat on the National Disabled Members’ Committee. Charlotte is single. She lives with her parents who have always been very supportive. She uses lots of her own time off to handle her different union roles. Since 1999, she has also been a criminal magistrate. She was chosen because of her disability and the proactive policy put in place in the judiciary at the end of the 1990s. These combined experiences have given her enough self-confidence to feel ready to serve on the NEC. The union has encouraged and supported her and provided the help she needs. She has never applied for a paid position in her union because she loves her work and her union roles. ‘I am at the top of the union hierarchy, at the NEC, we manage the union and decide its policy’. She hopes to be re-elected in two years’ time.

THE CHALLENGING CAREERS OF WOMEN’S OFFICERS In addition to policies aimed at feminising elected decision-making bodies, most unions have also appointed women’s officers. Like other specialised roles that have developed in trade unions (Guillaume & Pochic 2013; Guillaume 2018a), these positions have opened up opportunities for women because of their professional and essentialised skills. Who better to take care of women than women? However, the experience of these positions is often mixed. While some women’s officers have remained in their role for many years, such as at UNISON, turnover has been much faster in other unions such as the CFDT, which has seen five different national equality officers in 15 years. However, the CFDT, which has now reached gender parity (52 per cent of the membership), has one of the oldest equality policies, with a long-established women’s commission and women’s officers at different levels of the organisation. In the 1990s and 2000s, the turnover of national women’s officers could be explained by the mismatch between their individual profiles and the nature of the position. Being qualified professionals or recent graduates, they found themselves squeezed into a role that had become quite technical and lacked internal legitimacy since equality policy had been reframed around work and employment issues, a far cry from the societal and feminist perspective that characterised the pre-

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vious decades (Le Brouster 2009). Furthermore, it is sometimes difficult for women in trade unions to identify with ‘feminism’, particularly in France where this label is associated with ‘radical/leftist feminism’. Many feminist women leaders have experienced sexism and been ostracised by their male colleagues, especially when they have served as women’s officers. While some women union leaders, mainly in feminised contexts, claim to practice ‘feminist leadership’ (Kirton & Healy 2012), assimilation strategies and the adoption of masculine leadership approaches seem to be a much more effective route to union legitimacy (Pochic 2014; Guillaume 2018a). Marie’s career demonstrates the dilemmas that women’s officers often face, and the vulnerability of their union careers.

MARIE, A SHORT CAREER IN A CONTROVERSIAL ROLE Marie became politicised and converted to feminism in the 1968 movement, coming from a ‘very traditional’ French Catholic family. Trained initially as a podiatrist-prosthetist, she went back to university in Paris and then joined a department attached to the prime minister’s office in 1977. A member of the Revolutionary Communist League since 1973 and under the influence of her older brother, she decided to establish a CFDT union branch because the atmosphere in her department ‘was nice, but we felt that it was opaque. Our management was a little bit of a mess’. She was also a feminist activist and was involved in the fight for abortion rights, but for her, ‘it was not a union fight’, even if the CFDT, at the time, was very involved in campaigning for women’s rights. For years, she was active in her branch, taking on various union roles in her administration and changing jobs quite often. She had two children in 1979 and 1984. She managed to reconcile all her activities, particularly because her managers in the Ministry of Labour were inclined to recognise the unions’ role. In the 1990s, she met a young female colleague who was recruited by the CFDT and Marie was then recommended for a position as officer in charge of immigration issues in 2002. Marie was then 52 years old. She told herself, ‘I can move out of the Ministry, it’s now or never, with not so many risks’. She accepted the position because she knew the topic but she got bored pretty quickly. After a few months, she was offered the position of national women’s officer. She had not expected it, but was delighted. She replaced a female activist who had not had a very good experience in this role. It was explained to her that it was because this woman was ‘too openly opposed to the prevailing machismo’ and she decided to take that lesson to heart. ‘It became clear to me that there were numerous machos around, and I thought I’d have to sit on my feminism a little bit’. She knew that the CFDT equality policy had been well established since the 1980s (mainly with gender quotas for national seats) but had always been kept at arm’s length by individual (often isolated) women. She loved her job and worked a lot. Her children were grown up, but she suffered from the invasion of her private life, even if her husband supported her. Because of her heavy workload, she was forced to abandon some of her charity work.

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Marie succeeded in setting up action programmes with different federations and organised a national women’s conference with 1,500 activists. Her relations with the female national official she reported to were quite stormy because they did not share the same feminist values, but she felt supported by the general secretary ‘who was not a feminist but saw what supporting equality could do for his image’. However, her action was highly criticised by another female national officer in charge of race discrimination issues, who felt in competition with her. Relationships with her manager became tense and Marie was fired. Being a civil servant and holding her union role while still being employed (and paid) by her Ministry, she managed to return to her previous job, but she remained very resentful and frustrated. Marie felt she had invested a lot of energy in her role but had had to face many internal rivalries. She regretted that the CFDT was unable to define a clear framing for its gender equality policy.

THE RESISTANCE OF MALE OLIGARCHIES IN THE UNIONS The ‘top-down’ feminisation of elected bodies and the presence of women’s officers have not given women (and minority groups) greater access to paid officer positions (in Great Britain) or to intermediate/national leadership roles in either country. Indeed, access to these roles continues to depend on informal identification and selection mechanisms and the support of mentors (often senior white men) who open the door to leadership positions and provide advice on developing as a leader. This peer support is all the more important in organisations where formal leadership training is rare (Kirton & Healy 2013) and little offset by the existence of women-only education (Kirton 2006a), particularly in France. The permanence of a standard and linear career path including progression through a series of key roles at the workplace and regional levels is highly discriminatory for qualified paid officers recruited directly at the regional or national level, and for women confined to certain specialised roles, such as women’s officers. Furthermore, contrary to more controlled organisations, the decentralised and democratic nature of unions gives local/intermediate leaders freedom to decide whether or not to implement national equality policies. Compliance issues can be addressed by different types of control (Acker 2006), but formalised mechanisms are more difficult to implement in volunteering organisations than in bureaucracies. In male-dominated unions, such as the GMB, which is expanding in the public sector and therefore becoming more feminised (49 per cent women in 2013) and has also recently developed a mix of radical and (mainly) liberal equality measures, women’s exclusionary experiences are not uncommon. Catherine’s career exemplifies the many organisational barriers women might encounter.

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CATHERINE, A SURVIVOR IN A MALE-DOMINATED UNION Catherine was born in 1948 in the north of England. After high school, she won a place at university, but did not really know what she wanted to do and started working in the purchasing department of the Ministry of Defence, where she realised that she was paid half as much as her older men colleagues. She then joined a bicycle manufacturing company in 1969 as a ‘trainee’ and progressed up the hierarchy until she became deputy head of the department, following a return to university. She stopped working for a while to raise her first son alone. She then met her first husband and was hired as a purchasing manager in a gaming company. In 1982, she became pregnant with her first daughter and quit her job because she almost had a miscarriage and her employer had not been very supportive. She then had two other daughters and stopped working for five years. However, her husband had accumulated gambling debts and she had to go back to work full-time in the bicycle business, before eventually filing for divorce. Although she was very organised, she had difficulty managing her family and work, and then ended up having to sell her house because her ex-husband stopped paying maintenance. Catherine then decided to stop working for private companies and became involved in the local Labour Party. Between 1992 and 1997, she was elected to various local Labour committees. She also volunteered in the 1996 election campaign and was eventually recruited by a Member of Parliament. She worked as his assistant for a year and a half, but she couldn’t stand his arrogance and the fact that he spent all his time in Westminster, rather than caring about his constituents. She then applied for a position as a recruiter for a union in her town. ‘I didn’t know much about GMB, its culture. And it was a great shock to me. My integration was very difficult. My targets were enormous. I had to recruit 1,200 new members in the first year and more thereafter’. After three months, an organiser role became available. Catherine applied and was not recruited. ‘I should have had the job, but I didn’t get it. The Regional Committee interviewed me, 17 elected members. I was the only woman in the room, so I know it’s because I was a woman that I didn’t get it’. Her workload as a recruiter was too heavy. After three years she went on sick leave for depression for six months. No one called her to support her. When she decided to return to work, her boss explained to her that she had been transferred to another rural and conservative town, 60 miles away, to do the same work. ‘It was my punishment’. Catherine was forced to sell her house and moved out. Her children were grown up and her new husband was unemployed. She decided that she would show them what she was able to do. ‘To succeed, you have to be tenacious, solid, confident in what you are doing. Women must constantly show men that they are wrong. It takes courage’. Catherine decided to work with migrant workers and managed to set up a specialised unit, with the help of two migrant women. Her initiative was awarded ‘project of the year’ by the Trade Union Congress. Following the restructuring of the region, she applied for a senior organiser role, but was not selected because there was a local male candidate. The following year, she finally got the same position for the south-

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ern part of the region, replacing another woman. Catherine now leads a team of 200 people. She has six years left to work before retirement and would like to continue her career within the GMB, but she is also considering becoming a consultant. Feminisation is ‘a big problem for the union. All leaders are men, they have their own little kingdom. Culture is about scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours; we’ve been friends for a long time, the next job is for you’.

EXCEPTIONAL TIME, EXCEPTIONAL WOMEN Trade unions are ‘contested organizations’ (Hyman 2001). Depending on periods, strong internal rivalries between political factions may weaken leaders’ careers and/ or facilitate the renewal of executive teams, opening up unexpected opportunities for women. This was the case of the first Solidaires, Unitaires et Démocratiques (SUD) unions that emerged from the late 1980s in France, following the breakaway of groups from the CFDT in various parts of the public sector (health, post and telecommunications, and railways) and their affiliation to Solidaires in 1998. These unions included experienced former CFDT women activists such as Corinne (see case below), who were able to access leadership positions. Women’s participation was also encouraged by the small size of SUD unions (Kirton 2018; Sayce et al., 2006) and by their unique conception of internal democracy based on consensual decision-making, avoidance of full-time officers, rotation of elected officials and strong workplace unionism (Guillaume 2018b). However, since most SUD unions have had to fight through the courts to obtain recognition, they usually have fewer resources and facility time than other, bigger unions, which causes specific difficulties in terms of work/union life balance. Moreover, the persistence of a heroic (Briskin 2011) and masculine style of leadership, intrinsic to the social construction of militant (radical) activism, also constrains women’s participation. In a more subtle way, the highly politicised and ideological nature of union debates, relying on grandiloquent and sophisticated speeches, can also discourage less qualified and less politicised members, regardless of gender. Many SUD women activists identify strongly as feminists. Nevertheless, they tend to ‘neutralise their gender to better represent their class’ (Pochic 2014) or that of those they represent, in the name of a quest for social justice (Healy & Kirton 2013). Besides, as union leaders they usually have to conform to the masculine norms of union careers – long hours and frequent business trips – whether with help or opposition from their partners, as Corinne’s career illustrates (see also Table 16.1, p. 252).

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CORINNE, AN EXCEPTIONAL WOMAN IN A FEMINIST TRADE UNION Corinne passed the Customs Officers exam in France in 1987, after her baccalaureate. She was recruited and left home for six months’ training. At first, she was a little lost, but she was rather sporty and excelled quickly in shooting sessions, which earned her the respect of her many male colleagues. She was then assigned in the north of France, as head of a team of about 20 men. The first two months were difficult, ‘you have to be firm and attentive’, but the fact that she was in a relationship with a more experienced customs officer helped her. He advised her. She then requested a transfer to get closer to her spouse, in the French Alps. She fell into ‘a nest of CFDT trade unionists’ at the beginning of 1989, one of the biggest disputes the Ministry of Finance has known, which led to a complete overhaul of pay scales and job classifications. She then became pregnant, which put a stop to her union involvement. When her second child, born very soon after the first, was old enough, she was elected head of the local CFDT branch, ‘naturally’, when the male former secretary retired. Her spouse, who was a union member but not an activist, supported her. Following the election of Nicole Notat as head of the CFDT in 1992, major internal political tensions led Corinne to go to Paris regularly to participate in internal debates. The Finance Federation, which was rather far to the left, led a head-on fight against the national union leadership. At that time, Corinne was often away from home and eventually got divorced. She does not know ‘whether it was her union commitment that led to the divorce or whether it was because her relationship was in trouble that she made such a commitment’. In 1996, tired of fighting internally, the customs branch followed other unions and left the CFDT to found the SUD-Douanes union. ‘We were left in a vacuum, without the right to organise, without recognition by the employer’. Corinne followed people she trusted, ‘intelligent and charismatic’, but this departure was ‘painful’. Being quite young at the time (36 years old), she was attracted to the SUD unions’ philosophy that placed great emphasis on union democracy and the absence of hierarchy. However, SUD-Douanes took ten years to be recognised by the Finance Ministry. Meanwhile, Corinne married another customs officer and had two more children. When, finally, the union obtained the required level of representativeness, through sustained legal battles, she became branch convenor at the regional level, with 75 per cent facility time. Shortly after, she was elected to serve at the federation level. The general secretary, a man, absolutely wanted her to sit on the federal bureau because she was a ‘founding member’ of the union. Her second husband, who had always been supportive and taken care of the four children, started to be a bit upset because she was away from home several times a week. At the same time, Corinne tried to pass an exam to get promotion because her career had suffered from her union role and because she wanted to gain more legitimacy in the eyes of her management and union fellows. ‘Being a woman and not being a manager does not help’. Interestingly, SUD-Douanes recruits members from among non-managerial occupations but is run by ‘intellectuals’ (Guillaume 2018b). The union does not have an

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equality/diversity policy, but Corinne believes that ‘SUD is the least macho union amongst customs unions’. The number of women in leadership positions is proportional to the level of feminisation of the profession (30 per cent), which justifies not imposing quotas for fear of not finding candidates. At the local level, on the electoral list of the region, three women are elected. This feminisation makes it easier to recruit women members. ‘Women talk more easily to women’. Corinne considers herself a feminist and finds that her union does not pay sufficient attention to gender discrimination and sexual harassment issues, which are increasingly violent and not properly dealt with by management. On a personal level, she feels that she has never been discriminated against or harassed in the union or at work, because she has always been in a relationship with customs officers and because she knows how to defend herself. Interestingly, Corinne never mentions race discrimination at work or within her union or being BAME, except when she evokes her mother’s struggle to work with a ‘white chauvinist husband’ (her father). She does not intend to stop her union career. She has been asked to sit on Solidaires’ national women’s commission, but she does not want to be full-time or become general secretary, although she thinks a man–woman tandem would be good. Anyway, the union has not suggested she should stand, probably because she ‘doesn't have the necessary qualities’. She thinks she is ‘too spontaneous’ for that kind of role.

CONCLUSION This chapter has argued that a career methodology provides a comprehensive, multi-space and dynamic understanding of women’s career development in trade unions and offers an innovative methodological perspective that can address some of the gaps and limitations of gender and management studies. First, because it is a situated approach, it makes it possible to understand the specificity of each ‘inequality regime’ (Acker 2006) and to isolate what is unique in the barriers to and enablers of women’s participation and the limits of the equality/diversity policies implemented. Difficulties that can be linked to tangible (but sometimes implicit) factors, such as the lack of biographical availability or the professional skills necessary to meet the requirements of a leader career, as well as symbolic dimensions, such as the more or less feminist framing of equality policies and its links to class (and race). Second, far from being merely a description of these inequality regimes, this approach examines the institutional, organisational and individual processes, and their dynamics and interactions over time, that explain the permanence of inequalities or, conversely, the advancement of equality. Third, this approach emphasises the importance of women’s agency and the adjustments they make between the different spheres of their lives, which may, on occasion, come into conflict, ‘since they are permanently

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subject to the obligation to comply with different norms, roles and logics that are sometimes incompatible’ (Fillieule et al. 2019: 313). Overall, this detailed and situated understanding of women leaders’ experiences makes it possible to highlight the challenges of implementing equality policies, starting with the difficulty of imposing and controlling equality policies in decentralised and democratic organisations; the challenge of opposing informal norms and mechanisms for identifying and selecting future leaders (in a context of strong competition for these roles); the often exceptional context of leadership that causes women leaders to face difficult situations and have shorter careers (Ryan & Haslam 2005); and the possible backlash women leaders experience when they reach upper levels of management without the necessary political backing and/or experience and peer networks. However, we acknowledge that this situated approach comes up against specific ethical difficulties to which it is necessary to be sensitive and to address. Since career narratives can be quite detailed and because of the small number of women (union) leaders, the anonymity of interviews can be difficult to preserve in a small world (Fillieule et al. 2019). Several solutions are available to the researcher. The first one, to which we resorted, is to opt for an anonymisation de façade by slightly modifying the person’s social markers (names, places, dates) and/or to mention only individuals who have left the organisation, but without any guarantee of maintaining total confidentiality. That said, we argue that social actors rarely read academic literature and that they would really have to engage in a guessing exercise to identify the interviewees. A second, rarer solution is, as Fillieule et al. (2019) suggest, to use fictitious portraits, i.e. ‘the reconstruction of cases that are sociologically correct but socially false’ (p. 314), based on a combination of several real cases that are considered close and that are combined to create one. This can be an interesting solution if it enables researchers to maintain the necessary contextualisation of individual careers. However, readers may be confused about the veracity of the data, or rather the lack of it. Moreover, to avoid the limitations of an approach based solely on case studies (Yin 2016), any form of career approach suggests a comparison of several cases whose comparability needs to be worked on, especially in a cross-national context, which in itself presents a number of methodological pitfalls (Guillaume 2018a).

REFERENCES Abbott, J. (1997), ‘On the concept of turning point’, Comparative Social Research, 16, 85–105. Acker, J. (2006), ‘Inequality regimes: gender, class, and race in organizations’, Gender and Society, 20 (4), 441–64. Barley, S. (1989), ‘Careers, identities, and institutions: the legacy of the Chicago school of sociology’, in Michael Arthur, Douglas Hall and Barbara Lawrence (eds), Handbook of Career Theory, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 41–65. Becker, H. (1960), ‘Notes on the concept of commitment’, American Journal of Sociology, 66 (July), 32–40. Becker, H. (1966), Outsiders, Glencoe, IL: Free Press.

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Briskin, L. (2006), ‘Victimisation and agency: the social construction of union women’s leadership’, Industrial Relations Journal, 37 (4), 359–79. Briskin, L. (2011), ‘Union renewal, postheroic leadership, and women’s organizing: crossing discourses, reframing debates’, Labor Studies Journal, 36 (4), 508–37. Cockburn, C. (1995), Strategies for Gender Democracy, Luxembourg: European Commission. Colgan, F. and S. Ledwith (eds) (2002), Gender, Diversity and Trade Unions: International Perspectives, London: Routledge. Crompton, R. (2001), ‘Gender, comparative research and biographical matching’, European Societies, 3 (2), 167–90. Cunnison, S. and J. Stageman (1995), Feminising the Unions, Aldershot: Avebury. Darmon, M. (2008), ‘The concept of career: an interactionist instrument of objectivation’, Politix, 82 (2), 149–67. Dean, D. (2015), ‘Deviant typicality: gender equality issues in a trade union that should be different’, Industrial Relations Journal, 46 (1), 37–53. Fillieule, O. (2010), ‘Some elements of an interactionist approach to political disengagement’, Social Movement Studies, 9 (1), 1–15. Fillieule, O., V. Monney and H. Rayner (2019), Le métier et la vocation de syndicaliste. L’enquête Suisse, Lausanne: Antipodes. Guillaume, C. (2018a), Syndiquées. Défendre les intérêts des femmes au travail, Paris: Presses de Sciences Po. Guillaume, C. (2018b), ‘Women’s participation in a radical trade union movement that claims to be feminist’, British Journal of Industrial Relations, 56 (3), 556–78. Guillaume, C. and S. Pochic (2011), ‘The organisational nature of union careers: the touchstone of equality policies? Comparing France and the UK’, European Societies, 13 (4), 607–31. Guillaume, C. and S. Pochic (2013), ‘Breaking through the union glass ceiling in France: between organisational opportunities and individual resources’, in S. Ledwith and L. L. Hansen (eds), Gendering and Diversifying Trade Union Leadership, London: Routledge, pp. 385–414. Healy, G. and G. Kirton (2000), ‘Women, power and trade union government in the UK’, British Journal of Industrial Relations, 38 (3), 343–60. Healy, G. and G. Kirton (2013), ‘The early mobilization of women union leaders – a comparative perspective’, British Journal of Industrial Relations, 51 (4), 709–32. Hughes, E. (1958), Men and their Work, Glencoe, IL: Free Press. Hyman, R. (2001), ‘Trade union research and cross-national comparison’, European Journal of Industrial Relations, 7 (2), 203–32. Kanter, R. M. (1977), ‘Some effects of proportions on group life’, American Journal of Sociology, 82 (5), 965–90. Kirton, G. (2006a), The Making of Women Trade Unionists, Aldershot: Ashgate. Kirton, G. (2006b), ‘Alternative and parallel career paths for women: the case of trade union participation’, Work, Employment and Society, 20 (1), 47–65. Kirton, G. (2018), ‘Anatomy of women’s participation in small professional unions’, Economic and Industrial Democracy, 39 (1), 151–72. Kirton, G. and G. Healy (2012), ‘“Lift as you rise”: union women’s leadership talk’, Human Relations, 65 (8), 979–99. Kirton, G. and G. Healy (2013), Gender and Leadership in Unions, New York: Routledge. Le Brouster, P. (2009), ‘Le débat sur la mixité des structures au sein de la CFDT (1976–1982)’, Sens Public, 5, 3–12. Ledwith, S., F. Colgan, P. Joyce and M. Hayes (1990), ‘The making of women trade union leaders’, Industrial Relations Journal, 21 (2), 112–25. Lescurieux, M. (2019), ‘La représentation syndicale des femmes, de l’adhésion à la prise de responsabilité: une inclusion socialement sélective’, La Revue de l’Ires, 98 (2), 59–82.

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Mazur, A. G. (2017), ‘Toward the systematic study of feminist policy in practice: an essential first step’, Journal of Women, Politics and Policy, 38 (1), 64–83. McAdam, D. (1986), ‘Recruitment to high-risk activism: the case of Freedom Summer’, American Journal of Sociology, 92 (1), 64–90. McBride, A. (2001), Gender Democracy in Trade Unions, Aldershot: Ashgate. Munro, A. (1999), Women, Work and Trade Unions, Aldershot: Ashgate. Pochic, S. (2014), ‘Femmes responsables syndicales en Angleterre et identification féministe: neutraliser leur genre pour mieux représenter leur classe?’, Sociologie, 5 (4), 369–86. Pocock, B. and K. Brown (2013), ‘Gendered leadership in Australian unions in the process of strategic renewal: instrumental, transformative or post-heroic?’ in S. Ledwith and L. L. Hansen (eds), Gendering and Diversifying Trade Union Leadership, London: Routledge, pp. 27–46. Ryan, M. and A. Haslam (2005), ‘The glass cliff: evidence that women are over-represented in precarious leadership positions’, British Journal of Management, 16, 81–90. Sampson, R. J and J. H. Laub (2005), ‘A life course view of the development of crime’, The ANNALS of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 602, 12–45. Sayce, S., A. M. Greene and P. Ackers (2006), ‘Small is beautiful? The development of women’s activism in a small union’, Industrial Relations Journal, 37 (4), 400–414. Yin, R. (2016), Case Study Research Design and Methods (5th edn), Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

17. Phenomenology and autoethnography as potential methodologies for exploring masculinity in organizations, communities and society Joshua C. Collins and Jeremy W. Bohonos

Research on gender in organizations has grown considerably over the last 30 years since Acker’s (1990) germinal work challenged and problematized the default assumption that organizations are gender neutral. There has been continual debate about the boundaries of the impact of the gendered nature of organizations, including Acker’s additional explorations of class and race (Acker, 2006). Other important works include a handbook edited by Kumra, Simpson and Burke (2014), exploring gender in organizations which included some chapters related to masculinity and male sexuality. Most recently has been the conceptualization of the “masculinized industry” (Collins, 2015) label to characterize those workspaces generally described “as masculine, male-dominated, and/or gendered” (Collins, 2015, p. 417), with the added distinctions of “men embodying heterosexual work styles” (Collins & Callahan, 2012, p. 456). Researchers have also long argued that racially exclusionary practices in such workplaces compound gender divisions (Willis, 1977) and make them significant loci for the development of white racial identities (Roediger, 2006, 2007). Many organizations in these industries consistently score among the lowest of all organizations in the Human Rights Campaign’s Corporate Equality Index (2019), which measures the extent to which businesses are inclusive of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer (LGBTQ) people. Masculinized industries maintain cultures, hierarchies, policies and approaches to work that are often white-dominated, male-centric, masculine and heteronormative, resulting in the inequitable distribution of power across a comprehensive range of diverse gender, sexual, racial and ethnic identities and expressions. Of course, masculine cultures and norms extend beyond masculinized industries. The impacts of compulsory masculinity and Eurocentricity may be seen in nearly all types of organizations and work the world over—a lingering impact of colonialism. Over the last few years, these conversations have gained wider attention through such social movements as the “Me Too” campaign against sexual harassment (Me Too Movement, n.d.) and assault and the “Black Lives Matter” movement against racial injustice (Black Lives Matter, n.d.). One of the consequences of these movements is that previously academic phrases such as “toxic masculinity” and “white privilege” are attaining mass, public recognition. This chapter explores how gendered, heteronormative and racialized histories, policies and practices have contributed to 265

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the development and maintenance of masculinized and Eurocentric cultures, which permeate organizational spaces. This chapter situates phenomenology (with its focus on the essence of multiple experiences) and autoethnography (with its focus on more individualized experiences) as two potential research methodologies for exploring masculinity in organizations, communities and society. In keeping with the tradition of Black feminist bell hooks’ notion of positioning (1994), as two cisgender white men (one gay and one heterosexual) speaking on this topic, we want to be clear about our intent, which is not to promote the methodologies discussed in this chapter as a means to uphold or defend masculinity, but rather as mechanisms for understanding and explaining masculinity with a critical eye toward advancing social justice. This chapter unfolds as follows. First, we overview the historical and current state of masculinity in organizations, communities and society, including discussions of toxic masculinity, masculinity and gender identity and expression, masculinity and sexual orientation, and masculinity and race. Second, we present a methodological argument for why phenomenology and autoethnography are particularly well-suited for empirical investigations into masculinity. Finally, we present a discussion and concluding thoughts.

MASCULINITY IN ORGANIZATIONS, COMMUNITIES AND SOCIETY Over the last decade, scholars have paid significant and increasing attention to masculinity in a variety of contexts and places (Gorman-Murray & Hopkins, 2016). One of the most well-known byproducts of this work has been the emergence and popularization of the term “toxic masculinity” to refer to those aspects of masculinity which, through the socialization of cisgender boys and men, produce unchecked, unaccountable behaviors of power which harm others (Posadas, 2017). While widely known in the mainstream, toxic masculinity is also often misunderstood. Critiques of masculinity as toxic most often are not intended to imply that all forms and performances of masculinity are harmful (Veisièrre, 2018). Rather, some forms and performances are harmful, and these “some” are usually highly visible, identifiable, and create the most concretely deleterious outcomes for all those who come into contact with the ideology and behaviors. If you were to give someone ten cookies and four were poisoned, would discussing the formation and impact of those four poisoned cookies not be important, despite the fact that six were good? In reality, toxic masculinity harms everyone it touches. Toxic masculinity is forged every single day through seemingly innocuous statements and ideas that most in society take for granted, such as the use of phrases like “boys will be boys” to dismiss problematic behaviors, attitudes and ideas in cisgender boys and men. Toxic masculinity (Kimmel, 1995) is also forged and reified via more insidious and explicit means when boys who have been socialized in this manner grow up into men who enact misogynistic, violent and abusive behaviors against women and other people, including other men, who they perceive as feminine and therefore weak or undeserving (Collins, 2015). Toxic masculinity

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even harms men who embody its ideals, leading to depression (Parent et al., 2019), resentment and rage (Haider, 2016), misuse of alcohol (Peralta, 2007), and substance and steroid abuse (Keane, 2005), often attributed to emotional suppression and poor help-seeking behaviors (Addis & Mahhalik, 2003) brought on by the stigma associated with unrealistic expectations for emotionality in boys and men, such as through the use of phrases like “boys don’t cry.” These features of certain, toxic expressions of masculinity throughout organizations, communities and society are key to understanding more nuanced impacts across diverse gender identities and expressions, sexual orientation, and race and ethnicity. As a legacy of colonialism, and the conservative religious ideologies which fueled colonialism (MacAloon, 2013), many societies across the globe favor and normalize expressions of gender that align with sex that has been assigned at birth (Stryker, 2013), meaning if you are assigned male at birth the expectation is that you will identify and present as a man or if you are assigned female at birth you will identify and present as a woman. These limiting beliefs and ideologies create less space for identities and expressions which may fall outside the binary, typically devaluing and even sexualizing the feminine (Pietsch, 2009) while defaulting to the masculine. Furthermore, these same limiting beliefs and ideologies are leveraged to invent and fulfill stereotypes and assumptions related to what masculinity is supposed to look like in relation to sexual attraction. For example, if a heterosexual woman presents in a more masculine manner, she may be assumed to by some to have a sexual orientation other than heterosexual. Alternatively, a lesbian who presents in a more feminine manner is often sexualized by heterosexual men, while gay men are too often assumed to be more feminine or to align more with feminine traits than straight men. This system of stereotypes and assumptions harm everyone. Finally, the relationship between masculinity and race and ethnicity must be viewed from two equally important vantage points. The first vantage point draws attention to the need for cross-cultural and intercultural understandings of masculinity (Edwards, 2004), to provide deeper context for interpreting the ways in which masculinity may be more or less elevated in status in different cultures. The second vantage point draws attention to the ways in which the default valued characteristics of masculinity are often aligned with Eurocentric, white ideals which can inhibit the full inclusion of racial and ethnic minorities in organizational and community contexts. The phenomenological works of Collins and Rocco (2015) and Salters (2013) highlight many of these issues at the system, organizational, and individual and group levels. Both operating in the professional context of law enforcement, Collins and Rocco (2015) explored issues related to sexuality and masculinity for gay male police officers, while Salters (2013) explored race utilizing a sample of heterosexual Black male officers. At play in both studies are the systems of racism, sexism and homophobia, framed as pervasive societal structures and norms which impact everything from politics to religion to education to workplace police and workforce development. Historically, the profession of law enforcement was not open to women, people of color, or LGBTQ people (Sklansky, 2005). Despite the fact that the profession has become more diverse over time, sexism, racism, and homophobia

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and heterosexism continue to manifest at the organizational level through such things as standards for promotion and development. While the profession is more diverse, in the United States there still exists a known problem with white supremacy in the police (Johnson, 2017). The mechanisms of promotion and development have not been updated to facilitate the inclusion of the diverse talent now represented by the workforce. Because competence in law enforcement has been conflated with Eurocentric, white masculine ideals (Collins & Rocco, 2015), at the core it is a toxic form of masculinity which continues to inhibit the advancement of the profession as it relates to social justice. Collins and Rocco (2015) and Salters (2013), both of which utilized phenomenology to explore issues for underrepresented groups in law enforcement professions, interviewed participants whose experiences mirrored this reality: Everything is motherfucker this, motherfucker that, this asshole, that son of a bitch … it’s basically how badass everyone is … “I’m so badass, I did this.” … “I’m more badass ʼcause I did this.” Then occasionally the other topics are, like, football and talking about which women in the department they want to bang instead of their wife, stuff like that. … There’s always like one or two guys that will turn to me and go, “So which one of the dudes [in our department] would you want to be with?” … And then I’ll make jokes: “Sorry guys, I’m only attracted to masculine guys, so none of you really.” (Collins & Rocco, 2015, p. 302) I like to tell people nobody said anything bad about you, but the flipside is that there was nobody saying anything good about you either. There was nobody championing your cause when they had these meetings, and I learned that firsthand from being a recruiter. I was in some of those meetings, and I witnessed some of the things that went on, you know. (Salters, 2013, p. 108)

Given these experiences, we conclude that the conditions of masculinity in organizations, communities and society demand our methodological energy and attention as researchers.

RESEARCH APPROACHES FOR EXPLORING MASCULINITY Phenomenology, with its focus on an essence of multiple experiences, and autoethnography, with its focus on a more singular experience or culture, are appropriate research approaches for looking at masculinity. These methodologies can be used to help address a need for rich and deep description of how people of all genders, sexual orientations, and races and ethnicities experience masculinity as a societal force. Phenomenology Phenomenology has been used widely to explore issues in organizations, including examinations of such critical issues as power and privilege (Broido, 2000), identity and intersectionality (Haskins et al., 2016), and individual perceptions of their organizational, industry, or learning context (Collins & Rocco, 2015). Phenomenology

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most often aims to describe the essence of a phenomenon, usually leveraging in-depth interviews with a few, several, or even dozens of individuals with some shared, lived experience. Phenomenology is a particularly useful methodology for exploring masculinity and the impacts of masculinity because it allows for thick, rich description (Ponterotto, 2006) and for research questions to emerge and evolve in the process of the research. Phenomenology resists the constraints inherent in many other methodologies, whether quantitative, qualitative or mixed methods. Because phenomenology does not aim to reduce a problem or phenomenon to either what is going on “out there” in the world or what is going on within an individual, the unique both/and approach which is a key feature of phenomenology allows a researcher to approach and describe lived experiences as they are understood by a group of people, in relation to theory, and inextricable from individual identities. Of course, there are different types of phenomenology and each might lend itself to addressing the various complicated components of masculinity. Feminist phenomenology (Allen-Collinson, 2011) holds that the world is not experienced without some relation to gender and the power and privilege dynamics that are embedded in gendered differences across societies. A feminist phenomenological approach does not attempt to address issues of gender from an objective point of view but rather is intentionally subjective in its centering of gender in the design, theorizing and execution of the research. A feminist phenomenological approach to masculinity research might include looking at masculinity through a lens which assumes that people of all genders have an experience of masculinity and therefore some perspective to offer in terms of understanding the lived experience of masculinity, whether from the point of view of someone who identifies as more masculine, more feminine, or a combination of the many ways we might all be both masculine and feminine. While much of the research on masculinity has been conducted utilizing samples of boys and men (Connell, 2008), a feminist phenomenological approach could use a similar sample with an explicitly feminist critical lens or, perhaps more interestingly, interview people who do not identify as masculine about the role and impact of masculinity in their lives as a pathway to understanding and communicating both potential good and potential harm which may be served by masculine ideals. Another promising approach might include queer phenomenology (Ahmed, 2006) which focuses on how social patterns related to sexual orientation, gender identity and gender expression may be disrupted through an understanding of the lived experiences of those whose way of being and knowing forces or enables them to reject prescribed paths. A queer phenomenological approach in organizational research could look at masculinity from the point of view of those who disrupt norms in organizations and how that disruption plays a role in shaping an individual’s experience of organizational culture. For example, Collins and Rocco (2018) utilized a queered understanding of employee engagement within a phenomenological exploration of the experiences of gay male law enforcement officers to describe how men in their study sometimes used coming out as gay—which is contrary to organizational cultures centered on both personal privacy and overt masculinity—as a means for becoming more engaged at work. This powerful performative contradiction showed

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that intentional insubordination, which most employee engagement scholars would argue is not conducive to employee engagement, in some cases might actually be just the tool that is necessary to de- and reconstruct stereotypes in a masculinized profession (Collins & Rocco, 2015, 2018). A third and final emerging area of phenomenological research, post-intentional phenomenology (Vagle, 2010), also seems well-positioned for uncovering deeper understandings and explanations of masculinity. Post-intentional phenomenology is an attempt to break phenomenological research outside the confines of the traditional descriptive–interpretive dichotomy. Post-intentional phenomenology re-imagines phenomenological inquiry by integrating methodology with post-structural epistemology. Within this approach to phenomenology, participant interviews become but one piece of important data, whereas in other phenomenological approaches, interviews are typically the only data. Within a post-intentional frame, the background and beliefs of the researcher also become a part of the research, in a manner that is much different from bracketing (Chan et al., 2013), memoing, or researcher positionality statements which are all leveraged in many traditional phenomenological studies as a means for removing or limiting researcher bias. In post-intentional phenomenology, the background and beliefs of the researcher are also data and are treated in the same manner as interviews. This is also true for theoretical and conceptual frameworks that are a part of the work. Where, in more traditional phenomenology, theoretical and conceptual frameworks might be leveraged to interpret, make meaning, or possibly analyze the interview data, in post-intentional phenomenology, theoretical insights may be presented alongside participant quotes and researcher reflections, all as equal contributors to the findings of the work. In relation to masculinity, this approach to phenomenological inquiry would mean not just talking to people about their lived experience of masculinity but engaging in a process of researcher self-questioning and theoretical exploration which provides much-needed nuance to a complicated cultural conversation. Autoethnography Autoethnography is a form of narrative research (Creswell, 2007) that allows for the extraction of themes from personal stories and facilitates understanding from the perspective of lived experience. Autoethnography often involves self-critique (Marcus, 1994) and can be confessional in nature (Van Maanen, 1988). It also has the power to offer readers visceral connections to the authors’ experiences that build empathy and solidarity, while inspiring readers to reflexive praxis (Forber-Pratt, 2015). This window into another lived reality can be powerfully applied to the study of gender in organizations to push readers to consider alternative viewpoints and experiences. Grenier (2015) argued that autoethnography can be useful in organizational studies for “exploring everyday work phenomenon that can lead to the development of new theories of HRD [human resource development]” (p. 1). This method can also be used to explore multiple levels of consciousness and provide critiques of author actions and social experiences (Muncey, 2010) while deconstructing various forms of

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privilege and marginalization (Ellis, 2007, 2009; Rodriguez, 2009; Bohonos, 2019; Overstreet, 2019). Autoethnographic research in organizational settings abounds and often attends to issues of gender. Representations of masculinity in this literature vary and tend to be influenced more greatly by the positionality of the researcher(s) than the “type” of autoethnography the researchers engage with. In fact, many authors choose not to identify a subcategory of autoethnography they are working within, but rather give detailed descriptions of their own process and their own positionality. In classifying works of organizational ethnography reviewed for this chapter, the most meaningful distinctions that emerged were between single-authored autoethnographies with singular foci on gender, co-authored autoethnographies in which the authors proceed from similar positionalities while focusing solely on gender, single author research embracing intersectionality, and co-authored autoethnographies that leverage both similarities and differences in positionality—which is sometimes referred to as multi-positional autoethnography (Bohonos & Otchere, 2018)—to facilitate intersectional analysis. Single-author autoethnographies that focus primarily on gender in organizational contexts have contributed to better understandings of topics, including becoming a mother in the workplace (Riad, 2007), the impact of secondary trauma on a woman who researches and teaches about violence against women (Nikischer, 2018), and male privilege in entrepreneurial activities (Engstrom, 2012). One standout example (Haynes, 2013) explores sexual symbolism in a male dominated accounting firm and the way sexual language, images and ritual created a hostile space for her as one of the few women in the firm. This work explores how organizational culture steeped in hegemonic masculinity (Connell, 2005) can operate in spaces that are off limits to customers, while a more gender neutral façade can be maintained in spaces designated for customer interaction. In this work, Riad (2007) leverages her identity as a woman in a masculinized workplace to provide readers visceral accounts of marginalization that have the potential to build solidary among women—and other gender minorities—while also facilitating the development of empathy in straight cisgender men. Co-authored autoethnographies written from similar positions have demonstrated similar capacity. For example, in a series of coauthored autoethnographies, Katila and Meriläinen (1999, 2002) worked to trouble “patriarchal articulations of professional identity” (2002, p. 336) by discussing different ways that colleagues attempted to undermine their credibility and push them to conform to standards of professional practice that conflicted with their feminist sensibilities. Additionally, Ellison and Langout (2016) discuss how race, gender and class affect the ways in which white working-class women attempt to work for racial justice. Single-author autoethnographies which adopt intersectional approaches have been used to discuss a white gay man’s experiences teaching undergraduate diversity courses at a research university (Collins, 2017), explore the interplay between white privilege and gender discrimination faced by women (Sobre-Denton, 2012), deconstruct men’s efforts to do research regarding intersectional feminism (Hearn, 2013), provide insider descriptions of how straight white men develop and maintain racist, sexist and homophobic workplace cultures (Bohonos, 2019), and explore the

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ways family commitments, sexual violence and racial inequities can influence the ways an African American woman experiences the military’s organizational culture (Straughn, 2018). Additionally, several well-known women of color including hooks (1994) and Mailhot (2018) have written reflectively about how their life experiences and positionalities have shaped their experiences with a variety of organizational cultures. hooks has been especially apt at writing both from a solo author position and in collaborating with partners from different social positions to demonstrate both the importance of understanding differences in social positions, and the capacity for women of color to build coalitions with white women (Childers & hooks, 1990), Black men (hooks & West, 2016) and white men (hooks, 1994). Men writing multi-positional autoethnographies have also incorporated insights from a variety of racial, gender and ethnic positions to shed light on complex aspects of masculinity. For example, Squire, Kelly, Jourian, Byrd, Manzano and Bumbry (2018) combine perspectives of five men of color whose identities included “a Black gay man, a Black heterosexual man, a Pilipino American gay man, a biracial Vietnamese/White gay man, and a transgender Middle Eastern man.” By providing descriptions of how their social identities and life histories informed their experiences within a shared organization, they were able to provide analysis that complicated many social identity categories that are too often taken for granted and/ or reduced to binaries. In a similar vein, several groups of women of color scholars have combined to explore how varied social positions effect the ways they experience white hetero-patriarchy (Suriel, Martinez & Evans-Winters, 2018; Rodriguez & Boahene, 2012; Rodriguez et al., 2012).

CRITIQUES, POSSIBILITIES AND ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS IN PHENOMENOLOGY AND AUTOETHNOGRAPHY A weakness common to many of the phenomenological and autoethnographic studies reviewed in preparation for this chapter was a failure of the authors to fully explicate their positionality, which is a crucial component of both methodologies. Vagueness as it relates to author/researcher positionality on the subject matter often has the effect of producing research that focuses on a singular experience or identity while being less cognizant of the intersections of gender, race, ethnicity, social class, sexual orientation, ability and nationality. In many cases, the problematic nature of remaining blind to intersectionality could have been avoided with a robust positionality statement. For example, there is nothing inherently wrong with a paper about a white, enabled, cisgender, heterosexual man born in the United States sharing his experiences with gender in the workplace, but if he only names his gender, he risks being complicit in the norming of a variety of privileged positions and thereby contributing to the maintenance of social dominance relative to those positions. A key takeaway from this chapter is that both phenomenologists and autoethnographers must place a special emphasis of robust interrogations of their positionality to avoid

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being complicit in variety of forms of marginalization, even as they push for greater organizational inclusivity on lines of gender. This is a lesson that the second author of this paper (Bohonos, 2019) had to learn the hard way after initially conceiving of a dissertation project about his experience as a white person in overtly racist workplaces. In the act of analyzing his own autoethnographic writing, Bohonos (2019) was confronted by the degree to which his analysis risked norming the sexism and heterosexism that came clearly into focus once he stopped conceiving of himself as a white person studying workplace racism, and began to see himself as a straight, cisgender, white man who is also a class migrant doing research about racism, sexism, homophobia and classism in the workplace. This unfolded during the data analysis process as Bohonos began to realize how his thorough acculturation into hegemonic masculinity had previously blinded him to the level of damage sexism and homophobia caused in his workplaces. For example, before undertaking this project he tended to see homophobic jokes as in poor taste, but was comfortable laughing at them to gain acceptance from the men he worked with. However, the process of comparing the social function of gay jokes to the social function of racist jokes helped him to realize that both reinforced the other while contributing to the dehumanization of “others.” Thus, Bohonos’ autoethnography had a transformative effect on his critical consciousness which pushed him from a position of apathetic liberalism towards homophobia to a commitment to developing his capacity to serve as an ally to the LGBTQ community. Similarly, the analysis process rekindled a previous interest in social class. He had walked away from class-based work partially out of frustration regarding the degree to which the American labor movement had contributed to the labor market marginalization of people of color, and partially out of a feeling that work in this area was self-serving. The analysis of his autoethnographic texts, combined with a growing appreciation for the race-conscious Marxisms (Du Bois, 1998/1935; Roediger, 2019), provided an opening for him to integrate critical stances on race, gender and class under the auspices of intersectionality. It is important to note that failing to make this conceptual shift would have not only made his research complicit in classist heteropatriarchy, but it also would have nullified many of his findings relative to race. One of the strengths of autoethnographies that are both multi-positional and intersectional is that they allow researchers to document differences between groups who share certain characteristics while differing in others. For example Squire, Kelly, Jourian, Byrd, Manzano and Bumbry (2018) are able to demonstrate a range of experiences of men of color even within the same organization. This capacity stands in contrast to phenomenological approaches that might have emphasized what these men had in common as men of color, while potentially limiting what a researcher could say about how different racial, ethnic, gender, national and sexual identities complicated their organizational experiences. Both approaches present opportunities and challenges. One might argue that autoethnography is too singularly focused on one’s own experience, while phenomenology is too concerned with finding “common ground” where perhaps very little exists.

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There are also a number of ethical considerations involved in responsibility completing autoethnographic or phenomenological studies. First, a potential slipping point in research using either of these methodologies to study masculinity is the possibility that they could amplify its status rather than offer pathways to better or more inclusion. For this reason, researchers undertaking to study masculinity should be conscientious of the need to operate from critical perspectives and overtly work to leverage their findings in efforts to challenge the Eurocentric capitalist heteropatriarchy. Secondly, it is also important for researchers to consider the ethical factors related to offering a critique of masculinity which does not denigrate all people or all things masculine. While toxic masculinity is an important and useful concept for exploring the ways in which certain embodiments of masculinity are harmful in communities and societies, researchers should be careful to grapple with the implications and the dangers of labeling, intentionally or unintentionally, all forms of masculinity toxic. Third, because of potential ethical concerns related to conflating gender and masculinity, researchers in masculinity studies should also be careful to delineate distinctions between studying men (as a population) and studying masculinity (as a social construct), as the effects of masculinity influence the lived experiences and life chances of all life on our planet. A fourth ethical consideration relates specifically to the role of the researcher in both methodologies. In autoethnography, the researcher’s additional positionality as subject may create complexities related to the ability of the researcher to be critical of, or truthful about, one’s own experience. Because the data in autoethnographic studies are often derived from artifacts and memories as produced by the researcher, verification or triangulation of data and interpretations may be impossible. Similarly, in phenomenological research, it is often customary for the researcher to include statements about their own positionalities and identities to situate the work. Therefore, is essential for researchers within both methodological traditions to engage in data collection and analysis processes which create physical or virtual paper trails which can be followed by others, and to be as transparent as possible about biases, identities and worldviews which influence the work.

HOW TO CONDUCT PHENOMENOLOGICAL RESEARCH IN GENDER AND MANAGEMENT There is no formula for conducting phenomenological research. Many approaches have been proposed and applied over time, and each offers their own set of strengths and weaknesses. Some approaches are more complex, while others are a bit more simplified. Within gender and management, specifically as it relates to exploring masculinity in various contexts, the authors of this chapter suggest a more simple approach, bolstered with a robust theoretical or conceptual framework to assist in analysis and interpretation. To begin, a researcher should establish a question which focuses on meaning-making as it relates to some aspect of an individuals’ or groups’ experience in a specific context. These are usually “how” or “what” questions, for example, “How do gay

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police officers talk about their experiences at work?” or “What role does sexuality play in a gay police officer’s career development?” Next, the researcher should establish an interview protocol for semi-structured (Creswell, 2007) interviews with participants, who should meet a specific set of criteria for inclusion in the study. While there is no hard and fast rule for how many participants are needed for a phenomenological study, enough data is needed to establish themes and commonalities. Most phenomenological studies will have at least ten interviews or participants and some have many more. Some phenomenological studies may have a smaller number of participants who are interviewed multiple times each, while some may have a larger number of participants interviewed only once. There are also many approaches to data analysis. One commonly used approach is Creswell’s (2007) adapted version of Moustakas’ (1994) Modification of the Stevick–Colaizzi–Keen Method of Analysis of Phenomenological Data. This analysis takes place in two phases: individual and composite. In the individual phase, the interview transcripts are read and then re-read. On second reading, meaningful and verbatim quotes are marked for another review. Then, marked quotes are coded inductively (Moustakas, 1994; Boyatzis, 1998), without preset conditions or inclinations about meaning, as textural descriptions of study participants’ experiences. Next, in the composite phase, all textural descriptions are clustered into clearly labeled and defined themes of participants’ shared experiences. To write up the results, the researcher will select representative quotes the themes which have been deciphered during analysis (Sandelowski, 1994). The quotes which are selected should be those which create a rich, thick description for readers to follow and understand the deepness and nuance of the ways in which the data seeks to answer the research questions.

HOW TO CONDUCT AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC RESEARCH IN GENDER AND MANAGEMENT There is also no formula for conducting autoethnographic research. It is a method that has been applied in a variety of styles which can resemble poetry, fictional narrative, autobiography, or other literary genera. A researcher interested in conducting autoethnography should consult one of the edited works that have collected broad ranges of autoethnography and get a feel for how others have approached the method (Ellis, 2004; Denzin et al., 2008; Ellis et al., 2011; Boylorn & Orbe, 2014) before deciding on an approach. When considering an approach to autoethnography, the prime concern should be that the author seeks to find (or create) an approach that will facilitate the emergence of their unique voice. In this chapter, we will relate how the second author pursued this charge. This is not intended to be a formula to follow, but rather a point of reference for researchers looking to develop their own approaches. Before he ever conceived of himself as a researcher, Bohonos devoted considerable amounts of energy to writing songs, jokes and personal journals. He also had some training in history through which he had developed some facility with biographical writing. So, for him

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the most natural approach to writing an autoethnography was to assemble his previous writings as well as other documents from his life (including tax returns, personal correspondence, resumes, etc.) and repurpose all of them as texts to be analyzed in the effort to understand the organizational cultures in jobs he had worked. He pursued analysis of these texts as a biographer would documents related to his subject. The process of analyzing his life documents inspired additional journals which were also included in the research process. As he received initial feedback on his writing, his mentors encouraged him to find a way to connect his personal story to forms of evidence that were not exclusively focused on him and his life experiences. While he was initially resistant to doing so as he is a firm believer that autoethnography can stand alone as a method, he eventually conceded and worked to incorporate discourse analysis of mass media that had been consumed at his organization. He integrated this discourse analysis into his personal narrative in a way that showed that the racist, sexist and homophobic actions in his workplaces mirrored discourse in the mass media. This enhanced the overall quality of the project because it allowed Bohonos to demonstrate that the “isms” he had witnessed in his workplace were not merely the biproduct of a particularly dysfunctional organization, but rather a reflection of a generally dysfunctional society whose flaws inevitably show up at work.

CONCLUSIONS There is a great need for masculinity research which extends the work from the domains of more traditional fields where it has been studied (gender studies, men’s studies, etc.) into applied disciplines and sites of practice. Phenomenology and autoethnography both offer promising tools for contextualizing masculinity as an issue of essential importance in organizations, communities and society. Phenomenology is always reflecting, not capturing, a phenomenon as it unfolds, whereas autoethnography allows for the capturing of a phenomenon as it unfolds. Each of these approaches allows for the generation of important insights regarding masculinity that can inform a variety of social justice struggles, including the need to facilitate the emergence of greater inclusivity in organizations. We recommend that each of these methods be further developed to study gender in the workplace, while also recognizing that these are only two of many methods that may be appropriate depending on the needs of a particular project.

AUTHOR NOTE In this chapter, we capitalize Black to signify and honor the representation of shared and collective identity, history and culture. We do not similarly capitalize white, as the word does not represent the same kinds of shared and collective experiences.

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Furthermore, capitalizing white is a longstanding practice of many white supremacist groups.

REFERENCES Acker, J. (1990). Hierarchies, jobs, bodies: a theory of gendered organizations. Gender & Society, 4(2), 139–58. Acker, J. (2006). Inequality regimes: gender, class, and race in organizations. Gender & Society, 20(4), 441–64. Addis, M. E. & Mahalik, J. R. (2003). Men, masculinity, and the contexts of help seeking. American Psychologist, 58(1), 5. Ahmed, S. (2006). Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Allen-Collinson, J. (2011). Feminist phenomenology and the woman in the running body. Sport, Ethics and Philosophy, 5(3), 297–313. Black Lives Matter (n.d.). Black Lives Matter homepage. Retrieved from https://​ blacklivesmatter​.com/​. Bohonos, J. W. (2019). Learning to work in white spaces: an autoethnographic and linguistic analysis of the racial and gender discrimination in a midwestern American organization (unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, IL. Bohonos, J. W. & Otchere, K. D. (2018, May). Multipositional autoethnography: exploring the experiences of a research dyad that bridges racial and gender divides. Presentation at the Fourteenth International Congress of Qualitative Inquiry, Urbana, IL. Broido, E. M. (2000). The development of social justice allies during college: a phenomenological investigation. Journal of College Student Development, 41(1), 3–18. Boyatzis, R. E. (1998). Transforming Qualitative Data: Thematic Analysis and Code Development. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Boylorn, R. M. & Orbe, M. P. (eds.) (2014). Critical Autoethnography: Intersecting Cultural Identities in Everyday Life. New York: Routledge. Chan, Z. C., Fung, Y. L. & Chien, W. T. (2013). Bracketing in phenomenology: only undertaken in the data collection and analysis process. The Qualitative Report, 18(30), 1–9. Childers, M. & hooks, bell (1990). A conversation about race and class. In M. Hirsch & E. F. Keller (eds.), Conflicts in Feminism. New York: Routledge, pp. 60–81. Collins, J. C. (2015). Characteristics of “masculinized” industries: gay men as a provocative exception to male privilege and gendered rules. Human Resource Development Review, 14(4), 415–41. Collins, J. C. (2017). Leveraging three lessons learned from teaching an HRD undergraduate diversity and inclusion course: an autoethnography of one professor’s perceptions. Advances in Developing Human Resources, 19(2), 157–75. Collins, J. C. & Callahan, J. L. (2012). Risky business: gay identity disclosure in a masculinized industry. Human Resource Development International, 15(4), 455–70. Collins, J. C. & Rocco, T. S. (2015). Rules of engagement as survival consciousness: gay male law enforcement officers’ experiential learning in a masculinized industry. Adult Education Quarterly, 65(4), 295–312. Collins, J. C. & Rocco, T. S. (2018). Queering employee engagement to understand and improve the performance of gay male law enforcement officers: a phenomenological exploration. Performance Improvement Quarterly, 30(4), 273–95. Connell, R. (2005). Masculinities (2nd edn). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Connell, R. (2008). Masculinity construction and sports in boys’ education: a framework for thinking about the issue. Sport, Education and Society, 13(2), 131–45.

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Creswell, J. W. (2007). Qualitative Inquiry and Research Design: Choosing Among Five Traditions (2nd edn). Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Denzin, N. K., Lincoln, Y. S. & Smith L. T. (eds.) (2008). Handbook of Critical and Indigenous Methodologies. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Du Bois, W. E. B. (1998/1935). Black Reconstruction in America, 1860–1880. New York: Free Press. Edwards, T. (2004). Cultures of Masculinity. Abingdon: Routledge. Ellis, C. (2004). The Ethnographic I: A Methodological Novel about Autoethnography. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press. Ellis, C. (2007). Telling secrets, revealing lives: relational ethics in research with intimate others. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(1), 3–29. Ellis, C. (2009). Telling tales on neighbors: ethics in two voices. International Review of Qualitative Research, 2(1), 3–28. Ellis, C., Adams, T. E. & Bochner, A. B. (2011). Autoethnography: an overview. Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 12, Art. 10. Ellison, R. E. & Langout, R. D. (2016). Collaboration across difference: a joint autoethnographic examination of power and whiteness in the higher education anti-cuts movement. Race Ethnicity and Education, 19(6), 1319–34. Engstrom, C. (2012). An autoethnographic account of prosaic entrepreneurship. Tamara Journal for Critical Organizational Inquiry, 10(1), 41–54. Forber-Pratt, A. J. (2015). You’re going to do what? Challenges of autoethnography in the academy. Qualitative Inquiry, 21(9), 821–35. Gorman-Murray, A. & Hopkins, P. (2016). Masculinities and Place. Abingdon: Routledge. Grenier, R. S. (2015). Autoethnography as a legitimate approach to HRD research: a methodological conversation at 30,000 feet. Human Resource Development Review, 14(3), 332–50. Haider, S. (2016). The shooting in Orlando, terrorism or toxic masculinity (or both?). Men and Masculinities, 19(5), 555–65. Haskins, N. H., Ziomek‐Daigle, J., Sewell, C., Crumb, L., Appling, B. & Trepal, H. (2016). The intersectionality of African American mothers in counselor education: a phenomenological examination. Counselor Education and Supervision, 55(1), 60–75. Haynes, K. (2013). Sexuality and sexual symbolism as processes of gendered identity formation: an autoethnography of an accounting firm. Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal, 26(3), 374–98. Hearn, J. (2013). On men, organizations and intersectionality: personal, working, political and theoretical reflections (or how organization studies met profeminism). Equality, Diversity and Inclusion: An International Journal, 33(5), 414–28. hooks, bell (1994). Teaching to Transgress. New York: Routledge. hooks, bell & West, C. (2016). Breaking Bread: Insurgent Black Intellectual Life. New York: Routledge. Human Rights Campaign (2019). 2019 corporate equality index. Retrieved from https://​www​ .hrc​.org/​campaigns/​corporate​-equality​-index. Johnson, V. B. (2017). The epidemic of white supremacist police. Retrieved from https://​ theappeal​.org/​the​-epidemic​-of​-white​-supremacist​-police​-4992cb7ad97a/​. Katila, S. and Meriläinen, S. (1999). A serious researcher or just another nice girl? Doing gender in a male-dominated scientific community. Gender, Work and Organization, 6(3), 163–73. Katila, S. & Meriläinen, S. (2002). Metamorphosis: from “nice girls” to “nice bitches”: resisting patriarchal articulations of professional identity. Gender, Work and Organization, 9(3), 336–54. Keane, H. (2005). Diagnosing the male steroid user: drug use, body image and disordered masculinity. Health, 9(2), 189–208.

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Kimmel, M. S. (1995). The Politics of Manhood: Profeminist Men Respond to the Mythopoetic Men’s Movement (and the Mythopoetic Leaders Answer). Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Kumra, S., Simpson, R. & Burke, R. J. (eds.) (2014). The Oxford Handbook of Gender in Organizations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. MacAloon, J. J. (ed.) (2013). Muscular Christianity and the Colonial and Post-Colonial World. Abingdon: Routledge. Mailhot, T. M. (2018). Heart Berries: A Memoir. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint. Marcus, G. N. (1994). What comes (just) after “post”? The case of ethnography. In N. Denzin & Y. Lincoln (eds.), Handbook of Qualitative Research. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, pp. 563–74. Me Too Movement (n.d.). Me Too Movement homepage. Retrieved from https://​metoomvmt​ .org/​. Moustakas, C. (1994). Phenomenological Research Methods. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Muncey, T. (2010). Creating Autoethnographies. Los Angeles, CA: SAGE Publications. Nikischer, A. (2018). Vicarious trauma inside the academe: understanding the impact of teaching, researching and writing violence. Higher Education, 77, 905–16. Overstreet, M. (2019). My first year in academia or the mythical black woman superhero takes on the ivory tower. Journal of Women and Gender in Higher Education, 12(1), 18–34. Parent, M., Gobble, T. & Rochlen, A. (2019). Social media behavior, toxic masculinity, and depression. Psychology of Men & Masculinities, 20(3), 277–87. Peralta, R. L. (2007). College alcohol use and the embodiment of hegemonic masculinity among European American men. Sex Roles, 56(11–12), 741–56. Pietsch, N. (2009). “I’m not that kind of girl”: white femininity, the other, and the legal/social sanctioning of sexual violence against racialized women. Canadian Woman Studies, 28(1), 136. Ponterotto, J. G. (2006). Brief note on the origins, evolution, and meaning of the qualitative research concept thick description. The Qualitative Report, 11(3), 538–49. Posadas, J. (2017). Teaching the cause of rape culture: toxic masculinity. Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, 33(1), 177–9. Riad, S. (2007). Under the desk: on becoming a mother in the workplace. Culture and Organization, 13(3), 205–22. Rodriguez, D. (2009). The usual suspect: negotiating white student resistance and teacher authority in a predominantly white classroom. Cultural Studies ↔ Critical Methodologies, 9, 483–508. Rodriguez, D. & Boahene, A. (2012). The politics of rage: empowering women of color in the academy. Cultural Studies ↔ Critical Methodologies, 12(5), 450–58. Rodriguez, D, Boahene, A. O., Gonzales-Howell, N. & Anesi, J. (2012). Practicing liberatory pedagogy: women of color in college classrooms. Cultural Studies ↔ Critical Methodologies, 12(2), 96–108. Roediger, D. R. (2006). Working toward Whiteness: How American Immigrants became White: The Strange Journey from Ellis Island to the Suburbs. New York: Basic Books. Roediger, D. R. (2007). The Wages of Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class. New York: Verso. Roediger, D. R. (2019). Race, Class and Marxism. New York: Verso. Salters, G. A. (2013). A phenomenological exploration of black male law enforcement officers’ perspectives of racial profiling and their law enforcement career exploration and commitment. Retrieved from https://​digitalcommons​.fiu​.edu/​etd/​877/​. Sandelowski, M. (1994). Focus on qualitative methods: the use of quotes in qualitative research. Research in Nursing and Health, 17, 479–82.

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Sklansky, D. A. (2005). Not your father’s police department: making sense of the new demographics of law enforcement. Journal of Criminal Law & Criminology, 96, 1209. Sobre-Denton, M. S. (2012). Stories from the cage: autoethnographic sensemaking of workplace bullying, gender discrimination, and white privilege. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 41(2), 220–50. Squire, D. D., Kelly, B. T., Jourian, T. J., Byrd, A. M., Manzano, L. J. & Bumbry, M. (2018). A critical race feminist analysis of men of color matriculating into a higher education doctoral program. Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 11(1), 16–33. Straughn, C. (2018). The Life of the African-American Career Military Woman: An Autoethnographic Study. Amazon Digital Services LLC. Stryker, S. (2013). (De)subjugated knowledges: an introduction to transgender studies. In S. Stryker & S. Whittle (eds.), The Transgender Studies Reader. New York: Routledge, pp. 1–18. Suriel, R. L., Martinez, J. & Evans-Winters, V. (2018). A critical co-constructed autoethnography of a gendered cross-cultural mentoring between two early career Latin@ scholars working in the Deep South. Educational Studies, 54(2), 165–82. Vagle, M. D. (2010). Re‐framing Schön’s call for a phenomenology of practice: a post‐ intentional approach. Reflective Practice, 11(3), 393–407. Van Maanen, J. (1988). Tales from the field: on the writing of ethnography. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Veissière, S. P. L. (2018). “Toxic masculinity” in the age of #MeToo: ritual, morality and gender archetypes across cultures. Society and Business Review, 13(3), 274–86. Willis, P. (1977). Learning to Labor: How Working Class Kids Get Working Class Jobs. London: Routledge.

18. Concept as method: ethnography in a posthumanist world Lara Pecis

INTRODUCTION In 2008, as I was driving to the train station of my hometown in Italy, a manifesto was visibly standing in front of the light. The Northern League (now called The League) produced a very visual and controversial poster during the political campaign election that depicted a Native American in full head dress with a caption saying, ‘They suffered immigration, now they live in the reservations.’ The manifesto struck me for several reasons; it made me angry, appalled and ashamed of the political environment developing in my country. The following year, when I relocated to the United Kingdom, the UKIP party released a very similar leaflet in my now hometown Lancaster.1 Similar to The North League’s poster, the leaflet compared immigration in the UK to the plight of Native Americans: ‘He used to ignore immigration … now he lives on a reservation.’ The political reality was kicking back at me, I moved from my country at a time when it was (and still is) producing anti-immigration rhetoric in a country that a few years later seemed to be taking a similar path. The picture in the poster acted as an idea, a principle (e.g. of the ‘other’, ‘difference’, ‘natives’) that is connected to something more abstract (e.g. an immigration rhetoric that opposes the native to the immigrant in war-like manners). In other words, the visual representation of a Native American acts in the poster as a concept. This image is describing not only how a Native American might (stereotypically) look like, but also gives language to such image; it offers a specific narrative or rhetoric. I have not responded to my violent visual encounter with the poster. Others have been courageously vocal in their intellectual activism. Silvia Gherardi (2019), for example, reacted to a recent controversial Italian poster on ‘gender violence’, demonstrating a moving force to question what it might mean to do gender research in a post-reality. The concept of gender in this poster pictured maleness and femaleness as distinct characteristics of individuals, an understanding far different from how I mobilise gender in this chapter. Here I understand gender as a doing, ‘an incessant activity performed, in part, without one’s knowing and without one’s willing, it is not for that reason automatic or mechanical’ (Butler, 2004, p. 1). In other words, we enact gender in everyday situations (Linstead & Pullen, 2006). In this chapter, I illustrate how our responses to the world might take different forms and with what consequences in the production of sexual difference. The context of this chapter is an ethnographic study of two research and innovation inten281

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sive organisations, where observations and interviews were conducted with the aim of understanding the embeddedness of gendering in innovation processes. For Gherardi (2019) and Lenz Taguchi (2017), encounters signal the relevance of ‘concept as method’. Inspired by Deleuze, Lenz Taguchi (2017, p. 702) suggests that ‘concept as method can […] be understood as a methodology of transcendental empiricism’. Concepts and meanings emerge from violent encounters, those ‘kick backs’ from the world (Barad, 1999) that ‘bring to life’ our creative engagements with various problems and matters of concern, along with their meanings and senses. Whether in practices of academic writing as labiaplasty – a conformity to the male standard of writing (Pullen, 2018), or by physically stopping in front of an objectionable ‘Stop gender violence’ poster in the city centre (Gherardi, 2019), we are hit by the destructive forces of those encounters with the world and other bodies. Whilst these encounters are destructive because of their violence, they can also become a creative force to make space for alternative modes of organising, writing, working and thinking. What space might these encounters have in the context of gender research in management and organisation studies (MOS)? What would concept as method look like in MOS scholarship? The chapter explores these questions by tracing the origins of ‘concept as method’ and its pollination across different literatures, from educational research to material feminisms. It then elaborates on the significances of doing research by using a concept, such as sexual difference, for MOS and the possibilities it affords. To show its potentialities, as well as the challenges, I map the encounters of materialities and humans in the specific instance of the making of sexual differences in the context of a study of biomedical researchers. I do so by engaging with Barad’s reading of diffraction and applying it to a qualitative interview text. In what follows, I highlight the strengths of using concept as method for unveiling the performative character of ethnographic research, and its politics of production. This chapter onto-epistemologically aligns with Mauthner and Alkhaled’s contribution in this book (Chapter 19). Both chapters mobilise a feminist posthumanist philosophy in the context of gender research, yet they do so in distinct ways. Mauthner and Alkhaled explore the performative effects of a diffractive methodological practice of the Listening Guide, as an object of study in its own right. In exploring its historical development, philosophical commitments and conceptual assumptions, Mauthner and Alkhaled contribute to enhancing posthumanist inquiries with a feminist voice-centred relational method of narrative analysis, applied in the specific context of Alkhaled’s research on female entrepreneurs in Saudi Arabia. On the other hand, this chapter provides an illustration of how concept as method can act as a political force for revealing the making of sexual differences, as well as bringing to the fore the politics of production of ethnographic research.

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FROM INTENTIONAL COGITO TO FRUITFUL DISORIENTATIONS AND SHOCKS Lenz Taguchi and St. Pierre (2017) and Lykke (2010a) root the impetus of elaborating concepts as method in converging trends in contemporary feminist theorising. These are broadly defined under the umbrella term ‘post-constructionism’ (Lykke, 2010b), including feminist materialism (Braidotti, 1994), corporeal feminism (Grosz, 1994), material feminisms (Alaimo & Hekman, 2004), transcorporeal feminism (Alaimo, 2009), and post-human feminism (Barad, 2003). Common to these heterogeneous theoretical stances is an attempt to elaborate on the role of matter, such as the agency of sexed bodies and bodily differences, in a non-deterministic and non-essentialising manner. Haraway’s (1988) critique of the lack of attention to the agency of the body is often cited when describing the fate of the body in contemporary (feminist) research. The body has become for Haraway (1988, p. 591) ‘a blank page for social inscriptions, including those of biological discourse’. Attempts to ‘bring back in’ the agency of the body have been recently underway in MOS (Gilmore et al., 2019). This call has propelled researchers to engage in an embodied writing that has been for too long suffocated by scientific writing ‘removed from the material experiences which shape how we live, think, feel, work, see others and so on’ (p. 4). Gilmore et al.’s (2019) invitation to ‘writing differently’ is a move towards learning to become human and create new meanings. The ‘bodiliness’ of academic research and writing (Essén & Värlander, 2013) advocates for incorporating the materiality of the author in the presence (and absence) of materiality, i.e. via autobiographical methods (Hopfl, 2007; Rhodes, 2001), or by writing from the body (e.g. Pullen & Rhodes, 2008; Pullen, 2018). The call for an embodied research and writing project originates from the violence of the erasures performed by what is deemed a rigorous research article, mostly followed by prescriptive and normative ‘guidelines’ (see, for example, Venkatesh et al., 2013; Venkatesh et al., 2016 in information systems research). Here, the ‘primary goal [is] to initiate and facilitate discourse on mixed methods research [in IS], and encourage and assist [IS] researchers to conduct rigorous mixed methods research to advance the field’ (Venkatesh et al., 2013, p. 25). Guidelines for rigorous research encompass all different ‘stages’ of doing research: data collection, interpretation and creation of meta-inferences. Rooted in these prescriptions is the idea that interpretations derive from a subject (the researcher) who possesses the ability to think (cogito) and therefore to recognize a problem (a phenomenon) as such. However, what might the research processes look like if this Descartean cogito, as the knowing subject, is not constituted prior to the deed (their research), and if a research problem doesn’t have an origin or an end point? As Lather and St. Pierre (2013, p. 630) question, ‘How do we think a “research problem” in the imbrication of an agentic assemblage of diverse elements that are constantly intra-acting, never stable, never the same? What about the categories “interviewing” and “observation,” the privileged face-to-face methods of data collection in humanist qualitative inquiry?’

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Following this line of argument, Gherardi (2019), inspired by Deleuze (1968/1994), reminds us that ‘thinking’ is not a pre-existing natural capacity that humans possess, but a practice that we find ourselves engaging in. We think because of the shocks and disorientation that the world throws to us and our bodily reactions to them. For Barad, ‘the world kicks back … without assuming some innocent, symmetrical form of interaction between knower and known’ (Barad, 1999, p. 2). Deleuze (1968/1994) suggests that ‘something in the world forces us to think’ (p. 139), be it a shock at a ‘gender violence’ manifesto in the city centre (Gherardi, 2019) or a ‘Native American’ poster. The force, shock and disorientation move our bodies to respond to the questions – ‘concepts’ (Rautio, 2017) – that the world poses to us. A turn to concepts instead of phenomena to be explored shakes the foundations of gender and management research. As researchers, we do not simply seek to produce knowledge from specific bodies or positions taken in relation to the phenomenon at hand, as standpoint feminists have illustrated (see Harding, 1991). Instead, what concept as method affords is an embodied reading – and writing (see Pullen, 2018) – of ‘real’ events. Using concept as method has several implications. Following Deleuze and Guattari (1980/1987), the concept (e.g. sexual differences) is deterritorialised and reterritorialised as it travels across places. How sexual differences can be (ontologically and epistemologically) differs performatively among interpellated bodies, changing their practices and images of what these differences might be. The centrality of concepts in research practices entails an engagement with concepts as creating orientations for thinking (Colebrook, 2017), rather than answering questions that are pre-determined and then explored through research journeys, from a specific standpoint. Colebrook (2017, p. 654) suggests that we might begin to think of concepts as methods, precisely because concepts are at once prehuman (emerging from the problems or plane of thinking in which we find ourselves), but that also reconfigure or reorient the plane precisely by being prompted by a problem. Concepts are methods precisely because they emerge from problems rather than questions.

Concepts do not alert us to how, why and where they come from. Thus, we cannot assume that all our observations and interviews will provoke the emergence of concepts. Neither does the world itself warn us of when it will kick back at us. We are stuck in front of a manifesto, without purposefully searching for it, without having the choice of not being affected by it. Or we might be stuck in front of an interview text, without feeling any kick back. We might then follow Gherardi’s (2019) take on Deleuze and Guattari’s (1980/1987) denouncement of the tripartition between the field of reality, the field of representation and the field of subjectivity. The suggestion is to go beyond thinking of the research process in terms of the phenomenon we aim at capturing, what we produce in our writing and our own subjectivity. Responsibility and questions of ethics become imbricated in the concepts themselves: getting back to concepts as questions that the world throws to us is precisely an act of ‘deconstructive responsibility’ (Rautio, 2017, p. 723). Listening and responding to the bodily effects that the shocks co-produce with/in our bodies is our responsibility to

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questions of ethics. Responding to the violations of the norms of research processes (Lather & St. Pierre, 2013), of academic writing (Gilmore et al., 2019; Pullen, 2018) and of everyday events (Gherardi, 2019) becomes our ethical responsibility as MOS researchers. Taking in such moments of shock and questioning, and as the event unfolds, can open up alternatives to think and re-produce the event, the concept itself. Thus, concept as method deflects from a reflection on meanings and experiences towards a politics of production: instead of asking what meanings and interpretations participants might assign to an event, we need to ask what does this text (e.g. the textual product of the event in the form of transcribed interviews or fieldnotes) produce and perform? In other words, in using concept as method, what is suggested is a move from interpretation and understanding of interview/fieldnotes texts towards addressing, following Deleuze (1968/1994), the twin questions of ‘how does the interview work?’ and ‘what does it produce?’ In engaging with the first interview with a pharmacological researcher in Biomedicine for Life and with the fieldnotes produced contextually, I immerse myself in the performativity and production of the environment, the verbal exchange, the organisational contours, and other bodies moving across this event. The interview is part of two ethnographic studies, lasting four months each. The first study comprised 25 semi-structured interviews with researchers in a non-profit pharmacological centre in Italy, along with daily observations and collection of internal material (videos, presentations, etc.). The second study focused on researchers in an R&D lab of an IT multinational company in the UK, with daily observations and 17 interviews. The ethnographies aimed at understanding how gender relations in research- and innovation-oriented organisations might affect its outcomes. In this chapter, I take distance from the interpretive imperatives that have so far guided my own research and writing that limits analysis to coding, identifying themes, dimensions and naming identities from the textual data produced through interviews or participant observations (see Pecis, 2016; Pecis & Priola, 2019). Instead, here I play with what an alternative methodology might feel and look like – what I will later call, following Lenz Taguchi (2012, p. 270), a ‘methodology-against-interpretivism’. In this chapter, I suggest that a posthumanist research practice disrupts the very idea of ‘method’ and human-centred methodology.

IMPLICATIONS FOR MANAGEMENT AND ORGANISATION STUDIES Shocks and Production in Ethnographic Research If shocks are unexpected and at times violent, as previously argued, what might a response to these encounters be organised, analysed, interpreted, and written like? Research using concepts as method has shown the multiplicity, non-binary, and fluid ways in which researchers can/have been responding to different encounters with the world (Colebrook, 2017; Lenz Taguchi, 2017). For example, MacLure (2013)

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reminds us that the materialist ontology of concepts as method disavows representation of ‘the data’, its interpretation and identification of themes, patterns and categories, with profound implications: This calls into question the very notion of what will count as ‘data’, and of our relation to those data. In a materialist ontology, data cannot be seen as an inert and indifferent mass waiting to be in/formed and calibrated by our analytic acumen or our coding systems. We are no longer autonomous agents, choosing and disposing. Rather, we are obliged to acknowledge that data have their ways of making themselves intelligible to us. This can be seen, or rather felt, on occasions when one becomes especially ‘interested’ in a piece of data – such as a sarcastic comment in an interview, or a perplexing incident, or an observed event that makes you feel kind of peculiar. Or some point in the pedestrian process of ‘writing up’ a piece of research where something not-yet-articulated seems to take off and take over, effecting a kind of quantum leap that moves the writing/writer to somewhere unpredictable. On those occasions, agency feels distributed and undecidable, as if we have chosen something that has chosen us. (p. 661)

In short, MacLure (2013) suggests that coding frameworks might as well be void of their significance, in the face of how quantum leaps move researchers in unpredictable directions. Consequently, the primary agency given to the researcher in the research process becomes distributed and ‘undecidable’. The cogito and the ‘I’ St. Pierre (2011) takes notice of the difficulties of escaping the ‘I’, even for post-structural dismantlers of the humanist subject. We might in fact still be caught up in the taken-for-granted humanist thinking and doing of research (Lenz Taguchi, 2013), albeit seemingly escaping the ‘I’ of the cogito:2 we might still represent the world by way of using ‘branches of the cogito’ (Lenz Taguchi, 2013), such as ‘I perceive’, ‘I remember’, ‘I imagine’, and so forth. However, concept as method calls us to reorient the place of the ‘I’ in the research process. The researcher is not simply one aspect of the mix of human interactions, thoughts, language/discourse, matter (materiality), and nature that occupy this world, this assemblage (Greene, 2013). The focus here moves from what concepts might become, rather than what phenomena are. The notion of agential cut (Barad, 2003, 2007) is helpful in tracing what might happen to the ‘I’ in the mesh of the research process. Barad (2003) introduces the notion of intra-action (as different from interaction) of observed and observer, and agential cuts, as effects of the performative cuttings within the making of an apparatus: A specific intra-action (involving a specific material configuration of the “apparatus of observation”) enacts an agential cut (in contrast to the Cartesian cut—an inherent distinction—between subject and object) effecting a separation between “subject” and “object.” That is, the agential cut enacts a local resolution within the phenomenon of the inherent ontological indeterminacy. (p. 815)

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Drawing on the work of Niels Bohr (1928), Barad (2007) shows the importance of considering agential cuts as part of the apparatus (i.e. the research process). For Barad, the apparatus of observation (what constitutes our research process) performs the world in a specific way. Thus, when using concept as method, the material practices of selecting and approaching firms and recruiting informants are part of this cutting. In a way, our transcorporeal reactions to the shocks prompt us to elaborate on a specific way of engaging with the research process (the apparatus constructed), such as which firms, participants, contexts, etc. are taken into account and where (in the data collection, analysis, writing up, and so on) in the mesh of the research process. Thus, my fieldnotes in the pharmacological centre, the material collected (e.g. presentations, key policies), the 25 interviews and transcorporeal interpretations are all part of an agential cut that enacts, in a specific way, sexual difference. In short, when adopting concept as method and following Barad’s resolution, the Cartesian separation between subject (researcher) and object (of our research) no longer holds. Research Design and Ethics The metaphor of Bohr’s and Barad’s apparatus is informative for another reason. The apparatus acknowledges the mix of human interactions, thoughts, language/ discourse, matter (materiality), and nature in the world. Barad (2007, p. 393) suggests that in such a mix, ethics is no longer a responsibility taken a priori by the researcher; it is ‘not an obligation that the subject chooses but rather an incarnate relation that precedes the intentionality of consciousness’ (Barad, 2014, p. 183). Thus, responsibility is to be found in the meaningful revelation of the exclusions produced in the changes and interventions made. In fact, the experimental design (the apparatus) has a performative character: in designing the apparatus in a certain way (e.g. choosing to carry an ethnographic study of two organisations instead of one), researchers perform the phenomenon in a way that is exclusionary and selective (we could have chosen otherwise). At the same time, the design of the apparatus shows that ‘our ability to understand the world hinges on our taking account of the fact that our knowledge-making practices are material enactments that contribute to, and are part of, the phenomenon we describe’ (Barad, 2007, p. 247). This has ethical consequences on how researchers frame, stage, conduct and write research. How we respond to a shock, in the practices of the research process, has material effects on the world researchers are part of. In the context of the study presented here, the choice of asking questions on gender dynamics to biomedical researchers (for whom biological differences are key to their experiments) produces gender in a very specific (dualistic) way – rather different from the effects produced in asking the same questions to feminist researchers at my institution. Concept as method is a risky action of abandoning conventional methods of designing a research process. Instead, data collection (interviews, observations, etc.) and data analysis (coding, grounded theory, discourse analysis, etc.) might be left behind for an alternative mode of organising and writing. As Lenz Taguchi and St. Pierre (2017) have argued, the concept orients our thinking and practices, ‘which

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might or might not include conventional practices’ (p. 646). Davies et al. (2013) suggest that this method engages with research practices that do not follow rules or impose frameworks; rather, they demand the ethical questions of ‘how things come to matter in the ways they do’ (p. 680). Pullen (2018) clearly brings forward such risk and the exposure of self that it might entail. This is further emergent in a special issue of the Management Learning journal, edited by Gilmore et al. (2019): writing performatively constitutes not only what is written about but also the writing ‘I’. Given the plurality that concept as method calls for, this chapter does not provide a dreaded step-by-step linear and mechanical guide, but, for the sake of clarity, I have outlined my own use of concept as method. Finally, we are constrained by language in the way we express and bring to life our encounters with the world. How can we account for the material, non-linguistic, cues? What place do silence, tears, sights, sniffs, laughter, eyebrow movements, cheeky smiles, crossed legs, etc. have in the data? How might an interview trace these quasi-linguistic elements beyond their representation (of what they might mean)? As MacLure (2013, p. 664) suggests ‘what appears to be troublesome for qualitative method is the manifestation of the body in the cerebral work of research.’ When engaging in concept as method, we inevitably bring our (and other people’s) bodies in. The metaphor of the apparatus illustrates how the ‘I’ is part of the research process, not simply in its thinking, but in its materiality. As the account below suggests, my evidently female body took part in shaping gender in a binary, dualistic manner. I now turn to providing a practical illustration of what concept as method might entail in the doing of research on gendering and innovation, by shedding light on the materialities (non/human bodies), practices, and discourses of the encounter.

INTERVIEWING BIOMEDICAL RESEARCHERS The account below shows how the data make their way to become intelligible to the researcher, with several ramifications. The extracts below are taken from my fieldnotes and translated interview transcripts (from Italian to English) of an ethnographic study of researchers. The context is an Italian non-profit pharmacological research centre where I conducted research between May and August 2012. Fieldnotes from 25 June 2012 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

I am in one of the labs waiting for my first interviewee who is five minutes late. A not very bright space with laboratory equipment around me. Giovanni (a pseudonym) arrives, sits down and the interview starts. Researcher: I want to briefly describe what my research is about. I am here in the institute to carry out my doctoral research. I am looking at innovation practices and 6. how gender specifically influences innovation processes. It is a bit hard to 7. [gets interrupted] Giovanni: No, more importantly you chose the wrong place

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[not sure what my face was showing, but I felt confused] 8. Researcher: Why? 9. Giovanni: Well, with n = 3 men and 75 women, it will come out quite unbalanced. 10. Researcher: you think so? 11. Giovanni: I don’t know, you will have to decide. But objectively, I think 12. researchers at a lower level let’s call it are five. Then three male bosses and that 13. is it. All the rest are women. For a number of reasons, but that is it. 14. Researcher: This is exactly one of my questions. I have noticed it is a feminine 15. environment. How is it working here? 16. Giovanni: Bad. 17. Researcher: Bad? 18. Giovanni: Really bad (laugh). You didn’t expect this answer? (laugh). […] 19. Giovanni: No, well because women are, allow me to say, less honest than the 20. male [continues explaining why in his opinion women are less honest than men] Fieldnotes from 25 June 2012 21. I have started today the interview process and I interviewed my first two 22. participants. I feel a sense from these two interviews that I will get a good 23. understanding of workers’ perspectives on gender issues. I still see some 24. gender doings at work, especially taken out during lunch break. Today some 25. female employees were talking about kids and issues related to them. I also 26. noticed that usually researchers wear comfortable clothes whereas today two 27. senior women came in the lounge with elegant dresses, marking them 28. differently from the other researchers […] Fieldnotes from 27 June 2012 29. I have started two days ago interviewing employees. After eight interviews I 30. can see the interest emerging among them towards my research. Some are even 31. volunteering to be interviewed. The first day of the interview process, many 32. workers stopped me saying I was disseminating terror to people because they 33. did not know what type of questions they were going to be asked. This was said 34. to me in a funny way, not as to say that there really was terror, but that 35. curiosity towards my research was spreading and that the fact of being 36. interviewed was making them feel ambivalent: scared and agitated for 37. the type of questions and curious towards this kind of research. 38. Today I had one interesting interview in which they asked me about my research 39. in more detail. She asked me what the topic is about, commenting on the fact 40. that this was not the place really to make a research on gender since 41. they are all women. This is the second time I have been told this. The first was

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42. in my first interview with Giovanni. I explained what I really mean with gender 43. and what is my theoretical perspective on it. By discussing my research with 44. her she advised me on how to ask a question in a more comprehensible way. 45. Also, yesterday another interviewee made by herself a reformulation of my 46. question which I found useful for other interviews.

A DIFFRACTIVE READING AND BECOMING-DIFFERENT The intra-actions among the researcher, participants, the dark laboratory room, the elegant dresses, the lunchroom, are all co-producing of gendering. The fieldnotes present the event of sitting and patiently waiting (lines 1–3). This sets the scene for a more formal rather than informal conversation, whereby the recording device is placed in between the two people, but also where the power difference is created (Giovanni is the one that can make the researcher wait a few minutes). After the first interview, I seriously considered how I was framing my questions. Doubts started arising, and they were magnified in the following interviews and interactions with participants. The interview context worked towards defining the ‘concept’, discerning what was worth studying and how. Sexual difference between women and men (lines 7–9) became articulated through the intra-actions of myself with participants and the laboratory spaces in binary terms. It shaped the way I framed my questions to them (lines 10–15), but also my response to the semi-linguistic cues. Giovanni smiled and laughed at my surprise to his reply (line 18). His purposefully strong claim provoked a shock in the conversation and a move towards a specific direction: explaining a discomfort about his understanding of gender relations and the stereotyping associated with it (lines 19–20). Giovanni’s laughter acted to break a formality created by myself, the interview protocol, the voice recorder, the laboratory space. His claim that he feels ‘bad’ in a feminine workplace and my lack of response to such an ironic claim is one example of how non-linguistic cues are left to interpretation and response. Their interpretations guide specific reactions (or lack thereof), producing a specific way of understanding sexual difference as dichotomous and exclusionary. The interview situation becomes part of enacting gender stereotyping, where gender doings are bound to take place, and power relations are performed. In my involvement, I was becoming-researcher-with Giovanni and the second interviewee. The intra-actions re-oriented how I conducted my observations, what I then paid attention to – how participants dressed, what they talked about, how they marked themselves as different from others, how they described themselves as women or men, with specific attributes (lines 23–8). Lines 33–4 evidence the difficulty of translating semi-verbal cues into a written text in a different language. A joke about ‘disseminating terror’ would sound and feel rather different than what I could portray in this translation. Overall, the feeling of curiosity and fear for the unknown questions (lines 31–7), those participants that opened up to me, and my surprise for the buzz created by my research, all performed

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to define what was viable to ask within the context of the organisation (lines 39–41). They also performed the research process in one specific way: participants felt at ease for suggesting how to better formulate a question in order to make it comprehensible to them (lines 42–4), but also what to gauge as the research process unfolded (lines 45–6). In my becoming-researcher, I was positioned as what might seem an inexperienced researcher, who needs guidance from several participants to ask better questions that can capture the ‘reality’ of the phenomenon. The participants moved flexibly between positions of evaluators of my research capabilities and as ‘informed’ subjects. Whilst I was becoming-researcher, Giovanni was becoming-different, a man within a small group of men, different from the many women in his workplace (as discussed elsewhere, e.g. Pecis and Priola, 2019). The analysis offered here highlights that gender stereotyping can be understood to be a material-discursive intra-activity, involving the force of dispersed material performative agents in multiple events. Giovanni, other participants, the informal conversations in the corridors, laughter, silences, clothes worn by participants (and their untold meanings), the researcher, all intra-acted to shape the concept (gender and sexual difference).

CONCLUDING REMARKS Method is political (Lather, 2007). Other authors in MOS have made this stance clear (e.g. Contu, 2018), by denouncing the role of research as an active, creating and enacting act that might produce a different social reality. By all means, MOS research can be affirming and enlivening, productive and transformational. This chapter has tried to illustrate how concept as methods can also be part of this political force – in this case by focusing on gender research and its effects. By being political, concept as method can help us alter the structures of institutions. For example, I have argued how some scholars (e.g. Dar, 2018; Pullen, 2018) have paved the way for writing, researching, reading, and exploring differently. In the context of ethnographic, and more broadly, qualitative research, applying concept as method means to trouble sedimented notions of stages of research processes. By ‘getting lost’ in the research and through the unfolding events, we can open up unconventional and unpredicted ways of thinking and writing, but also enacting concepts. In the context of this chapter, I have illustrated how the making of sexual differences is performed in the interview and observations process. Others might take this forward by showing how other differences and marginalisation might be produced in our encounters with organisations and technologies (from the ‘rise of the racist robot’, to promotional posters on fertility treatments, and beyond). Concept as method opens up alternatives also because what is produced is not the reality, but a real, a potential real among many others. For example, in researching the biases inscribed in AI tools by using concept as method, we can perform these biases and resist them in the very act of doing research, by pushing and resisting definitions and imaginaries of neutral machines, and beyond. This move allows space

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for doing (e.g. gender) differently, by bending, pushing, untangling the relationalities unfolding as we research. What I suggest here is to embrace the boundedness with the world and appreciate the shocks encountered (be it a poster, or an article on racism, AI or ‘fake news’) and our reactions to them, in order to make our real different. Concept as method is not without critiques. As Greene (2013) outlines, there is a danger of social research losing a predefined identity, and serving specific interests rather than others. Yet, I would argue that this is exactly the point of our embeddedness with the world, where we can and should respond to those events that come as shocks and acknowledge our interdependence and co-existence with other bodies in the world. Finally, as researchers, we have a responsibility of intervention and invention, because ‘productions of knowledge are also productions of reality that will always have specific material consequences’ (Lenz Taguchi, 2012, p. 278).

NOTES 1. 2.

For a visual comparison of the two posters, see http://​oltreilguardo​.altervista​.org/​il​-potere​ -dellimmagine​-nella​-propaganda​-leghista/​. The intellectual processes of the self or ego, i.e. our thinking.

REFERENCES Alaimo, S. (2009), ‘Insurgent vulnerability and the carbon footprint of gender’, Kvinder, Køn & Forskning, https://​doi​.org/​10​.7146/​kkf​.v0i3​-4​.27969. Alaimo, S. & Hekman, S. (2004), Material Feminisms, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Barad, K. (1999), ‘Agential realism: feminist interventions in understanding scientific practices’, in M. Biagioli (ed.), The Science Studies Reader (pp. 1–11), New York and London: Routledge. Barad, K. (2003), ‘Posthumanist performativity: toward an understanding of how matter comes to matter’, Signs, 28(3), 801–31. Barad, K. (2007), Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning, Durham, NC & London: Duke University Press. Barad, K. (2014), ‘Diffracting diffraction: cutting together-apart’, Parallax, 20(3), 168–87. Bohr, N. (1928), ‘The quantum postulate and the recent development of atomic theory’, Nature, 121, 580–90. Braidotti, R. (1994), Nomadic Subjects: Embodiment and Sexual Difference in Contemporary Feminist Theory, New York: Columbia University Press. Butler, J. (2004), Undoing Gender, London: Routledge. Colebrook, C. (2017), ‘What is this thing called education?’ Qualitative Inquiry, 23(9), 649–55. Contu, A. (2018), ‘“… The point is to change it” – Yes, but in what direction and how? Intellectual activism as a way of “walking the talk” of critical work in business schools’, Organization, 25(2), 282–93. Dar, S. (2018), ‘The masque of blackness: or, performing assimilation in the white academe’, Organization, 26(3), 432–46.

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Davies, B., De Schauwer, E., Claes, L., De Munck, K., Van De Putte, I. & Verstichele, M. (2013), ‘Recognition and difference: a collective biography’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 26(6), 680–91. Deleuze, G. (1968/1994), Difference and Repetition (trans. P. Patton), New York: Columbia University Press. Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. (1980/1987), A Thousand Plateaus (trans. B. Massumi), Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Essén, A. & Värlander, S. W. (2013), ‘The mutual constitution of sensuous and discursive understanding in scientific practice: an autoethnographic lens on academic writing’, Management Learning, 44(4), 395–423. Gherardi, S. (2019), ‘If we practice posthumanist research, do we need “gender” any longer?’ Gender, Work and Organization, 26(1), 40–53. Gilmore, S., Harding, N., Helin, J. & Pullen, A. (2019), ‘Writing differently Special Issue Editorial’, Management Learning, 50(1), 3–10. Greene, J. C. (2013), ‘On rhizomes, lines of flight, mangles, and other assemblages’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 26(6), 749–58. Grosz, E. (1994), Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Feminism, Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Haraway, D. (1988), Situated knowledges: the science question in feminism and the privilege of partial perspective’, Feminist Studies, 14(3), 575–99. Harding, S. (1991), Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? Thinking from Women’s Lives, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Hopfl, H. (2007), ‘The codex, the codicil and the codpiece: some thoughts on diminuition and elaboration in identity formation’, Gender, Work and Organization, 14(6), 619–32. Lather, P. (2007), Getting Lost: Feminist Efforts Toward a Double(d) Science, Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Lather, P. & St. Pierre, E. A. (2013), ‘Post-qualitative research’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 26(6), 629–33. Lenz Taguchi, H. (2012), ‘A diffractive and Deleuzian approach to analysing interview data’, Feminist Theory, 13(3), 265–81. Lenz Taguchi, H. (2013), ‘Images of thinking in feminist materialisms: ontological divergences and the production of researcher subjectivities’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 26(6), 706–16. Lenz Taguchi, H. (2017), ‘“This is not a photograph of a fetus”: a feminist reconfiguration of the concept of posthumanism as the ultrasoundfetusimage’, Qualitative Inquiry, 23(9), 699–710. Lenz Taguchi, H. & St. Pierre, E. A. (2017), ‘Using concept as method in educational and social science inquiry’, Qualitative Inquiry, 23(9), 643–8. Linstead, S. & Pullen, A. (2006), ‘Gender as multiplicity: desire, displacement, difference and dispersion’, Human Relations, 59(9), 1287–310. Lykke, N. (2010a), Feminist Studies: A Guide to Intersectional Theory, Methodology and Writing, New York: Routledge. Lykke, N. (2010b), ‘The timeliness of post-constructionism’, NORA – Nordic Journal of Feminist and Gender Research, 18(2), 131–6. MacLure, M. (2013), ‘Researching without representation? Language and materiality in post-qualitative methodology’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 26(6), 658–67. Pecis, L. (2016), ‘Doing and undoing gender in innovation: femininities and masculinities in innovation processes’, Human Relations, 69(11), 2117–40. Pecis, L. & Priola, V. (2019), ‘The “new industrial man” as unhero: doing postfeminist masculinities in an Italian pharmacological research centre’, Gender, Work and Organization, 26, 1413–32.

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Pullen, A. (2018), ‘Writing as labiaplasty’, Organization, 25(1), 123–30. Pullen, A. & Rhodes, C. (2008), ‘Dirty writing’, Culture and Organization, 14(3), 241–59. Rautio, P. (2017), ‘“A super wild story”: shared human–pigeon lives and the questions they beg’, Qualitative Inquiry, 23(9), 722–31. Rhodes, C. (2001), Writing Organization: (Re)presentation and Control in Narratives at Work (Vol. 7), Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing. St. Pierre, E. A. (2011), ‘Post-qualitative research: the critique and the coming after’, in N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (eds), The SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Research (4th edn) (pp. 611–25), Los Angeles, CA: Sage. Venkatesh, V., Brown, S. A. & Bala, H. (2013), ‘Bridging the qualitative-quantitative divide: guidelines for conducting mixed methods research in information systems’, MIS Quarterly, 37(1), 21–54. Venkatesh, V., Brown, S. A. & Sullivan, Y. (2016), ‘Guidelines for conducting mixed-methods research: an extension and illustration’, Journal of the Association for Information Systems, 17(7), 435–95.

19. Using the Listening Guide to analyse stories of female entrepreneurship in Saudi Arabia: a diffractive methodology Natasha S. Mauthner and Sophie Alkhaled

INTRODUCTION This chapter explores emerging feminist posthumanist philosophies of science and their implications for methodological practice in the field of gender and management. Feminist posthumanist philosophies challenge humanist representationalist forms of inquiry, and their assumption that knowledge is produced by an intentional human subject and represents pre-existing entities. They propose instead a posthumanist performative understanding of knowledge practices in which the latter are seen as constitutive of their objects of study (Barad 2007). As such, these philosophies present challenges, but also offer radical new possibilities, for how we conceptualise and practise posthumanist research in the social sciences, and for the methods we might use. A growing body of work on ‘post-qualitative’ (St. Pierre 2011) methodologies is beginning to explore the implications of posthumanist philosophies for research practice, including in the field of gender, work and organisation. Gherardi (2019), for example, inspired by the post-qualitative suggestion that concepts replace method (Lenz Taguchi and St. Pierre 2017) and by Deleuze and Guattari’s ([1991] 1994) concept of ‘groping experimentation’, proposes using vegetal, musical, non-fleshy and non-living modes of thought to engage in experimental non-binary (re)thinking about gender. She suggests that each of these ways of thinking about ‘gender’ ‘stages, enacts, performs a different material reality of the concept that shifts the focus from linguistic representation to discursive practices’ (Gherardi 2019, p. 40). Pecis (Chapter 18 in this volume) also takes up a posthumanist approach to qualitative research. Like Gherardi, she draws on Lenz Taguchi and St. Pierre’s (2017) notion of concept as method and uses it to highlight the performative character of ethnographic research in a pharmacological institute. Specifically, she illustrates how the researcher’s body and the material-discursive setting of the ethnographic encounter contribute to the making of sexual differences. Pecis furthermore suggests that a posthumanist research practice disrupts the very idea of ‘method’ and human-centred methodology, including the practice of providing step-by-step methodological guides. Using concept as method, she argues, offers the possibility of engaging in research in a relational way as it unfolds itself. Our own purpose in this chapter is to investigate how a feminist posthumanist philosophy of science might articulate itself through the ‘diffractive’ methodology 295

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proposed by Haraway (1992, 1997) and Barad (2007, 2014). A diffractive methodology contrasts with both methodological objectivity and reflexivity. Objectivity and reflexivity are methodologies that are concerned with the role of human knowledge-makers in knowledge production: objectivity seeks to eradicate, while reflexivity seeks to acknowledge, the role of human subjectivity and culture in knowledge creation. A diffractive methodology is distinctive in several respects. It is concerned with the role of experimental apparatuses (for our purposes, research methods) rather than knowing subjects; it posits that apparatuses are implicated not only in creating knowledge about the world but in its very constitution; it grants ‘agency’—understood as dynamic processes of materialisation—to these apparatuses rather than locating it as a fixed property of knowing subjects; finally, diffraction is a practice (not a knower) that ‘situates’ itself in a Harawayian (1988) sense, by accounting for its own ontological being and its performative world/ knowledge-making powers and effects. Posthumanist inquiries therefore insist that the objects of study they give rise to must be accounted for rather than taken as given. As we discuss below, this is achieved by conducting ‘diffractive genealogies’ of knowledge practices (including methods of data collection and analysis), genealogies which have the effect of accounting for the objects that these practices bring into being. This practice of accounting is furthermore understood as one that is inseparably ontological, epistemological and ethical, or what Barad (2007, p. 185) calls ‘ethico-onto-epistemological’ (see Mauthner 2018). Specifically, on a feminist posthumanist approach, a diffractive methodology is understood as an inherently ethical practice. This is because it is a practice that accounts for the objects that are produced by knowledge practices, rather than a practice that takes these objects as given and claims to represent them innocently and accurately. Feminist posthumanist philosophies and their diffractive methodologies therefore invite new ways of conducting research by treating practices of inquiry, including research methods, as an inherent part of the object of study; by exploring their constitutive role in the making of knowledge and reality; and by rethinking the very nature, meaning and practice of research ethics. Building on these insights, Mauthner (2016) argues that a diffractive methodology entails accounting for the interdependency between research methods and the objects they constitute into being. She proposes a method of ‘diffractive genealogies’ for enacting a diffractive methodology, where diffractive genealogies are genealogies that account for themselves and their performative effects. This provides a means for researchers to use methods in such a way that recognises that methods play a role in constituting their objects of study, and are not merely neutral tools that put researchers in touch with pre-existing realities. On her approach, diffraction entails conducting diffractive genealogies of research methods as an inherent and inseparable part of their practice. Our contribution in this chapter is to explore what this methodology of diffractive genealogies might entail for empirical practice in business and management studies. As our illustrative case study, we use the Listening Guide feminist voice-centred relational method (Brown and Gilligan 1992; Mauthner and Doucet 1998), Alkhaled’s (Alkhaled-Studholme 2013) use of it in her qualitative study of

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female entrepreneurship in Saudi Arabia, and Mauthner’s (2016) diffractive genealogy of this method. We suggest that a diffractive methodological practice of the Listening Guide requires conducting a diffractive genealogy that takes the Listening Guide as an object of study in its own right to explore its historical development, philosophical commitments and conceptual assumptions. Undertaking a diffractive genealogy of the Listening Guide as an inherent and inseparable part of its practice is a way of accounting for the specific objects (or ‘findings’) that the Listening Guide materialises into being. This accounting for the performative or constitutive effects of the Listening Guide method of narrative analysis is understood as a practice that is inseparably ethico-onto-epistemological. Our chapter is organised as follows. First, we discuss feminist posthumanist philosophies of science and the ‘diffractive’ methodology that Barad, building on Haraway, proposes for their enactment. Second, we explore how this diffractive methodology reconfigures our philosophical understanding of research methods in the social sciences, and discuss Mauthner’s (2016) concept and practice of ‘diffractive genealogies’ as a means of enacting posthumanist research. Third, we outline the Listening Guide method and how Alkhaled used it to analyse stories of 13 female entrepreneurs in Saudi Arabia. Fourth, we present a diffractive genealogy of the Listening Guide. Fifth, we provide guiding questions for undertaking diffractive genealogies of research methods. The chapter brings together our distinctive and shared interests and programmes of research. Mauthner’s work explores the implications of a feminist posthumanist turn—with a particular focus on the work of physicist and feminist philosopher, Karen Barad—for a philosophy, methodology and ethics of social science research, including qualitative research methods (Mauthner 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019). Alkhaled’s doctoral study (Alkhaled-Studholme 2013; see also Alkhaled 2016; Alkhaled and Berglund 2018) explored female entrepreneurship in Saudi Arabia, and the practices they employed in negotiating gendered boundaries endemic within classical patriarchal societies (Mohanty 1988). Her research used the Listening Guide voice-centred relational feminist method of narrative analysis to analyse the stories of 13 entrepreneurs. The Guide was useful in highlighting the nature of the gendered boundaries that the women faced, and the practices that the women employed in negotiating these boundaries in domestic, societal and legal spheres in order to succeed as entrepreneurs. Mauthner has been engaged with the Listening Guide for 25 years, having learnt it by working with Carol Gilligan, used it for two decades in her own research, run workshops on it and taught it to graduate students, and written about it with her colleague Andrea Doucet (Doucet and Mauthner 2008; Mauthner and Doucet 1998, 2003). Her more recent work seeks to reconfigure the Listening Guide in posthumanist terms and has focused on writing a diffractive genealogy of the method (Mauthner 2016, 2017, 2018).

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FEMINIST POSTHUMANISM AND ITS DIFFRACTIVE METHODOLOGY Over recent years, posthumanist theories have joined other intellectual traditions in critically deconstructing the legacies of humanist philosophies. Coming from wide-ranging disciplinary backgrounds and encompassing distinctive theoretical approaches, posthumanist scholars are seeking to rethink and rework the humanist assumptions underpinning modern Western philosophy and science, including notions of an autonomous human subject, a pre-given ‘human nature’, scientific reason, objective and value-free knowledge and truth, and a metaphysics of essence and presence. The specific posthumanist approach we take up in this chapter— associated in particular with the work of feminist science studies scholars Karen Barad (2007) and Donna Haraway (1991, 1997, 2008), and with feminist ‘new materialisms’ more generally (Alaimo and Hekman 2008; Coole and Frost 2010; Dolphijn and van der Tuin 2012)—takes a critical stance toward traditional Western humanism in several ways (Mauthner 2019). It challenges the alleged sovereignty of the human autonomous subject; calls into question the assumed given-ness of all beings; and deconstructs both the autonomous knowing subject and the essentialist ontology that underpins humanist philosophical traditions by calling them to account. Following Barad (2007, p. 136), posthumanism is ‘the practice of accounting for the boundary-making practices by which the “human” and its others are differentially delineated and defined’. This, however, is not a (humanist) reflexive accounting in which the human subject accounts for the social construction of reality and the effects of theory, culture, history, discourse, language or subjectivity on knowledge. Rather, it entails knowledge practices accounting for themselves and their world-making effects (Mauthner 2019). In seeking to develop a methodological practice for enacting a posthumanist performative metaphysics—that is, a practice that can attend to and account for its own metaphysical specificity, and that of the objects and subjects that it intra-actively produces—Barad draws on the physical phenomenon of diffraction. Building on Haraway’s (1992, 1997) suggestion of embracing a different optics in science studies—diffraction rather than reflection—and on a longer genealogy of the concept of diffraction threaded through quantum physics and feminist theory (Barad 2014)—Barad proposes that we think of scientific practices in terms of ‘diffraction apparatuses’. In physics, diffraction is ‘an intra-active phenomenon, and as such does not hold one set of concerns as preexisting or stable or primary over another’ (Barad 2011, p. 449). Diffraction does not fix what the object is and what the subject is in advance. Thus, diffractive ‘knowing does not come from standing at a distance and representing but rather from a direct material engagement with the world’ (Barad 2007, p. 49). This material engagement takes the form of practices that account for their performative role in bringing themselves, the knowing subject and the object of study into being. These are practices that account for their own non-innocent (Haraway 1991, p. 121) metaphysical specificity and that of the phenomena they ‘intra-actively’ produce (Mauthner 2016)—where ‘intra-action’ (Barad 2007) refers

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to a relation in which ‘entities’ mutually constitute one another. These kinds of diffractive practices require specifying the metaphysical assumptions—conceptual, ontological, epistemological—that they embody and enact. This metaphysical specificity is how knowledge practices help constitute the world. Practices of inquiry are a performative, constitutive and ineliminable part of the subjects and objects that they produce. Working in a diffractive way entails a practice that is non-essentialist and that therefore requires specifying and enacting the metaphysical terms on which our knowledge practices engage with the world: ‘a diffractive methodology requires a way of understanding the world from within and as part of it’ (Barad 2007, p. 88). Feminist posthumanist philosophies, and their diffractive methodology, therefore open up alternative ways of understanding the nature and role of research methods in the production of knowledge. In science and social science, methods are classically understood as objective and neutral measurement instruments and procedures. Methods themselves are seen as value-free, with values entering the scientific process through the subjectivity of the researcher; the concepts, categories and theories used in the research; and the historico-cultural context in which the research is located. Feminist posthumanist philosophies challenge these technical conceptualisations of methods and suggest instead that methods are physical-conceptual—or ‘material-discursive’—apparatuses that embody specific concepts, and therefore values, in their material arrangements (Barad 2007). Methods are understood as more than evidence-gathering tools and techniques. They are philosophical practices by virtue of the concepts—such as experience, the self, identity and voice—they embed and enact, and the ontological assumptions made about these concepts. These conceptual and ontological assumptions provide the conditions of possibility for the objects of study methods ‘measure’ and bring into being (Mauthner 2016). On this approach, the surveys, questionnaires, interviews, focus groups, analytic techniques and other methods that we use in the social sciences do not provide a neutral mechanism for putting us in touch with pre-existing objects of study. Rather, they help bring these objects into being in line with the concepts that are embedded within these methods (and, significantly, not simply with the concepts embedded in culture and brought by reflexive researchers), and as such must be incorporated as part of the object of study. For example, many methods of data collection and analysis developed by Western researchers—including feminists—have been designed to ‘discover’ a Western subject—an intentional, rational, feeling, experiencing, individual actor— that is largely taken as pre-existing. This foundational concept of the subject has been implicitly built into methods in the course of their design and as such must be taken into account to understand what these methods are measuring. Feminist posthumanism invites new ways of conducting research by treating methods as objects of study in their own right, and exploring their constitutive role in making their objects of study. They reconfigure research practice by insisting that investigations of (aspects of) the social world include—as an inherent part of the object of study—examination of how social science itself (including its methods and apparatuses, and own specific uses of these) contributes to the very making of this world.

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DIFFRACTIVE GENEALOGIES Mauthner (2016) proposes ‘diffractive genealogies’ as a method for putting into practice this ontologically reconfigured understanding of research methods: diffractive genealogies provide a means of studying and materialising the world without taking this world as ontologically given. Mauthner’s notion of diffractive genealogies is informed by the work of Barad (2007, 2010), as well as Butler (1990), Derrida ([1967] 1997, 1995), Foucault ([1975] 1977, 1984, 1990, 1991), and Haraway (1992, 1997). She argues that a diffractive practice is one that does not take the ontology of the world as already constituted; and that a genealogy is a practice that can materialise ontological processes of formation ‘at different scales’ (Barad 2007). Diffractive genealogies are genealogies that account for the ontological practices through which these genealogies, their objects of study, and their knowing subjects, are constituted. Diffractive genealogies, then, do not innocently go back in time and through space searching for origins and tracing a past and a history that really happened. Rather, they intra-actively (re)configure the genealogies they produce. They are underpinned by the assumption that neither the genealogical practices that are engaged, nor the genealogies that are thereby generated, nor their spatial and temporal dimensions, are ontologically given. Diffractive genealogies take practices of inquiry (such as research methods) as objects of study in their own right and inquire into how these practices came into being, what metaphysical (conceptual and ontological) assumptions they embed and enact, and what metaphysical objects and knowing subjects they intra-actively produce. Diffractive genealogies are philosophically ‘situated’ methods that produce philosophically ‘situated knowledge’ (Haraway 1988). They are a materialisation of an ontological commitment to a non-essentialist ontology because they enact their object of study and knowing subjects as constitutive effects of ontological material-discursive processes of formation.

USING THE LISTENING GUIDE TO ANALYSE STORIES OF FEMALE ENTREPRENEURSHIP IN SAUDI ARABIA Our argument is that a posthumanist epistemic practice and diffractive methodological approach to the conduct of empirical inquiry in the social sciences entail undertaking diffractive genealogies of the research methods that are used as an inherent and inseparable part of the practice of these methods. In this section, we illustrate this argument with the example of the Listening Guide feminist voice-centred relational method (Brown and Gilligan 1992; Mauthner and Doucet 1998) and how Alkhaled used it to analyse the accounts of 13 female entrepreneurs in Saudi Arabia. In the next section, we present a diffractive genealogy of the Listening Guide. We suggest that this juxtaposition of the Listening Guide as both producer of objects of study (the existence and meaning of Saudi women’s stories of entrepreneurship), and object of study in its own right, is a diffractive methodological practice that enacts feminist posthumanist social inquiry by accounting for (taking into account) the

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ontological interdependence between the Listening Guide’s own philosophical and conceptual history and assumptions, and the specific objects of study that it analysed for—and helped constitute—in Alkhaled’s project. Alkhaled’s study of female entrepreneurs in Saudi Arabia is part of a growing literature on feminist perspectives on entrepreneurship. It is situated within a broader critical tradition that explores women’s entrepreneurship as a route to their emancipation and empowerment in the face of gendered constraints on work (Alkhaled and Berglund 2018; Rindova et al. 2009), and ultimately as a means of bringing about broader social change (Cálas et al. 2009). The study explored the experiences of 13 female entrepreneurs living in the patriarchal context of Saudi Arabia with a focus on three main questions: women’s motivations for entrepreneurship; their perceptions of the opportunities and boundaries they faced; and their abilities to negotiate boundaries in inter-related domestic, societal and state-governmental spheres in order to run their businesses successfully. Theoretically, the study brought together Jamali’s (2009) ‘relational framework’ combining micro‐, meso‐, and macro‐level factors affecting female entrepreneurship and Joseph’s (1993, p. 452) theory of ‘patriarchal connectivity’—where connectivity means ‘relationships in which a person’s boundaries are relatively fluid so that persons feel a part of significant others’. Drawing on these insights, Alkhaled developed a relational, multi-level and multi-context, framework—of micro/domestic, meso/societal and macro/state spheres—for conceptualising the multi-layered nature of the entrepreneurial process, and for making sense of women’s accounts of entrepreneurship and their negotiation of gendered constraints and opportunities. In particular, the study’s key contribution to existing research on female entrepreneurship in the Middle East was to show how the Saudi women used their relationships with male guardians to negotiate these multi-level gendered boundaries. Methodologically, the study prioritised women’s subjective accounts of their experiences, and as such follows in the footsteps of a long tradition of feminist research which seeks to listen to women and understand their lives ‘in and on their own terms’. In particular, a key aim was to better understand the positions and perspectives of female entrepreneurs in Saudi Arabia. The study sought to listen to women’s own voices to garner insights into ‘structural boundaries’, which may seem solid but in practice are permeable, negotiated and reshaped through the entrepreneurial process, yet still within the normative religious, cultural and gendered expectations of Saudi society. In analysing the data, Alkhaled was seeking to understand how the women experienced, perceived and constructed themselves within the connective patriarchal society; how they perceived and made sense of their connectivity and embeddedness; and how they used the latter as a negotiation mechanism during the entrepreneurial process. Individual transcripts were analysed using Mauthner and Doucet’s (1998) version of Brown and Gilligan’s (1992) Listening Guide. Four questions about voice and relationships provide the framework for Brown and Gilligan’s Listening Guide method: (1) Who is speaking and to whom? (2) In what body? (3) Telling what stories about relationships? (4) In what societal and cultural frameworks? Brown

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and Gilligan operationalised this methodologically through four stages of listening for different ‘voices’. The first stage focused on listening for the plot, the unfolding of events, the story’s drama, and its key protagonists, as well as for recurring words, images and metaphors, for contradictions or inconsistencies in style, for revisions and absences in the story, and for shifts in personal pronoun use (‘I’, ‘you’, ‘we’). As part of this stage, Brown and Gilligan also ask the question ‘Who is listening?’ to reflect on themselves as the audience for the telling of specific narratives; the power and authority they have to interpret other people’s stories; and how their own emotional and intellectual responses to what they hear may shape their interpretations of these stories. The second stage centres on listening for the self and attending to the first-person voice of the speaker, the voice of the ‘I’. An ‘I-poem’ method can also be conducted which involves separating out ‘I’ statements (subject and verb) from the narrative and listing these in the order of their appearance. This composes a poem in which each ‘I’ statement starts a new line of the poem and stanza breaks indicate where the ‘I’ shifts direction (Gilligan et al., 2003). The third stage listens for different voices within the narrative (e.g. voices of resistance and voices of capitulation), while the fourth stage listens for the ways in which institutionalised cultural norms and expectations become internal moral voices that constrain expression and silence voices. Mauthner and Doucet’s (1998) approach also involves conducting four different readings of each interview transcript but with some variations. The first reading is broadly similar to Brown and Gilligan’s version and comprises two elements: (1) reading for the overall story that is being told by the respondent; and (2) a reflexive element in which the researcher reads for herself in the text in the sense that she places herself, with her particular background, history, experiences and theoretical assumptions, in relation to the person she has interviewed. This allows the researcher to examine how and where some of her own emotional and intellectual responses, assumptions and views might affect her interpretation of the respondent’s words. More generally, this reading helps recognise the critical reflexive role of the researcher in shaping the research process and product. Alkhaled used this reading to reflect on how her own background—as a half Syrian, half British person who had grown up in Saudi Arabia for 11 years until the age of 17 before moving to the UK— shaped her research, her interviewees’ perceptions of her as an ‘insider-outsider’, and the narratives they told. The second reading for the voice of the ‘I’ focuses on how the respondent experiences, feels and speaks about herself. The process centres the researcher’s attention on the active ‘I’ in telling the story and on shifts in pronoun use (‘I’, ‘we’, ‘you’) which may signal changes in self-perceptions or struggles to voice thoughts and feelings. Spending this time carefully listening to the respondent allows the researcher to listen for ‘how she speaks of herself before we speak of her’ (Brown and Gilligan 1992, pp. 27–8). From a sociological point of view, this second reading represents an attempt to hear the person, agent or actor voice her sense of agency, while also recognising the social location of the person who is speaking. Reading for the ‘I’ and creating ‘I-poems’ helped Alkhaled draw out the women’s ‘agency’ within the

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patriarchal systems, structures and institutions in which they were embedded. Those places where their narratives shifted from the use of ‘I’ to ‘we’ signalled where their own personal experiences were inspiring them to speak about how entrepreneurship could be a vehicle (or movement) for a wider sense of ‘collective’ empowerment for women living in patriarchal cultures such as Saudi Arabia. Mauthner and Doucet’s third reading involves listening for how the respondents speak about their interpersonal relationships. Here, Alkhaled listened to how the women spoke about their relationships with their male guardians, their families, and the broader social networks within which they lived and worked. Reading for relationships brought to the fore the ways in which ‘patriarchal connectivity’ was at the centre of the relationships that the women had with their male guardians, wider society and government institutions. It also revealed how the women utilised these relationships to negotiate the boundaries they encountered. In Mauthner and Doucet’s fourth reading, the respondents’ accounts are placed within broader social, political, cultural and structural contexts. Alkhaled used this reading, in conjunction with the third, to highlight the importance of analysing the women’s personal relationships with their families, as well as their relationships with the broader socio-cultural and structural context. Alkhaled combined the Listening Guide with a thematic analysis of the data which revealed patterns of similarities and differences across the whole sample. In particular, given the key focus of the study on women’s experiences of facing and negotiating boundaries to entrepreneurship within the Saudi context, she analysed the women’s accounts in terms of three themes: (1) negotiating domestic patriarchal boundaries; (2) negotiating societal and moral boundaries; (3) negotiating state-legislative boundaries. Taken together, the Listening Guide readings combined with the thematic analyses provided a means of exploring the women’s relationships within these three sets of contexts and boundaries, and the choices they made to become successful entrepreneurs within a constraining environment. Her analysis highlighted the relational nature and permeability of boundaries across the domestic, societal and state patriarchal domains, as well as the relationality and agency of the women within them. Whilst recognising the reflexive role of the researcher in shaping the research process and outcomes, this approach to analysing the data attempted to build an understanding of women’s entrepreneurship in Saudi Arabia which was firmly grounded in the women’s own perspectives, and minimised placing the women’s stories within ‘categories’ and ‘boxes’ which follow either gendered understandings of entrepreneurship, or ‘Western’ or ‘white’ feminist models of entrepreneurship (Crenshaw 1991; Mohanty 1988). For example, the Listening Guide, with its emphasis on women’s voices, was helpful in deconstructing the supposedly ‘gender neutral’ concept of entrepreneurship. It helped materialise entrepreneurship as a gendered concept deeply embedded within ‘masculine discourses and identity’ (Ahl 2006) which women—including several of the female entrepreneurs interviewed for this study—struggle with, particularly in Middle Eastern households (Alkhaled 2019).

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A DIFFRACTIVE GENEALOGY OF THE LISTENING GUIDE On the posthumanist diffractive approach outlined in this chapter, research methods such as the Listening Guide are understood as inseparable and constitutive parts of the objects (and subjects) they help produce. Following Barad, the referent for the Listening Guide method—the ‘object’ that it makes determinate and intelligible— is a ‘phenomenon’: entangled, inseparable, and mutually constitutive ‘Listening Guide-practices-and-their-objects’, rather than independently existing objects. The ‘objects’ of study that the Listening Guide brings into being—voices, stories, gendered identities, relationships, patriarchal boundaries, etc.—do not exist as determinate givens outside phenomena. Rather, they are ‘phenomenal’ (Barad 2007, p. 315). And it is these ‘phenomena’, rather than independent objects, that are the ‘objective’ referents of the Listening Guide practices. A posthumanist diffractive practice of the Listening Guide must account for its own role in bringing into being these phenomena, that is, the ‘objects’ that it is a constitutive part of. This, we suggest, is achieved by undertaking a diffractive genealogy of the Listening Guide, which brings to the fore the concepts that have been embedded in this method and that are performed into being when the method is put into practice. The Listening Guide was a method developed at Harvard University in the 1980s following the publication in 1982 of Gilligan’s highly influential book, In a Different Voice, and its devastating critique of psychology’s androcentric theories and methods. Gilligan pioneered feminist analyses of developmental psychology by showing how models of ‘human’ development were premised on a psychology that cast women as deviant and deficient in relation to an implicit male norm. Following the publication of In a Different Voice, Gilligan and her collaborators developed an innovative feminist voice-centred relational method of analysing interview narratives—the Listening Guide—designed to access voices and experiences marginalised by patriarchal cultures, theories and methods (Brown and Gilligan 1992; Gilligan et al. 1990). Gilligan and her collaborators argued that women and girls come under pressure to silence their voices and conform to gendered cultural norms. They saw the Listening Guide as a methodology that could unlock these suppressed voices and experiences. The significance of this methodological and political project was to recast method as a relational practice creating resonant relationships and spaces for people to be heard within a patriarchal culture that otherwise silenced their voices. Gilligan and her colleagues suggested that existing methods in psychology, and more broadly within many social science disciplines, failed to capture the complexity of these narratives (Gilligan et al. 2003). This was partly because these methods were underpinned by male theories that privileged separation over relationality. It was also seen as resulting from the dominance of positivist and quantitative models of research, and from mainstream qualitative interpretive approaches that tended to fragment personal accounts of lived experiences into, often readymade, thematic codes and categories that left little room for ‘different voices’ to be heard, or heard as non-deviant from mainstream frameworks. The Listening Guide was therefore developed in the context of a broader narrative turn characterised by growing interest in narrative approaches

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and a perception that, compared to standard interview practice and code-based analytic approaches in the social sciences, narrative methods were better able to capture the full range of human experiences. The Listening Guide thus conceived itself as a progressive feminist method that took girls’, women’s and other marginalised voices seriously and could overcome the limitations of previous methods making possible a more complete understanding of human psychology (Brown and Gilligan 1992). It sought to find theories and methods better able to hear, and accurately represent, voices, experiences and identities that were understood as inaccessible to patriarchal frameworks. The Listening Guide was therefore constituted as part of much broader theoretical, methodological and political projects. In particular, the notion, and possibility, of accessing ‘experience’ was at the centre of Western feminist activism in the 1960s and 1970s, and feminist theorists and empirical researchers of the late 1970s and 1980s followed these early feminist activists by urging scholars to think from, and rely on the authority of, experience and in doing so to create their own stories and histories. The Listening Guide was therefore intimately entangled with second-wave feminism’s philosophical, political, theoretical and methodological identity-politics and voice-giving project, and its concern to uncover and value the experiences and perspectives of women. Second-wave feminism was focused on revealing identities, lives and realities that were seen as having been obscured by mainstream theories and methods that embodied male, white, middle-class, heterosexual, and Western norms and values despite their claims to neutrality and objectivity. This feminist project sought to install women as viable—and gendered—subjects in their capacities as both subjects of knowledge and knowing subjects. This is apparent in the Listening Guide’s central concern with the question ‘Who is speaking and to whom?’. This question seeks to bring into the frame a ‘marked’ (gendered, classed, raced, etc.) subject in the form of a knowing, feeling and experiencing researcher and a knowing, feeling and experiencing subject of inquiry. Importantly, this concept of the marked subject is built into the Listening Guide practices. In asking the question, ‘Who is listening?’, the second element of the first reading presupposes the existence of a marked subject—the listening researcher—which it searches for and helps constitute. The second Listening Guide practice that focuses on listening for the voice of the ‘I’ similarly presupposes the existence of a marked subject—the gendered, raced, classed speaking ‘I’ narrating their story—which it listens for and materialises into being. These practices furthermore embed a specific concept of gender (and other markers)—as fixed and pre-existing—which they in turn help constitute in their search for gendered/marked voices, identities, experiences, relationships, cultures and constraints. More generally, and in the context of Alkhaled’s study, the Listening Guide practices embed and enact specific concepts—of entrepreneurial identity, stories of entrepreneurship, relationships and relationality, multi-level gendered and cultural boundaries, and so on—which are assumed to be ontologically given, the purpose of the listening stages being to ‘uncover’ them. In these respects, the Listening Guide is a classic example of a second-wave ‘feminist method’ (Harding 1987), with all the humanist and essentialist assump-

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tions that come with this, including using women’s experiences as empirical and theoretical resources; taking gender as an analytic category; producing knowledge with emancipatory purposes; and locating the researcher in the same critical plane as the overt subject matter. Significantly, the humanist and essentialist assumption that feminist methods (and theories) provided unmediated access to essential truth(s) about women’s lives allowed women to be heard, and made possible second-wave feminism’s identity-politics project and political claims for women’s equal rights. In this sense, although the Listening Guide (and its underpinning philosophical and conceptual presuppositions) can be criticised for its essentialist tendencies, its theoretical, methodological and political effectiveness arises precisely from its productive entanglement with second-wave feminism and its humanist and essentialist commitment to a gendered subject and to the existence of gendered inequalities more broadly. The Listening Guide helped—and continues to help as in the case of Alkhaled’s research on Saudi female entrepreneurs—women’s voices be heard in times and places where these voices are otherwise marginalised, and in this respect, it contributes to feminism’s attainment of some of its epistemic and political goals. At the same time, the Listening Guide’s intimate entanglement with second-wave feminism, its identity politics project, and its assumptions about the existence of a Western subject, is precisely one of the challenges it presents when used within cultural settings that do not share similar theoretical and philosophical assumptions about the nature of the self, subjectivity and identity, raising questions about the cross-cultural relevance and applicability of the Listening Guide method of narrative analysis (see Mauthner 2017). A posthumanist diffractive practice of the Listening Guide, as outlined in this chapter, entails a shift away from using the method as a readymade tool for discovering pre-existing voices, identities and relationships; and from a reflexive practice which recognises that the method, and the voices, identities and relationships it gives rise to, are socially constructed. On a posthumanist approach, the Listening Guide practices themselves materialise and account for the constitutive role they play in generating specific voices, identities and relationships. Importantly, neither the Listening Guide, nor its feminist identity-politics project, are rejected. Rather, they are critically appreciated and affirmed through a diffractive move that ontologically reconfigures this method and project into practices that account for their historically, culturally and metaphysically specific existence, commitments, power and effects. This accounting practice is enacted through a diffractive genealogy of the Listening Guide. This diffractive genealogy materialises how specific conceptual and ontological assumptions are hard-wired into the method; how the method is the instantiation of specific historical, cultural and philosophical inheritances; and how this legacy in turn materialises itself in the ‘objects’ that the method gives rise to. A diffractive practice of the Listening Guide is a practice that materialises and accounts for this inheritance, its metaphysical specificity, and its effects in the form of specific ontological and political identities and boundaries that it performs into being.

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CONCLUDING COMMENTS In this chapter, we have sought to explore the implications of emergent feminist posthumanist philosophies of science and diffractive methodologies for the conduct of social scientific research. While there are growing examples of posthumanist philosophies, and Barad’s ideas in particular, being incorporated in meaningful ways into research on gender, organisation and management studies (e.g. Gherardi 2019; Morley 2016), the full potential of Barad’s diffractive methodology has yet to be realised. We have contributed to this project by proposing a method of ‘diffractive genealogies’ (Mauthner 2016) for enacting posthumanist inquiries, using the example of the Listening Guide feminist voice-centred relational method of narrative analysis, and Alkhaled’s use of it in her research on female entrepreneurs in Saudi Arabia. We have suggested that a posthumanist diffractive methodological approach requires rethinking the very nature, meaning and practice of research methods by opening up for critical examination the humanist foundations underpinning normative practices of these methods, practices that have been institutionalised within contemporary approaches to social science methodology. Importantly, a diffractive methodology neither simply accepts nor rejects conventional (objective and reflexive) methodologies. Rather, it entails critically working through humanist foundations and inheritances, and calling them to account for their historical, cultural and metaphysical specificities, genealogies and effects—that is, for their ‘situatedness’ in Haraway’s (1988) terms. We have, moreover, proposed a method of ‘diffractive genealogies’ for undertaking situated philosophical histories of methods such as the Listening Guide. A diffractive methodology therefore paradoxically entails both a continuation of existing (humanist representational) methods and their radical ontological reconfiguration. The latter is achieved by challenging the naturalisation of these practices and methods, by refusing to take them as ontologically given, and by insisting that they account for their ontological existence, commitments, power and effects. A posthumanist diffractive methodology is therefore a critique or deconstruction of the humanist philosophical project which assumes and presumes the ontological given-ness of the world. The method of diffractive genealogies therefore does not displace established methodological practices. Rather, it investigates the genealogies of these practices, reconstitutes their ontology, and in doing so requires that they are practised in a different way. Diffractive genealogies are not understood to provide better ways of doing research that generate better knowledge of the world. Rather, they are practices that follow from working within a different metaphysical framework, where this framework is not understood in teleological terms. Diffractive genealogies are ways of conducting inquiries that are situated and accountable because they materialise their knowing subjects and objects of study as coming into existence contingently with the methods that are used, their specific philosophical histories, and their specific conceptual and ontological premises. In some respects, engaging in research methods on posthumanist terms through a diffractive methodology may not look very different to other kinds of projects underpinned by a (mostly implicit) representational metaphysics and operationalised through objective or reflexive meth-

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odologies in that the actual methods, tools and technologies used may be similar. However, accompanying these methods with diffractive genealogies as outlined in this chapter constitutes an ontological intervention and posthumanist reconfiguration of these methods. A posthumanist performative (re)making of methods such as the Listening Guide entails ontologically reconstituting them so that they are no longer enacted as neutral, innocent, readymade techniques for discovering pre-existing objects of study but as accountable metaphysical practices that help constitute particular objects in non-arbitrary ways.

GUIDING QUESTIONS FOR UNDERTAKING DIFFRACTIVE GENEALOGIES Carrying out diffractive genealogies of research methods as an inherent and inseparable part of the practice of methods is one way of enacting a feminist posthumanist social science and diffractive methodology. Diffractive genealogies take methods as objects of study in their own right, and undertake situated philosophical histories of research methods. Guiding questions that can inform the conduct of diffractive genealogies include: 1. How was the method historically constituted? (When was the method developed? How was it developed? Who developed it? What was the purpose of the method? Was the method developed in response or reaction to an existing tradition and/or practice?) 2. What concept of the knowing subject is assumed by the method and has been built into it in the course of its development? 3. What concepts of the objects of study are assumed by the method and have been built into it in the course of its development? 4. What assumptions does the method make about the ontological status of these concepts? 5. What assumptions does the method make about its own ontological status and epistemological function? 6. What broader historical, cultural, political, philosophical, theoretical, methodological and intellectual movements have informed the genealogical constitution of the method, and its conceptual and ontological commitments?

REFERENCES Ahl, H. (2006), ‘Why research on women entrepreneurs needs new directions’, Entrepreneurship Theory and Practice, 30 (5), 595–621. Alaimo, Stacy and Hekman, Susan (eds) (2008), Material Feminisms, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.

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Alkhaled, Sophie (2016), ‘“Are you one of us, or one of them?”: an autoethnography of a “hybrid” feminist researcher bridging two worlds’, in Rachel Thwaites and Amy Pressland (eds), Being an Early Career Feminist Academic, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 109–28. Alkhaled, Sophie (2019), ‘The resilience of a Syrian woman and her family through refugee entrepreneurship in Jordan’, in Sibylle Heilbrunn, Jörg Freiling and Aki Harima (eds), Refugee Entrepreneurship, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 241–53. Alkhaled, S. and Berglund, K. (2018), ‘“And now I’m free”: Women’s empowerment and emancipation through entrepreneurship in Saudi Arabia and Sweden’, Entrepreneurship and Regional Development, 30 (7–8), 877–900. Alkhaled-Studholme, Sophie (2013), ‘Women entrepreneurs in Saudi Arabia: bargaining within a patriarchal society’, Doctoral Dissertation, University of Aberdeen, UK. Barad, Karen (2007), Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Barad, K. (2010), ‘Quantum entanglements and hauntological relations of inheritance: dis/ continuities, spacetime enfoldings, and justice-to-come’, Derrida Today, 3 (2), 240–68. Barad, K. (2011), ‘Erasers and erasures: Pinch’s unfortunate “uncertainty principle”’, Social Studies of Science, 41 (3), 443–54. Barad, K. (2014), ‘Diffracting diffraction: cutting together-apart’, Parallax, 20 (3), 168–87. Brown, L. M. and Gilligan, C. (1992), Meeting at the Crossroads: Women’s Psychology and Girls’ Development, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Butler, Judith (1990), Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, London: Routledge. Cálas, M. B., Smircich, L. and Bourne, K. A. (2009), ‘Extending the boundaries: reframing “entrepreneurship as social change” through feminist perspectives’, Academy of Management Review, 34 (3), 552–69. Coole, Diane and Frost, Samantha (eds) (2010), New Materialisms: Ontology, Agency, and Politics, Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Crenshaw, K. (1991), ‘Mapping the margins: intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color’, Stanford Law Review, 43 (6), 1241–99. Deleuze, Gilles and Guattari, Félix ([1991] 1994), Qu’est-ce-que la Philosophie? Trans. H. Tomlinson & G. Burchell [What is Philosophy?], New York: Columbia University Press. Derrida, Jacques ([1967] 1997), De la Grammatologie. Trans. G. C. Spivak [Of Grammatology], Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Derrida, Jacques (1995), Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Dolphijn, Rick and van der Tuin, Iris (eds) (2012), New Materialism: Interviews & Cartographies, Ann Arbor, MI: Open Humanities Press. Doucet, A. and Mauthner, N. S. (2008), ‘What can be known and how? Narrated subjects and the Listening Guide’, Qualitative Research, 8 (3), 399–409. Foucault, Michel ([1975] 1977), Discipline and Punish, New York: Random House. Foucault, Michel ([1977] 1991), ‘Questions of Method’, in Graham Burchell, Colin Gordon and Peter Miller (eds), The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, pp. 73–87. Foucault, Michel (1984), The Foucault Reader, New York: Pantheon Books. Foucault, Michel (1990), The History of Sexuality, New York: Pantheon Books. Gherardi, S. (2019), ‘If we practice posthumanist research, do we need “gender”’ any longer?’, Gender, Work and Organisation, 26 (1), 40–53. Gilligan, Carol (1982), In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s Development, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gilligan, Carol, Brown, Lyn. M. and Rogers, Annie (1990), ‘Psyche embedded: a place for body, relationships, and culture in personality theory’, in Albert I. Rabin, Robert Zucker,

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Robert Emmons and Susan Frank (eds), Studying Persons and Lives, New York: Springer, pp. 86–147. Gilligan, Carol, Spencer, Renée, Weinberg, M. Katherine and Bertsch, Tatiana (2003), ‘On the Listening Guide: a voice-centred relational method’, in Paul. M. Camic, Jean. E. Rhodes and Lucy Yardley (eds), Qualitative Research in Psychology, Washington, DC: American Psychological Association, pp. 157–72. Haraway, Donna (1988), ‘Situated knowledges’, Feminist Studies, 14 (3), 575–99. Haraway, Donna (1991), Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, New York: Routledge. Haraway, Donna (1992) ‘The promises of monsters: a regenerative politics for inappropriate/d others’, in Lawrence Grossberg, Cary Nelson and Paula Treichler (eds), Cultural Studies, New York: Routledge, pp. 295–337. Haraway, Donna (1997), Modest​_Witness@​Second​_Millenium​.FemaleMan©​_Meets​ _OncoMouse™, New York and London: Routledge. Haraway, Donna (2008), When Species Meet, Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Harding, Sandra (ed.) (1987), Feminism & Methodology, Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press. Jamali, D. (2009), ‘Constraints and opportunities facing women entrepreneurs in developing countries: a relational perspective’, Gender in Management: An International Journal, 24 (4), 232–51. Joseph, S. (1993), ‘Connectivity and patriarchy among urban working-class Arab families in Lebanon’, Ethos, 21 (4), 452–84. Lenz Taguchi, H. and St. Pierre, E. (2017), ‘Using concepts as method in educational and social science inquiry’, Qualitative Inquiry, 23 (9), 643–8. Mauthner, N. S. (2015), ‘“The past was never simply there to begin with and the future is not simply what will unfold”: a posthumanist performative approach to qualitative longitudinal research’, International Journal of Social Research Methodology, 18 (3), 321–36. Mauthner, Natasha S. (2016), ‘Un/re-making method: knowing/enacting posthumanist performative social research methods through “diffractive genealogies” and “metaphysical practices”’, in Victoria Pitts-Taylor (ed.), Mattering: Feminism, Science and Materialism, New York: New York University Press, pp. 258–83. Mauthner, Natasha S. (2017), ‘The Listening Guide feminist method of narrative analysis: towards a posthumanist performative (re)configuration’, in Jo Woodiwiss, Kate Smith and Kelly Lockwood (eds), Feminist Narrative Research: Opportunities and Challenges, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 65–91. Mauthner, Natasha S. (2018), ‘A posthumanist ethics of mattering: new materialisms and the ethical practice of inquiry’, in Ron Iphofen and Martin Tolich (eds), SAGE Handbook of Ethics in Qualitative Research, London: Sage, pp. 51–72. Mauthner, Natasha S. (2019), ‘Towards a posthumanist ethics of qualitative research in a Big Data era’, American Behavioral Scientist, 63 (6), 669–98. Mauthner, Natasha S. and Doucet, Andrea (1998), ‘Reflections on a voice-centred relational method: analysing maternal and domestic voices’, in Jane Ribbens and Rosalind Edwards (eds), Feminist Dilemmas in Qualitative Research: Public Knowledge and Private Lives, London: Sage, pp. 119–46. Mauthner, Natasha S. and Doucet, Andrea (2003), ‘Reflexive accounts and accounts of reflexivity in qualitative data analysis’, Sociology, 37 (3), 413–31. Mohanty, C. T. (1988), ‘Under Western eyes: feminist scholarship and colonial discourses’, Feminist Review, 30 (1), 61–88. Morley, L. (2016), ‘Troubling intra-actions: gender, neo-liberalism and research in the global academy’, Journal of Education Policy, 31 (1), 28–45. Rindova, V., Barry, D. and Ketchen D. J. (2009), ‘Entrepreneuring as emancipation’, Academy of Management Review, 34 (3), 477–91.

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St. Pierre, Elizabeth. A. (2011), ‘Post qualitative research: the critique and the coming after’, in Norman. K. Denzin and Yvonne. S. Lincoln (eds), SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Inquiry, 4th edition, Los Angeles, CA: Sage, pp. 611–35.

Index

Abalkhail, J. M. 4, 134 academic identity 135–6 ‘Academic Incivility and Bullying as a Gendered and Racialized Phenomena’ (Johnson-Bailey) 17–18 academic researcher, masculine identity of 121, 123 academic writing 283–5 Acker, J. 265 action learning (AL) programme 101, 107–11 activist feminism 97 Adams, T. E. 29, 41, 44 advertising 204 gender depictions in 236 aesthetics 242–3 Åhäll, L. 205 algorithms 155–6 Alkhaled, S. 7, 282, 296, 297, 305, 306 study of female entrepreneurs 300–303, 307 AL programme see action learning (AL) programme Althusser, L. 184 ‘Ideological State Apparatus’ 192 ideology theory 190, 192 Alvesson, M. 130, 131, 136, 240 analytic autoethnography 28, 31, 34 Anderson, C. J. 235 Anderson, G. 132 Anderson, L. 27 annual reports 161, 162, 177, 235 Anteby, M. 26 Antonov, J. L. 60 Anzaldua, G. 34 Arab culture 135 Arabic language 135 Arab Middle East 130, 131, 141 women’s career development 134 architecture’s visual features 240 archives 3, 81, 163, 165 archiving oral history interviews 81–2 artificial intelligence 156 Atkinson, R. 77 autobiography 10, 11, 42 autoethnographic approaches 27–8

autoethnographic methods 2–3 autoethnographic research in gender and management 216, 275–6 for masculinity 270–72 see also phenomenological research autoethnography 2, 10, 14, 26–7, 33, 215–16, 227, 270–72, 276 about bullying 17–18 analytic 28, 31, 34 applications in family business research 44–7 Castro, M. R. 6 discrimination in Mexico 222–4 foreign woman of colour in UK 224–5 salient identities 221–2, 224 challenges and opportunities 47–9 characteristic in 11 collaborative 14–16, 47 critical 214, 216 definitions, origins and relevance 41–2 ethical considerations in 274 ethics 20, 29, 33–4, 226 evocative 28–9, 31, 33 experiences of being ‘outed’ at work 30–31 in family businesses 39–40 data analysis 46–7 data collection 45–6 ethics and gender issues 51 vignette 49–51 features of 42 in gender studies 42–4 generalizability 20 intersectional reflexivity in 6, 216–19 methodological matters 19–20 on organisational life 221 personal memories 46 as qualitative research method 215–16 reflexivity 32–3, 41, 43 reliability 19–20 research 11, 19–21, 41–2, 220 strengths of 273 three streams of 215 transferability for 48 transgender women 30–31 312

Index  313

validity 19, 47–8 vignette 30–34 writing the 28–9, 31, 33, 34, 47, 51, 273, 276 Badley, G. F. 39 Baker Webster, L. 236 BAME see black, Asian and minority ethnic (BAME) Barad, K. 282, 284, 286–7, 296–8, 300, 304 diffractive methodology 307 posthumanism definition 298 Barthes, Roland 204–6, 208, 210 Mythologies 202–3 semiotic analysis 5–6 Batten, S. 108 Baxter, W. 72 Becker, H. 249 Beigi, M. 183, 186–7 Bell, E. 237–8 Bell, P. 236 Benschop, Y. 235, 236 Berger, J. 232 BFT see Black feminist thought (BFT) big data 155–6 binary gender groups 153 binary sex categories 154 Biressi, A. 5–6 Bitbol-Saba, N. 240, 241 black, Asian and minority ethnic (BAME) 254, 261 women 224–5 Black feminist thought (BFT) 11, 15 ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement 265 Black woman 11, 13, 14, 64–5 bullying 17–18 characterization of 16 Blake, M. 104 Blei, D. M. 164 Blenkinsopp, J. 29 Bluetooth for gender researchers 156 Bochner, A. P. 29 bodies 241 and space 240 ‘bodiliness’ of academic research and writing 283 Bohonos, J. W. 7, 275 autoethnographic writing 273, 276 Bohr, N. 287 Boncori, I. 27, 34 Boyd-Graber, J. 170 Boyle, M. 27

Brannick, T. 132 Brewis, J. 237, 240 British Library Sound Archive 81 Broadbridge, A. 89, 90 Brody, C. 12 Brown, A. D. 186 Browne, R. 90 Brown, L. M. 301–2 Buckle, J. 133 Bujaki, L. M. 235 bullying 17–18 Bumbry, M. 272, 273 Burke, R. J. 265 Burrell, G. 239, 240 business identity 44 Butler, J. 86, 149, 300 gender performativity 25 Byrd, A. M. 272, 273 Callahan, J. 5, 183, 187 Can You Have It All? How to Succeed in a Man’s World (Horlick) 206 career methodology 6 women’s trade unions 251, 253, 261 careers 249 women’s trade union 249–51 women union leaders 6, 253–62 career woman 210 see also corporate superwoman (CSW) CARs see corporate annual reports (CARs) Castro, M. R. 6 discrimination in Mexico 222–4, 227 foreign woman of colour in UK 224–5, 227 salient identities 221–2, 224 Catherine’s career in GMB 258–9 CDA see critical discourse analysis (CDA) Cervero, R. M. 15–16 CFDT see Confédération Démocratique Française du Travail (CFDT) Chang, H. 42, 45–7, 51 Charlotte’s career in UNISON 254–5 Chavez, C. 133 Chisholm, J. 3 City of London, postfeminism in 116–18 clarity of focus group 61–2 class 79, 223–4 classism 273 Clifford, J. 28 co-authored autoethnographies 271 Coghlan, T. 132 cogito 283, 286–7

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cognitive dissonance 61, 197 Cohen, L. 241 coherent topic model 170 Colebrook, C. 284 Colgan, F. 249 collaborative autoethnography 14–16, 47 Collins, J. C. 7, 267–9 Collins, P. H. 88 ‘outsider-within perspective’ 14 concept as method 7, 282–8, 295 Confédération Démocratique Française du Travail (CFDT) 251, 255–7, 259, 260 confidence 60 of women in graduate sport management program 57, 61–7 confounding disruptions 217 Connell’s ‘masculinities theory 190 connotation 148–9, 151, 152, 155, 157, 203 Conran, S. 207 Corinne (women union leader) biographical table 252–3 career in SUD unions 259–61 corporate annual reports (CARs) 235 photographs in 235–6 Corporate Code of Governance of UK 162 corporate gender disclosures 162 corporate superwoman (CSW) 202, 206–8, 211 Horlick as 206, 208–10 myth-making of 6, 206 social function of the myth 210 success 210 corporate websites 239 corporatised university 82 Creswell, J. W. 275 crisis of representation 43 critical approaches 5–6 critical autoethnography 214, 216, 219, 227 critical discourse analysis (CDA) 5, 182–4, 186 integrating dystopian fiction (DF) with 183–4, 187 interpellation in 184–5 critical reflexivity 45 cross-gender interviews 115 CSW see corporate superwoman (CSW) cultural beliefs 111 culture 103, 104, 111 Cunliffe, A. L. 119 Czarniawska-Joerges, B. 186 Dale, K. 239, 240

Dambrin, C. 240, 241 Darmon, M. 249 data analytics 155–6 analysis 46–7, 275 cleaning 167 collection 45–6, 120, 124, 154, 215 formatting 167 data collection method advantages 60 focus groups 58–62, 65 data mining algorithms 175 data pre-processing of latent Dirichlet allocation (LDA) 167–9 Davison, J. 232, 244 Dean, H. 3, 72, 75, 77–80 Decoding Advertisements (Williamson) 204 defamiliarization 137 Deleuze, G. 282, 284, 285, 295 De Monthoux, P. 186 denotation 148, 151, 155, 157 see also connotation Denzin, N. K. 19, 28 Derrida, J. 300 descriptive modelling 172, 175 detective fiction 186 DF see dystopian fiction (DF) DFCDA method see dystopian fiction-inspired critical discourse analysis (DFCDA) method ‘Different Worlds and Divergent Paths: Academic Careers Defined by Race and Gender’ (Johnson-Bailey & Cervero) 15–16 diffraction 296, 298 diffractive genealogies 296, 297, 300, 307, 308 guiding questions for 308 of Listening Guide 304–6 diffractive methodology 7, 296, 297 of feminist posthumanism 298–9 diffractive reading and becoming-different 290–91 discrimination against women in Mexico 222 class 223–4 gender 223–4 race 223–4 discriminatory gender beliefs 154–5 Discua Cruz, A. 3 disorientation 284 diversity reporting 162, 177

Index  315

diversity statements 161–3, 167, 172, 176–7 web-based 164, 176, 239 Doloriert, C. 215, 218, 226 Donald, K. 12 Dooley, M. 61 double consciousness 14 ‘doublethink’ cognitive dissonance 197 Doucet, A. 301–3 dress 241 DuBois, W. E. B. double consciousness 14 Duff, A. 235 Durik, M. 61 Dutton, J. 241 Dwyer, C. 133 dystopian fiction (DF) 5, 183–4, 186–7, 189 conceptual map 188–9 example (cases): parenthood, masculinities and subversion 192–8 masculinities 190, 191 novels for 186, 191 parenthood 190 subversion 190, 191 theoretical and conceptual framework 189–91 tropes of 187, 188, 199 dystopian fiction-inspired critical discourse analysis (DFCDA) method 189, 192–4, 199 Edenius, M. 240 elite interviews 115, 116, 127 with men and women leaders in Lloyd 117–18 as postfeminist encounters 118–26 power dynamics of 115–16, 119, 127 Elliott, C. 104, 205, 237, 239 Ellis, C. 3, 19, 29, 40, 42 Ellison, R. E. 271 Elsbach, K. D. 240 elusive knowledges 6, 234 Emad, M. 205 embodied reading 7, 284 embodied research 283 embodied writing 7, 283, 284 embodiment 240 entrepreneurship 44 in Saudi Arabia 297, 300–303 equality/diversity policies of unions 6, 251, 254–7, 261–2 Equity and Human Rights Office 94

essentialist gender beliefs 154–5 ethical challenges of focus groups 67 ethico-onto-epistemological 296 ethics 20, 51 autoethnography 29, 33–4, 226 critical discourse analysis (CDA) 183–4 oral history interviews 81–2 participant observation 110–12 phenomenology and autoethnography 274 research design and 287–8 topic modelling 178 visual research methods 243 ethnicity 62, 64–5, 267 ethnography 11, 26, 42, 285, 291 institutional see institutional ethnography (IE) research 96, 285–6 Eurocentricity 265–6 evocative autoethnography 28–9, 31, 33 explanatory modelling 175 Fairclough, N. 190 ‘the falsely obvious’ 203 family businesses 39 autoethnography in 3, 39–40 entrepreneurship 44 and gender 39–40 gender issues in 48 gender relations and dynamics influence on 45 and gender researchers 45–6 identity 44 ownership structure 50 selling a family farm 44 succession 39, 40, 43–6, 48, 50 women in 39–40, 49–50 family business research applications of autoethnography in 44–7 autoethnography as method for 44 The Fashion System (Barthes) 205 female auditors 240–41 female bodies 240–41 female entrepreneurship, in Saudi Arabia 297, 300–303 femininity 110, 116–18, 122, 123, 241 discursive dimensions of 120–21 feminisation of governance bodies 254 of the profession 261 feminism 71, 78, 83, 97, 207, 256 feminist

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activism 4, 97 archives 81 communication research 204 critical lens 269 epistemology 5, 151 identity-politics 306 leadership 256 method 71 ontology 5 phenomenology 7, 269 research 147, 151, 240, 242 trade union 260–61 women leaders 256 feminist media research 203–4 of gendered representation 204–6 feminist posthumanism 295–7, 307 diffractive methodology of 298–9 ‘feminist poststructuralist’ 97 Fernando, M. 47 fertility 190, 191 fiction 186 Fillieule, O. 262 Financial Times 209 Finlay, L. 140 Finn, H. 3 focus groups 3, 57 clarity and transparency 61–2 classroom settings 63 conducting the 63–6 confidence 64, 67 defined 59 ethical challenges 67 method 61–6 naturalistic 61 open-ended question for participants 64 origins 58 participant profile 62 participants size 63 pragmatic approach 67 preparation for 61–2 as qualitative data collection method 58–62, 65 recruitment for 62–3 strength of 59 use of 59, 60 Foucault, M. 184, 300 Frank, A. W. 104 French, S. 236 Gardiner, R. 3 Gatrell, G. 4 Gatto, M. 5, 187

gender 26–7, 225, 232 beliefs 111, 154–5 bias 236 binary categories 153 bullying and 17–18 concept of 161–2 connotation 148–9, 151, 152, 155, 157 and culture 105 datasets 155 defined 71, 145 denotation 148, 151, 155, 157 discrimination 261, 271 dynamics 39, 40, 45, 46 equality 155, 176, 235, 250 expression 7, 267, 269 in family business 39–40 issues 48, 51 and ideology 190 inequalities 156, 249, 306 in trade unions 249–51 inequities 89–90 institutional sexual silence 90–91 intersections of 223 and management autoethnographic research in 275–6 insider qualitative research on see insider qualitative research phenomenological research in 274–5 research 89–90, 95–7 marginalization 89 perceptions in workplace 162 performativity 25, 33 and power 111, 156 questionnaire for 152–4 and race 14, 15 and racial discrimination and 111 relations 40, 43, 45 representation in media 203–5 representation of 235–7 in CAR photographs 235–6 in corporate websites 239 in mixed sex photographs 235 in news media 236–7 in organizations 235–6 in popular culture 203, 237, 238 in Television series 238 in video games 239 research 1 scholarship 146 segregation 138 sex and 153, 154

Index  317

sexual violence policies for 86, 88, 90–97 space and 239–40 stereotyping 290–91 violence 284 visuality and 233 gender-based sexual violence see sexual violence gender consciousness 11 storying and 12 gender democracy deficit 254 gender depictions in advertising 236 gender diversity statements 5, 161–3, 167, 172, 176–7 gendered parental roles 191 gender expertise 5, 146, 148–51, 155, 156 defined 145 gender identity 7, 34, 42, 43, 46, 57, 62, 225, 269 shared 134–6 transgender woman 30–31 of transgender woman 30–31 Gender, Media, and Organization: Challenging Mis(s)Representations of Women Leaders and Managers (Elliott) 205 gender relations 204 in organizations 95–7 gender research, quantitative 147 algorithmic data for 155–6 big data and data analytics for 155–6 ethics 152 machine learning for 155–6 questionnaires for 152–4 secondary data 154–5 surveys for 152–4 using sensor data 155–6 gender studies 42–4, 71, 72, 83 ethics in management learning and education 110–12 in management and organizations 103–5 in Pakistani business schools 107–10 participant observations and 105–7 Gherardi, S. 281, 282, 284, 295 Giazitzoglu, A. 133 Gilligan, C. 297, 301–2, 304 Gill, R. 120 Gilmore, S. 283, 288 Giorgio, G. A. 46, 51 Glebbeek, M. L. 104 Glengarry, Glen Ross 237

global financial crisis (GFC) of 2008–12 237 Global Media Monitoring Project (GMMP) data 236 GMB 251, 257–9 GMMP data see Global Media Monitoring Project (GMMP) data Goffman, E. 236, 241 Gold, O’C. 210 Gold, R. L. 107 Goodall Jr., H. L. B. 30, 33 Gough, B. 140 graduate sport management program, women’s confidence in 57, 61–7 Greene, J. C. 292 Grenfell, M. 208 Grenier, R. S. 270 Griffin, R. A. 17 Grisoni, L. 242 group interviews 58 Guattari, F. 284, 295 Guba, E. 138 Guenther, E. 4–5 Guest, G. 103 Guillaume, C. 6 Hamilton, E. 3, 38 The Handmaid’s Tale (Atwood) 186 Hanold, M. 3 Hanson, S. 104 Haraway, D. 283, 296–8, 300, 307 Harding, S. 88 Harquail, C. V. 241 Hayano, D. 27 hegemonic masculinity (HM) 182, 187, 190–92, 197, 199, 271, 273 Heidegger, M. 182 Heritage Lottery Fund (HLF) 81 Hernandez, K. A. C. 17, 51 heterosexism 268, 273 hierarchy 11 HLF see Heritage Lottery Fund (HLF) HM see hegemonic masculinity (HM) homophobia 267, 273 hooks, bell 272 Horlick, N. 6, 206 autobiography 206, 208–9, 211 criticisms on 211 cultural codes 209 dress code 208, 209 media image 211 myth in 210 mythologised 208, 210

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social function of the myth 210 success 210 Huggins, M. K. 104 Hughes, E. 249 Hulten, S. 242 Humbert, A. L. 4–5, 154 Humphreys, M. 218 identity(ies) 104, 225 gender 30–31, 34, 42, 43, 46 intersecting 217–19, 223–4, 226, 227 researchers 115, 116, 118–20, 122, 132, 221–2, 224–6 identity insecurities 222 identity politics of second-wave feminism 306 ‘Ideological State Apparatus’ 192 ideology theory of Althusser, L. 190, 192 IE see institutional ethnography (IE) Imperia, G. 235 In a Different Voice (Gilligan) 304 inclusive data production 147 income inequality 146 ‘inequality regime’ 250, 251, 261 informal participant observation 103–4 insider 131–3 insider qualitative research 130 benefit of 133, 140–41 challenges and opportunities 134–8, 140 criteria for evaluating the 138–9, 141 data representation 136 four main tasks of researchers 140–41 insiderness in 138 insider positionality 134–6, 140, 141 language translation 137, 140 power dynamics 136–7, 140–41 procedures 139, 140 reliability of 138 validity 137–9, 140, 141 insider research 4 defined 130 insider researchers 4, 130–33, 135, 137, 138, 140, 141 challenges of 140 see also outsider researchers institutional change 88 institutional ethnography (IE) 86, 90, 92, 95 applying 91–2 challenges 96 in gender and management research 95–7 as a mode of inquiry 4, 87–9, 91, 96, 97

research 88 Smith, D. 4, 86–9, 97 use in health care research 97 see also sexual violence policies institutional mapping 92–6 see also sexual violence institutional sexism 86 institutional sexual silence 90–91 insurance market 117, 121–3, 126, 127 elite interviews with men and women leaders 117–18 leadership in 124–5 internalisation process 192 interpellation 184–5, 191, 192, 195, 197, 199 intersecting identities 217–19, 223–4, 226, 227 intersectional feminism 271 intersectional inequalities 91 intersectionality 216–17, 223, 271, 272 intersectional reflexivity 214, 226, 227 applying 219–21 in autoethnography 6, 216–19 guideline questions to 220–21 interview encounters of the postfeminist kind 118–26 interviewing biomedical researchers 288–90 interview questions 64 interview transcript readings 302 intra-action 286, 290, 291 defined 298 Islam 135 Islam, G. 234 Issadore, M. N. 91 Iverson, S. V. 91 Jack, S. L. 3 Jakobson, R. 149 Jamali, D., relational framework 301 Janesick, V. J., oral history definition 74 Jansen, Freya 205 Johnson-Bailey, J. 2 ‘Academic Incivility and Bullying as a Gendered and Racialized Phenomena’ 17–18 as a Black woman 11 collaborative autoethnography 14–16 ‘Different Worlds and Divergent Paths: Academic Careers Defined by Race and Gender’ 15–16 life and research partners 11 narratives 12–14 province of community 11

Index  319

Sistahs in College: Making a Way Out of No Way (2001) 20 Joseph’s theory of ‘patriarchal connectivity’ 301 Jourian, T. J. 272, 273 Kafiris, K. 239 Kanter, R. M. 238 Karra, N. 40 Karunanayake, G. 119 Kassinis, G. 239 Katila, S. 28, 271 Kay, K. 61 Kelly, B. T. 272, 273 Kerfoot, D. 26 Knights, D. 26, 234 Kress, G. 236, 239 Kuasirikun, N. 235 Kuehne, G. 44 Kumra, S. 265 Labaree, R. 130 Langout, R. D. 271 Language and Control (Fowler) 184 language control 197 language translation 137, 140 large-scale secondary data 154–5 latent Dirichlet allocation (LDA) model 163–4, 176 building 169 data pre-processing 167–9 interpretation 170, 172 methods for analysing the output of 172, 175–6 output evaluation 170, 172 sample size for 165 Lather, P. 283 law enforcement 267, 268 LDA see latent Dirichlet allocation (LDA) model leaders/leadership 122, 124–126 discourses 234 elite interviews with 117–18 homogeneity of 125 in insurance market 124–5 men 117, 118 positions 117 women 6, 104, 117, 118, 237, 238, 250–62 Learmonth, M. 218 Ledwith, S. 249 Lenz Taguchi, L. 282, 283, 285, 287, 295

Lewis, P. 4 Lincoln, Y. 138 Lindeman, M. I. 61 linear regression 175 Listening Guide 296–7, 307, 308 diffractive genealogy of 304–6 for female entrepreneurship in Saudi Arabia 7, 300–303 as second-wave ‘feminist method’ 305–6 listening stages 302 Liu, H. 237 Lloyds 117 Lowe, K. B. 44 Lundblad, R. 12 Lykke, N. 283 McClellan, P., gendered identity 42 McConomy, B. J. 235 MacDonald, K. 119 Macdonald, M. 204, 206 McDowell, L. 117–18, 237 machine learning 155–6, 163 Mackie-Lewis, S. 241 MacLure, M. 285–6, 288 McParland, S. 42 Mailhot, T. M. 272 male-dominated union 257–9 male oligarchies resistance in unions 257–9 Mamet, D. 237 management 26, 30 autoethnography for 27 research 1 management and organization studies (MOS) research 102, 282, 291 implications for 285–8 management education 101 and learning 110–12 Mangia, G. 234 Manning, J. 234, 242 Manzano, L. J. 272, 273 mapping institutions 92–6 Marie’s career in CFDT 256–7 Marshall, A. 108 Martinez, S. 34 masculinity(ies) 7, 117–18, 122, 123, 125, 187, 190–92, 265 autoethnography for exploring 270–72 critique of 274 discursive dimensions of 120–21 in organizations, communities and society 266–8

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phenomenology for exploring 268–70 and race and ethnicity 267 research 268–72, 276 ‘masculinity of accountancy’ 240–41 ‘material-discursive’ 299 materialist ontology 286 Mauthner, N. S. 7, 282, 296, 297, 300–303 Mavin, S. 237 Maynard, M. 147 May, T. 237 Mccabe, D. 234 media 236–7 myth-making 202 mythologies 202 myths analysis 204–6 representations of women 203–5 media semiotics 202–4 Meek, W. R. 44 Meihuizen, H. E. 235, 236 memories 46–7, 51 men leaders 117, 118 Meriläinen, S. 271 meritocracy 89 Merleau-Ponty, M. 240 Merton, R. 130, 131 metaphysical specificity 298–9, 306, 307 methodological autoethnography 219 methodological developments 6–8 methodological objectivity and reflexivity 296, 307 methodology-against-interpretivism 285 ‘Me Too’ campaign 265 Michaelson, C. 183, 187 Milic, M. 236 Mingé, J. M. 48 Misogynies (Smith) 205 mixed methods research 283 Modification of the Stevick–Colaizzi– Keen Method of Analysis of Phenomenological Data 275 Moen, J. 60 Moraga, C. 34 Morgan, D. L. 58, 60, 63 focus groups definition 59 MOS research see management and organization studies (MOS) research Moustakas, C. 275 Mughal, F. 4, 108–10 perceived positionality 108 Muhr, S. L. 25 multimodal discourse analysis 237 multi-positional autoethnographies 271, 272

Mythologies (Barthes) 202–3 myths 202–5, 211 of femininity 204–5 histories of 205 media 202, 204–6 social function of 210 narratives 11–14, 21, 45, 304–5 inquiry 15 research 12, 14 natural language processing (NLP) 167–8 Negra, D. 207 Neimark, M. 161 news media, gender representations in 236–7 Ngunjiri, F. W. 17, 51 Nilsson, L. G. 60 1984 (Orwell) 184, 186, 196–7 NLP see natural language processing (NLP) ‘Novels and Children’ (Barthes) 203 Oakley, A. 116, 136 Office for National Statistics (ONS) 153 OMTCU see Ontario Ministry of Training, Colleges and Universities (OMTCU) ONS see Office for National Statistics (ONS) Ontario sexual violence policies 86, 90–97 university’s ‘safe campus’ website page 93 Ontario Ministry of Training, Colleges and Universities (OMTCU) 90 ontological assumptions 299, 306 open-ended question 64 oral history 3, 71–2, 83 background 73–4 defining 74–5 future of 82–3 oral history interviews 74–5 archiving 81–2 deep listening of researcher 77–8 emotional distress 80 ethical consideration 76, 81–2 memory construction of women 79–81 multiple 76–7 planning the 75–7 recording the 81 sharing authority 78–9 to women entrepreneurs 75–9 oral history projects 75 features and characteristics 76 organisational research narrative 186–7

Index  321

organisation studies 71, 72, 83 organizational scholarship on masculinities 89 organizational spaces 239–40 organizational studies 97 organizations, gender representations in 235–6 Orwell, G. doublethink concept 184, 197 1984 (1949) 184, 186, 196–7 O’Shea, S. 2 outing myself at work 32–3 as transgender and being ‘outed’ at work 30–31 outsider 131–3 outsider qualitative research 130 benefit of 133 outsider research 4 defined 130 outsider researchers 132, 137, 140, 141 ‘outsider-within perspective’ 14 Page, A. 5 Page, M. 242 Pakistani business schools 4 challenge of studying gender in 111 gaining entry to 107–8 gender studies in management 107–10 MBAs 105, 107–8 action learning (AL) sets on 108–9 Panayiotou, A. 6, 237–40 parental decision-making 190–92 parenthood 190, 192 Parker, M. 237 Parks, S. 13 Parry, K. 27 participant-generated visual data 242–3 participant observation 4, 101–2 in action learning sets 108–9 ethical considerations 110–12 exiting the field and post-observations 109–10 female and male 110 gaining entry to Pakistani business schools 107–8 and gender study in management 105–7 informal 103–4 key features of immersion and time 103–4 membership and location 104–5 trust and identity 104 meaning of 103–5

politics of 108 post-learning experiences 109–10 reflexive model of 102 patriarchal connectivity 301, 303 patriarchal dividend 191 patriarchal ideology 192 patriarchy 135, 189, 190, 203 Payne, G. 133 Pecis, L. 7, 295 perceived positionality 108 per-document topic distribution 164 performativity of gender 25, 33 Perks, R. 71 personal memories 46–7 per-topic word distribution 164 phenomenological research in gender and management 274–5 for masculinity 268–70 phenomenology 267–70, 272, 276 ethical considerations 274 Phillips, N. 40 photographic images, ethics in 243 ‘The Photographic Message’ (Barthes) 202 physical body 240 Pink, S. 244 Pochic, S. 6 Point, S. 239 popular culture 203, 237–9 popular films 239, 240 positionality 108, 110, 119 insider qualitative research 134–6, 139, 140, 141 post-constructionism 283 postfeminism 116–18, 120–21, 127, 207 as analytical concept 118, 119 encounter and 4 theoretical resource 119 postfeminist encounters 115, 118–27 elite interviews as 118–26 postfeminist research femininities 120–21, 123 researcher as academic and therapist 124–6 as wife and academic 121–4 posthumanism 7, 282, 306, 307 defined 298 feminist 7, 295–7 diffractive methodology of 298–9 post-intentional phenomenology 270 post-qualitative methodologies 295 post-structuralist feminism 119 power and gender 111, 156

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power dynamics insider qualitative research 136–7, 140–41 of the interview 4, 115–16, 119, 127 power relationships in interviewer and interviewee 124 practical approaches 3–5 pragmatic approach 67 predictive modelling 175–6 pre-existing visual material 235 pre-processing data 167–9 Pringle, J. 210 professional attire 241 Prügl, E. 205 psychological safety of participants 111 The Public Woman (Smith) 205 Pullen, A. 288 purposive sampling 62 qualitative data collection method 58–62, 65 qualitative insider researcher, layers of insiderness 134–6, 139 qualitative research 20, 101 insider see insider qualitative research qualitative research method 29, 41, 43, 45, 48, 74 quantitative measures 148 quantitative methods 145, 146, 155 leveraging 146–7 old and new 151–6 algorithms 155–6 big data analytics 155–6 large-scale secondary data 154–5 machine learning 155–6 questionnaires and surveys 152–4 research ethics 152 queer phenomenology 7, 269–70 race 62, 64–5, 223–4, 267, 271–3 discrimination 257, 261 gender and 14, 15 racial inequities 272 racism 80, 267, 273 radical/leftist feminism 256 Rafaeli, A. 241 readings of interview transcript 302–3 re-embodied masculinities 190 REF see Research Excellence Framework (REF) reflexive autobiography 27 ‘reflexivities of discomfort’ 217 reflexivity 6, 14, 32–3, 41, 43, 141, 216

relational ethics 226 relational framework 301 ‘relations of ruling’ 4, 87, 89–92 religious beliefs 135 representation of women 235–7 in CAR photographs 235–6 in corporate websites 239 in media 203, 236–7 in mixed sex photographs 235 in popular culture 203, 237, 238 in Television series 238 in video games 239 representations of gender in news media 236–7 in organizations 235–6 women leaders 238 Representing Women (Macdonald) 204 research autoethnographic see autoethnographic research autoethnography 11, 19–21 design and ethics 287–8 ethics 152 in gender and management 89–90 management and organization studies (MOS) 102 masculinity 268–72 narratives 12, 14 phenomenological see phenomenological research sexual violence in Ontario 90–91 researcher-generated visual data 241–2 researchers as academic and therapist 124–6 identities 115, 116, 118–20, 122, 132, 221–2, 224–6 layers of insiderness 134–6, 139 power dynamics 115, 136, 140 as wife and academic 121–4 Research Excellence Framework (REF) 82 research methods 6, 41, 44–8, 74, 83 resistance of male oligarchies in unions 257–9 ‘Rhetoric of the Image’ (Barthes) 202 Rhodes, C. 186, 187, 237 Riad, S. 271 Rich, C. 25 Rigg, C. 111 Ring, L. 60 Rippin, A. 241 Robinson, S. 239 Rocco, T. S. 267–9

Index  323

Rose, G., method of discourse analysis 238 St. Pierre, E. A. 283, 287, 295 salient identities 221–2, 224 Salters, G. A. 267 Sambrook, S. 215, 218, 226 same-gender interviews 116 Sarkeesian, A. 239 Saudi Arabia 130, 134, 137 female entrepreneurship in 7, 297, 300–303 Saussure, F. 148 view of language 202 Schiebinger, L. 155 Schyns, B. 233 Sealy, R. 5 secondary data 154–5 second-wave feminism 305–6 self-efficacy 61 self-reflection 41 semantic coherence 170 semiotic analysis 5–6 of media coverage 211 of media myth-making 202 strengths and limitations 210–12 semiotics 202, 211 sensor data 155–6 sex 148, 153 Sexing War/Policing Gender (Åhäll) 205 sexism 267, 273 sexual differences 7, 282, 284, 287, 290, 291 sexual harassment 261 sexuality 205, 267 sexual orientation 7, 62, 267, 269 sexual violence 96, 272 complaints of 93–5 Ontario 90–95 reporting process map 93–5 research context 90–91 Sexual Violence and Harassment Action Plan (SVHAP) 90, 92, 95 sexual violence policies 86, 88, 90–92 actors for 95 ethical issues 96 gaps 96 language of 96 mapping the 93–6 see also institutional ethnography (IE) shared academic identity 135–6 shared cultural values 135 shared gender identity 134–6

shared marginality 13 Shipman, C. 61 shocks 284, 285, 292 and production in ethnographic research 285–6 Shortt, H. 241, 242 signification 148, 149 Sim, J. 67 Simpson, R. 89, 90, 265 Sinclair, A. 97, 238 Sinclair, J. 240 Singh, V. 239 single-author autoethnographies 271–2 Sirakaya, E. 236 Sistahs in College: Making a Way Out of No Way (2001, Johnson-Bailey) 20 situational identity 104 Small, M. L. 127 Smith, C. 27, 34 Smith, D. as ‘feminist poststructuralist’ 97 institutional ethnography (IE) 4, 86–9, 97 relations of ruling 4, 87, 89–92 ‘small hero’ concept 93–4 Smith, J. 205 Sobre-Denton, M. S. 42 social identity 62, 272 social inequity 185 social justice 183–4, 190, 268 sociology 262 sociosemiotic discourse 184 Solidaires, Unitaires et Démocratiques (SUD) 251, 259–61 Sonmez, S. 236 sport management, women’s confidence in 57, 61–7 Squire, D. D. 272, 273 Stead, V. 4, 38, 104, 237 stereotyping 236 Stevenson, L. 3, 72, 74, 76 Stewart, K. 44 Stokes, J. 210 storytelling 12–14, 21, 45, 76, 78–80, 183, 186–7 Strangleman, T. 232 structural boundaries 301 structural inequalities 204 structural topic modelling 164 Sturgeon, N. 237 subversion 190–92 succession 39, 40, 43–6, 48, 50

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SUD see Solidaires, Unitaires et Démocratiques (SUD) Sullivan, K. R. 25 superhero Wonder Woman 205 surveys for gender research 152–4 SVHAP see Sexual Violence and Harassment Action Plan (SVHAP) Szczur, S. 238 Székely, N. 175 Taber, N. 216 Tasker, Y. 207 technological developments 155–6 television series, representation of women leaders in 238 text normalisation 168 TF-IDF weighting 168 TGWU see Transport and General Workers’ Union (TGWU) theory of ‘patriarchal connectivity’ 301, 303 thinking 283, 284, 286 ‘Think-Manager-Think-Male’ phenomenon 234 three-dimensional visual material 239–41 see also two-dimensional visual material Tinker, T. 161 topic modelling 5 advantage of 176–7 analysis of relationship between metadata and 172, 175–6 data analysis and interpretation of 169–70, 172 ethical implication of 178 evaluating the quality of 170 interpretation 170, 178 labelling of 170, 172–4 limitations of 177–8 opportunities for 176–7 overview 163–4 pre-processing data 167–9 process 166 selection of 170 text data collection 165–7 Toraldo, M. L. 234 toxic masculinity 7, 266–8, 274 trade unions see unions, trade traditional focus groups 63 transgender woman and being ‘outed’ at work 30–31 employment 31 gender identity of 30–31

translating qualitative data 137 transparency of focus group 61–2 Transport and General Workers’ Union (TGWU) 254, 255 Trehan, K. 111 trustworthy 104 Turner, A. 242 Turner, S. M. 92 two-dimensional visual material 235–9 Tyler, M. 241 underrepresentation of women in trade unions 250–51, 254 unions, trade career methodology 251, 253, 261 Catherine’s career in GMB 258–9 challenging careers of women’s officers 255–7 Charlotte’s career in UNISON 254–5 as contested organizations 259 Corinne’s career in SUD unions 259–61 equality/diversity policy 6, 254–7, 261–2 gender inequalities in 249–51 governance structure 254 ‘inequality regime’ 250, 251, 261 male-dominated 257–9 Marie’s career in CFDT 256–7 resistance of male oligarchies in 257–9 women’s leadership in 250–51 UNISON 251, 254, 255 equality/diversity policy 254, 255 van Leeuwen, T. 236, 239 Van Maanen, J. 137 Vickers, J. 146 Vickers, M. H. 27 video games 238–9 videos 234 visual as a form of knowledge 233–4 as political 233–4 visual data to analyse gender 235, 241 visual grammar 236, 239 visuality 232, 233 visual research methods 6, 232, 234, 244 ethics and concerns 243 participant-generated visual data 242–3 producing visual data to analyse gender 241 researcher-generated visual data 241–2

Index  325

using existing visual data to analyse gender 235 using three-dimensional visual material 239–41 using two-dimensional visual material 235–9 visual semiotic method 236 vom Brocke, J. 175 Warren, S. 233, 241–3 Waterfield, J. 67 Watson, T. J. 27, 139 web-based diversity statements 164, 176, 239 websites 239 Westwood, R. 237 Whelehan, I. 210 Whiteman, G. 27 white privilege 265, 271 white supremacy 268 Williams, J. 237 Williamson, J. 204, 206 Willmott, H. 240 Wilson-Brown, C. 238 Witherell, C. 12 women barrier to success 183, 185, 199 body 240–41 in business 205 career development 134 gender segregation on 138 of color 11, 13, 272 confidence in graduate sport management program 57, 61–7 construction of memory 79–81 in family business 39–40, 49–50 in feminist trade union 260–61 fight against racism 80 history 73 leadership experiences 104

in unions 250–51 lived experience of Otherness 241–2 myth-making of 208 professional attire/dress 241 professional success 210 race and ethnicity 62, 64–5 representation of representation of women of Saudi, challenges and opportunities 134 secondary roles 191 social identity 62 stories of 12–13 violence and discrimination against 222 workplace treatment 62, 65 women entrepreneurs 74 oral history interviews to 75–9 women leaders 117, 118, 237 bodies and sexualities 238 women union leaders 256, 262 careers 6, 251, 253–62 Woods-Giscombé, C. L. 63 word removal 168 working parents 181, 189, 193, 196, 199 Working Woman magazine 241 working women 210 workplace gender inequities 89–90 women’s experiences 242 writing academic 283–5 autoethnography 28–9, 31, 33, 34, 47, 51, 273, 276 embodied 283, 284 Yakhlef, A. 240 Yarborough, J. P. 44 Yost, K. 238 Zou, J. 155 Zylinska, J., politics of openness 20