Messy Ethnographies in Action 1622734327, 9781622734320

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Messy Ethnographies in Action Edited by Alexandra Plows Bangor University, UK Foreword by

John Law

Series in Anthropology

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Series in Anthropology Library of Congress Control Number: 2018941286 ISBN: 978-1-62273-551-8 Also available: 978-1-62273-329-3 [Hardback]; 978-1-62273-432-0 [Paperback] Product and company names mentioned in this work are the trademarks of their respective owners. While every care has been taken in preparing this work, neither the authors nor Vernon Art and Science Inc. may be held responsible for any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in it. Every effort has been made to trace all copyright holders, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publisher will be pleased to include any necessary credits in any subsequent reprint or edition. Cover design from Vernon Press, image by Gareth Hawley

Acknowledgements With sincere thanks to all the participants in the 2017 International Ethnography Symposium “mess” stream, out of whose contributions this book has developed. A particular thank you to all the contributors in this volume for their patience, support, and hard work; it has been a truly collaborative effort! Additional thanks to Sue Lewis for her support and advice, and a special thank you to Cari Droia for all her painstakingly hard work helping me to deliver the final edit.

Table of Contents Foreword: The Politics of Ethnography

ix

John Law

Introduction: Coming Clean About Messy Ethnography

xiii

Alexandra Plows

Section 1

Reflecting on Messy Research Practice

1

Chapter 1

Mud on the carpet: messy reflexive practices with older environmental activists- bringing the outside in Mary Gearey

3

Chapter 2

Revealing a ‘Hidden Civil War’: a serendipitous methodology Sue Lewis, Martyn Hudson, and Joe Painter

13

Changing forms of ethnography and shifting researcher positioning in the study of a Mexican martial art George Jennings

23

Haphazard knowledge production: thoughts on ethnography and mess in the urbanising Ecuadorian Amazon Nina Isabella Moeller

33

Section 2

Messy Ethics

45

Chapter 5

The case for more ethnographic research with the criminal’s perspective Lisa Potter

47

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Managing morality: neoliberal ethics regimes and messy field work Rafi Alam

59

Everyday messiness of ethnography: reflections on fieldwork in Mid-West Brazil Lauren Crabb

69

Section 3

Messy Participation

79

Chapter 8

The boundlessness of digital democracy – ethnography of an ICT-mediated public in Brexit Britain Gabriel Popham

81

Places on probation: an auto-ethnography of co-produced research with women with criminal biographies Nicola Harding

91

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 ‘Messily embedded’: an auto- ethnography of redundancy in the Welsh nuclear industry 101 Alexandra Plows Chapter 11 A messy ethnography of mess Ville Savolainen

111

Section 4

119

Messy Research Sites and Spaces

Chapter 12 Not only the night: the messiness of ethnography of nurses’ night work Trudy Rudge, Luisa Toffoli and Sandra West

121

Chapter 13 Adapting to parents in crisis: tracing experiences of having a child with chronic kidney disease Andréa Bruno de Sousa

131

Chapter 14 Attempting to deep map multiple realities: the “therapeutic landscape” of Saltwell Park Wayne Medford

141

Chapter 15 The challenges of ethnographic practice in current urban complex situations Paola Jirón and Walter Imilan

159

Chapter 16 Sharing foodscapes: shaping urban foodscapes through messy processes of food sharing Monika Rut and Anna R. Davies

169

Author Biographies

179

Index

187

Foreword: The Politics of Ethnography John Law No one methodological size fits all. The present volume argues this. Better, it demonstrates it by offering an engaging and challenging series of methodological and topical reflections in, on and through ethnography. These move us from Mexican martial arts, via the multiplicity of parks and park-practices in the north of England to the messy and power-saturated jungles of hotel and nursing work, foodscapes, and community punishment. It draws us into issues of ethics in the form of university policies and the study of criminal activities, into the struggles and rewards of collaborative ethnography, and to action research with redundant workers, and digital democracy networks. And a whole lot more besides. As we read the chapters that make up this book, we learn again, that ethnography is messy. To be sure, it is not the only messy form of research – all social science methods, indeed all methods, have this in common. But ethnography is nevertheless a felicitous location to think about methodological non-coherence and excess. This is because, as a crowd, ethnographers are probably a little less coy about the uncertainties of their methods than those who prefer pre-coded ways of studying the social world. All of which is fine, though it brings its own risks and in particular the tendency to cast ethnography as an unruly outlier to the real and serious world of precision social science (as if such a beast ever existed). If the chapters in the book wrestle with a whole series of critical issues, then some of these turn up again and again. So, for instance, in the Introduction Alex Plows touches on Howard Becker’s long-standing (1970) but utterly pertinent question, ‘whose side are we on?’, an issue that runs as a leitmotif through most of the chapters. The recognition of methodological performativity, that research does things, means that those who practice social science have learned – or should have learned – that they can never safely say that they are ‘simply describing,’ even if that is what they are (also) doing. Of course, as social researchers we shouldn’t allow ourselves to get too bigheaded. Most of the time the differences we make are not large. (Would that this were also true for neoclassical economics.) But even so, the performativity of our own small learning practices is real, both directly and indirectly. Directly, many of the book’s chapters seek to make particular differences. At the same time, we are also irreducibly in the business of indirect performativity. Here’s the problem. Whenever we practise research, we also enact an

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endless series of what we might think of collateral realities (Law, 2011) – that is, realities and normativities which we barely think of or know about. This is no reason for self-castigation: it could not be otherwise: this is what performativity implies. And, in any case, in practice, the realities that come with our research activities tend to become clear only in the contingent interferences of debate. Examples. Are nation states done in the practices of European survey research? Or ethnicities? The answer is: yes, they are; and in very particular ways (Law, 2011). Is the power of biomedicine re-enacted in the practices of care for dementia? Yes, it is (Moser, 2008). But such implicit realities and normativities only become clear if we can find ways of looking at methods (surveys, ethnographies, this applies to any method), to pick apart some of the work that they are doing along the way, as it were incidentally. This tells us that the way Plows revisits Becker is all the more to the point. Even if our manifest politics are relatively clear, the implications of what we are doing as we conduct and report on our research are likely to be messy and obscure. This tells us that any answer to the question ‘whose side are we on,’ is likely to be a muddle. Or better, non-coherent. Which, to be sure, is no reason for quietism, but does suggest the wisdom of a degree of caution – or perhaps better modesty. For, to put it simply, we cannot know everything that we are enacting as we do our research. The best we can hope for is to make a difference in particular ways whilst simultaneously keeping an open mind about all other reality-effects of our research. So how might we think about political and ethical performativity? Again, in their empirical, theoretical and political complexity, the chapters that make up this book remind us that there are no straightforward answers. Even so, I have come to think that it might be useful to think about the politics of the practices that we study – and our own too – in three distinct albeit overlapping registers. The first is familiar. This is the politics of who. Here we are in Becker territory, and the focus takes us to capital P Politics, which is wellrepresented in this book. So, a politics of who is one that is likely to attend to inequalities, systematic injustices, mal-distributions, repressions and forms of violence. It looks, for instance, at colonial and post-colonial relations, to political economy and class, and/or to gender and ethnic relations, or the asymmetrical enactments of sexuality or dis/ability. It hardly needs to be said that such attention to the politics of who remains crucial. At the same time, the focus on performativity suggests the importance of a well-rehearsed second register, which Annemarie Mol (1999) has called the politics of what. Again, well-represented in this book, the politics of what explores what there is in the world, what kinds of things are being done. The natural environment. Human-animal relations (Singleton, 2010). Bodies. Sexed bodies. Postcolonial relations (Green, 2013). Or, and more reflexively,

Foreword: The Politics of Ethnography

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the sometimes jarring embodiments of ethnographer (a number of the chapters in this book attend the creative and sometimes disturbing effect (s) of research). Importantly, it also attends to what there could be – what might be enacted into reality. To say it quickly, in this way of thinking ‘the natural’ is not necessarily natural. So, for instance, and to take just one example, the distinction between (somewhat fixed) sex and (socially constructed) gender is not necessarily productive (Mol, 1991). The politics of what therefore folds back into the politics of who and makes it possible to consider the balance between different (more or less real-ised) reals, asking which might be better where, when, why and for whom or what. These, then, are questions that belong to the domain of ontological politics (Mol) or cosmopolitics (Stengers, 2005), and offer ways of doing social science in which it is possible to insist that even though realities cannot be trivially wished into being (there is no succour here for ‘alternative facts’), nonetheless reality is not destiny. But I also want to suggest that it might be useful to attend to a third register. Perhaps we might think of this as the politics of how (Dányi 2016; Joks & Law, 2017). This would focus on performativity itself, on how the practices of enacting go about their work. It would consider how social and natural realities get done in the practices that perform them, and how they intersect with the alternative social and natural realities being enacted in alternative practices. Again, with their attention to the conduct of ethnographic research, a number of contributors have brought this concern straight back into the research process. This third register of political performativity suggests its own kinds of questions. For instance, it might ask whether the practices that we are looking at (or indeed caught up in) are tolerant, or whether they are (inappropriately?) imperialist or hegemonic in their ambitions (Law et al. 2014). It might ask whether they work on the assumption that there is only one reality or a single natural world (which would be widespread in many ‘Western’ practices (Blaser & de la Cadena, 2017)), or whether they find space for multiplicity. Or, perhaps, creativity, which is the focus of attention for some of the chapters in this book. In this politics of how I do not want to argue that tolerance is necessarily a good. Again, no general rules apply. Nevertheless, there is interesting participant ethnographic work on just this topic. So, for instance, it is sometimes possible to ‘soften’ powerful practices (for instance those of environmental biology) if they are put into appropriate contact with the practices and expertises of lay practitioners (Waterton & Tsouvalis, 2015), softenings that then have the potential to fold back into the politics of what and the politics of who. The devil, as always, lies in the specificities of practice. I have said this already, but it runs like a golden thread through the weave of chapters that make up this book: a virtue of ethnography is that it rarely pretends to be clean. Instead, it mercilessly obliges those who practise and read

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it to attend, up front, to messy and excessive realities, politics and ethics, including those of its own research. It opens up the webby and uncertain character of whos and whats and hows. Those who practise ethnography know this well because they live daily with this confusion. And this book works with the living challenges of messy ethnography. It works to provoke the reader. For, let’s say this too, ethnography is difficult, but it is enriching. It is hard work, but it is also a thrilling privilege to be allowed to enter other worlds. Ethnography is often – indeed usually – transforming for the ethnographer. Well-written, it changes its readers too.

References Becker, H. (1970) Whose side are we on? In H. Becker (ed.), Sociological Work: Method and Substance (pp. 123-134). Chicago: Aldine. Blaser, M. & de la Cadena, M. (2017) The uncommons: An introduction. Anthropologica, 59 (2):185-193. Dányi, E. 2016 “The politics of ‘how’.” https://stsproblems.wordpress.com/2016/10/04/the-politics-of-how/ Green, L. (ed.) (2013) Contested ecologies: Dialogues in the south on nature and knowledge. Cape Town: HSRC Press. Joks, S. & Law, J. (2017)Indigeneity, science and difference: Notes on the politics of how. Available for download at http://heterogeneities.net/publications/JoksLaw2017ThePoliticsOfHow.pdf Law, J. (2011) Collateral Realities. In F. Domínguez Rubio & P. Baert (eds.), The politics of knowledge (pp.156-178). London: Routledge. Law, J., Afdal, G., Asdal, K., Lin, W., Moser, I. & Singleton, V. (2014) Modes of syncretism: Notes on non-coherence. Common Knowledge, 20 (1):172-192. Mol, A. (1991) Wombs, pigmentation and pyramids: Should anti- racists and feminists try to confine biology to its proper place? In J. Joke & A. van Lenning (eds.), Sharing the difference: Feminist debates in Holland (pp.149-163). London and New York: Routledge. Mol, A. (1999) Ontological politics: A word and some questions. In J. Law & J. Hassard (eds.), Actor network theory and after (pp.74-89). Oxford & Keele: Blackwell and the Sociological Review. Moser, I. (2008) Making Alzheimer's disease matter: Enacting, interfering and doing politics of nature. Geoforum, 39: 98-110. Singleton, V. (2010) Good farming: Control or care? In A. Mol, I. Moser & J. Pols (eds.), Care in practice: Tinkering in clinics, homes and farms (pp.235-256). Bielefeld: Transcript. Stengers, I. (2005) The cosmopolitical proposal. In B. Latour & P. Weibel (eds.), Making things public: Atmospheres of democracy (pp.994-1003). Karslruhe and Cambridge Mass.: ZKM and MIT. Waterton, C. & Tsouvalis, J. (2015) On the political nature of cyanobacteria: Intra-active collective politics in Loweswater, the English Lake District. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 33 (3):477-493.

Introduction: Coming Clean About Messy Ethnography Alexandra Plows Engaging with ethnographic “mess” Research, perhaps particularly ethnographic research, is a messy process. Negotiating access, developing relationships with research participants, navigating the research dynamic, and what ‘counts’ as the research site, is inevitably a messy business. Our research fieldwork sites have very blurred boundaries, not least those of space and time. For example, how can we effectively conduct ethnographies of ‘the workplace’ in the age of the gig economywhere and when is ‘the workplace’ for a zero-hours contract worker? When are we “out” of the research site, especially in an era of online communication and interaction? And when social reality is itself understood as fluid, dynamic and complex- “messy”- (Law, 2004) how can we hope to represent it coherently? The end results of research- our findings and recommendations, and our accounts of our methodological practice-, can often be quite sanitized accounts, with little acknowledgement of the messy social dynamics experienced and negotiated and, indeed, continuously co-constructed between the researcher, his/her participants and through the research process (Law, 2004). Retrospectively constructed accounts of our fieldwork, dictated by academic conventions (and the need to justify grant funding) often have a suspiciously smooth, linear narrative; yet our ethnographic encounters as they develop in 1 the field can be serendipitous, often unexpected, generally demand some quite difficult conversations and negotiations (including negotiating ethical conundrums), often have unintended consequences and are often hard to make sense of. There appears to be, often, a mismatch between what we encounter and our subsequent accounts of it. Something important gets ‘lost in translation.’ We need to engage more honestly with the process of research and with the challenges of what gets left out, what gets included, in our accounts of what we researched, how and why we researched it, what we’ve found out, and the impact our research has had.

1

It is, of course, difficult to pin down when and where our ethnography ‘starts’…

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As ethnographers, then, we encounter, engage with and indeed co-create, complex dynamics and complex situations which shift and blur. Ethnography as methodological practice is perhaps uniquely placed for adapting to and accounting for the mess of ‘real life’: [O]ne of the most basic values of ethnography ... is that it can deal with complex, fluid contexts and their emergent and unanticipated issues (Lewis & Russell, 2011: 409). As John Law puts it: Ethnography lets us see the relative messiness of practice. It looks behind the official accounts of method (which are often clean and reassuring) to try to understand the often ragged ways in which knowledge is produced in research (Law, 2004: 18-9). Coming out of the field of Science and Technology Studies (STS), a discipline which has developed our understanding of the construction of scientific knowledge (Latour & Woolgar, 1986), John Law’s seminal book ‘After Method’ (2004) has been an invaluable handbook for ethnographers and others struggling to come to terms with the mess they find themselves in when they en2 gage in the field. Law asks us to think more robustly about what it is that we are trying to see, to ‘know’, to do; and to acknowledge complexity (and complicity), to provide context; or rather, to give some sense of a multiplicity of contexts, the “slipperiness” of “things”, the multiplicity of relationships between things, contexts and people. One of Law’s core points (inspired by, amongst others, Latour and Woolgar’s work) is that our ontological and epistemological frameworks (our “Euro-American metaphysical certainties” (Law, 2004: 143)) assume that there is an external ‘reality out there’ which exists and simply waits to be discovered, to be known. Refuting this, he argues that reality is multiple; that it avoids ultimate know-ability; that it shifts and comes into focus, into being, in a multiplicity of ways depending on the practises and methods used to explore it. To give one grounded example from many which Law provides to situate what he means; in one chapter, Law gives an account of how he and a colleague, Vicky Singleton, attempted a study of the treatment of what initially seemed to be a specific “thing,” namely “alcoholic liver disease.” Over time, they came to realise that: our own object of study and its contexts were continually moving about… we were dealing with an object that wasn’t fixed, an object that slipped and moved between different practices in different sites (Law, 2004: 78-9). 2

And indeed, for anyone with interests in knowledge construction and methods.

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They found that “alcoholic liver disease” and hence the “treatment of alcoholic liver disease” meant, and thus became, different things to different people; in particular to different experts in different contexts. Grappling honestly with the “slipperiness”, the messiness, of what “the thing is” provided Law and his colleague with insights which could potentially help with a more holistic understanding and hence more effective treatment of “alcoholic liver disease”: The issue, then, is about the relations between different objects and their different contexts. A graphic way of making the point would be to say that the consultants and others caught up in the narrowly medical assemblage ‘ought’ to be much more interested in the broader medical-psychiatric-social reality of alcoholism- and the assemblage that crafts this- than they actually are (Law, 2004: 81). Jennings (this volume) echoes the wider point about ‘slippery’ objects and ‘reality out there’ which Law is making, in his discussion of the Mexican martial art Xilam: To think of a singular object fixed in time would to be go against the fundamental ontological assumptions of constant change, evolution and rebirth that are both part of the Aztec philosophy that guides Xilam as a project and also the very tentative nature of martial arts themselves… (Jennings, this volume). Bearing all this ‘messiness’ in mind, Law argues that the challenge for the researcher is, therefore: to open space for the indefinite…to imagine what research methods might be if they were adapted to a world that included and knew itself as tide, flux and general unpredictability… (Law, 2004: 6-7). Law advocates the production of a specific research practice- ‘method assemblage’- as a means of grappling with the ‘messiness,’ the ‘slipperiness,’ of multiple realities. Over the course of the book he provides a layered, contextualised series of definitions of method assemblage; explored, teased out and refracted back through accounts of his own fieldwork and that of colleagues. Method assemblage as research practice involves:

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…enactments of relations that make some things (representations, objects, apprehensions) present ‘in-here’, whilst making others absent ‘out-there’. The ‘out-there’ comes in two forms: as manifest absence (for instance, as what is represented); or, and more problematically, as a hinterland of indefinite, necessary, but hidden Otherness…Method assemblage works in and ‘knows’ multiplicity, indefiniteness and flux…it is a combination of reality detector and reality amplifier…method assemblage may be seen as the crafting of a hinterland of ramifying relations… (Law, 2004: 14-42). This is not at all easy to grasp head-on, although it is perhaps more easily intuited, especially through analogy, metaphor, and (Law’s favoured ap3 proach to grasping indefiniteness), allegory. Like the multiple, shifting realities ‘out there’, the hidden ‘Otherness’ just beyond our reach, for me the whole idea of what method assemblage “is” slips in and out of focus, of know4 ability; a ridge half-seen through a fog. It is hardly surprising that negotiating this ‘hinterland’ is hard work. I find myself clinging on to some key navigational pointers; specifically, that method assemblage as Law defines it explicitly draws attention to the part we as researchers play in the social construction of reality and of knowledge. Method assemblage is about owning, and foregrounding, the ‘raggedness’ of (our own) knowledge production; we are 5 being encouraged to ‘show our workings- out.’ Law argues that:

3

It is also perhaps best understood as Law himself explains it; in and through grounded, contextualised accounts from the field.

4

The foggy ridge analogy reminds me of translating parts of Beowulf as an English Literature student (or, more likely, this is where I have dredged the analogy from); “then from under the mist-hills Grendel came walking….” In the Anglo- Saxon original, the compound noun ‘misthleothum’ could mean ‘misty hills’ or ‘hills made from mist’ or something in the space between. Compound nouns (word assemblages?) are a feature of Anglo-Saxon and Germanic poetry of the period. There’s an otherworldly vibe inherent in ‘misthleothum’; something gets ‘lost in translation’ which is only grasped at by my creation of a new composite noun; ‘mist-hills’. As C.L. Wren puts it in his introductory essay to the original text, “Doubtless the poet and his audience got connotations, associations, and subtle suggestions or memories from such compounds which we cannot recapture” (Wren, 1958: 81). These composite nouns and their subtle associations, especially relating to place, are also integral aspects of Celtic languages such as Welsh and Gaelic. 5

I was never very good at maths at school and as a result was always grateful for the fact that even if you got the answer wrong, you could gain some marks just by ‘showing your workings out’; showing the processes you had used to arrive at your answer.

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social…science investigations interfere with the world…things change as a result. The issue, then, is not to seek disengagement but rather with how to engage (Law, 2004: 14). Feminist writers have argued that the important thing is to be reflexive about this process. Reflexivity means explicitly situating oneself in the research process (Roseneil, 1993), enabling the production of “accountable knowledge” (Stanley, 1991: 209). Identifying ‘where we are coming from’ as researchers is not self- indulgent introspection. It is intrinsic to developing our understanding of the ways in which meanings are made, how things become known, and accounting for our role as researchers in this process; identifying how the methods we use produce the realities we see and narrate. Law is asking us to think about – and acknowledge – how we engage; this implies that we also need to think through the “why” of our engagement; “to think about which realities it might be best to bring into being” (2004: 39); “method assemblage…does politics, and it is not innocent” (2004: 149). In this, there are echoes of Becker’s (1974) classic argument against academic ‘value neutrality’; Becker argues that the issue is not whether we should take sides, but rather “whose side are we on” (Becker, 1974: 107). This is not straightforward. Whilst there is certainly no such thing as an academically value-neutral position, what it actually means to engage or be engaged, politically, as researchers is not such a simple matter. Is it actually about ‘taking a side’? Reality is messy and nuanced; for example, bioethical issues such as prenatal genetic testing are highly complex and layered, and not necessarily best served by being framed in terms of ‘for and against.’ At the same time, we might acknowledge that highly polarised positions do exist and are often brought into conflict with each other, such as pro-life “versus” pro-choice (Plows, 2010). Sometimes clear lines of engagement are relatively straightforward (opposition to Nazism being perhaps an obvious example) but, when ‘reality’ is understood as being multiple, fluid, ephemeral, and when issues are multi-layered and multi-faceted – when there are no easy or ‘right’ an6 swers - then the whole concept of ‘whose side we are on’ becomes harder to understand at all. We are navigating some choppy waters here. This is not to duck the important issue of owning ‘where we (as researchers) are coming from’ and the need explicitly to identify the implications of how and why we engage in the field, to what ends and with what impact. What Law is saying is that the reflexive practice and production of method assem6

And more importantly, what is ‘the question’ and who is asking it? I am indebted to Helen Wallace for this insight, and her 1999 paper “If cloning is the answer, what was the question?”

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blage - “accountable knowledge” (Stanley, 1991) is in and of itself a politically engaged practice; an “ontological politics” (Mol, 1999 cited in Law, 2004: 67). Using a concept from social movement theory, Law’s concept of ‘method assemblage’ can also perhaps be understood as a consciously enacted process of “tilting the frame” (Steinberg, 1998); identifying that there are different ways of looking at the same issue, different ways of ‘knowing reality’, which enrol different frames of reference, and different knowledge bases. When we tilt the frame as ethnographers, we help to develop, to co-construct, the ‘discursive field’ through the foregrounding, the enactment, the embodiment, of alternative ‘discursive repertoires’ (Steinberg, 1998) and “ways of doing 7 things” (Doherty et al., 2003). We tilt the frame to include different positions, perspectives, practices; to identify the complexity of different situations, artefacts and so-called ‘single issues.’ We might struggle to identify and represent even a fraction of these perspectives, and to try to cover everything would be impossible and, even if it wasn’t, it would render our accounts incoherent. So, we must acknowledge the silences and spaces; that as we produce our accounts we are (to re-cite the earlier Law quote) “making some things present ‘in here’ whilst making others absent ‘out there’”; picking out, amplifying, certain patterns in the flux, the noise, the “dazzle” (Law, 2004: 110). Again, reflexivity as a means of producing accountable knowledge, flagging up the limits of any methodological approach, serves as a crucial ‘reality check’ for our pattern making here. Method assemblage understood as politically engaged research – tilting the frame – might also entail identifying how particular hegemonic or otherwise powerful positions, discourses, ways of doing things, dominate (often in implicit, taken for granted ways) and how these discourses and actions are created and maintained. How is an issue is being ‘framed’ and by whom? In what 8 9 circumstances and with what impacts? What and who is being ‘framed out,’ 10 and with what consequences (Plows, 2010)? We may, then, find ourselves quite firmly ‘on a side’ after all, having pulled out some narrative threads from the tangled bundle and woven them into a specific storyline; and particularly so when we reflexively understand ourselves as part of the collective co7

Doherty et al. discuss how direct action is the “preferred way of doing things” for environmental activists.

8

For example, capitalism framed as a ‘law of nature’ (McMurtry, 1999)

9

For example, the environmental and social justice impacts of e-waste as a result of ‘planned obsolescence’.

10

STS has made significant, empirically-informed contributions to these debates, highlighting the importance (and often the under-valuing) of ‘lay expertise’, such as the ‘local knowledge’ (Wynne, 1996) held by farmers and the ‘embodied expertise’ (Kerr et al., 1998) of patients.

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production of ‘different ways of seeing and doing things.’ It is important that the concept of ‘tilting the frame’ comes out of a theoretical appreciation of the 11 role of collective action in meaning-making. As researchers we are an integral part of this process of tilting the frame. Arguably, when this is done reflexively, it can be understood as a form of ‘action research’ (Maxey, 1999). We need to be bolder and more creative with the stories we tell about what we experience in the field and through the research process, including the 12 writing up process. Law makes a case for creative academic writing. I agree; academic/ ethnographic writing should be an enjoyable read because of, not in spite of, the need to grapple more honestly with messy reality, and to reflexively and creatively explore different ways of representing that reality. It is quite telling that two of my favourite authors who write about people, places, ideas, and artefacts are the author and travel writer Geoff Dyer, and the late David Foster Wallace, fiction writer and ‘gonzo journalist.’ Both produce effortlessly elegant and beautifully crafted essays, bundles of ‘faction,’ blurring the boundaries between fact, fiction, reportage, socio-cultural analysis, autobiographical meanderings, theoretical /philosophical meditation, aesthetic appreciation, and often a wittily, bitchily clever, self-deprecating moan about the people and places they encounter. They are up to their necks in their messy material and it is through these highly personal, often painfully selfaware accounts of their own experiences and responses, that we glean an understanding of ‘something beyond’; snapshots of the “bundled hinterland” (Law, 2004: 45) through a blurry lens which suddenly comes sharply into focus. This is ‘method assemblage’ in action; insightful, intelligent, grasping something of the slipperiness of multi-faceted experience, and often shriek11

Along similar lines, Melucci (1996) argues that social movements ‘challenge codes’.

12

31.1. 2018.Footnote as conscious homage to David Foster Wallace. I am currently writing this using my (typically) recently broken- down laptop, with the help of an external keypad plugged in so that I can actually type. I am hunched over with the external keyboard is balanced on my knees, and my laptop perched on a couple of old text books so I can see the screen better. My back hurts. My USB drive ports are now being used for the keyboard and a mouse, meaning that I can’t actually plug in my USB datastick and am precariously saving text on my dodgy laptop’s C drive. I am using the nice smooth cover of Law’s ‘Methods for Mess’ book as a makeshift mousemat. My Microsoft Word document (possibly or possibly not as a result of this bodging-together of technological artefacts), is having a consistent hissy fit; ‘not responding’ and buffering when I try to save it. I am grimly ploughing on in case this is as good as it gets for me today, ideas-wise and tech-wise. This all feels like an apposite metaphor for writing about bundled, messy assemblage; in this case in, through and despite a hybrid human/non-human interface (Latour, 1993; Callon, 2004). This may even be helping me conceptually navigate some tricky epistemological waters, through some sort of embodied osmosis process (let’s hope so).

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ingly funny. Geoff Dyer’s account of his failed attempts, with his wife, to see the Northern Lights in northern Norway captures this essence perfectly: …in a weird Nordic way, we had become the source of disappointment to our hosts. The implication was clear; not seeing the Northern Lights was a result not of their non-appearance but a failure on our part, a failure of perception and attitude (Dyer, 2016: 115 emphasis in the original).

Messy ethnographies in action: tales from the field So, then, how are we to actually operationalise and narrate our messy ethnog13 raphies? This question sets up the premise for this book, which is all about telling stories; providing short, colourful “tales from the field” (Van Maanen, 2011). In 2017 a session at the International Ethnography Conference Politics 14 and Ethnography in an Age of Uncertainty brought together over twenty researchers in a session organised around the theme of conducting ‘messy’ ethnography; a session directly inspired by Law’s 2004 ‘After Method’ book. This edited collection is the result of the papers and group discussions from this session. Perhaps the most important thing all the contributors to this volume have in common is the desire not to “write out” the messy dynamics of the research process, but rather to reflexively identify and explore them and their implications. Drawing on Law, they come clean about their messy ethnography, reflecting on the process of undertaking research, and their role in the research process as they negotiate their own position in the field. Common themes and questions they raise include; what is ethnography ‘for’? What impact should, or do, we have in the field and after we leave the research site? What about unintended consequences? When (if ever) are we off duty? What does informed consent mean in a constantly shifting, dynamic ethnographic context? By providing a wide range of situated explorations of messy ethnographies, this book provides a unique, hands-on guide to the challenges of negotiating ethnography in practice and an empirically- informed contribution to a grounded understanding of the social construction of knowledge and the role that ethnography can and does play in this process. Drawing on original and interdisciplinary ethnographic fieldwork in a wide range of international settings, including pubs in North East England, Finnish hotels, Australian legal centres and the Ecuadorian rainforest, it provides a range of colourful

13

John Law is candid on this subject. “What does this mean in practice? The answer is that I do not know” (2004: 156)

14

http://www.confercare.manchester.ac.uk/events/ethnography/ [Accessed 5.3.18]

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snapshots from the field. These snapshots show how different researchers from multiple research environments and disciplines are negotiating the practicalities, and epistemological and ethical implications, of messy ethnographic practice as a means of researching and making sense of messy social realities. It has been difficult to neatly carve up subsections for the book, as all chapters blur across multiple thematic categories. But for the sake of some narrative coherence, choices have been made to organise the material. Thus, the book is divided into four main sections: Reflecting on Messy Research Practice; Messy Ethics; Messy Participation; and Messy Research Sites and Spaces. Thus, while all the book’s contributors reflect on the challenges and opportunities of conducting messy ethnographic research, the contributors in Section 1 focus specifically on the process of meaning making and knowledge construction, exploring the implications of how and why the ethnographer adapts to and makes sense of fluid conditions and connections; and with what consequences. In her ethnographic study of older environmental activists in South East England, Mary Gearey shows how her own presence affected the power dynamics within the ethnographic site in unforeseen and unpredictable ways; “I had opened a Pandora’s box of anxiety and worry…” Gearey makes the case that “the mud dragged into the carpet” by the researcher is ultimately “…entirely creative for both researcher and respondent.” Sue Lewis, Martyn Hudson, and Joe Painter discuss how they ‘serendipitously’ combined separate ethnographies of the same research site; Hidden Civil War, a month-long arts led community activism initiative in North East England created by the NewBridge Arts Project. They show how their ethnographic ‘assemblage’ enables a “‘nuanced understanding’ of [the] motivations [of NewBridge] …to engage with the public in imagining alternatives to the precarious, exclusionary realities that many are currently living.” George Jennings reflects on the “creative manoeuvring” of his shifting epistemological and methodological approach to the study of Xilam, a Mexican martial art, as the practice and its participants themselves also changed over time. In her account of ethnographic research in the Ecuadorian Amazon, Nina Moeller makes a case for the value of “spontaneous sense-making” and the “haphazard knowledge” co-created in the field, arguing that “[u]sually disregarded, this kind of knowledge ought instead to be emphasised, valued and explored as integral to social research”. Section 2 focuses on contributors who explicitly focus on messy ethical conundrums encountered and indeed created through their research practice, reflecting on how they negotiated them and the consequences of doing so. Several contributors explicitly ‘talk to’ the challenges of conducting research within [university, academic] ethical codes of practice. Lisa Potter explores

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the ethical and practical challenges of undertaking ethnography of ‘criminal activity’ in North East England, making the case that such “insider” ethnographies “provide vital insight into those engaged in criminal activity,” despite the difficulties of ethical compliance. Drawing on his ethnography of volunteering at a community legal centre in Sydney, Australia, Rafi Alam argues that university ethical assessments reflect a neoliberal approach to risk management which closes down valuable research approaches and rigidly regulates the behaviour of researchers. This ‘risk management’ “lead[s] to outcomes that necessarily shape our research and subjects in neoliberal logics.” Informed by feminist reflexive approaches, Lauren Crabb takes a ‘confessional’ approach to her “international and cross-cultural fieldwork” in West Brazil. She honestly discusses how she encountered and negotiated a number of challenging ethical and indeed moral dilemmas, relating to her interaction with specific people, situations, and cultural dynamics. Ethnographers are inevitably messily engaged with their research site(s) as participants and all of the book’s contributors provide reflexive accounts of this process. Section 3 brings the issue of researcher participation very much to the fore, with contributions from ethnographers whose participation is self-identified as particularly messy due to their own biographical connections with their research sites and subjects. Gabriel Popham provides an account of his own participation in a new digital democracy network catalysed in the UK as a response to Brexit, drawing on his own experience to reflect on the process of a messily emergent social movement. Nicola Harding gives an autobiographical account of participant action research with women undergoing community punishment in North West England. She explores the pros and cons of explicitly drawing on her own biography and experiences as an ex-offender as an intrinsic part of her methodological approach; facilitating the co-production of “emotionally sensed knowledge.” Alex Plows provides an autobiographical narrative of her “messily embedded” action research supporting redundant workers in the nuclear industry in Anglesey, North Wales, exploring the implications of her status as both a self- employed worker and a precarious academic; a ‘messy method assemblage.’ Continuing this theme of ‘research-as work and work-as-research’, Ville Savolainen delivers an autoethnographical account of his own journey as an unemployed academic working as a cleaner in different contexts; producing a “materially sensitive and processual approach” to understanding the work of housekeepers through his own experience of working as a hotel housekeeper in a 4-star hotel in Helsinki, Finland. Explicitly referencing, and embodying, Law’s suggestion that ethnographers ‘get their hands dirty’ (Law, 2004), Savolainen’s contribution explores the materiality of mess; it “deals with mess in a more concrete level. That is, it orients the ethnographic gaze towards the mess created by human life and how it is managed”.

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Finally, Section 4 focuses on ethnographies in and of messy research sites and spaces. Of course, all research sites and spaces are messy and all of the book’s contributors situate themselves in relation to a reflexive understanding of the negotiation of messy research sites; so again, there is something of an artificial ‘carving up’ of contributions here. Nevertheless, there are certain contributors who are focusing more directly on the fact that their research sites are not ‘neat,’ but consist of messy ‘bundles’ of relationships. A common factor is what I might call the ‘Dr Who dimension’; the sense of travel across space and time. Methods which aim specifically to capture a multiplicity of perspectives are another feature of several contributions. Trudy Rudge and her colleagues’ ethnography of nurses’ ‘night work’ show how this night work stretches across different sites and timeframes, mediated in and through computerised processes. Andréa Bruno de Sousa narrates her ethnographic journey, researching parental perspectives of managing a child’s chronic kidney condition (CKD) in Portugal. She adapted her approach, identifying that “to move outside the hospital and conduct multi-sited ethnography was essential” in order to engage with and understand, parents’ complex experiences. Wayne Medford undertakes a specific methodological technique- “deep mapping” -of a public park (Saltwell Park) in Gateshead, North East England. Understanding the park “as a space within which multiple sub-spaces could be imagined as locations to produce health and well-being effects,” he reflects on the experience of delivering this immersive, layered “suite of ethnographic methods to capture and represent multiple individual experiences” across multiple, overlapping timeframes. Paola Jirón and Walter Imilan discuss how they “operationalised collective and multidisciplinary data production”- “collective ethnographies”- in order to explore everyday living and mobility practices in Chilean cities. Finally, in their ethnography of urban food-sharing practices in Singapore, Monika Rut, and Anna Davies explore the messy interface of social media, social networks and hands-on production, understood as ‘foodscapes.’ Food-sharing is “a diverse range of practices and participants that ebb and flow over time and space connected through both physical spaces and virtual platforms.” These chapters ‘talk to’ each other in many ways; as Law identifies in the foreword of this volume, there are themes which run as a ‘leitmotif’ through the book; a set, an assemblage in fact, of practical/ methodological, ethical and political issues which are explored, reflected and refracted, through different ethnographic ‘lenses’ in specific contexts. In essence; the contributors ‘bounce off’ each other. There is a ‘deliberative dynamic’ at play here, born out of the creatively interactive experience of the 2017 messy ethnographies conference session which was the catalyst for this collection. It has been a

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privilege to bring together this ‘messy assemblage of messy ethnographies.’ I hope that the reader will enjoy and be inspired by these accounts and look forward to further iterations of these ongoing conversations.

References Becker, H. (1974) Whose side are we on? In Riley, G. (ed.), Values, objectivity and the social sciences (pp.107-121). London: Routledge. Callon, M. (2004) The role of hybrid communities and socio-technical arrangements in participatory design. Journal for the Centre of Information Studies, 5(3): 3-10. Doherty, B., Plows, A. & Wall, D. (2003) The preferred way of doing things: The British direct action movement. Parliamentary Affairs, 56(4): 669-686. Dyer, G. (2016) White sands: Experiences from the outside world. Edinburgh: Canongate. Kerr, A., Cunningham-Burley, S. & Amos, A. (1998) The new genetics and health: Mobilising lay expertise. Public Understanding of Science, 7(1): 4160. Latour, B. (1993) We have never been modern. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Latour, B. & Woolgar, S. (1986) Laboratory life: The social construction of scientific fact. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. London: Routledge. Lewis, S. & Russell, A. J. (2011) Being embedded: A way forward for ethnographic research. Ethnography, 12(3): 398-416. Maxey, I. (1999) Beyond boundaries? Activism, academia, reflexivity, and research. Area, 31(3): 199-208. McMurty, J. (1999) The cancer stage of capitalism. London: Pluto. Melucci, A. (1996) Challenging codes: Collective action in the information age. New York: Cambridge University Press. Mol, A. (1999) Ontological politics. A word and some questions. In J. Law & J. Hassard (eds.), Actor network theory and after (pp.74-89). Oxford: Blackwell. Plows, A. (2010) Debating human genetics: Contemporary issues in public policy and ethics. London: Routledge. Roseneil, S. (1993) Greenham revisited: researching myself and my sisters. In D. Hobbs & T. May (eds.), Interpreting the field: Accounts of ethnography (pp.177-208). Oxford: Clarendon Press. Stanley, L. (1991) Feminist auto/biography and feminist epistemology? In J. Aaron & S. Walby (eds.), Out of the margins; Women’s studies in the nineties (pp.204-19). London: The Falmer Press. Steinberg, M. (1998) Tilting the frame: Considerations on collective action framing from a discursive turn. Theory and Society, 27(6): 845-72. Van Maanen, J. (2011) Tales of the field: On writing ethnography. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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Wallace, H. (1999) If cloning is the answer, what was the question? Power and decision-making in the geneticisisation of health. The Corner House, Briefing no. 16. Available at: http://www.thecornerhouse.org.uk/sites/thecornerhouse.org.uk/files/16cl one.pdf [Accessed 5th March 2018]. Wren, C.L. (ed.) (1958) Beowulf with the Finnesburg fragment. London: Harrap & Co. Wynne, B. (1996) May the sheep safely graze? A reflexive view of the expert-lay knowledge divide. In S. Lash, B. Szerszynski & B. Wynne (eds.), Risk, environment & modernity: Towards a new ecology (pp.45-83). London: Sage.

Section 1 Reflecting on Messy Research Practice

Chapter 1

Mud on the carpet: messy reflexive practices with older environmental activists- bringing the outside in Mary Gearey And I left the footprints, the mud stained on the carpet The Lumineers, Cleopatra.

Abstract Social science enacts, and this is as true for the researcher as it is for the respondent. Whilst ethnographic interplay causes the research subject to reflect on why their contribution matters, the researcher is also altered in some respect by each encounter. No matter how well scrubbed, the researcher leaves footprints; treads mud on the carpet, both physical and metaphorical. This chapter uses empirical fieldwork, undertaken mainly with older environmental activists within three interconnected communities. Reflecting on the ways in which the researcher becomes the welcome intruder whose intervention is used not just to document or to vocalise community perspectives, but whose presence affects the power dynamics within the ethnographic site in unforeseen and unpredictable ways, the researcher in this encounter shape-shifts from ringmaster to cowed lion. Ethnographic messiness is awkward, untidy and entirely creative for both researcher and respondent. Without the contagion of the new, systems become maladaptive. The ‘mud’ is uninvited, irksome, mark making; yet at a forensic level, it hosts new life, new possibilities, changing hierarchies as a result.

Keywords: Ethnographic messiness; community perspectives; contagion; elder environmental activism.

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Introduction Embedded research always entails a blurring of boundaries, moving between academic practice and inhabiting the habitus of your research subjects. Ethnographic ‘messiness’ is less unintended outcome than an essential element of the process. Through necessity the researcher is required to adopt an almost Jekyll and Hyde (Stevenson, 1886) persona. By turn, an empathetic listener, by another a removed passive documenter, the researcher adopts multiple guises in order to unearth their data. Whilst not duplicitous, this requires the researcher to be both engaged with the habitus they are immersed in, committed to their respondents’ wellbeing and simultaneously cognisant of a need to capture data, stringently cohering to robust ethical practices. Yet, as Law and Urry state: the social sciences, including sociology, are relational or interactive. They participate in, reflect upon, and enact the social in a wide range of locations (Law & Urry, 2004: 397). This is as true for the researcher as it is for the respondent. Whilst the ethnographic interplay causes the research subject to reflect on why their contribution matters, the researcher is also altered in some respect by each encounter (Breen, 2007). There is no purity to the interaction; instead, the researcher cannot help but drag the outside world into the habitus of their research subject and must account for their unsettling and reshaping of the assemblages they seek to engage with. No matter how well scrubbed, the researcher leaves footprints; treads mud on the carpet. This chapter uses empirical fieldwork, undertaken within three interconnected communities, to reflect on the ways in which the researcher becomes the welcome intruder whose intervention is used not just to document or become a mouthpiece, but whose presence changes the molecular arrangement of power dynamics in the assemblage in unforeseen and unpredictable ways. In much the same way that the introduction of new bacteria to an endogenous system disrupts and recalibrates, so the reflexive practice of the researcher enacts a new order to the schemata. The mud on the carpet is uninvited, irksome and time-consuming to remove, yet at a forensic level it revivifies, energises and displaces; new assemblages form as a result and a reordering occurs. The chapter focuses ethnographic ‘mud on the carpet,’ some both deliberately trodden in, other marks unexpected and unforeseen. Interviewing troubles the emotional world of the respondent, leaving positive and negative impacts. Moving from respondent vulnerability within the data collection stage the focus moves to a reflection on the tables turned as I acted as an agent provocateur, using a dark art, the community bogeyman, to draw

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in an audience when disseminating my research. Yet in the same venue, at the same time, I was forced to confront my actions, as the bogeyman I was critiquing, a local landowner, sat directly in front of me at the front of the stage. The researcher as both the ringmaster and the cowed lion. From this perspective ‘messiness’ is necessary for recognising that agency takes multiple forms and that using Cabrera and Cabrera’s (2002) analysis of participatory action research agency can be self-aware, unaware, have multiple directionality and unintended consequences simultaneously: each pathway providing new insights for both participants and researcher.

A night at the circus: ringmaster and lion Conducting qualitative fieldwork to capture the nuances of the lived experience requires the researcher to tread a fine line between their professional selves and their personal identity. When does the person become the researcher; and at what point does a conversation morph into an interview? Are all interactions within the ethnographic process subtle ways of capturing data? This chapter explores the moment that I recognised that as the researcher I had moved from subtle manipulator making the research work to my benefit, to gain the outcomes that I desired, towards having to atone for playing the manipulative confidant of my respondents. Though always working within strict ethical practices, I had, it seemed, steered questions and meetings in such a way as to create a heightened tension within the community I had engaged with. I had brought ‘mud on the carpet’ into the research in more ways than one. During 2015 I undertook a piece of ethnographic empirical research along the River Adur valley in West Sussex in the UK. The aim of the research was to capture the range of practices, opinions, and behaviours in response to changing water environments implemented by communities within this river catchment, to ascertain if they could be described as ‘resilient’ and to capture performances of environmental activism . Understanding how local residents perceived changes to their local water assets – the ponds, streams, ditches, springs, and sewers which form their waterscapes – and what actions these changes prompted, would indicate what types of technologies, policies and other interventions local residents might be willing to accept to protect the integrity of their water environments. Broadening this out, these local knowledges, practices, and actions could be argued to underpin indigenous radical democratic agency. By encouraging the local residents to define the specific issues regarding changes in their local water environments that they wanted to discuss, the respondents led the topic range of discussions, not the researcher. If local people were concerned about flooding, then flooding became the discussion theme. Biodiversity, water costs for local businesses,

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water quality for livestock or agriculture, potential impacts of climate change: the agenda was wide open. To structure the conversations respondents were invited to talk widely about their memories, responses, and actions towards changing local water environments in whatever context appealed to them. Through exploring local knowledges of water resources, together with experiences of lived time, memories and future prospects, it was possible to establish respondents’ narrative sense of their world (Newton & Parfitt, 2013). Within the UK some work has been undertaken to explore the connectivity between people and their local waterscapes (Strang, 2004), though this is generally framed within a specific context such as flooding (Lane et al., 2011; McEwan et al., 2017), drought (Dessai & Simms, 2010) or water quality (Faulkner et al., 2001). To capture people’s intimacy with their local water resources, framed through their life stories, the research approach was to select three interconnected riparian villages, all sharing one riverside, but with their own distinct array of springs, ponds, sewers, drains, streams, ditches, and brooks which collectively make up their local water resources. Of great importance is the recognition that by asking people to discuss their relationship with their local water assets I was asking them to retrieve often difficult memories and experiences concerning their lives. This was not the original intention of the work, but it became clear as the conversations progressed. By coming into their homes and asking questions about their lives, I brought, literally, mud on my shoes and muddied their emotional states by asking them to retrieve memories and life stories – happy, sad, frustrating, evocative, wistful – from their past. Ethnographic interactions ‘brought the outside in’ both to their homes and to their internal emotional states, which did not hermetically seal when the interaction was concluded. Through asking respondents about their lives you alter their narrative – and yours. The outcome was messy; responsibility was transferred between both parties, in which I, as a researcher, felt a duty to accurately document and disseminate the intimate life stories of the respondents which also reflected the ongoing, persistent nature of the issues at hand. Interviews were often undertaken within respondents’ homes. Many of the respondents were retirees; those with the time, interest and drive to participate in the research. Although they would not self-define as activists, almost all were involved in some way in addressing environmental change. Teacups and biscuits perched on knees, wet weather coats hung to dry on stair banisters, muddy shoes wiped on welcome mats in the hallway, dogs petted and pleasantries about roadworks and parking marking the move from polite conversations towards the Dictaphones, writing pads and consent forms to initiate the formal part of the interaction. This informal transitional process is the time when the trust is built between the ethnographer and the respond-

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ent, so much non-verbal communication has been established by the physicality of being welcomed into a home, and the cues we use to ‘read’ body language, socio-demographics, physical health, even political bent – all summed up in the niceties of a stranger being welcomed into a home. As with many pieces of fieldwork which uses a purposive sampling technique – in other words, accessing a cohort that can directly contribute to the research agenda - means that you move away from uncertainty; the people you talk to have particular insights and viewpoints. This is particularly pertinent with regards to local water assets as you are likely to garner strong responses from the local community. Talking to people who have experienced flooding in their homes and neighbourhoods is always painful. From domestic flooding to stranded farming livestock and disrupted businesses to the inconveniences of blocked roads, the upset, disruption and financial costs that water management issues engender means that strong opinions are often voiced when talking about local water issues. Within the fieldwork site multiple drivers were identified as causing localised flooding: poorly managed building development higher up the river catchment; changes in land use and poor cropping techniques; financial austerity leading to poor highways management and disconnected governance strategies; the end of ‘community’ leading to an inability to collectively identify patterns above and beyond the individual. Each perspective is passionately felt, with heuristics and anecdotes provided as evidence. In particular, the fieldwork respondents articulated frustrations about being left out of conversations; either through a withdrawal of local government contact concerning rural services; through a lack of resolution over long-term problems such as residential road flooding or through local business and development processes which excluded local people, leaving them voiceless. I felt that though some of the discussions were difficult I was a welcome intruder; I enabled them to talk through feelings, anxieties, and frustrations otherwise hidden. Throughout the research process I had stressed to my respondents that I would hold a community lecture; to share the findings of the fieldwork and ‘check in’ that I had documented thoughts, feelings, opinions accurately. As the end of the project cycle progressed I booked a local village hall for an evening, contacted local newspapers and community hubs to advertise the event. Yet I wanted to access those community members who hadn’t been involved in the work; to try to reach as many as possible. So there needed to be a ‘hook’ to entice them to come along on a cold, dark November evening. I found myself using the bait of the community bogeyman as a draw. In fact, I should state community bogeymen. One, a wealthy landowner who was cited by some of my respondents as using his status to avoid taking responsibility

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for poor land management practices. The other, an entrepreneurial group of designers and businesspeople looking to refurbish a dilapidated local aggregate site with a proposed 300 new homes: the locals were sceptical and even outraged by the plans. My advertising therefore not only promised a presentation of my work, but that these local developers would outline their plans. I knew from contacts with my respondents that this would draw in the crowds. I took on my role of ringmaster happily, feeling assured that the business developers could easily field questions and criticisms. The community lecture showed me that I was less ringmaster than a cowed lion in the spotlight. My naïve decision to use these developers as enticement actually tapped into a reservoir of community anger and resentment. Having hoped for forty attendees, the lecture attracted over one hundred. As the grey heads came through the door, I realized that the situation was, and always had been, outside of my control. I had opened a Pandora’s box of anxiety and worry, and provided the community with the stooges they sought as they looked for answers to changes in their local environment. The atmosphere became increasingly tense as the developers smoothly presented their plans; mutterings, coughs, the shaking of heads. The mud that I had metaphorically trod through people’s homes during the interview stage was now being trodden through my own habitus. The community were not there to listen; but to talk. Before the developers presented their plans, I introduced my work. Amongst the data, I discussed some local flooding issues which had led to the formation of a residential campaign group. I happily reported that the large landed estate owner was deemed culpable of poor land management; only to see him sitting directly in the front row, eyes fixed upon mine. Nothing I had said was inaccurate, and as part of the presentation I had outlined the landowners’ perspective and response to the accusations, but my emphasis showed more support for the residents. I had not expected the landowner to turn up; with the activists nowhere in sight. The tables had turned; had the residents’ vitriol blindsided me? After all, the landowner, one person as opposed to a dozen from the residents’ group, was the only one to attend. Had my prejudices weighted how I had analysed my data? The developers came next. As they concluded their talk, I thanked the audience and asked for general questions as a response to my research and those of the other contributors of the evening. For every question I fielded, the developers fielded four. People were angry at the ‘behind the scenes’ nature of the planning process and the lack of public consultation. There were anxious about the short and long-term impacts of the proposed development: disruptions to the road network; impacts on the ecosystem; pollution from building works; the increased risk of flooding. The audience was theirs not mine; ra-

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ther than the bait the developers were the fulcrum of the evening. My research was a mere aside it seemed.

Conclusions: contagion and adaptation Reflection on the evening since has enriched my own understanding of my ethnographic practice. The mud that I had trampled on the carpet of others, and had also been trampled on my own, was necessary, even essential. Without that irksome nuisance, the mark that spoils something unblemished, no new understanding can develop. Returning to the metaphor of mud as the disruption of an endogenous system, something corruptive which causes effects and changes the nature of the system to reach a new equilibrium, this marking helped both my own approach to research and supported the research’s community too. Esposito’s triumvirate Bios, Communitas, Immunitas (2008; 2010; 2011) explores humans in relation to themselves, each other, society and the way in which the state uses the idea of other – ‘contagion’ – negatively, as a form of command and control. Yet without contagion, systems weaken and wither. Adaptation is the cornerstone of renewal and replenishment. Without the other – in this case myself as ethnographic researcher – coming into the community the differing perspectives evident within the community would still have not found a space in which to rearticulate and to reform at close quarters, issues which confounded, confused and perplexed. The contagion I had introduced, via both my research enquiries and spread through the public lecture, had disrupted the system, yet the system used me to recalibrate itself and enable, even momentarily, a new re-ordering. Community members new to me used the meeting to vent their feelings and articulate anxieties otherwise kept private. Since the public lecture, a new campaigning group has formed in opposition to a new housing development proposed by the landowners’ estate. The ongoing impacts and almost imperceptible ripples from conversations, questions, appearances and absences from the research work, and in particular that singular community lecture, will resonate long after the memory of the ethnographic interaction has faded. I learnt that ethnography is always messy; forms of participatory action research, embedding yourself within your respondents’ lives, always involves risk-taking and vulnerability, both of yourself and your co-respondents. Documenting community feelings means the researcher risks creating friction. Disarticulated and unvoiced feelings become solid through audio and text. Upsetting and disrupting is part of the territory of representing real life, which is, after all, the aim of ethnography. It also highlighted to me the importance of always questioning your own unconscious bias as an ethnographer; to rigorously and robustly review your

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research methodology and to take your findings to your colleagues to subject yourself to constructive criticism. This professional ‘messiness’ is essential to constantly safeguard the practices we undertake and to be cognisant of the unwitting prejudices we embody in our work. Recognising that I was a conduit for a community that were unable to pursue answers in any other forum than the one that I provided also enabled me to appreciate the importance of academic scrutiny. Whatever the community took away from the public lecture, even if they half-heartedly listened to my work as a means to finally address the business developers in an open forum, even this can be considered an element of community-based ethnographic practice, no matter how skewed or misdirected from the research’s original intention. For that one night, the community were together; face to face to speak to the landowner, face to face with the developers – made possible through the safe space of a village hall and softened through tea and biscuits organised by my friends and children in the kitchen behind. The bogeymen were somewhat redeemed in the community’s eyes by being prepared to face public scrutiny; my research was ultimately welcomed for providing this connectivity even if what I actually desired was for my research to be valued. Vanity and validation need to be left at the respondent’s doormat; along with the muddy boots. This research changed the relationship between researcher and respondent; an intimacy was created which does not end. The researcher has brought ‘mud on the carpet’ through stepping through the threshold of these people’s lives, and asking them to discuss often painful, sometimes empowering, events in their lives. As a result, the dissemination of these conversations goes beyond reportage to become an entangled, meaningful sharing of life stories and life actions, celebrating elder environmental activism at the third and fourth stages of their lives.

References Breen, L. (2007) The researcher in the middle: Negotiating the insider/outsider dichotomy. The Australian Community Psychologist, 19(1): 16374. Cabrera, A. & Cabrera, E. F. (2002) Knowledge-sharing dilemmas. Organization Studies, 23(5): 687-701. Dessai, S. & Sims, K. (2010) Public perception of drought and climate change in southeast England. Environmental Hazards, 9(4): 340-57. Esposito, R. (2008) Bíos: Biopolitics and philosophy. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Esposito, R. (2010) Communitas: The origin and destiny of community. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Esposito, R. (2011) Immunitas: The protection and negation of life. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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Faulkner, H., Green, A., Pellaumail, K. & Weaver, T. (2001). Residents’ perceptions of water quality improvements following remediation work in the Pymme’s Brook catchment, north London, UK. Journal of Environmental Management, 62(3), 239-254. Lane, S., Odoni, N., Landstrom C., Whatmore, S. J., Ward, N. & Bradley, S. (2011) Doing flood risk science differently: An experiment in radical scientific method. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 36(1): 1536. Law, J. & Urry, J. (2004) Enacting the social. Economy and Society, 33(3): 390410 McEwen, L., Garde-Hansen, J., Holmes, A., Jones, O. & Krause, F. (2017) Sustainable flood memories, lay knowledges and the development of community resilience to future flood risk. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 42(1): 14-28. Newton, J. & Parfitt, A. (2013) Striving for mutuality in research relationships: The value of participatory action research principles. In A. Franklin & P. Blyton (eds.), Researching sustainability: A guide to social science methods, practice and engagement (pp.71-88). London: Earthscan. Stevenson, R. L. (1886) The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. New York: Scribner. Strang, V. (2004) The meaning of water. Oxford: Berg.

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Revealing a ‘Hidden Civil War’: a serendipitous methodology Sue Lewis, Martyn Hudson, and Joe Painter Methods are fully of the world that they are also active in constituting… Law, Ruppert & Savage, 2011: 5

Abstract This exploration of John Law’s “messy” approach to understanding messy social realities is the product of the serendipitous blending of previously unrelated ethnographic data on the same event – a month-long arts ‘performance’, Hidden Civil War, which took place in Newcastle upon Tyne in October 2016. What might happen, we wondered, if we combined our data on Hidden Civil War? What might emerge from two separate ethnographic records, when their combination was not planned, designed for, or even blessed with appropriate research questions. By applying Law’s concepts to this “messy ethnography”, what results is not just an analysis of the arts-led Hidden Civil War programme itself, but a nuanced understanding of motivations to engage with the public in imagining alternatives to the precarious, exclusionary realities that many are currently living, and a text that is honest about the social realities it aims to describe.

Keywords Serendipity; precarity; arts.

What happens if we just jump in? This exploration of Law’s “messy” approach (Law, 2004; Law & Urry, 2004; Law et al., 2011) to understanding social realities is the product of an ongoing conversation between two of the authors of this chapter, Sue Lewis, and Martyn Hudson. Both ethnographers (Lewis & Russell, 2011, 2013; Hudson, 2015, 2017; Hudson & Shaw, 2015), we came across one another when working on separate research projects with the same urban arts organisation, The

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NewBridge Arts Project (NewBridge) in Newcastle upon Tyne, UK. We discovered that in the process of conducting our separate studies, we had both observed events presented as part of Hidden Civil War (HCW), a month-long programme of visual, performance and oral arts activity curated and managed by NewBridge. What might happen methodologically, analytically and ethnographically, we wondered, if we just jumped in and combined our data on Hidden Civil War? What might emerge from the “mess” of two separate ethnographic records, when their combination was not planned, designed for or even blessed with an appropriate research question? Our approach to this merging was prompted by the theme for this book and its originating conference panel. When analysed with the help of Law’s concept of mess, what results is not just an analysis of the Hidden Civil War programme itself, but rather a more nuanced understanding of motivations, often arts-led, to engage with the public in imagining alternatives to the precarious, exclusionary realities that many are currently living.

A serendipitous methodology and methods for mess Bringing our data sets together with no prior planning and with no specific aim in mind beyond wondering what might emerge, might be considered dubious academic practice. However, the role of serendipity has long been acknowledged in the conduct of ethnography: contributing perhaps, suggest Fine and Deegan, to “the heroic image of the ethnographer who pulls meaning from chaos” (1996: 437). But it has a role, too, in writing (Herzfeld, 2014: 4) and, we suggest, relevance for the meeting of two ethnographers with interests and experiences in common. When Horace Walpole used (and possibly coined) the term ‘serendipity’ (Lilley, 2013: 103), he added something to the aspect of sheer fortuitousness that it so often denotes. The discoverer needs, he suggested, “to be ‘sagacious’ (knowledgeable) enough to link together apparently innocuous elements in order to come to a valuable conclusion or understanding” (Rivoal & Salazar, 2013: 178). The ethnographer knows enough about his or her study setting to acknowledge that a serendipitous meeting can shape the research process. Serendipity can be a participant, an informant. 1

Both studies are dealing with some aspect of the politics of the current “age of uncertainty”. The first, based at Durham University, is an ESRC-funded project entitled The Urban Politics and Governance of Social Innovation in Austerity and is concerned with the role of social innovation and grassroots activity as a means of addressing uncertainty’s effects. The second, based at Newcastle University and funded by the Newcastle Institute for Creative Arts Practice, is an ethnographic consideration of the spaces of cultural production, and has been recording the activities of an urban arts project persisting in a context of precarity

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Serendipitous too, was the arrival of a call for papers for a panel that aimed to explore Law’s ideas on messy research. He writes that: most current methods look for clarity and precision. It is usually said that messy findings are a product of poor research. The idea that things in the world might be fluid, elusive, or multiple is unthinkable (Law, 2004, abstract). His call to rethink ideas of clarity and rigour, and to find ways of knowing “the indistinct and the slippery without trying to grasp them and hold them tight” (Law, 2004: 3) resonates with our experience of trying to make sense of HCW as a project-within-a-project (both ours, and NewBridge’s) as well as with earlier reflections on ethnographic methodology (Lewis and Russell, 2011). Law’s suggested solution includes use of a “method assemblage” (2004: 42). Whilst remaining aware that to distil Law’s detailed analysis to a few lines risks doing it severe injustice, the following extract summarises the value of his approach to the analysis of HCW that will follow: I argue that (social) science should also be trying to make and know realities that are vague and indefinite because much of the world is enacted in that way. In which case it is in need of a broader understanding of its methods. These, I suggest, may be understood as methods assemblages, that is as enactments of relations that make some things (representations, objects, apprehensions) present ‘in-here,’ whilst making others absent ‘out-there.’ The ‘out-there’ comes in two forms: as manifest absence (for instance, as what is represented); or, and more problematically, as a hinterland of indefinite, necessary, but hidden Otherness… (Law, 2004: 14, emphasis in the original) This approach to the mess of social realities presented us with a lens through which to interrogate our collective data. That is what we now go on to attempt (after a brief introduction to NewBridge) – simply to see what happens.

The NewBridge Arts Project Established in 2010 by two new graduates from Newcastle University’s fine art department, The NewBridge Arts Project is an artist-led community that provides mutual support to, and professional development for, artists living in Newcastle upon Tyne and the North East of England. NewBridge also exhibits, is experimental, commissions artists and engages with the social, political and civic landscape in which it exists. Finding legitimate but temporary (already its third) home in empty office buildings in the centre of the city, the

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organisation lives with and understands something of the precarity that has 2 become an everyday reality for many, as evidenced by its involvement in the publication of The Precariat newspaper (see the following section). NewBridge generates its income from a variety of sources, including from its ability to be entrepreneurial and flexible (e.g., swiftly curating exhibitions for established public galleries). HCW emerged from conversations within its networks about the realities of people’s lives, as the NewBridge Director said: “we all knew […] we were getting screwed over and we did need to do something. But it's very encouraging and exciting that so many people 3 also felt the same” (Research interview with NewBridge Director).

Taking the civil war to the streets Explaining the context for Hidden Civil War in the programme’s accompanying publication, The Precariat, co-curator Chris Erskine wrote: ‘Hidden Civil War’ explores the states of exception that are allowing those in power, to culturally, physically and psychologically attack not only political adversaries, but entire categories of citizens who for some reason cannot be integrated into the current economic and political system. ‘Hidden Civil War’ explores how certain forms of knowledge are privileged and accepted as true; and certain voices heard and valued, while of course, many others are not (Erskine, 2016: 3) The curatorial team decided upon three ‘action points’ to guide their commissioning and programming decisions: cultivating outrage, disrupting the inevitability of the everyday and generating alternative moral economies. ‘So, it was “let’s get angry,”’ the NewBridge Director said. “Let’s challenge what's happening.” Using Law’s method assemblage, we now go on to describe and analyse four events from the resulting month-long HCW programme. They represent how different actors in this messy ethnography (whose different perspectives contribute to the ‘mess’) chose to exemplify the programme. Each of the actors chose an event from the Hidden Civil War programme; one that was in some way meaningful to them. Each example thus becomes what Law describes as ‘in-here’ statements: that is, they are ‘data’ or ‘depictions,’ “but as apprehended by particular individuals from their particular worldview” (Rapport & 2

See http://thenewbridgeproject.com/

3

All verbatim quotes are taken from research interviews conducted by SL and MH.

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Overing, 2000: 394). They are different and potentially performative enactments (Mol, 1999 cited in Law, 2004: 56) which make manifest, for each narrator, the social realities ‘out-there’. The brief ethnographic descriptions of each event we now present – of a provocative installation called Pocket Money Loans, a public and participatory activity entitled Empathy Tower, a historical exploration called Ghost Lab and a political performance piece with a central character called Elvira Snowden – are followed by an analysis of what is being made manifest, and why.

Pocket Money Loans Pocket Money Loans was a spoof on a payday loans shop. Housed in a van which was covered in adverts offering loans to children (to be repaid once they received their pocket money), the installation sat for two full days in Newcastle’s busiest shopping street. Sue observed people’s reactions as they walked by. Most appeared to ignore the installation; eyes fixed on mobile phones as they hurried past. Some paused, read the posters and adverts, and moved on. A few stopped, seemingly either intrigued or horrified. One older woman declared it as “disgusting,” adding, “hope it’s a joke.” The researcher reassured her, but when people approached the artist responsible for the installation, he played along with the “joke” for a while. Then he told them it was a satire, a parody, and explained its purpose; though, sadly, he said, young people had approached him for a loan in the past. Most seemed to be in agreement with his action. Sue spoke to a mother whose son had managed to get a payday loan of £50 when he was 18. She ended up paying his eventual £800 bill. “This is just the ticket,” she said.

Empathy Tower NewBridge’s Development Director drew immediately on an installation entitled Empathy Tower, a tower built of individual blocks on which people wrote individual messages: “work not welfare”; “stand in solidarity”; “compassion comes first”; “we can do so much better.” The concept of the tower was a response to the newly released Danny Boyle film, I Daniel Blake (Loach & O’Brien, 2016). “We commissioned an artist to respond to the film,” the Development Director explained: “… [funded by] ‘Hidden Civil War’, and […] the marketing team behind ‘I, Daniel Blake’, which was a freelance project that I was doing at the time. We built an Empathy Tower and different people signed a block. And then we also had the screening, a debate and a final viewing of the HCW exhibition. …it was just fantastic because you had people who've

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lived on the streets. You had people who'd been through the benefits system. You had artists. And again, just that real breadth of people connecting and having conversations […]. My critique is that we do a lot of these things in silos.” (Research interview with NewBridge Development Director)

Ghost Lab Martyn selected an event called Ghost Lab. Hosted by activist and social historian, Max Munday, the workshop brought together histories of social struggle over mining and class politics through the concept of “social haunting.” HCW’s promotional material gives an idea of the workshop’s likely content: “a reminder of lingering trouble and that what’s been concealed is very much alive + present and when something must be done.” The Ghost Lab project sits, says Martyn: “in symbiosis with my own work and book ‘Ghosts, Landscapes and Social Memory.’ And Max is a longstanding political comrade who has worked in mining communities to think about the social effects of the Great Strike. It sat with ‘Hidden Civil War’ really well, as people who came along, and I, mapped struggles and thought about the ways in which their present and possible futures are haunted.” (Research interview with Martyn Hudson).

Elvira Snowden The Director of NewBridge drew on the making of a utopian leader. Artist Nina Ayach worked with community groups to create a manifesto and “utopian leader” for an invented political party called Humankind Redefined. They created a massive papier-mâché puppet head, a pair of hands, connected the parts, draped her in a dress of grey, called her “Elvira Snowden” and, one busy Saturday, paraded her up and down Northumberland Street in the city centre. As the cortège moved along, her ‘supporters’ handed out the party manifesto, which included such proposals as: increased happiness across the population; providing one cat per household (if wanted); making glamour magazines illegal; abolition of the bedroom tax; the sanctioning of politicians who don't follow through with what they promise.

Manifest absence(s) and the Other According to Law (2004), if we are to understand what is happening here, we must attend not only to what has been made ‘present’ in these descriptions of events but also what is manifestly absent. For our purposes, then, what realities, absences – political and personal – are being manifested?

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For the Development Director, what was represented by HCW was the need to have a different kind of conversation with the public and, specifically, to give them a voice. She had been bitterly disappointed at the quality of socalled debate during the European Union (Brexit) referendum campaign but also informing her narrative was her preference for, and experience in, facilitating bottom-up approaches to social change. A year on from Hidden Civil War she is involved in a project based on citizen journalism that had its beginnings in an HCW workshop titled A Tabloid for the Oppressed: how can we co-create the new tools for a new politics? The aim of the workshop was to develop a blueprint for a new tabloid publication that would offer a platform for grassroots voices and a bottom-up politics; an alternative to the mainstream media that she and colleagues believed had fertilised a rise in racial hatred and the public vilification of minorities. Could alternative stories, conversations, and spaces challenge this divisive reality? The Precariat was, she said, “well and good but [it] doesn't speak to the people who are most affected by the issues within it.” For NewBridge’s Director, the starting point for Hidden Civil War lay in a question: where does social practice, socially engaged art, intercept with activism? Its purpose and programme sat well with NewBridge’s organisational values “to be aware and responsive to the social/civic/political landscape that we exist in.” She insisted, though, that they “were not experts in the field of socially engaged art. We wouldn’t ever claim to be, and we wouldn’t necessarily want to be a centre just for that type of work”. Significantly, NewBridge received a notice to quit their building just as HCW was coming to its close. Although tenure in their new home is a little more secure, it lacks gallery space. Now, she says, “it's more about the process and that exploration and that experimentation. And then perhaps [the exhibition] will be somewhere within a community or it will be on Northumberland Street or it will be on a billboard somewhere.” Might we call this serendipity: the juxtaposition of HCW on-the-streets experience, the reality of their precarious organisational existence in disused office blocks, and now the lack of gallery space, work together to change something of their practice? Martyn clearly had a personal connection with his selection. Its message – that the past matters in how we construct future possibilities – not only connected with his professional interests in working-class histories but was also relevant to the chapter on HCW that he was writing at the time, in his story of NewBridge. It, HCW, and members’ responses to it, provided a hinterland for the whole. The move of premises has seen some artists depart NewBridge. Martyn’s work with the NewBridge member artists makes clear that not all agree with taking the Hidden Civil War programme ‘out-there’. HCW was, said some – and here we perhaps begin to touch on the hinterland of ‘otherness’ in

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opinions of NB members not represented in the presentation of the programme – to the detriment of the art. This was not a rejection of socially engaged art but, instead, a comment on what some saw as practice for democratic inclusion rather than an aesthetic product. For Sue, Pocket Money Loans offered both an opportunity to observe and engage with the passing public’s response to a Hidden Civil War installation. It was the event closest to an “intervention” in form and intent, and so offered comparisons with ethnographic studies in health and social inequalities that she had previously undertaken: the ethnographer is the primary research “tool,” after all (Evans, 1988). As a comment on “the provisioning of inequality” (Redmond, 2015), it was socially and politically provocative. And for Sue as a graduate in the history of art, it was also a provocation to her prior (if naïve) notions of art and aesthetics. Two very personal perspectives, then, that were to find accommodation in Bishop’s (2006) declaration that “discomfort and frustration […], absurdity, eccentricity, doubt or sheer pleasure can be crucial elements of a work’s aesthetic impact, no matter its origins” (studio or street) (Bishop, 2006: 5). In sum, it marked a turning point in her relationship with the aims and objectives of the arts organisation.

Politics, presences and (possible) futures Reflecting on Hidden Civil War in an interview some months after HCW had closed, NewBridge’s Director imagined a possible future for the organisation’s engaged art-on-the-streets, creating a productive connection with its community. “So, for once the worlds merged a little bit,” she said. But she also expressed uncertainty about maintaining that connection. “I think we've gone back [since the end of Hidden Civil War]” she added, “to just artists coming to launches of exhibitions and that kind of thing.” What comes next is far from certain – there’s talk of a possible HCW2, another Precariat.

Politics of presences Hidden Civil War was inescapably a political project. A standard approach to its ethnography would not have missed that broad fact, and the politics of austerity would still have been presented as the context for its performance. However, in assembling the presences and absences in different actors’ worldviews, we have begun to uncover subtly different enactments, as well as different future possibilities that are emerging. Law’s approach encourages a more nuanced explanation of the messy social realities that are the subject of any study. Thus, we can see how and why Hidden Civil War continues to play out in different but complementary directions: for example, in the Alternative Tabloid project (the first edition of which, at the time of writing, is imminent), in NewBridge’s commissioning of work that responds to an agenda of alterna-

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tive political-economic futures, and in the exodus from NewBridge (during the move from old building to new) of artists who preferred to prioritise aesthetics over social engagement.

Marcus and mess: a summation In a recent paper on The Near Future of the Ethnographic Form, anthropologist George Marcus (2012) suggests that ethnographers now move in assemblages, among relations and place-situated discourses in unusual configurations, in order to provoke. Ethnography’s classical textual form, he suggests, “is a very partial and increasingly inadequate means of composing the 4 movements and contests of fieldwork” (Marcus, 2012: 432). As researchers we work, too, on and in the “temporality of emergence”, which is “as much, if not more, the mis-en-scène of many ethnographic projects today […] The present becoming the near future at least shapes a common orientation of ethnographer and her subjects and provides […] a baseline imaginary for it” (Marcus, 2012: 435). In this brief and post-hoc experiment – facilitated by a serendipitous meeting which brought differing perspectives into relief – we have utilised Law’s approach to messy ethnography to reveal a number of possible near futures that are emergent, but also simultaneously individual and collective. And we have hinted at more, as each and every person who engaged with HCW is implicated in those possibilities. Law offers us a process and a product that refuses reduction to one singular narrative; rather, it gives voice and presents imaginaries that would otherwise be silenced. What results is not an incoherent mess, but a text that is honest about the social realities it aims to describe – and the methodology (not necessarily serendipitous) used to construct that description.

References Bishop, C. (2006) The social turn: Collaboration and its discontents. Artforum, 44(6): 178-83. Erskine, C. (2016) Hidden civil war. The Precariat. Available at: https://thenewbridgeproject.com/events/hidden-civil-war/ Evans, M. (1988) Participant observation: The researcher as research tool. In J. Eyles, & D. M. Smith (eds.), Qualitative methods in human geography (pp.197-218). Cambridge: Polity Press. Fine, G. A. & Deegan, J. G. (1996) Three principles of serendip: Insight, chance, and discovery in qualitative research. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 9(4): 434-47.

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We are aware that our use of Law’s approach could also be accused of being partial.

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Herzfeld, M. (2014) Serendipitous sculpture: Ethnography does as ethnography goes. Anthropology and Humanism, 39(1): 3-9. Hudson, M. (2015) The slave ship, memory and the origin of modernity. London, Routledge. Hudson, M. (2017) Ghosts, landscapes and social memory. London, Routledge. Hudson, M. & Shaw, T. (2015) Dead logics and worlds: Sound art and sonorous subjects. Organised Sound, 20(2): 263-72. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. London: Routledge. Law, J., Ruppert, E. & Savage, M. (2011) The double social life of methods. CRESC Working Paper 95. Milton Keynes: Open University. Law, J. & Urry, J. (2004) Enacting the social. Economy and Society, 33(3): 390410. Lewis, S. & Russell, A. J. (2011) Being embedded: A way forward for ethnographic research. Ethnography, 12(3): 398-416. Lewis, S. & Russell, A. J. (2013) Young smokers' narratives: Public health, disadvantage and structural violence. Sociology of Health and Illness, 53(3): 746-60. Lilley, J. D. (2013) Studies in uniquity: Horace Walpole’s singular collection. ELH, 80(1): 93-124. Loach, K. (director) & O’Brien, R. (producer) (2016) I, Daniel Blake [film]. UK: Sixteen Films. Marcus, G. E. (2012) The legacies of writing culture and the near future of the ethnographic form: A sketch. Cultural Anthropology, 27(3): 427-45. Rapport, N. & Overing, J. (2000) Social and cultural anthropology: The key concepts. London: Routledge. Redmond, W. (2015) The provisioning of inequality. Journal of Economic Issues, 49(2): 527-34. Rivoal, I. & Salazar, N. B. (2013) Contemporary ethnographic practice and the value of serendipity. Social Anthropology, 21(2): 178-85.

Chapter 3

Changing forms of ethnography and shifting researcher positioning in the study of a Mexican martial art George Jennings Abstract Xilam is a new Mexican martial art that continues to evolve in terms of its organisation and promotion. As part of the emerging interdisciplinary field of martial arts studies, my project began with full immersion within Xilam through an embodied ethnography and as a newcomer to Mexico. Yet my position shifted with increased linguistic capabilities, the closing of my fieldwork site and new opportunities for data collection and writing. From phenomenological methods to digital ethnography and life history, my methods changed as new questions were asked. This chapter explores how both the subject (the researcher) and the object (the ethnos) of study altered over the course of my investigation, and how I embraced this change in order to continue the writing (the –graphy) to create this messy ethnography. I argue that through such a messy methodology social scientists can get behind the murkiness of social life within and between disciplines.

Keywords Martial arts; Xilam; interdisciplinarity; types of ethnography; positionality.

Situating martial arts studies and Xilam within messy ethnographies Ethnographies can be tidy. Yet, as this collected edition attests to, they can also be the seeming antithesis of ‘tidy’ – ‘messy’ – being disrupted by new technologies, flexible boundaries between academic disciplines and emerging methods available to the researcher. Essentially, both the subject and the object of the research project are open to change, and are thus, by definition,

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messy. The subject (the researcher), over the years of fieldwork, analysis, and writing, will be shifting in their position as an insider/outsider, in their level of critique and theorisation, their degree of embodiment, and empathy with those other subjects he/she studies. The fieldworker will age, might change employment and will perhaps undergo certain other socially expected ‘rites of passage’ such as graduation. Meanwhile, the object of study (this group or activity that comprises the ethnos of ethnography) will modify with the complex relationships between politics, the economy, society, and culture. Starting research now, one could anticipate new governments, wars, financial crises, as well as new policies, regulations, and booms in funding that could help or hinder the ethnic and social groups of interest. They could benefit from new members or even close down and relocate. It is as Shilling’s (2008) message in Changing Bodies: habit can lead to crisis out of individual and collective control of individuals and groups, which must be creative – even artistic. So, what is the ethnos in martial arts ethnography? The martial arts, as an object of study, are now a well-established area of ethnographic inquiry for anthropologists, sociologists, political scientists and other socio-cultural specialists. There are notable monographs ranging far afield as Indonesian Silat across cultures (Farrer, 2009) to Afro-Brazilian Capoeira in Brazil and Britain (Downey, 2005; Delamont et al., 2017) and Indian combat systems of wrestling and Kalarippayattu (Alter, 1992; Zarrilli, 1998). These fighting systems were formed for reasons including national defence, personal protection, cultural expression and elite military training, and continue to be modified to suit the needs and interests of certain social groups. Historical work into the Chinese martial arts illustrates this continual change with migration, the rise of industries and advent of modern weaponry and media (Lorge, 2012; Judkins & Nielson, 2015). This ever-evolving literature has demonstrated the ways in which these fighting systems as taught, to whom and for what purposes and under certain contexts have changed. The contemporary Mexican martial art of Xilam is an interesting exemplar of the artistic creativity that is harnessed through the moving body. The brainchild of martial arts veteran Marisela Ugalde, it was formally registered in 1992 in Mexico City and continues under her leadership. It was conceived within a field saturated by Asian styles and with a perceived need for a Mexican (or Mesoamerican) fighting tradition. Inspired by the ancient Aztec, Maya, and Zapotec pre-Hispanic cultures, Xilam aims to offer a holistic human development system for modern Mexicans along the levels of willpower, emotions, and control: “to peel away the skin” and nurture the person from the inside out. It is far less concerned with the event-based self-defence or sport

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and positions itself as a living embodiment of the cosmological Aztec philosophy (see Maffie, 2014). Although technically complete and legally registered, Xilam remains, in many ways, in its infancy. As my object of study since 2011 following the completion of my PhD thesis, Xilam has undergone several changes, as have I as a person and professional. In this chapter, I wish to illustrate Xilam as an example of a martial art worthy of various theoretical, methodological and disciplinary strategies that continue to unravel as opportunities and learnings present themselves. I also aim to critically explore my own experiences as a practitioner-researcher, migrant to Mexico, language learner and later collaborator and writer, to show how the shifts in my position and the type of ethnography that was possible from such standing (and sitting) points. I would like to forewarn the reader of my confessional account involving selfreferencing to the emerging corpus of writing (the –graphy) in order to explore the description of the Xilam community (the ethno-), which override my discussion of broader methodological arguments. Nevertheless, I stress that although this is about ‘me’ and ‘my study’ (if I ‘own’ it at all), it is also about ‘us’ as ethnographers and ‘our’ approach to method. This chapter, like the disruptive nature of martial arts studies itself (see Bowman, 2015), is a blur between anthropology, sociology, and philosophy. It shows the shifts in my positioning as a researcher between embodied, full participation and abstract theorising, and the changing forms of ethnography from the phenomenological to online ethnography and digital document analysis, along with accidental theoretical insights and deliberately planned interviews for publication. Inspired by the foundational work of Van Maanen (1988) and the applications of such writings in sport and physical activity (Sparkes, 2002), I hope to offer confessions not on just how I started my research – similar accounts that provided useful inspiration (Jennings, 2013a) and lessons on data collection (see Channon, 2013; Jennings, 2013b; Stephens & Delamont, 2006) and leaving the field (Delamont, 2016) – but also account for the emerging incidents and long-term developments that facilitated a slow ethnography now manifesting in an overall study of Mexican martial arts.

Intentional tidiness: phenomenological and pedagogical ethnography All of this started in one studio where I entered as a newcomer to Mexico with little grasp of Spanish and as a practitioner with a background in a very different martial art, Wing Chun Kung Fu (see Jennings et al., 2010). Here, with all good intentions, I had envisaged a ‘tidy’ long-term project looking into the transmission of philosophy and culture through Xilam. Little did I know that

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the class would close one year after commencing my fieldwork, among a number of contingencies that unfolded over the five years I lived in Mexico. In that time, martial arts studies had been established as an academic field; other scholars had continued to pioneer different methods and ways of writing. With these advances in mind, in the following sections, I seek to: a) introduce my intended ‘tidy’ research design; b) highlight the blurred fields between physical and virtual spaces; c) show how I entered unknown theoretical (and this interdisciplinary) territory and, d) confess to an open-ended writing approach of a study that is finally summarised as a work in progress. Moving to Mexico City in July 2011, I had only a basic grasp of the Spanish language and had witnessed Mexican ‘physical culture’ – the ways of being physically (in)active (Markula & Silk, 2011) – as a tourist. I had moved to start a new life as an independent researcher and had hoped to discover something interesting to study. Upon finding a workshop on the Nahuatl language, an indigenous tongue spoken in central Mexico, I saw a banner advertising a Mexican martial art, Xilam. This was something that I, despite my years of avid reading about martial arts traditions, had never heard of before coming to the cultural centre in Coyoacan, a bustling colonial district of the city. Entering the studio, I was greeted by the instructor, Xolotl (a pseudonym in the Nahuatl language). “It will be difficult,” he remarked to my partner when she explained that I spoke a little Spanish. Nevertheless, through clear visual demonstrations from Xolotl and my seniors and a lot of gesturing among students, I gradually understood all of the Xilam class. In fact, much like many activities with a generally silent and antiintellectual ethos (see Samudra, 2008), talk was largely discouraged unless we students were questioned on our thoughts. Every Saturday afternoon, I dutifully arrived early to help sweep the floor, greet my fellow practitioners with hugs and engage with the draining physical exercises. Counting in Spanish, Nahuatl and other native tongues allowed me to integrate into the group and gain respect, although my limited fluency dissuaded me from engaging in detailed conversation. It was through the sheer physicality of the art that I first thought to research how Xilam helped to embody and express Mesoamerican philosophy and culture – something they emphasised in the closing “circle of warriors” at the end of each session. From a practitioner perspective in this satellite school, my aim became to examine how Xilam was taught and transmitted through physical games, drills, interactive exercises and other forms of unique ‘body cultures’: the ways in which identities were constructed upon ethnic and cultural traditions within physical space (see Eichberg, 1998).

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Inspired by the then fresh and emergent auto/phenomenological work in martial arts (Spencer, 2012) and physical culture (Allen-Collinson, 2009) as well as sensuous ethnography (Sparkes, 2009) and studies of alternative physical cultures (Atkinson, 2010), I ventured into the field looking at the sights, sounds, tastes, and feel of the martial art within my own body. Yet this was also an educational ethnography concerned with the learning experienced between other students within the modern studio environment and through games and rustic equipment (incorporating logs for strength training and hand-woven balls for honing reflexes). The first year’s fieldwork allowed me to focus on the Xilam pedagogy through such fun and games: something I would later understand to be Mexicanidad – the quintessential “Mexicanness” that makes Mexican culture unique.

Blurred fields: leaving the studio and entering cyberspace I had set out to explore Xilam as a body culture using my physicality as the main tool. Yet, quite suddenly, a seismic shift occurred: the branch school in Coyoacan closed after the summer of 2012, one year into fieldwork. There had been signs of tensions between our teacher and the cultural centre’s administration, and due to difficult regulations, Xolotl sought out another venue. At the same time, I moved to another area of the city, which eased my travel to the Universidad YMCA, where I began an academic post as a teacher and researcher. The new class was now held in a rather dangerous inner-city area of Mexico City; with personal safety in mind as a blonde, white foreigner, I felt frustration for not being able to continue learning Xilam beyond my own personal training at home. However, this bad tiding came with a blessing in the way that I could now explore the online, virtual world of Xilam in more detail – moving from an embodied ethnography to an online and digital one. The group had a welldesigned website, a dedicated Facebook page and an extensive YouTube channel. Alongside these more official forms of public-facing media, there were the unofficial videos posted by former students, supporters and martial arts enthusiasts, alongside more critical writings on Xilam, its origins and overall authenticity as a “pre-Hispanic” martial arts which several people disputed on chat fora. These all became data sources fit for thematic analysis. First of all, however, came another unexpected opportunity: a book chapter as part of a collection on women in combat sports (Channon & Matthews, 2015). In Jennings (2015), I traced the life story of Marisela Ugalde, from her early martial arts training in the late 1960s to her present independent research and collaborations in order to explore the pre-Hispanic Mesoamerican philosophy, and her future plans to share the art with the world. Our commu-

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nications rekindled via Facebook, and we continue in communication through this medium, which she and the other instructors use regularly. Much of the data that was scrutinised over the official website (www.xilam.org), Facebook (https://es-la.facebook.com/silam8/) and YouTube channel (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZhfJaA1_VYfm9Ky agpeyew) culminated in my second publication in the second edition of the freshly launched Martial Arts Studies (Jennings, 2016a) on the aims and objectives of the martial art using Bonfil Batalla’s thesis, México Profundo (1996). Quite remarkably, this theory emerged from the physical field, when Xolotl and some of my fellow students were fervently discussing this text. Again, an opportune special edition was emerging on “the invention of martial arts” edited by the pioneering Paul Bowman, director of the Martial Arts Studies Research Network (see https://mastudiesrn.wordpress.com). Thus, in an unplanned manner, out of chaos came a sense of order and strategy. The first impromptu publication shared the story of the founder of Xilam and what events led to the creation of the art, and now the second output shared details of the civilisation underpinning it. This was accompanied by a public talk at the New Acropolis School of Philosophy, London, as a complete outsider upon my return to the UK in 2016. There, as a visitor to this school, I re-familiarised myself into British culture and being away from the field. Writing a short article for their newsletter (Jennings, 2016b), I started to look beyond sociology and anthropology and to consider comparative philosophy as a complementary discipline – again a sign of my shifting positioning as a scholar.

Crossing disciplinary (and theoretical) boundaries In terms of disciplines, I hail from a background in sport and exercise sciences, which is an overtly interdisciplinary field. Teaching and learning within these areas has enabled me to embrace the strengths of different areas of knowledge in terms of theory, topic and methods in order to address different questions. How can Xilam practitioners learn a philosophy through their bodies (a question for phenomenology)? Why did the founder create this unique body culture (a topic for biographical methods)? What does the Xilam association claim to do (a theme ripe for media analysis)? Which practices, consisting of both techniques of the body and methods, form the essence of Xilam (a subject for an ongoing article)? This venture is interdisciplinary due to the unexpected use of new theories that I encountered in the field, through social interaction and via wider reading – not theories such as Bourdieu, Elias, and Gramsci that abound in the

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sociology of sport, my “home” sub-discipline (see, for example, Guilanotti, 2004). However, there were some key themes, such as nationalism, the body, and gender (for instance Jarvie, 2006), addressed using different, arguably more “native” theories. Moreover, the messy “science” of data collection and data analysis have been accompanied by the messy “art” of writing. Following decades of debates over traditional and alternative forms of representation (for example Van Maanen, 1988; Sparkes, 2002), there are now numerous online, digital and non-traditional ways of sharing one’s research. For example, a 5,000-word conference paper based on the Martial Arts Studies conference talk I gave was posted on the widely read Kung Fu Tea blog (Jennings, 2017). This article made use of cultural critique in the form of Octavio Paz’s (1950) popular set of essays, The Labyrinth of Solitude – another text I inadvertently drew me from a native’s perspective. I have been fortunate to have received opportunities to write and talk about Xilam in relation to a variety of themes and issues. But the forms of writing and communication, as well as the method and the way I, the subject, interacted with the object of study, led me to muse over the very messy nature of ethnography itself. Meanwhile, it has provided room for addressing Bowman’s (2015) call for an interdisciplinary martial arts studies that challenges and disrupts disciplinary boundaries between areas such as anthropology, sociology, sport science and fields of knowledge and methods. Arguably, and perhaps undoubtedly, (messy) ethnographies enable just that: to move between blurry boundaries and yet beneath seemingly unclear or even murky topics, as I conclude next.

Murky ethno- and messy –graphy Was the study of Xilam really an ethnography in its purest sense? It is primarily a set of written accounts, although a monograph is yet to be produced. Who am I writing about? The Xilam instructors and core members? The wider community, including its supporters? What was the object of study? To think of a singular object fixed in time would be to go against the fundamental ontological assumptions of constant change, evolution, and rebirth that are both part of the Aztec philosophy that guides Xilam as a project and also the very tentative nature of martial arts themselves. Arts become sports, and styles die out, while others are discovered. At the time of writing, Xilam remains a minority martial art in Mexico, but who knows what the future holds. The object is being reinterpreted, adjusted and is always changing as it is being studied, even in a year’s fieldwork. There remains much to be done with my investigation of Xilam and the Mexican martial arts that were born in a perceived necessity for something

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culturally unique. My engagement with different disciplines, traditions, methods, and concepts has enabled me to ask different questions in order to approach the object of study (the art, the founder, the philosophy, the practice). For example, the importance of teachings and knowledge have been a source of fascination since Carlos Castañeda’s (1969) (in)famous studies on Don Juan. In relation to this, what were the teachings of Marisela Ugalde’s own mentor, the mysterious shaman and conchero dancer, Andres Segura? This could lead to data such as archive footage and methods such as discourse analysis, alongside engagement with anthropology and dance studies. The themes of heritage and intercultural practices could then come to the fore of my writings, as the ethno- in ethnography is slightly modified and the –graphy takes new directions. Meanwhile, the subject – the research-as-instrument – is also maturing, adapting and learning. I entered the study as a new immigrant to Mexico and now look at Xilam as an academic across the Atlantic, with years of absence in regular training. I have become more sedentary, but with a stronger critical perspective. I now speak Spanish fluently, can translate texts and conversations on the martial arts, and have a stronger network of colleagues to collaborate with. So, as my physical engagement with Xilam has declined, my intellectual pursuit of understanding it remains. My theoretical knowledge and linguistic skills have enabled me to take a very micro, phenomenological analysis of my own embodied learning into a wider sociocultural, even political, analysis of Xilam within a range of emergent Mexican fighting systems. Xilam entered my life by accident, and the lack of clarity of the target of my analysis (the murkiness) eventually cleared. This was facilitated by a messy, flexible and, in many ways, ongoing, methodology. To conclude, it is important to stress that such subject-object transformations do not occur in isolation but occur alongside a changing field setting (in this case, the studio, the online space and later events) and the expanding field of knowledge (the establishment of martial arts studies). Hence, there is room for creative manoeuvring as the researcher matures academically and personally, the object of study modifies due to personal and social circumstances, and the sites of study and the knowledge around it shift alongside them. This is the space for truly messy ethnographies flourishing among the murkiness, and here I have added to their celebration.

References Allen-Collinson, J. (2009) Sporting embodiment: Sport studies and the (continued) promise of phenomenology. Qualitative Research in Sport and Exercise, 1(3): 279-96.

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Alter, J. (1992) The wrestler’s body: Identity and ideology in north India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Atkinson, M. (2010) Entering scapeland: Yoga, fell and post-sport physical cultures. Sport in Society, 13(7/8): 1249-67. Bonfil Batalla, G. (1996) Mexico profundo: Reclaiming a civilisation (P.A. Dennis, Trans.). Austin: University of Texas Press. Bowman, P. (2015) Martial arts studies: Disrupting disciplinary boundaries. London: Rowman & Littlefield. Castañeda, C. (1969) The teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui way of knowledge. Berkeley: University of California Press. Channon, A. (2013) Do you hit girls? Some striking moments in the career of a male martial artist. In R. Sánchez García & D. Spencer (eds.), Fighting scholars: Habitus and ethnographies of martial arts and combat sports (pp.95110). London: Anthem Press. Channon, A. & Matthews, C. (eds.) (2015) Global perspectives on women in combat sports: Women warriors around the world. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Delamont, S. (2016) Time to kill the witch? Reflections on power relationships when leaving the field. In M. R. M. Ward (ed.), Gender identity and research relationships. Studies in Qualitative Methodology (pp.3-20). Emerald Group Publishing Limited. Delamont, S., Stephens, N. & Campos, C. (2017) Embodying Brazil: An ethnography of diasporic Capoeira. London: Routledge. Downey, G. (2005) Learning capoeira: Lessons in cunning in an Afro-Brazilian martial art. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Eichberg, H. (1998) Body cultures: Sport, space and identity. London: Routledge. Farrer, D. S. (2009) Shadows of the prophet: Martial arts and Sufi mysticism. Amsterdam: Springer Netherlands. Guilanotti, R. (2004) Sport and modern social theorists. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Jarvie, G. (2006) Sport, culture and society: An introduction. Abingdon: Routledge. Jennings, G. (2013a) Martial arts and embodied interaction: Reflections on YMCA training experiences. The Journal of the International Coalition of YMCA Universities, 1: 60-8. Jennings, G. (2013b) Interviews as embodied interaction: Confessions from a practitioner-researcher of martial arts. Qualitative Methods in Psychology Bulletin, 16(Autumn): 16-24. Jennings, G. (2015) Mexican female warriors: The case of maestra Marisela Ugalde, founder of Xilam. In A. Channon & C. Matthews (eds.), Global perspectives on women in combat sports: Women warriors around the world (pp.119-34). Basingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan. Jennings, G. (2016a) Ancient wisdom, modern warriors: The (re)invention of a warrior tradition in Xilam. Martial Arts Studies, 2: 59-70.

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Jennings, G. (2016b) Mesoamerican philosophy: Lessons from a Mexican martial art. In New Acropolis Magazine, 18: 7. Jennings, G. (2017) Seeking identity through the martial arts: The case of Mexicanidad. Kung Fu Tea [Blog]. Available at: https://chinesemartialstudies.com/2017/08/14/seeking-identity-throughthe-martial-arts-the-case-of-mexicanidad/[Accessed 8th July 2017]. Jennings, G., Brown, D. & Sparkes, A. C. (2010) “It can be a religion if you want”: Wing Chun Kung Fu as a secular religion. Ethnography, 11(4): 533-57. Judkins, B. & Nielson, J. (2015) The creation of Wing Chun: A social history of southern Chinese martial arts. Albany: SUNY Press. Lorge, P. (2012) Chinese martial arts: From antiquity to the twenty-first century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maffie, J. (2014) Aztec philosophy: Understanding a world in motion. Boulder: University of Colorado Press. 
 Markula, P. & Silk, M. (2011) Qualitative research for physical culture. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Martial Arts Studies Research Network (2017) Martial Arts Studies Research Network. Available at: https://mastudiesrn.wordpress.com [Accessed 10th October 2017]. Paz, O. (1981[1950]) The labyrinth of solitude – The other Mexico – Return to the labyrinth of solitude – Mexico and the United States – The philanthropic ogre (L. Kemp, Y. Milos & R. Phillips Belash, Trans.). New York: The Grove Press. Samudra, J. K. (2008) Memory in our body: Thick participation and the translation of kinesthetic experience. American Ethnologist, 35(4): 665-81. Shilling, C. (2008) Changing bodies: Habit, crisis and creativity. London: Sage. Sparkes, A. C. (2002) Telling tales in sport and physical activity: A qualitative journey. Champaign: Human Kinetics. Sparkes, A. C. (2009) Ethnography and the senses: Challenges and possibilities. Qualitative Research in Sport and Exercise, 1(1): 21-35. Spencer, D. (2012) Ultimate fighting and embodiment. London: Routledge. Stephens, N. & Delamont, S. (2006) Balancing the berimbau: Embodied ethnographic understanding. Qualitative Inquiry, 12(2): 316-39. Xilam (2017) Official Facebook group. Available at: https://esla.facebook.com/silam8/[Accessed 8th July 2017]. Xilam (2017) Official website. Available at: http://www.xilam.org[Accessed 8th July 2017]. Xilam (2017) Official YouTube channel. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZhfJaA1_VYfm9Kyagpeyew[Accesse d 8th July 2017]. Van Maanen, J. (1988) Tales from the field: On writing ethnography. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Zarrilli, P. B. (1998) When the body becomes all eyes: Paradigms, discourse, and practices of power in Kalarippayattu, a south Indian martial art. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 4

Haphazard knowledge production: thoughts on ethnography and mess in the urbanising Ecuadorian Amazon Nina Isabella Moeller Abstract Using a series of examples taken from fieldwork on socio-ecological change in the Ecuadorian Amazon, this chapter argues that, alongside its more conventional aims of data collection, textual representation, and theoretical framing, ethnographic work also leads to a messy and collective generation of visceral, embodied knowledge in a spontaneous making of relations and connections. Usually disregarded, this kind of knowledge ought instead to be emphasised, valued and explored as integral to social research. By focussing attention on field relations, I show how purposeful generation of superabundant ‘empirical data’ in fieldwork allows the flourishing of ‘another’ kind of knowledge, in unplanned conjunction with the researchers’ attempts at achieving their research objectives. Noting this knowledge overflow is also noting the way in which ethnography contributes to, and does not merely extract from, the world(s) encountered. How valuable such a contribution is ultimately depends on ‘whose side we are on.’

Keywords Ethnography; Amazon; Ecuador; IKIAM; post-representational methods; knowledge production; green transition.

Of canopies, tiles, and new life: an ethnographic setting One of the first things most people notice when they enter a tropical rainforest is that it is surprisingly cool and dry. The high forest canopy shelters its visitors from the scorching sun and heavy rain. The thickly thatched palm leaf roofs of traditional dwellings in the Amazon region similarly catch the sun and divert the rain, making such homes agreeably temperate.

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One of the first things people notice when they enter IKIAM, a new flagship university in the Ecuadorian Amazon, are its white tiles, utterly blinding in the sun, and dangerously slippery in the rain. One member of staff has referred to their effect as “grievous bodily harm,” as students and staff have already sustained injuries. Offices and other enclosed spaces on campus are, unsurprisingly, artificially cooled: “It is too hot to work without it” comment1 ed students and staff. No one pondered the environmental consequences of conditioning the indoor air, the cultural and physical dependence created, or the psychosocial implications of purposeful disconnection from one’s immediate surroundings, let alone how this might influence the knowledge created in such insulated conditions. 2

Financed with Chinese capital in return for oil futures, IKIAM University has been explicitly conceived as a catalyst for a lasting transition to a ‘green and knowledge-based economy’ in Ecuador, based in particular on the development of ‘Amazonian green wealth’ (Villavicencio, 2014; Wilson & Bayón, 2015). It is thereby a key component of the government’s overall ‘postneoliberal’ development strategy promising widespread socio-economic change, an overcoming of the extractive paradigm centred on oil, and a new relationship with nature as expressed in the Plan del Buen Vivir (SENPLADES, 2009; see also Becker, 2011; Ellner, 2011; Burbach et al., 2013). It is one of four ‘emblematic’ universities founded in 2010 as part of a radical education system reform (Saltos Galarza, 2014; Milia, 2014; Villavicencio, 2014), and focuses on the study of “natural resources and biodiversity.” One of the architects cried when they realised that the site chosen for construction of the university was in the middle of the forest, “where a new pole of development is least needed” (Wilson et al., 2015). The campus has displaced a small indigenous community and relegated its inhabitants to a string of identical concrete buildings at the end of a road alongside which real estate prices have soared beyond the reach of anyone but relatively rich settlers, such as foreign academics. Mushuk Kawsay, ‘New Life’, this community is called. 1

All comments are, unless otherwise specified, based on interviews and notes from six months fieldwork in the Ecuadorian Amazon between November 2016 and May 2017 for a project entitled “Between planetary urbanisation and thinking forests” and financed by the Independent Social Research Foundation via the Independent Scholar Fellowship scheme at the Oxford Department of International Development. 2

In 2008, Ecuador defaulted on USD 3.2 billion of bonds. From 2010 onwards, Ecuador has received Chinese loans-for-oil and oil-backed credits for infrastructure and has thus committed a significant amount of its future oil production to China (Sanderson & Forsythe, 2012; Bräutigam & Gallagher, 2014). IKIAM University’s campus is currently being built by a Chinese company.

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Ikiam means ‘forest’ or ‘nature’ in Shuar, one of the ten indigenous languages spoken in the Ecuadorian Amazon. Proclaiming the value of indigenous knowledge of the forest in its promotional materials, and with exclusive access to a ‘living laboratory’ – a nature reserve of over 93,000 hectares, spanning several ecosystems from the Andes mountain range to the Amazon rainforest – IKIAM is presented as a university “in the Amazon, for the Amazon”. Yet this dictum obscures the variety of perspectives on what the Amazon ‘really needs.’ My research focuses on what kind of ‘green transition’ IKIAM actually embodies and catalyses, and how contestations over ‘what the Amazon needs’ are being silenced and contradictory perspectives homogenised. However, in this short contribution to a collective reflection on messy ethnography, I will focus instead on a flurry of questions regarding ethnographic knowledge production that arose during my fieldwork. Through a series of examples, I will highlight the way in which ‘messy ethnography’ leads to the generation of a usually disregarded kind of knowledge, which, I believe, ought to be emphasised, valued and explored as an integral part of research. This short text is hence the beginning of an argument for a critical ethnographic method which values a messy and collective generation of visceral, embodied knowledge, and a spontaneous making of relations and connections, alongside its more conventional ‘aims’ of data collection, textual representation, and theoretical framing.

Producing knowledge through ethnography As “the deliberate attempt to generate more data than the researcher is aware of at the time of collection” (Strathern, 2004: 5-6), ethnography is always at least partially messy, in the sense that the ethnographer collects more material than they know to be relevant, in a certain state of disorder, often devising analytical protocols for these materials after the fact. It is this messiness that affords ethnography its substance. The more varied activities we participate in, the more diverse actors we engage with, the more places we traverse and linger in, the more ‘the field’ swallows us up, the more chaotic our research is likely to appear. Yet it is this richness which makes the foundation for ‘good’ ethnography: for a well-written text which brings alive the messy actualities and surprising intricacies of the social realities encountered, highlighting the variety of human experience – usually, of course, for an exclusively academic audience. In their introduction to the inaugural issue of the Journal of Ethnographic Theory, HAU, Graeber and da Col (2011: vii-x) have urged “to bring [ethnographic insight] back to its leading role in generating new knowledge,” through a renewed focus on “concepts lifted directly from ethnographic

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work.” As researchers, we are supposed to create knowledge that is somehow useful – technologically or socially. That is part of our raison d’être, and underlies the distinction between the researcher and, say, the poet. And while questions regarding whom this knowledge serves are of course an important aspect of critical scholarship (McClung Lee, 1976; Evan, 1987; Burawoy, 2005), they are all too often side-lined: Who can access the knowledge produced? Who can understand it? Who can use it to their ends? Even shorter shrift get questions regarding the nature of the knowledge researchers produce: What exactly counts as knowledge? Datasets, ‘materials,’ thick description, conceptual innovation? A monograph? New worldviews? For whom? Who decides? What about the “visceral register” (Mahmood, 2001) that changes us as people and influences our future actions? What about the experience-asknowledge distributed amongst all those who were touched by our work in the field? In order to destabilise the hegemonic construction of knowledge as (interpreted) dataset, as transmissible through print or digital media, as intellectual property (see also Moeller, 2018), let us focus our attention on the relations we build ‘in the field’ – something feminist researchers have long insisted upon (e.g., Bondi et al., 2002; Moss, 2002; Hesse-Biber, 2014). More knowledge is being created in and through these relationships than is usually made visible: we do not seem to write about or value it. I am not trying to point to the knowledge we might well recognise as co-produced in collaboration with the communities and individuals we research, yet which is meant to be captured in our monographs and peer-reviewed articles (Marcus, 2008), but to another kind of knowledge which the rich messiness of ethnographic research spawns. I am also not trying to point to the cooperative knowledge creation of the kind that participatory action research (Fals-Borda & Rahman, 1991; Reason & Bradbury, 2001), “embedded” (Lewis & Russell, 2011), “engaged” (Plows, 2008), or “collaborative” (Lassiter, 2005) ethnography aims at, which leads to effective action for social change, and where the researcher takes a kind of facilitator role of a process that is crucially community-led. The knowledge creation I want to draw into focus is much more haphazard, a corollary of human encounter, a kind of side-effect of people meeting, and, I suspect, an inevitable part of all ethnographic work. Having considered for discussion terms like ‘theoretical’ vs. ‘practical knowledge’, ‘expert/lay’, ‘formal/informal’, ‘knowledge-for-paper/knowledgefor-action’, ‘knowing-that/knowing-how’, even ‘exchange value knowledge’ and ‘use value knowledge’, and found them wanting, I will instead present a set of examples from my time in the Amazon without aiming at conceptual innovation at this stage. These examples are meant to illustrate how the purposeful generation of superabundant ‘empirical data’ in fieldwork allows the

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flourishing of ‘another’ kind of knowledge to which I want to draw attention. My examples concern above all making connections between hitherto unconnected actors (human-human as well as human-non-human), thereby widening their scope of self-directed action. For reasons of space, I will discuss only the creation of knowledge and not the creation of conflict, disconnection, and ignorance. It is crucial to note, however, that the latter might also be spawned by the same generative (ethnographic) process I am consid3 ering here.

‘Another’ kind of knowledge as unintended consequence of doing ethnography Connecting a group of struggling women fish farmers with a group of traditional midwives: Freshwater fish is a staple of an Amazonian diet. However, with declining water quality and population pressures, wild fish are becoming scarcer as are 4 the time and skill to fish. Ecologically destructive tilapias Oreochromis spp. (Padial et al., 2017) have been farmed in the Ecuadorian Amazon region since the 1980s and have replaced virtually all other freshwater fish on offer in urban and peri-urban markets. Tilapias have wrought havoc in aquatic ecosystems through invasion. Requiring industrial fish feed, their meat is of low 5 quality, and tilapia farmers are dependent on purchasing external inputs. For 6 several years now, a small NGO has been working with a group of women fish farmers on developing ways to farm Cachama (Colossoma macropomum), a species native to the Amazon basin, which thrives on local forest produce and leftovers. Looking for a way to sell their fish beyond their own communities, they provided fish for lunch at a workshop I held as part of my research. This has resulted in a lasting relationship as they continue supplying the birthing centre run by (indigenous) traditional midwives where the workshop took place and has increased collective reflection on local and traditional food and its relationship to industrial aqua- and agriculture.

3

See for example, Greary’s subtle exploration of the effects of ethnographic practice in this volume. 4

Tilapias are invasive species and will eat other species’ fry.

5

Healthy oil composition (ratio of omega 3) is unfavourably changed in farmed tilapia (Karapanagiotidis et al., 2007) and residue toxins are high (Cole et al., 2009). 6

Fundación Centro Lianas.

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Kindling discussions amongst a traditional healers’ association on the pitfalls of encouraging shamanic tourism: The realisation that an ever-increasing number of tourists had become eager to participate in Amazonian healing ceremonies triggered a strong desire amongst an association of traditional healers to seize this opportunity to promote their work. The group ignored some of the potential dangers that had already occurred in other places, notably in Peru where such tourism is already established (Holman, 2010; Kavenská & Simonová, 2015). Asking some tangential questions at a meeting to which I was invited, the members of the association began to have recurring discussions on the physical and mental safety of ceremony participants; conflict and competition amongst traditional healers; fair prices; potential and limits of shamanic healing. This resulted in the association re-contacting defected members in order to learn from their experiences in this context. Previously broken relationships are now being rebuilt as a consequence. Starting a conversation between a grandmother and her teenage grandchildren about the spiritual importance of companion planting in a traditional horticulture plot: The presence of a white foreigner can valorise and bring prestige to a particu7 lar event or moment. My presence in the chakra (traditional forest garden) of an elderly woman with whom I discussed some of her everyday practices, sparked the interest of her grandchildren. They paused to listen and learn about the ancestral understanding of the importance of planting certain plants near others. This interaction constituted a moment of knowledge transmission that might otherwise not have taken place given the widening gap between lives lived by the younger and the older generation of indigenous people at the urban-forest boundary in the Amazon. Questioning the basic assumptions of a workshop series: Observing and participating in a workshop series run by IKIAM staff members using crochet as a tool for environmental education, I had the chance to contribute to an informal conversation which provoked some change in both the content and delivery of the workshops. That it was desirable to teach indigenous communities about the importance of endangered Amazonian species from a ‘scientific’ point of view had been an unexamined assumption of the initiative, which taught a simple knitting technique to create toy animals. It thereby inadvertently denigrated the relevance of these animals in 7

While fortunate in this case, such a dynamic is rooted in a long history of violence and exploitation.

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Napo Runa lives and cosmology, and unwittingly instilled the superiority of Western science over indigenous know-how and worldview. The informal discussion on the back seat of a university vehicle contributed to a minor shift in emphasis and reinforced the project’s potential to create a muchneeded space for mutual learning and more equal cultural exchange. The project has since received an international award for intercultural innova9 tion. Getting access to and then re-distributing and helping people understand a set of governmental maps about land use restrictions: As a researcher, I was able to access several governmental maps straightforwardly, without being questioned or my request being denied for spurious reasons. These maps were useful for a group of people working within a regional indigenous federation. Together, we were quickly able to make sense of these maps and they proved useful in the discussion of land rights issues within the organisation. All these situations have created knowledge and relations – though not for policymakers or industry nor even particularly of any scholarly interest. Ethnography has been criticised – alongside other social research – as an extractive intellectual exercise of the “colonial encounter” (Asad, 1973), which mostly leaves little of real value in the community on whose shoulders the researcher is taking essential steps towards her or his career (e.g. Said, 1978; Spivak, 1988; Stacey, 1988; Clifford & Marcus, 1986; Smith, 1999). Comparatively, little effort is ever put into making the fruits of our mental labouring accessible beyond the peer group, whose verdict alone is deemed significant

8

The Quichua-speaking Napo Runa (literally: people from the Napo River), with whom I work, are a tropical-forest-dwelling people. While cultural ethnographies and cosmological studies of Napo Runa life can be found elsewhere (Uzendoski, 2005; FolettiCastegnario, 1993; Hudleson, 1981; Kohn, 2002; Macdonald, 1999; Muratorio, 1991; Reeve, 1985; Santos Ortíz de Villalba, 1993), it is worth mentioning in this context that the forest was still not so very long ago the wellspring of everything in Napo Runa lives – food, medicine, shelter, artefacts, livelihood. They have (had) affective relationships to the non-human inhabitants of the forest (animals, plants, rocks, caves, watercourses) that resemble relationships people usually have with other people. For the Napo Runa, animals and plants and certain inanimate objects are not qualitatively different beings from humans: all experience the world from an I-point of view (see also Viveiros de Castro, 1998). For their survival and well-being human beings are dependent on making alliances with other non-human people.

9

“Knitting for Conservation” has been awarded the 2017 Intercultural Innovation Award by the United Nations Alliance of Civilizations (UNAOC) and the BMW Group.

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to their evaluation. Yet in many, if not most cases in the social sciences, it is people, communities, phenomena beyond the peer group that afford the substance for our essays, theses, books and articles, that is, for the vehicles of our careers. We trade in ‘the Other’ (Smith, 1999). No matter how post/decolonial our stance, our representations of the lives, deaths, joys, sorrows, everydays, and extraordinaries of other people is the currency with which we acquire a name in print, a seat at the table, and a flight and hotel booking in the pocket. Noting the knowledge overflow which ethnographic fieldwork generates, the knowledge it incidentally creates ‘all around’, for others, in unplanned conjunction with our attempts at achieving our research objectives, by connecting people with other people, ideas, things (e.g. maps) or beings (e.g. 11 fish ), is also noting the way in which ethnography contributes, and not merely extracts from the world(s) we encounter. How valuable such a contribution ultimately is, and to whom, depends on the values we hold and ‘whose side we are on’ (Becker, 1967).

The side I am on In my recent time in the Amazon I have been working with groups of traditional healers and midwives, small producers of guayusa (a caffeinecontaining tree leaf considered as a promising forest commodity and threatening to repeat the boom-and-bust trajectory of previous agricultural exports from the area, such as coffee and cacao), and some members of the hygienic services association providing sanitary services to IKIAM University. Like all people they are knowledge practitioners: users, makers, and transmitters of knowledge in everyday life. While their views and perspectives are heterogeneous, they share in common the experience of accelerated erosion of their autonomous subsistence opportunities. Subsistence, the knowledge-dense practice of self-provisioning without or only with marginal reliance on the market to fulfil everyday as well as extraordinary needs and wants, is being eroded through capital expansion (Illich, 1981) and the concomitant growth of the technosphere (Zalasiewicz et al., 2016). Increasingly evicted from the forest, or forced to live on ever smaller parcels of it, the people I work with are condemned to develop what they refer to as ‘the needs of the city’, a term used to highlight the desires and necessi10

A notable exception here is the anthropologist or other ethnographic researcher who ‘reads’ their text ‘back’ to their informants in order to ensure accuracy. Informants, however, are known to lament the fact that in most cases, the research done does not tell them anything they did not already know. 11

Admittedly, the fish in my case were often dead fish soon to be food.

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ties that mysteriously exude from the consumer culture of urban spaces (Moeller, 2010), and which they are struggling to either fulfil or evade. Given today’s global context of multiple crises, answers to fundamental questions are needed. How could we live together – with other humans as well as non-humans – in a world even more ravaged by war, extreme weather, pollution and consequent shrinking of habitable and fertile land? How would we feed, shelter, heal, enjoy? How would we raise our young? People practicing – and thriving in – subsistence lifeways have much to teach the rest of us. Forest-based subsistence is not a primitive condition to be overcome, but a legitimate, dignified and sustainable mode of being in the world, yet it is under active attack by myriad forces. No matter how illuminating and bestselling an exposition of this onslaught I would be able to produce, I do not feel confident that my written words would help the people who, with their existence, knowledge, and generosity, facilitate my accumulation of cultural capital. The ‘other’ knowledge I incidentally participate in creating, however, just might – even if merely in small, messy ways.

References de Castro, E. V. (1998) Cosmological perspectivism in Amazonia and elsewhere: Four lectures given in the Department of Social Anthropology, University of Cambridge, February–March 1998. Available at: https://haubooks.org/cosmological-perspectivism-in-amazonia/ [Accessed 4th December 2017]. Kavenská, V. & Simonová, H. (2015) Ayahuasca tourism: Participants in shamanic rituals and their personality styles, motivation, benefits and risks. Journal of Psychoactive Drugs, 47(5): 351-9. Kohn, E. (2002) Natural engagements and ecological aesthetics among the Avila Runa of Amazonian Ecuador, PhD Thesis. Madison: University of Wisconsin. Lassiter, L. E. (2005) Collaborative ethnography and public anthropology. Current Anthropology, 46(1): 83–106. Lewis, S. J. & Russell, A. J. (2011) Being embedded: A way forward for ethnographic research. Ethnography, 12(3): 398–416. MacDonald, T. (1999) Ethnicity and culture amidst new “neighbors”: The Runa of Ecuador’s Amazon region. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Mahmood, S. (2001) Feminist theory, embodiment, and the docile agent: Some reflections on the Egyptian Islamic revival. Cultural Anthropology, 16(2): 202–36. Marcus, G. (2008) The end(s) of ethnography: Social/cultural anthropology’s signature form of producing knowledge in transition. Cultural Anthropology, 23(1): 1–14. McClung Lee, A. (1976) Presidential address: Sociology for whom? American Sociological Review, 41(6): 925-36.

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Milia, M. F. (2014) Marco de Políticas Públicas de Ciencia, Tecnología y Educación Superior en el Ecuador. Nuevos horizontes: dinámicas y condicionamientos para una Investigación Universitaria de cara a la Sociedad. Congreso Iberoamericano de Ciencia, Tecnología, Innovación y Educación, Buenos Aires: Organización de Estados Iberoamericanos para la Educación, la Ciencia y la Cultur. Available at: www.oei.es/historico/congreso2014/memoriactei/616.pdf [Accessed 17th November 2017]. Moeller, N. I. (2010) The protection of traditional knowledge in the Ecuadorian Amazon: A critical ethnography of capital expansion, PhD Thesis. Lancaster: Lancaster University. Moeller, N. I. (2018) Plants that speak and institutions that don’t listen: Notes on the protection of traditional knowledge. In Pimbert, M. (ed.), Food sovereignty, agroecology and biocultural diversity: Constructing and contesting knowledge (pp.202-32). London: Routledge. Moss, P. (ed.) (2002) Feminist geography in practice. Oxford: Blackwell. Muratorio, B. (1991) The life and times of grandfather Alonso: Culture and history in the upper Amazon. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Padial, A. A., Agostinho, Â. A., Azevedo-Santos, V. M., Frehse, F. A., LimaJunior, D. P., ... Vitule, J. R. S. (2017) The “Tilapia Law” encouraging nonnative fish threatens Amazonian River basins. Biodiversity and Conservation,26(1): 243-6. Plows, A. (2008) Social movements and ethnographic methodologies: An analysis using case study examples. Sociology Compass, 2(5): 1523–38. Reason, P. & Bradbury, H. (eds.) (2001) Handbook of action research. London: Sage. Reeve, M. E. (1985) Identity as process: The meaning of Runapura for Quichua speakers of the Curaray River, eastern Ecuador, PhD Thesis. Urbana: University of Illinois. Said, E. W. (1978) Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books. Saltos Galarza, N. (2014) La polifonía de Platón de la universidad a la pluriversidad: Reforma universitaria y modernización. In various authors, La restauración conservadora del correísmo (pp.178-89). Quito: Montecristi Vive. Sanderson, H. & Forsythe, M. (2012) China's superbank: Debt, oil and influence - How China Development Bank is rewriting the rules of finance. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons. Santos Ortíz de Villalba, J. (1993) Quichua Amazónicos. Los pueblos Indios en sus mitos. Quito: Abya-Yala. SENPLADES (2009) Plan nacional para el buen vivir 2009-2013 versión resumida. Quito: SENPLADES. Smith, L. T. (1999) Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples. London: Zed Books. Spivak, G. C. (1988) Can the subaltern speak? In C. Nelson & L. Grossberg (eds.), Marxism and the interpretation of culture (pp.271-313). Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Stacey, J. (1988) Can there be a feminist ethnography? Women’s Studies International Forum, 11(1): 21-7.

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Strathern, M. (2004) Partial connections. Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield. Uzendoski, M. (2005) The Napo Runa of Amazonian Ecuador. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Villavicencio, A. (2014) La universidad virtuosa. Boletín Informativo Spondylus. Quito: Universidad Andina Simón Bolívar. Wilson, J., Bayón, M. & Diez, H. (2015) Post-neoliberalism and planetary urbanization in the Ecuadorian Amazon.CENEDET Working Paper 1. Quito: IAEN. Zalasiewicz, J., Williams, M., Waters, C. N., Barnosky, A. D., Palmesino, J., Rönnskog, A. S., ... Wolfe, A. P. (2016) Scale and diversity of the physical technosphere: A geological perspective. The Anthropocene Review, 4(1): 922.

Section 2 Messy Ethics

Chapter 5

The case for more ethnographic research with the criminal’s perspective Lisa Potter Abstract This chapter argues the case for more ethnographic research on illicit markets from the criminal’s perspective. This objective is achieved by providing an overview of the researcher’s own ongoing ethnographic study in a town in north-east England involving the buyers’ and sellers’ of pirated DVDs and pirated android boxes to support this argument. It begins by providing explanations as to why there has been a decline of ethnographic research on crime and deviance. Next, it discusses the practical and ethical challenges researcher’s experience when researching criminal and deviant groups. It finishes by discussing the benefits and limitations of ethnographic research with the criminal’s perspective.

Key words Ethnography; crime and deviance; criminals’ perspective; illicit markets.

Introduction This chapter presents the case for more ethnographic research on illicit markets. More specifically, it argues that ethnographic research can provide vital insight into those engaged in criminal activity within crime and deviance research. This aim is achieved by providing an in-depth analysis of my own ongoing ethnographic study, involving buyers and sellers of pirated DVDs and pirated android boxes. Pirated DVDs involve making an unauthorised copy of someone else’s copyrighted content such as movies or TV shows and then selling this copy (Trading Standards, 2017). Pirated Android boxes are a form of illicit streaming device which are “set-top boxes that have illegal add-ons to access illegal content. Most commonly known as Kodi boxes with additional add-ons” (Federation Against Copyright Theft, FACT, 2017: 2). To begin, I offer

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some potential reasons why there has been a decline of ethnographic research on crime and deviance. Specifically, I argue that the practical and ethical challenges researchers encounter when engaging in ethnographic practice has led to a decline in this methodology. I then propose that ethnographic research is a vital form of social research and a means of researching the social realities of criminal and deviant groups. This aim is achieved by presenting the benefits and limitations of ethnographic research with the criminal’s perspective.

Ethnography and criminology [Ethnography involves] the ethnographer participating, overtly or covertly, in people’s daily lives for an extended period of time, watching what happens, listening to what is said, asking questions (Hammersley & Atkinson, 1995: 1). There are several definitions given to ethnographic research raising the question whether ethnography is a methodological tool or a methodology (see Brewer, 2000). For the purposes of this discussion, my view draws parallels with Noaks and Wincup (2004: 93) who define ethnography as a ‘research strategy rather than a method which is linked especially with two data collection techniques: participant observation and in-depth interviews.’ Within the social sciences there has been a long tradition of researchers adopting an ethnographic approach when researching issues of crime and deviance (see Hobbs, 2001 for an overview); “Deviants…develop a life of their own that becomes meaningful, reasonable, and normal once you get close to it” (Goffman, 1968: 1). There have been numerous ethnographic studies on illicit markets involving sellers of illicit goods in the UK (L’Hoiry, 2013; Hornsby & Hobbs, 2007; Treadwell 2012; Hall & Antonopoulos, 2015). However, in recent decades there has been a decline of ethnographic research within criminology (Copes, 2012; Copes et al., 2011). There are several factors which have contributed towards the decline of ethnographic research with the criminals’ perspective. The criminology ethnographic literature suggests the main reason for this decline is the emergence of ethical guidelines, research ethics boards, and university ethics committees (Noaks & Wincup, 2004; Winlow & Hall, 2012; Adler & Adler 1994, 2003). In the 1990s university ethics committees were emerging, albeit with limited guidelines which predominately focused upon informed consent and the protection of the researcher and participant from harm. This saw for the first time, research projects which involved sensitive topics such as discussions of criminal and deviant behaviour requiring submission for ethical approval (Adler & Adler, 1994).

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These [guidelines] fundamentally outlaw data gathered through direct experience or observation on nearly all aspects of deviant behaviour. The implications for [the] future of this field of sociology are large (Adler & Adler, 1994: 389). Ethical guidelines have significantly developed since the 1990s which has resulted in ethnographies of deviance becoming “increasingly rare” (Hobbs, 2001: 215). While attending networking events, my conversations with other researchers conducting ethnographies on crime and deviance have demonstrated that in recent years this type of research has become increasingly more difficult to gain ethical approval for. Ethnographies are subject to such high ethical standards as researchers spend a long time with their participants, therefore, there are numerous ethical and practical issues likely to arise (Adler & Adler, 1994). Some researchers have attributed this decline to a broader problem within criminology that fails to examine crime and deviance from a criminal’s perspective (Maguire, 2000; Hobbs, 2001; Hobbs, 2000; Copes & Hochstetler, 2010). As Maguire (2000: 121) reports, “criminologists nowadays spend surprisingly little of their time talking to criminals.” Instead, researchers favour the criminal justice agency’s perspective over the criminal’s perspective (Hobbs, 2000, 2001; Ferrell &Hamm, 1998; Wright et al., 1992). Criminologists rely upon official sources and media-focused accounts, thereby providing an often one-sided account of more complex issues (Rawlinson, 2008). In the 1980s, Adler & Adler (1987) predicted that ethnographic research within the social sciences would decline. They suggested that research funding bodies would continue to prefer funding quantitative studies over qualitative studies. Their predictions were accurate; Hobbs (2015) provides a detailed explanation as to why funding bodies have this preference. The decline of ethnographic research with the criminal’s viewpoint within criminology is problematic for researching illicit markets as, the ‘insider’s perspective’ - the sellers of illicit goods viewpoint - is essential in developing an understanding of ‘criminal reality’ (Hobbs, 2000: 167). That is, the criminals’ standpoint is of pivotal importance in understanding all aspects of illicit markets from seller’s motivations, to how they go about ‘doing the business’ (Hobbs, 1988), to consumers’ demands for such illicit goods within the criminal retail market (L’Hoiry, 2013; Hornsby & Hobbs, 2007; Wilshire et al., 2001). Despite the ethical and practical challenges involved in ethnographic research with the criminal’s perspective, it is not impossible (Hobbs & Antonopoulos, 2014). In a quest to challenge the decline and justify why an ethnographic approach is still important for criminologists today, I reflect on my journey of conducting ethnographic research in the illicit market trade of pirated DVD and pirated android boxes.

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My PhD study The creation of streaming technology has rapidly transformed the movie and television show marketplace (Ofcom, 2015; Butler, 2016). In the past, these commodities were bought and sold both legally and illegally in DVD format. In recent years, there has been a shift in the consumer market from DVDs to a range of Internet-enabled devices (Ofcom, 2015; Intellectual Property Office IPO, 2015a). An analysis of IPO and FACT sources demonstrates that while the pirated DVD market has declined there has been a rapid developing marketplace in pirated android set top boxes (IPO, 2015a; IPO 2015b; FACT, 2017). The purpose of my PhD research is to understand the supply and demand for pirated DVDs and pirated android boxes. Like other studies on illicit markets, I aim to understand the supply and demand for illicit goods using two perspectives: the buyers’ and the sellers’ of this illicit product (e.g., Hall & Antonopoulos, 2015; Hornsby & Hobbs, 2007; Adler 1993). My research involves exploring: • • •

What are the buyers’ and sellers’ motivations for buying and selling this illicit product? Who demographically are the buyers’ and sellers’ of this illicit product? What are the benefits and limitations of participating in the trade in these illicit products?

To better understand this particular illicit market, I apply a qualitative research design. I have two separate research groups examining the buyers’ and sellers’ perspectives of the illicit market. In total, I have 40 participants and they are broken down into the following sub-groups: • •

Sellers: 10 former sellers of pirated DVDs, 10 former sellers of pirated android boxes Buyers: 10 former buyers of pirated DVDs and 10 current buyers of pirated android boxes

I specifically adopt an ethnographic approach involving face-to-face, semistructured interviews and overt participant observation methods carried out over a two-year period in two public houses in a town in North East England. I use these locations because public houses as a research setting are public places which are often used by ethnographers when researching criminal and deviant behaviour (Young, 1971; L’Hoiry 2013). However, as discussed, this ethnographic approach to research the criminals’ perspective is often avoided and receives resistance and criticism due to practical, legal and ethical concerns (Wright et al., 1992; Polsky, 1969; Antonopoulos, 2008; Ferrell and

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Hamm, 1998). Nonetheless, this ethnographic research design is an important and well-needed addition to this area of investigation. I now describe the process of conducting this ethnographic research drawing on the practical and ethical challenges I have encountered while in the field. In addition, I outline how some of these problems have been resolved by myself and other researchers. The first stage of observational research is to select a setting and if the observer is not already in the setting, the second stage is to gain entry (Adler & Adler, 1994). Criminal and deviant groups are often difficult to access in their everyday localities as they constitute a hidden population; subsequently, a gatekeeper is often required to facilitate access (Hobbs, 2000; Adler, 1990; 1993). If the researcher is using a gatekeeper they have two options, they can either go through the criminal justice agencies and research convicted offenders or go directly to the criminals and research active offenders (Hobbs, 2000; Hobbs, 2007; Wright et al., 1992; Hobbs & Antonopoulos, 2014). If the researcher chooses to research active criminals they can recruit participants from their personal contact pool, and then use snowball sampling technique to identify more participants (Adler, 1993; Hobbs, 2013; 1988). Alternatively, they can approach street sellers of illicit goods in public places (Antonopoulos et al., 2011). When researching illicit markets, the sampling technique used largely depends on the nature of the activity concerned (Hobbs & Antonopoulos, 2014). Criminals, when encountered on their own ground, have nothing to gain by talking to the researcher, and they have everything to lose especially if they are active offenders (Hobbs, 2000; Antonopoulos, 2008). However, if the researcher shares a similar biography to their participants, this helps to gain trust which can lead to gaining acceptance into the group (Hobbs, 2000; 2007; Adler, 1993). In my study, recruitment of participants via criminal justice agencies was not an option as there has been a lack of arrests involving sellers of pirated android boxes in Northern England (FACT, 2017); therefore, there is a lack of convicted offenders to interview. Since a lone researcher approaching street sellers of illicit goods is not regarded as safe (Adler, 1993), I, therefore, used my personal contact pool to recruit my participants. They provided access to more participants. Acquiring the participants’ trust is essential when interviewing criminals as they are suspicious by nature (Hobbs, 2000; Antonopoulos, 2008). I share a similar social background to my participants; therefore my ‘cultural credibility’ (Hobbs, 2000) –amongst other things- helped me to gain the participants trust. As there is not enough space to discuss all the practical and ethical challenges researchers face when undertaking field research within illicit markets I will provide an account of the ethical questions myself and others in my

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field are most frequently asked about. When researchers write about their experience conducting ethnographic research on illicit markets and more broadly on crime and deviance there are two main ethical issues which are most frequently cited within the ethnographic literature: harm to the participant (Humphries, 1975; Whyte, 1993; Jacobs, 2006) and harm to the researcher (Calvey, 2000; Wright et al. 1992; Patrick, 1973; Pryce, 1979). Therefore, these two issues are reviewed in relation to my own research and I explain 1 how I minimised the risk of harm. Ethical guidelines propose researchers should implement risk management strategies to reduce the likelihood of harm to the researcher in the field (ESRC, 2015). In my study, during all field visits, I was accompanied by a male family member to minimise my risk of harm from being a lone researcher. I used a check-in system with my supervisor, so they knew who I was with, where I was and what time I expected to return. When conducting fieldwork with the criminal’s perspective, the researcher must find a balance between competing ethical regulations: to respect participants’ right to informed consent and protect them from harm. In my study all participants were asked to give consent. But it was expected that as many other ethnographic studies of crime and deviance have encountered, that some participants (buyers or sellers) will not provide written consent; they will not write their names because of the legal implications and activities they are involved with as they will wish to remain anonymous. As the ESRC Framework for Research Ethics makes clear that, in particular, the field of study of illicit markets: ...where fully informed consent would compromise the objective of the research. In some circumstances (such as when users of illegal drugs and illegal groups are involved) written consent might also create unnecessary risks for research participants (ESRC 2015: 31). The use of signed consent forms may compromise issues of confidentiality and anonymity which are important issues where participants are in need of protection. Participants may fear that signed consent forms may make the information they provide traceable to them which may make them vulnerable to potential investigation and prosecution by the criminal justice system (in the case of illegal activities) (ESRC, 2005: 17). For those participants, verbal consent was obtained. The researcher read the information sheet and informed consent sheet to the participants and signed the informed consent

1

See Hobbs and May (1993) Interpreting the Field for a more detailed account of the methodological, practical and ethical challenges field researchers encounter when they aim to immerse themselves in other people’s lives.

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form on their behalf. This practice of verbal consent is commonly used within ethnographic studies of illicit markets and when researching illegal activities (Coomber, 2002; Ensign, 2003; Hobbs, 2000; Bernasco, 2010). Consent is not a one-off process; it is ongoing. The criminal justice system has the power to seize researcher’s notes if they believe the notes will assist with a criminal investigation (Adler, 1993) therefore my participants have been reminded 2 throughout the study that their participation in my study is voluntary. I will now outline the benefits and limitations of ethnographic methods in relation to my own study. Participant observation and interview techniques are often the only methods possible for studying deviant and criminal subcultures especially those involved with illicit markets (Adler, 1993) because the illegal nature of their activities makes them ‘secretive, deceitful, and mistrustful’ of outsiders (Adler, 1993: 11). Ethnographic methods were chosen for my study because they presented two main benefits. Using ethnographic methods, the researcher is able to gain an understanding of the participants’ social world through prolonged interaction which they are unlikely to achieve using interview methods alone (Adler, 1993; Bryman, 2012). Once the researcher has developed the deviant or criminal group’s trust they may then be accepted as part of the group thereby receiving insider status; subsequently, the participants may confide in the researcher and reveal information that participants are unwilling to share with outsiders (Adler, 1993; Hobbs, 2007). Once the participants in my study viewed me as a member of their group the sellers began to reveal information about how they go about ‘doing the business’ (Hobbs, 1988) of selling pirated video goods which they state they would not share with outsiders. An ethnographic approach provided the criminals’ perspective on selling pirated video goods. When participant observation and interview techniques are used together, they can complement each other and these methods have proven to be well suited in the development of knowledge about criminal and deviant behaviour (Adler, 1993 Hobbs, 1988; Adler & Adler, 2003). In my study, I immersed myself in the buyers’ and sellers’ localised setting of the public-house for a long period of time engaging in their social activities of watching sports on the pirated android box and playing pool. When my participants discussed the benefits and limitations of using pirated android boxes to watch sports I was able to verify their responses with my own experiences from direct observations. There are two main limitations of ethnographic methods when researching crime and deviance: validity and reliability (Whyte, 1993; Copes, 2012; Noaks

2

My project received ethical approval from my university: code 712.

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& Wincup, 2004). There are several strategies the researcher can employ to improve the validity of their participant’s accounts such as using a process of ‘member checking’ (Antonopoulos, 2008; L’Hoiry, 2013; Adler, 1993). This is “a process in which collected data is played back to the informant to check for perceived accuracy and reactions” (Cho & Trent, 2006: 322). In my research, I employed a member checking process by asking my participants the same or similar questions throughout the research process. I also employed a ‘cross checking’ process to identify untruthful accounts; this process is commonly used when researching criminal and deviant groups and is where the researcher checks their participants’ accounts with those of the other participants (Antonopoulos, 2008; L’Hoiry, 2013; Adler, 1993). To improve validity Adler (1993) recommends researchers check participants’ accounts against other sources; therefore, I analysed media reports and previous research by Antonopoulos et al. (2011) involving interviews with sellers of pirated DVDs. Within the social sciences, the reliability of studies which use interview and observation methods is often questioned because studies using these methods cannot be replicated (Brewer, 2000; Hammersley & Atkinson, 1995). Field studies on illicit markets often use a snowball sampling method to identify participants, therefore, the sample is limited to the researcher’s own social network (Wright et al.,1992). Subsequently, the information the participants have provided cannot be generalized beyond the study sample to describe all actors within that particular illicit market; the findings can only be used to describe the participants under study (Antonopoulos, 2008). However qualitative research does not aim to make generalisable claims; its purpose is to gain a high level of data (Hobbs &Antonopoulos, 2014). The findings in my study cannot be generalised beyond the sample group, but they can be used to gain a detailed understanding of the pirated DVD and pirated android box market.

Conclusion This chapter has presented the case for more ethnographic research on illicit markets with the criminal’s perspective and has demonstrated the importance of this research design in understanding crime and deviance. My ethnographic study has demonstrated that although there are practical, legal and ethical challenges using an ethnographic research design, this research is of pivotal importance in acquiring the criminal’s perspective.

References Adler, P. A. (1990) Ethnographic research on hidden populations: Penetrating the drug world. In E.Y. Lambert (ed.), The collection and interpretation of

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data from hidden populations (pp.96-112). Washington: US Government Printing Office. Adler, P. A. (1993) Wheeling and dealing: An ethnography of an upper-level drug dealing and smuggling community. New York: Columbia University Press. Adler, P. A. & Adler, P. (1987) The past and the future of ethnography. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 16(1): 4-24. Adler, P. A. & Adler, P. (1994) Observational techniques. In Denzin, N. K. & Yvonna, S. L. (eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (pp.377-91). Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications. Adler, P. A. & Adler, P. (2003) The promise and pitfalls of going into the field. Contexts,2(2): 41–7. Antonopoulos, G. A. (2008) Interviewing retired cigarette smugglers. Trends in Organised Crime, 11(1): 70-81. Antonopoulos, G. A., Hobbs, D. & Hornsby, R. (2011) Soundtrack to (illegal) entrepreneurship: Pirated CD/DVD selling in a Greek provincial city. British Journal of Criminology, 51(5): 804–22. Bernasco, W. (2010) Offenders on offending: Learning about crime from criminals. Cullompton: Willian. Brewer, J. D. (2000) Ethnography. Buckingham: Open University Press. th Bryman, A. (2012) Social research methods (4 edn.) Oxford: Oxford University Press. Butler, L. (2016) ERA 2016 Year book- stats intro. Available at: http://www.eraltd.org/insights/era-yearbook[Accessed 1st August 2016]. Calvey, D. (2000) Getting on the door and staying there: A covert participant observational study of bouncers. In: Lee-Treweek, G. &Linkogle, S. (eds.), Danger in the field: Risk and ethics in social research (pp.43-60). London: Routledge. Cho, J. & Trent, A. (2006) Validity in qualitative research revisited. Qualitative Research, 6(3): 319–40. Coomber, R. (2002) Signing your life away? Why Research Ethics Committees (REC) shouldn't always require written confirmation that participants in research have been informed of the aims of a study and their rights - the case of criminal populations. Sociological Research Online,7(1) Available at:http://www.socresonline.org.uk/7/1/coomber.html [Accessed 19th June 2016]. Copes, H. (2012) Advancing qualitative methods in criminology and criminal justice. Oxon: Routledge. Copes, H. & Hochstetler, A. (2010) Interviewing the incarcerated: Promises and pitfalls. In W. Bernasco (ed.), Offenders on offending: Learning about crime from criminals (pp.49-67). Cullompton: Willian. Copes, H., Brown, A. & Tewksbury, R. (2011) A content analysis of ethnographic research published in top criminology and criminal justice journals from 2000 to 2009. Journal of Criminal Justice Education, 22(3): 341-59. Ensign, J. (2003) Ethical issues in qualitative health research with homeless youths. . Journal of Advanced Nursing,43(1): 43-50.

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ESRC (2005) Informed consent in social research: A literature review, ESRC National Centre for Research Methods. Available at: http [Accessed 1st May2016]. ESRC (2015) ESRC Framework for research ethics. Available at: http://www.esrc.ac.uk/files/funding/guidance-for-applicants/esrcth framework-for-research-ethics-2015/ [Accessed 5 October 2015]. Federation Against Copyright Theft, FACT (2017) Cracking down on digital piracy report. Available at: https://www.factuk.org.uk/files/2017/09/Cracking-Down-on-Digital-Piracy-Report-Sept2017.pdf[Accessed 2nd October 2017]. Ferrell, J. & Hamm, M. S. (1998) True confessions: Crime, deviance and field research. In J. Ferrell & M. S. Hamm (eds.), Ethnography on the Edge (pp.219.). Boston: North Eastern University Press. Goffman, E. (1968) Asylums. Harmondsworth: Penguin Hall, A. & Antonopoulos, G. A. (2015) License to pill: Illegal entrepreneurs’ tactics in the online trade of medicines. In P.C. van Duyne, A. Maljevic, G.A. Antonopoulos, J. Harvey & K. von Lampe (eds.), The relativity of wrongdoing: Corruption, organised crime, fraud and money laundering in perspective (pp.229-52). Nijmegen: Wolf Legal Publishers. Hammersley, M. & Atkinson, P. (1995) Ethnography: Principles in practice, nd (2 edn). London: Routledge. Hobbs, D. (1988) Doing the business: Entrepreneurship, the working class and detectives in the East End of London. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hobbs, D. (2000) Researching serious crime. In R. D. King & E. Wincup (eds.), Doing research on crime and justice (pp.153-82). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hobbs, D. (2001) Ethnography and the study of deviance. In P. Atkinson (ed.), The handbook of ethnography (pp.205-16). London: Sage Hobbs, D. (2013) Lush life: Constructing organised crime in the UK. Oxford: OUP. Hobbs, R. (2015) Criminal practice: Fieldwork and improvisation in difficult circumstances. In J. Miller & W. R. Palacios (eds.), Qualitative research in criminology (pp.15-34). New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers. Hobbs, D. & Antonopoulos, G.A. (2014) How to research organised crime. In L. Paoli (ed.), The Oxford handbook of organised crime (pp.96-117). New York: Oxford University Press. Hobbs, D. & May, T. (1993) Interpreting the field: Accounts of ethnography. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hornsby, R. & Hobbs, D. (2007) A zone of ambiguity - The political economy of cigarette bootlegging. British Journal of Criminology, 47(4): 551-71. Humphries, L. (1975) Tearoom trade: Impersonal sex in public places (enlarged edition). New York: Aldine. Jacobs, B. A. (2006) The case for dangerous fieldwork. In D. Hobbs & R. Wright (eds.), The Sage handbook of fieldwork (pp.158-68). London: SAGE. Intellectual Property Office, IPO (2015A) Online copyright infringement tracker survey (5th Wave). Available at:

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https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/online-copyrightinfringement-tracker-survey-5th-wave[Accessed 9th December 2015]. Intellectual Property Office, IPO (2015B) IP Crime Report, 2015/2016. Available at: https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/annual-ip-crime-report2015-to-2016 [Accessed 9th December 2016]. L’Hoiry, X. (2013) Shifting the stuff wasn’t any bother – Illicit enterprise, tobacco smuggling and government definitions. Trends in Organized Crime, 16(4): 413-34. Maguire, M. (2000) Researching ‘street criminals’: A neglected art? In R. D. King & E. Wincup (eds.), Doing criminological research (pp.121–52). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Noaks, L. & Wincup, E. (2004) Ethnographic approaches to researching crime and deviance. In L. Noaks & E. Wincup (eds.), Criminological research: Understanding qualitative methods (pp.90-104). London: SAGE. Ofcom (2015) The communications market report. Available at: http://stakeholders.ofcom.org.uk/binaries/research/cmr/cmr15/CMR_UK _2015.pdf[Accessed 1st June 2016]. Patrick, J. (1973) A Glasgow gang observed. London: Eyre Methuen. Pryce, K. (1979) Endless pressure: A study of west Indian life-styles in Bristol. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Polsky, N. (1969) Hustlers, beats and others. New York: Doubleday Rawlinson, P. (2008) Mission impossible? Researching organized crime. In R.D. King & E. Wincup (eds.), Research on crime and deviance (pp.291-313). New York: Oxford University Press. Trading Standards (2017) Understanding your rights: Counterfeit goods and IP theft. Available at: http://www.devonsomersettradingstandards.gov.uk/consumers/understan ding-your-rights/counterfeit-goods-ip-theft/[Accessed 21.3.18]. Treadwell, J. (2012) From the car boot to booting it up? eBay, online counterfeit crime and the transformation of the criminal marketplace. Criminology & Criminal Justice, 12(2): 175-91. Wilshire, S., Bancroft, A., Amos, A. & Parry, O. (2001) “They’re doing people a service”: Qualitative study of smoking, smuggling and social deprivation. British Medical Journal, 23 (1): 203-7. Winlow, S. & Hall, S. (2012) What is an ethics committee: Academic governance in an epoch of belief and incredulity. British Journal of Criminology, 52(1): 400-16. Whyte, W. F. (1993) Revisiting street corner society. Sociological Forum, 8(2): 285-98, Springer [Online] Available at: https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/BF01115494 [Accessed 7th August 2017]. Wright, R., Decker, S., Redfern, A. & Smith, S. (1992) A snowballs chance in hell: Doing fieldwork with active residential burglars. Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 29(1): 148-61. Young, J. (1971) The drug takers; The social meaning of drug use. London: McGibbon & Kee

Chapter 6

Managing morality: neoliberal ethics regimes and messy field work Rafi Alam Abstract Ethics committees purport to protect researchers and participants from harm – but an examination of these committees indicates that this is not always their primary rationale. This chapter seeks to argue that the neoliberal shift in the university has also affected their ethics bodies, becoming a system of risk management and regulating the behaviour of researchers. It will also critique the neoliberal expectations of ethics committees that demand certainty from researchers in an uncertain world, rooted in the work of Law (2004) and his idea of ‘mess’ in social science research. This chapter will draw upon preliminary experiences from an ethnographic study of Community Legal Centres and its own positioning in a neoliberal society.

Key words Neoliberalism; ethics; Community Legal Centres; risk management; mess.

Introduction The fluid, anarchic, and messy realities of ethnography stand in contrast to the strict moral edicts of social research, codified in academic ethics systems. Social science researchers pursuing human research are well-aware of the often cumbersome processes of gaining approval from ethics boards, and this is often exacerbated in ethnographic research; ethnography, after all, places researchers in a fundamentally uncontrolled environment – the real world, “filled with currents, eddies, flows, vortices, unpredictable changes, storms, and with moments of lull and calm” (Law, 2004: 7). This chapter will not be about my own ethics process – rather, it is a critique of the distortion that modern academic ethics apparatuses distil into the social sciences, rooted in experiences and analysis of Australian institutional ethics systems. Critiques of ethics are not new, and inevitably many researchers will resent guidelines

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that limit the scope or content of their work, but this chapter will argue that ethics systems can distort both the results of research and the way the academy and society think about ethics. This chapter will focus on demonstrating and critiquing the impact of neoliberalism on ethnographic research and the research ethics that guide our fieldwork. As Law discusses, research methods do not measure reality, but rather construct reality (Law, 2004: 18-9), and I will thus argue that the neoliberal ethics systems that guide our research – much like research methods – lead to outcomes that necessarily shape our research and subjects in neoliberal logics.

Neoliberalism and the academy Coded into modern institutions are the logics and outcomes of neoliberalism. Neoliberalism underlies the actions of individuals, collectives, organisations, and societies, and to this end, the university is not immune (Gaffikin & Perry, 2009; Shore, 2010; Rea, 2016). Likewise, Community Legal Centres (CLCs) – organisations developed in order to ameliorate and challenge the impact of capitalism, and which will be discussed further below - cannot remove itself from the credo of neoliberalism (Thornton, 2005: 156; Noone & Tomsen, 2006: 228-9). When we discuss neoliberalism, we have to mention certain key concepts: resource efficiency, deregulation of the market, privatisation, ‘selfreliance’ and the standardisation of evaluation measurements (Neilson, 2015: 192). The neoliberal system is rooted in a core ideology of scarcity – that there are only so many resources in the world, and that as such the state and society must allow markets to freely choose the most efficient and deserved way to distribute material resources to individuals and organisations (Dawson, 2007: 97-8; Neilson, 2015: 192-4). Therefore, when we consider the work of the ethnographer, we must consider it within their positioning inside neoliberal systems. This includes not only the spaces in which ethnographers do their fieldwork but the academy itself. This is particularly due to the ‘messy’ nature of ethnography, one that is time-consuming, unpredictable, and risky – both in terms of human interaction and in the prospect that the research won’t deliver precise results – and therefore incompatible with many aspects of neoliberal research. At the university, things have changed. Universities in Australia – and worldwide – have been shaped into institutions competing for funding and status, much like other previously independent quasi-public organisations (Abbott & Doucouliagos, 2009: 33). Faculty staff are given tighter deadlines, stricter KPIs, more administrative work, and have been inundated with teaching roles over research (Herbert, et al., 2014); casualisation has affected younger academics, with insecure work and insufficient pay for preparing for classes and marking papers (Kimber & Ehrich, 2015); and undergraduate and

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postgraduate students have been stripped of learning resources while given two options in the job market – a pathway to paid work through countless hours of unpaid work, or a pathway into unemployment (Rea, 2016). Without falling back on to romantic notions of the ‘good old days’ of the university, it is difficult to argue that universities have not been caught up in the neoliberal logics of organisation that other institutions in western liberal societies have succumbed to. Ethics committees and boards are not immune to these neoliberal shifts. Although academic ethics are grounded in concepts of universal morality and laws, the realities of day-to-day organisational processes supersede these lofty goals. Ethics boards are designed first and foremost to protect the university from risk (Halse & Honey, 2007). The term ‘risk’ recurs in the Australian ethics framework, the National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research – specifically Chapter 2.1, ‘Risk and Benefit’ (National Health and Medical Research Council [NHMRC], 2015: 12-16) – and at face value it makes sense: is research worth it if it puts researchers, participants, or broader society at risk? Should we research just for research’s sake, despite everything? Haven’t we seen what has happened before – such as the crimes of medical science during the Holocaust, which the National Statement is premised to prevent happening again (NHMRC, 2015: 3)? But we see that ethics protocols exist to protect the university from potential risk, and avoiding public relations disasters or worse, losing funding or being sued. Heimer and Petty note that “although IRBs might have been intended to be ethical gatekeepers, when we look closely at what they actually do, we see a strong family resemblance to any other bureaucracy” and that “like other bureaucracies, IRBs have to tell workers how to do their jobs” (2010: 618). They also observe that for universities, ethics is a risk management device that protects universities from costly legal problems – not in terms of litigation from harmed human research subjects, but from governments threatening to pull funding away subsequent to risky or controversial research (Heimer & Petty, 2010: 620-1). In this regard, the micromanagement of personal behaviour that ethics demands is a reflection of the broader neoliberalisation of institutions in society. Elizabeth Chin notes that: As a neoliberal institution, the role of the IRB is in fact to enforce a narrowed view of what research actually is … It is in this way that the IRB starts to look like the welfare system, whose purpose can be seen not so much as providing support to individuals in need, but primarily as compelling a narrow range of behaviours from them (Chin, 2013: 204).

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Much like welfare institutions under neoliberalism, we can begin to see how ethics committees used rules in order to regulate the conduct of individuals in order to fit within a mode of scarcity – in the case of welfare, the scarcity of social security funds, and in the case of universities, competition over a scarcity of academic reputation and grants.

Organised chaos in CLCs: reflections In order to illustrate the conflict between neoliberal ethics systems and organisational fieldwork, I will draw upon reflections of ethnographic research conducted as part of my doctoral thesis, which at the time of writing is still ongoing. These reflections will demonstrate areas where research ethics are messy and when the institutional requirements of the academy become difficult to balance with the real demands of interpersonal relationships. The basis of these analyses also ties into a concept of ‘organised chaos’ – a term that emerged repeatedly in the field – in the CLC workplace that stems from a very parallel situation of community lawyering: the strict and demanding procedures of legal practice existing alongside unpredictable and socially complex realities of working with disadvantaged and high needs clients. The necessity of predictability and forward planning in ethics frameworks is contradistinct from the realities of studying community organisations and the legal assistance sector, in particular when using ethnographic methods. The predictability of ethics may apply to certain situations – online surveys with prefixed options, or even interviews in controlled settings; as Tolich and Fitzgerald (2006) note, “the notion of a stable, knowable world lends itself to an ethics review process that can approve a known or predictable set of circumstances” (2006: 72). Ethnographic research, however, necessitates an acceptance of randomness and chaos – that the field will not always be the way you expect (Tolich & Fitzgerald, 2006). The fluid, unpredictable nature of ethnography led to a lengthy correspondence with the ethics committee overseeing this research. Ethnographers will know how rarely events will go as planned, and how often situations will rapidly change – new actors may enter the field, and relationships fluctuate. While in public settings reality’s fluidity is expected, this occurs in organisations too. For instance, CLC volunteering usually involves organising intake, referrals, and triage of clients who (primarily) call in and sometimes walk-in to book appointments. Generally, there are strict procedures for volunteers – who are mostly non-practicing law students – to follow, and as such most client issues can be categorised and sorted into systems that can then get them legal assistance or refer them to someone else who can help. CLCs have many guidelines to follow as to who they can help, both externally determined via legislation, and also internally via CLC policies. However, the predicted nature of this volunteering work is not always

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how it turns out. Problems may not be easily categorisable, or it may be unclear which of various legal categories it may fit under; more difficult, perhaps, is when there is a disconnect between how severe or urgent the problem is to the client and how the CLC’s procedures may view it – and in between is the volunteer or staff member who must mediate between a human concern and an organisational policy. This is in particular in cases where people may walk into the CLC and discuss a fairly serious problem with an otherwise professionally and/or emotionally unprepared volunteer. Another element of the organised chaos of CLC work is the emotional and feminised aspects of work. CLCs are the most feminised form of legal work in Australia, with 79.5% of paid staff being female in 2013 (National Association of Community Legal Centres, 2014: 20); also, a majority of research participants in this study were female. The symptoms of this are the same as we see in most other professions that are feminised – far lower wages than other legal professionals, even compared to other public legal assistance services (Forell, et al., 2010: 60-63). Another interesting aspect of the influence of this feminised labour and its relationship to neoliberalism is the role of emotional labour. No other legal institution has emotional care as such a large part of the role. Clients may have complex problems, where a housing issue might also be linked to a domestic violence issue or a death in the family or police violence. Lawyers are expected to bring care into their work, as are volunteers. However, this exists alongside very strict reporting measures and a need to deal with many different cases with very little staff or money. While previously it wasn’t uncommon for a lawyer to spend all night with a client drinking and helping them with a problem, now it is unlikely. One area of interest is to what extent lawyers breaking their own protocols and going above and beyond to help clients is a resistance to neoliberal logic versus how much it actually props it up as the state knows that the emotional connection that lawyers have with clients will lead to free, unpaid labour. We can see similar things in relations between volunteers and staff, with many volunteers unequipped to deal with the heavy emotional stress of listening to very intense problems. The uncertain nature of work at a CLC – and community organisations similar to it – are incompatible with both neoliberal market logics and academic ethics systems that parallel these logics. Neoliberalism demands certainty from organisations and practices (including the legal practice), paradoxically unguided through an unregulated market (Thornton, 2005: 134). Organisations must report obsessively, measure everything, and ceaselessly enter and re-enter data of the work they do; this is particularly the case in funded organisations, most notably in government-funded organisations like CLCs. This is not unlike the strict criteria of ethics applications. Researchers must not only submit reports after their research has ended, but also attempt

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their best effort at predicting exactly what will happen in the field. In order to remain accountable to the ethics committees, changes in protocol must be approved, and breaches of guidelines must be reported; but the extent to which this can coexist with the rapidly changing and messy nature of organisational realities is dubious.

Cleaning up the mess? The chapter thus far has sought to identify three understandings of ethnography in the community legal sector and ethics of the research: first, that ethnography is innately messy; second, that ethics frameworks - legal and academic - attempt to ameliorate this messiness through neoliberal governance practices; and third, that despite this, ethics frameworks tend to cause more mess than they create. Subsequent to this, it must be asked: is it possible to clean up the mess, and if so, is it even necessary to do so? Mess is a part of social reality, and to clean it up may suggest that we are attempting to reflect reality as it is not - and, if the ethnographer's job is to present reality as is, then this constitute a form of epistemic deception. While this chapter does not endeavour to fully resolve the issues within ethics, it will hopefully contribute to a growing - and dissenting - body of literature to modern ethics regimes. It will do this by considering two areas of concern within ethnographic research, ethics, and mess: how should we consider the application of messy ethics on to messy methods in messy spaces; and, how should we approach the institutional power of the university to mediate, regular, and enforce research ethics. Ethics frameworks, including the National Statement, oversee ethical jurisdiction over a number of research elements, such as consent, confidentiality and privacy, and harm avoidance. More recently, and in response to calls from oppressed groups that are often over-researched yet also silenced, ethical responsibilities to consult and reciprocate with communities has also been included within the purview of ethics (Weston, et al., 2009). However, while these research elements are integral to an ethical project, ethics boards are free to determine how these elements should be considered and applied, albeit with guidelines. Informed consent, for instance, involves notifying participants as to their rights and the consequences of their involvement. But in ethnographic research, it is sometimes unclear who the participants are. Core individuals who may be involved in the research regularly through conversations or even as gatekeepers and informants can be identified and given consent documentation; on the other hand, the reality of social spaces - both public and private - means that individuals enter and exit the space of observation all the time. While these people may not ‘participate’ in the sense of being included in the research, the impact of their being in social interactions

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have ripple effects in the space. This may not even just include people who are not yet informed participants, but people who can not be informed participants, such as young children or people excluded to avoid legal risk (e.g., in my case, clients of the CLC). This leads to problematic situations where the researcher is required to ‘forget’ incidents from their field notes, or at least in their final publication. The decision to forget accidental participants or to exclude individuals from participation is a methodological one, and in line with Law’s critique of method (Law, 2004), this will affect not only the research but the world itself. Another area of inquiry is the role of the university in managing and arbitrating research ethics. As discussed above, the neoliberalisation and corporatisation of the university has led to the conflation of ‘ethics’ on a personal level and ‘risk’ on an institutional level. Ethics as a disciplinary tool exists in order to manage the behaviour of researchers while out in the field, guiding the form of research that is done (Chin, 2013). However, while there may be issues with the university as a genuine partner in pursuing research, it is the primary research body for most academics and is therefore in an important position in mediating and enforcing ethics principles. While this chapter does not propose to ‘solve’ the ethics problem, there are certainly developments in ethics management, such as alternative ethics boards that are referred to. In the case of Australia, research with Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait Islander peoples are usually required to have the approval of their communities (Weston et al., 2009). This is not formalised and is not always required, and it is a soft delegation of power rather than a strict devolution, but in any case, it suggests that alternative ethics systems have a role to play in some areas of research. Perhaps, in this regard, a decentralised ethics may be analogous to the methods assemblage discussed by Law (2004: 38-42), and as researchers, we can aim towards a form of ethics assemblage. However, ethics processes have real, practical impact beyond abstractions, and the significance of enforcing ethics – and disciplining researchers – should be discussed as well. If we consider ethics more broadly as a form of self-regulation on personal conduct often informed by social standards, the consequences of ethical breaches range from guilt to shame and social ostracisation. Of course, ethics at an academic level are semantically and practically different, institutionalised in committees, procedures, reporting, and policies. Ultimately, however, it is akin to other realms of life in that personal ethics may sometimes be contested by stricter, established codes of behaviour, wherein personal conduct informed by actualised and existing intersubjective situations will not comply with the expectations of third-party bodies that are not in those situations. The lack of “community norm formation” in IRBs despite the role of IRBs in propagating moral codes throughout the research community has been noted as an issue (Heimer & Petty, 2010: 609-10).

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Conclusion The messiness of ethics in research - in particular, ethnographic research - is exacerbated by the role of neoliberalism in the contemporary academy. The simultaneously market-oriented yet institutionally centralised nature of the university and its bodies affects the exercise of research; ethics emerges as a disciplinary tool guided by risk avoidance. This has been demonstrated by employing my own preliminary ethnographic research into CLCs as a case study for the conflict that can emerge between ethics systems and existing in a mode of organisational fieldwork. Subsequently, this chapter extends upon these observations by critiquing the operations of ethics at an academy level. While this chapter does not purport to have the ‘solution’ for the ethics question, it has provided a basis – rooted in an idea of ‘mess’ in the social sciences (Law, 2004) – on which these can be explored, including alternative means in which to manage human research ethics. Another area in which further analysis would be useful is in the relationship between the methods of ethnography and research pressures put on professional ethnographers.

References Abbott, M. & Doucouliagos, C. (2009) Competition and efficiency: Overseas students and technical efficiency in Australian and New Zealand universities. Education Economics, 17(1): 31–57. Chin, E. (2013) The neoliberal institutional review board, or why just fixing the rules won't help feminist (activist) ethnographers. In C. Craven & D. Davis (eds.) Feminist activist ethnography: Counterpoints to neoliberalism in north America (pp.201-16). Plymouth: Lexington Books. Dawson, A. (2007) Another university is possible: Academic labor, the ideology of scarcity, and the fight for workplace democracy. Workplace: A Journal for Academic Labor, 14: 91-105. Forell, S., Cain, M. & Gray, A. (2010) Recruitment and retention of lawyers in regional, rural and remote New South Wales.Sydney: Law and Justice Foundation of New South Wales. Gaffikin, F. & Perry, D. C. (2009) Discourses and strategic visions: The U.S. research university as an institutional manifestation of neoliberalism in a global era. American Educational Research Journal, 46(1): 115-44. Halse, C. & Honey, A. (2007) Rethinking ethics review as institutional discourse. Qualitative Inquiry, 13(3): 336-52. Heimer, C. A. & Petty, J. (2010) Bureaucratic ethics: IRBs and the legal regulation of human subjects research. Annual Review of Law and Social Science, 6: 601-26. Herbert, D. L., Coveney, J., Clarke, P., Graves, N. & Barnett, A. (2014) The impact of funding deadlines on personal workloads, stress and family relationships: A qualitative study of Australian researchers. BMJ Open, 4(3): np.

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Kimber, M. & Ehrich, L. C. (2015) Are Australia's universities in deficit? A tale of generic managers, audit culture and casualisation. Journal of Higher Education Policy and Management, 37(1): 83-97. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. London: Routledge. National Association of Community Legal Centres (2014) National census of community legal centres: 2013 report. Sydney: National Association of Community Legal Centres Inc. National Health and Medical Research Council (2015) National statement on ethical conduct in human research. Canberra: National Health and Medical Research Council. Neilson, D. (2015) Class, precarity and anxiety under neoliberal global capitalism: From denial to resistance. Theory & Psychology, 25(2): 184-201. Noone, M. A. & Tomsen, S. (2006) Lawyers in conflict: Australian lawyers and legal aid. Sydney: Federation Press. Rea, J. (2016) Critiquing neoliberalism in Australian universities. Australian Universities' Review, 58(2): 9-14. Shore, C. (2010) Beyond the multiversity: Neoliberalism and the rise of the schizophrenic university. Social Anthropology, 18(1): 15-29. Thornton, M. (2005) The Australian legal profession: Towards a national identity. In W. Felstiner (ed.),Reorganization and resistance: Legal professions confront a changing world (pp.133-70.). Oregon: Hart Publishing. Tolich, M. & Fitzgerald, M. H. (2006) If ethics committees were designed for ethnography. Journal of Empirical Research on Human Research Ethics, 1(2): 71-8. Weston, R., Brooks, R., Gladman, J., Senior, K., Denley, L. Silove, D., ... Aboriginal Community Advisory Committee (2009) Ethical research in partnership with an indigenous community. Australasian Psychiatry, 17(1): 51-3.

Chapter 7

Everyday messiness of ethnography: reflections on fieldwork in Mid-West Brazil Lauren Crabb Abstract This chapter looks specifically at the everyday messiness of doing an ethnography. I spent 11 months in rural Mid-West Brazil for my PhD research in 2014 and 2015, the content of this chapter is a reflexive account of three experiences during this period which shaped my data collection. Like many first-time ethnographers, conducting a cross-cultural ethnography highlighted many assumptions I did not know I had and questioned my values. The assumptions and values I carried reflected the way I interacted with participants and on some occasions threatened the success of my fieldwork. In reflecting on these experiences, I aim to develop the conversation around the ‘confessional tales’ of ethnography so often lacking in Management Studies.

Keywords Reflexivity; access; assumptions; values.

Introduction This chapter looks specifically at the everyday messiness of doing ethnography. In recent years, a reflexive approach to ethnography has been advocated, particularly from critical and feminist perspectives. They aim to engage with the everyday realities of ethnography, the good, the bad and the ugly (Donnelly et al., 2013; Russell, 2005). Far from seeing ethnography as a haphazard or illegitimate data collection approach, they see how the social realities during data collection can lead to a number of moral, ethical or social dilemmas for researchers (Donnelly et al., 2013; Liamputtong, 2010). Engaging with these experiences, or giving ‘confessional tales’ (Van Maanen, 2011) of field-

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work is essential as ethnography continues to develop within the social sciences, and in particular, Management Studies. I write this chapter from the quintessential perspective of a conscious reflexive researcher as described by Gabriel (2015). During fieldwork, my assumptions and values were questioned by myself and my research participants. In addition, insecurities and values I did not know I had, came to the fore and were expressed in my research (Gabriel, 2015). The following three experiences discussed in this chapter reflect on how I dealt with these situations and are related to fieldwork undertaken as part of my PhD in 2014 and 2015. In total, I spent 11 months in rural Mid-West Brazil to understand the impact of a carbon offsetting project on local villagers. As a native English speaker, I did not speak Portuguese and taught myself basic phrases in the build-up to my fieldwork. I funded my stay through working in a hotel located in the researched community. The ‘embedded’ (Lewis and Russell, 2011) aspect of this ethnography- where the boundaries between colleague, client, research participant and friend were blurred- is the focus of this paper. The observations and evaluations made throughout my fieldwork are reflective of my experience in the location and time it occurred. Therefore, the experiences are not reflective of Brazil, or even the researched community. The experiences are personal and the same situations would not be interpreted by other researchers in the same way, or even by myself today. It can, however, give insight into first time ethnographers who conduct international and cross-cultural fieldwork. The underlying assumptions and values that a researcher may hold are likely to be exposed further in an international setting. This conversation, therefore, aims to go beyond the usual textbook advice and aid other novice researchers in understanding the everyday realities of fieldwork as these accounts are still rare in Management Studies (Law, 2004).

Messy situation 1 Like many rural Catholic communities, the village I lived in celebrated Saints Day, and the community’s Saints Day was the highlight of their social calendar. Each community organised and hosted a three-day feast which included communal prayers, traditional dancing and a party on Saturday night with a live band. The religious aspects of the event usually attracted the host community, however, the celebration on the Saturday night drew crowds from the surrounding villages. During my fieldwork, it wasn’t unusual to travel up to 1.5 hours in a car or boat to help other communities celebrate their Saints Day on a Saturday night. As the Saints Day celebrations of the community I lived in drew closer, there was little conversation which did not cover the event. I was given permission

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to leave the hotel on the Saturday night, the most important aspect of the weekend according to my colleagues and got excited as we dressed up for an evening out. When we arrived, the party in the open-air community hall was well underway, the dance floor a swaying mass of sweaty couples moving in time to the band. The band played the local genre of music which has a fast tempo beat, usually played with a saxophone and drums over the top of mainstream hits. The dance that accompanies this music is an intimate dance between a male and female dancer with gyrating and thrusting hips in time to the music. I quickly sat down at a table of familiar faces and although full of embarrassment could not take my eyes off the dance floor. The wealthy hotel owners condemned the party and had never been to any Saints Day celebrations. Like them, many people who live in the city refer to it as ‘the dirty dance’ and look down on the people who enjoy it. So, for me to win the respect of the community, and not be viewed as another outsider who looks down on them, I knew I had to participate. But now I was at the party; I felt trapped. Should I dance even though I felt uncomfortable? Although I felt in control, it would take one over-enthusiastic dance partner to change that. How would I react and how would people view me? And what would the repercussions be for my research? Luckily, one of the elder women who worked at the hotel offered to teach me the dance. We found a spot near the tables, away from the prying eyes of the dance floor and I learnt the basics. The surrounding people laughed at my inability to dance and were eager to capture this moment on their mobile phones to send to their friends. I spent the evening and early hours of the morning dancing with various women and children from the surrounding villages as they were all keen to dance with the gringa (foreigner). On this occasion, it helped being perceived as a stiff-upper-lipped Britain because the women were happy to explain to any men that asked that I was not comfortable dancing and maybe at the next party I would dance with them. Over the following months, I would be shown numerous videos on mobile phones of me dancing that night, even from people I had not spoken to previously. I found that sharing a laugh with others at my inability to dance like a local made gaining access to research participants a lot easier. Fjellström and Guttormsen (2016) argue that access is a multidimensional and social phenomenon. By participating and having the shared social experience I was seen as someone who wanted to learn, rather than a stiff outsider who was quick to judge them. I found participants were more open to teaching me about their lives and access was an easier process. Even when I returned to the research site in 2017, people still asked if I had learnt to dance properly.

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Messy situation 2 The second situation occurred when my underlying values came face to face with poverty. The community I lived in is typical of the surrounding rural villages. Most of the population are functionally illiterate and historically survived through subsistence, current trends of out-migration of the younger population is fuelled by the availability of service work in the surrounding towns and federal financial support for families. Although my fieldwork preparation had covered living amongst those who experience poverty, the following situation sticks with me more than any others as it tormented me for a long time afterwards. During one phase of my first period of fieldwork I encountered a woman who worked at the hotel and her 13 year old daughter. The daughter commonly came to the hotel when the woman was working to help her on her shift and we would often engage in conversations around her school experiences and mine. On one occasion she began telling her mum and I about her new boyfriend. They had met on Whatsapp after both were put in a church group chat a few weeks earlier and he had taken her out for dinner in the local town a handful of times. The previous night the boyfriend had asked her to stay at his house in the city soon. The daughter began to explain that at 25, and 12 years her senior, she was worried about his expectations of her. In that moment it took all I could muster to not react with disgust and I was mortified how the mother did not seem worried, instead seemed to encourage the relationship. Having previously worked with children in the UK, I knew had this happened in the UK it would be a child protection issue. I felt my hands shake with rage and how I scorned this woman for encouraging, what I thought at the time, was such an absurd relationship. What would someone who was older than me want with a 13 year old child? After the child left, my conversation with the mother continued. She described how the age difference did worry her. But she thought this relationship is a good idea because the boyfriend had a job, a scooter and rented a house in the city, in short, he would be able to look after her. As the rage of my immediate reaction began to fade, I started to think more clearly and analyse the situation. What I had failed to understand at the time was that I assumed from my position that her parents could afford to send her to school, that she had similar options to me. I have had the opportunity to pursue education and work towards financial independence, but for many women around the world this is not a viable possibility. If I had reacted in the moment as I wanted to, I could have damaged the relationship I had built with these participants. From the mother’s perspective, she felt the boyfriend could ensure the daughter had a place to live as he had secure employment, something I later found out was precarious in their family home. As time

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went on, I learnt the personal circumstances of many of the families in the community and my eyes were opened to the realities of life choices in rural areas. The ideologies of the community were shaped by the processes and systems developed over decades. My initial reaction was due to not understanding these processes, an essential element of any researcher’s agenda. Again, it challenged assumptions I didn’t even know I had. Revisiting the field site in 2017 I encountered the child, now a young woman turning 17. She told me that since she was 14, she had been working parttime to enable her to help her parents with rent, go to school and one day, to travel, like I had when I met her when she was 13. Laurel Richardson suggested ‘how is it possible to situate ourselves as participant observers in the lives of others and not affect them?’ (Richardson, 1990: 118) similarly, how can they not affect us? To write this experience and stop at the perspective of a 13 year old would be unjust to the young woman she is now. It appears that our encounters with each other changed both our perspectives.

Messy situation 3 The final situation highlighted how I compromised my values in order to continue good relations with a gatekeeper during fieldwork. The hotel owner I worked for had a mutual friend with a prominent businessman turned politician and was able to organise an opportunity for me to interview the politician. It was also an opportunity for the hotel owner to discuss a business venture at the politician’s new 5* golf and spa resort. For a couple of weeks the hotel owner and mutual friend tried to organise for the politician to come to the hotel. The politician does not conduct many interviews with the media and is very wary of environmental researchers due to his business interests and international reputation for his anti-environmental stance. Mikecz (2012) suggests constructing a barrier between an elite and the media is common with elite actors and therefore it was quite a coup to secure this interview. However, my stay in the field was dependent on my working relationship with the hotel owner. If I asked questions that were deemed inappropriate, I would have jeopardised the hotel owner’s potential business plan, and my relationship with him, and possibly my research project. Should I give voice to the thousands of people affected by the politician’s policies and activities who do not have access and ask him probing questions? Or should I play safe to guarantee my fieldwork? Even until the moment I sat down to interview the politician I had two sets of questions written in my notebook. It was never a question of whether I would meet him or not, I understood how lucky I was to meet this man, but what questions I would ask were still not decided on. At the last moment, I chose that my fieldwork was most important. The questions I asked him were

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easy to answer, he had answered them hundreds of times before. I gently probed into topics such as conservation and the environment, these were answered quickly and then he reversed the question and asked my opinion. I responded with a very watered-down critique of neoliberal conservation. This interview did not contribute new data, and I did not give voice to the thousands of people who could never obtain this type of access to him. However, it did have other consequences. Afterwards, I was added to his personal Facebook account and he asked me to stay in touch. More significantly, the hotel owner discussed the business plan and they now run a joint venture at the 5* resort. Later that day, the hotel owner bought me a bottle of wine and said that the politician would not have been so open to the idea of creating the business if he had not enjoyed his day, which was partly because of my interview. Due to this ‘symbolic’ interview, I had contributed to the creation of enhanced networks of elites, not exactly a planned outcome of my research! I had spent months reading about the socio-political history of the state, I felt for the people whose livelihoods had been taken by massive infrastructure projects designed to benefit the few. I could have used this opportunity to represent these people, this was everything I stood for, and this was why I was undertaking the research project. However, when the moment came, I took a very selfish decision and protected my own interests. Other ethnographers discuss instances where they have to decide on their alliance (Karra & Phillips, 2008; Russell, 2005). Having read these accounts prior to undertaking research, I understood a time would come where I would have to choose to align my research to a particular side. I always thought I would choose to align myself with those who do not have a voice, yet, my values or the practicalities of my research meant that did not happen.

Discussion This paper draws on experiences from my PhD research where I undertook an ethnographic study for the first time. Although methods textbooks and my supervisors prepared me for data collection, there were experiences that even the most thorough student would struggle to prepare for. Confessional tales (Van Maanen, 2011) of everyday realities of ethnography is still in its infancy in ethnographic writing of Management Studies. Therefore, engaging in these experiences is an attempt to add to the conversation. By reflecting on these experiences, I hope to go beyond traditional methods textbook and engage in conversations surrounding the messiness of ethnography; the values that are questioned, the latent assumptions which are challenged and the ethical intrusions. Similarly to Watson (2011), I found it took an enormous amount of emotional resilience to be able to cope with the new experiences a cross-cultural ethnography brings, whilst understanding the

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processes and ideologies which shape these experiences. Although all the experiences discussed above affected me in some way for a prolonged time afterwards, the second experience made me seriously think about returning home. It made me question my ability to be an ethnographer as I had failed to identify the differences in mine and the researched lives. These crises of confidence, mistakes, and bad judgements are all part of the everyday life of an ethnographer (Van Maanen, 2011). We make mistakes in our role as a researcher, as we would in our normal lives at home. Engaging in these messy moments are important if we are to continue to rely on ethnography in social sciences. The power relations between myself, my research participants and gatekeepers were at the centre of my continued negotiated access (Fjellström & Guttormsen, 2016). The moral dilemmas I negotiated throughout my research were the foundation of a successful data collection phase. Often, the power relations at play were unclear to me, or such a part of the culture that it took a lot of reflection and questioning my own observations to understand the power relations in the field. This involved the observation of everyday activities and understanding the meanings that both I and the researched put on these activities (Cunliffe, 2010). For example, in my first messy experience at the festival. The dance was a huge part of the lives of the participants and in being part of that, I was able to create many relationships, failing to go to the dance would have negatively affected the access I was able to get. Understanding the social realities and practicalities of my fieldwork was an important factor in the choice I had to make in the third experience, even though I didn’t like it. The hotel was the only hotel for miles and gave me direct access to research participants. I could not afford to rent a property and therefore the hotel owner was a vital component to ensuring my fieldwork was successful. Reeves (2010) also discusses the power gatekeepers have in ethnographic research. In her experience, her gatekeeper could open and close access to participants, just as the hotel owner had the power to do in my circumstance. Negotiating access to participants, therefore, is an ongoing process throughout the data collection phase and maintaining good relations with the gatekeeper was an essential part of the process. My choice to value my fieldwork more was based on the circumstances at the time. Now I have completed my PhD and have secure employment; if I had the same opportunity again, I might have chosen the other set of questions.

Conclusion This paper reviewed three experiences during my PhD fieldwork. In doing this, I aim to continue the conversation surrounding the everyday messiness of ethnography with a particular focus on negotiating access in cross-cultural

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ethnography. There are numerous methodological limitations, particularly surrounding the individuality of the experiences and application to wider trends in ethnographic data collection. However, this paper adds to a conversation surrounding these issues within ethnography. This is a conversation which has been lively in other academic disciplines but still remains scarce in management studies. As Watson (2011) argues, ethnography could provide the solution for more mainstream Management research in identifying processes and organisational patterns. However, to do this, a more honest engagement in the everyday realities of ethnography is needed. In order to continue these conversations within Management Studies more reflexive accounts are needed. In particular, accounts surrounding first-time ethnographers are needed to go beyond the dry textbook versions of what to expect whilst in the field.

References Cunliffe, A. L. (2010) Retelling tales of the field: In search of organizational ethnography 20 years on. Organizational Research Methods, 13(2): 224-39. Donnelly, P. F., Gabriel, Y. & Özkazanç-Pan, B. (2013) Untold stories of the field and beyond: narrating the chaos. Qualitative Research in Organizations and Management: An International Journal, 8(1): 4-15. Fjellström, D. & Guttormsen, D. S. (2016) A critical exploration of “access” in qualitative international business field research: Towards a concept of socio-cultural and multidimensional research practice. Qualitative Research in Organizations and Management: An International Journal, 11(2): 110-26. Gabriel, Y. (2015) Reflexivity and beyond – A plea for imagination in qualitative research methodology. Qualitative Research in Organizations and Management: An International Journal, 10(4): 332-6. Karra, N. & Phillips, N. (2008) Researching ‘‘back home’’: International management research as autoethnography. Organizational Research Methods, 11(3): 541-61. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. London: Routledge. Lewis, S. J. & Russell, A. J. (2011) Being embedded: A way forward for ethnographic research. Ethnography, 12(3): 398-416. Liamputtong, P. (2010) Performing qualitative cross-cultural research. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mikecz, R. (2012) Interviewing elites: Addressing methodological issues. Qualitative Inquiry, 18(6): 482-93. Reeves, C. L. (2010). A difficult negotiation: Fieldwork relations with gatekeepers. Qualitative Research, 10 (3): 315-331. Richardson, L. (1990) Trash on the corner: Ethics and technography. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 21(1): 103-19. Russell, L. (2005) It’s a question of trust: Balancing the relationship between students and teachers in ethnographic fieldwork. Qualitative Research, 5(2): 181-99.

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Van Maanen, J. (2011) Tales of the field: On writing ethnography. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 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.

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Section 3 Messy Participation

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The boundlessness of digital democracy – ethnography of an ICT-mediated public in Brexit Britain Gabriel Popham Abstract This chapter is about the Brexit referendum and the political mobilisation that came in its aftermath. In particular, this chapter focuses on the role of information and communication technologies (ICTs) such as social media platforms in the political work of different publics. Social media became a key ideological battleground both during the referendum and in the following months, and while Brexit itself is an inherently messy process, the recent ubiquity of social media and other ICTs only seemed to add another layer to the mess. After outlining the broad relationship between ICTs and publics in the first section, the second section of this chapter will take a specific episode drawn from an instance of insider ethnography as an example of the particularly messy relations that come with constant mediation, but which nonetheless open up a space for social movement within these publics and for intensive ethnographic engagements.

Keywords Brexit; publics; politics; ICTs; insider ethnography.

Introduction For most people in the United Kingdom and abroad, the referendum of June 2016 came as a complete surprise. “Overnight,” as one ethnographer of the UK wrote, “Britain’s economic, legal and political life, governed by a supranational framework, was thrown up in the air” (Green et al., 2016: 482). Brexit touched on virtually every aspect of life in the UK, from environmental norms, health, and safety regulation, to workers’ rights and the free move-

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ment of people. Effectively, the referendum opened a can of worms at the heart of the many contradictions surrounding globalisation. For years, the UK had been a net contributor to the EU, and up until Brexit, one of Europe’s best-performing economies. Furthermore, it was assumed that because the political class and much of the British intelligentsia was broadly proEuropean, there would be no chance of Brexit actually happening. Instead, it turned out that for large swathes of people in Britain, the UK’s purported success on the global stage had come at the loss of something more important: stability, social cohesion, and sovereignty (Goodhart, 2017). This sense of loss was further compounded by the government's relentless policy of austerity, which since 2010 has caused budget cuts, significant closures in public services, and a harsh restructuring of the welfare state, disproportionately affecting working-class communities in rural and post-industrial areas that went on to register the highest vote share for Brexit (Becker et al., 2017). Over the years, social anthropology has developed a strong conceptual repertoire to analyse moments of transformation and rupture such as the Brexit referendum. For Das, these moments are “critical events” that catalyse “transformations by which people's lives have been propelled into new and unpredicted terrains” (Das, 1996: 5). The aftermath of such critical events is always an uncertain period, and in such a context it can be fruitful for ethnography to pay attention to the emergence of what cultural theorist Raymond Williams calls “structures of feeling”: “social experiences in solution,” as opposed to other social experiences which have been “precipitated and are more evidently and more immediately available” (Williams, 1977: 133-4, emphasis in original); emergent social realities that come into being precisely in such inbetween phases, and that remain in a state of relative flux. To an extent, any account of the Brexit referendum and its aftermath would be incomplete if it were to overlook the role of information and communication technologies (ICTs), especially given how central they are becoming in the experience of everyday life in Western societies (Greenfield, 2017). Social media platforms, like Facebook and Twitter, were a key ideological battleground both during the referendum and in the months and years that followed. And beyond these mass-membership platforms, many more ICTs have become indispensable vectors for political mobilisation, forming a dense “information ecology” (Nardi & O’Day, 1999) of action and perception. This chapter will focus predominantly on some of the issues raised by these technologies when they become integral to political mobilisation. It will first outline how ICTs relate to grassroots political action, and how they enable cer-

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1

tain publics to coalesce around specific problems (such as Brexit), and secondly, it will take a specific example drawn from an instance of insider ethnography to argue for sustained ethnographic engagements with the daily work of these publics. Following John Law, the bundle of material, discursive and ideological relations that are enacted within ICT-mediated publics will be understood as an incipient “method assemblage,” something that allows members of a public to “‘know’ multiplicity, indefiniteness and flux” (Law, 2004: 14). By taking the example of a non-local, diffused UK-based public within which I conducted ethnography and participated as a member, I recount an episode of “framing work,” in which participants collectively articulated their grievances around Brexit into “broader and more resonant claims”, turning the Brexit referendum into a “political opportunity” (Tarrow, 2011: 31-2) that might prefigure the emergence of an internationalist social movement in the UK. Far from making things more straightforward, ICTs seemed to actively contribute to the perception of Brexit as a deeply messy and chaotic process, and our framing work seemed discontinuous, overlapping, spilling over from one platform to the next. To a certain extent, this situation was also due to the technological environment within which we were working, and I argue that because of the non-linearity of ICTs, they play an important role in detecting, resonating and amplifying what Law calls “particular patterns of relations in the excessive and overwhelming fluxes of the real” (Law, 2004: 14). Given my (pro)active participation, I was effectively conducting insider ethnography, which meant that other participants and I were looking at the situation in similar ways. One of the risks of insider ethnography is that it becomes tempting to “see the wood for the trees” (Plows, 2008: 1531). But sometimes this close perspective has its advantages and taking this approach to exploring how ICTs affect politics was undoubtedly fruitful in terms of the exchanges I had with other participants, as well as the good rapport that came from sharing a similar perspective. In order to account for my own role in the processes that I describe, I will use the first person in the following paragraphs and again in the final section of this chapter.

1 Publics are here understood as “large-scale political subjects […] that are thinkable and practicable by means of mass-mediated communication” (Cody, 2011: 38). Recursive processes of “mass-mediation and self-abstraction” as enabled by ICTs are the means through which publics can perceive themselves (and act) as such (Cody, 2011: 47).

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Mass-mediated subjectivity In early 2017, I was in London conducting ethnographic fieldwork for my MSc thesis at Utrecht University. I chose to look at the role of ICTs in British politics after the Brexit referendum as one way of cutting through the mess and getting a cross-section of British politics and society. In particular, I began following a number of campaign groups and publics within which many ‘Re2 mainers’ had coalesced, if not to oppose Brexit, then at least to change the dominant narrative around it. I began tracing “the tapestry of media that society uses to think through issues of uncertainty and complexity” (Fischer, 3 2003: 18) and keeping up with the rollercoaster of political events and how they impacted public discourse, especially on social media. My efforts were directed at understanding how these publics engaged with many different technologies, and how these technologies enabled them to conjure strategic understandings of British society, its antagonisms, and the issues around Brexit. All of these publics – to varying degrees – complemented their embedded, situated and local interventions in British politics with a strong reliance on ICTs. Digital technologies were a means for these social movements to expand their reach and involve more and more people in their projects and campaigns. Any public demonstration, for instance, would have its own hashtag, in many cases a dedicated Twitter account, and often livestreamed content to be shared online in real time. The precise strategies and tactics used obviously varied, depending on the precise focus of the campaign. Some, for example, were concerned with the implications of Brexit for 4 immigrants living in the UK, others with the rise of populism in the UK and 5 in the US, and others still sought to draw attention to more substantive links between the UK and Europe – cultural, political and social links – that may yet 6 provide an opportunity for internationalist politics after Brexit. Beyond providing publicity and outreach, these technologies also affect the everyday work of these political groups. ICTs are not simply media of communication but also sites or environments in which particular relations develop among disconnected actors, “abstract, mediating agents” that organise social processes and make them intelligible to different people regardless of any specific local dimensions (Feldman, 2011: 378). However, while the pro2

People who had voted to remain in the EU.

3

Such as, for instance, the unexpected snap election of 2017, in which Prime Minister the Conservative Party managed to lose its parliamentary majority just days before the Brexit talks were set to begin.

4

http://1daywithoutus.org/

5

https://www.stoptrump.org.uk/

6

https://diem25.uk/

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cesses themselves may be abstract and de-territorialised, they are far from being cut off from the embedded, embodied, ‘offline’ world. Indeed, there is a certain continuum of action and perception, as the digital environment and the relations that it enables are folded into the meshwork of daily, situated and often relatively localised social realities at the heart of grassroots political projects. For Bruno Latour (2010), certain non-human “objects” are central to the emergence of political subjectivity. ICTs are indeed one such category of objects, as they are material infrastructures of communication that enact a form of “mass-mediated subjectivity” among members of a public (Cody, 2011: 47). But just as importantly, for Latour, political subjectivity gathers around particular “matters of concern” (such as Brexit) that are made into public objects of deliberation (Latour, 2010). Material infrastructures of communication and Brexit are similar insofar as each of them “gathers around itself a different assembly of relevant parties [and] triggers new occasions to passionately differ and dispute” (Latour, 2010: 197). This is a perspective that takes into account individual and collective human agencies as well as a “vast entourage” (Bennett, 2010: 108) of nonhuman entities like technologies or political events, that, in turn, affect publics and the kinds of intervention they enact. A common feature of contemporary forms of “contentious politics” (Tarrow, 2011) (including social movements and other politically-motivated publics) is that their interventions and day-to-day actions are often framed by particular technologies. At the turn of the century, the burgeoning anti-corporate globalisation movement found innovative ways to use the Internet to enact “digital-age organisational forms” and reflect “emerging political norms” (Juris, 2008: 201). In particular, activists recognised the potential of digital technologies for embedding horizontal and radically democratic modes of decisionmaking and deliberation in the day-to-day practice of politics. These technologies also afforded extensive freedom in communication that wasn’t necessarily available before: mass mobilisations could be built across borders and decision-making processes could begin to reflect and enact an egalitarian and participatory ethos that most activists wished to see in society at large. Almost a decade later, in the aftermath of the financial crash of 2007, the Occupy movement took advantage of Twitter and Facebook as a way of bypassing the mainstream media and organising large-scale actions very quickly. The hashtag became the single most potent tool in these mobilisations, a hyperlink that acted as a digital amplifier, uniquely able to plug any piece of content into a wider stream of discussion and intervention. Fast-forward to 2017, and these mass-membership social media platforms have grown into veritable corporate giants. If in 2012, at the tail-end of the Occupy Wall Street mobilisations, Facebook had just hit its first billion users,

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in 2017 it had twice as many, and its user base was growing at a steady 18% a year (Lanchester, 2017). Facebook and Twitter had by now begun to play an increasingly important role in politics, but not in the way Occupy activists might have anticipated: the emergence of so-called ‘psychometric profiling practices’ (the harvesting of users’ personal data to create tailored and highly automated political propaganda directly on users’ timelines) meant that savvy tech analysts could now manipulate public opinion to an unprecedented degree (Cadwalladr, 2017). But as all-encompassing as these social platforms may seem, they are far from having a complete monopoly on how individuals and groups organise online. While the Internet is always laden with significant power dynamics, the online spaces within which social movements work often grow aside (if not completely apart) from corporate giants such as Facebook and Google. Indeed, “cyborg rights” activists such as Aral Balkan recognise that there is an “inextricable link between the topology of our technology and the topology of society” (Balkan, 2017, n.p.): how we decide to live our lives collectively is necessarily and intimately related to how we use (and build) the technologies that surround us, and vice versa, how we choose to use these technologies affects how we relate to each other. At the most basic level, we now have the digital tools to allow people to connect and make decisions across cities, regions, and countries in a much easier way than ever before, and so we should – in principle at least – be able to put them to work in grassroots democratic projects. The question is how.

Dwelling in digital space Jane Bennett argues that the concept of agency does not apply only to humans, but, rather, that it is “distributed across a mosaic” (2010: 38). In other words, human actors and non-human elements both contribute towards enacting certain interventions. In this section, I argue that the abstract, digital space that is formed when publics organise through ICTs is just like Bennett's mosaic in terms of being a space of “distributive agency” (2010: 38). One would hope that this digital space could serve as an empty canvas for people to organise around issues such as Brexit, but in actuality it has certain properties of its own which affect how people organise, ranging from uneven and occasionally awkward juxtapositions between online and offline interactions to sprawling, fractal and overlapping discussions that make it possible, effectively, to have several conversations at once. Far from simplifying things, ICTs just seem to add another layer of mess. But in doing so, they also participate in making the very real complexities of politics perceptible as “partial connections” (Strathern, 1991) cutting across places and scales. The result is a fragmentary assemblage of different perspec-

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tives, representations, and arguments, a “complex of ideas, practices, experiences and sentiments which do not necessarily cohere into a single, homogeneous worldview” (Gilbert, 2013: 151), but which nonetheless lend a certain consistency to a given public. While this might seem confusing at first, this multi-referential, multi-vocal state of affairs might actually open up a space for social movement within multi-sited publics such as the one I describe below. The main field within which I conducted research was the then-nascent Democracy in Europe Movement 2025 (DiEM25) UK, a pan-European political movement spear-headed by the Greek economist Yanis Varoufakis. After the first assembly in January 2017 in London, where hundreds of DiEM25 UK members gathered to discuss a ‘European solution’ to Brexit, the general agreement was to organise online by adopting several different platforms to mediate collective deliberation and decision-making processes. DiEM25 is similar to a social movement to the extent that it is built on a form of contentious politics levelled against the dominant neoliberal consensus in Europe, aiming instead to articulate a pan-European political alternative. However, as of 2017, DiEM25 has not been able to enact any kind of large-scale political mobilisation as seen in other social movements, either at the European or the national scale. Rather, because of its explicit aim to intervene in electoral politics, it might seem closer to a political party. And yet, despite its reliance on certain charismatic figures for widespread publicity (most notably Varoufakis) and an essentially vertical structure in its decision-making process, it is not exactly a party either: its institutional presence remains limited to individual endorsements of national or regional parties and politicians, and, beyond a small number of rotating coordinators elected on a yearly basis, it has no cadre of officials. It can be best described as a hybrid movement-party aiming to intervene in many different social arenas at the regional, national and European level. During my fieldwork, DiEM25’s membership in the UK was spread out unevenly in several parts of the country, with small local groups gathering into regional and national collectives. As a result, except for occasional face-toface meetings, most of our exchanges happened online, through several different platforms and apps. The fact that we were working in a predominantly digital environment had important implications for the framing work we engaged in. Usually, in a concrete environment (in which action and perception are not mediated by technology), the environment provides certain cues, or “affordances” that determine what is possible and what isn’t (Gibson, 1979): a handle on a door might afford certain actions – for example, 'pull' or 'push' – and if there’s a lock, we know that we need a key to open the door.

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These are all affordances that belong to the environment, and once they have been perceived, tell us what actions are available. However, in an overlapping system of technologies, ranging from offline and localised interaction all the way through messy chains of mediation in cyberspace, how we act on the affordances that we perceive becomes much more complicated. In a general sense, a technological affordance can be understood as a potentiality that is made available by particular technologies in a specific set of social and material relations (Gilbert, 2013: 132-3). But as it is a potentiality, there is no way of knowing a priori whether it is going to be actualised or not. A meeting or a discussion that could be normally held by a small number of people sat around a table can be recreated among disconnected participants online, using any number of technologies currently available; the chain of mediation can then grow to the point that the range of affordances that are made available in any such situation is simply indeterminate. For example, a few members of DiEM25 once gathered online to try and refine DiEM25’s focus in the UK. They decided to ask a question to everyone involved, as a way of sorting through the wide range of opinions. They asked, very simply: “where do you think there is a democratic deficit in the UK, and what do you think should be done about it?” All the answers to the question would then be collected and used as a way of mapping the different issues facing the UK, and how they might be tackled. Within a few days, the question had several pages of detailed answers, ranging from the dominance of finance and neoliberal capitalism to the monarchy, devolution, proportional representation, and so on. Many of these answers themselves shot off into separate debates and conversations, leading to a situation that was as far from a focused deliberation as one could possibly get. This one question ended up spawning fractal answers, spiralling out and multiplying online, with hyperlinks, memes, and pregnant ideas spilling out from all sides. The volume of engagement was completely unexpected, and while it gave an idea of the size of the problem, it didn't give any indication as to what could be done to actually address the democratic deficit. However, this was only one particularly messy episode, an outlier that just shows much can be assembled from one single question. In general terms, the affordances that are made available by the mosaic of ICTs within which DiEM25 (and other 7 publics ) grow are vital elements in enabling the enactment of alternative forms of politics. Not only do ICTs allow non-local or distributed political 7

For instance, the “indignados” movement in Spain grew out of a similar experience, described by one member as a “distributed movement” composed by self-organising groups of people.

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interventions, but in becoming sites of organisation and intervention, they also turn the digital space into new spaces of belonging. These are issues that anthropologists and ethnographers have been attuned to for several decades. Issues of scale and complexity have long been relevant matters of enquiry because they are at the heart of the current global situation (Strathern, 1991; Tsing, 2005; Eriksen, 2016). Increasingly, groups that want to intervene in political discussions like Brexit find themselves dealing with these issues, and perhaps complexity itself is beginning to become a “political opportunity” (Tarrow, 2011) for social movements to emerge. As ICTs make multi-sited ways of organising increasingly commonplace, publics such as DiEM25 have started “dwelling” in these new digital spaces and using the affordances available to them to enact concrete interventions. As a Master's student, the scope of my fieldwork was inevitably very limited, however, I couldn't help but notice a certain convergence between the theories and perspectives developed within social anthropology and the questions and organisational conundrums facing groups such as DiEM25. Certainly, conducting fieldwork from such an insider position doesn't always work, but I would like to suggest, in conclusion, that there are more and more opportunities for ethnography to become a truly ‘public’ practice through sustained engagements and collaborations with these political issues.

References Balkan, A., (2017) Introducing the 7th pillar [Msg 1]. Message posted to: https://www.diem25.org/forum/viewtopic.php?f=188&t=14607[Accessed 27th January 2018]. Becker, S. O., Fetzer, T. & Novy, D. (2017) Who voted for Brexit? A comprehensive district-level analysis. CAGE Working Paper 305. Coventry: University of Warwick. Bennett, J. (2010) Vibrant matter: A political ecology of things. Durham: Duke University Press. Cadwalladr, C. (2017) ‘Dark money’ is threat to integrity of UK elections, say leading academics. The Observer. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2017/apr/01/dark-money-threatto-uk-elections-integrity[Accessed 27th January 2018]. Cody, F. (2011) Publics and politics. Annual Review of Anthropology, 40(1): 752. Das, V. (1996) Critical events: An anthropological perspective on contemporary India. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Eriksen, T. H. (2016) Overheating: An Anthropology of Accelerated Change. London: Pluto Press. Feldman, G. (2011) If ethnography is more than participant-observation, then relations are more than connections: The case for nonlocal ethnography in a world of apparatuses. Anthropological Theory, 11(4): 375-95.

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Fischer, M. M. J. (2003) Emergent forms of life and the anthropological voice. Durham: Duke University Press. Gibson, J. J. (1979) The ecological approach to visual perception. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Gilbert, J. (2013) Common ground: Democracy and collectivity in an age of individualism. London: Pluto Press. Goodhart, D. (2017) The road to somewhere: The populist revolt and the future of politics. London: Hurst & Company. Green, S., Gregory, C., Reeves, M., Cowan, J. K., Demetriou, O., Koch, I., ... Dzenovska, D. (2016) Brexit referendum: First reactions from anthropology. Social Anthropology, 24(4): 478-502. Greenfield, A. (2017) Radical technologies: The design of everyday life. London: Verso Books. Juris, J. S. (2008) Networking futures: The movements against corporate globalization. Durham: Duke University Press. Lanchester, J. (2017) You are the product. London Review of Books, 30(16): 310. Latour, B. (2010) From realpolitik to dingpolitik (an introduction to making things public). Pavilion Magazine, 15: 196-221. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. London: Routledge. Nardi, B. & O’Day, V. (1999) Information ecologies: Using technology with heart. Boston: MIT Press. Plows, A. (2008) Social movements and ethnographic methodologies: An analysis using case study examples. Sociology Compass, (2)5: 1523–38. Strathern, M. (1991) Partial connections. New York: Altamira. Tarrow, S. (2011) Power in movement: Social movements and contentious politics. New York: Cambridge University Press. Tsing, A. L. (2005) Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Williams, R. (1977) Marxism and literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 9

Places on probation: an auto-ethnography of co-produced research with women with criminal biographies Nicola Harding Abstract This chapter offers an auto-ethnographic account that charts the complexity or ‘messiness’ of conducting research that seeks to capture the lived experiences of women who are currently or have recently been subject to punishment within the community, whilst also drawing upon my own experiences of criminalisation and community punishment. The research is co-produced with criminalised women using a methodological framework that utilises various ‘messy’ ethnographic methods, as a means by which to prioritise these marginalised women as experts in their own lives. Focusing upon intersections of offender supervision, community, and female desistance, this chapter reveals a frequently untold account of researcher emotions and biography to create ‘emotional moments’; revealing the co-operation, conflict, and fears produced by researching female ex-offenders experiences as a female ex-offender myself. Revealing my biography and the additional costs, benefit, and tensions that this brought to the research will go some way to reinstating an emotive researcher that prioritises the emotional experience of women subject to punishment.

Keywords Emotion; punishment; female offender; auto-ethnography; participatory action research.

Introduction In contemporary criminology, there have been repeated calls for greater researcher reflexivity, or the ‘reversal of the ethnographic gaze’ (Ferrell &

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Hamm, 1998; Kane, 1998; Wakeman, 2014). However, accounts of the emotion involved in doing criminological research are still scarce. Hubbard et al. (2001) suggest that this is due to researchers intuitively ‘screening ourselves out’ of the types of research that may provoke emotional distress due to our own personal biographies. For criminologists with criminal biographies, particularly researching with individuals with convictions, ‘screening ourselves out’ of research that arouses emotional memory becomes more difficult. In fact, the researcher may have been drawn to criminology precisely because of their own biography as part of their ongoing desistance. Maruna (2001) suggests that over their life-course, ex-offenders make sense of their transition from offending to desisting from crime through narrative scripts; the condemnation script and the redemption script. The redemption script describes how an offender attributes their desistance from crime to outside forces. In turn, as part of their continued desistance, they seek to payback as a form of gratitude, or to help others like their past selves (Maruna, 2001). With education frequently lauded as the key to a “better,” crimefree, life by criminal justice practitioners, it is clear to see how some narratives of desistance become entwined with researcher identities. By crafting an auto-ethnographic account of a participatory action research project with women who have been or currently are subject to community punishment and surveillance, this chapter will contribute to Wakeman’s (2014) attempt to: foster an intellectual environment that welcomes – indeed, demands – further problematizing of the self as a means of progressing towards a more comprehensive account of research subjects (Wakeman, 2014: 706). This will be achieved by following Andersons (2006) five key principles of analytic auto-ethnography. I am ‘complete member researcher,’ for I and the women in this study do not only share the label of offender/ex-offender, but we have also experienced the same category of punishment and types of interventions. This paper will contribute to my continued ‘analytical reflexivity,’ as I draw upon my own experiences to better understand the experience of the women in this study and am able to reflect upon my own desistance. There will be a visibility of myself, as a researcher and co-producer of research, within the text. However, this will be alongside the women who were also co-producers of research. Above all, this paper will contribute to an ‘analytical agenda,’ where my emotions and biography are considered together, alongside those of the women in this study, in order to contribute to understandings of female desistance (Anderson, 2006).

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Structured in three parts, this chapter will firstly summarise autoethnography in criminology, making the case that auto-ethnography extends beyond ethnographers and can apply to all types of research that call for participation by both the researcher and participant; in this case participatory action research (PAR). This research offers an example of how ethnographic practices, such as thick description, can partner with research methodologies that seek to centre the experience of the researched to produce unique understandings of lived experiences of punishment. Secondly, this paper will examine how my biography influenced the practicalities of this PAR cycle, examining my intentions, the reality of the situation and the response that this received from the women who took part in this study. The final section will address my biography and emotion, during which we will look specifically at the intersections of my own experiences and the experiences of criminalised women demonstrated within this research. Here I consider the impact of emotion and biography in producing ‘emotional moments’ within this research, and the value that considering an analytical auto-ethnography can bring to criminological research in general.

Auto-ethnography in criminology In recent years there has been an increased interest in the value of autoethnography in criminological research, spearheaded by scholars such as Stephen Wakeman (2014) and Yvonne Jewkes (2012) Whilst increasing in popularity, there has often been more of a focus upon biographical methods of understanding from those criminologists that have had deviant biographies, rather than the critical reflection upon the research process, and therefore the products of the process, that analytical auto-ethnography can bring. Convict criminologists have bridged this gap to an extent. However, the pre-requisite of convict criminology is having spent time ‘on the inside' in prison (Earle, 2014). With the expansion of the carceral net, and the ever-growing use of non-custodial sentences (McNeill & Beyens, 2013), convict criminology fails to capture the experiences of punishment ‘on the outside’ for both researcher and research participant. In giving an account of his research with drug users, Wakeman (2014) considers the advantages and pitfalls of shared researcher/participant identities. He argues for an increased consideration of the self within criminology research; demonstrating how it is possible to include the emotive self, both past and present, to enhance “criminology’s methodological repertoire” (Wakeman, 2014: 5). This is in stark contrast to the promotion of ‘scientific’ procedures and categorisations researchers are encouraged to apply to their research (Wakeman, 2014). The inclusion of such expression of feeling, acknowledging researcher emotion and biography within research, is viewed as “intrusion by the researcher”

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(Jewkes, 2012: 65). It is also feared that becoming emotionally connected, let alone highlighting researcher emotion and biography, can lead the researcher to “forgo the academic role,” losing objectivity and rendering the study less than scientific (Fontana & Frey, 1994: 376; Hubbard et al., 2001). However, Hubbard et al. agree that the “researcher is not merely an instrument to facilitate data collection” (2001: 120). This sentiment is particularly relevant within methodologies that encourage and even demand participation by both participant and researcher; such as ethnography and participatory action research.

Participatory action research with criminalised women The tension between researching women with criminal biographies as a female ex-offender myself was acknowledged from the outset of this research. The initial research proposal did not focus on women at all, due to my own anxieties of discrediting the knowledge produced from the research with my own biography. It was with these reservations in mind that I looked for developing methodologies that would help me situate the women as the expert, and myself a facilitator of research – prioritising their voices and experiences above my own. It is within this context that this project was designed, implemented and disseminated as a piece of participatory action research (PAR). Wakeman points to standpoint feminist epistemologies to challenge orthodox criminological research practices as well as “rendering clear progressive accounts of criminological subjects” (2014: 709). PAR is a similarly feminist research methodology that seeks to challenge dominant hierarchies of knowledge (Lykes & Crosby, 2014). As such, an enhanced level of reflexivity was required during the research process that included reflective notes in my research diary that linked this research, my biography and the emotion produced when combining the two. It was in these notes that thick description combined my own immersive lived experience of punishment with what was said by the women in this study to describe what was felt in these ‘emotional moments.’ Ryle (1971 cited in Ponterotto, 2006: 539) described how ‘thick’ description involves “understanding and absorbing the context of the situation or behaviour.” It also involves “ascribing present and future intentionality to the behaviour” (Ponterotto, 2006: 539). It was through the use of thick description in auto-ethnography within this PAR that biography and emotion became a distinct analytical tool. The research in question centres on women who currently are, or have recently been, subject to probation supervision in the community within the North-West of England. Women were recruited through two projects, one a peer mentoring service assisting women with convictions to find employment, training, and educational opportunities, and one a women’s centre. This was to capture the experiences of women currently subject to punish-

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ment and those who were no longer subject to punishment but had experienced this within the past 5 years. As PAR dictates, women were involved at each stage of the research process, inviting them to be “collaborators in defining questions, selecting methods, analysing data and disseminating findings, with the goal of pursuing social justice and change directly” (Pain, 2009: 512). My biography informed and sculpted my research practise and interaction with participants. However, the intention from the outset was to restrain my biography, only disclosing relevant facts when absolutely necessary. Yet in the transition from proposal to practise, the intentions, realities, and participant responses were shaped by my biography in ways that, in turn, significantly shaped the research. These specific moments, where research and biography met created emotional moments. Hubbard et al. (2001) discuss emotion within research as sensuous, cognitive and social/cultural experiences that remain simultaneously and inseparably linked. Emotions, in other words, are emergent properties, located at the intersection of physiological dispositions, material circumstances and socio-cultural elaboration (Hubbard et al., 2001: 121; emphasis in original). Hubbard et al. (2001) argue that within research, emotion consists of three parts; the ‘emotional labour’ of the researcher (Hochschild, 1983), ‘emotionally-sensed knowledge,’ and sociology of emotion (Bendelow & Williams, 1998). Within this paper, I am addressing the emotionally-sensed knowledge produced through the process of PAR with women with offending biographies.

Biography and emotion in practice I conducted this research on two different sites during 2016. The first site was within a peer-mentoring programme for women with convictions. I gained access to this site partly due to having previously been a peer mentor when the programme was in its infancy, over seven years earlier. The second site was a women’s centre, to which access was obtained through my association with the first site; although in this case, I had never been in contact with the centre in any capacity other than as a researcher. I approached the peer-mentoring programme director with my research ideas and asked to pitch my research plans at a team meeting, with a view to involving the current peer mentors at the centre; initially including them to help shape the research focus beginning the co-produced PAR process. My intention here was to approach the women as ‘researcher’ and not ‘ex-peer mentor/ ex-offender,’ believing that, by holding back my biography, I would highlight their biographies unimpeded by my own experiences and ways of

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understanding. The reality of the encounter was, due to my entwined history with the project, I was introduced as an ex-peer mentor before it was explained that I intended to conduct research. This introduction signalled to the women I approached that I did indeed have a shared criminal biography, for a criminal biography was a requirement of the role. In Wakeman’s (2014) auto-ethnographic account of research with drug users, he states that it is crucially important that the reader is aware of his history of heroin and crack cocaine addiction, yet further details of his biography are unimportant. I agree that within the context of applying an autoethnographic account to our research only minimal disclosure is required by the researcher, knowing I am a female ex-offender is sufficient information. However, unlike Wakeman who states “only once was I asked if I had ever taken drugs, to which I responded truthfully that I had when I was younger. Other than this, the participants did not quiz me about my biography” (2014: 711), my experience was considerably different. Upon receiving an introduction that alluded to my biography, the women then asked me many questions; in the beginning, they appeared more interested in my biography than the research project. To gain insights, not just access, I needed to answer their qualifying questions. Taking lead from feminist scholars (Oakley, 1981; Reinharz, 1992), and considering participatory nature of the methodological framework within which my research is set, I decided that full self-disclosure was necessary at this point. Sidestepping the question would, at best, signal reluctance to share (contrary to the methodological context of co-production) and suggest to them they should also be guarded. At worst, the women may think me to be deceitful and could refuse to engage with me altogether. Therefore, I answered the women’s questions candidly, observing that although I felt particularly self-conscious due to the inevitable disclosure of details about my biography, this was a ritual applied to all ‘outsiders.’ By possessing similar biographies to the women, I was granted detailed insights into their everyday lives, experiences, and emotions with little resistance. However, due to my biography, they applied a further series of qualifying questions in order to understand exactly how ‘like them’ I was. These began with details about my offence, becoming broader; including questions such as how many children I have, and where geographically I grew up. Once I had answered enough questions that they were able to find the part of my biography that made me different from them, the questions ceased. Not because of my current socio-economic status, but because of the difference in our historic identities. In my case, the key difference was the socio-economic contexts of the areas in which we grew up. I was accepted by the women at this point, but only as

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‘the posh one,’ as the area within which I grew up had become gentrified in recent years. It felt significant that the women looked to the past to search for differences and commonalities rather than the contextual realities of our current situations. Reflection upon past events rather than looking to the present or future became a significant and reoccurring theme within the research. Many of the women found it easier to speak about their lives before criminalisation, too traumatised by the present, and unable to look into the future. This interaction became more than simply gaining access; it became a useful exemplar for analysis. I remember experiencing the inability to look beyond sentencing and punishment, the jumbled fog that the process of thought became at this time. Later conversations would end abruptly when the future was interrogated, and the pain of thinking forward was evident. Future thinking became emotional moments that reignited buried pains from both the participants and my past. Emotional moments were scattered throughout the research relationship. Upon seeking participation from the women and their consent to the research, I had one refusal, who subsequently left the room but re-joined at a later session. After the later sessions, she confided that she had thought there was nothing I could possibly offer her that could help her current situation. Asking why she decided to return, she explained that the other women had reassured her that I was ‘sound,’ and that she would benefit from the sessions as I ‘was like a shrink that had a past.’ The emotional moments and links between our biographies allowed me to occupy space that lay between practitioner and criminalised woman, a position that produced trust, respect, and a unique research partnership. During research sessions, the women broadly fell into one of two groups depending upon how closely our biographies were entwined. Those who biographies were too dislocated from mine to be relatable, with different life experiences, convictions or family relationships, tended to disengage or resist the process. The women whose biographies were most relatable to mine shared enthusiastically even when emotional or distressed. One incidence of enthusiastic sharing was a slightly older female. When it was her turn to discuss the map she had created, she stood up in the room, pinned her map to the wall and presented it to the group. In many ways, she mirrored the way in which I presented the research in the very first meeting. By recognising her own experiences in mine, she then used our similarities to inform her own behaviour and increase her power within this situation. Michael Taussig (1993: xiii) describes how “the wonder of mimesis lies in the copy drawing on the character and the power of the original, to the point whereby the representation may even assume that character and that power.” In this situation,

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her mimicry of my behaviour extends the similarity of our experiences from the past and into the future, as she enacts my ‘reformed’ behaviour.

Conclusion Biography and emotion affected this research in two distinct ways. Firstly, the disclosure of my past criminal conviction had practical implications within the research process. In gaining access, the women opened up to me more freely than I believe they would have had I not disclosed. A non-disclosure here would have ruled out disclosing all of my biography (criminal or not), which would have made me less able to participate in this co-produced PAR and would have hindered my ability to meaningfully engage. Secondly, the way in which my emotions and biography added to the theoretical analysis and understanding of the important themes the women identified within the research. The emotional moments identified aided the critical analysis of the data produced. The analysis focused upon not only what was said, but what was felt. The unsaid became moments where my biography, experience, and the emotions felt in the room, were required to fill in the gaps through a thick description of my own immersive lived experience. Sharing my biography in a frank and open way, which the PAR relationship demands, meant that my biography was no longer my own, but knowledge for the women to reflect upon and use as evidence, with their own experiences, to form action. When reflecting on her own past in a group discussion, a participant kept looking at me and saying, “well you know what it’s like don’t you?” She felt no need to elaborate, as a tear rolled down her face. I did know, for out of all the participants our biographies are the most alike. It is now my responsibility to translate that in ways that people unlike us can understand. It was in these moments that the pain of punishment, shared experience, and responsibility that emotional anxieties were produced. I began to critically interrogate my own experiences. The responsibility involved in saying ‘I was there and now I'm here' weighs heavy, as, through my studies and experiences of peers, I know my present is not a typical outcome for criminalised women. The importance of acknowledging the influence of emotions and biography upon this research is not simply a methodological issue, to position myself within my research, or to be reflexive to justify my findings. It is to fully understand the importance of the emotionally-sensed knowledge produced through this piece of participatory research. The ‘messiness’ of sharing personal biography and emotional moments are captured within autoethnography in a way that cannot be understood in alternative methods. Despite this research consisting of a participatory action research framework, it is only in the use of ethnographic methods that a deeper understanding of ‘insider research’ can be found.

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References Anderson, L. (2006) Analytical autoethnography. Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, 35(4): 373–95. Bendelow, G. & Williams, S. (1998) Emotions in social life. London: Routledge. Earle, R. (2014) Insider and out. Qualitative Inquiry, 20(4): 429-38. Ferrell, J. & Hamm, M. (eds.) (1998) Ethnography at the edge: Crime, deviance and field research. Boston: Northeastern University Press. Fontana, A., & Frey, J. H. (1994) Interviewing: The arts of science. Handbook of Qualitative Research, i: 361–376. Hochschild, A. (1983) The managed heart: Commercialisation of human feeling. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hubbard, G., Backett-Milburn, K. & Kemmer, D. (2001) Working with emotion: Issues for the researcher in fieldwork and teamwork. International Journal of Social Research Methodology, 4(2): 119-37. Jewkes, Y. (2012) Autoethnography and emotion as intellectual resources. Qualitative Inquiry, 18(1): 63-75. Kane, S. (1998) Reversing the ethnographic gaze: Experiments in cultural criminology. In Ethnography at the edge: Crime, deviance, and field research (pp.132-45). Boston: Northeastern University Press. Lykes, B. M. & Crosby, A. (2014) Feminist practises of action and community research. In Hesse-Biber, S. N. (ed.) Feminist research practise: A primer (pp.145-181). Thousand Oaks: SAGE publications. Maruna, S. (2001) Making good: How ex-convicts reform and rebuild their lives. London: American Psychological Association. McNeill, F. & Beyens, K. (2013) Offender supervision in Europe. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan. Oakley, A. (1981) Interviewing women: A contradiction in terms? In H. Roberts (ed.) Doing feminist research (pp.30-61). London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Pain, R. (2009) Introduction: Doing social geographies. In S. Smith, R. Pain, & S. A. Marston (eds.) The SAGE handbook of social geographies (pp.507-15). London: SAGE. 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. Reinharz, S. (1992) Feminist methods in social research. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ryle, G. (1971) Collected papers. Volume II: Collected essays, 1929-1968. London:Hutchinson. Taussig, M. T. (1993) Mimesis and alterity: A particular history of the senses. New York: Psychology Press. Wakeman, S. (2014) Fieldwork, biography and emotion: Doing criminological autoethnography.British Journal of Criminology, 54(5): 705-21.

Chapter 10

‘Messily embedded’: an auto- ethnography of redundancy in the Welsh nuclear industry Alexandra Plows Abstract This chapter provides an ‘auto-ethnography’ (Spry, 2001) of a specific organisation, Shaping the Future (StF), which was tasked with mitigating the impacts of nuclear redundancies at Wylfa nuclear power station, in Anglesey, North Wales, during the period 2012-2016. I was engaged in a messy ‘method assemblage’ (Law, 2004) where I was both an ethnographer and simultaneously a sub-contracted employee of StF. I show how this ‘messily embedded’ practice facilitated a situated understanding of the challenges faced by stakeholders tackling mass redundancies, and associated shocks and strains rocking the region’s labour market, within this particular timeframe. I show how my ‘messily embedded’ ethnography facilitated trust and access and provided a means of ‘getting under the skin’ of the wider crisis facing the North Wales region. I argue that my approach can also be understood as ‘action research’ (Stringer, 1999) initially through service delivery and ultimately through collaborative knowledge exchange.

Keywords Auto-ethnography; method assemblage; action research; mess; labour markets; regions; redundancy; nuclear industry.

Introduction This chapter provides an autobiographical narrative of a ‘messily embedded’ ethnography within the organisation Shaping the Future (StF), tracing anticipatory stakeholder responses to nuclear redundancies at Wylfa nuclear power station, in Anglesey, North Wales, during the period 2012-2016. I first set out

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the context of my messily embedded ‘method assemblage’ (Law 2004), where I blurred across the boundaries of employee and researcher. I discuss how my ‘insider’ (Plows, 2008) status facilitated unique access, and provided a means of ‘getting under the skin’ of the wider crisis of de-industrialisation and mass redundancies facing the region, and stakeholder responses. I argue that my ‘messily embedded’ approach can also be understood as a form of ‘action research,’ initially through the provision of a service (labour market intelligence), and over time through knowledge co-production and structured knowledge exchange with the research participants. My research on the impacts of regional redundancies, and stakeholder responses is inextricably, indeed messily, linked with my own narrative. This chapter is, therefore, an autobiographical as well as an ethnographic piece, written in the first person; it is an ‘auto-ethnography’ (Spry, 2001), which explicitly recognises that my own biography has played an important role in researching and ‘understanding the phenomenon’ (Bouma & Atkinson, 1995). I was both an employee of StF and (latterly), simultaneously conducting ethnographic research within this organisation. I understand this ‘messy embeddedness’ as an embodied example of what Law calls “method assemblage” 1 (Law, 2004). Law argues that “ethnography needs to work differently if it is to understand a networked or fluid world” (2004: 3). Following Law, I argue that new forms of ethnography are needed for, (and indeed are catalysed by), new working practices and situations in an era of precarious ‘market fundamentalism’ (Burawoy, 2013); mobile global capital, de-industrialisation, casualised labour, part-time work, fixed-term contracts, and the ‘gig economy’ (Friedman, 2014). Macrostructural changes mean that these forms of ‘non-standard work’ are becoming the norm for many (Spoonley, 2004; Standing, 2011); including academics. My employment with StF was work I undertook primarily out of necessity because of my status as part of an academic precariat (Ivancheva, 2015); more precisely, a cognitariat (Negri, 2007; Mauri, 2015; Miller, 2012); the precariat in and of the knowledge economy. This cognitariat status was further compounded by the fact I was living in a peripheral, rural region with a struggling labour market; the site not only of my academic research but also of my lived experience and day-to-day life. As a precariously funded academic seeking self- employed work in the local labour market I therefore reflexively developed an embodied understanding of the socio-economic context I was researching. This provides the rationale, and the setting, for my ‘messily embedded’ auto- ethnography. There are additional important methodological and epistemological arguments for explicitly locating the self within the research process. Reflexive 1

See Plows (introduction, this volume) for a detailed discussion of ‘method assemblage’.

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research is about the production of accountable knowledge (Stanley, 1991), 2 and is intrinsic to the explicit locating of self in the research process. For me personally, such reflexivity acts as a methodological check and balance; a practical means of placing my research in context. The case for reflexive practice as a methodological check is picked up by Burawoy who notes that “no method is without fallacies, it is a matter of how honestly and openly we approach them…” (2013: 527). I also understand my messily embedded practice as action research. While having many different expressions and interpretations (Fuller & Kitchin, 2004; Maxey, 1999; Routledge, 1996), action research has been identified by Stringer (1999) as having the following commonalities: that the research is…Rigorously empirical and reflective... engage[s] people as active participants [and] result[s] in some practical outcome based on the lives and work of the participants (Stringer, 1999: 18). I was focused on ensuring my work had a ‘practical outcome’; both as an employee and as an academic; I provided a service to the StF team and the workforce through the provision of labour market intelligence briefings. Secondly, through this hands-on delivery process, I learned from and with the StF team, and other stakeholders, about what was actually happening both in terms of uptake and delivery of the StF programme and also the ‘bigger picture’ of how StF fitted with the empirical reality of the labour market on the ground. This can be understood as two way knowledge exchange, whereby I was informed by these ‘reflexive practitioners’, whilst engaged in collaborative co -production with them (Lewis & Russell, 2011); an action research approach which iteratively developed over time.

Context: Anglesey’s economy The island of Anglesey, North West Wales, is a peripheral rural region of the UK with a depressed labour market facing the pressures of de3 industrialisation (Dobbins et al., 2014). Anglesey has had the lowest GVA of any UK Unitary Authority for a number of years and also some of the lowest wages in the UK, with gross weekly pay standing at £498.30 in April 2017 (InfoBase Cymru, 2017a) as against a UK average of £550 (ONS, 2017). While unemployment on Anglesey at 3.7% in September 2017 is lower than the 2

For a detailed discussion of reflexivity and accountability in the context of Law (2004), see Plows, introduction (this volume). 3

Gross value added (GVA) is the measure of the value of goods and services produced in an area, industry or sector of an economy.

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Wales national average of 5.0% (InfoBase Cymru, 2017b), this masks the fact that many people may be underemployed or in low wage precarious employment. The region has a high percentage of jobs in the agriculture, tourism, forestry and fishing, production and wholesale, retail, transport, hotels, and food sectors. Jobs in these sectors are often low paid, casualised and seasonal. The latest of a handful of major, well paying, industrial employers to close its doors is Wylfa nuclear power station, coming close on the heels of loss of another major local employer; the closure of Anglesey Aluminium (AA) in 2009, which resulted in over 500 redundancies in the midst of the recession (Dobbins et al., 2014). The Wylfa decommissioning timeline has stretched considerably; originally anticipated in 2012, it finally shut down energy production in December 2015, with around 200 workers (out of a workforce of around 500) made redundant in ‘cohorts’ throughout 2016 (and continuing throughout 2017). Local and regional, and to an extent, national stakeholders have been developing a number of anticipatory strategies to the AA and Wylfa redundancies since the early/mid 00’s. These interventions included the StF programme, funded by the EU and with match funding from this core of stakeholders. StF was specifically designed as an anticipatory response to redundancies in the North Wales nuclear industry at both Wylfa on Anglesey 4 and Trawsfynydd in Gwynedd. This was achieved through the supported provision of funds (up to £15,000 per worker) for re-training (Dobbins & Plows, 2016).

‘Messily embedded’ ethnographic research; telling the story My ethnographic practice must be understood first and foremost for what it initially and primarily was; my first ‘gig’ as a self-employed consultant. This work provided me with an important means of getting by in the sagging regional economy of North Wales when my short-term university research contract terminated in April 2012. In Autumn 2012 I started providing regional labour market intelligence for StF. StF was clearly an important anticipatory redundancy mitigation measure; thus, I kept an academic ‘weather eye’ on what StF’s aims and objectives were and how they were carried out and responded to in practice, not least in terms of the part I was playing in this process. This informed a small, successful, grant application focused specifically on anticipatory stakeholder responses to redundancies in the region’s nuclear industry submitted by my academic colleague, enabling us to continue our research on regional redundancies (Dobbins et al., 2014).

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Trawsfynydd was further along the decommissioning process than Wylfa with most workers being made redundant during the timeframe of StF.

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In January 2014, then, approximately a year after starting my work relationship with StF, this role also officially became ‘research.’ I continued to rely on my StF job as a core source of income, together with other consultancy work as part of a patchy self –employment ‘portfolio,’ throughout this timeframe. I was, very importantly, not ‘playing’ at working for StF. The academic research project also involved qualitative interviews with key local/regional stakeholders and Wylfa workers. This all felt similar, but at the same time very different to, my previous ‘insider research’ as an environmental activist (Plows, 2008). In the StF context, I wasn’t quite the same sort of ‘insider’ that I had been when I undertook research on my own activist movement; though nor was this simply ‘participant observation,’ as I was clearly far more ‘embedded’ (Lewis & Russell, 2011) than that. I was engaged in a ‘method assemblage,’ where I was both ‘some kind of team member’ (Reiter- Theil, 2004: 23) as an ethnographer undertaking ‘action research’; and simultaneously actually a team member, as a sub-contracted employee of StF. Trust and Access In practical terms, my ‘messily embedded’ status facilitated the generation of trust and access. I explicitly identified with the workers facing redundancy and the stakeholders seeking to mitigate the impacts of these forthcoming redundancies. I was also now one of these stakeholders; as well as understanding myself as part of a regional precariat. This sense of solidarity and familiarity engendered by my ‘messily embedded’ ethnography, significantly facilitated my capacity to make strong, meaningful connections with key stakeholders and the redundant workers I interviewed. My relationship with StF also helped me to identify, and negotiate access to, other ‘key informants.’ I could rapidly establish ‘common ground’ with these interviewees and establish good interview dynamics. Understanding the phenomenon 1) StF as a ‘supply side’ initiative A core research plus of my embeddedness is how it benefitted me in terms of ‘understanding the phenomenon’ (Bouma & Atkinson, 1995), firstly in terms of my understanding of what was happening within the case study site. I was able to generate a unique, insider account of StF’s operations; not just accessing, but contributing to, a number of internal processes which provided important insights. For example, I was able to identify (and contribute to) a highly responsive approach by the StF team in ‘real time’ as they adapted service provision as a response to the articulated needs of the workforce (Dobbins & Plows, 2016). I was also able to understand more about the context of StF’s operations and remit. StF was trying to fix, or at least mitigate, a structural hole in the region’s labour market, via a ‘classic’ supply side focused

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approach- focusing on re-, or up-, skilling the nuclear workforce. The emphasis on ‘supply side’ interventions to mitigate redundancies and boost regional regeneration is the policy norm (Dobbins et al., 2014; Dobbins & Plows, 2016; Keep and Mayhew, 2010): StF had an articulated ‘supply-side’ strategy based on (UK and Welsh) government economic regeneration policy directives with a focus on upskilling the labour force (Welsh Government, 2008). Understanding the phenomenon 2) StF and regional ‘demand-side’ initiatives At this point (2014-15) I also began interviewing stakeholders linked to StF. I learned that around 2008, together with other regional stakeholders, Anglesey Council had begun to develop the ‘Energy Island’ initiative; a strategy of attracting inward investment around energy, including renewables and a new nuclear plant (Wylfa Newydd). These stakeholders had been instrumental in developing StF as a supply side programme which would tap into these forthcoming Energy Island opportunities. As time went on however and the delivery of the StF programme was rolled out during 2013-15, because of my ‘messily embedded’ status I could identify a significant gap between what was being anticipated by stakeholders in terms of forthcoming demand-side opportunities, and what was actually coming on stream. Put simply, the jobs for which these workers were retraining were simply not materialising. There was a major time-lag between the Wylfa redundancies and the operational phase of Energy Island, particularly the Wylfa Newydd new nuclear plant, and other inward investment opportunities and initiatives. This fact was not lost on stakeholders themselves. “There’s a lot of things gone and there is a lot of talk about things being replaced or coming in but there is not a lot happening now is there?” “There is a big gap there isn’t there. [Wylfa redundancies are] definitely happening in [2016] ... What happens after that?” (‘Andrew’ and ‘Harry’, UNITE, interviewed in 2015). “There was, at one time, an aspiration that there would be a closer match between the closure of the current station and starting to generate electricity at the new plant. Unfortunately… there is likely to be a gap between the closure … maybe even as long as 10 years before the new power station generates [power]” (‘Iestyn’, Anglesey Council, interviewed in 2014). Other ‘flagship’ Energy Island renewables projects fell by the wayside in this time period, some being scrapped completely, such as the ‘Rhiannon’ off-

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shore wind farm cancelled in 2014. Others are still undergoing a process of delays and buy-outs. Understanding the phenomenon 3) the ‘bigger picture’ As a direct result of my ‘messily embedded’ ethnography, I saw how time delays in these Energy Island projects significantly affected the impact of StF. Some workers undertaking StF- funded offshore wind and marine-related courses in anticipation of Energy Island projects, quit these courses halfway through when these schemes were shelved. I saw at first- hand how market uncertainty adversely affected peoples’ skills/training decisions. StF stuck to its “strengthening the supply side” remit, which it had no option but to do, given its funding remit. StF was not empowered or indeed equipped, to play a more expansive role in regional (re)development; namely, they could not influence whether demand-side opportunities actually came on-stream (Dobbins & Plows, 2016). I also saw that other stakeholders trying to generate demand-side opportunities were also severely constrained by the fact that initiatives like ‘Energy Island’ were subject to the vagaries of market forces, and as such were simply not able to be coordinated with the timescales of mass redundancies. I was identifying a frustrating narrative of stretching timescales because of market vulnerability and uncertainty, as it played out in real time. Essentially, between 2012-16, the story is of stakeholders and workers grappling with the consequences of macro-economic shocks; mass redundancies caused by globalisation and industrial restructuring, and underlying strains in the labour market, particularly a lack of medium-size enterprises, a lack of quality jobs, and stretching timelines for the delivery of new economic ventures and initiatives, meaning the local labour market lacked the capacity to absorb an influx of skilled redundant workers. Identifying these issues and seeing the ways in which regional stakeholders were trying to tackle these challenges, catalysed myself and my colleague to organise two Labour Market Summits in 2015 and 2016, bringing frontline practitioners (such as Careers Wales staff ), local policymakers and other stakeholders, together with academics and stakeholders from other regions working on issues such as jobs quality and regional labour markets. As a result of several years (by this stage) of ‘messily embedded’ interaction with these stakeholders, these structured knowledge exchange events were well attended and lively, and provided a forum for local and regional actors to strategically discuss key challenges and share experiences in a supportive setting. 5

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-north-west-wales-28580683

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Messy (ethical) negotiation Operating at this messy interface between researcher and practitioner, negotiating such boggy methodological ‘hinterlands’ (Law, 2004) is not without its pitfalls. While space constraints preclude a detailed discussion, negotiating the ethics of informed consent in such a ‘messily embedded’ field was challenging. Even though my academic research had gone through university ethical procedures and been ‘signed off’ by StF managers and colleagues, I felt that the ‘everydayness’ of my presence meant that informed consent was simply a tick in a box on a piece of paper. I simply ‘worked around’ this, using interviews as my core data source and my ethnography for ‘sense impressions.’ Like others operating at this interface (Lewis & Russell, 2011), I have concerns about what ‘informed consent’ can really mean in this sort of contingent ethnographic context, embedded within a practitioner setting, but I personally think it is ‘good enough’ if common sense is used (Miller & Bell, 2002). Reflexivity is an essential safety mechanism for thoroughly examining the ethical implications of our research and opening it up to the scrutiny of others.

Conclusion I hope to have shown that my approach provided some key insights into the dynamics of a particular organisation (StF); through becoming ‘messily embedded’, I was able to develop trust and access, facilitating a situated understanding of the challenges faced by a range of stakeholders tackling mass redundancies and associated shocks and strains rocking the region’s labour market within this particular timeframe. Law’s advocating of ‘new ways of doing’ critically engaged ethnography can be understood as a call for ethnographers to make a difference politically. Burawoy develops this more explicitly, stating that “ethnography is on the front-line in the battle to save society from market fundamentalism” (Buroway, 2013: 535). I would not claim to be making this much of a difference, but I would hope that my ‘messily engaged’ approach has had some ‘practical outcome’; it has explicitly been understood as ‘action research.’ This approach developed iteratively over time, through the initial provision of services, and ultimately providing a structured platform for facilitating knowledge exchange between different communities of practice. My approach also hopefully sheds some light into the uncertain and precarious nature of the changing world of work, in a specific regional setting. Law argues that ethnography does not simply report ‘reality on the ground’; rather ethnography “is performative. It helps to produce realities” (2004: 143). In producing these realities- in identifying and foregrounding specific patterns emerging from the ‘white noise’ of the ethnographic field, Law empha-

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sises that in this process other realities are being silenced. There are inevitably gaps, spaces in our ethnographic accounts. I have foregrounded what I felt was an important empirical pattern, a reflection of larger scale macroeconomic processes – ‘market fundamentalisms’- as they played out in a specific regional labour market, with underlying structural weaknesses. My methodological approach not only explores but is itself an embodied expression of, the sociological phenomenon I both study and am part of; the challenges of negotiating a precarious, flat-lining regional labour market, postredundancy. This is not a complete narrative, not least because I am an ethnographer and not a political economist. There are other ways of framing the narrative and other voices, perspectives, and issues to account for. More research will be needed to identify the multiple, messy, fluid and contingent pathways through which global economic dynamics are playing themselves out.

References Bouma, G.D. & Atkinson, G.B.J. (1995) Handbook of social science research. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Burawoy, M. (2013) Ethnographic fallacies: Reflections on labour studies in the era of market fundamentalism. Work, Employment and Society, 27(3): 526-36. Dobbins, T. & Plows, A. (2016) Labour market intermediaries: A corrective to the human capital paradigm (mis)matching skills and jobs? Journal of Eduth cation and Work, published online 9 Nov 2016, 30(6): 571-84. Dobbins, T. Plows, A. & Lloyd-Williams, H. (2014) ‘Make do and mend’ after redundancy at Anglesey Aluminum: Critiquing human capital approaches. Work, Employment & Society, 28(4): 515-32. Friedman, G. (2014) Workers without employers: Shadow corporations and the rise of the gig economy. Review of Keynesian Economics, 2(2): 171-88. Fuller, D. & Kitchin, R. (eds.) (2004) Radical theory/ critical praxis: Academic geography beyond the academy? Kelowna: Praxis E-Press. InfoBase Cymru (2017a) Earning. Available at: http://www.infobasecymru.net/IAS/themes/employmentandbusiness/em ployment/view?viewId=1866 [Accessed 21.3.18] InfoBase Cymru (2017b) Employment status. Available at: http://www.infobasecymru.net/IAS/themes/employmentandbusiness/em ployment/tabular?viewId=9&geoId=1&subsetId= [Accessed 21.3.18] Ivancheva, M. P. (2015) The age of precarity and the new challenges to the academic profession. Studia Universitatis Babes-Bolyai- Studia Europaea, 60(1): 39-47. Keep, E. & Mayhew, K. (2010) Moving beyond skills as a social and economic panacea. Work, Employment and Society, 24(3): 565–77. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. London: Routledge.

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Lewis, S. J. & Russell, A. J. (2011) Being embedded: A way forward for ethnographic research. Ethnography, 12(3): 398-416. Maxey, I. (1999) Beyond boundaries? Activism, academia, reflexivity and research. Area, 31(3): 199-208. Mauri, C.J. (2015) “The precariat, Ph.D”: Relating Standing’s notion to contingent academic labour. In T. Petray & A. Stephens (eds.), Proceedings of The Australian Sociological Association Conference. Cairns: James Cook University. Miller, T. & Bell, L. (2002) Consenting to what? Issues of access, gate-keeping and “informed” consent. In M. Mauthner, M. Birch, J. Jessop & T. Miller (eds.), Ethics in Qualitative Research (pp.53-69). London: Sage. Miller, T. (2012) The cognitariat. Social Identities, 18(3): 259-60. Negri, A. (2007) Goodbye mister socialism. Paris: Seuil. ONS (2017) Annual survey of hours and earnings. Available at: https://www.nomisweb.co.uk/reports/lmp/gor/2092957698/report.aspx [Accessed 21.3.18] Plows, A. (2008) Social movements and ethnographic methodologies: An analysis using case study examples. Sociology Compass, 2(5): 1523–38. Reiter-Theil, S. (2004) Does empirical research make bioethics more relevant? ‘The embedded researcher’ as a methodological approach. Medicine, Health Care and Philosophy, 7(1): 17–29. Routledge, P. (1996) The third space as critical engagement. Antipode, 28(4): 399-419. Spoonley, P. (2004) Is non-standard work becoming standard? Trends and issues. New Zealand Journal of Employment Relations,29(3): 1. Standing, G. (2011) The precariat. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Stanley, L. (1991) Feminist auto/biography and feminist epistemology? In J. Aaron & S. Walby (eds.) Out of the margins: Women’s studies in the nineties (pp.204-19). London: Falmer Press. Spry, T. (2001) Performing autoethnography: An embodied methodological praxis. Qualitative Inquiry, 7(6): 706–32. Stringer, E. T. (1999). Action research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Welsh Government (2008) Skills that work for Wales. Available at: http://gov.wales/topics/educationandskills/publications/guidance/skillsth atforwales/?lang=en [Accessed 21.3.18]

Chapter 11

A messy ethnography of mess Ville Savolainen Abstract This chapter deals with mess in a more concrete level. It is based on my PhDresearch, where I study the work of hotel housekeepers. The aim is to study the work itself, how it is done and how it makes the studied hotel function. It combines autoethnography and outsider observation, as I have done fieldwork while working as a hotel housekeeper myself in a 4-star hotel in Helsinki, Finland. I describe my own journey as an unemployed academic working as a cleaner in different contexts and how this led to my research. I argue for a materially sensitive and processual approach to understanding the work of housekeepers. It shows how multifold and fragile societal boundaries are and the toll their maintenance has on cleaners. Following Law’s idea of getting my hands dirty, I argue for the benefits of experiencing the work first-hand despite the loss of clarity and predictability.

Keywords Hotel housekeeping; cleaning work; auto-ethnography; new materialisms; boundaries.

Introduction This chapter deals with mess in a more concrete level. It orients the ethnographic gaze towards the mess created by human life and how it is managed. Our life-form creates a huge amount of mess every day, be it the mess created in offices or at home. Even so, the places of business are usually quite clean. This doesn't happen by itself. It is achieved by a huge amount of labor from cleaners. Cleaning work upholds the boundaries of every (modern) society by excluding the unwanted materials from it. Without this work, society would not be able to function very long, before it becomes overwhelmed with mess. As such, it can be called important work, but it is among the least respected jobs in the modern economy.

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I base my discussion on my PhD-research, in which I study the work of hotel room attendants. I conduct my fieldwork by working as a housekeep1 er/cleaner myself at a 4-star hotel in Helsinki, Finland, which makes it an auto-ethnography of sorts. Auto-ethnography is a form of ethnography, where the researcher is given a pivotal role in data-production. The researcher becomes the “epistemological and ontological nexus upon which the research project turns” (Spry, 2001: 711). This means that the personal experiences of the researcher are seen as a valuable material in understanding the field. My work is still not a “pure” auto-ethnography, because I rely heavily on the discussions I have on the field, and the observation of other people`s work. By bringing in to the research my personal history as an academically educated person doing cleaning work, I can highlight the messy entanglements of economy, politics and my personal life, that enabled me to enter the field and understand the need for this research. Therefore, I will start this chapter with a brief overview of my previous career as a cleaner to highlight the messy road I took to enter my current field. I will then describe the work and argue for the instability of the boundaries that withhold our society and the toll the maintenance of these boundaries takes on the bodies that reproduce them.

Entering the field I started my cleaning career at a passenger terminal of Turku harbor while studying at the University of Turku. Then I spent a summer as a room attendant in a hotel in Naantali, a small city outside of Turku. After graduation, I was unemployed and in dire need of any income, when I was offered a parttime cleaning job at a school. After re-locating to Helsinki, I cleaned schools, kindergartens, and offices. These different experiences fused with my sociological interests forming the backbone of my PhD-research. All these cleaning jobs were done when the actual users of these spaces were absent. I became aware of the huge amount of work, that is needed every day to eradicate the mess after the actual users and make the spaces of production look nice and welcoming. I also noticed how undervalued the job is and how the cleaners are almost universally at the bottom of every occupational hierarchy. Anyone could order us around, but we hardly ever had any power of ordering or even ask for help from, anyone. We were hardly ever consulted about the decisions regarding cleaning, instead, everyone assumed they know how it should be done. This led to some strange outcomes, which the cleaning staff could predict before we even started. 1

While I was working on this paper, I switched to another 4-star hotel in Helsinki, where I have different duties than the first hotel. As I had only been at the second site for a month while finishing this paper, this discussion is based on the observations from the first site.

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I started to familiarize myself with previous research literature concerning cleaning work. I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of literature available about the work of cleaners. I will not introduce these studies in any detail for the sake of brevity. Even though all of the studies state, implicitly or explicitly, the advancement of room attendant’s esteem, they offer no analysis or de2 tailed description of the work itself. In my view, this omission has a lot to do with the ontological assumptions governing these studies, which emphasize purely social phenomena over material reality. These studies can produce very neat descriptions of social phenomena, but they refuse to get their hands dirty. (Law, 2004: 2) Cleaning work is everything but neat, and studies representing them should not aim for tidy descriptions. The interaction that room attendants have is mostly materially conveyed, instead of face-to-faceencounters. My view, which is shared by a vast majority of the cleaners I’ve worked with, is that the best interaction with people is when they are not there. The relation is a mediated one. The assumption of a stable social structure is also problematic, as a hotel is composed of a continual flow of people and materials coming in and out. As Law proposes, it is useful to concentrate on a “generative flux, that creates realities” (2004: 7). To study this kind of relation, a materially sensitive and processual approach is needed, so my interest in new materialist ontology came in handy. New materialism is not a uniform strand of social theory, but instead, it is a heterogeneous collection of different strands. The main idea is to overcome the dualism between human life and matter. Traditional ontology views matter as passive, something that humans impose their will and which has no agency by itself. In new materialist thought, matter has agency by itself. Social phenomena are co-constituted by material and human action. (Bennet, 2010; Coole & Frost, 2010.) Reality is not seen as a static and pre-defined, instead it is in a constant process of rhizomic becoming (Masny, 2013: 339). A hotel is a good example of this, since the process of old and new guests happens every day without ever ceasing. Another theoretical insight that guides my observation is the idea of boundaries; namely that every society needs to draw boundaries between wanted and unwanted elements. Mary Douglas argues that this need also creates the category of dirt. Dirt or waste is matter in the wrong place. It cannot exist without some sort of order that breaks down. Therefore, order and dirt are created simultaneously. (Douglas, 2002: 92). With this background, I could secure an institutional credential for my research from the University of Tampere. The problem was that I couldn't secure a grant. So, I faced a dilemma. I couldn't make ends meet without the

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See for example: Hunter, Powell & Watson, 2006; Herod & Aguiar, 2006; Kensbrock et. al., 2013, 2016; Sherman, 2011; Lundberg & Karlsson, 2011.

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salary, but if I were to take a full-time job, I couldn`t do ethnography. Ethnography as a method requires a lot of time spent on the field. Since hotel cleaning is done during business hours, it is practically impossible to do it while working. A professor at my post-graduate seminar suggested I should apply to work as a housekeeper. I liked the idea, although I was aware of the challenges of combining strenuous manual labor to creative academic work. But to follow Law`s argumentation that research methods don`t just describe reality, but also produce it (2004: 5), this approach is intriguing. By working myself, I not only observe the boundary-making, I produce them myself. This opens a new avenue for observing how this work affects an individual and how this affect shapes research. Eventually, I was employed by a cleaning company and started working in a 4-star hotel in Helsinki. As is already evident, I had started gaining entry to the field before I even knew about my research. If I was a researcher without any experience in cleaning work, I would have had a harder time getting a job. Here, we are confronted with a very messy entanglement of large societal trends, personal choices, and research. I graduated in 2015 when Finland was going through one of its history's worst economic slumps and my personal preferences made me a sort of a persona nongrata in the job market, as philosophy, qualitative methods or social theory are not the most sought-after skills in a neo-liberal economy. I say this not to make the readers feel sorry for me, or to indulge in some sort of cathartic exercise. I say this to enlighten the messy entanglement that led to this research. Because of my inability to find employment or later secure a grant for my PhD, I was forced to come up with some income. Cleaning work was my lifeline, since the industry is always short of employees and cleaners are needed in practically every work-place 3 imaginable. Without the reality into which I graduated, I would not have understood the vast amount of work needed to withhold our society from slipping into chaos nor be able to get into the field as easily as I did. At the job interview, I was told that they were planning to hire me mainly as an evening worker, who is on-call when guests need something. This is another “messy” aspect of my research, as I was hoping to work as a housekeep4 er. The reason for them hiring me was that the evening manager had to speak fluent Finnish. This wasn't the only reason though, as few of the room attendants with an immigrant background speak Finnish fluently. The reason 3

Although for me it`s relatively easy to secure a job in the cleaning industry, it may not be so for everyone. Our company does value cleaning experience, as they prefer you to have at least one year of experience or an education for it. I got my first and second cleaning job through a friend and without this connection I might not have had the opportunity to get in the field.

4

I did have housekeeping shifts as well.

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was, I suspect, to get an ethnic Finn working there, so again my ethnography got entangled with messy political realities. I ended up being in a supervisory position, since after I get the phone, I am the one that needs to figure things out and organise help for room attendants if they can't manage their work in reasonable time. This was the story of me getting into the field. Although I was hoping to be a housekeeper among the rest, this kind of position enabled me to observe the overall process of the hotel. This is because I was responsible for communicating with the reception and also to maintain the cleanliness of public areas (a task, that the housekeepers don’t have). One of the problems of working and doing ethnography is the need to make notes of the field. Luckily, my position as the evening cleaner entails me writing down tasks that I should do, since I don’t have a designated area. I took these papers home and used them as a loose structure to write descriptions of my days. The texts consist of descriptions of different tasks, theoretical insights gained in conjunction with these tasks and personal feelings when confronted with constantly changing situations. In the next section, I will discuss the findings I have made.

Maintaining precarious boundaries To illustrate the process of a hotel and housekeeper’s role in it, it is useful to borrow a notion of the rhizome by Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari. They define the rhizome as an open relational field, which is open to new connections. It is, and it must be, connected to everything else. It consists of an assemblage of lines, which are actions and practices that constitutes subjects, institutions, etc. (Deleuze & Guattari, 1987: 5-7). A hotel is indeed very connected, as its purpose is to accommodate travelers during their stay. It needs to be open for anyone with means to pay for it, to get entangled in its process. To be able to keep making new connections, the connection between the previous guest and the hotel must be severed. This is the role that housekeepers and cleaners fulfill. Normally, the housekeeping staff start their work in the morning from 8-10 am. They are given a list, which indicates which rooms they should clean that day. When they have stacked their trollies with clean linen and customer products, empty a linen trolley for dirty linen and gather their cleaning equipment, they head to their area. They have an iPad, which opens the computer system, which tells them which rooms are available. This points to the boundary between housekeepers and guests, as housekeepers cannot go into the room before guests have checked out and guests are not let in before the housekeepers “code” the room clean on their iPads. While I have been in the field, I have come to realize that cleaning is mainly about transportation. Taking the towels and clean sheets to the room is easily

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classified as transportation. But vacuuming, mopping and cleaning the sink also collects the dirt from the room, which is eventually taken out of the building via the plumbing system or trash pickups. So, we also transport the dirt out of the rooms and therefore make the space hospitable for new guests. A space is now ready for a new guest and the process keeps moving forward. The boundaries of a hotel are kept intact by many objects. These include towels, furniture, vacuum cleaners, etc. Still, these objects cannot create an order without them being in the right place. The objects inside a hotel room produce a standard that makes the space look as if there hasn’t been a person before the guest. The bedding is always the same, curtains must be in drawn to the edge of the window, etc. The relations between different objects are standardized, which ideally makes all the rooms look the same. This way, the signs of the housekeeping work are eradicated, since there is no personal touch to the room. When the standard isn’t followed, the cleaning manager of the hotel may deny the room’s cleanliness. This points to Douglas’ notion of dirt being matter out of place; a poorly placed body lotion pack isn’t dirt, but it defies the categories of order and chaos and therefore become unacceptable. (Douglas, 2002: 92). All these different objects that create the boundary between order and chaos are brought to right places via the body of a cleaner. Our bodies both carry things inside the rooms and carries stuff out. The problem is the processuality of the human body. The body gets tired and requires breaks, food, and water to keep going. This reality is missed in the organization of the work, as the time given to each task is standard, no matter how tired the body is. The process of old and new guests creates a need for constant transportation of materials in and out. The housekeepers body, the material objects and their relations to each other co-constitute the boundaries that enable the process. Neither of them can produce it by themselves, but together they can disentangle the previous guest from the hotel. As the discussion shows, our boundaries are multifold, made by material and human action. But the hotel is not a static entity even after the boundaries have been drawn. Instead, it is in a constant flow of new guests and people attending different events at the hotel. These people are needed to keep the process going, but they also produce resistance as they use the public areas, toilet supplies and so on. Therefore, the boundaries of public areas must be withheld by the evening cleaner. The stability of the boundaries is also under threat because of the housekeeping work, since people get tired and forget things. The hotel is in a constant state of becoming and it flows and leaks everywhere when new connections to it are constantly being made. A good example of this leaking is the lobby, which I should check three times from 2 pm to 8 pm, in order to make sure it stays clean and welcoming. Even

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though it is made that way every morning, the constant flow of people creates an instability which I mitigate with my own work. The mistakes of the housekeepers are rectified by me as well. The process is even more complicated by the many different needs of the guests, for example, the heat might be too hot or cold. It points to huge rhizomic connections that the hotel consists of and which makes the task of withholding its boundaries a demanding and unpredictable task.

Conclusion The work of hotel room attendants and cleaners maintains the process of a hotel by drawing a boundary between old and new guests. It creates a hospitable space for guests, free from the signs of previous guests. It is achieved by the combination of the cleaner’s body with a wide variety of different objects that maintain the boundaries for new guests. The central importance of the body makes the work exhausting, virtually none of the tasks are achieved without it. This fact leads to a problem in my research, which in turn points to a larger societal problem. Fieldwork should ideally be a process, where being in the field and writing are combined to achieve an ever-growing understanding and description of the field. The reality of this is messier, since my exhaustion does not stay in the field. It is carried within me, which means that I am not able to write as efficiently as I wish. This problem is not just my own, but points to a larger idea of doing low-paid work for a while and then advancing in the society. I was once asked by a guest about my wages. As I told her how little we make in an hour, she was horrified. Then, in an act of re-assuring me, she said “well, at least that should motivate you to study more.” It is fair to say that this is not that simple. The work makes it very hard to maintain the focus that is needed to get into a school or doing your studies. The spatial messiness of our society's boundaries takes a huge toll on the bodies that guard them. By dealing with the mess created by different kinds of activities, we make it harder for ourselves to achieve a climb to the social ladder. The approach still has a lot of merit in my view. Since I’ve had to resort to different cleaning jobs to get by, I have made myself susceptible to the flow or flux of social life, that Law describes in his book. As Law’s main objective is to create a method, that can grasp the generative flux that produces the stability that social scientists usually describe, my approach goes even further in this. By working as a cleaner, I get to see and produce that stability myself. I have understood the massive number of low-income workers, who re-draw the boundaries of a clean and functioning society, where the “actual” users of the space usually enter. The stability of these spaces does not happen without their work, but they are hardly ever seen by the people they are serving. I also see, feel and endure the toll that this work has on me. What I lose in clear and

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concise research arrangement, I gain from a deeper and more personal understanding of how our social world is kept intact every day.

References Bennett, J. (2010) Vibrant matter: A political ecology of things. Durham: Duke University Press. Coole, D.H. & Frost, S. (2010) Introducing the new materialisms. In D. H. Coole & S. Frost (eds.) New materialisms: Ontology, agency, and politics (pp.1-43). Durham: Duke University Press. Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. (1987) A thousand plateaus: Capitalism and schizophrenia. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press. Douglas, M. (2002) Purity and danger: An analysis of concepts of pollution and taboo. New York: Routledge. Herod, A. & Aguiar, L.L.M. (2006) Introduction: Ethnographies of the Cleaning Body. Antipode, 38(3): 530–533. Hunter Powell, P. & Watson, D. (2006) Service unseen: The hotel room attendant at work. International Journal of Hospitality Management, 25(2): 297-312. Kensbock, S., Jennings, G., Bailey, J. & Patiar, A. (2013) ‘The lowest rung’: Women room attendants’ perceptions of five star hotels’ operational hierarchies. International Journal of Hospitality Management, 35: 360-68. Kensbock, S., Jennings, G., Bailey, J. & Patiar, A. (2016) Performing: Hotel room attendants’ employment experiences. Annals of Tourism Research, 56: 112– 27. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. New York: Routledge. Lundberg, H. & Karlsson, J.C. (2011) Under the clean surface: Working as a hotel attendant. Work, Employment & Society, 25(1): 141-8. Masny, D. (2013) Rhizoanalytic pathways in qualitative research. Qualitative Inquiry, 19(5): 339–48. Sherman, R. (2011) Beyond interaction: Customer influence on housekeeping and room service work in hotels. Work, Employment & Society, 25(1): 19-33. Spry, T. (2001) Performing autoethnography: An embodied methodological praxis. Qualitative Inquiry, 7(6): 706-32.

Section 4 Messy Research Sites and Spaces

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Not only the night: the messiness of ethnography of nurses’ night work Trudy Rudge, Luisa Toffoli and Sandra West Abstract Nurses’ night work is under-researched, except when problematised within a framework of shift disordered work. Moreover, explanations for nursing work and explorations of its key characteristics fail to provide ways to account for that work. This multi-sited ethnographic study of nurses’ night work in an Australian Area Health Service used method assemblage to explore the messiness of practice. Data collection consisted of observations of nurses’ organising practices and a variety of texts such as electronic health records, formal and informal organisational communication documents and tools to show what drives care at night; uncovering a key nursing communication text, developed over-night, that drew together the 24-hour care of the hospital, not just night-time care. This work, essential for cutting through the messiness of practice, took nurses’ time to create yet such work was rendered invisible by the method of generation and the form of the communication produced.

Keywords Nursing; night work; shift work; inscription devices.

Introduction The practice of nursing and provision of 24-hour health care is unavoidably linked to night/shift work and implications this has for individual workers and the organisations employing them (Costa, 2010). Although nurses’ shift work has consistently been researched by those interested in issues associated with the management of working time (Tucker & Knowles, 2008), there is little research specifically exploring the work nurses do at night. Our study was driven by the firm recognition that shift and night work are interlinked and that for Australian nurses, night work is frequently worked, but as one shift within a rotating 24-hour roster (West et al., 2012). The available anal-

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yses of nurses’ work are narrowly focused with explicit purposes, such as work shadowing studies to implement ‘Lean Thinking’ redesign processes (Fitzgerald et al., 2013) or work categorisation prior to task bundling (O’Neill et al., 2011). Such analytical framings simplify organisation and regulation of nurses’ work and prevent critical interrogation of the complexity of that work. Even where studies acknowledge that workload concerns are a dominant cause of attrition, analysis is constrained by the lack of a “common definition or objective measure of nursing work” (Booker, 2011: 42). Workload assessment tool-based studies compound this problem with attempts to predict the amount of nursing care/work that a patient requires, not what is actually delivered, or even deliverable (Henderson et al., 2016; Toffoli, 2011). Studies of nursing workload have therefore tended to understand nurses’ work as a series of events, ignoring the unrelenting 24-hour nature of illness: a problem accentuated by 24/7 requirements of modern therapies. Studies of nurses’ work contend that the work is invisible behind screens (Lawler, 2006), deny aspects of it (Allen, 2015) or at a loss as to how to account for the messiness of data produced by shadowing nurses (Fitzgerald et al., 2013). Moreover, while we are studying nurses’ night work, important work to organise ‘the night’ generally does not occur during these hours, making the collection of data in a single area/time difficult for researchers. This reflects Law’s (2004) work in relation to the messiness of ethnography when the substance or area of study cannot be contained through movement, be elusive, or interact with matters outside (in the contextual hinterland) of the phenomenon. Law (2004) observes that in many methodologies, reality is conceived of as ‘out-there’ and independent, antecedent and singular but argues, in cases of ethnographic studies where processes are the focus of study and research is located in the messiness of practice, a different open-ended method assemblage is required. In particular, where such work goes beyond people’s actions requiring examination of the interplay between a range of nonhuman actants such as technologies of assessment and varieties of ways of figuring the work (Law, 2004: 29), that ‘normal’ methods of ethnography are too ‘clean.’ In this chapter, we present preliminary findings from an ethnographic study into nurses’ night work to reveal elements of the work environment that enable and/or hinder how nurses worked in one Australian tertiary hospital at this crucial time-of-day. Following Latour and Woolgar (1986), Law’s identification of “inscription devices” (Law, 2004: 20) also provides an avenue into how “specific realities are constructed in sets of practices that include particular inscription devices” (Law, 2004: 23). Inscription devices are defined as “…a technology or an instrument… a set of arrangements for converting relations from non-tracelike to trace-like form” (Law 2004: 29, emphasis in original). We use this

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framework to illustrate how these devices come to mediate, construct and constitute the enactment of nurses’ practices between the two conditions of ‘out-there’ and ‘in-here.’ A key component of the analytical process is that rather than discounting mess as ‘white noise,’ or ignored hence remaining analytically absent, ‘mess’ is worked with and included in the analysis. What is made absent or given presence in-here, through interactions between “instruments, architectures or texts” (Law, 2004: 19), and in the case of this study, time of day, is viewed as constitutive of nurses’ night work. We describe two scenarios that illustrate how night work does not stay ‘at night’, but surfaces in texts involving the completion of day/evening work demonstrating that ethnography covers messiness across time and space that is the reality or outthere-ness of nurses’ night work, uncontained within specific units, geographic locations or times of day.

The processes of the study This ethnographic study emerged from an earlier study of nurses’ night work undertaken as part of an industrial campaign in New South Wales, Australia designed to account for long-term effects of night work on nurses’ health (West et al., 2012). This study verified that while there is little known about what nurses ‘do’ at night, many assumptions are made as to workload and the nature of the work happening beyond direct daytime managerial oversight. Subsequently, finding a setting has been ‘the’ trial of the current study, with substantial difficulties encountered in negotiating a field location (hospital) to undertake further research suggested from the previous study (West et al., 2012). The study aims to explore how nurses’ work at night was organised as well as how nurses organise themselves at night. It is located in an acute care medical Cardiology Unit within a large metropolitan tertiary hospital in Aus1 tralia. Ethnographic methods are used to provide insights into how nurses use organising texts, interrupt what those texts record, develop improvisations because of what comes up during their shift. After a five-month ethics process we met with nurses from two separate but adjoining units (an 8-bed Coronary Care Unit (CCU) and an 18-bed Coronary Step Down Unit (CSDU)) to provide information sheets and consent forms emphasizing our use of an ethnographic approach to follow them to the door of the patient’s room and plan following each nurse over several periods so as to record their practices. The voluntary recruitment process elicited participants from both units, and one manager – Duty Nurse Coordinator (DNC) – who worked across both hospital campuses and all shifts. The researcher made appointments with 1

This type of hospital is an acute public and principal referral hospital.

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each potential participant and consent signed on initial meeting – usually the arranged time for the first observation. Each ‘follow round’ (observation) took about two hours, with follow-up discussions occurring in available periods at either the middle or end of the shift. During an observation notes were made, centering on the work of the nurse participant, to record what was happening. Further questions were then formulated for a more formal interview to elicit detail about what the nurses understood to be driving the organisation of their work at night. Materials nurses used to record their work were also gathered. These organising texts are considered to be inscriptive devices rather than mere artefacts of the study and included: – – – –

–

policies, protocols, and procedures of treatment; whiteboards, ‘cheat’ or task sheets and allocation sheets; electronic health care records; computerised observation tools such as telemetry that remotely and continuously transmitted, displayed, monitored and recorded patients’ heart rates; and formal and informal DNC memos, notes and/or information gathered in nursing/medical conversations.

To overcome the on-going invisibility of nursing in an analysis of nurses’ night work, once observations were completed, all material was collated to provide a fuller picture of organisational work of night nurses.

What exactly is messy in this ethnography? In this section, we provide an account of mess across time and space. While the study was located in the two units of a larger tertiary hospital (300+ beds), nurses at this hospital also had managerial oversight (see the DNC participant in this study) of a smaller, public acute care hospital (134 beds) that was located some 14 km away. Both hospitals are part of one Area Health Service (AHS) and each has a 24-hour Emergency Department (ED) with more complex cases referred to the larger hospital. If patients with heart conditions deteriorated after admission to the smaller hospital, they were transferred directly to CCU as ‘moves within’ the AHS and not considered new admissions. As such, these patient movements contributed to the work of the units where we were located as well patients frequently were transferred between the two study sites and another medical ward resulting in a multiple location study site with porous boundaries. The DNC participant observation occurred as the shift began at the smaller general hospital, in the Coordinator’s office (located in a small corridor link-

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ing that hospital’s main entrance with the ED). The DNC sat on one of the two chairs at the desk facing the office door. The desk held two computers, various folders including Coordinator’s folder and miscellaneous office equipment. The night staff (Permanent, Casual and Agency/Bank staff ) reported to the DNC on arrival and confirmed where they would be working for the shift. The Night and Afternoon DNCs sat at adjoining desks, listening to the change of shift report, noting issues on a separate sheet while monitoring information from the computer screens, for example, patient status and numbers in the ED (at both hospitals), night staff numbers, grade and skill mix of staff needed for that night and the next shift(s) – including the following night shift – and any noting patient issues. The DNC illustrated the complexity of working across the two hospitals within the AHS by describing the variations in service level provided and 2 patient acuity permitted within the hospitals that included psychiatric units that were geographically distant as well as a resource for several smaller, public rural and metropolitan hospitals without EDs. Every unit in each hospital had different nurse-to-patient staff ratios and skill mix per shift. This suggested that what most significantly affects the management of nursing work is how this variability in staffing is managed at meetings where staffing for each night is determined: a morning committee meeting (which we have not accessed yet). This is the first example of organisation of the night not occurring at night but determined by a meeting some 12-hours before the shift commenced and then communicated (via meeting minutes) to the nurse managers actually working that shift. The DNC was observed taking telephone calls that ranged from staff asking for authorisation for overtime, reports about a ‘difficult’ patient in the ED and an incident in one of the mental health units (MHU). This incident was managed in strict accordance with Health Department protocols and policy with particular attention given to notification of the relevant health executive within a specified timeframe, contacting the hospital’s casual staff and an Agency to source a nurse/carer to sit with the patient overnight, then reorganising staffing for the morning shift. Any thoughts of the DNC conducting a ‘round’ of the hospital were left until well after we had finished observing. As recorded from the handover notes, the DNC achieved only 50% of the required work in the first three hours of this shift as organising work at night covered more than the one location, and was governed by the effects of recent ‘scandals’ on certain protocols that intensified the need for DNC actions,

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A 66-bed mental health unit was located at the larger hospital and included beds for older persons, psychiatric intensive care and a short stay unit. A 20-bed mental health unit was located at the smaller hospital.

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such as enforced time limits to report activities in the MHU and the consequent need for escalation of reports ‘up the line’. This positioned the DNC as a key communicator in managing risk related issues in such occurrences. Hence the out-there-ness of matters relating to management protocols act as un-verbalised hinterland to his enactments in-here, resulting in time taken away from the DNC’s ongoing work of supervision and oversight in the hospital.

Non-human actants’ roles in organising processes Like most ethnographers (Van Maanen, 2011; Law, 2004), we commenced fieldwork without clearly defining questions for participants or their units, believing we would gather data from observations and the material used during each observation, such as the whiteboards showing treatment and notes taken by the nurse designated as Team Leader (TL) for that night. Observations established through each patient’s treatment regimen are also extracted onto a computer-generated staff allocation form compiled from each patient’s electronic record (a suite of electronic records, i.e. telemetry, pathology tests, observational records, medical notes, care plans, protocols). What gets done the next day (and night) for any individual patient is also added to the allocation form by consulting the number of ‘in- patient’ days juxtaposed to a set routine or protocol for each patient’s medical condition. Already it is clear that what drives how care gets organised is not found in any one location, text, architecture or instrument (Law, 2004). Just as in the DNC’s discussion, while the object of the research, that is, nurses’ night work is central, that work is an effect of what happens at other times of the day. Here, the need to organise care over 24-hours means that nurses at night construct communication tools relaying the detail of the work of the previous 24-hours and care set or planned for the next day.

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Figure 12.:1 Excerpt Patient List Summary Report

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The work of a TL, at both beginning and end of a shift, was observed to involve developing this key communication tool – Patient List Summary Report – from available information contained for each patient in the unit. This entailed the nurse going through the patient’s electronic health record, checking exact protocols and any blood tests due (fasting or not), tests undertaken in other units (for e.g., imaging), discharge notes for support from external agencies, and social concerns (for e.g., family matters) and during the development process consulting with doctors and other nurses about any concerns that they thought should be included in the summary report. This clinical text (see Figure 12.1) contains patient’s conditions, day/dates of treatment/tests; priorities, treatment limits; previous days’ test results, and observations – all points to note about her care. This digitally developed record (in our excerpt an 86-year-old female, multiple conditions) is compiled from various locations using a computer program, or ‘care suite,’ a key driver of nursing care. To do this, the TL went through the patient’s electronic record and clicked on salient records contained within the suite (indicated by being highlighted on the record, usually in red). The program allowed test results to be copied from one section of the suite onto the notes heading of the report, if telemetry records were to be included, these were also clicked on and copied. Medications were also retrieved along with any comments/referrals to social and other agencies. Also recorded were any fall, skin integrity and mobility risks. Other matters (judged relevant by the TL) were also transferred, sometimes from other external AHS computerised systems such as pathology, pharmacy, clinical pathways or from different parts of medical and nursing notes located in the hard copy of the patient health record. While our proposed observations considered that we would collect any textual document (Rudge, 2003) for what it recorded and how it organised care, what arose from aroused curiosity (and became a focus for analysis) was the centrality of this computer-generated text in the provision of care and hence in the organisation of nurses’ work. As a computer-generated text though, this summary report does not contain all the details – it is a briefing docu3 ment, to which nurses were observed to add during handovers and as they worked, detail worthy of communication but not deemed worthy of inclusion in the generated allocation form or patient health record. Before these observations, which included observing at both the beginning and end of shifts, the centrality of the construction of this report for 24-hour care might not have been so obvious. This tool for ordering nurses has, in turn, organised how we think about some of the work nurses did at night. It

3

Handovers occur mostly between shift, and the allocation form given to each nurse to use to guide care was added to during handover.

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brings into view how the electronic and computer generated information plays a key role, but is at the same time taken for granted hinterland (Law, 2004) of technology in hospitals (Thrift, 2004). Its backgrounding leads to organisational forgetting of how this work of putting together a record, both records and hides the clinical co-ordination work of nurses (Allen, 2015). In this instance, more germane to our concerns, how this work has become part of nurses’ work at night.

Concluding Remarks Ethnography shines a light, sometimes a very strange one, on what people are up to … (Van Maanen, 2011: 229) This ethnography of nurses’ work at night uses method assemblage (Law, 2004) to gather together the complex and different forms of data to research nurses’ work, when a patient’s care may stretch across different locations in terms of where this care is organised and also where and how they receive it (‘in here/out there’). When nursing roles must be and were accepted as constituted as messy because both the DNC and TL responded to shifting priorities. When in the messy space/time issues of this site, ‘night work’ is done, based on planning performed at other times of day and the work done at night is itself carried forward and organises (to varying degrees) the work of the following day. Importantly, the work of this study has identified that an inhere/out-there ethnographic framework with an open-ended methodological approach has worked. The centrality of the clinical suite as an organising tool, which actually forms a part of the co-production of night shift knowledge, is a classic “inscription device” (Law, 2004). It figures as a maintenance tool (Graham & Thrift, 2007), a focus for conversations, patterning of communication and as a major presence in nurses’ night work. The Patient List Summary report, co-produced by the work of the program and the nurse helps as an organisational tool that cuts through the ‘mess’ of practice but adds to the ‘invisible’ work of nurses. This study opens up for further research and discussion, the human/non-human interface and the messiness and methodological challenges of doing ethnography of any clinical processes – where ethnographies of the digital/human interface need to consider the constitutive dynamics of this interface in knowledge production.

References Allen, D. (2015) The invisible work of nurses: Hospitals, organisation and healthcare. London: Routledge.

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Booker, C. (2011) An exploration of factors that influence end of career nurses’ decision making regarding their workforce participation, PhD Thesis. Victoria: Australian Catholic University. Costa, G. (2010) Shift work and health: Current problems and preventive actions. Safety and Health at Work, 1(2): 112–23. Fitzgerald, M., Pearson, A., Walsh, K., Long, L. & Heinrich, N. (2013) Patterns of nursing: A review of nursing in a large metropolitan hospital. Journal of Clinical Nursing, 12(3-4): 326-32. Graham, S. & Thrift, N. (2007) Out of order: Understanding repair and maintenance. Theory, Culture & Society, 23(4): 1-25. Henderson, J., Willis, E., Toffoli, L., Hamilton, P. & Blackman, I. (2016) The impact of rationing of health resources on capacity of Australian publicsector nurses to deliver nursing care after-hours: A qualitative study. Nursing Inquiry, 23(4): 368-76. Latour, B. & Woolgar, S. (1986) Laboratory life: The social construction of scientific fact. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. London: Routledge. Lawler, J. (2006) Behind the screens: Nursing somology and problem of the body. Sydney: Sydney University Press. O’Neill, S., Jones, T., Bennett, D. & Lewis, M. (2011) The application of lean thinking to nursing processes. The Journal of Nursing Administration, 14(12): 546-52. Rudge, T. (2003) Words are powerful tools: Discourse analytic explanations of nursing practice. In J. Latimer (ed.), Advanced Qualitative Research for Nursing (pp.155-82). Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Thrift, N. (2004) Remembering the technological unconscious by foregrounding knowledges of position. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 22(1): 175-90. Toffoli, L. (2011) ‘Nursing hours’ or ‘nursing’ hours – A discourse analysis, PhD Thesis. Sydney: University of Sydney. Tucker, P. & Knowles, S. (2008) Review of studies that have used the standard shiftwork index: Evidence for the underlying model of shiftwork and health. Applied Ergonomics, 39(5): 550-64. Van Maanen, J. (2011) Ethnography as work: Some rules of engagement. Journal of Management Studies, 48(1): 218-34. West, S., Rudge, T. & Mapedzahama, V. (2012) Nurses’ and midwives’ nightwork study report. Sydney: University of Sydney.

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Adapting to parents in crisis: tracing experiences of having a child with chronic kidney disease Andréa Bruno de Sousa Abstract This chapter addresses the challenges involved in understanding parents’ concrete experiences of managing a child with chronic kidney disease (CKD). This disease causes suffering for the child, disrupts daily routines and transforms the everyday life of the family. On the basis of ethnographic methodology, participant observations and interviews with primary caregivers were conducted at a major paediatric hospital in Portugal. However, the stressful environment at the hospital led the researcher to seek access to the parents’ home environment. The multi-sited approach of this investigation revealed a typical trajectory involving back and forth visits to the hospital, and in addition, parents had to manage a variety of practices depending on the setting. Attending to the parents’ emotions rather than avoiding them was vital in understanding how their lives became stressed and in how they grew as individuals. The challenges involved in carrying out fieldwork among families in crisis can work as openings for discovering the multifaceted realities the families encounter.

Keywords Multi-sited ethnography; child; chronic kidney disease (CKD); parents; experiences; managing. “Every time he was hospitalised it was very complicated because his veins could not take the catheters anymore. Once when I was with him at that hospital we had to go to many different wards because they couldn’t get to his veins. Then he had to go to the surgery block to get a catheter in his stomach. (Sigh). There was a time when his hands, his

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feet were all black because he had to take the antibiotic in his veins. So, it was complicated for us to see him being hurt and … we couldn’t do anything. That was the most difficult thing” (Mother of a 9-year-old boy) Being the parents of a child with chronic kidney disease (CKD) automatically places the parents in a crisis. The parents need to handle the child’s condition as part of the routine of everyday life. The child will suffer from the disease as well as from the treatment while parents will have to endure the sight of this suffering, as demonstrated in the introductory interview with the mother. It is important to reflect on how we as researchers can get to understand this troublesome and, to some extent, unruly and complex situation. This chapter is based on an ethnographic study in Portugal that explored the parental perspectives of managing a child’s chronic kidney condition. By examining the challenges involved in conducting the ethnographic fieldwork, the aim of this chapter is to discuss the parents’ concrete experiences of the critical situations and altered living conditions involved in managing their child’s chronic kidney disease. Law (2007) argues that the objects of our studies do not have single forms; he asks how we can get to know heterogeneous worlds such as a health care system in which patients move across services. We run the risk of simplifying something that is messy and in doing so we create some sense of coherence and definiteness (Law, 2007). In this chapter, I will draw attention to the messiness and challenges I encountered when conducting ethnographic research with parents in crisis. What I encountered was just a ripple on the surface compared to what the parents experienced. Nevertheless, the challenges I had to handle helped me envisage the hardships they went through. Consequently, they constitute valuable and useful information about the parents’ situation and struggles. Renal disease can occur at any age during childhood (Heath et al., 2011) and the condition can progress to the end-stage of kidney disease (ESKD) when there is permanent loss of renal function. Paediatric CKD critically affects the child and the family’s life as it requires both constant treatment by specialists and management of the condition by the parents at home. Research into children’s CKD shows that it has a significant impact on family relationships as the child’s treatment becomes the focus of their lives. Parents have to negotiate the stress and accountability of the disease as well as the expectation of a reduced lifespan (Amr et al., 2009). The treatment required is intense, generating in many cases social isolation and restrictions on family activities, which creates a strain on families (Tong et al., 2010). The laborious responsibility parents have to take on affects their quality of life and financial situation, demanding a substantial adjustment to meet the child’s condition (Tsai

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et al., 2006; Hanson et al., 2017). The disease disrupts the family routine as it demands extensive care outside the hospital. As a consequence, parents’ experiences of paediatric CKD are related to clinical practice and technology, but also to the arrangements for managing the condition at home. Gunnarson (2016: 56) states that ‘the diagnoses do not remain within the medical context but accompany diagnosed persons into their everyday life, affecting them in various, context-bound ways.’

Ethnographic fieldwork Ethnographic methodology allows us to recognise various realities and contributes to a meaningful, even if only partial, understanding of illness experiences. It makes possible the study of people in their everyday settings and routines of daily life (Draper, 2015; Maggs-Rapport, 2000). Moreover, it has the potential to reveal the circumstances under which people live (e.g., Wickström, 2014). Concerning hospital ethnography, Van der Geest & Finkler (2004) state that ethnographic studies in hospitals pose special problems for the researcher, as I demonstrate in this section. To negotiate support for the study, in 2016 I spent three months contacting and visiting four different hospitals in Portugal, a country in Europe with a notably high prevalence of CKD (Coelho et al., 2014). Finally, the leading administration at the main paediatric hospital agreed to let me carry out the study at the renal unit. Subsequent to ethical approval, I presented the project to the nephrology unit and negotiated a formal entrance. The nephrology clinic manager endorsed the research and provided continual support. The clinicians referred the parents to me and I invited them to participate in the study. I also employed the snowball technique, which meant that the families I met facilitated contact with other families in the same situation. The clinic manager also put me in touch with the Portuguese Kidney Patients Association (APIR), where I was introduced to families in the same situation from other parts of Portugal. In 2017, I spent six months in the field, three to four days a week, on two shifts (morning and afternoon) in the hospital clinic where the families came for consultation. I sought, with every contact, opportunities to gain the health professionals’ and the participants’ trust and to understand the hospital logistics and procedures. I spent time learning about the participants and enabling them to become familiar with my presence in the hospital. In-depth interviews were conducted with 21 primary caregivers: four couples, 16 mothers and one aunt who had the legal custody of a girl. The children were between two and 16 years old. The fact that I am a native Portuguese speaker simplified communication. The interviews were digitally recorded and carefully transcribed. I also conducted participant observations in the nephrology unit and had informal talks with the staff and parents. Following each infor-

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mal talk, I tried to recall the conversation and wrote field notes in an adjacent room. In examining the challenges encountered during fieldwork, I discuss how they generated knowledge about the parents’ situation. First, in order to be able to interview the parents, I had to adjust to them and move outside the hospital clinic. That experience provided me with insights into how the parent’s world had drastically changed when their child became ill and how they had to rearrange their lives around appointments at the hospital and nursing their child at home. Second, in conducting the interviews, I had to deal with the emotional stress they were experiencing and try to interpret their reactions. Attending to moments of affliction and regret and not seeing them as troublesome, revealed what the child went through and what consequences it had for the family’s daily life.

Moving outside the hospital The effort involved in talking to the parents in the hospital demonstrated that the hospital environment was not a suitable setting for families to talk about their experiences. The day selected for the child’s appointment was stressful for the family and their attention was focussed on the child and the treatment. As shown in the introductory account of the ethnographic fieldwork, the hospital environment also caused the parents’ anxiety, suffering, and worry. The parents’ narratives given to me in the hospital described their child’s recurring disorders as they attempted to understand the child’s condition and create some sense out of it. In addition, for parents with smaller children, a day at the hospital involved considerable work in order to care and speak on their child’s behalf, as some children could not speak for themselves and their condition needed to be expressed by the parents. The parents were therefore busy explaining to the doctor the current situation and their child’s needs. After spending a few months at the hospital, I realised that I had to be flexible and adjust to the families I was studying. Providing the families with the option to be interviewed in their hometown and adapting myself to their schedules were decisive in gaining their interest and willingness to participate in the research. I had constant requests to change the time and place of the interviews, especially when the family lived outside Lisbon. “Can the interview be in my house, on Saturday afternoon?” asked the mother of a fiveyear-old boy living 60 km from Lisbon. Agreeing to the mother’s wish and travelling to her home gave me an insight into what it meant for her to travel to the hospital with the child every time it was needed. The typical “trajectory” for the parents involved a tight schedule of travelling back and forth to the hospital. Tracing the parents’ routes revealed their different worlds and expe-

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riences (cf. Wickström, 2017). Thus, to move outside the hospital and conduct multi-sited ethnography was essential if I was to understand the subject in a larger context related to their daily life experiences (cf. Marcus, 1995). In their homes, the parents provided rich accounts of how they managed their child’s condition on a daily basis. They were open and willing to share with me the adjustments they had made such as the creation of a special swimsuit to keep the catheters protected and enable the child to visit the beach. The mother and father of a 5-year-old boy described how they adapted recipes and prepared food according to the child’s dietary requirements, which doubled the work and demanded constant vigilance. They showed me the meal calendar and the packed meals to be taken to the child’s school. They also showed me pictures of the birthday cake that they had modified according to their son’s diet, allowing him to enjoy the cake for the first time when he turned five. All these efforts were made to maintain “ordinary life experiences” for their child and for family life. To handle the extraordinary effects of the disease, parents had replaced toys with a dialysis machine and kept the child’s room carefully cleaned. The parents also described the meticulous and precautionary “medicine work” they did involving the construction of a drug chart and a control system for the child’s medication. A tour in this family’s house provided concrete examples of the parents’ daily work and provided me with an understanding of what they had to manage (cf. Pink, 2009). Marcus (1998) argues that to comprehend both the subject and the broader aspects of the system they are involved in; the researcher needs to be strategically situated. Tracing the parental perspective in different settings demonstrated that the child’s disease required variable responses and that the parents’ practices shifted according to the setting. In what follows, I will discuss how attending to the parents’ emotions instead of trying to reduce them was crucial for understanding how the parents’ lives became strained but also how they grew as individuals.

Broken hearts, strain and happiness After three months of trying to find a day that suited the mother of a 12-yearold girl, I was finally on my way to her town to conduct an interview. A message which suddenly appeared on my phone disrupted my growing enthusiasm: “At this moment, it is difficult for me to find the strength to participate in the interview. I cannot do it. I am sorry”. The difficulty in finding the time and strength for an interview the mother was interested in demonstrates how the child’s condition placed a strain on the family and made it difficult to find spare time and energy for things beyond what was absolutely necessary. The child’s condition requires flexible working hours to attend to the child’s visits to the doctor and to carry out the treatment at home such as connecting and

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disconnecting the child from the dialysis machine. The financial situation and geographical location play a role in how they manage the situation. Welloff families could arrange flexible working hours and the child’s condition did not seem to interfere with their careers. In contrast, other families had to give up their work in order to be able to provide the care needed for their child. In one interview, I asked the mother of a 14-year-old boy about the lessons learned from her child falling ill; she became very emotional and said, sobbing: “I cannot answer now.” Her answer is related to the interview excerpt at the beginning of the chapter, which demonstrates the emotional strain involved in seeing her child suffer. To provide ongoing home care for the child, parents need to practise skillful nursing procedures (e.g., Tong et al. 2010) which they never thought they would be able to perform. The parents need to detect health indications such as decreased urination or reduced food intake, requiring them to act quickly before any health complications occur. They maintain rigorous treatment routines to adapt to the requirements of the child’s condition. As a result, even going out for dinner could be difficult. The mother and the father of a 6-year-old girl explained that they invited close friends or family members to their house for holiday celebrations or dinners in order to maintain the child’s treatment routines. Parents explained how ordinary events became extraordinary events for their child. For example, the child could not attend a birthday party because of dietary restrictions or treatment requirements. The mother of a 7-year-old girl explained how the condition took enjoyable experiences away from her daughter, such as a sleepover at a friend’s or her grandparents’ house. There was also a problem because the child needed to go to bed earlier than normal at night in order to be connected to the dialysis machine. Parents of children with CKD are continuously faced with the task of managing the condition in all sorts of environments. They feel guilt over the child’s precarious situation and the limitations placed on the child. At the same time, they struggle to hand over responsibility for the treatment of the child as he/she grows older and letting the child mature and oversee his or her own treatment. When I attended to feelings of fatigue, grief, and guilt, I gained an insight into the parents’ complex experiences of managing a child with chronic kidney disease. Apart from the expressions of sadness and grief, the parents seemed to feel proud and considered the child’s condition a source of enrichment. They displayed pictures of their children during diverse stages of the treatment and expressed their feelings of gratitude and appreciation towards their children for their strength, understanding, and acceptance of their treatment as well as its limitations and restrictions. The parents of a 6-year-old girl told me that their daughter went on a school field trip and a friend offered her potato

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crisps and she had to explain that she could not eat them as they made her sick. The parents commented: “She is only 6 years old. It breaks our hearts that she cannot share food with her friends, but at the same time it makes us so happy that she can understand her condition”. Some families were devoted to learning about the disease. They participated in conferences and searched for literature. In addition, they visited different specialists such as nutritionists in order to better understand the issues related to the disease and to get help in managing their child’s condition. The difficulties the parents had to manage in some ways widened their life experiences and made them grow as individuals, as revealed in the following comment from the mother of a 7year-old girl: “If I had known beforehand what the treatment requirement would be, I would never have been able to think I would be able to follow it. But when it happens, you do not think. I discovered that I am stronger than I ever thought. Also, it made me become more spiritual” This example reveals the diverse and contradictory experiences of parents bearing the hardships of their children’s treatment. Throughout the fieldwork, I found it indispensable to attend to the parents’ emotions in order to understand their daily experiences. When participants are directly involved in the issue, the researcher can benefit from attending to the emotional expressions instead of trying to avoid or minimize emotions (cf. Hochschild, 2003). Being attentive to the participants’ discomfort, hesitation and vulnerability can bring the researcher closer to their world.

Discussion Drawing on ethnographic fieldwork among families with children with chronic kidney disease in Portugal, this chapter has discussed some of the challenges involved in conducting research with distressed parents of chronically ill children. It also examines how the challenges can be a way of exploring the parents’ perspectives of the crisis they find themselves in. When demonstrating the need for hospital ethnography, Long et al. (2008: 73) refer to the hospital as a place “where questions about ultimate concern and encompassing meaning present themselves with more urgency than in the routine of everyday life.” The authors state that in hospital, patients’ lives are intensified, and their distress and frustration constitute the grounds for a more in-depth understanding of their experiences than, for example, interviews made outside the hospital (Long et al., 2008: 76). My fieldwork experiences demonstrate the need for combining fieldwork in hospitals with adapting to the families’ needs by conducting fieldwork in their home environments.

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Everyday actions within a particular site are related to other sites and other people to whom the parents are related (cf. Marcus, 1998). Consequently, exploring families in crisis in a single site (like a hospital) means that the analysis presents a narrow point of view. Moreover, parents act in different ways in different contexts and as a consequence the environments create different experiences. This was demonstrated in the narratives of the parents who had to perform invasive procedures such as giving their child injections at home. They described the difficulties of seeing their child experiencing such procedures in the hospital as well as at home. However, at home, according to them, it was easier to amuse the child afterwards and make them feel better. The messiness I encountered in trying to suit the fieldwork to the afflicted parents and their schedules helped to avoid the picture of a coherent, structured treatment agenda (cf. Law, 2007). Instead, I learnt about varied and confused everyday life that was also eventful and heartening. The process of attending to the parents’ emotions became openings for discovering a multifaceted reality for parents managing children with chronic diseases. It revealed that parents learnt to deal with the intensive and invasive procedures as part of their lives, as well as the restrictions and limitations imposed by their child’s CKD condition. The parents’ experiences were not about dealing with a short or long stay in hospital but about a lifelong struggle to manage the disease and the strains, stresses and also happiness it brought to them and their everyday life. Consequently, I had to engage with the challenges and not try to escape them. When trying to grasp a little of what parents in crisis go through, the ethnographer needs to immerse him/herself in the participants’ hopes, fears, and dreams. The intricacies and messiness involved in the fieldwork are not a disruption of the fieldwork but a way of learning about the families’ complex everyday experiences.

Acknowledgments I am very grateful to the clinicians and the parents who were willing to share their stories with me. I would like to thank D. Estefania Hospital, APIR, and Erasmus Mundus Joint Doctoral Program – Phoenix JDP. I also wish to thank my supervisor Anette Wickström who guided me through the practice of doing ethnography.

References Amr, M., Bakr, A., Gilany, A.H., Hammad, A., El-Refaey, A. & El-Mougy, A. (2009) Multi-method assessment of behavior adjustment in children with chronic kidney disease. Pediatric Nephrology, 24(2): 341-7. Coelho, A., Diniz, A., Hartz, Z. & Dussault, G. (2014) Gestão integrada da doença renal crónica: Análise de uma políticainovadora em Portugal. Revista Portuguesa de SaúdePública, 32(1): 69-79.

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Draper, J. (2015) Ethnography: principles, practice and potential. Nursing Standard, 29(36): 36-41. Gunnarson, M. (2016) Please be patient: A cultural phenomenological study of haemodialysis and kidney transplantation care. Lund: Lund Studies in Art and Cultural Sciences. Hanson, C.S., Craig, J.C. & Tong, A. (2017) In their own words: The value of qualitative research to improve the care of children with chronic kidney disease. Pediatric Nephrology, 32(9): 1501-7. Heath, J., Mackinlay, D., Watson, A.R., Hames, A., Wirz, L., Scott, S., ... Mchugh, K. (2011) Self-reported quality of life in children and young people with chronic kidney disease. Pediatric Nephrology, 26(5): 767-73. Hochschild, A.R. (2003) The managed heart: commercialization of human feeling: Twentieth anniversary edition with a new afterword. Berkeley: University of California Press. Law, J. (2007) Making a mess with method. In W. Outhwaite & S.P. Turner (eds.), The Sage Handbook of Social Science Methodology (pp.595-606). London: Sage. Long, D., Hunter, C. & Van, der Geest, S. (2008) When the field is a ward or a clinic: Hospital ethnography. Anthropology & Medicine, 15(2): 71-8. Maggs-Rapport, F. (2000) Combining methodological approaches in research: Ethnography and interpretive phenomenology. Journal of Advanced Nursing, (31)1: 219-25. Marcus, G.E. (1998) Ethnography through thick and thin. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Marcus, G.E. (1995) Ethnography in/of the world system: The emergence of multi-sited ethnography. Annual Review of Anthropology, 24: 95-117. Pink, S. (2009) Doing sensory ethnography. London: Sage. Tong, A., Lowe, A., Sainsbury, P. & Craig, J. C. (2010) Parental perspectives on caring for a child with chronic kidney disease: An in-depth interview study. Child: Care, Health and Development, 36(4): 549-557. Tsai, T., Liu, S., Tsai, J. & Chou, L. (2006) Psychosocial effects on caregivers for children on chronic peritoneal dialysis. Kidney International, 70(11): 1983-7. Van der Geest, S. & Finkler, K. (2004) Hospital ethnography: Introduction. Social Science & Medicine, 59(10): 1995-2001. Wickström, A. (2014) "Lungisa": Weaving relationships and social space to restore health in rural KwaZulu Natal. Medical Anthropology Quarterly, 28(2): 203-220. Wickström, A. (2017) "One step at a time": Analysing young patients' video diaries in an ethnographic tracing of fixed appliances. Children & Society, 31(3): 183-93.

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Attempting to deep map multiple realities: the “therapeutic landscape” of Saltwell Park Wayne Medford Abstract The “therapeutic landscapes” concept explores those interactions with place which affect human health. Public parks have been rarely studied. This chapter discusses undertaking yearlong fieldwork in Saltwell Park, the major park of Gateshead, north-east England. Place and landscapes are seen as fluid. Therapeutic landscape literature has identified the material and symbolic complexity of inhabited environments. A park’s design draws together local residents, and natural elements of vegetation, weather and seasons, re-forming the park environment. My study site had dimensions of an annual social calendar and inhabitation by various social groupings. I discuss employing a suite of ethnographic methods to capture and represent multiple individual experiences, so exploring Saltwell Park and its potential health effects. Some messiness arose when some methodological approaches required alteration due to fieldwork-based issues. Furthermore, Law’s observation of comparing realities alongside representations of realities was applicable when contradictory empirical data arose for one particular social group.

Keywords Deep mapping; therapeutic landscapes; realities; public park.

Introduction This chapter discusses the complexity of undertaking 13-months’ qualitative fieldwork (2009-10) in Gateshead’s Saltwell Park, north-east England (see

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Figures 14.1 and 14.2). This was part of a wider research project to capture the breadth of possibilities for therapeutic experiences amongst park users and staff, funded through a Durham University geography department doctoral research bursary. I discuss the gathering of empirical data for a potential deep mapping exercise. Deep mapping is an orientation to place, capturing and representing the human experience of place. It emphasises the multiple: polyvocality of perspective, temporal frames (past, as well as present), and of multimodal representations (Roberts, 2016). I divide this paper into particular sections. I initially discuss how the therapeutic landscape literature considers landscape. To capture the range and depth of experience points towards deep mapping as a possible insightful methodological orientation, something which the therapeutic landscape literature has rarely engaged with. Next, come my “messy” considerations. The life of Saltwell Park is structured around the annual rhythms and cycles of its landscape, its social calendar, and diverse social groupings, demanding empirical data from three sources, and the efficient use of fieldwork time. The therapeutic landscape literature normally uses qualitative methods to capture personal wellness outcomes. I had to adopt a pick-and-mix attitude to participant reflective research methodologies (for example, due to logistical issues when arranging and obtaining suitable interview times with participants). Also, though always willing and informative, some respondents were occasionally unpredictable in their engagement with individual methods and ethics. Empirical data generated could be repatterned into a deep map, of either textual, visual (or perhaps virtual reality?) form. I finish with a brief example of how different experiences of the same location can contradict, illustrating Law’s (2007: 601) contention of “realities being made against realities’ representations,” through the apparent reality of one group’s experiences.

Inhabitation in (therapeutic) landscapes Since Gesler first introduced the ‘therapeutic landscape’ concept, to examine the relationship between place and the multiple dimensions of human health (Gesler, 2005, Gesler, 1992), it has been long used to understand the dynamic between place and wellness (Williams, 2007). Places considered have been expanded from the exceptional (Gesler, 2003), to the everyday (Milligan et al., 2004; Cattell et al., 2008). Dunkley (2009: 88) contends “that landscapes are multi- dimension: the sites of human–environment interaction, products of social processes, and individual or personal constructs.” The literature’s definitions of health and wellbeing are multiple: emotional, spiritual, physical and social (Gesler, 2003; Kearns and Gesler, 2002).

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Therapeutic landscapes acquired their status from long-standing reputations, yet co-presence within a particular (healing) landscape does not necessarily determine a therapeutic effect (Milligan & Bingley, 2007). Human encounters with wellness arise through place-based immersion and inhabitation. Conradson (2005: 339) writes that a therapeutic landscape experience can be understood as a “positive physiological and psychological outcome deriving from a person’s imbrication within a particular socio-naturalmaterial setting.” If place is “an essay in experimental living within a changing culture” (Casey, 1993: 31), then therapeutic experiences arise within landscapes which are always provisional.

Deep mapping Deep mapping can serve as a suitable methodology to capture and represent the heterogeneity of individual wellness experiences across and alongside a given place. Roberts (2016) offers an overview; he contends that deep mapping is concerned with everyday life, experiences of place, and embodiment. It is an excavation through time underneath a location. It privileges a multiplicity of voices and perspectives within a narrative (or polyvocality); through (auto-)ethnographic methods. The resultant creation requires creativity by mapper and viewer for understanding the empirical data, offering contrasts to two-dimensional “thin maps/ mapping”. Illustrating deep maps, PrairyErth (Heat-Moon, 2014 ) is textual, whilst Atlas of Dreams (Nakashima Degarrod, 2017) is more visual. As for health-andwellbeing related examples, Bailey and Biggs (2012) research into older adults in Cornwall had data arising through “observing, listening, walking, conversing, writing and exchanging … [leading to analytical] selecting, reflecting, naming, and generating ... [and representation through] of digitizing, interweaving, offering and inviting” (Bailey and Biggs, 2012: 326). Sunderland et al.’s (2012) “sensory ethnography” of “un-happy, un-healthy” places was not described as deep mapping yet had comparable aims.

Complexity of forms of Saltwell Park This ‘People’s Park’ opened in 1876 (Gateshead MBC, 2010) and is 22 hectares in size. It is situated between residential neighbourhoods; diverse and multicultural Bensham and Saltwell to the north, Low Fell to the east. The LondonNewcastle-Edinburgh railway is to the west. It was the subject of a major restoration project during 2000-5. I undertook pilot work at Saltwell Park; one day in July 2008 was sunny, the park busy. By grey, early, December 2008, the park was empty of visitors. Normally, the park is open from roughly dawn to dusk; a window of time varying between 7 and 13 hours. Pilot work highlighted other dimensions

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which structure the park life: the designed landscape, events’ calendar (see Table 14.1) and social groupings (see Table 14.2).

The physical fabric of Saltwell Park Saltwell Park is a location that is divided into several different designed spaces. Each subspace is of individual character: of different entities: vegetation, water, wildlife, constructed features, light, and shade. The landscape offers a mixture of long, broad, vistas and some more hidden views.

The social fabric of the park Saltwell Park is inhabited by different groups. Transient visitors can wander in on any day of choice or may choose to attend a specific event. As well as accessing and experiencing the park as a casual observer, I felt that I should experience as many scheduled events as possible, as listed on Table 14.1. I was able to attend and discretely observe for some; for events such as the breastfeeding picnic, I contacted organisers and was invited to briefly attend and interview some participants. Table 14.2 illustrates that casual visitors make up the largest group of park dwellers. Visitors may choose to join some of the other park groups; one may enrol onto one or some of the regular activities, such as fitness classes, run by non-affiliated groups. Personal involvement may be deepened by joining affiliated groups, such as the Friends, or the staff. To gain insights as to how members of these three groupings inhabited and experienced the park, I sought interviews with individuals and small groups (interviewed participants listed in Table 14.3).

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Figure 14.1: Saltwell Park's location within Tyneside

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Figure 14.2: Layout of Saltwell Park

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Table 14.1: Annual Public events, 2009

Saltwell Park Show: bi-annual event, staged over spring and late summer Bank Holidays weekends.

Workers’ Memorial Day (April 28th): event to commemorate industrial accident victims.

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Media launch for the inaugural Gateshead Together Week: (7 May 2009), with the Picnic in the Park. To promote “community inclusion” and “community cohesion”.

Breastfeeding Awareness Week Picnic: inaugural event for feeding mothers and children.

Race for Life: Cancer Research UK fun run (May).

Pants in the Park: sponsored 3km fun run first staged (Sunday 28 2009).

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June

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Zoolab: 13 August 2009. Children observe and touch exotic animals.

Green Festival: (May) promoted nature conservation opportunities, and awareness of local countryside.

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Table 14.2: Social groupings, 2009

The affiliated social groups of Saltwell Park Regularly populate the park Park staff, bowls’ club and model boats club Can influence both park’s physical and social fabric Individuals with long personal connections to the park Regular Unaffiliated Park User Groups Undertook activities within the park Did not have an official status E.g. Fitness classes Casual Visitors 100,000 visits are made to the park on an annual basis Individual multitude Members of distinct socio-cultural groups, e.g. Orthodox Jewish community

Choosing suitable deep mapping methods My research project attempted to determine those qualities of the park’s life which might be therapeutic; how people engage with those qualities; and how people and park co-exist through time, within a complexity of material and inhabitation, partly in association with cycles of seasons and events. This required study throughout the year. My approach was therefore to develop a methodology that would allow me to immerse myself within a lively space, but using time efficiently, looking for the everyday and the exceptional. Observations and semi-structured interviews have been long used to capture behaviours and experience within the literature. In one example, the facets of internal environment and usage of a psychiatric inpatient medical facility by patients and staff were recorded (e.g., Curtis et al., 2016). Crooks and Evans (2007) critically analysed public health messages within hospital buildings; elsewhere, Cattell et al. (2008) assessed potential beneficial social interactions and connectedness within public realm. Cannuscio et al. (2009) and Ornelas et al. (2009) deployed ‘photo-voice’ with residents to analyse local built environments.

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I treated Saltwell Park as promoting non-specific, wide-ranging, health benefits. Following Curtis et al. (2016), Cattell et al. (2008), I asked the question: ‘How might this space be therapeutic and for whom’? Those individuals and groups who use the park, and who would obtain health and well-being benefits, through interactions either with the landscape or with other people, were not specified in advance. I looked at the park as a space within which multiple sub-spaces could be imagined as locations to produce health and wellbeing effects that might affect any individual or group amongst all the populations using the park. I attempted several perhaps overlapping, but not necessarily completely coincidental methodological actions. Firstly, to observe and analyse the “life” of Saltwell Park, its “feel” (Cattell et al., 2008); second, to immerse myself within and directly experience the park over the course of a year; thirdly, ask individuals with longer-term associations about their interactions and experiences. My initial thinking was that these would give perspectives upon Saltwell Park as a potential therapeutic landscape.

Observations around the park I determined that ethnographic observation would give insights into landscape and social life. The most suitable way to do so seemed to be through walking-based surveys using the footpath network (Medford, 2018). The pilot work allowed me to understand how the subspaces interlinked, to gauge the distances from footpaths to park boundaries and to acquire a feel for the ambience. I created two routes, repeatedly walked. Moreover, most other park users follow the footpath network, so I not only match the speed of most others, but also their directions and congregations too (Ingold and Vergunst, 2008; Lavadinho and Winkin, 2008). To efficiently immerse myself within the park’s processual life without spending substantial amounts of time to capture variations through time, I employed a temporal sampling frame, based around a notional timetable of separate hours and days to schedule surveys. Sontag (1978) commented that “the photographer is an armed version of the solitary walker ….”. I walked through the park, noting what I saw and heard through notebooks, digital camera, and digital audio recorder (Bassett, 2004).

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Figure 14.3: Images from around Saltwell Park

Clockwise, from top left: The Towers; the Lake; Race for Life cancer fun run; visitors and staff.

Participant observations I attended (occasionally participated in) all events in Table 1, apart from Workers’ Memorial Day. When attending organised events, I would make similar observations to walking tours; I would sometimes engage other observers in conservation. For example, close observation of Pants in the Park suggested a (lighthearted) health and well-being message, being embodied. Overall, I had a sense of a welcoming park -at least for me (perhaps contrary to other discussions of parks for “people of colour,” e.g., Byrne (2011), Floyd (1998), and as discussed later. Semi-structured interviews and focus groups I recruited some members from each grouping, sometimes through direct approaches, sometimes having been approached indirectly! I asked participants about their personal histories within the park, the activities they engaged in, and how their perceived these interactions affected their wellness. I was able to explore interesting asides, similarities to other individuals’ experiences, or highlight facets of the park environment of resonance to their narra-

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tives. This has been done elsewhere within health-place studies (see for example, Cattell et al., 2008). I also asked individuals to visually reflect upon their experiences, by means of recording their spaces within their everyday park geographies, which they felt played a role in feelings of wellness (see for example, Cannuscio et al., 2009; Ornelas et al., 2009). Table 14.3: Participants (pseudonyms are listed here)

Andrew: retired and a grandparent; a Friend of Saltwell Park and Bowls’ Club member. Barbara: Andrew’s wife. A park Friend too. Catherine: retired and grandparent. A close friend of Barbara and Andrew, also a Friend of Saltwell Park. Moved to the Saltwell area in late 1960’s. David: aged in his 50’s, employed at the park. Has lived near to the park from childhood. Esther: in her 20’s. In her professional role, created park habitat spaces with volunteers and community groups. Francis: aged 49, and in employment. Model Boat Club member. George: aged in his 50’s, employed as a member of park staff. Heidi, Irene, Julie, and Karolina were new mothers attending the Breastfeeding Awareness Week Picnic. Liz worked as a fitness coach, organiser of the new mothers’ exercise group Martina, Naomi, Petra and Orlaine, were new mothers, members of the above mothers’ group. Students from a class at a local skills’ training provider. Included four white males, one black male, and one white female. Ages ranged from 16 to 19 years. Ruth: mother to a toddler daughter. She used to come to the park as young girl. Later left the area before returning to live nearby. Sebastiano: 27 years old, working as a fitness coach. Taco: aged 25; an Iraqi-born resident.

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Uriah, Victor, William, and Xander: varying youth and maturity with longterm mental illnesses. Clients of a support charity. Visited North-East parks including Saltwell. Yeardleigh: aged in his 70’s, with a long history of activity in the local NE sports scene, a member of the Bowls’ Club. His wife has dementia. Zara: a Jewish grandmother. US–born, and is well-known member of local Jewish society. I was not able to use a standard reflection method. Initially, during fieldwork, I sought to give Andrew, Barbara, and Catherine disposable cameras and asked them to complete a photovoice exercise that for their selflandscape encounter (Conradson, 2005). I asked them to photograph phenomena relating to aspects of their health and well-being, within the park, or outside, which they liked and disliked. This question of “like” and “dislike” was suggested by supervisors as being equivalent to more direct to my use of the term “therapeutic” within my other introduction to the project, and at least offered participants clear, self-determined contrasts in experience. I collected the cameras and had the film developed. I conducted walking interviews with them (Kusenbach, 2003), with the photographs as prompts (see for example Cummins et al., 2007). George used his own digital camera, but did not show me his images, simply commenting aloud about them. I asked several subsequent participants (Taco and Ruth, Outdoor Fitness Company) to annotate personal copies of a map of the Park, marking on it places that they liked and disliked. There was no confusion regarding the dimensions of relevant well-being. This mapping exercise was expected to generate the same pre-interview reflections as photographs, but at a fraction of the cost. I again used the maps to steer the semi-structured interviews. After consulting ethical guidelines, I had to omit the reflections of an enthusiastic group of young adults with learning difficulties, due to not being able to fully establish their guardian consent. Most respondents (e.g., mothers with children) had a limited amount of time to spend with me. I simply arranged to meet them at a convenient time and record their thoughts, without reflective exercises. I created a workbook for children from a local primary school, as suggested by the class’s teacher. The children also took photos of their visit.

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Figure 14.4: An example of a participant's reflective map

Positionality I occupied multiple positions within the life of the park: e.g., black (outsider), male (insider), rarely coinciding with participants (see Stanley and Slattery (2016); a partial contrast to Srivastava (2006)). My criminal records clearance was only of interest to the primary school. I was at times a male, a black male, a young-ish black male mainly talking to whites, often to white females, sometimes to older white people. Yet, at no point did I feel that I was treated with suspicion. Perhaps the park was a neutral topic to talk about – I was not asking “sensitive” questions about respondents’ bodies, or political views; yet, at one point, I was a young-ish male stranger talking to four attendees at a breastfeeding picnic about why they were at the event and the benefits that they derived therefrom.

Representing realities of Saltwell Park Here is an example of the complexity of knowing and representing Jewish experiences within the park. The park’s residential neighbourhood has a large Orthodox community. Below is an extract of some of my field notes, typical of how I observed Jews within the park:

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“Wednesday August 26th The weather was overcast, and had been largely rainy all day. I was in the park between 6.30 and 8.30. There were very few people in the park at the time early on. There was a mix of people, largely adults who either singly or in couple, walking dogs, jogging or strolling. A large group of Jewish girls, eventually totalling about fifteen 14-16-year-old or so. They walked quickly in from Gate 1 along the Long Walk, coming around to the junior play area, where they swing in the swings, and climbed on the some of the apparatus. Again, women outnumbered the men, even allowing for the presence of men as part of a couple.” Yet amidst generally greatly positive discussions of her “park life,” Zara told me about two incidents of overt racist behaviour. She told me about an occasion when a father and son were at a set of swings in the Park. A man approached and said that they should leave, saying that they “did not belong here.” She said: “I’ve only experienced one incident and been party to two [refers to that incident above]. That was a real eye-opener, because nothing like that had ever happened to me before. And the other time was I was in the Park and I was walking with another lady and someone started shouting “Hitler!! Hitler!!” - You know, all this kind of thing ... we tried to show that we weren’t paying attention. And I know that in Gateshead there are a lot of people who have things done to them: sometimes shouting … sometimes throwing … sometimes spitting. A lot of spitting.” One of the training centre participants briefly boasted about his harassment of Jews. Put together; these various personal commentaries offered a somewhat jarring contrast to my own observations of “peaceful” co-existence. My observations could inform me of a regular Jewish presence, but not necessarily of that presence’s “quality.” Like Bailey and Biggs (2012), these conflicting observations could be put into creative juxtaposition with each other.

Deep map(s) of therapeutic landscapes within Saltwell Park? I have attempted to illustrate some of the complexity and mess of studying Saltwell Park as a deep mapped therapeutic landscape. Upon reflection, my (participant) observations gave me a sense of what generally went on within the park, of features and activities might have general salience (an example was its breastfeeding friendly status for some new mothers). However, these observations had to be compared to participants’ commentaries. In other words, I could offer perspectives which might give me

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one set of conclusions, which perhaps related towards the form of the potential therapeutic landscape of Saltwell Park (landscapes tend to be viewed after all (Ingold, 2010)); participants’ perspectives might offer another set, aggregating longer-term experiences. Each facet relates an experience of the park, not necessarily one single “Saltwell Park”, one single therapeutic landscape; perhaps an example of “realities being done alongside representations of realities” (Law, 2007: 601). The interconnected “reality” perhaps is somewhere in between. I am exploring the potential for digital homes for this material. I will interconnect text, images, audio and found objects, not just during fieldwork, but interspersed with participant lifecourses. This would give a polyvocal sense of place as having the potential to affect health. Any location can be thought of “stories so-far” (Massey, 2005: 9), subject to future re-addition and reanalysis. This implies that deep mapping can be “living map(ping),” which is the sum of the material, its analysis, and repatterning to-date, and not intended to congeal into finality.

Acknowledgements th

To Alexandra Plows, and fellow Stream 18 delegates at the 12 Annual International Ethnography Symposium; Rachel Colls; parents Sylvia (1941-2014) and George Medford.

References Bailey, J. & Biggs, I. (2012) “Either side of Delphy Bridge”: A deep mapping project evoking and engaging the lives of older adults in rural north Cornwall. Journal of Rural Studies, 28(4): 318-328. Bassett, K. (2004) Walking as an aesthetic practice and a critical tool: Some psychogeographic experiments. Journal of Geography in Higher Education, 28(3): 397-410. Byrne, J. (2011) When green is White: The cultural politics of race, nature and social exclusion in a Los Angeles urban national park. Geoforum, 43(3): 595611. Cannuscio, C. C., Weiss, E. E., Fruchtman, H., Schroeder, J., Weiner, J. & Asch, D. A. (2009) Visual epidemiology: Photographs as tools for probing streetlevel etiologies. Social Science & Medicine, 69(4): 553-64. Casey, E. S. (1993) Getting back into place: Toward a renewed understanding of the place-world. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Cattell, V., Dines, N., Gesler, W. & Curtis, S. (2008) Mingling, observing, and lingering: Everyday public spaces and their implications for well-being and social relations. Health & Place, 14(3): 544-61. Conradson, D. (2005) Landscape, care and the relational self: Therapeutic encounters in rural England. Health & Place, 11(4): 337-48.

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Crooks, V. & Evans, J. (2007) The writing's on the wall: Decoding the interior space of the hospital waiting room. In A. Williams (ed.), Therapeutic Landscapes (pp.165-80). Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited. Cummins, S., Curtis, S., Diez-Roux, A. V. & Macintyre, S. (2007) Understanding and representing 'place' in health research: A relational approach. Social Science & Medicine, 65(9): 1825-38. Curtis, S., Gesler, W., Fabian, K., Francis, S. & Priebe, S. (2016) Therapeutic landscapes in hospital design: A qualitative assessment by staff and service users of the design of a new mental health inpatient unit. Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy, 25(4): 591-610. Dunkley, C. M. (2009) A therapeutic taskscape: Theorizing place-making, discipline and care at a camp for troubled youth. Health & Place, 15(1): 8896. Floyd, M. F. (1998) Getting beyond marginality and ethnicity: The challenge for race and ethnic studies in leisure research. Journal of Leisure Research, 30(1):3-22. Gateshead MBC (2010) Be Enchanted at Saltwell Park. Available at: http://www.gateshead.gov.uk/Leisure%20and%20Culture/parks/Saltwell%2 0Park/Home.aspx [Accessed 1st February 2010]. Gesler, W. (1992) Therapeutic landscapes: Medical issues in light of the new cultural geography. Social Science & Medicine, 34(7): 735-46. Gesler, W. (2003) Healing Places. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield. Gesler, W. (2005) Therapeutic landscapes: An evolving theme. Health & Place, 11(4): 295-7. Heat-Moon, W. L. (2014) PrairyErth: A deep map. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Ingold, T. (2010) The temporality of the landscape. In R. W. Preucel & S. A. Mrozowski (eds.), Contemporary archaeology in theory: The new pragmatism (pp.59-75). Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Ingold, T. & Vergunst, J. L. (eds.) (2008) Ways of walking: Ethnography and practice on foot. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd. Kearns, R. & Gesler, W. (2002) Culture/ place/ health. Routledge: London. Kusenbach, M. (2003) Street phenomenology: The go-along as ethnographic research tool. Ethnography, 4(3): 455-85. Lavadinho, S. & Winkin, Y. (2008) Enchantment engineering and pedestrian empowerment: The Geneva case. In T. Ingold & J. L. Vergunst (eds.), Ways of walking, ethnography and practice on foot (pp.155-168). Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd. Law, J. (2007) Making a mess with method. In W. Outhwaite & S. P. Turner (eds.), The SAGE handbook of social science methodology (pp.595606). London: SAGE. Massey, D. (2005) For space. London: Sage. Medford, W. (2018) A year in the life of a public park: Route-making, vigilance and sampling time whilst walking. Humanities, 7(1): 18. Milligan, C. & Bingley, A. (2007) Restorative places or scary spaces? The impact of woodland on the mental well-being of young adults. Health & Place, 13(4): 799-811.

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Milligan, C., Gatrell, A. & Bingley, A. (2004) ‘Cultivating health’: Therapeutic landscapes and older people in northern England. Social Science & Medicine, 58(9): 1781-93. Nakashima Degarrod, L. (2017) Atlas of dreams: Unveiling the invisible in the San Francisco Bay area. Visual Anthropology Review, 33(1): 74-88. Ornelas, I. J., Amell, J., Tran, A. N., Royster, M., Armstrong-Brown, J. & Eng, E. (2009) Understanding African American men's perceptions of racism, male gender socialization, and social capital through photovoice. Qualitative Health Research, 19(4): 552-65. Roberts, L. (2016) Deep Mapping and Spatial Anthropology. Special Issue edition of Humanities, 5(1): 5-12. Sontag, S. (1978) Susan Sontag on photography. London: Penguin Group. Srivastava, P. (2006) Reconciling multiple researcher positionalities and languages in international research. Research in Comparative and International Education, 1(3): 210-22. Stanley, C. A. & Slattery, P. (2016) Who reveals what to whom? Critical reflections on conducting qualitative inquiry as an interdisciplinary, biracial, male/ female research team. Qualitative Inquiry, 9(5): 705-28. Sunderland, N., Bristed, H., Gudes, O., Boddy, J. & Da Silva, M. (2012) What does it feel like to live here? Exploring sensory ethnography as a collaborative methodology for investigating social determinants of health in place. Health & Place, 18(5): 1056-67. Williams, A. (ed.) (2007) Therapeutic landscapes. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited.

Chapter 15

The challenges of ethnographic practice in current urban complex situations Paola Jirón and Walter Imilan Abstract Urban daily mobility in contemporary cities presents new methodological challenges in order to apprehend its increasing complexity. Traditional mobility methods are insufficient to understand current meanings and travel experiences, requiring innovative methods to approach it. This paper recognises the potential of ethnography and explores the possibility to undertake collective ethnographies to understand daily mobility practices in Chilean cities. The chapter presents a proposal to undertake collective and multidisciplinary ethnography through a short yet intense fieldwork as a way to facing current challenges in mobility studies in general and urban studies in particular.

Keywords Collective ethnography; urban practices; mobility; urban studies.

Introduction Mobility studies have given rise to intense methodological debate seeking deeper perspectives on the specificities of dwelling as phenomena of theoretical and empirical significance to present-day social reflection (D’Andrea et al., 2011). Daily urban mobility has become central to understanding contemporary living. Traditional research methods for urban mobility, based primarily on transport studies involving analysis of origin and destination, are insufficient for comprehending the complexity of mobility experiences and contemporary living. Ethnography has the potential to inform such concern. As a method, ethnography is currently experiencing a period of intense interest within social research, for its capacity to capture the way in which “others” assign meaning to the world in which they live, and as a result, theoretical frameworks are

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being redefined and new questions posed. Despite this interest in ethnography, the debate surrounding its theorisation and practice has not been commensurate with its increased use (Ingold, 2014). As a result, ethnographic practice has become somewhat obscured, with its internal mechanisms rarely being explained or shared. This poses the risk that ethnographic practice will be reduced simply to a collection of qualitative methods such as interviews and participant observation, while its core functions – which according to Ingold comprise a reflexive form of knowledge co-production between the researcher and their informants – remain overlooked by the discussion. The practice of ethnography is characterised by research conducted on an individual basis, and the researcher’s experience is traditionally central to the knowledge production process. Ethnography is seen as a solitary activity, involving a series of contingent events that the researcher must evaluate continuously. The solitary researcher, the prolonged stay and the concentrated focus on fixed and delineated spaces harks back to an imaginary created by classical anthropological studies. Delving into the complexity of the urban requires a reconsideration and redefinition of some of these traditional elements, considering first and foremost the need for a multidisciplinary approach and overcoming the limitations of contemplating urban social life within the context of a delineated space, such as a neighbourhood. The study of urban mobility poses precisely these questions, but the application of ethnographic practice to the study of mobility requires expanding the scope of fieldwork. How is the ethnographic method able to contribute to the generation of knowledge relevant to contemporary urban studies by moving beyond individual, monodisciplinary, space bounded and simple description of specific elements? This chapter explores the possibility of constructing collective ethnographies to address urban daily mobility practices. The text discusses the usefulness of these ethnographies, as well as the difficulties, challenges and even impossibilities posed by the attempt. Based on various research experiences over the past decade concerning everyday living and mobility practices in Chilean 1 cities, we share our ethnographic practice. We discuss the extrapolation of the individual ethnographic strategy to a collective and multidisciplinary data production, involving brief but intense fieldwork sessions. Reflection on these processes leads to an ethnographic proposal that is capable of responding, in part, to the current requirements of urban studies.

1

FONDECYT Research Projects N° 1090198 “Urban Daily Mobility and Social Exclusion in Santiago de Chile”; 1161437 “Dwelling the Intermediate City”; 1171554 “Territorial Intervention and dwelling practices”; 1140519 “Understanding mobility strategies to perform daily activity-travel in two Chilean cities”.

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The ethnographic gaze: from the paradigm of territorial fixation to everyday mobility In recent years, a variety of ethnographic strategies have been implemented for the description and analysis of mobility practices. Multi-sited ethnography – based on “following” the movement of people, objects, practices and discourses, and allowing us to find the “thread of cultural processes” – has received widespread coverage (Marcus, 1995: 97) and has been applied across a broad variety of research fields. The use of ethnography in mobility studies, which involves looking into the relationships, experience, and meaning of movement, is becoming increasingly common (Buscher et al., 2010; Finchman et al., 2010; Elliot et al., 2017). Mobile methodologies have had a major impact on the way research is conducted in the social sciences in general and extensive experimentation and innovation, the range of methods employed in ethnography is currently growing. Shadowing (Jirón, 2010) is a method of individually accompanying study participants in their daily routines. The participant is aware that he or she is being accompanied and observed while carrying out everyday activities. Researcher-participant interaction is not ruled out during the session; the researcher may discuss certain issues during the shadowing period or remain silent depending on the circumstances. The journey may be photographed or filmed, if conditions allow. This technique has been used to capture experi2 ences of everyday urban mobility in the city of Santiago.

From individual to collective ethnography Ethnographic work has long focused on the figure of the author. Ethnographic authorship is based on the experience of fieldwork and its undeniable function at two moments in time: registration and representation. Registration is the result of a combination of fieldwork activities whose success is linked to the researcher’s capacity to access or experience the knowledge and modes of living of the ‘other’ (Geertz, 1977). This process consists of learning to observe, listen and follow the intuitions which lead to the revelation of the native’s point of view. No manual of ethnography fails to dedicate lengthy passages to the importance of ‘rapport’ in the production of ethnographic knowledge (Hammersley & Atkinson, 1994; Guber, 2001; Mauss, 2006). Rapport involves above all a process of learning through which the researcher achieves the necessary empathy to be able to see as the ‘other’ sees, to think and, if possible, even to feel as they feel. This process also brings about a transformation of the ethnographer him/herself (Ingold, 2014). It is evident

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See www.santiagosemueve.com

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that such a process demands a time-frame conducive to achieving it; that is, long days of fieldwork. The challenge is how ethnography can address the spatiality of everyday practices resulting from mobility, and in this context, the experience of a lone researcher engaged in lengthy fieldwork sessions presents limitations. Multiple and interdisciplinary collaboration is central to unveiling spatiality in movement. Not only does it permit multiple registrations, but also the representation of ethnographic information becomes the product of collective reflection. This implies a contraction of ethnographic observation in temporal terms; the length of fieldwork sessions is reduced, but their intensity increased. The use of images and audio registration devices enhances the body’s capacity to observe. As with all fieldwork, data production is abundant; however, the intensity of registration in a multidisciplinary environment increases processing complexity. This challenge requires developing collective strategies for ethnographic work: embodied practices, collective learning of how and what to observe, and mastery of using the body itself to accompany the everyday practices of research participants. Collective ethnography differs from mere teamwork – which is generally vertically organised with tasks and compartmentalised information – in that fundamental responses and research questions are resolved through horizontal dialogue, through the interchange of ethnographic experiences. Multiple ethnographic experiences are a source for defining new research questions. Thus, processes of ethnographic registration and representation must be contained within a methodological process which permits multidisciplinary interchange throughout the entire research process. Based on the experience of ethnographic research into urban mobility in Santiago de Chile, we are able to share procedures which gave rise to a form of collective ethnographic practice. The definition of collective used here, beyond the usual academic procedure of publishing research methods and results, is focused on conducting an interdisciplinary collective registration and representation process which builds on individual research.

Methodological proposal for a collective ethnography of the timespace dimension of mobility The proposal at hand is based on numerous research experiences gained in the Chilean cities of Santiago, Concepción and Alto Hospicio between 2009 and 2017, which aimed to make an empirical analysis of mobility practices and experiences in these cities. To capture the everyday experience of contemporary urban living requires getting as close as possible to dwelling practices and demands an understanding of the ‘significant interactions’ that take place in space and time. These interactions are events which have some sig-

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nificance to the participant, and which may occur before, during or after the journey, based on relationships between the body (gestures, emotions, senses, clothing, objects that become extensions of the body), affective atmospheres, spatiality (materiality, objects, surroundings, equipment, colours, textures, flows, circulations, nature, structures, forms), other travellers or subjects relevant to the journey, processes of assigning meaning, and travel strategies (short- or long-term, individual or collective). All of these elements make up a heterogeneous and multidimensional multiplicity which shape the daily mobility experience and facilitates explanation of these interactions. To observe daily living – the diversity and complexity of urban experiences – in an exploratory manner requires a dense and intense form of ethnography; however, in practical terms, this is impossible to achieve as an individual. A collective ethnography supposes not only the assembly of a field team which employs certain techniques and work patterns in data collection, but more importantly requires a team whose members are able to conduct research on an individual but convergent basis, sharing a conceptual framework and methodological procedures. The international literature presents various models of collective ethnography. One of these is concentration on a very specific object of study, such as classroom research at school (Gordon et al., 2006), which follows theory and methods to reveal different simultaneous narratives. Another model concerns studies which take place over the course of years, in which new narratives need to maintain continuity with those that came before in order that a relatively consistent research programme be guaranteed (Sigaud, 2008). The challenge presented here is in two parts. The first involves enquiry into the most suitable form of capturing significant experiential interactions in the time-space of mobile living. The second involves attempting to achieve interdisciplinary to integrate both the advantages of adopting an ethnographic approach and, at the same time, the various disciplinary viewpoints which converge in an urban study. The methodological model organises fieldwork into five phases. First: assembling a group of ethnographers; second: case selection; third: process of design and application of instruments. The fourth phase concerns the production of the ethnographic accounts, and the final phase focuses on interdisciplinary analysis. Work group The work group is comprised of researchers with training and experience in qualitative research and ethnographic practices. Generally, these ethnographers are young professional anthropologists and final year anthropology students. The research experiences involve at least three ethnographers doing

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simultaneous fieldwork. The ethnographers go through an orientation phase including an induction into the particular project, including theoretical and methodological discussion, as well as uses of field registration methods and narrative production strategies. Case selection Case selection is dictated by the objectives of each study. However, the process generally involves selection of an observation area and the inhabitants of this area with the aim of observing their everyday living experience. Due to the intensity of the ethnographic method being applied, once the specific areas have been identified, a process of contacting potential case studies is initiated using the snowball technique. A main selection criterion is the contribution of each case to the diversity of living practices, or to the deepening of knowledge of certain practices which have been identified as relevant. What to observe? What to register? The methodological strategy for producing field data incorporates semistructured interview techniques, direct observation, and the shadowing technique (Jiron, 2010), all registered using field notebooks and audio, video and photographic devices and result is an ethnographic narrative for each case study. All instruments are applied in a flexible manner and their order of application vary with each case, and this allows for a comparison as well as continuous improvement of narrative as these experiences are shared during work meetings. This allows for greater degree of improvisation on the part of the ethnographer in terms of time frames, tools, and the interactions as events unfold. In methodological terms, the fieldwork considers each case study (each individual) as a unit of ethnographic interest independent from the rest, and the responsibility of a single researcher. Fieldwork for each case is generally conducted in four phases. Starting with a semi-structured interview introducing residential history, everyday mobility practices including the dynamics to go to work, business, study, recreation and their relation to spaces within the city. During the interview, the shadowing session is scheduled according to each participant’s availability, and a day considered as standard. Shadowing consists of accompanying the subject throughout the course of a full day, from the moment the person leaves their home until they return and it represents the core section of the fieldwork. The researcher accompanies the participant during all episodes of mobility around the city, excluding stationary times, like places of work or study. During the shadowing exercise, we attempt an in-depth observation of the spatialities revealed during the journey, seeking to construct webs comprising bodily aspects, material as-

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pects, aspects of other travellers, meanings and strategies of each experience, and the relationship that exists between each of these elements. These relationships are glimpsed through the significant interactions of each experience, to provide an understanding of the spatiality produced by movement. The third phase involves systematising fieldwork registration and writing the ethnographic narrative for each case. The fourth phase involves returning registration material to the participant, allowing preliminary results to be shared and other analysis activities to be conducted. The main products of fieldwork are ethnographic narratives derived from the shadowing process. Each researcher constructs an ethnographic narrative using their own personal style of writing. These narratives possess two distinctive characteristics: the length of the observation time, and the intensity of the registration. Application of the shadowing technique over the course of a standard period based on a ‘day’ serves both as a unit of temporal observation and as a narrative device for writing the account. This condition, inspired by situational and performance ethnographies (Gluckman, 1958), forms part of the discussion and analysis process which facilitates the collective construction of each narrative. The narrative covers an event lasting one day; it has a beginning, an end, and an internal progression where the different elements of the participant’s mobility experience are interwoven, incorporating those elements experienced during the shadowing session, along with those which became apparent through the other instruments and complement the narrative. Elaboration of the ethnography Traditionally, these narratives are produced in the form of written text. However, the capture and representation of the experience exceeds the capacity of the written word, and it is here that photographic, audiovisual and audio resources may be brought in to complement and expand the descriptions of the spatialities produced. The ethnographic text aims to map the spatial experience, with superimposed, interwoven layers of narrative describing the mobile spatiality revealed over the course of the journey. The writing process is not a one-way street, nor is it easily finished: it is in a constant state of construction. One important aspect of elaborating collective ethnographies involves presenting a broad view of daily living by assembling a diverse group of narrations. However, although these are based on the same types of information from each participant, the subjectivity of the ethnographer becomes apparent, as they exhibit their own particular form of shadowing observation, as well as their own writing style. This is the main reason for working with anthropologists, as they are trained to carry out deep descriptions better than

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any other discipline as well as produce narratives related to the experiences sought. It is on this basis that a collection of narrations is put together to describe living experiences of the place being analysed. Interdisciplinary analysis of ethnographic data In terms of analysis, interdisciplinary team meetings are a central element of collective ethnography and are considered constitutive of the work method. The exploratory nature of the studies upon which work is based, incorporating elements of methodological and theoretical innovation, requires a process of conceptual appropriation on the part of the research team. During each team meeting, the cases studied are presented, the narratives resulting from the shadowing sessions are read, and the team discusses the discoveries and relevant issues that have arisen from the fieldwork, from specific disciplines: urbanism, architecture, geography, sociology, anthropology, amongst others. Collective ethnography analysis sessions are opportunities for discussion and a search for convergences in ethnographic procedures such as observation and writing.

Principal challenges of collective ethnography of urban space Urban research, and particularly research on modern daily urban living with its high levels of complexity, dynamism, and diversity, requires methodological strategies combining a variety of disciplines and approaches. This chapter presents a debate concerning the traditional practice of ethnography based on the individual author and raises the possibility of conducting in-depth work based on short but intense bursts of fieldwork. We propose the possibility of constructing ethnographies based on work carried out across a team of researchers, each of whom observes similar variables and shares their own ethnographic experiences. Ethnographic practice an embodied one; in our case, as the strongly embodied mobility experience of the study’s participants was a central object of empathy for the ethnographer. Also, individual research is put together in an interdisciplinary context through group sessions and workshops. This type of collective research goes beyond vertical instructions from those in charge of the research in two ways, first of all, because of the need to work with specific disciplines that contribute their specific knowledge. Each discipline, from Anthropologists with their strong observation and writing abilities, along with other disciplines, require providing their specific input into research analysis. Dialogue with members of the team from the disciplines of architecture, urbanism, transport engineering and geography is central to the team’s development of a sense of spatial processes. This surpasses mere description of the surroundings by addressing the interactions of subjects with

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materialities, embodied practices, objects, others, and integrating individual and collective strategies of mobility. Secondly, the collective method is a form of learning process for all those involved. This research experience provides insights into methodological strategies based on collaborative work. A collaborative vision of ethnography implies deepening relationships between ethnographers, members of the research team, participants and those who provide support and information for fieldwork. The current challenge faced by researchers is how to link this kind of work to modes of urban intervention.

References Buscher, M., Urry, J. & K. Witchger (eds.) (2010) Mobile methods. London: Routledge. D’Andrea, A., Ciolfi, L. & Gray, B. (2011) Methodological Challenges and Innovations in Mobilities Research. Mobilities, 6(2): 149-60. Elliot, A., Norum, R. & Salazar, N. B. (2017) Methodologies of mobility. Ethnography and experiment. Oxford: Berghahn Press. Fincham, B., McGuiness, M. & Murray, L. (eds.) (2010) Mobile methodologies. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Geertz, C. (1989) El antropólogo como autor. Barcelona: Ediciones Paidós Ibérica. Gluckman, M. (1958) Analysis of a situation in modern Zululand. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Gordon, T., Hynninen, P., Lahelma, E., Metso, T., Palmu, T. & Tolonen, T. (2006) Collective ethnography, joint experiences and individual pathways. Nordisk Pedagogik, 26(1): 3-15. Guber, R. (2001) La etnografía. Método, campo y reflexividad. Bogotá: Norma. Hammersley, M. & Atkinson, P. (1994) Etnografia. Iberica: PaidosIberica Ediciones. Ingold, T. (2014) That’s enough about ethnography! Hau: Journal of Ethnographic Theory, 4(1): 383-95. Jirón, P. (2010) On becoming ‘la sombra/the shadow’. In M. Büscher, J. Urry, & K. Witchger (eds.), Mobile Methods (pp.36-53). London: Routledge. Marcus, G. (1995) Ethnography in/of the world system: The emergence of multi-sited ethnography. Annual Review of Anthropology, 2: 95-117. Mauss, M. (2006) Métodos de observación. In M. Mauss, (ed.) Manual de etnografía (pp. 29–39). México: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Sigaud, L. (2008) A collective ethnographer: Fieldwork experience in the Brazilian northeast. Social Science Information, 47(1): 71-97.

Chapter 16

Sharing foodscapes: shaping urban foodscapes through messy processes of food sharing Monika Rut and Anna R. Davies Abstract Food sharing practices, including food sharing mediated by Information and Communication Technologies (ICT), are evolving across urban foodscapes globally. Using ethnographic case studies of ICT-mediated food sharing, this chapter explores the ways in which food sharing has developed in Singapore and connects with, or diverges from, broader narratives and practices around the smart governance of food in the city-state. This chapter first reflects on the methodological messiness inherent in researching social phenomena, such as food sharing, in different political and socio-cultural contexts. It is then argued that the milieu of food sharing itself is ‘messy’ as it includes a diverse range of practices and participants that ebb and flow over time and space connected through both physical spaces and virtual platforms. The research presented in this chapter highlights community actions related to food sharing that point towards a new understanding of what it might mean to transition towards a smarter and more sustainable city.

Keywords Foodscapes; food sharing; sustainability; smart city; ICT.

Introduction The concept of food sharing – defined as having a portion of food with another or others; giving a portion of food to others; using, occupying or enjoying food and food-related spaces to include the growing, cooking and eating of food jointly; possessing an interest in food in common; or exchanging information about food - explored in this paper with respect to Singapore is an

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emerging phenomenon that is deeply entangled in contemporary urban foodscapes. Food sharing is becoming increasingly mediated by different forms of ICT tools from Google maps to social media networks. There are suggestions that this technological dimension is reshaping the way that people share food. Drawing on ethnographic research undertaken in Singapore over a period of three months, this chapter suggests that food sharing is formed and reformed within the dynamics of urban foodscapes and through a complex of dynamic macro-meso interactions. The nature of these interactions will be explored by drawing on the concept of messy social realities developed by Law (2004) which were encountered during research conducted with the Foodscape Collective, an informal group aiming to cultivate resilient communities through food sustainability (Foodscape Collective, 2017). This chapter explores food sharing through the mess of interactions that build connectivity through online and offline activities and which culminate in a vital food sharing movement driven by a plurality of entities. First, however, the methodological approach to examining the messiness of food sharing is delineated. This is followed by a discussion of food sharing practices in Singapore set within the wider foodscape of the city-state. Insights from the ethnographic case study of the Foodscape Collective are then presented before concluding with a reflection on the opportunities for embracing messiness to better understand evolving food systems and sustainability.

Approaching food sharing This chapter draws on ethnographic research of food sharing practices conducted in Singapore. The ethnographies represent the second level of analysis following a collaborative process of co-designing a food sharing database in 100 cities around the globe (Davies et al., 2017a; 2017b). The database provided a comprehensive overview of food sharing landscape in Singapore from which four diverse food sharing enterprises were selected for in-depth research. The Foodscape Collective discussed in this paper was one of the selected case studies and has an informal structure, participatory usage of ICT tools, and engages in a breadth of food sharing activities such as community farming, compost swaps, seed banks, and food rescue. The research presented in this chapter adopted methods that are commonly used in ethnographic fieldwork, including a case study approach and participant observation (Willis & Jost, 2007). In Singapore, the researcher spent a considerable amount of time observing places, people, and practices to better understanding how and why food is being shared. During the fieldwork, sixteen interviews were conducted with co-founders and participants from various activities that the Foodscape Collective organised. In addition, the researcher participated in a range of shared

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activities, including harvesting, foraging, dumpster diving, cooking, eating and organizing workshops. This led to numerous and diverse user engagements with those who share, which took place in multiple locations including the participants own homes, kitchens, and gardens. Food sharing ethnographies in Singapore were deeply rooted in the practice of reflexivity, including conceptual, affective and ethical reflexivity. Conceptual reflexivity required openness to experimentation with the food sharing concept itself within the culturally diverse context of Singapore. The formation and circulation of ideas around the concept of food sharing varied depending on participants’ age, ethnicity, gender, and education. Also, the researcher needed to take a reflexive stand away from the broader conceptual vocabulary that food sharing represents in a western research context. Discourses touching on issues of food justice, food rights, and land access were sometimes unfamiliar to participants and lay outside their common understandings or experiences. In the process of collecting ethnographic data, it was important to acknowledge the affective dimensions generated by the research that occurred when cultivating researcher-participants relationships. A number of circumstances confronted in the fieldwork led to a blurring of the boundaries between the “researcher” and the “researched” and culminated in friendship. Finally, ethical reflexivity was needed as the research began to shift towards to a more collaborative approach in which the researcher became the co-organiser of events and thus in the position of influencing the understanding and practice of food sharing experienced by the community of sharers being researched. For the reasons mentioned above, keeping a fieldwork diary and dedicating time to think reflexively were an important part of the food sharing ethnographies research. Furthermore, as ICT-mediated food sharing was the unit of analysis for the research, meaning that contemporary food sharing practices use some form of ICT in their everyday activities, the researcher had to consider interactions and practices within online environments as well as real-world contexts. Interacting with participants online allowed for the cultivation of new relationships through connections, communications, and observations, which ultimately deepened the understanding ICT-mediated food sharing practices.

Foodscapes and food sharing Foodscapes are comprehensive assemblages which include nested sites of food production and consumption, systems of food commodification, sites of waste decomposition, human-nature relationships, technical infrastructures and regulatory frameworks (Lake et al., 2010; MacKendrick, 2014). Having malleable infrastructures, foodscapes are, above all, places where foodrelated skills, stuff, and spaces can find convergence in an interplay between

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formal and informal transactions, propelled in part by locally-specific norms and values. Clearly, contemporary cities are suffused with, and characterised by, multiple and co-existing foodscapes that are not just sites where food is found but are an important locus of multiple layers of urban food environments. As suggested by King (2009: 26), a foodscape can be “personal, social, or public, reaching from the body to the community to the nation, respectively.” The existing literature on foodscapes suggests that they can be distinguished at macro, meso and micro scales (Mikkelsen, 2011; Lake et al., 2010). Mikkelsen (2011) sees the macro scale as the overall national and societal level of interaction, the meso scale as the sub-national community and micro scale as comprised of household and domestic spaces. Suffice to say that foodscapes at macro, meso and micro scales are interconnected and offer a useful analytical tool for understanding how food related ideas and practices, spaces and people interact. Through multi-sited field visits, participant observations, and interviews it was possible to gain in-depth insight into the food sharing practices that make up Singaporean foodscapes. Whenever the researcher was participating in potlucks, volunteering at food redistribution events or talking to governmental representatives, food sharing emerged at the intersection of macro and meso foodscapes. The macro foodscapes in Singapore were described by the food sharers as landscapes of food abundance and food commodity. Ranked fourth in the Global Food Security Index (2013), Singapore imports 90% of food that it consumes (AVA, 2017). High levels of food imports are being justified with the narrative that Singapore is too land-scarce to produce food for even the present populace, never mind the 6.9 million people projected to live in Singapore by 2030 (The Population White Paper, 2013). However, the accuracy of the land-scarcity narrative outlined above needs unpicking, because local food production practices are undermined in the state-led food security debates despite growing farming interest from citizens, as indicated in an interview extract with an aspiring urban farmer: “When I was growing up I thought that, in Singapore we cannot do farming, because we don’t have enough land. But when I understood urban farming [...], I understood that we are not land limited, we are actually people limited. We don’t have knowledge and we don’t have people who want to dedicate their life to this career” (Interview 1, Urban Farmer, 02.06.17). The lack of farming knowledge and the historical state-led emphasis on imports have led to declining proportions of homegrown food within the citystate. In addition, consumers regard their macro foodscapes as abundant while cosmetic filtering of imperfect fruits and vegetables and more stringent

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conventions of freshness have led to avoidable food waste. Despite plans of becoming a Zero Waste Nation by 2030, the lack of institutional guidelines on food donations (and redistribution of surplus food) have left food waste problems in the hands of corporate social responsibility programmes and a few charities, which are often too understaffed to handle the volumes they are being confronted with. Within this scenario, macro foodscapes in Singapore appear as productivity-driven networks of food commodities through which food sustainability is practiced as a set of strategies focused on achieving food security in land-scarce Singapore. On the meso scale, foodscapes are formed through spontaneous actions driven by the social and environmental consciousness of individuals. Food interactions and food-related ideas are traceable through messy organizational models of self-organised food networks in which standards of food practice are negotiated through relational understanding and knowledge sharing. Meso scale foodscapes are formed through passionate enthusiasts, environmentalists and foodies who are motivated by an interest in growyour-own movements, zero waste or simply seeking to reconnect with nature, food and each other. Participants may act as keepers of indigenous knowledge of medicinal plants, as owners of insect homesteads, as DIY food growing inventors, and as performers of forgotten food practices such as foraging, fermenting, composting, and beekeeping. Common in Singapore, meso foodscapes are bringing a more locally and socially generative dimension to the urban food systems and elevating the role that community can play in food security. In Singapore, this becomes apparent through food sharing activities, which include building permaculture gardens to demonstrate where the food comes from, volunteer-run soup kitchens that serve people who are food insecure in public rental apartments or meal sharing platforms that promote healthy food choices through the sharing and selling of home cooked food. Fieldwork in Singapore emphasised that food sharing is a nexus practice linking macro and meso scales and has developed through by spatial, temporal, and socioeconomic practices driven by individuals, communities, institutions, businesses, and regulatory frameworks. These assemblages of interlinked practices, actors and meanings are increasingly seen as having the potential to cultivate ‘smart food cities,’ because they highlight the importance of social practices in innovating urban food systems (Maye, 2018). While vaguely defined in the policy documents, smart governance of food in Singapore emerged through plans to achieve greater food security by “working together with industry stakeholders to diversify food sources and innovate for increased local food productivity” (Borrelli et al., 2016: 1). While the role of meso scale urban food movements in contributing to sustainable food sys-

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tems is undefined, food sharing ethnographies revealed that community actors are in a position to soften technocratic imaginaries of smart food governance. The nature of these processes is messy with ICT playing an important role in mobilising community food ideas. In the following section messy food sharing interaction will be explored using the findings of an ethnographic case study with the Foodscape Collective.

The Foodscape Collective The Foodscape Collective started in the aftermath of Growell Pop Up event organised in collaboration with Edible Garden City in 2015 (Growell Pop Up, 2015). The event was attended by community groups interested in food growing, healthy eating, and food rescue and made a strong statement about the disconnect between people, food practices and nature in Singapore. Although its lifespan was just a few months, the event attracted over 2000 online followers and resulted in the creation of a number of new food groups which, like the Foodscape Collective, have continued to connect individuals concerned about food sustainability, and exploring ways to “collaborate and nurture understanding by acting upon food system, that support initiatives that cultivate resilient communities” (Foodscape Collective, 2017). As one of the co-founders mentioned in an interview; “for me, Foodscape Collective is about learning the landscape of food. It is a platform currently for the exchange of information, raising of awareness about different stakeholders in the food value chain” (Interview 2, Foodscape Collective, 03.08.17). As an online community group, the Foodscape Collective initiated food sharing initiatives that took root and grew through the active participation of individuals interested in the foodscapes. This has led to various ICT-mediated collaborations such as plants swaps, compost exchanges, potlucks, workshops, and exhibitions. Food sharing activities organised by Foodscape Collective have added a certain drive to a growing urban food movement towards sustainable and social dimension of food systems from a perspective of smart citizens. As mentioned in an interview with one participant, the Foodscape Collective organically connected dispersed communities of environmentalists in Singapore: “I see the value of networking and people starting to get together [..] Because if you talk about environmental awareness, green activities, ten years ago in Singapore, it’s probably non-existent; nobody had heard of it or even thought about it. But now it seems like there’s a little spark. It’s starting to glow brighter and brighter” (Interview 3, Foodscape Collective, 18.06.17).

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Following the Foodscape initiative, food sharing has evolved around a range of online and offline activities. Online activities include ongoing mapping project of edible spaces and food growers in Singapore and a Facebook group known as “Community for food sustainability and food resilience” that acts as an interface for real-world exchange for swapping and bartering food related stuff, skills and spaces, and as an advocacy platform for those interested gaining a critical perspective on current food systems in Singapore. Offline activities result from online interactions and include regular meet-ups, guided tours, and workshops. Fig.16.2: Singapore’s Really Local Edible Gardens. Foodscape Collective Crowdsourced Map

There are a number of factors that have helped the Foodscape Collective to maintain a high profile, articulate its identity and expand its activities by accruing a network of followers, and gaining impetus to mobilise a movement towards food sustainability in Singapore. An important factor is that the Foodscape Collective has created a space to meet and experiment in a citystate that is not only land-scarce for farming but also civil-scarce (Lee, 2002). Civil society actors in Singapore are considered as neutered and left in the shadows (Sadoway, 2013). Laws and regulations restricting access to public space and freedom of speech and expression have increasingly become a concern of activists, artists and civil society actors in Singapore. Thus, by being connected virtually, Foodscape Collective followers can orientate themselves and determine their role and level of interest and engagement in a particular activity or cause. They can prime themselves for meetings that take place in real space and stay informed on all developments without being physically present, as well as get motivated and motivate others towards par-

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ticipation and affirmative action. Importantly, they can connect with individuals and groups with similar interests, even develop new communities of interests and practice focusing on a subset of any interests encountered. By meshing online and offline interactions and activities, Foodscape Collective managed to integrate food sharing into the local milieu but also attract interested parties from the governmental agencies such as National Environmental Agency (NEA), as mentioned in the interview with the co-founder: “I guess we have managed to connect from both bottom-up and topdown […] We need to decide how we can evaluate what the regulators do and gain the regulator’s support for what we do with the connections that we already have, so that we can influence policy, if ever, be it a Good Samaritan law or any other legislation that impacts food sustainability.” (Interview 1, Foodscape Collective, 03.08.17) The messily arranged connective tissue that permeates online and offline spaces gives visibility to social practices performed by community groups in relation to food systems and permits engagement with forms of nonorganizational collective action (Sadoway, 2013). In this sense, the Foodscape Collective can be seen as an informational intermediary that advocates collective imaginaries of sustainable food systems from the bottom-up. Through cultivating such connectivity, a basis of engagements with macro foodscapes is formed as Foodscape Collective develops critical perspectives on new smart food citizenship. Thus, building on the ethnographic research of food sharing in Singapore, it is important to explore not just state-led interventions framed through food security discourses but to engage with food practices on the meso scale. For the researcher, this process is messy, as it recognizes the heterogeneity of all possible associations, as well as is being co-produced with participants with diverse knowledge and experience. The Foodscape Collective showcases this.

Conclusion In conclusion, the concept of messiness provides an opportunity for ethnographers to identify and better understand complex social realities rooted in contemporary urban foodscapes. The use of ICT as connective technology is central to this endeavour, enabling the scaling-up and out of activities and the development of networked communities of interests and practice. It also provides a useful point of intersection with wider state narratives around smart cities and food, allowing opportunities for diverse agendas to establish common ground. In this regard, the example of the Foodscape Collective can be seen as an archetypal case, where food-sharing enables interactions be-

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tween the state and community actors, with the goal of increasing the sustainability of foodscapes.

Acknowledgments This book chapter is based on research that has received funding from the European Research Council (ERC) under the European Union's Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme (Grant no. 646883). We would like to thank the Foodscape Collective for participating in this research and food sharers of Singapore for their support and guidance.

References AVA Agri-Food and Veterinary Authority of Singapore, AVA (2017, Nov. 02) The Food We Eat. Available at: https://www.ava.gov.sg/explore-bysections/food/singapore-food-supply/the-food-we-eat[Accessed 15th January 2018]. Borrelli, N., Diamantini, D. & Deakin, M. (2016) Milan's Urban Food Policies as Smart City Governance Developments. In M. Deakin, N. Borrelli, & D. Diamantini (ed.), The Governance of the city food system. Case Studies from around the world (pp. 15-28). Milan: Feltrinelli Foundation. Davies, A. R., Edwards, F., Marovelli, B., Morrow, O., Rut, M. & Weymes, M. (2017a) Creative construction: Crafting, negotiating and performing urban food sharing landscapes. Area, 49(4): 510-18. Davies, A. R., Edwards, F., Marovelli, B., Morrow, O., Rut, M. & Weymes, M. (2017b) Making visible: Interrogating the performance of food sharing across 100 urban areas. Geoforum, 86: 136-49. Growell Pop Up (2015) Facebook. [ONLINE] Available at: https://www.facebook.com/pg/thegrowellpopup/about/?ref=page_internal [Accessed 3rd November 2017]. Foodscape Collective (2017) Foodscape Collective. [ONLINE] Available at: https://www.facebook.com/FoodscapeCollective/ [Accessed 3rd November 2017]. Global Food Security Index (2013) Singapore. Available at: http://foodsecurityindex.eiu.com/Country/Details#Singapore [Accessed 3rd November 2017]. King, M. (2009) Sustainable foodscapes: Obtaining food within resilient communities, MA Thesis. Ontario: University of Waterloo. Lake, A. A., Burgoine, T., Greenhalgh, F., Stamp, E. & Tyrrell, R. (2010) The foodscape: Classification and field validation of secondary data sources. Health & Place, 16(4): 666-73. Law, J. (2004) After method: Mess in social science research. London: Routledge. Lee, T. (2002) The politics of civil society in Singapore. Asian Studies Review, 26(1): 97-117. Mackendrick, N. (2014) Foodscape. Contexts, 13(3): 16-8.

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Maye, D. (2018) ‘Smart food city’: Conceptual relations between smart city planning, urban food systems and innovation theory. City, Culture and Society. Available online 5 January 2018 pp: 1-7 Mikkelsen, B. E. (2011) Images of foodscapes: Introduction to foodscape studies and their application in the study of healthy eating out-of-home environments. Perspectives in Public Health, 131(5): 209-16. Population White Paper (2013) A Sustainable Population for a Dynamic Singapore: Population White Paper. Singapore: Singapore Government National Population and Talent Division.2013. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.population.sg/whitepaper/downloads/population-whitepaper.pdf. [Accessed 3rd November 2017]. Sadoway, D. (2013) How are ICTs transforming civic space in Singapore? Changing civic–cyber environmentalism in the island city-state. Journal of Creative Communications, 8(2-3): 107-38. Willis, J. W. & Jost, M. (2007) Foundations of qualitative research: Interpretive and critical approaches. London: Sage.

Author Biographies Rafi Alam Rafi Alam is a PhD candidate from the University of Sydney in the Department of Sociology and Social Policy, where he also graduated with a Bachelor of International & Global Studies (Hons). His research interests include access to legal justice, organisational theory, social movements, and everyday life. Other research interests include unpacking the relationship between ethics and ethnographic methodologies, and the role of technologies in shaping the social consciousness of urban citizens. Lauren Crabb Lauren Crabb is a senior lecturer in Human Resource Management and Organisational Behaviour at Coventry University London. Lauren obtained her PhD in Management Studies from the University of Essex in 2016. Her research interests are primarily in environmental governance in Latin America. Her PhD research focused on the environmental and social impacts of the 2014 FIFA World Cup in Brazil. Lauren is now part of a research group who are investigating the social and environmental impacts of small hydro-electric dams in the Pantanal region of Brazil. Anna Davies Anna Davies is Professor of Geography, Environment, and Society at Trinity College Dublin, Ireland, where she directs the Environmental Governance Research Group. A member of the Royal Irish Academy (RIA), Anna is also Chair of Future Earth Ireland. She has advised the Irish Government as an independent member of its National Economic and Social Council and National Climate Change Advisory Council. Anna is a Board Member of the European Roundtable on Sustainable Consumption and Production and The Rediscovery Centre in Dublin and a founding member of Future Earth’s Knowledge Action Network (KAN) on Systems of Sustainable Consumption and Production, where she co-chairs the working group on social change beyond consumption. Her research interests combine environmental governance and sustainability and she currently holds a European Research Council grant entitled SHARECITY, which is examining the practice and sustainability potential of urban ICT-mediated food sharing initiatives.

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Andréa Bruno de Sousa Andréa Bruno de Sousa is a PhD candidate in the PhoenixJDP Erasmus Mundus Joint Doctoral Program Dynamics of Health and Welfare at Linköping University and at the Escola Nacional de Saúde Pública – Universidade Nova de Lisboa. Andréa holds an MSc in Psychology and Health and has a fellowship in Leadership Education in Neurodevelopmental Disorder. She has a special interest in carrying out research contributing to an understanding of complicated health issues and lay people’s perspectives. Her ongoing project is about families with children who suffer from chronic kidney disease. The fieldwork for her doctorate was carried out in Portugal employing ethnographic methodology. For six months Andréa did observations and interviews at the major paediatric hospital and also visited families in their home environments. Theoretically, her contribution involves knowledge about people’s daily life and concrete experiences of managing a chronic disease and the challenges, intricacies, and possibilities involved. Martyn Hudson Martyn Hudson is a Critical Theorist and Ethnographer and currently teaches Art and Design History at Northumbria University. He works with arts organisations, galleries and museums to develop ideas of co-production and social impacts. He is the author of the books: 'The Slave Ship, Memory and the Origin of Modernity', 'Ghosts, Landscapes and Social Memory', 'Species and Machines: The Human Subjugation of Nature' and the forthcoming 'Critical Theory and the Classical World' (all Routledge) as well as 'Centaurs, Rioting in Thessaly: Memory and the Classical World (Punctum). His research interests lie in developing ideas around art practice, social utopias, and avant-garde art but also in ethnographies of performance and artistic practice. This takes in the contemporary art practice of students to the work of twentieth-century modernists like Kurt Schwitters. Walter A. Imilan Walter works at the Faculty of Architecture, Urbanism, and Landscape at Universidad Central de Chile. An anthropologist, he holds a Doctoral degree in Urban and Regional Planning (Technische Universität Berlin). Currently, he conducts research with the project “Inhabiting the intermediate-city” (FONDECYT) in which he develops the focus of his work on relations between space and identity, stressing mobility as a central dimension. During the last two years, he has explored everyday dwelling practices as a strategy for understanding ways of life in the urban context using innovative ethnographic tools.

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181

George Jennings Dr. George Jennings is a Lecturer in Sport Sociology/Physical Culture at Cardiff Metropolitan University, Wales, UK. He has been researching martial arts cultures, pedagogies, and philosophies since 2004, when he first embarked upon an ethnography of a Wing Chun Kung Fu association as an exercise and sport sciences student. His doctoral work in sport and health sciences studied Chinese martial arts from a life history and narrative perspective. In 2011, he moved to Mexico and encountered a Mexican martial art, which he investigated using a hybrid, ‘messy’ ethnography design. Since 2014, he has been involved in a study on -thermoception and ‘weather work’ in martial arts and physical culture from a collaborative, automethodological approach alongside colleagues in the Health Advancement Research Team. A keen qualitative methodologist, George is the co-founder of the Documents Research Network (DRN) and was co-founder and co-editor of the Journal of the International Coalition of YMCA Universities. Paola Jirón Paola is Associate Professor at the Faculty of Architecture and Urbanism (FAU), Universidad de Chile. She is currently the Director of the Housing Institute (INVI) and Coordinator for the PhD programme on Territory, Space and Society (D_TES) at Universidad de Chile. She holds a PhD in Urban and Regional Planning from The School of Economics and Political Science (LSE). Her main areas of research involve urban studies from an everyday dwelling experience including mobility practices, gender issues and diversity, and through qualitative research methods. She is currently the Main Researcher for FONDECYT funded research on “Urban intervention and dwelling practices: unveiling urban situated knowledge” which seeks to understand how urban knowledge is produced in Chile. Sue Lewis Sue Lewis is a Senior Research Associate in the Department of Geography, Durham University, UK. A social anthropologist by background (PhD, St Andrews), she has over 20 years’ experience of conducting ethnographic fieldwork in a variety of settings and by experimenting with a diversity of approaches: examples include more “traditional” immersion-style anthropological studies in the Isle of Man, “embedded” and collaborative projects with community health interventions and on innovative forms in public health (including collaborative outputs), and ethnographic input into an interdisciplinary project – co-produced with patients – that sought solutions for the eating difficulties experienced by head and neck cancer survivors. She is currently working with Joe Painter and colleagues (Geography, Durham) on an

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ESRC-funded project exploring the urban politics of social innovation in Newcastle upon Tyne, Berlin, and Athens – and, with Culture Vannin, on a longstanding interest in the production and performance of political satire in the Isle of Man. Wayne Medford Wayne Medford is a postdoctoral researcher at Durham University with experience on a number of projects in North-East England and northern Scotland. Working in the public and the Voluntary and Community sectors, he has gained an extensive background in health education, knowledge transfer, community engagement and participatory mapping. His PhD looked at the everyday therapeutic qualities found in Saltwell Park in Gateshead, Tyne & Wear. His doctoral research considered how individuals and groups interact with the Park, and how those interactions aid health and well-being. Empirical data was gathered through a unique mixed methodology that gathered perspectives and experiences from park users; he used (participation) observation, interview and textual analysis, using participatory mapping and photovoice. He has also worked on research in healthcare settings, and education within healthcare settings; most notably, co-production projects within NHS Scotland encompassed health-promoting changes to hospital environments. He is also a tutor at Durham University’s International Study Centre. Nina Isabella Moeller Nina studied philosophy, sociology, and anthropology at Lancaster and Edinburgh. She completed her doctoral thesis 'The Protection of Traditional Knowledge in the Ecuadorian Amazon: A Critical Ethnography of Capital Expansion' in 2010. Having worked in Latin America and Europe – amongst other things as a consultant to indigenous federations, NGOs and the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization – Nina is now Marie Curie Research Fellow at the University of Manchester’s School of Environment, Education and Development, as well as an Honorary Research Fellow at the Centre for Agroecology, Water and Resilience, Coventry University. Her contribution to this book is based on work undertaken during her Independent Social Research Foundation fellowship at the Oxford Department of International Development (2016-2017). Joe Painter Joe Painter is Professor of Geography at Durham University, where he has taught urban and political geography since 1993. He holds a BA degree from the University of Cambridge and a PhD from the Open University. His re-

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search interests include geographies of the state and citizenship, urban and regional politics and governance and the politics of social innovation. He is the co-author of Practising Human Geography (Sage, 2004), which offers a theoretically informed discussion of geographical methodologies, and of Political Geography (Sage, 2009) and New Borders (Pluto Press, 2018). Alexandra Plows Alex is a Research Fellow at Bangor University. Her PhD and early research work focused on the UK environmental direct-action movement from an “insider” perspective, informed by feminist research practices. She then spent several years undertaking qualitative research, including ethnography, exploring emergent public engagement with human genetic technologies. Alex has also researched the dynamics of regional labour markets, through an ethnography of stakeholder organisations seeking to mitigate the impacts of de-industrialisation and redundancy in North Wales. Alex’s research approach can be summarised as reflexive and participatory ‘action research’ informed by environmental and social justice frameworks. Many of her current research projects are focused on interdisciplinary, participatory research and knowledge exchange. She works with a wide range of disciplines and ‘communities of place and interest.’ Gabriel Popham Gabriel Popham was awarded a Master’s degree in cultural anthropology from Utrecht University in 2017 with an ethnographic thesis on citizenship and political participation in London following the Brexit referendum. He previously studied social anthropology at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, where he first began exploring ethnographic writing. His interest in online political organisations began to grow during a period spent working as a writer for the online media outlet The Canary and developed into a professional and academic interest following the Brexit referendum in 2016. Gabriel spent most of his formative years living in Italy, and his interest in politics remains underpinned by this European perspective. He is a member of Democracy in Europe Movement 2025 (DiEM25) and currently lives in Amsterdam. Lisa Potter Lisa Potter is a PhD researcher in the Social Sciences Department at Northumbria University. Her thesis is an ethnographic study with buyers and sellers of illegal DVDs and illegal android boxes in the North-East of England. Her project has two overlapping themes. Firstly, in providing an understanding of a broadly neglected area of research of how and why the pirated DVD market

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has declined in recent years. Secondly, to provide a detailed analysis and understanding of why the pirated android box market has emerged and rapidly expanded in the UK. Trudy Rudge Trudy Rudge is a Professor of Nursing associated with the Susan Wakil Nursing School at Sydney University. She has both anthropology and nursing degrees. She has worked clinically in general and psychiatric care services. Her research interests include nursing and body care; safety and pharmaceutical issues in mental health care; and workplace relations for nurses. She has published in 2016, On the Politics of Ignorance in Nursing and Health Care: knowing ignorance, Routledge, London (with Dr Amélie Perron, University of Ottawa); in 2012, (Re)thinking Violence in Health Care Settings: A critical approach, Ashgate Publishing, Farnham (with co-editors Dave Holmes & Amélie Perron, University of Ottawa). Professor Rudge is Advisory Editor for Nursing Inquiry (Wiley) and on the Editorial Board of Organizational Ethnography (Emerald). Monika Rut Monika Rut is a PhD student at Trinity College Dublin, Ireland. She is also part of European Research Council funded research project SHARECITY, which is examining the practice and sustainability potential of urban ICTmediated food sharing initiatives. Her research is focused on urban food sharing practices in the context of smart city Singapore. Monika is also cofounder of Virtuale Switzerland, an interdisciplinary festival for digital arts in public space. Luisa Toffoli Luisa Toffoli is a Registered Nurse and Senior Lecturer, School of Nursing and Midwifery, University of South Australia, teaching in both the undergraduate and postgraduate programmes. Her research interests include the use of theoretical approaches to nursing work, workforce, health system governance and aged care. Her research focuses on topics, such as ‘missed care’, also referred to as unfinished or rationalised care and teaching compassion to undergraduate nursing students. She has written extensively in the area of missed care, in journals such as Nursing Inquiry, Health Sociology Review and Journal of Industrial Relations and contributed to the textbook for nursing, health science, and allied health students, entitled Understanding the Australian Healthcare System. This text draws upon theoretical frameworks to introduce students to the issues and concepts to explain the Australian healthcare

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system. She has diverse disciplinary and interdisciplinary research collaborations in Australia, New Zealand, United States of America and Europe. Sandra West Sandra West is Associate Professor of Clinical Nursing at the Susan Wakil School of Nursing and Midwifery, Faculty of Medicine and Health University of Sydney, Australia. She is a registered nurse with a clinical background in acute and critical care practice. Her research initially focussed on the physiological and psychological effects on women of common Australian nursing shift work schedules. These initial studies underpin a more recent re-thinking of the existing problematisations of shift work to move the focus from the “shift worker” (nurse) as subject to the worker’s experience of working and the work performed during each shift to identify how workers (nurses) are thought of, and about, within particular contexts. She uses qualitative methods (in association with Professor Trudy Rudge) and quantitative methods to investigate shift and night work and the workplaces within which the work occurs. She is also deeply interested in the doctoral supervision process and has managed the School’s Postgraduate Research (Doctoral) programme for many years.

Index

A acceptance, 136 access, 71, 73, 74, 75, 76, 102, 105, 108 accountable knowledge, xvii action research, xix, xxii, 101, 103, 105 adaptation, 9 adjustments, 135 affliction, 134 agency, 5 Allen, 122 altered living conditions, 132 Amazon, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 40 Anglesey, 101, 103, 104, 106 anxiety, 134 Area Health Service, 124 assemblage, 4 assemblages, 4 Australia, 60, 123 autobiographical, 101, 102 auto-ethnography, 91, 92, 93, 94, 101, 112 auto-ethnography’, 102

B Beowulf, xvi biography, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 98, 99 blurred boundaries, xiii Booker, 122 boundary, 113, 115 Brexit, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 89, 90

C cachama, 37

Careers Wales, 107 case selection, 164 challenges, 131, 132, 134, 137, 138 children, 133, 134, 136, 138 Chilean cities, 160 chronic kidney disease, 131, 132, 136, 137 chronically ill children, 137 climate change, 6, 10 clinical co-ordination, 129 collective action, xix collective ethnography, 160, 162, 163 colonial encounter, 39 communication tools, 126 community, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 169, 170, 171, 172, 177 community lecture, 7, 8, 9 Community Legal Centres, 59, 60, 63, 67 community organisations, 62, 63 complexity, xiv, xviii computer generated information, 129 computer program, 128 computerised systems, 128 confessional writing, 25 consumer culture, 41 contagion, 3, 9 conventions, xiii Coronary Care Unit, 123 Coronary Step Down Unit, 123 Costa, 121 criminal, 91, 92, 94, 96, 98 criminology, 91, 93, 99 crochet, 38

D deep mapping, 142, 143 de-industrialisation, 102 Deleuze, Gilles, 115

188

Index

demand-side, 106, 107 digital ethnography, 27 disciplinary boundaries, 23 Douglas, Mary, 113, 116 Duty Nurse Coordinator, 123

E Ecuador, 33, 34 educational ethnography, 27 elder environmental activism, 10 electronic record, 126 embodied, 102, 109 embodied expertise, xviii embodied knowledge, 33, 35 embodiment, 25 emotion, 92, 93, 94, 95, 98, 99, 131, 135, 137, 138 emotional labour, 63 emotional strain, 136 enactments, 15, 17, 20 Energy Island, 106, 107 environmental activism, 5 environmental change, 6 ethical, xiii, xxi ethical approval, 133 ethical guidelines, 152 ethical practices, 4, 5 ethics, xxi, 108 ethics committees, 59, 61 ethnographic ‘messiness’, 4 ethnographic fieldwork, 132, 134, 137 ethnographic narratives, 165 ethnographic practice, 9, 10 ethnography, 59, 60, 62, 64, 66, 67, 122, 129, 159 everyday, 162 everyday life, 131, 133, 138 everyday realities of ethnography, 69, 74, 76 experiences, 131, 132, 134, 136, 137, 138

F Facebook, 27, 28 families in crisis, 131, 138 family routine, 133

Federation Against Copyright Theft, 47 female offender, 91 feminist methodology, 94 field notes, 134 fieldwork, 131, 134, 137, 138, 162, 163 Fitzgerald, 122 flooding, 5, 6, 7, 8 food, 169, 170, 171, 172, 174, 175, 176, 177 food sharing, 169, 170, 171, 172, 174, 175, 176, 177 food sharing ethnographies, 171 Foodscapes, 169, 171 forest, 33, 34, 35, 38, 39, 40

G gig economy, xiii, 102 Graham & Thrift, 129 green, 34, 35 Guattari, Felix, 115 guayusa, 40

H habitus, 4, 8 handover, 128 health professionals, 133 Henderson, 122 heuristics, 7 hinterland, xvi, xix, 15, 19, 108, 126, 129 Horace Walpole, 14, 22 hospital ethnography, 133, 137 human encounter, 36

I I Daniel Blake, 17 ICT, 169, 170, 171 ICT mediated, 171 ignorance, 37 IKIAM, 33, 34, 35, 38, 40 illness experiences, 133 In-depth interviews, 133 indigenous, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39 individual, 160 informal talk, 134

189

Index

Information and Communication Technologies (ICT), 169 informed consent, xx, 108 in-here, 16, 123 inscription device, 122, 129 insider, 102, 105 insider/outsider, 24 interdisciplinary, 166 interdisciplinary research, 26, 28, 29 International Ethnography Conference, xx interview, 132, 134, 135

K knowing and representing, 153 knowledge, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41 knowledge exchange, 101, 102, 103, 107, 108 knowledge production, 33, 35 knowledge-based economy, 34

L labour market, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 109 land rights, 39 Law, 122 Law, John, 114, 117 Lawler, 122 lay expertise, xviii legal assistance, 62, 63 life stories, 6, 10, 27 local knowledge, xviii, 5, 6

M managing, 131, 132, 133, 136, 137, 138 manifest absence, 15 market fundamentalism, 102, 108 martial arts studies, 25, 26, 29 mess, 169, 170, 177 messily embedded, 101, 102, 103, 105, 106, 107, 108 messiness, 3, 4, 5, 10, 132, 138, 169, 170, 176

messy, xiii, xvii, xix, xx, xxi, xxii, xxiii, 129, 169, 170 method assemblage, xv, xvi, xvii, xviii, xix, 15, 16, 101, 102, 121, 122 mimesis, 97 mobility, 159 multi-sited, 131, 135 Multi-sited ethn, 161 murkiness, 30

N Napo Runa, 39 narratives, 6, 134, 138 Nazism, xvii neighbourhood, 160 neoliberalism, 59, 60, 62, 63, 66, 67 nephrology unit, 133 NewBridge Arts Project, 14, 15 night work, 121, 129 non-human actants, 122 North Wales, 101, 104 Northern Lights, xx nuclear, 101, 104, 106 nursing, 121 nursing work, 125

O O’Neill, 122 object of study, 24, 25, 29, 30 observation, 164 oil, 34, 37 ontological politics, xviii organisation, 122, 125 organisational forgetting, 129 organising texts, 124 otherness, 15 out-there, 17, 123

P paediatric CKD, 133 paediatric hospital, 131, 133 parental perspective, 132, 135 parents’ experiences, 133, 138 participant observations, 131, 133

190

Index

participatory action research, 9, 36 Participatory Action Research, 91, 93, 94, 95, 98 photovoice, 152 physicality, 26, 27, 30 pirated android boxes, 47 Plan del Buen Vivir, 34 platform, 174 Portugal, 131, 132, 133, 137 Portuguese Kidney Patients Association, 133 positionality, 25 power dynamics, 3, 4 precariat, 102 precarity, 14, 16, 105 prenatal genetic testing, xvii proud, 136 punishment, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 97, 98

Q quality of life, 132

R rainforest, 33, 35 redundancies, 101, 102, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108 reflection method, 152 reflexive, 103 reflexive practice, 4 reflexivity, xvii, xviii, xxiv, 103, 171 registration, 161 renal disease, 132 representation, 161 research, 132, 133, 134, 137 research questions, 28, 30 rhizome, 115 risk, 61 river catchment, 5, 7 routines, 131, 133, 136 Rudge, 128

S scientific knowledge, xiv sensuous ethnography, 27 serendipity, 14, 19, 22

service delivery, 101 shadowing, 161, 164 shamanic tourism, 38 Shaping the Future, 101 sharing, 169 shift work, 121 shocks, 101, 107, 108 Singapore, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178 skill mix, 125 smart, 169, 174, 176 snapshots, xix, xxi snowball technique, 133 social isolation, 132 social realities, 69, 75 space, xvi, xxiii spatial experience, 165 spatiality, 162, 163 stakeholders, 101, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108 strain, 132, 135 Strathern, 35 STS, xiv, xviii subject of study, 30 subject of study (the researcher), 24 subsistence, 40, 41 supply-side, 106 support, 133 sustainability, 169, 170, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177

T Team Leader, 126 text, 126, 128 therapeutic landscape, 142 Thrift, 129 tidy ethnography, 23, 25 tilapia, 37 tilting the frame, xviii time, xiv, xv, xvii, xxi, xxiii Toffoli, 122 Trading Standards, 47 transition, 34, 35 treatment, 132, 134, 135, 136 trust, 101, 105, 108, 133 Tucker & Knowles, 121

191

Index

U unconscious bias, 9 underlying assumptions, 70 understanding the phenomenon, 105, 106, 107 university, 34, 35, 39

V value neutrality, xvii values, 70, 72, 73, 74 Van Maanen, 126

water environments, 5, 6 water resources, 6 wellbeing, 4 West, Rudge & Mapedzahma, 121 Western science, 39 women, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98 workload, 122 workplace, xiii world view, 16 writing ethnography, 26, 29 Wylfa, 101, 104, 105, 106 Wylfa Newydd, 106

Y

W water assets, 5, 6, 7

YouTube, 27, 28