Stop bashing methods. Help create a better world. #BMJnoQual

Originally posted at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

1.

Last year, the British Medical Journal rejected an article. Such an action does not ordinarily generate attention; editors reject articles every day. The author, however, tweeted the rejection: “Thank you for sending us your paper. We read it with interest but I am sorry to say that qualitative studies are an extremely low priority for the BMJ. Our research shows that they are not as widely accessed, downloaded or cited as other research.” The tweet produced a lively strand of responses, responses like “shocking and shameful,” “epistemological oppression,” and, “I guess nothing qualitative ever happens in a clinical setting.”

As scholars, we learn where to submit (and where not to submit) our work. I conduct qualitative research with policy implications. I know, however, if I submit an ethnographic article to Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis, the editor is likely to swiftly drop-kick it back to me. Similarly, I know my quantitative-oriented friends will not be submitting to Qualitative Inquiry any time soon.

Without getting into nuances like impact factors, tenure decisions, and research standards, most qualitative researchers understand the landscape. To be honest, when I read the BMJ rejection note, I thought it was quite civil. I have received a few rejections that would make that rejection blush. I once submitted a life history on a late Friday evening. Within an hour, I received a rambling three-paragraph response from the editor, perhaps assisted by a nightcap or two, stating that anything with an N of one is neither research nor policy-relevant. Okie dokie. Thanks for the quality feedback. On to the next journal.

2.

Last week, Stephen Porter, a professor of higher education at North Carolina State, published a strongly-worded blog denouncing the #BMJnoQual incident, in particular, and qualitative research, in general.

I do not know Porter. He is a senior scholar with a fine record and numerous accomplishments. He is far more accomplished than I—so, take everything with a grain of salt. I am sure he is a reasoned, thoughtful person. However, after even a generous interpretation, the blog demonstrates a provincial understanding of qualitative research and a paternalistic and mean-spirited tone towards qualitative scholars.

Consider a few points:

(1) The title of the blog—“Speaking Truth to Power about Qualitative Research”—is ironic. Whether intentional or not, the blogger alludes to Aaron Wildavsky’s classic Speaking Truth to Power: The Art and Craft of Policy Analysis. Wildavsky, a hugely influential policy scholar, argued that policy analysts need to account for the interpretive nature of policy-making—something that qualitative work is particularly well-suited to accomplish.

(2) Porter argues that qualitative research has little impact and will have less. I agree that qualitative researchers need to redouble their efforts to collaborate with scholars and practitioners across disciplines and methodologies in an effort to produce and advocate for rigorous policy-relevant research. NSF isn’t funding many six- and seven-figure qual studies. But, many examples exist—as models for early career faculty to follow—of scholars who have achieved wide impact with well-designed studies that include qual methods. I’m fortunate to have two of them as mentors: Bill and Yvonna. Even more, look at the list of past AERA presidents over the last few decades. That’s an awful lot of impactful and innovative “dinosaurs,” a term Porter uses to describe qualitative researchers.

The blogger also introduces the technology argument: tech will enable scholars to create, gather, and analyze larger and larger datasets. The argument works both ways. Technology and social media will provide new opportunities for qualitative researchers to collect, synthesize, analyze, present, and share data. Big data will magnify, not lessen, the need for interpretive and site-based inquiry. As we’ve learned from previous examples, policies based on one-sided approaches are often ineffective. Some even reinscribe the same inequities they seek to remedy.

(3) The idea that qualitative research does not appear in well-read publications is fiction. I have read numerous articles and blogs at the NY Times and Washington Post. I am a sociologist of education who examines neighborhood-level issues. For a recent example of impact, search Google for MacArthur Fellow Matthew Desmond’s newest book Evicted, based on ethnographic research. And, while federally-funded qualitative studies in education are rare, there are numerous foundations who do fund multiple methodologies. I’m thinking of the Russell Sage Foundation, which has funded, published, and promoted significant projects that have reached beyond academia and into public and policy discourses.

(4) Porter presents a straw-man argument about generalization and qualitative research. Of course, qualitative research can’t (and shouldn’t) generalize—while a conversation for another time, most quantitative work shouldn’t either. And yet, from rigorous, well-designed qualitative studies, scholars can and have provided actionable findings and policy implications. At school and community levels, researchers and participants creatively and meaningfully employ strategies like action research and participatory action research to improve practice, research, and policy.

(5) The blogger writes, “Some qual researchers insist there are multiple realities. What do you think the average person, who lives in a single reality like most of us, thinks of this idea?” The answer is—while probably not using the pedantic words of academics—they would agree. As accomplished scholars like Gloria Ladson-Billings, Rich Milner, Luis Moll, Michelle Fine and numerous others have demonstrated, education research and policies often propagate white, privileged perspectives. Deficit-based policies represent dominant beliefs and assumptions about whose knowledge matters and how it is defined and measured. The “average” person who has experienced persistent poverty and endured racist policies would probably argue that their voices are not heard and their experiences are not represented in policy discussions and designs.

Critical (and necessary) exchanges about epistemologies and ontologies and axiologies and other fancy words and concepts are easy targets. From a policy perspective, overly theoretical arguments unmoored from practice—Latour refers to these stances as “fairy positions”—become counterproductive. I agree that navel-gazing rarely influences policy design. But, skilled academics have the ability to connect theory and practice, something the aforementioned scholars (who have employed qualitative methods) have done to great and consequential success.

I could go on, but I won’t. Again, I do not know Porter. I’m sure he has reasons for his fervent and seemingly unyielding opinions about qualitative research. He certainly has years of experiences to inform his perspective. But, a narrow approach to research—and, by extension, knowledge, beliefs, values, assumptions, etc.—is misguided, at best, and harmful, at worst. When has a one-size-fits-all approach to education ever worked, particularly for underrepresented populations? Social inquiry and policy design require a plurality of approaches. Each has strengths and limitations. We have a large toolbox of methods to examine complex, intractable issues. Why would we limit ourselves to just one?

Qualitative research as public scholarship

Originally posted at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

At this year’s AERA conference, Bill Tierney and I presented a paper, “The Role of Ethnography as Ethical and Policy-Relevant Public Scholarship.” We had a great panel, including Rob Rhoads, Jessica Lester, Laurence Parker, and Yvonna Lincoln. Fellow blogger Antar chaired. Michelle Fine acted as discussant, providing great commentary.

The idea for the symposium developed after Bill sent a link to an article in The Chronicle about Goffman’s On the Run. If you remember, last year, I blogged about the book. Rather than focusing narrowly on Goffman’s research—many people have already critiqued her work—the session focused broadly on concerns of conducting ethnography as public scholarship.

What is public scholarship? Stated simply, it is a scholar’s engagement with multiple publics in order to inform social issues, provoke civic participation, and promote social justice. Typical examples include writing nonfiction books, appearing on NPR, and creating policy reports. This blog is a form of public scholarship. Unconventional acts—although, certainly not rare—include teaching courses, participating in local political movements, and conducting participatory action research. The difference between the first and second categories depends on the scholar’s level of engagement. A nonfiction book creates a one-way conversation from researcher to reader. Organizing a neighborhood-based planning committee or providing a summer outreach program involves collaborative engagement.

Qualitative research is particularly well-suited for more participatory examples of public scholarship. For years, the Pullias Center, based on research, provided mentoring services for students in Los Angeles. They even created and shared an infographic (another form of public scholarship). And, among other examples, they have developed apps and games to reach more students.

Public scholarship, as an abstract concept, seems noble and harmless. Why wouldn’t scholars want to advocate for social justice and facilitate deliberative democracy? In practice, it is considerably more complicated. While some (particularly those who believe in positive science) may disagree, all research is a political act. To engage with multiple publics draws attention to its political nature and makes researchers vulnerable to critique. That makes some uncomfortable.

For qualitative researchers, whose work is often misunderstood or dismissed, public scholarship poses even more risks. Think about two examples:

• A group of university researchers conduct a large-scale experimental study. Education Week writes about it. The study gains national attention. Policymakers use the findings to argue for reforms. Later, statisticians at a think tank contest the validity of the findings. Debates ensue about the researchers’ methodological decisions.
• A researcher conducts a five-year ethnography. The scholar publishes a book that becomes a NY Times best-seller. She performs a popular TED talk and appears on national news outlets. Journalists and scholars begin to critique her work. Discussions transition from the topic of the book to the qualifications of the researcher.

How do the two scenarios differ? There is often a degree of separation between quantitative researchers and their studies. Critics may read the methods section and think, “That’s a terrible design.” But, they typically don’t denigrate the researchers. The same separation does not exist for qualitative scholars. If critics perceive a problem, they often target the methods and the researchers. At a certain level, this makes sense. The researcher is the instrument. However, having witnessed enough controversies, the discussions often become personal, not professional. Instead of discussing flaws in the methods, critics target defects in the researcher.

Still, qualitative research as public scholarship is important and necessary. It contributes unique and grounded perspectives and contests deleterious stereotypes. It also has the ability to incite change.

The question then becomes, how might qualitative researchers improve the utility of their research as public scholarship and, relatedly, establish standards and techniques to enhance the quality of their work. These are a few of the issues Bill and I address in our paper. We plan to revise it this summer and invite feedback. If you have suggestions, let me know via comments, email, or Twitter.

Alice Goffman, ethics, and advising

Originally posted at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

A few years ago, as a graduate student at USC, I visited the American Sociological Association’s website. A name grabbed my attention. “Goffman,” I thought, “She can’t be related to the Goffman.” Alice Goffman, as it turns out, is the daughter of renowned sociologist Erving Goffman. I hurried to Google. She received her Ph.D. from Princeton. She conducted ethnographic research. She won ASA’s dissertation of the year. And, she became an Assistant Professor at Wisconsin.

So, here we are a few years later. This spring, she published On the Run, an account of her dissertation research. She is embroiled in a scandal (or witch hunt, depending on your perspective). At the center of the controversy is a scene in which the “rogue sociologist” drives a young man around the neighborhood in order to avenge a friend’s murder. The man has a gun and wants to use it. Reviewer Steven Lubet noted that the researcher, by driving the car, engaged in conspiracy to commit murder according to Pennsylvania statute. Goffman denies it, claiming the ride was about catharsis, not murder. I believe her; however, the case isn’t simple. As my lawyer wife has reminded me before a few trips to collect data, ignorance of the law is not a defense. In other words, if I am arrested while conducting a participant observation with a teenager selling drugs on a street corner, I can’t say, “But officer, in the name of science, I’m a researcher!” 

Several academics have commented about the tricky and contextual nature of ethics and ethnography. For an informed discussion, see anthropologist Paul Stoller’s take in the Huffington Post. I could go on about the book and design, but I will save that for another time. I read the ethnography. I was underwhelmed. The focus—the impact of surveillance and over-policing on black men in low-income neighborhoods—is important and necessary. However, agreeing with Patrick Sharkey’s observation, the argument lacks empirical support. She often presents statements without evidence.

Although she received high praise—the front- and back-cover include blurbs, which verge on unctuous, from superstars like Cornel West, Carol Stack, Elijah Anderson, and Malcolm Gladwell—it’s still dissertation research. That does not absolve a researcher from creating a sound research design and upholding high ethical standards. But, a number of conditions—including quality mentoring and prolonged engagement with scholarship and practice—are necessary to become a skilled qualitative researcher. One study does not an expert make. She deserves the benefit of the doubt, at least until proven otherwise.

I assume Alice Goffman is well-meaning and didn’t willfully commit conspiracy to commit murder. I know she is an early career faculty member and has the right to learn and improve. I also know that research is subjective. It depends on countless factors, including research experience and researcher / participant positionality. Critics who assert that there is an objective roadmap about how to conduct and judge research (and that Goffman ripped it up) are wrong. Last, I assume that Goffman has a lot of important scholarship ahead of her. I look forward to reading it.

Research rarely receives so much attention or stimulates so much dialogue. Conversations about ethics and research are important. So too are exchanges about two of the most pressing policy issues in our country: the increase of concentrated poverty and its negative effects. So far, discussions have focused on whether or not Goffman messed up. I get the sense that a number of people would rather vilify her than engage in productive dialogue about underlying issues, like how we train scholars to conduct ethical research; how social position influences factors such as who conducts research and where; and, how we develop policies to improve pathways from school to career, not school to prison. That’s unfortunate.

As a postscript, last week, The Chronicle published a comprehensive review of the case. At the end of the article, the author includes a surprise detail:

Ms. Goffman’s graduate-school adviser at Princeton, Mitchell Duneier, also defends her work — mostly. She crossed an ethical line in the episode that Mr. Lubet argues was a crime, Mr. Duneier says, and she left herself open to criticism with her thin discussion of it in her text. But he vouches for the credibility of her book. One reason is that he has met some of her subjects himself.

While Ms. Goffman was working on the dissertation that she would ultimately develop into On the Run, Mr. Duneier conducted independent interviews with some of her subjects. Ethnographers, in his view, should identify the people and places in their studies when possible. The sensitivity of Ms. Goffman’s research made that standard of transparency impossible, Mr. Duneier says. So, while he trusted Ms. Goffman, he also took steps to ensure his own comfort with her story. "I feel confident in the research that I supervised as an adviser and that our committee approved at Princeton," he says.

Just as ethics and quality of research are inextricably linked, the care, time, and expertise of an advisor is critical to the training of his or her advisee. Mitch Duneier—an accomplished Princeton professor, the skilled ethnographer who wrote Slim’s Table and Sidewalk, and an extremely busy person, I’m sure—took the time to interview his advisee’s participants in order to ensure the quality of her research. Think about that for a moment.

Update: Steven Lubet wrote a follow-up article.

(Re)viewing the Classics: Carol Stack’s All Our Kin

I originally published this post on February 01, 2011, at www.21stcenturyscholar.org. At the time, I was just beginning to study neighborhood ethnography--the methodology that I would later adopt for my dissertation.

Carol Stack, with her three-year-old son in tow, spent several years collecting data in The Flats, a poor, black neighborhood in an unidentified Midwestern city. Her purpose was to examine the strategies poor people adopt in order to survive. The researcher, now a faculty member at University of California, Berkeley, did not seek access through a church or school; wanting a more representative sample of families, she gained access to two families through a mutual acquaintance. From there, she networked.

All Our Kin challenges the stereotype of black families as dysfunctional and self-destructive. Stack presents a complex network of real and fictive kin working together with few resources to survive. Among these networks exist complex rules about topics such as gifting and child-rearing. Some may see these families as similar to the families presented in texts like the Moynihan Report or The Truly Disadvantaged, but Stack provides the reader with a more personal, nuanced portrait. A single-parent household does not automatically equal social disorganization.

The book is as relevant now as it was when published in 1970. The writing is clear and concise. Stack’s use of theory is unobtrusive but useful. More importantly, buzzing in the background of the text is a persistent feeling of uncertainty and precariousness. The individuals in All Our Kin want to succeed, but they can’t. Their material conditions are lacking and government policies and programs do not support upward mobility. Critiquing the welfare state, she says:

It is clear that mere reform of existing programs can never be expected to eliminate an impoverished class in America. The effect of such programs is that they maintain the existence of such a class. Welfare programs merely act as flexible mechanisms to alleviate the more obvious symptoms of poverty while inching forward just enough to purchase acquiescence and silence on the part of the members of this class and their liberal supporters. As we have seen, these programs are not merely passive victims of underfunding and conservative obstructionism. In fact they are active purveyors of the status quo, staunch defenders of the economic imperative that demands maintenance of a sizable but docile impoverished class. (p. 127-8)

As I said before, the book is as relevant now (if not more) than ever.

Ferguson, ethics, and the public intellectual

Originally published at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

During the 1890s, newspaper publishers Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst competed against each other to sell more papers. They printed sensationalist stories accompanied with fear-inducing headlines and vivid, provocative pictures. Journalists eschewed facts for melodrama. At the height of yellow journalism, the two newspaper tycoons published stories that contributed to the United States’ involvement in the Spanish-American War. 

Fast-forward 120 years. In Ferguson, Missouri, a 28-year-old white police officer shoots an 18-year-old black man. Residents protest. Droves of reporters travel to Ferguson. Over three months later, following months of unrest and anticipating even more, Missouri Governor Jay Nixon declares a state of emergency. One week afterwards, a grand jury decides not to indict the police officer with criminal charges. Violent and nonviolent protests escalate. Journalists chase and film rioters. They flood newspapers, television channels, and social media with panic-inducing stories and images. Cable channels cut from out-of-breath reporters in the field to argumentative talking heads in the studio.

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The media has largely influenced the ways in which the public talks and thinks about Michael Brown’s death and the subsequent protests. Rather than facilitating civil, fact-based exchanges, they encourage vehement, opinion-based disagreement. Their actions starkly differ from the ethics of journalism, which include pursuing truth, reporting accurately, and limiting harm. If there is such a thing as a 21st century public sphere—a place where we can intellectually discuss important social issues—the media is corrupting it.

What, then, is the role of academics? Consider some of the ethical concerns of researchers: beneficence, respect, and justice. While we typically discuss those ideals in terms of the conduct of research, we may also consider them in relation to when and how scholars participate in public forums. 

Stated more simply, while talking heads whip up racist antagonism and blame individuals, research is resolute. Young men of color disproportionately experience gun violence. A discriminatory police state surveils low-income neighborhoods. We have established clearer pathways from school to prison than school to college. And, due to a lack of opportunities, concentrated and generational poverty has spread among individuals of color.

While sitting in Birmingham Jail, Dr. King wrote, “Law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress.” We have few forums to thoughtfully and critically discuss the pursuit of social justice and the existence of injustice in the United States. Scholars have an ethical responsibility to assume an increased role in public discourse, to illuminate the pressing causes and consequences of injustice, and to help imagine opportunities for social justice in the 21st century.

The shape of neighborhood ethnography to come: Blurred spaces, elastic time, and shareable culture

I. Facebook is a street corner

Before entering the field, I proposed an outline of my dissertation, a neighborhood study in South Central Los Angeles. “You’re not going to write Street Corner Society,” one of my committee members predicts, “The world’s changed.” I nodded, recognizing some of the immense variations—shifting demographics, rising inequality, and globalizing economies—that had occurred after nearly seven decades. I didn’t fully appreciate my mentor’s council.

Fast-forward two years. I completed my dissertation (which was not like Street Corner Society or Tally’s Corner or In Search of Respect) and accepted a job as assistant professor at St. John’s University. 

I now stand at a street corner near a cluster of housing projects in Brooklyn, New York. I observe five young black men. Wearing basketball shorts and tank tops, they endure humid summer temperatures while discussing a potential pick-up basketball game. One teenager jokes about me on the team and asks about my game. As a white, middle-aged researcher, I am neither part of their group nor at risk of “going native.” However, I feel a sense of camaraderie with DeJuan, the jokester. The scene reminds me of classic neighborhood ethnographies in which the authors examine the extraordinary meanings hidden in quotidian moments. Was this how Liebow felt with Tally? 

During a lull, DeJuan looks at his phone. He makes a comment about Facebook. Two others check their phones. They discuss a mutual friend’s post. At once, I feel the teenagers are both here and somewhere else. I am all of the sudden a part of and apart from an important conversation. Later, I recall my committee member’s statement—“The world’s changed.” 

Common among all neighborhood ethnographies is a commitment to place, time, and culture. What happens when social media create new digital spaces and blur spatial, temporal, and cultural boundaries? After over a century of placid existence, social media have irrevocably changed neighborhood ethnography. Facebook is the new street corner, and it exists simultaneous to the old street corner.

II. Neighborhood ethnography 1.0

Neighborhood ethnography occupies a unique (and, to me, hallowed) space among social science research in the United States. Interest in neighborhood scholarship has blossomed and decayed over the last century. The blooms often correlate to significant political and social events—like the Great Migration and the War on Poverty—and increased attention to race, class, and inequality. The methodology focuses in-depth on the complex, context-bound textures of social life among disadvantaged and disenfranchised groups. It includes a tradition of researchers toiling in low-income neighborhoods, befriending residents, documenting local life, and connecting micro and macro forces. 

The best works illuminate inequalities and contest stereotypes. W.E.B. Dubois, for instance, used an innovative mix of door-to-door interviews and census data to create an exhaustive analysis of neighborhood life for black residents in The Philadelphia Negro. Carol Stack, refuting prevalent stereotypes about the “culture of poverty,” examined sharing and reciprocity among low-income mothers in All Our Kin. And, Mitch Duneier, remixing the methodology to focus on Slim’s table, documented the stories of working-class men and presented a nuanced portrait of their lives within a larger context.

Neighborhood ethnography relies on three critical ingredients: place, time, and culture. Place is the simplest concept. For traditional place-based ethnographies, researchers go somewhere (i.e. churches, parks, schools, street corners) and spend time with someone (i.e. parishioners, parents, teachers, teenagers). 

Time is a little more complex (but not too much). Researchers sample across time to get a varied data sample and ensure validity and reliability. Identifying significant times and gaining access during them is the challenge. 

Culture is the most intricate, and engenders the greatest disagreement among scholars. There are two broad (and, for our purposes, crude) cultural perspectives. The first divides culture into two categories, mainstream and sub-mainstream. A dominant culture exists and then non-dominant, local groups introduce their own variations. Think of Gerald Suttles’s The Social Order of the Slum, a study of ethnic enclaves in Chicago. The second perspective interprets culture as heterogeneous, consisting of dominant and non-dominant cultural fragments. Sure, a mainstream culture exists, but so do sub-cultures, and the boundaries are malleable and intertwined. Consider Ulf Hannerz’s Soulside, a study of low-income residents in Washington, D.C. 

III. Neighborhood ethnography 2.0

How do social media redefine place, time, and culture? First, they obfuscate classic definitions of place. Recall the teenagers in the above example. They interact on a street corner and across multiple social media platforms. A single place is no longer the defining characteristic. Methodologists must attend to multiple, blurred locations.

Next, social media magnify the elasticity of time. The teenagers’ interactions—using synchronous and asynchronous communication—disrupt conventional notions of time. They talk to each other in real time and also respond to posts that could be seconds, minutes, or hours old. Researchers must capture and account for varied forms of time.

Last, social media increase the availability and portability of culture. DeJuan and his friends scavenge the internet for resources. They take, edit, view, and upload cultural bits like text, pictures, gifs, and video. They share them with friends and general audiences. Other users then view, comment, and share. Social media allows individuals to access and share different cultures in ways that have not previously existed. Neighborhood scholars must incorporate social media into their research designs and cultural analyses.

IV. What’s next?

Technologies have always influenced the research process. Pencils allowed researchers to sketch settings and jot quotes. Tape recorders enabled new levels of accuracy and verisimilitude. Word processors transformed the editing process. Each of the above examples produced incremental revisions. Social media substantially alters the research landscape. Digital technologies reform place, time, and culture and empower individuals, creating new conditions among researchers and researched. They produce previously hidden opportunities (and challenges) and provoke neighborhood ethnographers to deepen their commitment to rigorous, creative methods.

To some, neighborhood ethnography and social media may be at odds. After all, the methodology emphasizes context and prolonged engagement whereas social media can be fragmentary and ephemeral. However, neighborhood ethnography is uniquely positioned to capitalize on technological trends. To make sense of social media requires time, context, and thoughtfulness. Key to examining the connections among local life, social media, and global social forces is the use of hybrid methods, including a mixture of robust, rigorous traditional tools with innovative new tools. While some may argue that social media diminish the importance of place and, as a result, neighborhood ethnography, I can think of no better methodology to untangle the wonderful, complex, and evolving social media knot.

Race, research, and justice: Why Trayvon Martin matters to me

Some of my most vivid memories as a high school teacher are of police. Police cars patrolled the neighborhood. They parked in front of the school and at nearby intersections. In school, police officers walked the hallways. Out of school, they walked the streets. 

Police were ever-present in the neighborhood. That is the context in which my students lived. What does it do to a teenager to be under constant surveillance? What effect does being guilty until proven innocent have on a human being? 

As a teacher and researcher, I have been fortunate to interact with thousands of amazing African American and Latino/a men and women. As a result, my life has been have enriched beyond measure. My experiences have also allowed me to address my own biases and stereotypes and question how I have benefited from white privilege and how I reproduce it. After all, growing up in a suburb of Washington D.C., rarely did I see a police car patrolling my neighborhood.

I am a white male who conducts research with African American and Latino teenagers. That is not a footnote to what I do; it is the topic sentence. Certainly, in terms of trustworthiness of research, I have to consider how my race, class, gender, and age affect the data I gather. Does a 17-year-old black male respond differently to me than someone of a different race or class? 

Considering the research that I produce, I have a social responsibility to ensure that my interpretations and representations do not perpetuate stereotypes or injustices. How is what I write different than, what Robin D. G. Kelley calls, the “ghetto ethnographies” of the 1960s?

These are not incidental questions and, given the history of race relations in the United States, they are important to ask and answer, even if asking is uncomfortable and the answers are unclear.

I write today as someone who mourns the loss of Trayvon Martin and hopes his family finds peace. 

I write because race relations in the United States are complicated, and we need to talk about them more often, more candidly, and more respectfully. 

I write because Trayvon reminds me of my own brother, who was shot and murdered a week after his sixteenth birthday. Due to a lack of evidence, the police never apprehended the murderer even though most knew who committed the act. No other event has influenced my life more. Everyday, I wonder what David thought about during his last moments and, as my graduation and wedding approach, I miss him even more. 

Finally, I write because, unlike Trayvon Martin, my brother was presumed innocent. 

Why, even in death, do select groups including the media continue the prejudiced criminalization of African American males?

Justice for Trayvon