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.

The changing nature of public education

John is a mechanic who lives on the less affluent side of town. His three children all attend public schools. Last year, John Jr., his oldest child, started high school. After the first semester, his grades dropped. Normally an A or B type of student, he seemed apathetic about receiving Cs and Ds. The father, after some investigation, discovered that John Jr. had been bullied by some of his older peers. To complicate the matter, the peers were gang members and caused trouble to the teachers as well.

John went to his son's teachers. Some were responsive and helpful. Others were not. After two more months, he noticed his son becoming detached. He slept in, argued with his two younger siblings, and always wanted to be left alone. The concerned father consulted with the ninth grade administrator, who suggested John Jr. was just going through growing pains as he transitioned from middle to high school. The father left the meeting more dejected than before.

John, who was an avid supporter of traditional public education, decided it was time to explore other alternatives. The well being of his son was most important, and he needed a better educational setting. A week later, he enrolled his son in a nearby charter school. The school’s teacher to student ratio was far smaller than the traditional school and the students were more eager to learn. 

Does this scenario sound familiar? It should. It is occurring in cities across the country.

Spokespeople for educational change often reduce reform options to forced dichotomies. We are supposed to pick from a menu of either / or options: neighborhood or charter schools, democracy or capitalism, test- or student-centered learning, and on and on. As the above scenario points out, the choice for parents is often much simpler and based on finding the best possible school.

This is the last of my blogs about education as a public good. I will not belabor my point because I think the majority of readers believe, like I do, that the nature of public education as a public good is changing. The change is neither good nor bad; it is just different than before. We cannot approach education as Dewey or Thorndike did. In fact, we cannot approach education as we did even five years ago. 

Individuals who argue that neighborhood schools are inherently good and support democracy and charter schools are inherently bad and support capitalism are arguing for an ideal that has never existed. Neighborhood schools as a whole have always struggled to educate all of the students in the neighborhood whether those students have been low-income, Native American, African American, or Latino, or immigrant. Sure, we have outstanding cases of neighborhood schools helping a diverse mix of students. But, we also have those same examples in regard to charter schools.

We have innumerable opportunities to improve schools and neighborhoods and those opportunities do not easily divide between democracy or capitalism, neighborhood or charter schools, or whichever other dichotomies a few outspoken reformers tell us from which we need to choose. Parents such as John are not interested in choosing sides or getting involved in debates about ideology; they want the best possible educations for their children. The nature of public education has changed, and it is time to update the ways in which we discuss, think about, and design education as a public good.

You can put a price on education

I.

I come from a working class family. I am the only one to enroll in a four-year university. To save money, my father asked me to attend community college first. I did. After two years, I transferred to the University of Maryland. A week before classes began, my family’s economic standing changed drastically. I accepted the fact that I could no longer afford college. A few days later, my mother and I sat in the financial aid office at College Park. The officer did not provide good news. As I sat with my head down, my mom leaned over and, with superhero-type strength, said, “I don’t care what we have to do. Come hell or high water, we’ll find a way.” That belief carried me through my B.A., M.S., and Ph.D. To pay tuition, my mom worked extra hours, and I commuted to school, worked a job, and received need- and merit-based aid. 

I have experienced the same sort of unyielding resolve in many of the parents of the first-generation immigrants with whom I have worked. Last year, I sat with Jose and his father in their living room, which also doubled as a bedroom. Jose’s father, who suffered from AIDS, was struggling to find a free health clinic for his toothache. Through sickness, he worked 12 hours a day for six days a week in order to earn less than minimum wage. I asked why he sacrificed so much. He pointed to Jose. “For him,” he responded, “He’s going to college. He will be successful.” This year, Jose is a freshman at UC Irvine.

Higher education provides pathways to opportunity. That is a core value of our country. It is the belief that has guided my mother and me and Jose and his father. But, higher education is becoming increasingly expensive. 

A new report states that one in five households in the United States—compared with one in ten nearly two decades ago—owe student loan debt. In households such as mine, where the heads of household are under 35 years old, the number rises to 40%, over twice the amount (17%) in 1989. Another report indicates that a staggering two-thirds (66%) of four-year college graduates in 2011 had student loan debt, averaging $26,600.

II.

After ten years of higher education and a six-month grace period, the government now wants its money back. I will spend the next ten years paying for my education. On good days, I pretend I am paying for an imaginary Land Rover. On bad days, when I think about owning a house or having a baby, I consider my student loans—along with my wife’s law school debt—and wonder what we could have done differently. The answer is “not much.” We believed in the promise of higher education, and we borrowed what we needed, not what we wanted. 

My wife and I are now members of a growing cohort of individuals with unwieldy student loan debt. That cohort ranges from those who earned graduate degrees and are now underemployed and struggle to repay their loans to others who dropped out after two semesters of undergrad because they could not afford to pay for remedial classes and are now unemployed and in debt. 

How much should students mortgage today for the potential of tomorrow? We can no longer assume the promise outweighs the cost. 

The upcoming presidential election will determine a lot about the future of higher education and our country. For a summary of the differences between the candidates, see an article published during Education Nation. In short, President Obama wants to increase regulation. Governor Romney wants to provide choice. During the first debate, Romney declared, “The private market and individual responsibility always work best.”

To maintain the integrity of hope in higher education and stay another financial crisis in our country, I ask both candidates what they plan to do to create new pathways to college and away from debt.

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

College access and the promise of higher education

I imagine it takes an extreme amount of courage to migrate from one country to another, to leave your wife and three daughters for the uncertain promise of a better job and more opportunity. That is what Diane’s father did. He immigrated to Los Angeles, obtained a manufacturing job, learned English, and saved money. He then paid a Coyote to bring his beloved family back to him. 

The reunited family lived happily together until the father unexpectedly died of a terminal illness nearly a year later. As Diane told me one day after school, her father’s death changed everything. He was the sole income earner and their liaison to a strange new world. After his death, her mother began working full-time. Diane, the oldest of the children, became the primary caretaker. She admitted, “I had to grow up fast.”

Two weeks ago and over a decade after her arrival to the country, Diane received an acceptance letter from Harvard University. Her remarkable journey began in a rural village with two parents deciding to sacrifice for the prospect of opportunity. Next fall, her journey will continue in Cambridge, Massachusetts at the most prestigious college campus in the world. 

For seven years, I have worked as a teacher and researcher with thousands of students. Diane is the first to have gained admittance to Harvard. She is as hardworking as she is gifted and the type of student teachers love. Even her friends know how special she is. One joked, “Of course, you’re going to go to Harvard and become a doctor or lawyer. You’re Diane.”

Diane is an undocumented, first-generation college student. By all accounts, her story is exceptional. Next week, I will discuss another, more common story. Until then, I celebrate the life of a determined and deserving student who reminds us all of the promise of higher education.

Giving thanks now and in the future

Now is the time to give thanks. I am thankful for having good health, professional successes, and old and new friends and family. When I consider major trends in education, however, giving thanks is more difficult.  Don’t get me wrong: There are people and events for which to be thankful. This year, Governor Brown signed legislation that will allow undocumented students to receive financial aid for college. The Dream Act will absolutely change the lives of many teenagers. In addition, there are numerous examples of hugely successful students, teachers, and schools at every level across the country. Those are important facts and reasons to give thanks. 

And yet, we cannot ignore the realities of our current educational system. Consider a few facts about Los Angeles:

• One-third of all Black and Latino children are poor and, as a result, less likely to have positive health and educational outcomes.
• In Los Angeles Unified School District, nearly three out of every ten Black and Latino students drop out of high school.
• Of the Black and Latino students who do graduate, only four out of ten enroll in college.

Education provides a pathway to social mobility. Unfortunately, millions of children encounter immense barriers. In particular, the 60 young men who are participating in research for my dissertation shape my thoughts during this holiday season. What reforms may have helped them succeed in high school and matriculate to college? I suggest five:

• First, neighborhood-based reforms like Promise and Choice Neighborhoods in order to alleviate poverty and provide improved job opportunities, healthcare, and access to social services for families. 
• Second, extended school days and more after-school activities in order to increase learning opportunities and social networks.
• Third, university-created mentoring and enrichment programs starting with at-risk middle school students in order to increase high school retention and college access.
• Fourth, thoughtful and well-executed uses of technology in order to provide access to information. Starbucks provides free Wi-Fi to coffee drinkers. Why don’t all high schools provide free access to students? 
• Fifth, a standard, simplified college application process and automatic enrollment pathways in order to increase access.

These are a few of the reforms that could improve educational and life outcomes, particularly for students in low-income neighborhoods. What changes do you want to occur? 

I wish every one a happy holiday. Now is the time to give thanks, but also plan for more thanks in the future.

Sources

Blackwell, A. G., & Pastor, M. (2010). Let's hear it for the boys: Building a stronger America by investing in young men and boys of color. In C. Edley & J. R. d. Velasco (Eds.), Changing places: How communities will improve the health of boys of color (pp. 3-33). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

http://www.csus.edu/ihelp/PDFs/R_Consequences_of_Neglect.pdf

The college hype machine

Teenagers choose colleges based on reputations. The participants in my study often post or talk about wanting to go to universities like Columbia, University of Arizona, USC, or UCLA. Those preferences are not random; they are based on the schools’ images and the students’ reactions to those images. Columbia is an intellectual powerhouse. Arizona has a great basketball team. USC is a football juggernaut. UCLA has a legendary basketball tradition. Unfortunately, reputation doesn’t always equal reality.

Growing up, I cheered for University of Maryland athletics. During my senior year, my father agreed to pay for college. He gave two conditions: First, I had to go to community college for two years. Second, I had to go to the state school. Although I really wanted to attend an Ivy (again, reputation), I loved Maryland. After two years of community college, the choice was easy. In the spring of 2002, the Terps won the national championship. That fall, I matriculated to college. 

Although I love Maryland, the school was the wrong choice. Circumstances changed the week before I began classes. My mother and I were left to finance my education. I commuted an hour to and from campus everyday, and my college experience diverged significantly from most of my peers. During my time in college, I was given little career advice. After graduation, I was left with student loans and no obvious next step.

An undergraduate degree is no longer a golden ticket. 

We often speak in broad strokes: College is important. Go to college. Pick the right school. But, we ignore the details— financial aid, student debt, faculty-to-student ratios, graduation rates (for everyone and for low-income minorities), and career readiness. Those details add up. For a lot of first-generation, low-income college-goers, they are the difference between graduate school and a successful career and returning home and joining the working poor. 

Postsecondary education has become a reality for an unprecedented number of teenagers. What is their reward? Often, they get to spend two years in large seminars where they rarely interact with professors. At best, they are motivated and skilled. They figure out what to do. At worst, they do not receive the support they need and dropout with substantial debts. 

High schools need to do a better job of teaching the right questions to ask, and universities need to be held accountable for the success of their students. This week, a young man I’m mentoring was accepted to USC. He was absolutely ecstatic. I worry he will not have that same feeling four years and five months from now.

The first three hours after school

After the last school bell rings, teenagers have a variety of options to occupy their time. The number of options multiplies due to several factors. First, older age correlates to increased freedom. In addition, parents or guardians are likely to work after school lets out. Second, in urban neighborhoods, teenagers have access to a variety of locations. Friends’ houses, parks, fast food restaurants, and public transit are all within walking distance. Teens are not dependent on rides from parents or older siblings.

From participating in after-school activities to hanging out with friends, what teens do and the people with whom they interact either reinforce or detract from college access. Meaningful after-school activities provide extended learning opportunities and engender college-going behaviors. That knowledge and those behaviors even extend to informal activities such as playing basketball or eating at a fast food restaurant with friends. During those times, teens discuss a range of issues including choosing and paying for college. In contrast, informal activities such as gangbanging or doing drugs have the ability to derail college access. Poor choices out of school lead to poor grades in school. Not only are the teens participating in illicit activities, the conversations differ starkly from those of their more academically engaged teens. 

President Obama is sounding the alarm for increased postsecondary opportunities. At the same time, district administrators are making tough choices. Those choices include which programs to fund and which positions to staff. Unfortunately, after-school activities are often the first to go. The reasoning goes something like, “We have to focus on the core, not the periphery. An after-school college prep program is nice, but it won’t improve test scores.” That reasoning ignores the value of after-school programs, which provide supervision, mentorship, and extended learning opportunities.

If we want to improve college access, it’s time to focus on the first three hours after school.

Getting to the truth: Doing research with teenagers

Credibility is the first (and most important) criteria for establishing trustworthiness in qualitative research. Credibility, like it’s step-sibling validity, is often the subject of much debate; scholars argue about what it can and cannot do and what strategies researchers should and should not use to ensure rigor in research (see “Varieties of Validity,” an article Yvonna Lincoln penned, or “Qualitative Research and Public Policy”, an article Bill and I wrote). Plainly speaking, however, credibility is truthfulness. How does a researcher know his or her data and interpretations approximate the truth? And, what strategies did he or she use? When it comes to research with teenagers, however, credibility is anything but a straightforward idea. Permit me to elaborate with an example. 

The Smallwood Recreation Complex, located in the northwest corner of a neighborhood in South Los Angeles, spans nine acres. The main feature of Smallwood is a multipurpose brick building, which houses a gymnasium, boxing ring, weight room, and dance studio. A playground, soccer field, baseball diamond, and tennis and basketball courts dot the landscape behind the building. Large eucalyptus trees line the outskirts of the park.

During the spring prior to my year-long ethnography, I conducted a pilot study of the neighborhood. I visited parks, schools, and businesses and interviewed residents, teachers, and workers. I conducted participant observations at Smallwood five times. During each visit, the setting was often the same. Cars filled the parking lot. Adults sat at benches watching children on the playground. Young men played basketball. Three or four men in their 20s and 30s congregated at the building’s main entrance. Children and teenagers walked in and out of the building. After each visit, I often left feeling upbeat. Los Angeles is one of the most park-poor metropolitan areas in the United States; however, the young residents of this neighborhood had a nice place to play and exercise.

Last month, I asked Matthew, one of my informants, to go to Smallwood with him. I knew the 18-year old often boxed and played basketball at the park. On the morning of the scheduled visit, he said, “Hey Randy, we can’t go. Not today.” Two days later, while driving Matt home, I reminded him that we still needed to visit the park. “What?” he responded, “You want to go at the worst time. Three gangs is battling.” A Latino gang member shot and killed someone from a rival gang. The park, he said, was the hotspot. Matt continued, “They shot up right where I live. I was pissed and grieving.” Later, I discussed Smallwood with Matt and his peers. To them, the park and the surrounding neighborhood represented a contested territory, a place where violence could occur suddenly. 

How does a researcher make sense of such divergent experiences? What is the truth? If, as Paul Rabinow says, fieldwork is a “cultural activity,” my experience highlights the dual process of interpretation. I was both making sense of the experiences of my participants as well as myself in the field. My understanding of the park diverged significantly from that of my subjects. 

So, which is it? Is Smallwood a family-friendly park or gang-controlled territory? I have embedded in my study multiple strategies to ensure credibility. In this instance, different methods provided different interpretations. The challenge of credibility is not to eliminate different interpretations like crossing items off of a grocery list. The challenge is to acknowledge that multiple truths exist, often simultaneously, and to understand what that means for the lives of those involved.