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.

---

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.

Stats, stories, and policy design

In my last post, I mentioned Illinois’ new testing plan, which sets different testing standards based on student demographics including race and class. The policy oozes the flawed logic that has defined the accountability era: Statistics—and experimental and quasi-experimental studies, in particular—represent the gold standard of educational research. 

Before you either tune me in or out because of the above paragraph, let me make a few points: First, I am not a qualitative zealot. I don’t hate statistics. Research questions determine methodology. The questions in which I am interested just happen to be open-ended and relate to “how” and “why.” 

Second, rigor and scope—not methodology—determine the value of a study. How do we know what we know? And, how does the study inform social issues? In terms of rigor, qualitative researchers have not always provided compelling arguments to policymakers about the utility of their work. While some have attempted to develop standards, others have critiqued the epistemological underpinnings of the whole endeavor. Who wants to invite wet blankets to the policy design party when all they’ll do is philosophize? Policy is about doing, not thinking: Politicians want to know if they should or should not fund a reading program. Yes or no. 

In terms of scope, policymakers have failed. Methods are tools to understand complex social issues. Each tool serves a unique function. Just as no one expects a hammer to saw, no one should expect an ethnography to inform policy in the same way as an experimental study. Policy designs, based on a limited scope of understanding, fail to account for the full bloom of social life. Imagine how we could improve implementation if policymakers combined the insights from a variety of rigorous studies. 

Frustratingly, smart people are discussing the issue. The ever-thoughtful Mike Rose talks about the importance of stories to portray nuance and complexity. Thomas Pikkety, in one of the most hyped books from an academic press in recent memory, and a NY Times bestseller, rallies against pedantic, overblown statistical methods. 

There seems to be an emerging consensus that stats only tell part of a story. And yet, researchers and policymakers motor along.

Social justice and policy design

A few weeks ago, I read about Illinois’ new testing plan. It includes a number of points. The most notable is the state’s decision to use different standards to measure achievement among student groups. By 2019, Illinois expects 85% of white students—compared to 73% of Latino students and 70% of black students—to pass the state reading assessment. In other words, some students will be held to higher standards than others. State officials have presented the system as an improvement to No Child Left Behind. Remember, NCLB required 100% of students to be proficient at state assessments (even though, test scores became a bit of a moving target). 

I don’t know how you interpret the convoluted new plan. I tried to consider all perspectives, but had trouble remaining neutral. In fact, the words “idiotic” and “racist” came to mind. I then attempted to explain the policy as some sort of affirmative action. However, affirmation action tries to reverse discriminatory practices—not create them—in order to provide opportunity.

Of course, Illinois state officials provide perfectly acceptable rationale. They even mention all of the familiar buzzwords. Data. Data. Data. Growth. Growth. Growth. And also, a few nods to poverty and after-school programs. Everyone can rest comfortably, they argue. The state’s low expectations are all backed by science. This braintrust, I’m sure, had nothing to do with the last policy iteration—the one that used to be touted as the next best thing and is now evidence they use to justify the new best thing.

My primary objection with Illinois’ reform—like so many across the country—is the degree to which it is divorced from common sense and the day-to-day lives of students. How does a mom explain why the state has different expectations for her child? What happens at the lunchroom when a group of friends try to figure out their test scores? And, why did the state create a policy in which the major accountability measure affirms current inequities, rather than eliminates them? 

We ought to be able to design policies that provide opportunity for all students.

In my next post, I’ll discuss how research contributes to the problem and also provides a potential solution.

Why scholars should use big and little data to study complex issues

Last week, I read an article in the Chronicle about the growth of data-related graduate programs. Big data are big, both in scope and popularity. Large datasets require data analysts with specialized skills. As a result, universities are creating more and more graduate programs to address market demand.

As colleges adjust to shrinking budgets and dwindling enrollments, data-centric programs serve as an exception to the new higher education normal. Schools are receiving an abundance of applications from energetic, highly qualified individuals. And—imagine this—graduates are getting jobs.

Like many tech nerds, I am excited about the potential applications of big data. But, these types of articles—and the underlying assumption that all data equal numbers—also cause me pause. I worry about a balance of perspectives and skillsets. When is the last time you read an article about soaring enrollments in the humanities or saw a headline like “Critical Thinkers Untangle the Most Knotty Social Issues”? Of course, some of my colleagues will take issue with the above statement. Look at design thinking, they may argue. Projects require individuals with diverse backgrounds. Project managers place a premium on critical thinking skills. Unfortunately, such movements, particularly in education, are relatively nascent and minute.

Not all data are equal. But, they are all important (and often complimentary). The Obama campaign used big data to forecast results and target resources. They also used call centers to interview undecided voters and assess their preferences. A big box store like Wal-Mart uses big data to analyze millions of customer transactions. Observational data of in-store traffic patterns provide different—and also valuable—insights. Both examples illustrate the value of multiple data sources. 

I imagine other industries and disciplines are much better at balance than education. We have a gold standard. Quantitative data, along with experimental and quasi-experimental designs, rule. Such a love affair does not always permit scholars to creatively analyze the most difficult social issues. For example, check out Caroline Hoxby’s unproductive response to Michael Bastedo’s critique of undermatching studies. 

Until we recognize the value of all data, we handicap our ability to design effective studies and develop productive reforms.

How do scholars produce policy relevant research?

As I mentioned in my last post, I was named as an Emerging Education Policy Scholar (EEPS). The program, a collaboration between The Thomas B. Fordham Institute and the American Enterprise Institute, provides the opportunity for young, policy-minded scholars to collaborate with and learn from a range of key policy players.

Our first meeting took place a few weeks ago. The long list of impressive participants included advisors on Capital Hill and in the White House, representatives from large foundations, researchers working in think tanks and the government, and reporters from a variety of publications. 

The conversations were always candid, often refreshing, and sometimes daunting. We discussed the relationship between research and policy. Yes, research influences policy. However, the path from research question to legislation is often circuitous and involves a mixture of concerted effort and unpredictable chance.

The meeting was enlightening and rewarding. Here are a few themes—many of which complement the emerging criteria Bill and I present in our article “Qualitative Research and Public Policy: The Challenges of Relevance and Trustworthiness”:

Relevance

How do scholars engage with the most pressing policy issues? Policy windows open and close quickly. During those times, politicians use relevant research to either shape or support policy decisions. Importantly, individuals during the meeting frequently cited the need for research to both address contemporary issues and also say something specific about policy implications. For instance, while a study may find that more low-income students need to obtain postsecondary degrees, such a finding will likely not guide legislation. Policy makers want to know about the effectiveness of specific interventions; they worry about what to do and how to fund it. There was a heavy premium on experimental and quasi-experimental studies. I will discuss the role of qualitative research in another blog.

Audience

How do scholars appeal to multiple audiences? Several participants stated the need for scholars to produce dual publications. If you publish in an academic journal, translate the findings for a blog at Huffington Post or Edweek. Why? Policymakers receive stacks and stacks of research. They rarely read studies, but they do read blogs.

Visibility

How visible are scholars among multiple channels? Especially due to social media, academics have the opportunity to engage multiple audiences. The tenure process still relies on publications. However, when thinking about a scholar’s ability to influence policy, publicity (or “klout points,” using Rick Hess’s term) matters.

Relationships

With whom do scholars engage? Academics who influence policy often have connections with key change agents. Get to know policymakers. Talk to reporters. Engage funders. Informal networks provide predictable and unpredictable opportunities.

These four interrelated themes—relevance, audience, visibility, and relationships—often undergirded our discussions. We will reconvene in June; I’ll keep you updated.

Sitting at some new tables in the academic cafeteria

As Murray Milner documents in Freaks, Geeks, and Cool Kids, teenagers often order themselves using status symbols. Take a stroll around a high school cafeteria. With few exceptions, students clump neatly into groups: cool kids, jocks, band geeks, drama nerds, emos (not to be confused with emus), and any number of other categories. Each group has unique norms, values, and symbols. While monumental decisions loom—like what to do for the rest of their lives—teenagers spend inordinate amounts of time wondering about very different questions, like what to wear, where to sit, and with whom to talk.

Fast-forward to academic life. How different are scholars? What do we wear? Where do we sit? And, with whom do we talk? Cliques and status symbols—albeit drastically different—are very much part of the daily experiences of graduate students and faculty members. However, instead of figuring out what to do on Friday night, we talk about epistemologies.

A few weeks ago, I was named as an Emerging Education Policy Scholar (EEPS). The program, a collaboration between The Thomas B. Fordham Institute and the American Enterprise Institute, two conservative organizations, provides the opportunity for young, policy-minded scholars to collaborate with and learn from a range of key policy players. I know colleagues who have participated in previous cohorts, and I know some of my cohort-mates. I’m thrilled to have the opportunity. 

As an early career faculty member, I didn’t think too much about how others would react. Why would I? I have the opportunity to talk to really smart people about critical issues. Even more, while no one would mistake Bill as a neocon, as an advisor, he has always encouraged me to communicate with and learn from individuals from all perspectives, even if they belong to a different political party or tax bracket. That’s part of being a reasoned, thoughtful scholar, right?

Reactions have been interesting. One university colleague congratulated me and also provided a few tips for “talking to the other side.” Another stood speechless. I saw the wheels turning in her head: Is Randy a liberal or conservative? To diffuse, I made a joke about brushing up on supply-side economics. Both people were sincerely congratulatory and well meaning. But, the interactions revealed the ways in which politics—among other factors—act as a sorting mechanism among academics.

Most will agree that improving education is important. And yet, our actions do not always demonstrate the same joint commitment. I skim vitriolic, all-or-nothing arguments from both liberal and conservative scholars on Twitter. I then read supposedly objective and rigorous research and wonder how to separate reality from ideology, research from propaganda. A methods section—if there even is one—can only do so much; social media is turning out to be just as telling for the trustworthiness of a researcher. 

Some seem most concerned about being right. “We know what works,” they argue and then provide a checklist of reforms in which the research is decidedly mixed. Likewise, intransigent liberals attack and vilify corporate reformers and then, in the same breath, argue for deliberative democracy and social justice. If people scream and yell long enough, others—even if they share similar beliefs—start to wonder about things like credibility, ulterior motives, and a true desire to have a cooperative and mutually beneficial discussion.

I’m going to sit at some new tables in the academic cafeteria. For the few worried liberals or qualitative researchers out there, I still support universal pre-k programs, neighborhood schools, and more inclusive standards for government-funded research. But, we place too much emphasis on who’s sitting where. I’m interested in discussing innovative solutions and improving education. Our problems are far too complex to be solved by anchoring to a set of ideals and then yelling louder than the other person.

Rush to relevance: Conducting research to improve policy and practice

“We need research to be more relevant” is a common clarion call in education. Most recently, John Easton, Director of IES, released a video for AERA in which he talks about different initiatives to improve relevancy.

During one of my first Ph.D. courses, Bill asked us about the three major responsibilities of academics: research, teaching, and service. In particular, he wondered about teaching, something that is too often overlooked at prestigious universities. As someone who just left the high school classroom, I boldly proclaimed—in a way only a first-year Ph.D. can—that all professors should be required to teach, and to teach well. Students pay a lot of money and deserve more than someone who views teaching as a chore to be completed before doing important work. As Bill pointed out then, and I have thought about since, academics have different skill sets. Some are unbelievably talented teachers, others researchers. Let’s propose the best possible scenario: Young scholars receive effective mentorship and professional development and work at universities that support and reward teaching and learning. Even then, some will never be effective teachers. What’s my point? Bold proclamations often fail to account for important nuances.

Just as I wanted all celebrity researchers to be all-star teachers, I think, at a certain level, all research should be relevant. But, the rush to relevancy has a few troubling side effects. First, it ignores the value of various forms of research. A new set of guidelines illustrates the types of methodologies—namely experimental and quasi-experimental—that IES favors (and funds) to produce relevant research. Large-scale, experimental studies are important. If I want to understand how growing up in a low-income neighborhood effects social mobility, neighborhood effects studies provide compelling, significant findings. What else do they provide? A lot of unanswered questions. The Moving to Opportunity (MTO) study, funded by HUD in the 1990s, was an innovative randomized experiment. Researchers sought to understand what happened to low-income families when they received housing vouchers. Scholars are still arguing about the study’s effects on variables like educational achievement, employment, and health. Even the best studies fail to capture the complex and dynamic social processes at work in low-income neighborhoods. While a life history of one or an ethnography of sixty may not generalize, they can provide valuable findings. Understanding social issues requires sophisticated, complimentary methodologies.

Second, the rush to relevance may diminish academic freedom. Foundations and think tanks like and support trendy issues. Schools of education like grant funding. Inevitably, these factors lead to subtle (or not-so-subtle) nudges to Ph.D. students and early career faculty: “Yes, you are free to study whatever you want, but we hope it will be relevant and also generate funding.” Considering fewer and fewer tenure-track positions, the pressures are magnified. Some scholars maintain balanced research portfolios, examining both mainstream and non-mainstream topics. But, even in those circumstances, we diminish the vibrancy of national debates by settling into familiar paths. 

Third, and related to the above point, relevance relies on ever-changing interests. Last year, we talked about MOOCs. This year, we are talking about Common Core. Too often, scholars sacrifice their own interests to pursue those of others. I want to be clear here: I am not arguing against forward-thinking scholars or the study of emerging, innovative issues. Rather, policy windows open and close quickly. Thinking of the most pressing, deeply rooted issues in education, neither scholarship nor meaningful reform benefit from that same hectic agenda. Instead of racing to relevance and the allure of fame and funding, researchers ought to use their own experiences and expertise to help define what is and is not important.

What’s trending?

Red Hook rests in South Brooklyn. Water surrounds two sides. The Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, which fences in the landlocked side, serves as a looming reminder of separation. Cut off from the subway, the neighborhood feels unlike other Brooklyn neighborhoods where gentrification and redevelopment rule. One business owner said, “People love living here. We don’t have a lot of transportation options and that’s part of the reason we have a strong neighborhood.” 

The neighborhood contains the largest housing projects in Brooklyn. Karima, a precocious 17-year-old, travels over an hour to get to her prestigious high school. Having to take bus to the subway, she transfers three times. “It’s the worst in the winter,” she says, “I leave when it’s still dark. It’s so cold.” 

I have spent quite a bit of time in Red Hook. Residents seem to want the same types of things: access to quality healthcare, jobs, and education. 

---

Common Core standards. NCLB waivers. Competency-based learning. College and career readiness. College ratings. STEM.

The stories of the young men and women who allow me to document their lives remind me of how disconnected education reform often is from the underserved and under resourced communities it often purports to help.

Similar to policy reforms, we need to nurture a balanced portfolio of short- and long-term goals, improving foundations and innovations.

Notes from a digital notebook: Part 2, writing and organizing ideas

In my last post, I discussed the use of Evernote as a tool to store and organize fieldnotes. For this blog, I transition to the writing process. 

I am fortunate to have mounds of digital data from my dissertation. I also have a list of papers that I am either planning or authoring. Although I enjoy working on and thinking about a number of projects at once—which has become a prerequisite for 21st century academics—coupled with different topics for teaching as well as readings for current or future projects, the diversity puts my mind at danger of becoming a schizophrenic jumble. For instance, last week, I worked on a book about social media, a conference talk about ethics and representation, and a paper and prospectus about neighborhood capital. Most of the topics overlap in some way or another; however, they also include vastly different literature bases and ideas. As a result, I spend a lot of time exploring answers to one pressing question: How do I balance a number of projects and stay productive? 

As I mentioned in a recent blog, time management is key. I use Google Calendar to organize days into blocks for research, teaching, and service. From Monday to Friday, I try to allot at least four hours a day to writing. Even though I am not a morning person—by any means—I schedule the process from around 6:00 to 10:30 a.m., when I have the least distractions. On the two days a week when I do not teach, lesson plan, attend meetings, or conduct research, I return to writing in the afternoon. I use weekends to work on odds and ends like blogs and proposals as well as papers or chapters in need of extra time. I use a work plan to track the number of hours and pages I should write during a week. To my fellow hyperactive (and planning-phobic) researchers, none of this organization comes naturally; however, the process creates some order from messiness.

In addition to organization and planning, another key to success is idea management. To that end, note-taking apps provide a useful tool to document and organize multiple projects. I use Evernote; however, numerous apps exist.

Note-taking apps improve both access to and organization of ideas. I think about projects throughout the day. While driving, I get an idea for an introduction. While walking to class, I remember to insert a statistic into an article. While reading, I find a useful quote for a work in progress. Just before bed, I stumble upon a series of worthwhile websites. In the past, those ideas and found goodies ended in scribbled notes and emails to myself. While that system worked, it was hardly efficient. Thankfully, technology has intervened.

Just as with fieldnotes, Evernote helps organize and simplify multiple forms of data and thinking into one user-friendly, searchable hub.

Notes from a digital notebook: Part 1, Evernote and fieldnotes

The intrepid anthropologist enters the field. He carries his essential tools, a pen and notebook. Over the next months, he gains entrée and acts as a participant observer. Here and there, he steals a moment or two to record the local culture in his notebook. At the end of the day, he sits in a private location to review and interpret the day’s notes. Consider the picture of a lone anthropologist on the cover of James Clifford’s classic edited book Writing Culture.

Such an image has guided anthropologists and sociologists for the past century. However, technological innovation has challenged traditional notions of data collection and provided numerous alternatives to the staid pen and notebook. And, the changes have occurred rapidly. Only two years ago, Zoë and I authored a chapter about fieldnotes. We could not write the same chapter today without a larger discussion of technology.

What are the tools of a progressive qualitative researcher? 

Last year, I discussed the use of technology in the field. During observations, I frequently have used my iPhone to take notes; participants have often thought I was texting. Stef talked about how she has used a tablet and stylus for fieldnotes; as a side note, I recommend the Bamboo stylus. 

Today, I want to mention Evernote, a digital note-taking tool. The application is not computer assisted qualitative data analysis software (CAQDAS)—however, NVIVO does allow users to import notebooks from Evernote. Rather, Evernote serves as a digital notebook. Jot a note. Take a picture. Sketch a diagram. Record an interview. Clip a website. Evernote allows a researcher to record and access data using multiple devices, e.g. phone, tablet, and computer. If I write a note using my phone, it is immediately available on my tablet and computer.

I use Evernote to record and organize my notes. Like many research-focused technologies, the app offers a new take on an old concept. And, for individuals who are not quite ready to make the digital leap, the company offers a smart notebook that allows for the digital transfer of physical notes.

To interested readers, I recommend you download and try the free program.

Tune in for my next post when I discuss how I use Evernote during the writing process.