Adaptive strategies and underground economies in the 21st century

Originally posted on November 01, 2011

I.

In 1974, Carol Stack published All Our Kin: Strategies for Survival in a Black Community. The groundbreaking ethnography chronicled the adaptive strategies of poor African American families. Stack provided thick descriptions of women struggling to raise their children. In doing so, she indicted poverty as pathology and inadequate public policies.

Since then, ethnographers have continued to explore adaptive strategies, including underground economies. Sandra Smith’s Lone Pursuit: Distrust and Defensive Individualism Among the Black Poor, for instance, studies the affects of joblessness among African Americans in Michigan. Sudhir Venkatesh’s Off the Books: The Underground Economy of the Urban Poor examines the creative methods residents in the Southside of Chicago use to make money. These books, and many others, illustrate the effects of social inequality on marginalized populations.

But, considering adaptive strategies, what is the role of technology? From my current study, initial findings indicate that teenagers from low-income households are using technology in sophisticated, entrepreneurial ways. I present two snapshots to illustrate my point.

II.

Chuck, a seventeen-year-old senior at a traditional high school in South LA, lives with his grandmother. He has a 1.9 grade point average. He loves skateboarding and dancing. Every few weeks, he invites his “cameraman,” who is also his friend, to tape him as he jerks in the driveway. Chuck, with tattoos covering his arms and chest, moves rhythmically with the music. Afterwards, they upload the video to YouTube. Chuck, who has over 2,300 friends on Facebook, later tells me, “I have my friends advertise for me, especially the girls. It’s important to have a big network.” By the end of the week, the video has over 5,000 hits. Chuck meets his quota. In a few weeks, he will receive shirts and shoes from his sponsor.

Mario, an eighteen-year-old senior at a continuation high school in South LA, lives with his mom and dad. He has a 2.0 grade point average. He loves drawing and tagging. At night, he cleans office buildings with his father. On weekends, he travels from house to house to groom dogs. He received a credential from a local community college. I ask him if he will come out to Culver City: “Yeah, no problem. I’ll go wherever. It’s $10.” Mario also plans and promotes parties. He finds a house, gets a DJ, and then advertises on Facebook. His profile picture is the latest party he’s promoting. I ask how much he makes. “A lot,” he says.

III.

Chuck and Mario receive free or reduced lunch and live in a low-income neighborhood. They are average to below average students. Chuck may gain acceptance to a California State University campus through the Educational Opportunity Program (EOP). Mario, who has not met all of his high school requirements, will have to attend community college or a trade school. By most standards, their academic achievement has been lackluster. And yet, both are digital entrepreneurs. They exploit the creative possibilities of technology to earn goods or money. They re-define adaptive strategies in the 21st century.

On issues of trustworthiness in qualitative research

Originally published on May 03, 2011.

Trustworthiness–frequently referred to as validity and reliability–in qualitative research involves two intertwined parts: process and product. What are the strategies necessary for a researcher to conduct rigorous research? And, how does a researcher present data in order to maximize trustworthiness?

Reflexivity performs a central task to both process and product. In other words, where is the researcher situated in relation to the study, subjects, presentation, and readers? Even more, what are the researcher’s own beliefs and experiences in relation to the topic of study? For instance, if I was adopted as a child and am now studying foster care youth, should I reveal that to the youth? Should I mention it in the final text? There are few steadfast rules. The answer may be yes or no, but the point is that the researcher is constantly engaged in thought about these issues.

Because strategies to improve trustworthiness during data collection–triangulation, member checks, multiple researchers, prolonged engagement, audit trails, multiple coders, and multiple and varied interviews and observations–are so well-known, I am going to focus today on trustworthiness in writing, acknowledging that most of my points also apply to the process of research.

The author’s presence in a text varies and depends on two factors–both critical to trustworthiness. First, presentation is slave to paradigm. What you have studied and what you like explains much of your stance on writing. I was raised in the humanities and grew up in the qualitative side of social science. My mentor and fellow blogger Bill is an accomplished life historian. As such, I’ve received exposure to and training with the method. I am also particularly fond of ethnography. For me, the lived experiences of marginalized individuals are a central concern; my influences inform my views on writing and how I view the world and my place in it.

The second factor is an author’s personal style. While style certainly relates to an individual’s training and chosen discipline, the voice of an author in either a life history or ethnography can differ considerably. The narrative strategies I employ are a matter of choice, depending on the style, voice, and tone I hope to achieve.

Why are paradigm and personal style critical to issues of trustworthiness? To be rigorous, qualitative researchers have to be transparent. Where do they stand in relation to the research? What did they do during the project? And, why should the reader believe him or her? A reader should always feel as though the researcher has given him or her the time and also taken apart the watch to show the gears inside and the process involved. Research is subjective, situated, and dated. It is the researchers job to grapple with these issues during the process and presentation of research.

Technology and the interstices of qualitative research and policy

This post was originally published February 22, 2011

Now is an exciting time to be a researcher. Technology and digital media allow quantitative and qualitative researchers to explore new territories. The internet allows qualitative researchers to interact with research subjects in new spaces as well as collect and present data in new ways. With new methods comes new data. But, is new always better? The answer is yes and no.

At one point, technology was going to save education. Millions of dollars spent on computers later, most acknowledge that technology is not a replacement for teachers; it’s a tool to help. The same point applies to research. Technology is another way to increase the rigor of research. It is also a way to persuade audiences and convey immediacy. I, for instance, can spend 15 minutes at an AERA symposium discussing a paper about a high school student living in poverty. Depending on my presentation, I may convince some people of something. Alternatively, I can show a 60 second clip  of that student’s neighborhood that was captured and narrated by him with a Flip cam. It’s not a stretch to believe that the video would be far more compelling and moving than my talk. That’s an application of qualitative research and technology that can also inform policy.

Qualitative researchers, for good reason, have not always pursued a life in public policy. Certainly, exceptions exist. But, if we take a wide view of the qualitative landscape we see a lot of activity in a lot of different directions. Much of it is creative, inspired, and progressive. It also has little currency in policy design. The reasons for this are legion, but since my space is limited, I will leave the explanation for another day. Needless to say, quasi-experimental methods have been the favored child of funders and other highly influential people; qualitative methods have been the ignored step-child. And, like most ignored children, qualitative methodologists have gotten used to doing things on their own.

What’s my point? First, I believe qualitative research has a central role in policy design. Qualitative and quantitative research are complimentary, not incompatible. Second, to qualitative researchers, use technology to fill the spaces between research and policy and to create joint spaces for quantitative and qualitative researchers. There are at least two directions qualitative researchers using technology will go. First, methodologists will disappear down a rabbit hole, exploring the limits of and deconstructing research and knowledge. This direction conforms with much of the avant-garde work that has already been done, which is interesting to some qualitative researchers and irrelevant to most policy-makers. Second, methodologists will use technology to make research more significant to policy design. This direction creates a new path for research and policy design; one that I hope becomes a reality sooner rather than later.

Horatio Alger lives! Blame and the culture of poverty

This post was originally published on January 21, 2011.

Horatio Alger, a 19th century author, wrote novels about poor, downtrodden boys who go from rags to riches. They succeed due to dogged toil. The story is ingrained in the fabric of mainstream America. Fathers tell their sons, “If you work hard, you can make it.” That’s the American dream.

The rags to riches story works in concert with the culture of poverty argument. It goes something like this: a group of people develop a set of beliefs, actions, and perhaps excuses that inhibit them from succeeding in life. Over 40 years ago, when Oscar Lewis introduced the concept and Patrick Moynihan’s report popularized it, some parts of academia reacted strongly. William Ryan, in his book Blaming the Victim, retells a comedic sketch where Zero Mostel acting as a senator from the South wonders about the origins of World War II. At the end of the skit, the senator booms out, “And what was Pearl Harbor doing in the Pacific?” Ryan uses this to illustrate his point: the culture of poverty blames individuals for being the victims of unfair and deleterious structural conditions.

The culture of poverty often evokes two responses. First, some believe the culture of poverty is absolutely wrong and become indignant. Second, others believe the culture of poverty is absolutely right and become indignant. I worry that both sides, being so emotionally charged, are hindering us from having meaningful conversations about how to improve the conditions of economically impoverished people. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your opinion, there is no right answer.

The culture of poverty is a flawed concept, not because it doesn’t exist but because it is too simple. As Sharon Hays, a sociologist at USC, points out in her book Flat Broke with Children, to assume that there is a culture of poverty is neither wrong nor the whole story. Why is it outrageous to think that a young African American male or Latino has developed a series of behaviors to cope with his bleak surroundings? The school experiences and reactions of Primo and Caesar in Philippe Bourgois’ In Search of Respect provide an excellent example of this. What is wrong is to assume that there is only one culture of poverty and that it applies to all. Culture is not abstract. It is everywhere but also mutable and embedded in context.

At the same time, there is a common refrain among academics: culture and poverty are back and open to research (see the May 2010 issue of The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science). While that is true, scholars also know that the culture of poverty has remained a popular shibboleth among mainstream America. Moving forward, academics must not only create a more appropriate vocabulary to explore and describe multiple cultures of poverty but also to communicate the import of understanding the myriad cultural and structural conditions that lead to the generational reproduction of poverty.

Found reform: (Re)imagining possibilities

I originally posted this blog on September 14, 2010.

Bricolage (bree-kuh-lahzh), n. 1. a construction made of whatever materials are at hand; something created from a variety of available things. 2. (in literature) a piece created from diverse resources. 3. (in art) a piece of makeshift handiwork. 4. the use of multiple, diverse research methods.

When I was an undergrad, some of my favorite moments included sitting in my art history class with the lights dimmed on those early crisp fall mornings, looking at projected images of 20th century art. In one class about found art, my professor displayed images of Dadaism, such as Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain. I remember feeling a little uneasy, but also excited. After all, Duchamp repurposed a toilet for art. But that class also sparked my imagination. How could I re-imagine the world using ordinary objects? Since then, I’ve read and crafted a bit of found poetry, but have just recently linked that inventive spirit to the world of education reform.

A clear connection exists between art and education. Just like there is no shortage of detritus to rework into art, there is no scarcity of failed reforms to re-purpose into something meaningful. Principals and teachers bemoan the incalculable amount of reforms at a school. Lawmakers target previous failed projects to attack their opponents. And taking a long view of education history, reforms occur cyclically. But, what if, rather than replacing reform with reform and furthering the problem, we took a look at previous initiatives and re-imagined those?

The means by which this new method may be accomplished is bricoler—the cobbling together of extant resources (regardless of their original objective) to achieve a purpose. That is, innovators locate and mobilize available reforms, resources, and stakeholders to achieve sustainable reform.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results,” is an oft quoted expression, and yet, it is exactly what education reformers frequently do. Bricolage is not revolutionary and is, no doubt, familiar to qualitative researchers. What I want to emphasize is the spirit of bricolage, the spirit of possibility. It’s time for policy-makers to renew the contracts with the communities they serve. If solutions didn’t work then, they aren’t going to work now. It’s time to re-imagine possibilities.

Toward a public scholarship

I originally posted this blog on April 29, 2010.

“The issue now is not simply to promote ourselves better,” writes Craig Calhoun, an acclaimed sociologist and president of the Social Science Research Council, “but to ask better social science questions about what encourages scientific innovation, what makes knowledge useful, and how to pursue both these agendas, with attention to both immediate needs and long term capacities.” Calhoun’s incitement to social scientists to make research more useful and more public is critical and timely.

The education landscape is changing. Whether the change is a fad or true reform, the fact remains that in three years school districts and universities will have undergone drastic alterations. Now is the time for academics to become more involved, to communicate and collaborate with various audiences. Yes, a spirit of intellectual curiosity and discovery is critical to scholarship. I’m not arguing for that to end. Instead, I am arguing for education research to become more public and better designed to answer pressing social questions and inform public policy. There is no reason why research design cannot serve multiple ends.

Social science scholarship has not always been this way. It used to be progressive, just as concerned with social movements as scholarship. But I fear we’ve lost a bit of our edge in an effort to gain legitimacy from our big brothers and sisters in the hard sciences. After all, in two years when I go on job talks, faculty will want to see publications rather than outreach. That is a shame, but it is also something we can improve.

This week is an important week for educators. It is the American Education Research Association’s annual gathering, the largest assembly of education academics. During this week, I hope we can all find some time to reflect on the ways in which we may better create public scholarship.

Life history as movie

I originally published this blog on September 24, 2009.

A few days ago I called my friend, a graduate student in screenwriting. He happened to be on location, shooting video for a movie. They were driving around Los Angeles, getting the best of the best, a pretty building here, a nice park there. Afterwards they cobbled all the shots into one scene.

This is not a revelation. Anybody who has watched a movie set in a familiar place knows filmmakers frequently take locations blocks or even miles apart and scrunch them together. I remember watching a movie set in Washington D.C.; the main character, escaping from some villains, ran from Northwest to Southeast in 30 seconds. It was quite a feat. Sometimes the city isn’t even the same. Why shoot in New York when Montreal is cheaper? 

An analog exists between what filmmakers and researchers do: we both present narratives. A director, however, can pick and choose and take shortcuts. He does not have to represent Los Angeles as it is; instead, he presents it as best befits the story. A qualitative researcher has an obligation to present the city as it is (or at least tell the reader why the city may not be a true representation).

A common misconception about qualitative research is that it is easy. Bad qualitative research is easy. Good research is not. Good research requires skill, time, and constant analysis and self-reflection.

I am currently collecting data for a life history about a first-year college student. I usually communicate with her via email or text three or four times a week, and on average I spend three hours a week with her. Sometimes I conduct formal taped interviews; sometimes she walks me around campus; sometimes we discuss classwork and homework; and sometimes we just talk about life. One time I even fixed the chain on her bike. But all the time I am collecting data, formally or informally.

I don’t have to commit so much time to this research project. I could meet with her once or twice a month during her freshman year and write an informative, provocative article about the challenges of a first-year student. But that article, like the filmmaker and his city, would be more a representation of me than her.

No, good qualitative research is not easy. But, it is rewarding.

Twitter is the new haiku

I originally published this blog on August 26, 2009.

Poetry has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I do not come from a family of avid readers. If my father has read one book, that is one more than I would have guessed. He says The Executioner’s Song is his favorite, but I inherited his copy and, judging from its pristine condition, I think he saw the movie. My mom reads during one week a year, when she is on vacation at Ocean City, Maryland. She has gone to the same bookstore and the same rack for as long as I’ve been alive. She reads those lewd pulp fiction novels with strapping, shirtless muscle-bound heroes on the covers. She voraciously charges through the books, so much so that any observer would guess she’s a pro. I asked her once why she only reads when on vacation, since she clearly enjoys the activity; she just shrugged her shoulders. But, like a lot of parents, they believed in the importance of reading and bought me mounds of books.

My childhood hero was Shel Silverstein. I wanted to be like him. I wrote my first book of poetry in the second grade; although the quality has been downhill since then, I fear, I have continued to write. Now my heroes are mostly Irish: W.B. Yeats, Seamus Heaney, Paul Muldoon, and Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill.

Novels are nice, but I am impatient and have trouble sitting still. I appreciate the brevity, precision, and thoughtfulness present in a great poem. Every word matters. Haiku is a perfect example.

At the turn of the 19th century, the Imagists–Ezra Pound, in particular–were influenced by haiku and the economy of words to convey an image. They thought, “Why write a poem with 30 lines if you can do it in three?” The same logic has resurfaced recently in the form of micro-blogging, twitter being the most known example. Now, instead of 17 syllables, we get 140 characters or less.

Bashō, I think, would be great at tweeting. With its abstractness, Pound’s “In a Station of the Metro” just seems like an amazing tweet: “The apparition of these faces in the crowd; / Petals on a wet, black bough.”

The point I am trying to make–and I am trying to make a point–is that twitter is not simply the plaything of constantly plugged-in techies. Micro-blogging is not an untouchable, immutable concept. Twitter has value. Twitter has substance. Twitter can be relevant in learning settings. But we, educators and students, are the ones that have to imbue it with meaning.

Zen in the art of methodology

I originally published this post on June 05, 2009, at www.21stcenturyscholar.org.

Recently, while reading Zen in the Art of Archery, I thought about the researcher as an instrument. In the short text, Eugen Herrigel, a German philosopher who spent six years in Japan learning Zen Buddhism by way of archery, describes his physical, spiritual, and mental journey.

Discussing archery, he says “[A]nd consequently, by the ‘art’ of archery he does not mean the ability of the sportsman, which can be controlled, more or less, by bodily exercises, but an ability whose aim consists in hitting a spiritual goal, so that fundamentally the marksman aims at himself and may even succeed in hitting himself” (p. 4). The process is as much internal as external. The individual eventually transcends technique, which transforms the method into an “artless art.”

An application of Herrigel’s book to the researcher and research process may not be obvious; however, I believe he provides some valuable insight for divergent ways of thinking about ourselves and professional practices.

(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.

So you want to be a qualitative researcher in the 21st century

Originally posted at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

A tension exists between old and new. In The Anxiety of Influence, Harold Bloom explains the generational process among writers: Old poets inspire young poets. The apprentice learns to love form by reading the work of a skilled master. The beginner writes derivative verse. Anxiety stirs as she realizes the only way to establish a legacy is to break from tradition. And, that’s the rub.

The charm of Bloom’s theory is that it extends to numerous fields. Consider the myriad movies in which young protagonists ignore the sage advice of their battled-scarred mentors. Characters fail, fail, and fail again. And then, after sweaty and bruised adversity, they triumph. Hello, Karate Kid. Or, think about athletes. Young basketball phenoms like LeBron battle the legacies of legends like Jordan and Magic. Musicians provide yet another example—thankfully, Bird inspired Coltrane. The theory extends to more quotidian examples too. Children clash with parents. Students argue with teachers. The young fight for a trophy, the ability to say, “I did things my own way, a better way.” The trophy, of course, proves elusive.

As qualitative research enters an exciting moment, apprentice and master researchers are reenacting similar clashes in classrooms and research labs across the globe. “The methods are quaint,” the initiate says, “but I think they’re a little dusty. I can do better.” The mentor winces: How many times has she heard similar boasts?

Innovative technologies and digital media are providing new tools and venues. Consider the possibilities of research-based digital media. They can reveal complex processes that contribute to elusive opportunities for low-income students in ways that peer-reviewed articles cannot. Policymakers often grimace at pedantic and esoteric research. A digital short provides fertile ground for conveying the sorts of thick description qualitative researchers seek and also improving the relevance of research for policy stakeholders.

Novel methods are alluring, an opportunity for novice researchers to shape their legacies. But, like the young poet who privately spends thousands of hours mastering rhyme and rhythm or the basketball phenom who quietly practices drills in the gym, the innovative researcher is the product of hours and hours of unheralded work: planning, collecting, analyzing, producing, experimenting, revising, and repeating.

Rigorous designs depend on the ability of a scholar to undergird the process and product with traditional methods, all the while embracing emerging opportunities. A two-minute film excites. It also requires a complex set of skills. The researcher has to be well versed in fundamentals like interviewing and analyzing as well unconventional techniques like filming and editing. She has to understand triangulation and color theory, parallelism and the rule of thirds, NVivo and Final Cut. The challenge is formidable. But, the chance to experience that inventive moment, the next adjacent possibility, is worth the work.