Reading Responses

          This past summer, I was lucky enough to travel to Colombia. Sitting in bars and restaurants, I was fascinated to watch as locals of every age salsa’d for hours. Salsa is deeply embedded in the culture and remains a tradition passed on to each generation, regardless of sex or socio-economic status. The older generations teach the youngest, who learn the basics and ultimately make their own tweaks and updates to the style. Similarly, the social sciences have been practiced for decades, and yet there are still updates to the field over time. Nevertheless, it’s important to also know the tools and methodologies used in the past. In Salsa Dancing into the Social Sciences: Research in an Age of Info-Glut, Kristin Luker provides insights into the social sciences as she first learned them, and updates the lessons for current students.

            She first describes the social sciences, comparing the two kinds of social research methodology (theory and method) to the two steps in salsa. Just like with dancing, you need to know the basics of social research before you jump in, or you won’t get half as much out of it. I found her descriptions of the changes in how research is conducted particularly interesting. When she first began as a researcher, the world was much more linear. Now, there is a glut of information. A Wikipedia search can begin with Lincoln and end up with the history of pudding. Given the different amount and types of resources that are now available to us, a wide command becomes more important than a deep command. In other words, because we have so much access to information, it’s up to the researcher to ensure that they consider all tangential topics, making connections as they go. The researcher has a new role to play: breaking down the barriers that have previously confined topics, policies, customs, and instead focusing on how they interact and affect one another.

            Given my background in communications and my love of storytelling and writing, Luker provided important reminders. The social sciences are not just about telling a story, and the social scientist does not simply report on the world around them. The successful social scientist investigates, beginning to see what everyone else is overlooking. I found this to be an exciting prospect.        

            Luker’s chapter on methods was equally insightful for a social science “wannabe”. Here she dives into the uses and intricacies of participant observation (ethnography) and interviews.  Although I do not yet know if I will be performing interviews this summer, and it seems increasingly unlikely that I will be, Luker makes an important point about the takeaway from interviews: “Regardless of whether things happened the way people said they did, what interests us is that people chose to tell us that they happened that way” (167). This was also a point for oral histories, as we saw in Amy Starechewski’s piece, “Who Deserves Housing?: The Battle for East Thirteenth Street.” While Starechewski provides an example of how to weave oral interviews into a compelling story, Luker here gives practical tips, such as the need for a hook and “cool down” questions when interviewing.

            Finishing the reading, I was excited to get started creating my own social research. I spent last summer fascinated by salsa and its role in Colombian culture. This summer I look forward to trying some new “sweaty and thrilling and liberating ‘practices’” in the form of social research as I partner with the Pratt Center (Luker, 5).  

           

As described in the Carruth reading, “artists aligned with social practice deliberately blur the lines among object making, performance, political activism, community organizing, environmentalism and investigative journalism” (Carruth 2). Something that I found particularly interesting from this reading was the discussion of the Indeterminate Hikes+ app; the narrative behind the smartphone, an object which is essentially an embodiment of consumerism/Capitalism, depersonalization, and “rapid communication,” is subverted in a way so that it encourages deep engagement with surroundings/slow looking as well as appreciation of “bio-cultural diversity.” I think that similarly, the Still Life Project leverages the internet, a platform which we may often associate with speed and overwhelming amounts of information, and it shares a very different kind of information— it delves into the deep histories and experiences of these individuals’ lives. I think that this approach of using the internet, applications, and general multimedia approaches really resonates with me not only because I appreciate it for accessibility reasons, but also because I think there is something to be said for the way that sharing these kinds of messages on such platforms has an implicit element of “resistance” by subverting the typical uses/ideas of the internet, phones, and computers (and I am especially thinking of how I see the Still Life Project, just in its format alone, relate to or even take some roots in Net Art, which was a movement of rebellion). I think this subversion and the experience of seeing something really intimate on a platform that we spend so much time on and where we rarely see material of this sort can be very jarring/surprising, which can then be leveraged by the artist to encourage a different type of engagement and have their narrative/message come across in a new way.
In the Beyond Empathy reading, as Childress discussed the need for shifting from a focus on empathy to one of solidarity in documentary filmmaking, I thought of the Eve Tuck article from a few weeks ago and the case she makes for a shift from damage-centered narratives to those of desire. I saw some overlap between the empathy and damage-centered narratives, particularly how both authors sort of tied these respective ideas to the “colonial gaze,” and while Tuck used the term “desire” and Childress the term “solidarity,” I think that these two go hand in hand and implicate a reimagining of a community and what it means to participate or belong.
Although this may not be about social practice art specifically, during my time at Gallatin, I have really started to consider the ways that art in general has been/can be mobilized to articulate certain environmental narratives, and these narratives have not only historically shaped our perceptions of our surroundings but have held great importance in shaping physical environments and policies as well. What comes to mind is how Rachel Carson’s work Silent Spring played a part in the environmental movement and thus the passing of environmental regulations, or, perhaps for worse, how Joe Sternfield’s photographs of the abandoned rail that eventually became the Highline served as a muse and contributed to its imagining as a redesigned, “reclaimed” urban public space— and it was the construction of this park that contributed to rezoning and gentrification within the neighborhood. I do think it is important to consider what we want the takeaways from our art to be and in what ways we want it to mobilize or to be mobilized, and in my own work, I try to think of how the arts can be mobilized for the better. With the environmental movement specifically, I think it calls for the use of art quite directly. As mentioned in my previous reading response, with addressing environmental issues, I feel that narrative is everything— and I try to consider how climate change, which is usually articulated in numbers and estimates that we can barely wrap our minds around, can be made more personal or easily understood to a wide audience through various visual formats, or, in terms of the work I may be doing in the future, how environmental injustices that have long plagued communities can be amplified or made more legible in a way that works towards achieving actual change (which I think art and alternative forms of expression/engagement hold strong potential).

I really enjoyed the way this week’s readings all had interrelated themes and concepts but were also unique in the message they shared. In Allison Carruth’s “Urban Ecologies and Social Practice Art,” my main takeaway was that different artist collectives utilize the “capacity of storytelling [through art] to reveal the connections but also the fault lines between different urban terrains” (5). Thinking about how my community partner has central programming related to art in different capacities, I think they exemplify the “fluid boundaries between art, writing, media, design and activism within contemporary environmental culture” (2) that Carruth references, while also employing participatory projects to “create spaces and experiences where the logic of a situation disappears” (4). Something I found intriguing were the opposing viewpoints to social practice art that Carruth identifies, writing how critics “voice concern that social practice overemphasizes political activism and social engagement at the expense of aesthetic technique and artistic innovation” (2). Although I can understand why this would be a concern, I don’t think there necessarily has to be a dichotomy between the two. I would also venture to say that this dynamic is more harmful to those embedded in the art world who are more familiar with the specific nuances of aesthetic technique and artistic innovation. I think it’s more important that the community that the artist or artist collective seeks to impact can understand the political activism and social engagement that is being communicated through art in a way that makes sense to them. 

Sonya Childress’ “Beyond Empathy” article was very insightful, and I feel like it touched upon a number of dynamics that I’ve discussed in my classes that center on social and cultural analysis, race, etc. I appreciated her identification of the prevalence of lenses of whiteness in documentaries that aim to humanize issues that affect marginalized communities. I liked her conclusion that beyond empathy lies solidarity, but I would’ve liked to see a deeper interrogation of the intent of filmmakers besides putting a face on (insert social issue or marginalized group here). Thinking back to Eve Tuck’s article on damage-centered research, I feel like in documentary filmmaking there is sometimes an exploitative nature to the desire to document. Although she mentioned Ava DuVernay, I also would’ve appreciated an acknowledgement or direct address of the difficulty that marginalized people face in not only creating and controlling their own narratives, but having the physical, economic, etc. means to do so. 

I thought Nyssa Chow’s “The Story of Her Skin” was a fascinating and wonderfully executed method of storytelling. The different mediums she used, from photographs to videos to interviews, did an amazing job of immersing the reader into the story of her family while weaving in a necessary and useful context. I particularly liked the work she did at the beginning, setting the stage by including videos of what an average night in Poole might sound like and including the voice of Sassa. I thought it was interesting how the different generations of her family grappled with their Blackness in different ways, and how they simultaneously bonded by blood and divided by their different physical appearances.

In the excerpt that we read for this week, “Who Deserves Housing?: The Battle for East Thirteenth Street,” author Amy Starecheski examines the case that was made by those living in the squats at East Thirteenth Street to claim ownership of their property through adverse possession; more specifically, Starecheski draws upon oral histories and archival records to explore the dimensions of how organizers created “the narrative of possession and continuous occupancy required by the courts,” how squatters articulated “property claims in court with stories of its practice in everyday life,” and “how the kinds of relatedness portrayed in the tacking narrative produced for the judge exacerbated and created social conflicts in the community of squatters” (Starecheski 99). Starecheski uses this to ultimately examine the broader relationship between the “state and its citizens,” “the nature of public property,” as well as “who decides who deserves housing” (Starecheski 95).
This was perhaps one of my first official introductions to studying oral history, and I found it quite compelling how Starecheski mentioned having to combine all of these stories together to get a fuller picture of what was happening (especially capturing conflict within the community of squatters). I feel that Starecheski’s work just reinforces how valuable of an approach this is in community-oriented research. Although it was on a much smaller scale, I am thinking back to the research I was doing on the East Side Coastal Resiliency project too and how every single person basically had such a different version of what was going on and what was the appropriate next step. I feel like the work of taking these individual strands and weaving them together is crucial in making informed community decisions and as people whose research/activism can have real life impacts, it is our obligation to try to get the fullest sense of what is going on and the most context possible to make sure we really know what we are advocating for.
In addition to Starecheski’s approach, I felt that the content of the work was relevant as well. I think something that particularly stuck with me was Starecheski’s emphasis on the importance of narrative in the organizers’ crafting of their case. The organizers could not simply present a list of names to the courts but needed to connect everything in a way that demonstrated continuity and intention behind their actions. This point actually provoked me to think of the various ways I may find myself articulating environmental narratives in my own work this summer, particularly in relation to an initiative such as ALIGN’s involvement in the 80/50 campaign and their focus on the reduction of emissions from buildings. While work related to meeting emissions targets may involve many numbers and figures, rather than just putting these statistics forth, I think it is important to consider how to convert this into a narrative that appeals to a wider audience, particularly those who may not prioritize climate change or the reduction of emissions. For instance, ALIGN is already engaged in the work of framing the reduction of building emissions as an opportunity for establishing new jobs and better quality of life, and I am thinking of ways that I could see myself contributing to this effort. Conversely, I also try to consider how this kind of initiative may be able to mobilize those from the more mainstream environmental movement to advocate for social justice and equitable jobs as well, which may typically not be at the top of the agenda.
Additionally, I thought it was interesting how there were very strong moral dimensions to the arguments that the organizers made and the stories they told, as they often tried to depict themselves as productive, responsible citizens in order to justify their right to the property. It prompted me to revisit the ideas in Harvey’s “Right to the City” as well as Ananya Roy’s lecture, and more particularly her description of “property as personhood.” Connecting all of these arguments, I am just thinking of how one’s personhood is connected to property, and how, as Harvey mentions, the right to a place also has more to do with the right of shaping and reshaping ourselves. However, as I emphasized before, the East Thirteenth Street organizers’ approaches demonstrate how morality and the rights to claim property (and thus to claim themselves) are tied up with the notion of productivity, and I suppose this just all has me thinking of the larger idea of what urban citizenship, rights, inclusion, and autonomy could look like in a world where deservingness is not based so heavily upon productivity or the ideas of capitalism at large.

       Amy Starecheski’s chapter “Who Deserves Housing? The Battle for East Thirteenth Street” was an interesting look into the history of squatters in several houses on East Thirteenth Street. The book was written in 2016—about 30 years after the events took place. It uses a variety of sources, including the news, legal documents, and perhaps most importantly, oral histories.

       Affordable housing is a constant debate in many cities, and New York City is no exception. However, squatters receive far less attention in the media today. Even as I study urban planning, this was my first look into squatting rights and the role of squatters.

       Looking back at the events and speaking with community members who took part in the efforts to save the buildings provides great details, but given how long ago the events took place, I began to read their accounts with a grain of salt. Their details become less important than their feelings and interpretations of the events. Not everything can be remembered accurately, and no narrator can provide a completely objective account. 

       The chapter also creates many questions about property rights, who deserves housing, and more. The diversity of the buildings was interesting. Although initially represented in the chapter as diverse, there were conflicting accounts of this later. Ultimately, most accounts suggested that the houses were largely white men, usually with some type of construction experience. Nevertheless, as I began to get more cynical about the role of squatters, the author drew me back in by reminding the reader that, “There is one commonality [among all squatters]: practically all squatters, whatever their other motivations, are squatting because they need shelter” (82).

        Overall, the author begged the question of who is worthy and who is unworthy–a question that I am still grappling with. Some of the leaders in the group had clear conceptions of who was deserving: “At the same time, Politi, Boyle, and DeDominicis articulated clear criteria for who was deserving: people from the neighborhood, people of color, families, people with AIDS, the elderly, and low-income people” (83). Still, it seemed difficult or impossible to police who moved in, except for through the use of force by bullies. 

        Finally, the use of language surrounding squatters created additional questions of how squatters identify themselves and how they are viewed by others. For example, the chapter highlights how the media had aligned against the East Thirteenth Street Squatters, largely referring to them as “ragtag.” However, in a later interview, one of the squatters takes on this description, referring to himself and the others as ragtag. This made me pause, wondering if the media had picked up this terminology on their own, or from the people themselves. Was “ragtag” an accurate description, or was it one which was originally meant to be used within the group, but was taken up by the news? Or perhaps having been labeled as ragtag, the squatters decided to accept the term for themselves, almost a badge of distinction.

       There are no clear answers to any of the questions posed in the chapter. Affordable housing and who deserves it remains a growing problem, even thirty years later. The best we can do is to learn about such experiences in the past, even if they are subjective, and to see what lessons can be learned for a more equitable future.

Chapter 2 of Amy Starecheski’s Ours to Lose: When Squatters Became Homeowners in New York City, “Who Deserves Housing?: The Battle for East Thirteenth Street,” the author tells the story of the practice of squatting as homesteading on East 13th St from 1984-1994 and the subsequent desire to make a claim to the property through adverse possession following the implementation of the 50/50 Cross Subsidy Plan. The author identifies the challenges squatters experienced when making adverse possession claims and uses archival records that documented the squatters’ process of creating their legal case and oral histories in order to examine how they crafted a narrative of continuous possession, how they used oral histories to compare articulation of property claims in court with stories of its practice in everyday life, and how the kinds of relatedness portrayed in the narrative exacerbated and created social conflicts in the squatter communities living on East 13th St (99). Prior to this reading, I only had a vague understanding of what squatting and homesteading were, and I think the author did a good job of not only defining the terms but also contextualizing them in the terrain of New York City. I like how Starecheski referred to homesteading using frameworks, implying their subjectivity and flexibility. I also thought the different configurations of squatting she identified were interesting, which are political squatting (squats as a base from which to foment conflict with the government), entrepreneurial squatting (depends for legitimacy on the value of the establishment to the community), conservational squatting (protest against gentrification rather than a defense against abandonment), deprivation-based squatting (targets low-income housing that is left empty without reason, legitimacy is achieved relatively easily) and squatting as an alternative housing strategy (legitimacy is more difficult, must add to the overall pool of affordable housing stock rather than taking a portion of it for use by individuals from middle-class backgrounds and alternative cultural or political tastes who aren’t considered to have a right to low-income housing). 

Something that bothered me a little at the beginning of the chapter was the brusque way that Boyle and DeDominicis spoke about residents in the community, like how Boyle mentions ejecting a security guard from the coalition because he wasn’t provided heat and refused to pay his dues and how DeDominicis said that Angel Delgado represented “the Puerto Rican community that [they] wanted” (75). Starecheski writes later in the chapter about how “in the context of a neoliberalizing regime of urban governance, where the cultivation of valuable and valued subjectivities is a core part of the project of marketizing in inner-city spaces, the divide between the ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ poor can become heavily policed,” (83) which eloquently encapsulates my thoughts after reading the quotes at the beginning. As the chapter goes on and discusses the different rifts and tensions between the squatters’ movement, first with other mainstream housing activists and later between the squatters themselves, it wasn’t particularly surprising to me. There’s a moment earlier on page 86 that describes the squatters’ inability to utilize community networks to recruit and vet new members, and other actions that demonstrate how squatters “[denied] agency to some people of color living in the squats by failing to portray them as full active partners in the project of homesteading” (86). I think this in combination with the majority of organizers’ identities being white and working or middle-class made conflict inevitable. However, even if the movement wasn’t able to accomplish its goal of claiming adverse possession of the buildings on East 13th St, I agree with Starecheski that by “pushing the city to negotiate to transfer the remaining illegal squats on the Lower East Side to their residents” and “destabilizing the city’s property claims” (117), the legacy of the case is significant.

In her work Salsa Dancing into the Social Sciences: Research in an Age of Info-Glut, Kristin Luker utilizes salsa dancing as an analogy to discuss the kind of research she feels is critical to address our modern world; she asserts that, like salsa dancing, this kind of research is “bold and interdisciplinary” and “for all its improvisational nature…builds on some very specific steps” (2). She advocates for us to evolve our research methods and thinking beyond what has typically been practiced in the past or is even taught to us today, for the reasons that these earlier methods do not account for the fact that we are now living in a nonlinear world and the availability of literature (and filtering of literature) has changed drastically in the age of the internet. Rather than “mastering esoteric facts or techniques,” she argues that knowledge in the current era comes from making connections “across traditional boundaries— going wide rather than deep” (13).
In his piece “Understanding,” Bourdieu explores communication by exploring the “simultaneously practical and theoretical problems which emerge in the particular case of the interview between the investigator and the person questioned” (17). Although I was admittedly a bit fuzzy on some of the points that he made, I felt that he was primarily saying that we need to be more aware of reflexivity and the positionality and social relations of the interviewer and interviewee. I felt he also advocated that it is crucial, as a good or ethical researcher who is committed to uncovering social truths, to be empathetic towards interviewees, to respect them as having “lived lives” and having experiences and vast social conditions that all contribute to who they are, and to practice “active listening” and allow the interviewee to partake “in the project of self-portraiture” that they wish to “engage in” rather than imposing (27).
I actually felt there was quite a bit of overlap in the points that were made by Luker and Bourdieu as they both criticize the ways that research has more commonly or traditionally been conducted and advocate for some sort of shift (which reminded me somewhat of Eve Tuck, particularly Bourdieu). Also, I think that both of their arguments, to some degree, take into account some questions of power or accessibility involved in research. Bourdieu discusses the social asymmetry that is inherent between the interviewer and interviewee and the violence that can be exerted in this process. Luker actually cites Bourdieu in her brief discussion of cultural capital, and she talks about who used to hold the keys to knowledge and “conduct the social research” in the past vs now (as well as the audience who consumes this and who is interested in learning more about social life).
I thought that Luker’s piece was particularly relevant to the research that I envision myself conducting both this summer and well into the future, as it focuses on bridging disciplines in research, which is much of what ALIGN does as they try to link issues and interests from all sorts of (often conflicting) fields. I would actually be quite curious to read the remainder of the book and see what more concrete methods and suggestions she has for approaching this type of research. Additionally, I felt Bourdieu’s piece was quite relevant as I try to keep in mind my positionality when thinking about what communities I may be coming in contact with through my work and may be surveying/interviewing this summer.

In Kristin Luker’s Salsa Dancing into the Social Sciences: Research in An Age of Info-Glut, the author invites us to reconsider how we conceptualize research methods and theories using the metaphor of salsa dancing. She invites the reader to ponder how salsa dancing as a practice that reduces the prevalence of our Internal Censor and encourages the “making of connections across boundaries and even across disciplines” (2). Ultimately, she desires to convince the reader of conducting “research that draws on the kinds of bold and interdisciplinary insights you can get when you salsa-dance” (2). In Chapter 1, she outlines three different enterprises she plans to undertake in order to concretize this desire, which are confronting the different contexts that resulted in commonly held notions of what research methods are, establishing foundational guidelines for how to go about doing “rigorous, compelling, and intellectually honest research,” (3) and offering advice on seeing a research project through all its phases. She foregrounds three important factors, the impact of Foucault’s theorizations, an age of information saturation, and the decline of linearity, as reasons why historical traditions of teaching research skills have been undermined, resulting in the alteration of the social location of research. One thing I really appreciated about Luker’s writing was the way it was simultaneously able to achieve a conversational yet didactic tone, which is achieved by the clear definition of terms and processes in conjunction with examples and personal anecdotes from her own experience as a researcher. Even if she did refer to me as a “precocious undergraduate,” (16) I found her explanation of the salsa dancing metaphor to be compelling and persuasive. 

In Chapter 8 of Salsa Dancing into the Social Sciences, Luker dives into definitions and examples of participant observation (ethnography), interviews, focus groups and content analysis as different methods of conducting research. She dedicates a majority of the chapter to ethnography and interviews, detailing specific steps she suggests readers take in order to collect and analyze data in a way that is not only effective but is also rooted in theory and the question(s) that researchers are concerned with. I appreciated how Luker explained the point/purpose of conducting each particular method. For example, she writes that “the point of doing observational methods is to document ‘practices,’ those moments when belief and action come together” (158). I also found it persuasive that she paired each methodological approach with an example, whether it be a study, article, etc. of a researcher who had implemented it.

In Pierre Bourdieu’s Understanding, the author is primarily preoccupied with the nature of the research interview relationship and its propensity to be distorted. He identifies the nature of an interview as a specific “social relation” (18) that is unique in its “objective of pure knowledge” (18). He elaborates and mediates on the “various kinds of distortion[s] that are embedded in the very structure of the relationship,” identifying scientific questioning as a method of mastering and understanding these distortions. He outlines the different things that should be considered when evaluating an interview relationship, like how to “reduce as much as possible the symbolic violence…exerted through [interviews],” (19) the social asymmetry that exists when the interviewer and interviewee occupy different places in “the social hierarchy of different types of capital,” (19) seeing how an interview relationship can be a spiritual exercise, “aiming to obtain, through forgetfulness of self, a true transformation of the view we take of others in the ordinary circumstances of life,” (24) and more. This in-depth look at how to mitigate the intended and unintended effects of interview by analyzing its structure provided a lot of insight into the implications that the process of interviewing has, and reading it in conjunction with Luker’s chapters increased its persuasiveness and effectiveness.

In Eve Tuck’s “Suspending Damage: A Letter to Communities,” the author pens an open letter to two distinct groups: 1) educational researchers and practitioners concerned with fostering and maintaining ethical relationships with disenfranchised and dispossessed communities (409), as well as 2) Native communities, urban communities, and other populations that have “troubled relations with research and researchers” (411). Her main argument is that the use of damage-centered research reinforces conceptions that oppressed communities are defined by their struggles, and that researchers, educators, etc should consider adopting a desire-based research framework, a theory of change that is “concerned with understanding complexity, contradiction, and the self-determination of lived lives” (416). I find Tuck’s analysis of the implications of damage-centered research to be particularly compelling, especially when she asserts that it is “a pathologizing approach in which the oppression singularly defines a community” (413). I also think Tuck’s decision to use a letter format is a wise one since it enables her to simultaneously share her personal perspective with readers, impart useful information and examples of the phenomena she describes, and encourage the reader to enact change without the sterility and rigidity that can sometimes attach itself to intensely academic articles. I think this piece is incredibly relevant today, especially as allyship continues to be a popular topic of discussion in social justice circles. In addition, I think Tuck makes important points about how we visualize marginalized communities in our imagination, describing how incomplete characterizations of oppressed groups lead to community spaces becoming “saturated in the fantasies of outsiders” (412). 

“Ghosts in the Schoolyard: Racism and School Closings on Chicago’s South Side” by Eve Ewing exemplifies the “dynamic and evolving nature of research endeavors” (173) as it pertains to Ewing’s investigation of the relationship between school closures on the South Side, local conceptions of race and racism, and education policy decisions. In the appendix, she explains her methodology, which ranges from discussions on her own subject position to critical discourse analysis. Although it can be argued that there are multiple arguments within this section, I would say the overarching one is that during the process of undertaking a study like Ewing’s, which involved conducting interviews, attending public events, etc., it is important to be flexible and adjust one’s methodology/perspective in response to interaction with research subjects. She writes that her goal was to “tell a story, rather than the story” (174) with the book, which is an attitude I like and seek to employ myself. Since Ewing provides a lot of background information and context in the appendix, telling the reader directly who and what influenced her to pursue this research in particular as well as being transparent about her experience as the leader of this study, I found it to be very persuasive. There are various observations and concepts that Ewing references in this section that I find relevant to the present, like voice as witness, institutional mourning, and social death. I also appreciate in her critical discourse analysis how she poses the question “What is this person doing by saying this?” instead of “What does this person really mean by saying this?” (180), another approach that I plan to incorporate in my research plan.

       In Eve Ewing’s introduction to Ghosts in the Schoolyard, she describes her process for research, the importance of reciprocity, and perhaps most significantly, how her research depicted institutional mourning. Meanwhile, Eve Tuck’s letter, addressed to communities (Native and/or urban communities in particular), calls for an end to what she has termed “damage research.” The pieces by Eve Ewing and Eve Tuck seem to directly contrast one another, prompting me to consider how I can frame my own future work to create thoughtful and useful research.

       Having recently completed the research training myself, it was interesting to consider how Ewing’s research followed IRB guidelines. Several of her procedures and practices were ones which can be kept in mind for our own community research. Firstly, she makes it clear that her research creates a story, but it is not the only story. She describes herself and researchers like her as “boundary sitters” who use their voice as witnesses.

       Her insights into how one’s body informs people’s perceptions was also important. Speaking directly with various stakeholders requires a sense of self-awareness and a recognition of how we present ourselves. As a mid-20s white girl in a graduate program, I may stand out or even be unsafe in certain areas—considerations which are important when planning when or where to conduct research.

       Her description of reciprocity was also important. She would offer to driver her interviewees home. Take them out for coffee. Share a meal. All of this seems like a normal way to “repay” someone willing to speak with her, but beyond this, it creates a closer tie and likely makes individuals more likely to speak openly.

       Ewing’s research was also a form of therapy, allowing her to process her own feelings of loss. This sadness and the feelings of loss are healthy and normal; they’re important. But ultimately, Tuck suggests that final research products must go beyond documenting these feelings to also show not only how the community copes, but how it overcomes. As Tuck notes, there is a call for research that highlights not just survival, but survivance. Survivance requires “moving beyond our basic survival in the face of overwhelming cultural genocide to create spaces of synthesis and renewal” (Tuck, 422).

       Although we did not read further in Ewing’s book, her intro suggests that her work would fall into Tuck’s understanding of “damage research,” which focuses more on the pain of the community and may then reinforce the notion that the community is broken. She also makes an important note on how research adds another level of surveillance. Many vulnerable communities may not receive attention until researchers study them and share their findings. This is a type surveillance that requires researchers to think in advance, what will my research produce and what will be its effects both in and on the community it centers on?

       Tuck’s piece, though it is a call for a moratorium, is inspiring. It is a call for researchers to consider how to shape the stories that they uncover to create communities that are not simply victims. They may have experienced great oppressions, but they also have a future. Both works are important reminders that research is not just studying a subject: it affects communities and both the process and its outcomes must be carefully thought through from the project’s first conception, to its potential effects 100 years from now.