Abstract
Researchers’ subjective positionalities are often presented as explanatory factors in the interpretation and analyses of ethnographic experiences. In geographic and anthropological ethnographies, positionalities are often benignly disclosed to readers under the auspices of being better able to understand specific subjective backgrounds, or the lenses, through which researchers engage with participants, places, and the overall subject matter. While positionality statements have become standard in qualitative research, there is not sustained development of the dynamic nature of positionality as way to better understand, analyze, and theorize through a research project. To contextualize this methodological argument, I draw from ethnographic engagement with a community of individuals facing homelessness who reside in tents and other rudimentary structures in a public municipal park. My own dynamic positionalities are positioned as both a lens through which I understand the “Hillside residents” and also evolving analytical tools that complicate assumed understandings of class and relationships to nature.
Ethnographic researchers tend to act as research instruments, and the data are typically understood through a lens of both the subjects of the research – the participants – and the researcher(s) collecting and analyzing the data. Qualitative researchers, and particularly critical ethnographic researchers, often present positionality as the disclosure of various subject positions, particularly those located at the scale of the human body. Our positions are often identified in terms of race, class, gender, sexual orientation, education level, and so forth (Johnson and Parry, 2015). Through these disclosures in scholarship, one’s reflexivity about researcher positionality is now an established, a priori requisite in establishing the quality and legitimacy of critical qualitative scholarship (Deutsch, 2004; Dickson-Swift et al., 2007; Etherington, 2007; Horschelmann and Stenning, 2008; Miller et al., 2015). This practice is commonly displayed by authors through (often explicit) statements concerning racial identities, sexual orientation or gendered perspectives, noting the ways in which researchers’ subject positions influence, inform, and/or color our interactions with research participants and settings. Such presentations of positionality help frame research questions, interactions, interpretations, and analyses through particularly insightful lenses; one cannot know anything so fully as the way in which we see and understand through these particular lenses.
As geographers and others in allied social sciences are particularly concerned with issues of scale, it becomes imperative to situate one’s researcher positionalities across multiple scales, ranging from the body at the most local to the various social, political, economic, and environmental systems operating at global scales. A researcher’s race, for example, operates most visibly and perhaps viscerally at the scale of the body, but is also incorporated into cultural productions of race, racism, and privileges, all of which span scales ranging from the neighborhood to the region to the nation and beyond. Only considering and representing positionality at the scale of the body – as often done in sharing a researcher’s race, class, gender, etc. – presents an unnecessarily limited notion of positionality in ethnographic research.
Further, positionality in this sense can present a somewhat static notion of the researcher. The disclosure of one’s subject positions are certainly dependent upon particular times, places, and cultures, such that a researcher presenting their subject positions has to take into account a particular sociospatial and sociotemporal milieu for the subject position to have resonance or meaning (Kusenbach, 2003). Often, though certainly not always, these settings change across the duration of a research project, indicating that one’s positionality vis-a-vis the research questions, participants, and settings is also likely to change as well. For example, one’s gender is often taken for granted as a static operator against a particular cultural backdrop, but the ways in which researchers display, harness, leverage, and deploy gender across research settings and with various research participants might vary wildly. Similar variations exist for many traditional positionality disclosures, including race, class, income, place history, employment, and so forth.
While many ethnographers acknowledge the ways in which they evolve over the course of a research project (e.g. Duneier, 1999; Gowan, 2010; Liebow, 1993), rarely is this process foregrounded as an analytical meaning-making tool. The ethnographic research presented here makes explicit the dynamic nature of these subject positions, to not take for granted our developing researcher positionalities that so heavily inform ethnographic data collection, analysis, and representation. Qualitative researcher positionalities are not static representations of ourselves as we engage with research, as they are much more likely to be dynamic engagements that fluidly progress, regress, and circulate as we move through particular research projects (Miller et al., 2015). This research extends the arguments of Berbary (2014), who explored a researcher’s intentional and sometimes unintentional self-presentation in ethnographic fieldwork. While it has been established in qualitative and ethnographic literature that highlighting similarities and diminishing inconsistencies between researchers and communities of interest might help elicit different and perhaps more intimate ethnographic experiences (Gowan, 2010; Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007), this argument is generally presented as a way of gaining access to the field (Soni-Sinha, 2008), or more specifically to a particular community of interest. As Berbary (2014) points out: When embarking on ethnographic fieldwork, a researcher must carefully consider how to present oneself when entering the field… Such choices can have tangible consequences concerning a researcher’s access to the field, in regard to both the physical access of the spaces and the social access of the lived experiences of the participants in those spaces. (1205)
Following this argument, I present narratives from an extended critical ethnography with individuals living in the margins of a public municipal park, individuals who have created new spaces of livelihood, ownership, and resistance. This research develops an a posteriori perspective on my positionalities. In particular, I focus on positionalities that not only help form the lenses through which I have come to understand my research but also the ways in which these dynamic positionalities actually serve as ethnographic analyses. In the narratives presented, data come not from the people or the place that were the nominal aims of inquiry, but from my various processes of reflexivity vis-a-vis my supposedly static positionalities. Such ethnographic encounters make analyses more inclusive, more dynamic, and more processual (i.e. St. Pierre, 2013). The fieldnotes also highlight the increasingly corporeal nature of engaging with one’s positionality, interweaving with discussions of the self, the body, reflexivity, and positionality. Through issues of socioeconomic class and relationships to nonhuman nature, careful engagement with researcher positionalities provides insight into issues of privilege, researcher–subject difference, and ethical engagement in the field. Reconsidering positionalities after the commencement of fieldwork also provides a fundamental way of understanding marginalized, Othered cultures and groups. Reflexive engagements with positionalities provided previously unnoticed analyses, enabling novel critical insights.
Positionalities
Positionality refers to researchers’ social location (i.e. race, class, gender, religion, sexual orientation, etc.) in relation to those of the research subjects (McCorkel and Myers, 2003; Roer-Strier and Sands, 2015). Positionality, while neither assured nor necessarily stable, can change in relation to the context of a particular research inquiry, or within a particular ethnographic engagement with a research participant (Merriam et al., 2001). Positionalities are always already contingent, partial, clouded, situational, and contextual (St. Pierre, 2000). In the ethnographic process, “…the researcher as human subject is similarly in flux, dealing constantly with shifting realities and contradictions” (Nilan, 2002: 368–369). Geographic and social locations of qualitative research encounters, whether ethnographic or otherwise, shift the positionalities of the researcher, influenced by place-based knowledges, among other changes (Kusenbach, 2003; Wiederhold, 2015). A signification of a researcher’s engagement with their own positionalities often indicates quality qualitative scholarship (Deutsch, 2004).
Like positionality, reflexivity has become a common exhortation in qualitative and critical social science scholarship (Caretta, 2016: 305). Positionality and reflexivity have been “placed at the core of participatory research practice” (Caretta and Riano, 2016: 259). Reflexivity is not merely the reflections that one might have in response to a particular social or political situation; reflexivity is the processing of these reflections through our own lenses that are necessarily informed by ontological, epistemological, and other theoretically paradigmatic considerations. Reflexivity is, in other words, the personal, yet theoretically informed, relationships that researchers have with their subject matters. Reflexivity attends to researchers’ subject positions through a dynamic process of ongoing reflective engagement throughout the duration of the research process (Johnson and Parry, 2015). Researcher subjectivities, theoretical tensions, and methodological considerations are all implicated in reflexivity processes.
However, disclosure of researcher positionalities is not a panacea for producing and representing rigorous qualitative scholarship. Becoming more reflective and reflexive of our own positionalities can lead scholars to become more self-revealing and vulnerable, as we move from the position of expert to a position of co-constructor of knowledge and understanding (Ladson-Billings, 2003). Reflexivity is a way in which a field researcher explains how their social position(s) affected the research process and product. Reflexivity can demonstrate the ways in which research processes are unequal power relationships (Kelley, 1998).
Researcher positionality (gender, ethnic background, language ability, advocacy positions, etc.) creates challenges within sensitive communities. One’s positionality can both increase and decrease access to a specific community, and may lead to increased access to parts of a community, while simultaneously decreasing access to other parts of the same community (Berbary, 2014). Further, gaining access to a particular community of interest is less of binary “in” or “out,” “access” or “no access.” Instead, ethnographic access is often “partial, mediated, temperamental, and conditional, and rarely follows a linear format of ever increasing levels and depths of access. Ethnographers constantly navigate complex sociopolitical environments and adjust the level of access to a particular culture” (Rose, 2015: 135). Communities that are vulnerable due to issues of marginalization, displacement or other susceptibilities are likely to offer particularly confounding access, where incoming researchers’ positionalities are further scrutinized for issues of either sameness, difference or both. Such dynamic relationships have substantial impacts on the path of a particular research project.
Positionality as a form of ethnographic analysis requires us to understand ourselves: our thoughts, reactions, feelings, psyches, and bodies. This necessary corporeality of ethnographic inquiry is essential to ethnographic inquiry (Geertz, 1973). The researcher’s body, their corporeality, invites deeper connections with research settings and participants (Mears, 2013). That said, ethnographers are complex research instruments (Evans, 1988), whereas interviewers, focus group facilitators, and other interpretivist researchers simply do not have to immerse themselves as deeply as participant-observers.
Corporeal embodiment in the field
Ethnographic inquiry uncovers social, political, and economic structures, expressed materially and symbolically, through long-term, intimate contact with people in their everyday environments (Low, 2014). Ethnography requires an encounter with the materiality and human subjectivity through fieldwork that situates the researcher at these interfaces. A researcher’s positionality exists in many different forms, from work both within and beyond scholarship. However, it is the body, the very materiality of the ethnographic research encounter, where the researcher comes closest into contact with one’s own positionalities. The self, through embodiment, is used to “generate insights, establish patterns, and bring the voice of their research subjects to light” (Venkatesh, 2013: 4). In fact, this process of coming to know a situation through one’s body is foundational to the ethnographic endeavor. Ethnography’s distinctive research method, participant-observation fieldwork, privileges the body as a site of knowing… [Ethnographic fieldwork] requires getting one’s body immersed in the field for a period of time sufficient to enable one to participate inside that culture. Ethnography is an embodied practice; it is an intensely sensuous way of knowing. The embodied researcher is the instrument. (Conquergood, 1991: 180)
Issues concerning the embodied self have proliferated in critical social science literature over recent decades. “Body politics” constitutes a substantial volume of literature (Longhurst and Johnston, 2014), indicating that researchers’ bodies, our material engagements and interventions with the social and physical landscape, are politicized instruments (Evans, 1988). Our races, genders, classes, and other positionality-defining markers are political statements, positioning ourselves within and against various power structures (Merriam et al., 2001). In “the politics of loitering,” a necessarily ethnographic endeavor, Buck-Morss (1986) contends that “the embodied saturates modern existence,” and that in “commodity society all of us are prostitutes, selling ourselves to strangers; all of us are collectors of things” (104). Or, in other words, we as loitering, observing researchers become wrapped into the very political manifestations of the environments in which we inhabit. We cannot escape the political entanglements of our setting, nor can we escape our own embodied, politicized selves.
The body is also a medium through which many ethnographic relationships interact, and where space is actively produced. Sight, sound, smells, language, touch, and actions are performed in and through the body, where thoughts, feelings, and relationships are made manifest (Daza and Gershon, 2015). The body is how these relationships exist. If we are to find common ground with [the people we study], we have to open ourselves to modes of sensory and bodily life which, while meaningful to us in our personal lives, tend to get suppressed in our academic discourse. (Jackson, 1989: 11)
Beyond viewing the corporeal self as the vessel through which ethnographers interact with particular sites (the social) and situations (the environmental), the body is also a receptor of discourses and information. The body is acted upon by the political, economic, and environmental forces of a particular setting. In a point that will be taken up through the narratives presented in this ethnography, these materialities of the body as a producer of space have particular influence on framing and understanding the nonhuman natural world in which we live. “The human body is a battleground within which and around which conflicting socio-ecological forces of valuation and representation are perpetually at play” (Harvey, 2000: 116). The ways in which qualitative researchers represent their selves and their ethnographic data as being mediated through embodiment serve as potentially insightful and novel understandings of participants, environmental settings, and their own selves.
Ethnographic narratives of embodiment and positionality
Fieldwork involves a negotiation of complex relations, interests, situations, and logistics, and although critical researchers of a variety of epistemological stripes often have intentions for engagement and change that exists beyond the mere production of scholarship (Rose, 2015), ethnographers also produce description, interpretation, and analysis of particular in-the-field social and environmental settings (Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007). In this way, ethnographies often present narratives to situate researchers’ analyses of their fieldwork. Narratives are part of a relational and material turn within geography, anthropology, and elsewhere in the social sciences that provide a renewed focus on the political possibilities afforded by storytelling (Cameron, 2012).
Social scientists across disciplines have examined and presented memoirs and alternate forms of personal writing to capture and relate individual experiences occurring during research processes, interactions, and reflections. Researchers’ use of autobiography, journal entries, diaries, and personal vignettes scatter the literature of feminist and other critical accounts of topics as diverse as affect, knowledge production, and fieldwork (Soni-Sinha, 2008). Some feminists have operationalized the political aspect of experience as a fundamental building block of anything personal. Scholars and researchers using intimate writing have durably situated analyses of contemporary issues of the subject, neoliberalism, collective action, and globalization within the familiar worlds and challenges that constitute everyday lives (Soni-Sinha, 2008).
Ethnography for social justice
Ethnographies are accounts of participant observation with a particular culture of interest, usually focused on illuminating unknown, misrepresented or unvoiced populations, communities, and groups of interest (Madison, 2012). However, increasingly, participatory and ethnographic methodologies focus on those in need of greater justice: marginalized, impoverished, and/or disempowered peoples. Critical ethnographies, with a particular intention of increasing justice or addressing injustice, not only focus on description and exploration but also on liberation, emancipation, and material change in the lives of the oppressed (Rose, 2015; Madison, 2012). Critical ethnography begins with an ethical responsibility to address processes of unfairness or injustice within a particular lived domain… [Ethnographers] use the resources, skills, and privileges available to her to make accessible—to penetrate the borders and break through the confines in defense of—the voices and experiences of subjects whose stories are otherwise restrained and out of reach. This means the critical ethnographer contributes to emancipatory knowledge and discourses of social justice. (Madison, 2012: 5–6)
Critical ethnographies employ a number of different strategies of data collection and interpretation, and reconstructing fieldnotes into narrative structures is one way of providing context for empirical data (Rose, 2015). Depending on specific research questions, not only are narratives a presentation and a representation of the gathered data, they are also readable and consumable pieces of scholarship that appeal to wider audiences, perhaps with more resonance. Producing narratives – like the ones provided in this research account – through ethnographic engagement can be a valuable tool for understanding and interpreting the complex and often contradictory experiences of a researcher in situ (Prokkola, 2014).
Hillside residents
Two ethnographic narratives presented here arise from a 16-month critical ethnography with a group of individuals who resided in and around a public municipal park. The group of males living in the park might often be described as homeless, but since these individuals did not use this terminology, I avoid doing so here. Instead, they comfortably referred to themselves as Hillside residents. Residences consisted of tents, tarps, caves, and other topographical features of the landscape, and their homes often featured kitchen spaces, restroom areas, and specific spaces for sleeping and personal activities (Rose, 2013, 2015,). Some of the Hillside residents had lived there for years, while others came and went. Many of them knew and cared for each other, yet the residents were not surprised to see new faces, and there was enough space on the Hillside that one could live without much interaction with others. The park is geographically situated on the edge of a major urban area, providing simultaneous access to the various employment opportunities, services, and other experiences associated with the urban core, and a considerable amount of open, unbuilt space that allowed for a feeling of “escape” from the material and social environments associated with contemporary city life.
As an ethnographer, my overall research questions and agenda interrogated the social, economic, and environmental roles of public space for the Hillside residents. Further, it was an explicit goal to use my ethnography to both understand and represent the Hillside residents in a sensitive and humanizing manner (e.g. Cloke et al., 2000), as individuals facing homelessness are regularly dehumanized (Rose, 2017; Rose and Wilson, 2019; Mitchell, 2003) in both their own experiences and in other people’s perspectives of them (e.g. Duneier, 1999; Gowan, 2010; Liebow, 1993). My daily interactions with the Hillside residents ranged from passive observation (particularly early in ethnography) to ongoing active participation where nearly all of my daily activities mirrored those of the Hillside residents. As this ethnography developed, I also developed my research to accommodate more of an activist researcher role (Rose, 2015), advocating for material, spatial, legal, and health changes for people confronting unsheltered homelessness. These transitions complicate traditional notions of a distant, uninterested researcher, but align with components of a critical ethnography (Madison, 2012). While I could never fully “become homeless,” I diligently tried to balance my own embodied engagement with the knowledge that, at any point in this research process, I could choose to step out of my researcher role, retreating back to my accumulated privileges that are perhaps best represented by access to the private space of my (more traditional) residence.
Narrative 1: Embodied positionalities and access to the field
Researcher positionality, as Madison (2012) states, is “vital because it forces us to acknowledge our own power, privilege, and biases just as we are denouncing the power structures that surround our subjects” (8). Here, my fieldnotes narrate an experience of trying to gain access and acceptance on the Hillside. My intent, as a critical ethnographer, is to “make naked our own incoming thoughts, feelings, perspectives, and histories, providing relevant context for how these parts of ourselves interact with our research processes and participants” (Rose, 2015: 153). In this narrative, reconstructed from ethnographic fieldnotes (Emerson et al., 2011), I present initial engagements with the Hillside residents as I was attempting to gain initial access to this community, with positionality as a way of understanding myself and my researcher lens, and also as analyses concerning the Hillside residents and their relationships with surrounding social worlds. I was excited, a little anxious, and more than a little relieved to get to interact with this community. I’d been out on the Hillside for nearly a month already, primarily in more of an observer role, getting to know the place and the social and spatial rhythms of daily life. I’d spoken to folks, but so far it had been pretty superficial, as I was easing in to social interactions. Today, however, was my second really in-depth interaction with anybody. Keith, Max, and Simon, all of whom I’d just met yesterday, were sitting outside of Max’s tent for the better part of an hour. I’d met each of these guys in the past few days, but this was the first time I’d really sat down and had extended conversations. In a very informal way, I finally felt like I was really gaining entrance into this community. In the middle of a conversation about the local light-rail transit system, the conversation turned to me. Max looked up at me and asked solemnly, “So what’s your deal?” I looked up. My pulse quickened. I feel sure that I blushed. The question caught me off guard, and even more than that, the tone caught me off guard, because there really was no tone to his question whatsoever. Max’s question felt like it was completely a fact-finding mission, with no embedded intent at all. I hadn’t tried to deceive any of the Hillside residents, though I hadn’t been completely forthcoming either, disclosing my researcher status. I had been trying to sorta kinda halfway “blend in” with this community to better understand, appreciate, and represent an emic perspective of unsheltered homelessness, but I never intended be a full part of their community, only to initially demonstrate solidarity and comfort with living without shelter. Throughout the conversation, I had felt relatively at ease, primarily because I felt like I fit in. I’d played the part: I’d been hanging around there for days, I hadn’t showered or changed clothes, just like the Hillside residents. I was still wearing the same old partially tattered, well-faded brown Carhart work pants, with a dark grey and black fleece that had holes in the sleeves. By this point I hadn’t shaved in months, and my bushy beard was only covered by my tangled, unkempt, chin-length hair. I stunk. Not the kind of stink after a sweaty workout session, but the kind of stink that comes from living in the same clothes and constantly being outside, in all types of weather. Surely I fit in with these guys. I wore the same types of clothes they were wearing, and I could talk their talk, on their subjects, and mirroring many of their daily behaviors and mannerisms. So, what’s my deal? My deal is that I’d worked really freaking hard to avoid having to answer a question like that. But I thought I took it all in stride. I responded that I’d been hanging out here for the past little while, offering an answer that was kinda-sorta specific, without really being specific at all. I knew that I didn’t want to lie to these guys at all – that’s no way to start an ethnography – but I also knew that I didn’t want to be completely forthcoming either. The conversation continued, with me making clear that I was hanging out there for the time being, and I wanted to be a part of things. Keith, Max, and Simon seemed fine with that. But Keith, who had largely been silent during the conversation, looked up solemnly and said dispassionately, “You may be living out here with us on the Hillside, but you’re not one of us.” He was quiet in his tone, but definitive. Simon and Max shared my quizzical look toward Keith. I felt a bit defensive, and I really wanted to play it coolly. “What you mean?” I said. “You don’t know anything about me.” I tried to strike a tone of tough defiance without actually sounding defensive, with something to hide. “Nope. You’re right. I don’t know anything about you, but I know you’re not one of us,” he continued. What could he mean? I had the right clothes, the right level of hygiene, the right slang language, the right demeanor, everything. I’d thought through these things for months now, just so that I could more easily gain acceptance in this community. I felt like I’d done everything to be a part of this community. “No, you’re not one of us,” Keith continued, “and I know for one reason.” He’d put me on the spot, and the three of us were captivated. How could this guy know anything about me? How could he see through my elaborate, well-intentioned façade that I had meticulously produced to ease my introduction into this community? Had he seen me before? Did he know me before I looked like this? Had he seen me at the University? What was it that let him know what I knew, that despite my outward appearance, I wasn’t really a part of this group? What was it that separated me from the research subjects with whom I so badly wanted to participate? What was it? “Your teeth,” Keith said plainly. “Ahhh, shit,” I thought. “We don’t have teeth like that. None of us do. And you aren’t supposed to be out here with teeth like that.” Keith continued by pointing out that only somebody from a wealthy, well off background, and only somebody with continual access to a toothbrush, toothpaste, and running water, and clean water, and only somebody with the sufficient time, energy, and knowledge would maintain their teeth the way I had. “Ahhh, shit,” again, I heard myself say in my mind, though the silence of the moment was perhaps the most telling. Keith knew it, and he was right. In order to immerse myself, I’d been willing to change my lifestyle and my appearance. I changed my behaviors, routines, and everything else. Everything except, of course, my teeth. Clean, well-kept, and straightened by braces during my teenage years, I have what is culturally accepted as a nice smile. Thirty years of conscientious self-care, combined with 18 years of state-employee-sponsored dental insurance had exposed me to these three men. I was not fully a part of this group. And at that moment, they knew it and I knew it.
In a “typical” and fairly benign positionality statement, I had previously considered class-based distance between my participants and myself. However, simply acknowledging these discrepancies in a pre-fieldwork positionality statement was ultimately insufficient for coming to terms with the ways in which accumulated privileges helped me to consider, position, and analyze the experiences of the Hillside residents. I knew my middle-class background separated me from the impoverished economic status of the Hillside residents, but it through revisiting this positionality through a critical engagement with fieldnotes I was able to more fully understand and contextualize these differences in a corporeal sense. My classed reality was made both apparent and vulnerable to seemingly new, embodied ways of knowing. Considering positionality more dynamically enabled a complex knowledge of who the Hillside residents are, and thus class constitutes a central part of their own practice and politics.
In many ethnographic contexts, despite the obvious limitations addressed in this narrative, one’s physical appearance is understood as a sign of inclusion (Berbary, 2014). Due to the fluid nature of ethnographic engagements, appropriately managing one’s appearance or behaviors remains a difficult task. My access to the Hillside residents never suffered from the disclosure of my privileged status(es), but it serves as an affirming example of how observant, knowledgeable, and socially adept (many of) the Hillside residents were. There was a naivety to the internalized suggestion that I might be able to disguise all of my privileges by changing my clothes, hair, and smell, thereby inadvertently producing a simplistic (homeless) subject, subtly yet effectively minimizing their intellect and social understanding, a point that further reinscribes existing stigmatization and marginalization. Further, this experience reminded me that as an ethnographer, as one seeking access to a particular field or community, it is the community that decides, that serves as the gatekeeper, not the outside other.
Narrative 2: Positionalities of status and ideology
The previous narrative presents a (now obvious) implication of (embodied) class acting as an initial intermediary between myself and the Hillside residents, there is further nuance that supports and extends this assessment. I present fieldnotes written just before I left my house to spend my first night out on the Hillside, a little more than six months after my research began. Max, a Hillside resident for more than seven years, with whom I had formed a considerable relationship, had finally “given me permission” to spend a night out there, in part challenging me and thinking that I would not do it, and in part asking me to better understand his life. In the weeks prior, he had invited me to the local shelter and the local food services dining room with him, both of which I did. After more interrogations, Max eventually told me, “If you really want to know what it’s like… I don’t gotta tell you nothing; you just gotta be out here and do it, live it like we live it.” So I did. I wanted to get an initial understanding of unsheltered homelessness, in its harshness, insecurity, and exposure, as an empathy building exercise as much as anything. January 11, 8:05pm: I’ve spent most of the evening packing up for my night out on the Hillside. I’m excited, and less nervous than I would have expected. I’m not worried about my safety at all, which seems to be other people’s primary concern for me. However, this is likely to be the coldest night that I’ve ever spent in my life. It’s 9 degrees right now, and the internet tells me that it will be as low as 4 degrees this evening. This number, 4, has some significance if we adhere to science to let us know things like temperature. If, however, we subscribe to our own sensations, then the temperature might be more accurately described as “really fucking cold.” I’m sure I’ll be fine, but it’s daunting to intentionally set out into this environment. Then again, the Hillside residents are out there, and they seem to handle it pretty well, so I’m sure I’ll be alright. My privilege looms large in my mind at the moment. In order to convince myself (and my advisor) that this is a good idea, I am entering into this experience with the assumption that if something goes wrong – if anything goes wrong – then I will just stand up, retrace my steps, and take the fifteen minute walk back to my house, where there is warmth, shower, food, and all the comforts of contemporary indoor living. Basically, I am engaging in this experience at my own choosing, an essential distinction between me and the Hillside residents. I plan to only sleep out there tonight [this time]. I’m not bringing food, a stove, or even a tent or tarp, all of which would be really helpful if I were going to stay out there for any substantial length of time. I’m just hiking out there, laying down my stuff, and going to lie down and try to sleep by myself, as most of the other Hillside residents are either at a friend’s place or in [the downtown shelter], or they hunkered down in their tent hours earlier, when the sun first started setting. In order for me to sleep out there relatively comfortably, however, I’ve gathered what I consider to be an incredible amount of gear. Tonight, I’m not trying to blend in, and I’m not trying to live as the Hillside residents live. I’m living as comfortably as I can based on what I already know about camping in cold environments, just to get a sense of the harshness of the environment. So rather than jeans and my old fleece jacket, which I usually wear to the Hillside, tonight instead I’m bringing soft shell pants and puffy jackets. More specifically, I’m bringing: $240 – Gregory Forester backpack $40 – Ridgerest sleeping pad $80 – Guidelite Thermarest $250 – Mountain Hardwear 0 degree sleeping bag $220 – Outdoor Research bivy sac $15 – Thorlo socks $225 – La Sportiva Trango mountaineering boots $35 – synthetic puffy booties $130 – Patagonia micro puff pants $240 – Mammut Champ pants $60 – Patagonia long underwear $30 – REI wicking t-shirt $80 – Mountain Hardwear pullover $45 – REI hooded fleece sweatshirt $80 – REI down vest $220 – Patagonia Micro Puff hooded jacket $25 – Mountain Hardwear windstopper fleece hat $60 – Black Diamond ski gloves $25 – Princeton Tech headlamp $25 – Timex watch $15 – Nalgene water bottle $50 – digital data recorder The total retail value for the items that I’m taking with me to spend a handful of hours in the Hillside is somewhere around $2,190. Holy shit. You could buy a decent used car for the price of my evening’s outdoor equipment. More relevant to the issues at hand, if I fully resided in the Hillside, then two grand could make the difference between a life of misery and life of relative affluence.
This second narrative contributes increased nuance and complexity to this class-based analysis of my positionalities. In a detailed inventory of my camping gear, we not only see the substantial financial commitments that I felt were necessary to spend an initial night on the Hillside in the middle of winter, 1 but there is also an ideology based upon years of constructing and positioning nonhuman nature as a mythical unpeopled recreational playground that requires specialized gear, experience, and knowledge to engage safely and comfortably. These perspectives belie racialized (Rose and Paisley, 2012) and gendered (Rose and Johnson, 2017) privileges as well. A lifetime of personal and professional camping, climbing, and outdoor expeditions showed that my version of engaging with nature (in this case, consumptively) differed substantially from that of the Hillside residents, which at this point in their lives was more of a utilitarian perspective on needing access to public space (Rose, 2014). The Hillside residents understood nature as an extension of themselves, as a home rather than a space for play, relaxation, and restoration (Rose, 2014). I come from a social and cultural tradition that sees camping as a way to restore myself and get closer to the natural world around me. I see the outdoors as places to climb, hike, and explore; outdoor experiences are wonderfully beneficial. My romanticized positioning of nature has a well-established tradition in Western conceptualizations of the unbuilt spaces that characterize much of North America, where a frontiering ethic of masculine self-reliance and personal fortitude evolved from early settler colonialist engagements with nonhuman nature, maturing and manifesting in contemporary cultures (Wilson, 2014). Despite my awareness and critique of this historical trajectory, I nonetheless reinscribe this hegemonic narrative into my research, though I was unable to effectively consider and critique this position until constructing and critically and emotionally engaging with my fieldnotes. This narrative represents yet another class-based discrepancy that underlies my ethnographic engagement with the Other, but one that was unidentifiable until I allowed my positionality to be more fluid and dynamic, to change with my unfolding engagement with the field. This account further underlines how the often hidden ways that our dynamic positionalities inform our research, our participants, and ourselves remain an undertheorized aspect of qualitative research.
Theorizing dynamic embodied positionalities in ethnographic research
Class and relationship to nature were primary positionalities that were highlighted in my newfound assessments of myself and my dynamic relationships to the participants, setting, research questions, and theory associated with this ethnography. And as demonstrated in the second narrative, the relationship to nature was itself also a class-based consideration, another way in which I starkly differed from the Hillside residents, but was unable to imagine prior to fieldwork and reflexive engagement with my previously static positionalities. I could not have engaged in this critical ethnography in the way that I did without my whiteness and my maleness, among other privileged subjectivities, but the privileges that mattered most viscerally in this research are those associated with class and relationship to nature. Race, gender, sexuality, and other social markers remain imperative, but relationship to nature and class are the subjectivities that most prominently differentiate me from the Hillside residents. My incoming positionality, then, was one that was academically critical but very mainstream in ways that mattered in this research.
As an ethnographer engaged intimately with the social and material setting, new spaces were produced by increased clarity concerning my dynamic positionalities across the duration of the research process. My class-based positionalities operated at the scale of the body in its corporeal experiences, but also at local, state, and even global scales, as discourses of homelessness extend across scalar levels of capital (Gerrard and Farrugia, 2015). The Hillside residents functionally operated in dynamic positions between legality, safety, and full membership on one hand, and eviction, exclusion, and destruction on the other. This same sense of liminality, when viewed through the dynamic positionalities that inform and impact our research processes, incorporates the researcher as a hybridized subject of in-betweenness. My positionalities at the beginning of the ethnography were superficially the same as at the end of the research process; I had not changed my race, class, gender, ability, sexual orientation or any other traditional markers of various subject positions. However, I came to understand and underscore these subject positions much more carefully and in a much more impactful manner, seeing them as less binary and static, and more relational, contextual, and evolving. Ethnographic and qualitative researchers might consider their subject positions entering a research endeavor, and then subsequently revisit and perhaps reconstruct these positionality statements toward the latter stages of the project. The comparison of positionalities affords researchers not only the opportunity to understand their processes of change across the duration of ethnographic engagement but also the ways in which these changes might elucidate vital understandings of their research questions, data, and analyses.
Reconsidering the primacy of researchers’ dynamic positionalities in qualitative research processes highlights key issues and challenges for social researchers. For instance, how can and how should ethnographic researchers characterize the relationships between data, reflexivity, and theorization? In this research, I presented my reflexivity-themed fieldnotes as a nuanced method of analysis that would have previously been inaccessible had I not reconsidered my incoming positionalities. While such issues would certainly depend on wide ranging case contingent parameters, it seems reasonable to suggest that aligned and necessarily interconnected ontological, epistemological, and methodological orientations provide guidelines for effective engagement with these concerns. In my research, an overall justice orientation and critical ethnography methodology helped me ask questions (of myself, others, and situations) that enabled reflexive researcher engagements to be brought into analyses of the Hillside residents, myself, and our interconnectivity (for instance, through class). Yet a further challenge for researchers is considering how such reflexive engagements concerning positionalities subsequently impacts research participants. The disclosure of a researcher’s positionalities is a “situated, ongoing, and philosophically informed series of decisions about how, when, and if to be transparent about our work” (Bridges-Rhoads et al., 2016: 536). Considering the dynamic nature of positionalities still does not always lead to clarity concerning how transparency should be deployed, incorporated, and leveraged.
Scholars should become increasingly interested in understanding not only what, as critical ethnographic researchers, our positionalities are, but rather, how our dynamic positionalities might be treated in qualitative research processes to better theorize connections between methods and analyses, and between our own lived experiences and those of our participants. Positionality can be employed to “provide a grounded perspective that explains how large-scale processes are interpreted, responded to, and (re)produced by social actors in specific locations” (Horschelmann and Stenning, 2008: 348). This process may further elucidate the connections, differences, and intersections of positionalities existing across traditional researcher–subject divides. Nuanced and detailed explorations of researchers’ positionalities further implicate researchers in the very systemic practices that we also often critique.
It was only through reflexively constructing and analyzing fieldnotes about the dynamism of my own positionalities, and then foregrounding those positionalities in concert with theory and methods, that I was able to gain new analyses and insights into the class and relationships-with-nature constructions of the Hillside residents. These ethnographic, reflexive conversations about researcher positionalities are essential and should be interwoven as part of qualitative researchers’ analyses. If participants’ words about subjectivity in interview transcripts counted as data, so did theories’ words about subjectivity in books I had read—why discount their expertise? I thought with everyone’s words as I wrote—Foucault’s and my former Latin teacher’s—and it no longer made sense to separate those data into chapters called “literature review” and “interpretation.” (St. Pierre, 2013: 469–470)
For qualitative researchers, positionality statements, often presented as benign disclosures of one’s race, gender, class, and so forth, gain layers of complexity when they become ongoing, developing, processual experiences that entangle and interweave with theory, methods, and analyses. Ethnographic analyses are often presented as if they can only come from careful engagements with and observations of anything but the self: research participants, nonhuman environments, literature bases, etc. But our own dynamic positionalities, always in need of interrogation, are also rich repositories for knowledge production and analysis. Postscript: Years later, the social landscapes of the Hillside have changed substantially. As the (local) scale of visible unsheltered homelessness has increased, vocal community concern, health department regulations, and law enforcement crackdowns have led to the Hillside no longer being an ongoing space of unsheltered homelessness. My ethnographic ways of understanding unsheltered homelessness have given way to more of an activist/academic orientation, where supporting a “right to the city” (Mitchell, 2003) means engaging politically beyond the spatial bounds of the Hillside, and moving into the institutional structures of contemporary municipal governance. As I reflect on my dynamically developing positionalities, I have moved from thinking about specific behaviors and instances to larger, more complex systems of thought. The narratives presented here provide insight into ways in which extreme, ironic, and paradoxical experiences inform our research. These moments remain visceral reminders, though I now try to question my assumed and quotidian experiences, and how these more common thoughts and behaviors frame and reinscribe power-laden relationships. However, the corporeal, embodied ways of relating to unsheltered homelessness provide foundational appreciation and (perhaps undeserved) legitimacy to my various advocacy efforts in legal, health, and governmental domains. It feels as though my testimonies are now seen as simultaneously academic and (pseudo)experiential, providing surer footing to advocate for various initiatives and understandings that make life a little less difficult for those facing unsheltered homelessness. The classed- and nature-based ways of understanding my relationships to homelessness remain, though they are mediated by the corporeally infused understandings emerging from ethnographic analysis. These positionalities, though, are still unfolding, developing, and becoming; they are dynamically adjusting with new information, new experiences, and new reflexive insights concerning unsheltered homelessness. I still challenge myself to think and act more critically, in more engaged ways, and in ways that more clearly acknowledge the privileges and limitations of my advocacy efforts. As the status, demographics, and lived experiences of unsheltered homelessness evolve, I too must continue to understand how my developing subject positions inform my understanding of this social and environmental justice issue.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The author sincerely thanks the individuals living on the Hillside, as well as other folks facing unsheltered homelessness who contributed to this research. In addition to anonymous reviewers and editors, Samer Al-Saber, Christine Marshall, Caroline Weist, Anelise Shrout, and Besir Ceka provided indispensable insight and feedback in the development of this manuscript.
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
