Abstract
This article illustrates participant reflexivity in an interview. Even though scholars have called for ‘a consideration of real-time reflexivity as a means of reconfiguring the participant within epistemological research debates’ (Riach, 2009: 366) illustrations of real-time reflexivity are hard to locate in literature. Most accounts of reflexivity focus on the researcher, and are generally post-research reflections on the research process. This article presents a closely-analysed segment of a semi-structured interview, where the participant changes her position on militarisation in Sri Lankan universities during the interview. This is presented as an instance of realtime participant reflexivity. Using this interview, factors contributing towards reflexivity in interviews are examined and a case made for closer examination of the participant’s reflexivity in qualitative research.
Keywords
Introduction
The climax of the film Sex, Lies, and Videotape (1989) centres around the life-altering decisions that two sisters – Cynthia and Anne – make after being interviewed by Graham, a young man who films women discussing their sexuality. The interviews are monologic, with an interviewer who asks questions and listens while the women speak at the camera and almost to themselves. The film is a wonderful illustration of the power of the interview to induce change: the reflexive recounting of each individual’s (sexual) relationships leads to an explosive ending of old relationships and hopeful beginnings of new ones. Yet, in scholarly literature there is not enough discussion of the interview as a place for participant reflexivity.
Despite the rising trend for researchers to credit their participants with contribution to analysis (Kinginger, 2004; Mero-Jaffe, 2011), until recently interviews were indexed primarily as a data source, with little regard to the possible impact they can have on the two people participating in that event, i.e. the researcher/interviewer and the participant. Nevertheless, more explicit stories of transformations wrought by the process of research in researchers’ lives have started appearing in the last two decades (Lee-Treweek and Linkogle, 2000; Finlay, 2002; Guillemin and Gillam, 2004; Walby, 2010; Bishop and Shepherd, 2011; Pezalla et al., 2012; Berger, 2015). Furthermore, since studies of reflexivity usually illustrate changes after the event by reflecting back so to speak, we lack descriptions of ‘real-time reflexivity as a means of reconfiguring the participant within epistemological research debates’ (Riach 2009: 366). Real-time reflexivity would grant insight into change as it happens, nebulous though the process may be. Here, I add to the work of others such as Kathleen Riach (2009), Amanda Holt (2010) and Colleen Larson (1997) by presenting an account of participant reflexivity, and more specifically, of real-time reflexivity using an interview in which the participant’s ideological position changes. By closely analysing this interview segment, I explore possible factors that could have led to such a shift.
The next section brings together theoretical discussions on interviews with that of participant reflexivity and positioning as produced in interviews. It is followed by a contextual background to the interview segment discussed here; and at the end, I illustrate the participant’s real-time reflexivity by presenting a close analysis of a short interview segment.
Reflexivity in interviews, positioning and discourse
The extra-ordinariness of what happens in interviews is not surprising if we consider that people regularly ‘talk through’ their issues in daily life, including in professional spaces such as teaching or counselling. A semi-structured interview is similar, being a social as well as a discursive event. Riach (2009) articulated this opportunity for epistemic and ontological change in interviews evocatively when she argued, following Giddens, that reflexivity ‘requires a fundamental requestioning of what is knowable within a given context’ (2009: 359). It is this requestioning which I will illustrate using a segment of an interview.
This opportunity for real-time reflexivity in interviews is yet to be discussed in any detail in reflexivity literature, presumably because of its elusiveness. Productive in recent research has been the attention to discomfort or trouble in interviews. Work on trouble surfaces in multiple forms, such as hesitancy (Tracy and Rivera, 2010; Anthony and Danaher, 2016), misunderstandings or challenges during interviews (Court and Abbas, 2013; Roulston, 2014), or silence and avoidance of topics (Mazzei, 2003; Morison and Macleod, 2013; Bengtsson and Fynbo, 2017). That trouble can also lead to reflexivity is also attested, as is the significant benefits of seizing such moments to be reflexive (Mazzei, 2004; Nairn et al., 2005; Morison and Macleod, 2013). Yet these moments are generally explored as post-interview reflexive opportunities for the researcher/interviewer. What does an interview which jars the expectations of the researcher or participant look like when change is produced as a consequence of it during the interview? More work on real-time reflexivity, on the interview as it happens, is obviously necessary. Inclusion of participant views and voices in research, either via the researcher or with participants as writers, can change this.
Two fine examples of participant reflexivity are Riach’s (2009) study of two ‘sticky’ moments and Larson’s (1997) reflection on being a research participant. In Riach (2009) the ‘sticky moments’, of participant-induced reflexivity, were triggered by the inclusion of controversial points in the interview. Other such studies tend to support her conclusion that contentious or uncomfortable moments in the interview can lead to reflexivity (Tracy and Rivera, 2010; Blakely and Moles, 2017). It should also follow then that avoiding or ignoring sticky moments can lead to missed opportunities as we see in Larson (1997). Larson’s (1997) self-reflexive narrative of the epistemological (leading to affective) disconnect between herself and her interviewer is a clear exposition of the effects of such an interview. Larson’s interviewer fears that a dialogic mode of interviewing would mean an ‘intrusion’ of herself into Larson’s story, resulting in a loss of authenticity, whereas Larson expects and is disturbed by her refusal to do so. Larson’s call for dialogic interviewing is echoed by Lucius-Hoene and Deppermann (2000), all three scholars arguing that it allows the opportunity for participants to ‘untangl[e] the complex meanings of their own lived experiences’ (2000: 456), a possible outcome for the interviewer as well.
It is this performative aspect of language – speaking is doing - that brings rich opportunities for change to the interview (Yates and Hiles, 2010; Way et al., 2015; Yang, 2015). From discourse studies, Zienkowski (2017a) points out that the interview becomes a space for assessing and exploring one’s own positions; while Blakely and Moles (2017) illustrate instances where the participant presents a moral self in ethnographic interviews. What is apparent is that identities and positions appear to be integral to the work of interviews. Positioning itself is treated as an index of identity, with a change in position signalling a change in identity (Yang 2015; Davies and Harré 1990; Lucius-Hoene and Deppermann 2000; Wetherell 1998; exception Yeadon-Lee 2009). Identity shifts within interviews are well recorded, especially in linguistic anthropology and communities of practice (see for example, Wetherell 1998; Yeadon-Lee 2009). The work I present here adds to this body of work on positioning from a discursive framework.
In terms of reflexivity, the interview is a maximal space for the creation of reflexive loops (Zienkowski, 2017b), where the interviewer and participant attempt to fix their social reality, producing an interpretation of the world around them in the process. This ties in with Davies and Harré’s (1990) definition of position as a ‘discursive process whereby selves are located in conversations as observably and subjectively coherent participants in jointly produced story lines’ (1990: 48). Reflexivity, thus, is a possible outcome of the joint production of self-materializing in interviews. In the interview segment discussed in this article, I present a change in position but with no claim to a changed identity, for I concur with Denzin (2001) that the self is one and whole, with changes in position but illustrating different interpretive versions of the one person.
A case of post-hoc encontextualisation
In many disciplines, a methodological imperative to define or demarcate what a researcher means by ‘data’ exists, even though little ordering can be seen in the actual surrounds of an event. The ‘context’ for research articles is typically delineated by artificial boundaries between the experiences and issues surrounding what we term ‘data’ (in this case, the interview segment) and ‘contextual background’ (for a lengthier discussion see Blommaert, 2004). Yet, it is important to keep in mind that the context that I write here is of a past that is ‘a projection from the present’, a reconstruction of the past with all the attendant flaws that memories contain (Silverstein and Urban, 1996: 4; also see Bishop and Shepherd 2011).
As part of this distinction between the surrounds and the formalized object I analyse as data, I highlight some ‘forgotten contexts’ (Blommaert, 2005). Blommaert (2005) presents three types of forgotten contexts - resource as context, text trajectories, and data histories. I discuss two in relation to the interview I analyse here. The first is that of ‘resources as contexts’. As academics trained in the West, the participant of this interview, Bhagya, and I share multiple resources which are taken for granted during this encounter. Fluency in English and Sinhala, 1 the ability to theorise and analyse events around us and our own professional standing are factors that contribute to the production of this conversation. The history of this interview segment is another forgotten context. What I recount below as the background is some part of this history.
In 2012, I started interviewing academics in Sri Lankan universities. As an academic in Sri Lanka’s state university system given official leave of absence for doctoral study, I felt compelled to study the turmoil taking place in universities at the time. Sri Lankan universities, like others around the world, have historically been places of student protest and less frequently, of protests by non-academic staff (i.e. administrative staff). All academics are state employees by virtue of the fact that Sri Lanka has no private universities legally incorporated as such. 2 Unlike other state employees, Sri Lankan academics rarely initiated public protests until 2010 when the Federation of University Teachers’ Associations (FUTA), the collective of academic trade unions, initiated union action demanding higher salaries. This particular trade union effort ended abruptly but in 2012 FUTA launched a stronger campaign demanding a wide-ranging set of educational policy changes (see Witharana, 2015 for a detailed account). Returning to Sri Lanka for a few months in 2012, I was impatient to participate in the changes that I could see happening and frustrated that I was unable to fully participate due to my frequent, lengthy absences from the country. At the same time, I understood that my ability to study what was happening was helped by the resources I had: a justifiable reason (as a doctoral student) for conducting a study in the midst of such upheaval, sanctioned leave to ‘collect data’ and access to colleagues as research participants.
The 2010 FUTA action occurred at a significant point in recent Sri Lankan history – a year after the then government declared an end to a civil war of 30 years’ duration. Despite the official end to the civil war in 2009, the country was still under repressive government: private and state-affiliated media censorship continued; human rights organisations were monitored for ‘non-patriotic’ action; and the northern and eastern parts of the country were still under military control to a large extent. Long-term war had led to a heavily militarised society (de Mel, 2007), in which the armed forces were involved in civilian administration, violence was part of social relations, and discourses of patriarchy and morality coloured by ethno-religious characteristics were dominant.
The then government had put in place several policies that, according to FUTA, interfered with academic freedom. During the years 2010 to 2013, the latter part of which coincided with my interviews, the then government introduced several initiatives related to universities: the use of military personnel for labour-intensive tasks in universities (such as gardening or construction); an order to use the services of Rakna Lanka – a security company connected to the Ministry of Defence and reputed to employ ex-military personnel; the launch of an orientation programme for first-year undergraduates prior to university entry conducted in military locations by military personnel. There were also reports of a bill (aka the ‘privatisation bill’) that would regulate both private and state higher education institutions that upset the proponents of public education for its contents as well as the secrecy behind it. Coming on the heels of the recently ended civil war, these steps, taken without any consultation with universities, were concerns for politically-conscious Sri Lankans.
These political realities created an atmosphere of self-censorship in universities, parallel to burgeoning trade union activism. In other words, in the initial post-war period pertinent to the interview discussed in this article, academic trade unions were openly agitating towards change, while at the same time individual academics feared surveillance and were afraid to openly voice their opposition to the government or to university administration. It is in such a tense academic environment that this interview takes place. The history of this data dictates its very existence (Blommaert, 2005), being an effect of a time of crisis in Sri Lankan universities and of a very specific type of trade union action.
At the time that I interviewed Bhagya, FUTA and its member unions were preparing for a series of public rallies, a protest march and a strike (which would continue for 3 months). I was already acquainted with Bhagya through mutual acquaintances in academia. Our political sentiments seemed to be similar, even though our social and educational backgrounds differed. While attending several events organised by academic trade unions at the time, I had realised that we had similar (i.e. socialist) political positions and that we agreed on most ills of the university system. Bhagya was actively engaged in a member union of FUTA, which led to my request for an interview. I wanted her perspective of the political changes taking place in universities at this time, as well as an insider’s perspective of academic trade union struggles. Her decision to grant me an interview was presumably because she felt that the events of the time should be recorded, something she had mentioned to me in conversation around that time.
The interview I present here was conducted in two sessions within one week and is the first of three interviews conducted over three years. The first session coincided with discussions between the government and FUTA and as a result, our interview was frequently interrupted by telephone calls to Bhagya from colleagues. Both interview sessions took place at Bhagya’s home in the afternoon. The interview protocol was divided into four parts: trade union action, privatisation of universities in Sri Lanka, the orientation course for undergraduates by the armed forces and the universities’ enforced security services by Rakna Lanka. In addition, I asked Bhagya two questions towards the end of the interview: ‘Are Sri Lankan universities militarised?’ and ‘What is your definition of militarisation?’ These two questions were added to the interview protocol after a few initial interviews. In this interview, these two questions were posed towards the end of the second session. The interview is mostly in English, with some code-switching between English and Sinhala since we are both comfortably bilingual.
It is important to note that this ‘data’ or interview segment has been continuously re-contextualised. It was initially conducted in two sessions; has been written into a doctoral dissertation; presented as part of a doctoral dissertation and at a conference on reflexivity; and now has been written (and revised) into this manuscript. The flow of time, multiple discussions with numerous scholars (of diverse fields) at each point of re-contextualisation and uncharted changes in my own position during the research and writing process influence this analysis. Such contextualising factors appear to be so straightforward that they are usually taken for granted, yet profoundly affect the interview and the analysis of it as a discursive event, especially in terms of reflexivity.
The segment I present is approximately five minutes out of a total of 02:26 hours. The entire segment is presented in this article, separated into four parts. A narrow transcription is provided with symbols indicating the following: time lapse (more than 5 second duration noted, e.g. (0.6)); truncated word or phrase (wo-); questioning (?) and rising (↑) intonation; drawn out syllables (e.g. kno:w); emphasis (e.g.
An exemplification of participant self-critique
Participant self-analysis within the interview
When I interviewed Bhagya I assumed her ideological positions (simplistically speaking) would be as follows: (a) against the military-conducted orientation course, (b) against the imposition of a state-affiliated security company, ergo (c) perceive universities to be militarised. During the interview, Bhagya’s position on the first two assumptions were as expected. She vehemently opposed the leadership course, analysing it as the government’s attempt to turn undergraduates into ‘docile objects’ . The second event, when universities were forced to obtain services from Rakna Lanka Pvt Ltd. was a contentious issue in general. It was a security services company affiliated with the Ministry of Defence and widely perceived to be performing surveillance for the government. Bhagya and I had both signed a publicly circulated letter which decried its imposition as an infringement of university autonomy and raised concerns about ‘the role the military establishment is increasingly playing in the administrative and academic spheres of the universities’ (see Asia Human Rights Commission website, 2011). In an earlier section of the interview (not shown here) we had discussed our disapproval of it. Therefore, it appeared to me a foregone conclusion that Bhagya would think of universities as militarised spaces. Other interviewees had given disparate answers to this cluster of questions, which motivated me to continue to ask these questions at interviews, though here I merely asked it as a formality (given that I expected her to agree with me). The ensuing conversation was surprising. Part 1 shows this exchange.
Part 1. Control of dissent
1 K um (.) the (.) do you see do you see the university system being militarised 2 right now. (.) would you say it is militarised or would you say it’s becoming. 3 B (0.5) 4 u:::m i:::: don’t quite see it become mili- becoming militarised. what i do see 5 is there are huge efforts to↑ control dissent. control (.) in the name of 6 discipline (.) to control students and (.) you know? so that kind of thing i can 7 see. whether that’s a part of militarisation or not i don’t kno:w↑ 8 K hmm 9 B bu:t it’s there.
It appears from this that Bhagya had not considered either the military-led undergraduate orientation or the Rakna Lanka issue as features of militarisation. Her view is that militarisation is an indiscernible effect, which she contrasts with what, for her, is a visible phenomenon: the control of dissent (lines 2–3, 6). In doing so, Bhagya identifies the state discourse (of the government and university administration) in which university populations, and especially students, are under a disciplinary regime.
More than one aspect of the disciplinary regime is referred to here. Most obviously dissent is controlled ‘in the name of discipline’ (line 2). Through this voicing, she indexes the authoritarian discourses of the state that construct students as volatile, and therefore, requiring intervention. Existing discourses on undergraduates facilitate these governmental strategies, such as the leadership training course and the employment of a security company that has military-grade training. Bhagya had expressed earlier in the interview her view that resistance is part of a university student identity, i.e. ‘that’s what they’re supposed to do’ . Given these views, the invocation of state voice (line 2) is another exhibition of Bhagya’s stance against the repression of student politics.
However, at this point, Bhagya is unsure if such disciplinary interventions constitute militarisation (line 4). In Part 1, Bhagya’s discourse on militarisation is characterised by a distinction between militaristic events and the process of militarisation. In this she is similar to some of the other academics interviewed during this period. In other words, military-related events are not considered part of militarisation, or an ongoing connected series of events that comprise militarisation. She interprets these events through alternative discourses of ‘repression’ or ‘autonomy.’ It could be that Bhagya has not thought of this in depth before. It could also be that she was echoing the voice of the academic trade unions, which she supported. Until this point FUTA had avoided the use of the word ‘militarisation’ in relation to universities and used, as Bhagya does here, an analytical lens of autonomy and financial waste to critique the government’s actions regarding the leadership course and Rakna Lanka. 3 Thus, Bhagya’s discourse here may be aligned with that of the public discourse of academics at this point in time.
While my minimal response ‘hmm’ (line 8) may not show it, I was immensely surprised by Bhagya’s response. My questions in Part 2 below stemmed from this surprise and consequent desire to understand this ‘new’ turn in the interview.
Part 2. Examples and revisions
10 K so would you consider militarisation↑ as different from controlling= 11 B = >no that’s what i’m trying to< think y’know whether i- that’s part of the 12 same process. right? >i mean and there are certain< things that are- that 13 happened which (.) many of us didn’t question↑ and i think that 14 the 15 K like what things. [for example.= 16 B [like 17 B =for for example the fact that just outside the {university} there’s… a 18 19 K hmm. 20 […] 21 K so it’s a new thing? 22 B it’s a new thing. 23 K like how old. one year? two years? 24 B since the end of the war. ((2009)) 25 K ok. 26 […] 27 B right? (.) u:m even the whole sort of: (.) tch >now there are< security cameras 28 around uni. right? i am appɔ- i don’t i don’t particularly like that. right. u:::m 29 most people don’t s- don’t have a problem with it becuz they’re saying that 30 you know now when the students fight they can get it on camera and they can 31 identify the culprits. right? (.) ok? 32 K hm. 33 B u:::h so tho- tho- those kinds of things are so tch i mean that’s the thing i think 34 it’s it b- it is perhaps i mean militarised i- it it is militarised. to th- in that 35 sense. tch where you know? we we we see the control and the 36 authoritarianism: as (.) natural.
Part 2 is rich in reflexivity. Jarred by the discovery that we were not in political accord, I try to understand the relationship between control and militarisation from Bhagya’s perspective. While it appears at first glance that her rethinking is prompted by my clarification question (line 10), a closer perusal shows us that she has already started reframing her answer. Bhagya begins her turn immediately as I end mine (see latching in lines 10–11), beginning with a negation. Since the next lines are her assessment of my question, we can assume that the negation relates to her own statement in the previous turn. Rapid speech allows her to hold the floor while she verbalises intent to think – ‘>no that’s what I’m trying to< think’ (line 11). This turn is hesitant, with several instances of compressed speech, reformulations and agreement seeking (e.g. ‘right?’ and ‘y’know?’). She thinks of a possible reason for her initial response, i.e. she considered universities not militarised due to normalising effects of militarisation in general which was a result of the long civil war. I want to reiterate here that Bhagya’s own response is the catalyst for her re-evaluation, a significant factor in participant reflexivity.
Bhagya then brings up examples of militarisation. The first is the requisitioning of a building in close proximity to a national university by the armed forces (lines 17–18). In the turns removed from this excerpt (indicated by line 20 and 26), Bhagya comments that ‘nobody said anything’, implying that neither the academics nor the other staff of the university complained, and that they may not have noticed the transition either. Her second example is the installation of surveillance cameras (lines 27–30), a recent phenomenon in Sri Lankan universities. Her critique of it is explicit, though she reduces the emotive force greatly by truncating what could have been a forceful adjective (‘appɔ-’) and recasting it to convey mild disfavour (‘I don’t particularly like it’, line 28). With this example, Bhagya connects normalised militarisation to the technology of surveillance.
This is a significant insight into the discursive changes taking place in the country. As shown previously, the notion of the violent and undisciplined undergraduate is part of a dominant discourse on universities that the state has invested in sustaining. This dominant discourse is refracted in the voice of the academics who justify surveillance through security cameras: ‘they’re saying . . . when the students fight they can get it on camera and they can identify the culprits’ (lines 28–30). This illustrates a shift in the discourses of higher education. The university is no longer an uncontested space for inculcating critique and resistance in the face of totalitarian establishments. Instead, it is a place of carceral governmentality, where student populations are ‘culprits’ whose unruly behaviour merits punitive measures.
In Part 2, Bhagya illustrates to us and herself that universities are militarised, but that she was unable to see this because its signifiers are normalised. This is a contradiction of her initial thesis in Part 1. In the latter part of Part 2 during which Bhagya builds this argument, she returns to her starting point (in Part 1), considering whether militarisation and control are separate. Her last turn in Part 2 is noticeably fragmented: ‘u:::h so tho- tho- those kinds of things are so tch i mean that’s the thing i think it’s it b-’ (lines 33–34). She concludes this turn by confirming that universities are militarised, first with some hesitation (‘perhaps’) and then with more confidence (emphasis, line 34). This reflexive reorientation is not achieved without difficulty as evident in the repeated truncation of words and reformulations in that part (lines 30–31). By the end of Part 2, Bhagya has critically evaluated her own initial response on the issue, as she concludes that ‘we’, as citizens or academics, inhabit a regimented environment where ‘control’ and ‘authoritarianism’ is ‘natural’ (lines 34–35).
Thereafter, I ask Bhagya for a definition of militarisation. This discussion is what follows in Part 3.
Part 3. Defining militarisation
37 K what would be 38 B (hhhh) 39 K off the cuff. obviously. 40 B yeah [£(heheheh) not according to:£= 41 K [£hhhe£ 42 B =who- whoever. yeah. um >i mean< i think it’s pretty much stuff that i’ve 43 des 44 dissent, and where the 45 like the military have a huge say in how things are. (.) right? u::m and the 46 military is sort of like um (.) tch um where the the the the boundary between 47 military and civil life is increas- increasingly blurred. u::h °and° i think that is 48 happening actually.
Bhagya’s definition of militarisation allows her to locate the incidents she has discussed up to now (in Parts 1 and 2) as part of the process of militarisation. By this point, Bhagya has argued herself towards conceptualising militarisation as a process that includes ‘the authoritarianism,’ ‘control of dissent’ and ‘the military [having] a huge say in how things are’ . By saying the role of the military ‘is less obvious’ due to the ‘blurred’ lines of civilian and military roles, she not only clarifies this for herself but also provides a rationale for not noticing militarisation initially.
This excerpt ends with a reassessment of her previous stance in Part 1 where she could not see militarisation of universities. The lowered volume and ‘actually’ at the end of the turn, is almost self-talk, a segue from the abstract concept to the lived reality of militarisation in universities. We can see the reflexive loop in action by now, where both individuals’ social reality has been disrupted and with Bhagya attempting to locate herself in a new social reality, one where universities are actually militarised.
In Part 4, Bhagya and I re-visit her initial position.
Part 4. Repositioning oneself
48 K ok. so: would you: reflect back on the answer you gave [(to my) first question 49 B [£yes. yes. yes.£= 50 B =yes yes i would(hh)£ and say no we £(hh) 51 K [£(hhehh) £ 52 B =i mean that’s what i am saying. it’s not that- it’s not tch y’know when you 53 54 inside and stuff like that. no we’re 55 K =[yeah. 56 B [right? 57 K so 58 B =clear. 59 K evidence= 60 B =clear evidence. right? but (.) when i am now £
Here, I ask what appears to be the same question as before, Bhagya’s views on whether universities are militarised (Part 1, lines 1–2). Despite the same form, the two questions are functionally different. While the question in Part 1 is a request for information (albeit with an expected answer), the question in Part 4, ‘reflect back on the answer you gave [(to my) first question’ (line 47), is an invitation to revise Bhagya’s answer in Part 1 and a request for confirmation that her perspective has changed. Most tellingly, my question itself is pre-empted (as per the interruption), as Bhagya anticipates my request and agrees: ‘=yes yes i would(hh)£ and say no we £(hh)
Further reflection follows, with a self-reference to Bhagya’s initial reaction to my question on militarisation. She recounts her initial conception of militarisation, which included ‘police posts’ inside universities (lines 52–53), these being a ubiquitous signifier of state authority during the war for Sri Lankans. This instance of shared knowledge between myself and Bhagya is my cue to clarify that ‘police posts’ or similar phenomena would be overt signifiers of militarisation for Bhagya (line 56), which she confirms. Part 4 is an illustration of a collaborative ending to a discussion, as we complete each other’s responses with a series of latched turns. It is evident here that Bhagya’s initial vision of militarisation led her to reject that it exists in universities, but the reflexive discussion following it initiated a change in position. Indeed, Bhagya herself acknowledges the role of reflexivity in her epistemological shift when she says that ‘when i am now £
In the next two years, I conducted two more interviews with Bhagya. I was curious to find out whether Bhagya’s position on militarisation had remained the same. During the second interview, I reminded her that she had changed her position on militarisation of universities during her first interview and asked her if she would comment further on it. She responded that she ‘would have no hesitation in saying yes it is [militarised]’ and extended her analysis to education in general, supporting it by citing a number of occurrences of the past year (for example, reports of military personnel teaching in schools in the North and East of Sri Lanka).
In the third interview (a year after the second), Bhagya provided more examples of militarisation, and linked the repression of student political activities in universities to militarisation. During this interview, I asked her again for a definition of militarisation, which is excerpted below:
Excerpt 1. Defining militarisation 2 years later
1 B ok. it’s (.) i think it’s where e: there is some involvement with the military 2 [(where) the military is having control over spaces that are 3 K [hm. 4 B generally civil. spaces. right? in the management of affaires or whatever. but 5 also it’s it’s a mind-set. it is a mind-set of control, surveillance, regimentation, 6 and 7 K with and without the presence of the military? 8 B with a sort of a- the military is present. but not. directly. 9 K hm. 10 B it’s like there’s an omnipresence as- of the(hh) mili(h)tary. it’s 11 K ok. 12 B right? it’s not as if you know they’re in uniform marching around. 13 K hm yeah
In comparison to the definition in the first interview, this definition appears more evolved. In the first interview, militarisation was defined as the control of dissent and the involvement of armed forces in the civil sphere. In the excerpt above, militarisation is also ideological, ‘a mind-set’ (lines 4–5), present even without the visible presence of armed forces (lines 7–12). While the change of position in the first interview could have been temporary, Bhagya’s discussions over the next two years illustrate that this was not so. Further examples of militarisation were noted in the second interview, and here in Excerpt 1 militarisation is conceptualised in a more coherent, or fluent, manner. There are less disfluencies, or fewer pauses and reformulations in Excerpt 1 as opposed to Part 3 (lines 1–6). This definition has a ‘rehearsed’ quality, showing a more complete narrative (Blommaert, 2005).
While it is improbable that the first interview is the sole reason for Bhagya’s position on militarisation, it is possible that being reflexive of her own position contributed to a continued examining of the events around her subsequent to the first interview. It is also possible that signs of militarisation increased over these two years and that she was therefore confronted with this phenomenon more.
The researcher’s post-interview reflections
By the end of Part 4, Bhagya had repositioned herself through a discursive exercise, facilitated to some degree by my inquiries which she reiterated in consecutive interviews. What factors led to this shift? In this section, I reflect on what may have contributed to such reflexivity.
This segment of discourse is interesting for many reasons, the most obvious being the attraction of such a dramatic shift in position to a discourse analyst. Though certainly not the only instance, it is one of the first instances that a participant’s political position surprised me. It is, however, the only instance of such a stark shift in position in the interviews I conducted. Therefore, I present this as a rare instance of reflexivity in an interview: as opportunity for reflection on my part, but more importantly, as an instance of participant reflexivity.
Bhagya is asked to distinguish between a controlled and a militarised environment, and then required to define militarisation. She takes these as opportunities for reflection. One may question the inclusion of what was an analytical category of the study – militarisation – into the interview protocol. Indeed, in two instances where I presented the data, this methodological step was debated, and the validity of a participant being asked to define a concept that the researcher would then analyse was questioned. This is particularly valid in some areas of discourse analysis, where ‘a problem possibly arises when the researcher enters and plays an active part by asking questions, because this will not be the discourse in its "purest form"’ (Cruickshank, 2012: 43). I question, however, the notion of ‘discourse in pure form.’ Even if this were to be Bhagya talking to herself it would still be saturated with other discourses. At the same time, an analysis emerging through my own coding categories, without these two questions, would have led to a conclusion that Bhagya assumed that universities were militarised (see assumption (c) prior to the interview). To be very clear, I would have followed the advice in traditional texts on qualitative methodology, refrained from asking Bhagya to explicitly formulate her stand on militarisation, and interpreted her opposition to the leadership course and the Rakna Lanka security firm as indices of her view that universities were militarised. This would, however, have been an analytical error, as Bhagya initially rejects this idea. Such an interview would have led me to an erroneous interpretation of data. I argue therefore that the shift in position was made possible solely due to the inclusion of these two questions. More significantly, the absence of these questions may not have provided that moment of disruption that initiated a reflexive loop (Zienkowski, 2017b). I argue then that, as researchers, we should question our assumption that the participant needs to be kept ignorant of the ‘true’ purpose of a study or that she should not be presented with the analytical categories.
At the same time, it would be misleading (and naïve) to expect that an open attitude to sharing the purpose of the study would regularly lead to such dramatic shifts in position or that it is even possible. In the series of interviews I conducted with academics, no other participant had such a vividly reflexive response. In a contrasting example from the same time, here is another participant at her first interview: ‘the idea of military triumph was still so strong [at this time] um that it was being advocated into the uni
Conclusion
By presenting a five-minute reflexive segment of a semi-structured interview, this article contributes to our understanding of participant self-critique during the interview. It offers a close view of shifting position as it takes place, a transformation effected by the participant’s reflection and self-analysis, possibly aided by the interviewer’s responses.
The close analysis of the interview segment presented here is an indication of the significant role language plays in interviews, a factor researchers generally take for granted. I believe it is imperative that researchers relying on interviews pay attention to language. By this, I do not mean that all such researchers should become discourse analysts. Rather, my argument is that researchers using interviews should be more than usually aware of the effects of language use. This has deep implications for studies in fields such as narrative studies, sociology or anthropology where sensitivity to language is a necessity. In instances where the interviewer/researcher lacks fluency in the language of the participant she is blind to the nuances of complex emotion or ideology that fluent speakers of a language convey to each other seemingly effortlessly. At the risk of being called essentialist, I would say that this is a methodological flaw which is best avoided.
Scholars of discourse, on the other hand, need to pay explicit attention to reflexivity. As Zienkowski (2017b) says, we need to ‘[deal] with reflexivity more reflexively’ (2017b: 2). Most often in critical discourse studies, critique is taken to mean critique of the other (political institutions and actors, etc). One way to be more reflexive within discourse studies is via an exploration of ‘forgotten contexts,’ illustrated beautifully by Blommaert (2004) in Workshopping. For researchers working with speech, and interviews in particular, constant vigilance is necessary within the interview itself so that fleeting opportunities for reflexivity can be seen for what they are, and grasped if possible. A close examination of the interview, such as that presented here, can offer us opportunities to identify features that index reflexivity as it happens.
What we see here serves to reiterate that an interview is not just a method for gathering data, but is potentially a time for analysis of self and other, of introspection and critical thought. Despite a general acceptance that interviews may not hold the truth (whole or partial), as researchers we tend to use interviews as if they are ‘truths for the moment’. Transcripts are discursive objects frozen in time (especially with the aid of modern digital technologies) in order to be used for a perusal of the interviewee’s worldview and the researcher’s self at any time in the future (Denzin, 2001; Blommaert, 2005). However, work on reflexivity in interviews, this article included, illustrate that interview ‘data’ should not be treated as static objects, but as a dynamic product of the context in which the interview is embedded. The researcher has limited control over many aspects of the interview, including the historical moment in which it is embedded. He or she cannot claim sole authorship over the script, not being the sole participant in that conversation; and the participant’s ability or willingness to engage in self-critique cannot be mechanically created or forced.
If the interview is not a static object, and the two individuals within it are negotiating meaning constantly, this has multiple implications for analysis. As interviewers, our alertness to hesitance or contradictions in participant talk, for instance, and our ability or willingness to respond to these during the interview (difficult as this is in real-time) can provide opportune moments for reflexivity for both parties in the interview. Such openness to what happens during the interview is also connected to the researcher’s epistemic stance on the function of interviews, since that will encourage or hinder a willingness to intervene, question or present their analytical frames to the participant. If the interviewer/researcher is open to such reflexive moments the interview can become part of the analysis itself.
More studies of participant reflexivity – both real-time and post-interview – are necessary to fully grasp the various factors that come into play during interviews. We could also ask ourselves how the interview affects the participant. As researchers working with ‘human subjects’ we are required to assess harm to the participant from the conceptual stage of the study itself (during research ethics clearance at the very least). However, I wonder if it is really possible (or even realistic) to project the consequences of our interviews beyond the most mundane for either the participant or researcher. If so, what implications does this have for ethical research? These questions are an invitation for a more extensive discussion of real-time ethics and most definitely show the need for further explorations of reflexivity. Not only do we need more work on participants’ perspectives, with the collaboration of participants if possible, but we also need illustrations of what reflexivity means across a multiplicity of interviews and lengthier periods of time.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
I thank all the participants at the DN17 presentation, and especially Jan Blommaert and Jan Zienkowski, for an insightful discussion and useful comments. I would also like to thank Sinfree Makoni for critical suggestions during the study; and Asha Abeyasekera, Darshi Thoradeniya and Vagisha Gunasekara for comments on a draft version of this manuscript. I thank Bhagya most of all.
Author’s Note
A preliminary version of this article was presented at DN17 Reflexivity and Critique in Discourse, Pamplona, March 2016.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
