Abstract
It was a delight to get the news: Research and Social Work Practice (RSWP) published a study that asked faculty at PhD-granting institutions to rank 64 Social Work journals in the categories of quality and prestige (Hodge et al., 2019). QSW made the top tier in both groupings. Of course, we at QSW have long recognized that our contributors and reviewers are excellent, but the fresh accolade was nonetheless noteworthy. It reflects the quantified opinion of social work scholars from institutions invested in the cultivation of future social work scholars, a consensus if you will. Such recognition from our peers, published in a reputable outlet, especially helps the career advancement of doctoral students and junior faculty who review for and publish in QSW because it offers another measure of influence, beyond our Journal Impact Factor (JIF).
Although qualitative research uses varied metrics to assess quality, we live in a world in which we must demonstrate at various junctions of our career, usually for promotions and to obtain tenure, that our work makes an “impact.” This reality means, as Karen Staller eloquently argued, that we have “a stake in this game” (Staller, 2017: 437). In this editorial, I reflect on what quality means for QSW and will contextualize the significance of the Hodge et al. (2019) study for the qualitative researcher working within scholarly communities predisposed to quantify quality. I argue that while quality does garner widespread agreement, it is also multifaceted and multilevel.
The drawbacks of using JIFs as a proxy for quality have long been noted (Hodge and Lacasse, 2011a, 2011b; Staller, 2017). In essence, scholars are encouraged to publish in “high impact journals” quantified by a JIF score. It is assumed that these journals publish articles that are more visible and rigorous than other publication outlets with lower JIFs. This way of thinking reflects a common cognitive heuristic that people employ, that is, making an evaluation based on an association with something that appears similar (Tversky and Kahneman, 1974). In general, these heuristics are cognitive shortcuts that save time and energy, especially when making a thorough assessment requires shifting through countless other variables. We assume that people are well trained by the institution from which they graduated or the organizations that employ them. Heuristics work until they don’t. Because they are informal rules that guide thought, they fail in predictable and consistent ways (Tversky and Kahneman, 1974). Thus, the overreliance of JIFs in the evaluation of scholarship and in cases of promotions has garnered much critique (Hodge and Lacasse, 2011a, 2011b; Lozano et al., 2012; Staller, 2017). To make matters worse, JIFs were never intended to be used as a measure of an article’s quality or the value of a given study; they were originally created to help libraries make purchasing decisions (Lozano et al., 2012; Staller, 2017).
Hodge and his colleagues sidestep the use of JIFs and instead, measure impact through the subjective evaluation of social work scholars, distinguished by their employment in PhD-granting programs. Their approach offers another way to evaluate impact: the impression formed in the minds of others. Of course, their methodology makes use of a similar cognitive bias leveled against those who equate JIFs with rigor. As of 2017, there were 255 accredited Master’s of Social Work programs in the United States, of which 77 offered PhD programs (Council of Social Work Education, 2018). By surveying just PhD programs, Hodge and his team narrowed the scope to the opinions of those employed in institutions that emphasized research. To be fair, the assessment of scholarly value has particular meaning for this group, but they represent roughly 30% of our advanced degree programs. From this vantage point, the study offers an elite view of quality from a select minority of institutions. For a profession in which the master’s is the terminal degree, this choice seems odd and despite the positive outcome for QSW, the results should be taken with a sizeable grain of salt. While thoughtful, the Hodge et al. study is not a panacea for the difficult task of deciding what constitutes quality scholarly outlets. Instead, I believe we need multiple context-driven (and time bound) measures that align with our core values as professional social workers and scholars. Such an approach includes attention to the contributors and the desirable target audience. I use QSW as an example.
When we consider what constitutes quality for QSW, a number of considerations arise. Our website (https://journals-sagepub-com-s.web.bisu.edu.cn/aims-scope/QSW) clearly articulates the focus of the publication: Qualitative Social Work provides a forum for those interested in qualitative research and evaluation and in qualitative approaches to practice … facilitates interactive dialogue and integration between those interested in qualitative research and methodology and those involved in the world of practice … increasingly international and interdisciplinary in nature … that promotes qualitatively informed professional practice and inquiry.
In qualitative research, the writing is as important as the findings; it is difficult to disentangle the two. We recognize it as the narrative arc, the way a text grabs, it’s explanatory power, and in some cases, the way a piece of writing lingers in our psyche long after the initial reading (Drisko, 2005; Gilgun, 2005, 2006, 2014). Our editorial team strives for excellence through the peer review process, which includes the recruitment of high-quality reviewers, their assignment to manuscripts, the issuance of recommendations to authors, and the selection of manuscripts for each issue. At every step, editorial discretion plays a role in the cultivation of manuscripts and those behind-the-scenes choices make a difference in subtle and nuanced ways (Piedra, 2019; Staller, 2007; Staller 2019b). However, none of these actions insures that QSW will get high-quality submissions in the first place. Nor does the peer review process protect from abuses that makes publication outlets the target of humiliating hoaxes (Piedra, 2019; Staller, 2019b). In short, at least for QSW, the entire dissemination enterprise operates in a coordinated way, greased with an abundance of hard work and good will.
The Hodges et al. (2019) study does make a contribution but not as an arbitrator of quality. By assuming the mantle of science and reporting in RSWP, the study adds to the robustness of QSW’s reputation and by extension, qualitative social work research. Robustness is a salient property of any self-organizing dynamic system, such as a society or in this case, QSW; it speaks to a system’s ability to resist change (Gilbert et al., 2015). Consider a chair, with its four legs (or three, if it is a stool) of adequate height attached to a flat platform that enables the average size human to rest upon. However, this functional form has incalculable variations. From the humble stool to the plush armchair, the form is recognizable and meets basic dimensions, which does not necessarily invoke quality. It is a chair; its classification enduring. Hodge and his team have done the same for QSW. They have grouped QSW into the category of “first tier” that serves as a proxy for quality. Given our propensity to categorize and make assessments accordingly, I suspect this reputation will stick.
Yet, I want to caution our readers. Quality is elusive, discernable by its properties: durability, aesthetic appeal, usability. In the world of qualitative research, I envision a more expansive, penetrable form of influence: to render work that provides a nuanced glimpse into the inner lives of humans and by doing so, invoke in us an appreciation of the other in such way that we are compelled to draw near. The aim is communion with the shared messiness of our humanity, not some objectification of quality. I will use the following example to illustrate.
Years ago, I read a moving qualitative study that sought to identify best practices in the care of children diagnosed with reactive attachment disorder (RAD) by talking to parents whose children had made considerable progress in their familial bonds despite their diagnosis (Drisko and Zilberstein, 2008). At the time, my husband and I were in the process of becoming foster parents as a pathway to adopting an older child. I recall how much comfort (and hope) the article brought me. Despite living with child encumbered with a challenging diagnosis, these families had found a way to thrive in their relationships.
Typically, foster parents provide temporary shelter for children removed from their parents care as referred by the agency which licensed the home. But in our case, we planned on making a lifelong commitment; the child placed with us would need to be eligible for adoption from the beginning. This prerequisite meant we would eventually need to coordinate with other agencies than the one that licensed us. Perhaps because my husband I were unusual in how we chose to build our family—this child, after all, would be our first—we were repeatedly advised by various well-intended child welfare specialists to avoid children with RAD, to steer clear of children whose pictures were posted on the internet, and to expect a long wait.
The opposite happened. We worked with AdoptUs Kids, a federally funded, nationwide photolisting service that facilitates the connection between families and hundreds of children in foster care who are eligible for adoption (AdoptUs Kids, 2020). We were matched with a little girl within three months of receiving a license to be foster home and … she had a RAD diagnosis.
RAD is a rare disorder, but among children in foster care, attachment problems are more commonplace and coincide with other disorders such as posttraumatic stress disorder and attention deficit disorder (Drisko, 2018; Drisko and Zilberstein, 2008; Zilberstein, 2006). As I researched the diagnosis, it became clear that the approach taken by the American Psychiatric Association (2000, 2013) situates the disorder a within the child and misses the fact that attachment occurs between the caregiver and the child (Drisko and Zilberstein, 2008). Drisko and Zilberstein (2008) reveal the limitations of what is known about RAD and what can be learned from parents who successfully care for children with attachment problems. It gave me the sense that while rearing such a child is difficult, for parents willing to take measures to facilitate a bond, progress could be realized. The article helped me be unafraid to consider becoming a mother to child diagnosed with RAD.
Today, my daughter shows none of the symptoms associated with the disorder, despite her initial diagnosis. However, like many other foster children who have experienced disruptive attachments (Drisko, 2018), the early trauma she endured leads her to seek affection in ways reminiscent of a much younger child. Her need for parental reassurance and affection remains acute and palpable. As I write this editorial, my lanky teenager is trying to redeem herself from a recent misdeed. She kneels on the floor in front of me and looks up with a mischievous grin. In a high, falsetto voice that only she can muster, she insists, “Cuddle me!” I laugh and the tension between us dissipates. As we hug, she murmurs, “Pick me. Choose me. Love me.” It’s a line from our favorite TV show, 1 but its latent meaning is not lost on me. Faced with her child-like need, I remain calm; I know that for her, this display is more than “normal”; it’s good.
My mind flashes back to the Drisko and Zilberstein study I read long ago, as it does hundreds of times before when my daughter reaches out for affection. This is what impact looks like. This is what a well-done, beautiful written study can do for us. It touches us and changes our perceptions. By doing so, it alters the way we respond to others. At QSW, we strive to produce work that is transformative, a necessary feature in the advancement of professional practice and inquiry.
Footnotes
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.